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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #66696 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66696)
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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature,
-Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 51, Vol. I, December 20, 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. 51, Vol. I, December 20, 1884
-
-Author: Various
-
-Release Date: November 9, 2021 [eBook #66696]
-
-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. 51, VOL. I, DECEMBER 20,
-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. 51.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._]
-
-
-
-
-CYPRUS LOCUSTS.
-
-BY A DWELLER IN THE EAST.
-
-
-Everybody who has read anything about the East must be acquainted with
-the plague of locusts. I distinctly remember that when a small boy I
-was more impressed by the accounts of the enormous extent of their
-flocks than with anything else my books could tell me. There was to me
-something appalling, and at the same time attractive, in the swarms
-stretching for miles, which obscured the sun, and devoured everything
-green wherever they settled. It is difficult, if not impossible, for
-any one brought up in our temperate regions to realise such a state
-of things. We hear, to be sure, of damage done to crops at home; just
-now, it is sparrows; not very long since it was game; next year it may
-be something else; but in all these cases it is simply damage—perhaps
-one per cent., or five per cent., or ten per cent. But with locusts
-it means not damage, but destruction, or, better still, annihilation
-of the crop. Fancy an English farmer turning out after breakfast and
-admiring his six-acre field of wheat, deliciously green, about two feet
-high. Fancy him, too, coming home to dinner at noon and seeing this
-same field as bare as his hand. This is no exaggeration, but a plain
-matter-of-fact illustration of what may be seen any spring where these
-abominable insects abound. Once seen, it can never be forgotten.
-
-I have had my recollection of these creatures and their ways revived by
-a parliamentary paper entitled, ‘Report of the Locust Campaign of 1884,
-by Mr S. Brown, Government Engineer, Cyprus.’ It gives the results of
-the measures employed to stay the plague to which the island has for
-ages been subject; and so far it is satisfactory enough. The locusts
-have been put down, and for most people that is the chief point. I
-notice that the _Times_ has devoted about half a column to the paper,
-but has contented itself with simply copying the salient points, the
-writer evidently knowing nothing of the subject. The paper itself
-presupposes a knowledge of a certain nature, which no one except those
-who are acquainted with the district can be expected to possess. I
-venture, therefore, to supply the information necessary to a thorough
-understanding of the subject.
-
-Speaking as a dweller in the East, I may say that we have had the
-locusts with us always. In the old old days, they were sent by the
-gods; in less remote times, they were a dispensation of Providence.
-They came and went, leaving lamentable traces of their progress. But
-it was in the nature of things that it should be so, and nobody ever
-thought of trying if something could not be done to stop their ravages.
-Under Turkish rule, of course this feeling was intensified by the
-fatalism peculiar to their faith. The locusts came of their own accord,
-and went off in the same way; it was _kismet_, and there was nothing
-to be done. But even Mohammedans in time cannot escape altogether the
-influence of Western ideas, and some thirty years ago it occurred to
-Osman Pasha, then governor of Cyprus, to try and make head against
-the scourge which devastated the island. He was earnest in the cause,
-but unfortunately died before measures could possibly have had any
-effect. His successors, as a rule, talked a great deal, but, after the
-manner of their race, did nothing. A tax was imposed on the peasants,
-which was to be devoted to the purchase and destruction of locusts’
-eggs. This was all very well; but as the officials helped themselves
-to from fifty to ninety per cent. of the money collected, very little
-impression was made on the swarms. And then, again, as three parts sand
-and one part eggs did duty as eggs, it is not to be wondered at that
-the insects were as plentiful as ever.
-
-So things went on till about fifteen years ago, when Said Pasha
-became governor. He kept on the system of buying eggs, but with this
-important difference, that when he paid for eggs he saw that he got
-them. He put some Europeans on the Commission of superintendence, had
-the eggs stored, and authorised their destruction only after his
-personal inspection. The proceedings were open to the light of day, and
-everything was done to prevent imposition. The result was admirable; in
-three years, locusts’ eggs were as valuable as those of the silkworm;
-and in 1870, it was officially reported that the insect had ceased to
-exist in Cyprus. This, however, proved to be an exaggeration. No doubt,
-a great impression had been made; swarms were no longer to be met with
-by the ordinary traveller; but it is plain that a good many did remain
-in out-of-the-way and difficult districts.
-
-In 1872 it was reported that locusts were reappearing. This was
-pronounced to be a calumny, and the observers were referred to the
-official Report, showing that the locust had ceased to exist in
-Cyprus—which, of course, was conclusive! In 1875, however, denial
-was no longer possible; no one with eyes in his head could doubt
-the existence of countless myriads of plundering insects. Said
-Pasha by this time had left the island, and his successor was of a
-different character, and did nothing to stop their increase, which
-accordingly went on unchecked till the British occupation in 1878. As
-may be imagined, the question very soon engaged the attention of the
-authorities, and a determined set was made against the creatures. In
-the autumn of 1879, thirty-seven and a half tons of eggs were collected
-and destroyed, and in the spring of that year an enormous number of
-insects were trapped. In 1880 larger swarms than ever appeared, a
-great many of which were trapped, and two hundred and thirty-six tons
-of their eggs collected. In 1881 the locusts came in still greater
-numbers, and in the autumn and winter, thirteen hundred and thirty
-tons of eggs were destroyed. It was evident that what had been done
-was a trifle; exceptional measures were declared to be necessary,
-and preparations were accordingly made on a very large scale for the
-campaign of 1882. It was shown that egg-collecting alone was not to
-be depended upon. One may think that this affords the easiest means
-of destruction, and so it does, if you can be sure of getting at all
-the eggs. But the breeding-grounds are situated in remote and rugged
-districts, to patrol which properly means a very large supply of
-labour, and even then it becomes a mere question of eyesight, which
-often fails. Up to a certain stage in its existence the insect creeps
-but cannot fly, and it is then that it must be taken. Trapping the
-non-flying insects is therefore the feature which forms the salient
-matter of Mr Brown’s Report, but which will not be understood by the
-public without explanation.
-
-The Report opens with a statement of the material employed. This
-consisted of two thousand canvas screens, each fifty yards long; one
-hundred thousand five hundred square yards of canvas for screens;
-twelve thousand six hundred and eleven square yards oilcloth; twenty
-tons zinc for traps; and seventy-six thousand one hundred and
-eighty-three stakes for the screens, besides cordage and other minor
-articles. As the reports from the breeding districts came in, it was
-thought this supply would prove insufficient, and Mr Brown therefore
-caused one thousand additional screens to be made up, and three
-thousand seven hundred and eighty traps of a new type to be cut out of
-the zinc received from England. The total apparatus, therefore, when
-operations began, amounted to eleven thousand and eighty-three screens,
-each fifty yards long; and thirteen thousand and eight traps; with the
-necessary complement of stakes, tools, and tents for labourers. To
-give an idea of the total length of the screens, it may be mentioned,
-that if stretched continuously they would form a line three hundred
-and fifteen miles long, almost enough to encircle the whole island. In
-order to work all this material, labour was necessary, and accordingly
-contracts were made to a maximum of thirteen hundred and ninety-eight
-labourers.
-
-This is all very interesting; but what is the meaning of it? What are
-screens? What is canvas wanted for? What do they do with oilcloth? And
-what sort of traps do they make out of zinc? This is what Mr Brown does
-not tell us, and this is exactly the information which I propose to
-supply. The first step in the process is to begin with a little natural
-history.
-
-The female locust is provided with a sort of sword-like appendage, with
-which she makes a hole in the ground, in which she deposits her eggs.
-Over these she exudes a glutinous matter, which hardens by exposure, in
-time forming a case impervious to wet, cold, or even fire, the whole
-resembling a small silk cocoon. The number of eggs in each of these is
-variously estimated; some say a hundred, others eighty; but Mr Brown by
-actual experiment finds that the average may be taken at thirty-two,
-and that the sexes are produced in about equal proportion. It is not
-difficult, therefore, to calculate the rate of increase, allowing
-fifty per cent. to be lost through the operation of natural causes,
-birds, caterpillars, &c. A couple of locusts will thus produce sixteen
-individuals or eight couples the first year; next year, the product
-will be a hundred and twenty-eight, or sixty-four couples; the third
-year, eight times that; and so on—a calculation which may be carried on
-to any length you like, and which will explain the countless myriads
-which everybody has heard of.
-
-The female having performed her duty in reproducing her species, is of
-no further use, and both she and her partner disappear—that is to say,
-they both die. It is a popular belief in Cyprus that the male eats the
-female and dies of the consequent indigestion. But a more scientific
-explanation of the fact is, that as by the end of July—beyond which
-locusts are never seen—everything green is burnt up by the sun, their
-food fails, and they die of starvation. There is no mistake about their
-death; every open pool of water is full of them, and the stench is
-abominable, and one may walk along the coast for miles amongst their
-dead bodies, washed up by the sea. The eggs remain in the ground till
-hatched by the warmth of the spring sun, which brings them out early in
-March. If the season should be cold or wet, the only effect is to delay
-the hatching; the eggs never appear to get addled. At the beginning
-of April this year the swarms were on the march, and operations
-began, and were continued till the 13th of May, when all that were
-left were on the wing. It is by taking advantage of the habits of the
-creature that the greatest success in its destruction is achieved. The
-young locusts as soon as they can crawl go in search of green food.
-Impelled by this instinct, they go straight on, turning neither to
-the right nor to the left. They are remarkably short of sense; they
-can do nothing but follow their nose, and have not an idea of turning
-a corner. If a locust on the march were to meet with a lamp-post, he
-would never think of going round it, but would climb up to the top and
-come down on the other side. It is by taking advantage of this steady
-plodding perseverance that the arch-inventor Man makes the creature
-work its own destruction. Some twenty years ago, Mr Richard Mattei, an
-Italian gentleman, and large landed proprietor in Cyprus, made various
-experiments, which have resulted in the employment of the screens and
-traps which are mentioned in Mr Brown’s Report. The manner of operation
-is as follows.
-
-In early spring, it was reported to headquarters that one hundred and
-thirty-three breeding-grounds had been discovered. Each of these was
-therefore screened off by a ring-fence. The screens are formed of
-canvas about two feet high, on the top of which are sewn about four
-inches of oilcloth. These are arranged so as to form a zigzag with
-angles of about one hundred and thirty-five degrees. At intervals,
-pits are dug of a regulation size—a cubic yard—so as to facilitate
-computation. The locusts on the march come up to the screen, climb up
-the canvas, get on to the oilcloth, and straightway slip down. Nothing
-daunted, they try again, again, and again, each time edging a little
-nearer to the angle. Arriving here at last, they find a pit, into
-which they fall or jump. Naturally, they climb up again; but find at
-the top a framework of wood, lined on the inside with sheet-zinc, on
-which they cannot walk, and consequently they fall back into the pit.
-Imagine thousands of the creatures all doing this at the same time,
-and the result will be, of course, that one-half smothers the other
-half, and in its turn gets smothered by a few spadefuls of earth,
-which the labourer, always on the watch, takes care to apply at the
-proper moment. The pit is then full, and is counted as such in the
-daily report. Mr Brown gives full details. The ‘full’ pits contained
-a depth of eighteen inches of locusts; pits three-quarters, one-half,
-one-quarter, and one-eighth full were returned as such, and when
-reduced to ‘full’ pits, the total number amounted to fifteen thousand
-nine hundred and nineteen. The whole number, however, of pits in which
-locusts were trapped was twenty-six thousand and sixteen, and the total
-number of pits dug far exceeded this.
-
-Every pains was taken to arrive at a correct account of the number
-of locusts thus destroyed, and the number for this year is set down
-at the enormous total of fifty-six thousand one hundred and sixteen
-millions. Last year the number was computed approximately at one
-hundred and ninety-five thousand millions. With such a destruction,
-it was believed that this year the swarms would be less; and this
-anticipation was fully realised, less than one-third appearing of what
-was visible in 1883. This is extremely satisfactory, when we find that
-the swarms of 1883 were as numerous as those of 1882, which in their
-turn greatly exceeded those of 1881. In fact, up to 1883 the locusts
-had been gaining ground; now they are losing it; and it only needs
-care and watchfulness on our part to thoroughly exterminate them,
-or at anyrate to render them practically harmless. For if the locust
-can only find food, it will not travel; they march simply in order to
-get wherewith to support existence; and if they can find enough near
-their birthplace, they will stop there. But of course this cannot be
-allowed, when we think of their multiplication next year and the years
-after. No; it is a question of war to the ‘pit.’ Efforts must not be
-relaxed; the system of reports from the breeding districts will still
-be continued; and the supply of screens and traps must always be ready
-for use.
-
-This year, the large supply of material was used in a much more
-careful and methodical way than in any previous year. Some idea of the
-extent of the operations may be gathered from the fact that in one
-district—that of Tchingerli—there was a continuous line of screens
-without a break for twenty-seven miles in length, arranged in three
-great loops connected by a common centre. Another breeding-ground
-was surrounded by screens sixteen miles long; and there were many
-other similar cases. With screens thus fixed, with plenty of pits,
-and with careful supervision, the destruction should be complete.
-Accidents, however, will occur, some of which are preventable, whilst
-others are not. Heavy rains and floods, for instance, swept away
-some of the screens; and there were also cloudy and windy days, when
-the locusts will not march, and of course will not fill the pits. No
-doubt, occasion was taken on such days to help in the destruction by
-manual labour; every little helps; and it is not difficult to slay
-one’s thousands and tens of thousands when the victims are all close
-together. It is not unusual to meet the creatures in a body a mile
-wide and a mile deep. They are about an inch and a quarter long, and a
-quarter of an inch wide, and march with an interval of about an inch,
-progressing some half-mile a day.
-
-One would think that the importance of information to headquarters
-would be patent to everybody in the island; yet such is the apathy,
-not to say stupidity, of some of the islanders, that Mr Brown was
-surprised and disgusted to hear that whilst operations were at the
-height, locusts had been discovered at the extreme east point of the
-island, which had been reported free. Not only so, but no locusts had
-existed within thirty-five miles, nor had any been seen flying in that
-direction. Material was at once forwarded, but unfortunately too late,
-as the insects had almost arrived at the flying stage, when nothing
-can be done. One might as well try to reduce midges by squashing them
-between the hands. The district was found to be only a small one—less
-than half a mile in diameter. It may safely be left next year to Mr
-Brown’s tender care.
-
-What is the result of all this time, trouble, and expense? You could
-traverse the locust area and see very few; whereas in May and June
-of previous years you might ride through flights some of which would
-cover an area of several square miles. The small number that are left
-are thinly scattered over a comparatively small area, and as they find
-sufficient food in the natural grasses, they do not migrate. This
-year, up to August not a single flight has been seen, and best of all,
-nothing has been heard of damage to the crops. It is calculated that
-the survivors of this year do not amount to more than one per cent. of
-those of last year. The problem, therefore, appears to be solved; all
-that is necessary is a small annual expenditure to keep the material
-and labour in working order.
-
-
-
-
-ONE WOMAN’S HISTORY.
-
-
-CHAPTER XIV.
-
-It was but a few minutes past seven o’clock when Jules tapped at the
-door of Madame De Vigne’s boudoir. The summons was responded to by
-Nanette. ‘Monsieur De Miravel’s compliments to Madame De Vigne, and
-would she grant monsieur the honour of an interview for a few minutes?’
-
-The answer came at once: ‘Madame De Vigne was ready to receive Monsieur
-De Miravel.’
-
-Daylight was waning, and although the Venetians were drawn half-way
-up the windows, the room was in twilight. To De Miravel it seemed
-almost in darkness as he went in; but in a few moments his eyes became
-more accustomed to the semi-obscurity, and he then perceived his wife
-standing in the middle of the floor—a tall, black-robed figure, crowned
-by a face whose extreme pallor, seen by that half-light, would have
-seemed like that of a dead woman, but for the two large, intensely
-glowing eyes which lighted it up.
-
-After his first momentary hesitation, De Miravel advanced a few steps
-and made one of his elaborate bows. Madame De Vigne responded by a
-grave inclination of her head, and motioning her visitor to a chair,
-sat down herself on an ottoman some distance away. In the silence, not
-yet broken by either of them, they heard the low, far-away muttering of
-thunder among the hills.
-
-De Miravel was the first to speak. ‘I am desolated, madame, to have
-been under the necessity of seeking this interview,’ he said. ‘But I
-have been waiting, waiting, waiting till I have grown tired. I am tired
-of being here alone in this great hotel, where I know no one. It is
-now two days since I spoke to you. You know my proposition. _Eh bien!_
-I choose to wait no longer; I am here for your answer.’ He spoke the
-last words with a kind of snarl, which for the moment brought his long,
-white, wolfish-looking teeth prominently into view.
-
-‘As you say, I am fully acquainted with your proposition,’ answered
-Mora in cold, quiet, unfaltering tones. ‘But you know well how hateful
-to me are the conditions which you wish to impose. I think I made that
-point clear to you on Wednesday.’
-
-‘You were in a passion on Wednesday. I heeded not what you said.’
-
-‘But I meant every word that I said. In view of that fact, and knowing
-what you know—may I ask whether in the interim you have not seen some
-way by which those conditions may be modified—some way by which,
-without injury to what you conceive to be your interests, they may be
-made less objectionable to me?’
-
-He shook his head impatiently. ‘You are only wasting my time and
-yours,’ he said. ‘When I have said a thing, I mean it. As the
-conditions were on Wednesday, even so they are now—altered in nothing.
-If you cannot comply with them, tell me so at once, and at once I will
-seek out Sir William. Ah ha! Mademoiselle Clarice had better wait
-awhile before she orders the robe for her wedding!’
-
-She heard him apparently unmoved. There was not a flash, not as much
-as a flicker to be seen of the passion which had so possessed her on
-Wednesday. Her quietude surprised him, and rendered him vaguely uneasy.
-
-‘Consider, Laroche—before it is too late.’
-
-‘Too late?’ he muttered under his breath. ‘_Peste!_ What can she mean?’
-
-‘You know how utterly impossible it is that I should live with you
-for one day, or even one hour, as your wife,’ continued Mora. ‘You
-know that I would sooner seek a refuge in the dark waters of yonder
-lake. Why, then, strive to make a desperate woman more desperate? And
-my sister!—she has never harmed you, she does not even know of your
-existence. Why try to wreck the happiness of her life, as you wrecked
-mine? Why try to shatter the fair future that lies before her? To do
-so can in nowise benefit you. Consider—think again before you finally
-decide. Have pity on this child, even though you have none on me. Ah,
-Laroche, you never had a sister, or you would know something of that
-which I feel!’
-
-‘This is child’s play,’ he exclaimed with a sneer. ‘We are wasting
-time. A strong man makes use of others to effect his ends. I make use
-of you and your sister. I have said.’ He was convinced by this time
-that her quietude was merely that of despair—the quietude of a criminal
-who submits to the hands of the executioner.
-
-‘Listen, Laroche!’ she continued in the same icy, impassive tones.
-‘Although I am not what the world calls rich, I am not without means,
-as you are aware. Give me your promise to leave England, and never to
-seek out or in any way annoy either my sister or me, and half of all
-I am possessed of shall be settled upon you. It will be an income for
-life which nothing can rob you of.’
-
-An eager, greedy light leaped into his eyes. ‘What do you call an
-income, dear madame?’ he said. ‘How many thousand francs a year would
-you be prepared to settle on your brave Hector?’
-
-‘Six thousand francs a year would be about half my income.’
-
-‘Six thousand francs! And my wife’s sister married to the son of one of
-the richest _milords_ in England! _Chut!_ Do you take your Hector for
-an imbecile?’ He rose, crossed to the pier-glass over the chimneypiece,
-adjusted his scarf in front of it, and then went back to his chair.
-‘Do you know what is now the great ambition of your Hector’s life?’ he
-asked, gazing fixedly at her out of his half-shut eyes. ‘But no—how
-should you? Listen, then, and I will tell you. It is to be introduced
-to two, three, or more of the great London clubs where they occupy
-themselves with what you English call “high play.” Sir William or his
-son shall introduce me—when I am of their family. Six thousand francs a
-year! _Parbleu!_ when once I have the _entrée_ to two or three of the
-_cercles_ I speak of, my income will be nearer sixty than six thousand
-francs a year.’
-
-‘If such are your views, if this is the course you are determined to
-pursue, I am afraid that any further appeal by me would be utterly
-thrown away.’
-
-‘Utterly thrown away, _ma belle_, an absolute waste of time, as I said
-before.’
-
-‘I felt convinced from the first that it would be so.’
-
-‘Ah! Then why amuse yourself at my expense in the way you have?’
-
-‘It was not by way of amusing myself that I appealed to you, but for
-the ease of my conscience in the days yet to come.’
-
-He stared at her suspiciously for a moment or two, then he said with a
-shrug: ‘I do not comprehend you.’
-
-She rose and pushed back her chair. ‘There is nothing more to be said.
-I need not detain you further.’
-
-He too rose, but for once he was evidently nonplussed. ‘Nothing more to
-be said?’ he remarked after a pause. ‘It seems to me that there is much
-more to be said. I have not yet had your answer to the proposition I
-laid before you on Wednesday last.’
-
-‘I thought you understood. But if you want my answer in a few plain
-words, you shall have it.’
-
-In the twilight he could see her clear shining eyes gazing steadily and
-fearlessly into his. Craven fears began to flutter round his heart.
-
-‘Hector Laroche, you have lost much time and put yourself to much
-trouble and expense in hunting down a woman whose life, years ago, you
-made a burden almost too bitter for her to bear—and all to no purpose.
-You have found me; what then? You have made a proposition to me so
-utterly vile as altogether to defeat your own ends. From this hour I
-know you not. I will never see or speak to you again. It will be at
-your peril to attempt to molest me. I have friends who will see that I
-suffer no harm at your hands. There is the door. Begone!’
-
-‘Ho, ho!’ he cried with an hyena-like snarl. ‘You bid me begone, do
-you? _Eh bien!_ I must not disobey a lady’s commands. I will go—but it
-shall be in search of Sir William.’
-
-‘Your search need not take you far; Sir William Ridsdale is here, under
-this roof.’
-
-Laroche could not repress a start of surprise. He was still staring
-at Mora like a man at an utter loss what to say next, when a tap was
-heard at the door, which was followed a moment later by the entrance of
-Nanette: ‘Sir William Ridsdale has sent word to say that he should like
-to see Monsieur De Miravel as soon as that gentleman is at liberty to
-wait upon him.’
-
-‘Monsieur De Miravel is at liberty to wait upon Sir William at once,’
-said Madame De Vigne in clear, staccato tones.—‘Nanette, conduct
-monsieur to Sir William’s apartment.’
-
-Laroche scowled at her for a moment. Then he said in a low voice: ‘Do
-you set me at defiance? Is it really that I am to tell Sir William
-everything?’
-
-‘Yes; I set you at defiance. Tell Sir William all that you know.
-_Scélerat!_ do your worst.’
-
-The scowl on his face deepened; his lips twitched, but no sound came
-from them. Madame De Vigne’s finger pointed to the open door at which
-Nanette was standing. Laroche turned on his heel and walked out of the
-room with the air of a whipped cur.
-
- * * * * *
-
-By this time it was nearly dark; the evening was close and sultry;
-distant thunder reverberated among the hills; there was the menace of a
-storm in the air. The grounds of the hotel were deserted, and just at
-present the house was as quiet as though it were some lonely country
-mansion, instead of a huge hostelry overflowing with guests. It was
-the hour consecrated to one of the most solemn duties of existence,
-and, with few exceptions, the flock of more or less hungry birds of
-passage were engaged in the pleasing process of striving to recuperate
-exhausted nature by means of five courses and a dessert.
-
-Nanette, after conducting Laroche to Sir William’s room, was on her way
-back to light the lamp in her mistress’s boudoir, when, as she turned a
-corner of the corridor, she was suddenly confronted by Jules, between
-whom and herself, as being of the same nationality, a pleasant little
-flirtation was already in full swing. The meeting was so sudden and the
-corridor so dusky, that the girl started, and a low cry broke from her
-lips.
-
-‘Hist! do not make a noise, I beg of you, ma’amselle,’ whispered Jules;
-‘but tell me, is madame in her room and alone?’ His face looked very
-pale in the twilight, and Nanette could see that he was strangely moved.
-
-‘Madame is in her room, but she is indisposed, and cannot see any one
-this evening—unless,’ she added archly, a moment after, ‘the business
-of monsieur with her is of very, very great importance.’
-
-‘Ah, believe me, dear ma’amselle, it is of the very greatest
-importance. Do not delay, I beg of you! Any moment I may be missed from
-the _salle_ and asked for. Tell madame that the affair I want to see
-her upon is one of life and death.’
-
-The girl stared at him for a moment, and then went.
-
-He stole noiselessly after her and waited outside the door. Presently
-the door opened, and Nanette beckoned to him to enter. He went in, and
-found himself alone with Madame De Vigne.
-
-‘Pardon the question, madame,’ said Jules; ‘but may I ask whether the
-gentleman—Monsieur De Miravel he calls himself—who left this room a few
-minutes ago is a friend of madame?’
-
-Madame became suddenly interested. ‘I have been acquainted with the
-person you name for a great number of years,’ she replied after a
-moment’s hesitation.
-
-‘Madame would not like any harm to happen to Monsieur De Miravel?’
-
-‘Harm? No; certainly not. I should not like harm to happen to any one.
-But your question is a strange one. Tell me why you ask it.’
-
-‘I ask it, because Monsieur De Miravel is in danger of his life.’
-
-‘Ah!’ Her heart gave a great leap; she turned suddenly dizzy, and had
-to support herself against the table.
-
-‘I have told this to madame in order that she may warn Monsieur De
-Miravel, should she think well to do so. If he wishes to save his
-life, he must leave here at once—to-night; to-morrow may be too late.’
-
-Mora was thoroughly bewildered. What she had just been told had the
-effect of a stunning blow upon her; it had come so suddenly that for a
-little while her mind failed to realise the full meaning of the words.
-
-‘What you have just told me is so strange and terrible,’ she said at
-last, ‘that you cannot wonder if I ask you for further particulars. You
-assert that M. De Miravel’s life is in danger. What is it that he has
-done? What crime has he committed, that nothing less than his death can
-expiate?’
-
-Jules slowly drew in his breath with an inspiration that sounded like a
-sigh. What he was about to tell must be told in a whisper. ‘Throughout
-Europe, as madame may be aware, there are certain secret Societies and
-propaganda, which, although known by various designations, have nearly
-all one great end in view. Of one such Society Monsieur De Miravel is,
-and has been for the last dozen years, an affiliated member. Nearly a
-year ago, several brothers of the Society were arrested, tried, and
-sentenced to long terms of imprisonment. Certain features of the trial
-proved conclusively that the arrests were the result of information
-given by a spy. There was a traitor in the camp; but who was he? That
-question has at length been answered. It has been proved beyond a doubt
-that the traitor is the man who calls himself Monsieur De Miravel. The
-sentence on all traitors is death. De Miravel has been condemned to
-die.’
-
-‘This is horrible,’ murmured Mora.
-
-‘It is simple justice, madame.’
-
-‘Has Monsieur De Miravel any knowledge or suspicion of the terrible
-fate to which he has been condemned?’
-
-‘None. How should he have, madame?’
-
-Mora remained lost in thought for a few moments; then she said: ‘It
-seems strange that you, in the position you occupy, should know all
-that you have told me, and yet Monsieur De Miravel himself should know
-nothing.’
-
-Jules lifted his shoulders almost imperceptibly. ‘It may seem strange
-to madame; but it is not so in reality. I, Jules Decroze, the poor
-_garçon_, am a humble brother of that Society which has condemned the
-traitor De Miravel to die. I, too, am affiliated to the sacred cause.’
-
-‘You! Oh!’ Involuntarily she moved a step or two farther away.
-
-Jules spread out his hands with a little gesture of deprecation.
-
-‘I hope you don’t run any risk yourself in telling me what you have
-told me this evening?’ said Mora after a few seconds of silence.
-
-‘If it were known that I had broken my oath, as I have broken it but
-now, I should be sentenced to the same fate as De Miravel. But that
-matters not. I have long owed madame a debt of gratitude; to-night I
-have endeavoured to pay it.’
-
-‘You have more, far more than paid it. You may have broken your oath,
-as you say, but you have done all that lay in your power to save a
-fellow-creature’s life.’
-
-‘For your sake, madame—not for his, the traitor!’ muttered Jules.
-
-If Mora heard, she took no notice. ‘You must not remain here another
-moment,’ she said. ‘You have run too much risk already. Perhaps I may
-be able to have a few words with you in private to-morrow. You say that
-Monsieur De Miravel must go away at once—to-night?’
-
-‘At once. If he lingers here over to-morrow’—— He ended with one of his
-expressive shrugs.
-
-Mora shuddered. ‘Suppose he refuses to believe what I tell him, and
-puts it down as an invention for the purpose of frightening him away?’
-
-‘If madame will say these words to him, “_The right hand of the Czar is
-frozen_,” Monsieur De Miravel will know that she speaks the truth.’
-
-A moment later the door opened and closed noiselessly, and Mora was
-alone.
-
-
-CHAPTER XV.
-
-When Hector Laroche was ushered into Sir William Ridsdale’s room, his
-eyes blinked involuntarily. The change from the dusky twilight outside
-to the brilliantly lighted apartment in which he now found himself
-fairly dazzled him for the first few seconds.
-
-There were but two people in the room. At a large square table, covered
-with papers and documents written and printed, sat the baronet. At a
-smaller table, a little distance away, and busily writing, sat Colonel
-Woodruffe—‘the man of the portrait,’ as Laroche muttered to himself the
-moment his eyes lighted on him. Was it possible that this other man,
-this white-haired gentleman, whose gaze was bent so keenly on him from
-under his bushy brows, was the great Sir William himself? He remembered
-to have seen this person on more than one occasion walking about the
-grounds in the company of Miss Loraine, but he had never troubled
-himself to inquire whom he might be. If he were really Sir William,
-then had he been at the hotel for two or three days, and he, Laroche,
-had never discovered that fact. What a blunder!
-
-The Frenchman placed his right hand over his heart and bowed
-obsequiously; then he advanced with slow, cat-like movements towards
-the table, but came to a stand while he was yet some three or four
-paces away. The keen eyes of the white-haired gentleman, fixed so
-persistently on him, made him feel dreadfully uncomfortable. He had a
-great dislike to being stared at in that way.
-
-‘You are Hector Laroche, _ex-déporté_ No. 897; and I am Sir William
-Ridsdale.’
-
-For once his start of surprise was thoroughly genuine. ‘How! Monsieur
-knows’——
-
-‘Everything. Madame De Vigne has disclosed to me the whole dreadful
-story of her married life. Her I pity from the bottom of my heart; but
-for you, scoundrel, I have no feeling save one of utter loathing and
-contempt!’
-
-‘Monsieur’—— whined Laroche with an indescribable writhing of his long
-lean body.
-
-‘Silence, fellow!’ said Sir William sternly. ‘It is for you to listen,
-and not to speak.’ He rose and crossed to Colonel Woodruffe and spoke
-to him in a low voice.
-
-The baronet returned to his seat. ‘It is not my intention to say a
-great deal to you, Monsieur Laroche,’ resumed Sir William; ‘I wish to
-rid myself of your presence as soon as may be; and what I have to say
-will be very much to the purpose.’
-
-Laroche writhed again, but did not speak. Events had taken a turn so
-utterly unexpected by him, the ground had been so completely cut from
-under his feet, that he seemed to have nothing left to say.
-
-‘Madame De Vigne is an Englishwoman, and as such is entitled to the
-protection of the laws of her country. The first point I wish you
-clearly to understand is, that her income is settled strictly upon
-herself, and that you are not entitled to claim so much as a single
-franc of her money. This time, at least, you will not be allowed to
-rob her, as you did once before. The second point I wish you clearly
-to understand is, that if you in any way harm, molest, or annoy Madame
-De Vigne or her sister, you will very quickly find yourself within
-the walls of an English prison, where you will be able to meditate on
-your folly at your leisure. This is a matter which Madame De Vigne’s
-friends will look to particularly, consequently I warn you in time.
-And now, having proved all this to you, I am induced, by certain
-considerations which in nowise affect you, to make you an offer which
-you will probably see the wisdom of accepting. The conditions of my
-offer are these: You shall at once quit England and never set foot in
-it again; you shall neither write to Madame De Vigne nor seek to hold
-any communication of any kind whatever with her or any one connected
-with her. In return for your faithful obedience to these instructions,
-you shall be paid an annuity of three thousand francs a year. The sum
-shall be paid you in quarterly instalments by my Paris agent, to whom
-you will present yourself in person once every three months. When you
-cease to present yourself, it shall be considered either that you no
-longer care to claim the annuity or that you are dead. Such is the
-offer I have to make you, Monsieur Laroche; you can either accept it or
-decline it at your own good pleasure; for my own part I care not which
-you do.’
-
-Three thousand francs a year! was Laroche’s first thought. Why,
-scarcely half an hour ago, his wife had offered him just double the
-amount on precisely the same terms, and he had laughed in her face.
-Imbecile that he had been!
-
-Coward though he was at heart, as nearly all braggarts are, if Laroche
-just then had happened to possess a revolver, he would have felt
-strongly tempted to make use of it and risk the consequences. How he
-hated those two men!—one white-haired, smiling, benevolent-looking,
-as he had seen him walking about the grounds, but with such a hand of
-iron hidden in his velvet glove; the other stern, impassive, coldly
-contemptuous, who had taken no more notice of him during the interview
-than if he were a dog. Yes, he hated them both with the ferocious
-hatred of a tiger balked of the prey in which its claws are already
-fixed.
-
-This other man he felt nearly sure was in love with his wife; and he
-was just as certain that Mora De Vigne was in love with him. Even at a
-time like that, it thrilled him with a malicious joy to think that so
-long as he, Laroche, was alive they could never be more to each other
-than they were now. Perhaps if he had not appeared on the scene till a
-month or two later, they might have been married by that time. If he
-had only known—if he had only had the slightest suspicion that such was
-the state of affairs, he would have kept carefully in the background
-till the newly wedded couple should have returned from their honeymoon,
-and then have made himself known. That would have been a revenge worthy
-of the name. But now——
-
-Sir William’s voice recalled him to realities. ‘Perhaps you wish for a
-little time before you make up your mind?’ he said.
-
-Laroche shook his head. His nimble brain had already taken in the
-altered state of affairs; he saw that the day had gone hopelessly
-against him, that the battle was lost, and that the only thing left him
-to do was to accept from the conquerors the best terms that he could
-induce them to offer. If only he had not refused that six thousand
-francs! But to a man in his position even three thousand francs a year
-was better, infinitely better, than nothing. It would at least suffice
-to find him in absinth and cigarettes, and would serve to blunt the
-keen edge of chronic impecuniosity.
-
-‘Three thousand francs a year, Sir William! It is a bagatelle—a mere
-bagatelle.’
-
-‘Take it or leave it.’
-
-The Frenchman spread out his hands and drew his shoulders up nearly to
-his ears. ‘_Ma foi!_ I have no choice. I must accept.’
-
-‘In that case, nothing more need be said, except that you will leave
-here by the first train to-morrow morning. Here is a bank-note with
-which to defray the expenses of your journey; and here is the address
-of my agent, on whom you will please call on Wednesday morning next,
-by which time he will be in receipt of my instructions.’ Sir William
-pushed the note and the address across the table in the direction of
-Laroche as though the latter were some plague-stricken creature with
-whom he was fearful of coming into closer contact.
-
-The Frenchman advanced a step or two, picked up the papers, and put
-them away slowly and carefully inside his pocket-book, looking the
-baronet full in the eyes as he did so. His teeth were hard set, and
-his breath came and went with a fuller rise and fall than usual, but
-otherwise there was nothing to betray the tempest of passion at work
-within him. When he had put his pocket-book away again, and still with
-his eyes bent full on the baronet, he said in a low, deep voice: ‘It
-is possible, Sir William, that we may some day meet again.’ Then with
-a nod, that might mean much or that might have no meaning at all, he
-turned and walked slowly out of the room.
-
-The Frenchman found Nanette waiting for him in the corridor. ‘If
-you please, monsieur, my mistress desires to see you in her room
-immediately on a matter of much importance.’
-
-‘Can it be that she is going to renew the offer of the six thousand
-francs?’ was the first question that Laroche asked himself. Checkmated
-at every turn though he had been, and though all his fine castles in
-the air had come tumbling about his ears, he began to hope that more
-might be saved from the wreck than had seemed probable only a few
-minutes ago, and it was not without a certain revival of spirits and a
-certain return to his old braggadocio manner that he followed Nanette
-to Madame De Vigne’s room. Just as he was passing the staircase window,
-the lightning’s lurid scroll unrolled itself for an instant against
-the walls of blackness outside. Laroche shuddered, he knew not why. A
-moment or two later he found himself once more in the presence of his
-wife. In the interim, the lamp had been lighted and the curtains drawn.
-
-
-
-
-A FEW NOTES ON PERSIAN ART.
-
-
-The limner’s art in Persia has few patrons, and the professional
-draughtsman of the present day in that country must needs be an
-enthusiast, and an art-lover for art’s sake, as his remuneration is so
-small as to be a mere pittance; and the man who can live by his brush
-must be clever indeed. The Persians are an eminently practical people,
-and buy nothing unless it be of actual utility; hence the artist has
-generally to sink to the mere decorator; and as all, even the very
-rich, expect a great deal for a little money, the work must be scamped
-in order to produce a great effect for a paltry reward. The artists,
-moreover, are all self-taught, or nearly so, pupilage merely consisting
-of the drudgery of preparing the canvas, panel, or other material for
-the master, mixing the colours, filling in backgrounds, varnishing,
-&c. There are no schools of art, no lectures, no museums of old or
-contemporary masters, no canons of taste, no drawing from nature or the
-model, no graduated studies, or system of any kind. There is, however,
-a certain custom of adhering to tradition and the conventional;
-and most of the art-workmen of Iran, save the select few, are mere
-reproducers of the ideas of their predecessors.
-
-The system of perspective is erroneous; but neither example nor
-argument can alter the views of a Persian artist on this subject.
-Leaving aside the wonderful blending of colours in native carpets,
-tapestries, and embroideries, all of which improve by the toning
-influence of age, the modern Persian colourist is remarkable for his
-skill in the constant use of numerous gaudy and incongruous colours,
-yet making one harmonious and effective whole, which surprises us by
-its daring, but compels our reluctant admiration.
-
-Persian pictorial art is original, and it is cheap; the wages of a
-clever artist are about one shilling and sixpence a day. In fact, he is
-a mere day-labourer, and his terms are, so many days’ pay for a certain
-picture. In this pernicious system of time-work lies the cause of the
-scamping of many really ingenious pieces of work.
-
-As a copyist the Persian is unrivalled; he has a more than Chinese
-accuracy of reproduction; every copy is a fac-simile of its original,
-the detail being scamped, or the reverse, according to the scale of
-payment. In unoriginal work, such as the multiplication of some
-popular design, a man will pass a lifetime, because he finds it pay
-better to do this than to originate. This kind of unoriginal decoration
-is most frequent in the painted mirror cases and book-covers, the
-designs of which are ancient; and the painter merely reproduces the
-successful and popular work of some old and forgotten master.
-
-But where the Persian artist shines is in his readiness to undertake
-any style or subject; geometrical patterns—and they are very clever
-in originating these; scroll-work scenes from the poets; likenesses,
-miniatures, paintings of flowers or birds; in any media, on any
-substance, oils, water, or enamel, and painting on porcelain; all are
-produced with rapidity, wonderful spirit, and striking originality. In
-landscape, the Persian is very weak; and his attempts at presenting the
-nude, of which he is particularly fond, are mostly beneath contempt. A
-street scene will be painted in oils and varnished to order ‘in a week’
-on a canvas a yard square, the details of the painting desired being
-furnished in conversation. While the patron is speaking, the artist
-rapidly makes an outline sketch in white paint; and any suggested
-alterations are made in a few seconds by the facile hand of the _ustad
-nakosh_ (master-painter), a term used to distinguish the artist from
-the mere portrait-painter or _akkas_, a branch of the profession
-much despised by the artists, a body of men who consider their art a
-mechanical one, and their guild no more distinguished than those of
-other handicraftsmen.
-
-A Persian artist will always prefer to reproduce rather than originate,
-because, as a copy will sell for the same price as an original, by
-multiplication more money can be earned in a certain time, than by the
-exercise of originality. Rarely, among the better class of artists,
-is anything actually out of drawing; the perspective is of course
-faulty, and resembles that of early specimens of Byzantine art. Such
-monstrosities as the making the principal personages giants, and the
-subsidiaries dwarfs, are common; while the beauties are represented as
-much bejewelled; but this is done to please the buyer’s taste, and the
-artist knows its absurdity. There is often considerable weakness as
-to the rendering of the extremities; but as the Persian artist never
-draws, save in portraiture, from the life, this is not to be wondered
-at.
-
-The writer has before him a fair instance of the native artist’s
-rendering of the scene at the administration of the bastinado. This
-picture is an original painting in oils, twenty-four inches by sixteen,
-on _papier-mâché_. The details were given to the artist by the writer
-in conversation, sketched by him in white paint on the _papier-mâché_
-during the giving of the order, in the course of half an hour; and the
-finished picture was completed, varnished, and delivered in a week. The
-price paid for this original work in oils in 1880 was seven shillings
-and sixpence. The costumes are quite accurate in the minutest detail;
-the many and staring colours employed are such as are in actual use;
-while the general _mise en scène_ is very correct.
-
-Many similar oil-paintings were executed for the writer by Persian
-artists, giving graphic renderings of the manners and customs of this
-little-known country. They were always equally spirited, and minutely
-correct as to costume and detail, at the same low price; a small
-present for an extraordinarily successful performance gladdening the
-heart of the artist beyond his expectations.
-
-As to original work by Persian artists in water-colour, remuneration
-is the same—so much per diem. A series of water-colours giving minute
-details of Persian life were wished; and a clever artist was found as
-anxious to proceed as the writer was eager to obtain the sketches. The
-commission was given, and the subjects desired carefully indicated
-to the artist, who, by a rapid outline sketch in pencil, showed his
-intelligence and grasp of the subject. The writer, delighted at the
-thought of securing a correct and permanent record of the manners and
-customs of a little-known people, congratulated himself. But, alas!
-he counted his chickens before hatching; for the artist, on coming
-with his next water-colour, demanded, and received, a double wage.
-A similar result followed the finishing of each drawing; and though
-the first only cost three shillings, and the second six, the writer
-was reluctantly compelled to stop his commissions, after paying four
-times the price of the first for his third water-colour, on the artist
-demanding twenty-four shillings for a fourth—not that the work was
-more, but as he found himself appreciated, the wily painter kept
-to arithmetical progression as his scale of charge; a very simple
-principle, which all artists must devoutly wish they could insist on.
-
-For a reduced copy of a rather celebrated painting, of which the
-figures were life-size, of what might be called, comparatively
-speaking, a Persian old master—for this reduction, in oils, fourteen
-inches by eight, and fairly well done, the charge was a sovereign.
-The piece was painted on a panel. The subject is a royal banqueting
-scene in Ispahan—the date a century and a half ago. The dresses are
-those of the time—the ancient court costume of Persia. The king in a
-brocaded robe is represented seated on a carpet at the head of a room,
-his drinking-cup in his hand; while his courtiers are squatted in two
-rows at the sides of the room, and are also carousing. Minstrels and
-singers occupy the foreground of the picture; and a row of handsome
-dancing-girls form the central group. All the figures are portraits of
-historical personages; and in the copy, the likenesses are faithfully
-retained.
-
-The palaces of Ispahan are decorated with large oil-paintings by the
-most eminent Persian artists of their day. All are life-size, and none
-are devoid of merit. Some are very clever, particularly the likenesses
-of Futteh Ali Shah and his sons, several of whom were strikingly
-like their father. As Futteh Ali Shah had an acknowledged family of
-seventy-two, this latter fact is curious. These paintings are without
-frames, spaces having been made in the walls to receive them. The
-Virgin Mary is frequently represented in these mural paintings; also
-a Mr Strachey, a young diplomate who accompanied the English mission
-to Persia in the reign of our Queen Elizabeth, is still admired as
-a type of adolescent beauty. He is represented with auburn hair in
-the correct costume of the period; and copies of his portrait are
-still often painted on the pen-cases of amateurs. These pen-cases, or
-_kalamdans_, are the principal occupation of the miniature-painter.
-As one-fourth of the male population of Persia can write, and as each
-man has one or more pen-cases, the artist finds a constant market for
-his wares in their adornment. The pen-case is a box of _papier-mâché_
-eight inches long, an inch and a half broad, and the same deep. Some of
-them, painted by artists of renown, are of great value, forty pounds
-being a common price to pay for such a work of art by a rich amateur.
-Several fine specimens may be seen in the Persian Collection at the
-South Kensington Museum. It is possible to spend a year’s hard work
-on the miniatures painted on a pen-case. These are very minute and
-beautiful. The writer possesses a pen-case painted during the lifetime
-of Futteh Ali Shah, a king of Persia who reigned long and well. All the
-faces—none more than a quarter of an inch in diameter—are likenesses;
-and the long black beard of the king reaching to his waist, is not
-exaggerated, for such beards are common in Persia.
-
-Bookbinding in Persia is an art, and not a trade; and here the flower
-and bird painter finds his employment. Bright bindings of boards with a
-leather back are decorated by the artist, principally with presentments
-of birds and flowers, both being a strange mixture of nature and
-imagination; for if a Persian artist in this branch thinks that he can
-improve on nature in the matter of colour, he attempts it. The most
-startling productions are the result; his nightingales being birds of
-gorgeous plumage, and the colours of some of his flowers saying much
-for his imagination. This method of ‘painting the lily’ is common in
-Persia; for the narcissus—bouquets of which form the constant ornament
-in spring of even the poorest homes—is usually ‘improved’ by rings of
-coloured paper, silk, or velvet being introduced over the inner ring
-of petals. Startling floral novelties are the result; and the European
-seeing them for the first time, is invariably deceived, and cheated
-into admiration of what turns out afterwards to be a transparent trick.
-Of course, this system of binding each book in an original cover of its
-own, among a nation so literary as the Persians, gives a continuous and
-healthy impetus to the art of the flower-painter.
-
-Enamelling in Persia is a dying art. The best enamels are done on
-gold, and often surrounded by a ring or frame of transparent enamel,
-grass-green in colour. This green enamel, or rather transparent paste,
-is supposed to be peculiar to the Persian artist. At times, the gold is
-hammered into depressions, which are filled with designs in enamel on a
-white paste, the spaces between the depressions being burnished gold.
-Large _plaques_ are frequently enamelled on gold for the rich; and
-often the golden water-pipes are decorated with enamels, either alone,
-or in combination with incrusted gems.
-
-Yet another field remains to the Persian artist—that of engraving
-on gold, silver, brass, copper, and iron. Here the work is usually
-artistically good, and always original, no two pieces being alike.
-
-Something must be said about the artist and his studio. Abject poverty
-is the almost universal lot of the Persian artist. He is, however, an
-educated man, and generally well read. His marvellous memory helps him
-to retain the traditional attributes of certain well-known figures:
-the black-bearded Rūstum (the Persian Hercules), and his opponent
-the Deev Suffid or White Demon; Leila and Mujnūn, the latter of whom
-retired to the wilderness for love of the beautiful Leila; and in a
-painfully attenuated state, all his ribs being very apparent, is always
-represented as conversing with the wild beasts, who sit around him
-in various attitudes of respectful attention. Dr Tanner could never
-hope to reach the stage of interesting emaciation to which the Persian
-artists represent Mujnūn to have attained. Another popular subject is
-that of Solomon in all his glory.
-
-These legends are portrayed with varying art but unquestionable
-spirit, and often much humour; while the poetical legends of the
-mythical history of ancient Persia, full of strange imagery, find apt
-illustrators in the Persian artist. The palmy days of book-illustration
-have departed; the cheap reprints of Bombay have taken away the
-_raison d’être_ of the caligraphist and book-illustrators, and the few
-really great artists who remain are employed by the present Shah in
-illustrating his great copy of the _Arabian Nights_ by miniatures which
-emulate the beauty and detail of the best specimens of ancient monkish
-art, or in making bad copies of European lithographs to ‘adorn’ the
-walls of the royal palaces.
-
-As for the painter’s studio, it is usually a bare but light apartment,
-open to the winds, in a corner of which, on a scrap of matting, the
-artist kneels, sitting on his heels. (It tires an oriental to sit
-in a chair.) A tiny table a foot high holds all his materials; his
-paints are mixed on a tile; and his palette is usually a bit of
-broken crockery. His brushes he makes himself. Water-pipe in mouth—a
-luxury that even an artist can afford, in a country where tobacco
-is fourpence a pound—his work held on his knee in his left hand,
-without a mahl-stick or the assistance of a colour-man, the artist
-squats contentedly at his work. He is ambitious, proud of his powers,
-and loves his art for art’s sake. Generally, he does two classes of
-work—the one the traditional copies of the popular scenes before
-described, or the painting on pen-cases—by this he lives; the other
-purely ideal, in which he deals with art from a higher point of view,
-and practises the particular branch which he affects.
-
-As a painter of likenesses, the Persian seldom succeeds in flattering.
-The likeness is assuredly obtained; but the sitter is usually ‘guyed,’
-and a caricature is generally the result. This is not the case in the
-portraits of females, and in the ideal heads of women and children. The
-large dreamy eye and long lashes, the full red lips, and naturally high
-colour, the jetty or dark auburn locks (a colour caused by the use of
-henna, a dye) of the Persian women in their natural luxuriance, lend
-themselves to the successful production of the peculiarly felicitous
-representation of female beauty in which the Persian artist delights.
-Accuracy in costume is highly prized, and the minutiæ of dress are
-indicated with much aptness, the varied pattern of a shawl or scarf
-being rendered with almost Chinese detail. Beauty of the brunette
-type is the special choice of the artist and amateur, and ‘salt’—as a
-high-coloured complexion is termed—is much admired.
-
-Like the ancient Byzantine artist, the Persian makes a free use of gold
-and silver in his work. When wishing to represent the precious metals,
-he first gilds or silvers the desired portion of the canvas or panel,
-and then with a fine brush puts in shadows, &c. In this way a strangely
-magnificent effect is produced. The presentments of mailed warriors
-are done in this way; and the jewelled chairs, thrones, and goblets
-in which the oriental mind delights. Gilt backgrounds, too, are not
-uncommon, and their effect is far from displeasing.
-
-The painting of portraits of Mohammed, Ali, Houssein, and Hassan—the
-last three, relatives of the Prophet, and the principal martyred
-saints in the Persian calendar, is almost a trade in itself, though
-the representation of the human form is contrary to the Mohammedan
-religion, and the saints are generally represented as veiled and
-faceless figures. Yet in these particular cases, custom has over-ridden
-religious law, and the _Schamayūl_ (or portrait of Ali) is common.
-He is represented as a portly personage of swarthy hue; his dark and
-scanty beard, which is typical of the family of Mohammed, crisply
-curled; his hand is grasping his sword; and he is usually depicted as
-wearing a green robe and turban (the holy colour of the _Seyyuds_ or
-descendants of the Prophet). A nimbus surrounds his head; and he is
-seated on an antelope’s skin, for the Persians say that skins were used
-in Arabia before the luxury of carpets was known there.
-
-Humble as is the lot of the Persian artist, he expects to be treated by
-the educated with consideration, and would be terribly hurt at any want
-of civility. One well-known man, Agha Abdullah of Shiraz, generally
-insisted on regaling the writer with coffee, which he prepared himself
-when his studio was visited. To have declined this would have been
-to give mortal offence. On one of these visits, his little brasier
-of charcoal was nearly extinguished, and the host had recourse to a
-curious kind of fire-igniter, reviver, or rather steam-blast, that
-as yet is probably undescribed in books. It was of hammered copper,
-and had a date on it that made it three hundred years old. It was
-fairly well modelled; and this curious domestic implement was in the
-similitude of a small duck preening its breast; consequently, the open
-beak, having a spout similar to that of a tea-kettle, was directed
-downwards. The Persian poured an ounce or so of water into the copper
-bird, and placed it on the expiring embers. Certainly the result
-was surprising. In a few minutes the small quantity of water boiled
-fiercely; a jet of steam was emitted from the open bill, and very
-shortly the charcoal was burning brightly. The water having all boiled
-away, the Persian triumphantly removed this scientific bellows with his
-tongs, and prepared coffee.
-
-No mention has been made of the curious bazaar pictures, sold for a few
-pence. These cost little, but are very clever, and give free scope for
-originality, which is the great characteristic of the Persian artist.
-They consist of studies of town-life, ideal pictures of dancing-girls,
-and such-like. All are bold, ingenious, and original. But bazaar
-pictures would take a chapter to themselves, and occupy more space than
-can be spared.
-
-
-
-
-COLONEL REDGRAVE’S LEGACY.
-
-
-IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CONCLUSION.
-
-We must ask the reader to accompany us to Bury Street, St James’s,
-and learn how Miss Jones has borne the calamity of her lodger’s
-good fortune; for calamity Martha considered the munificent legacy
-of Colonel Redgrave, so far as her own matrimonial prospects were
-concerned. If these prospects were dubious prior to his death, they
-were now nearly hopeless. This was a fact the housekeeper was unable
-to conceal from herself, in spite of her efforts to take a sanguine
-view of affairs. The letters of Septimus were more business-like than
-ever; and Miss Jones agreed with her mother that if Septimus chose to
-contract a matrimonial alliance, they would be powerless to interpose
-the smallest obstacle to prevent it. About this time, Mr Bradbury, the
-second occupant of apartments in Bury Street, returned from Monaco,
-where he had been spending his annual vacation. Mr Bradbury was a
-lawyer and a bachelor, and about sixty-five years of age. He was in
-no respect a favourite with Miss Jones, who in the course of a long
-residence had learned some of the faults and failings of her legal
-tenant. The most important of these was a love of gambling. At times,
-the mental depression of the lawyer was so excessive, that Martha
-entertained fears that he would be guilty of some rash act which
-would render notorious the hitherto quiet house in Bury Street. But a
-sudden turn in Fortune’s wheel would disperse the mental clouds of the
-gambler, and he would resume his usual cheerful manner and speech. On
-the evening of his arrival from Monaco, he dined in a more than usual
-_recherché_ manner, and when the dessert had been placed on the table,
-he requested the presence of Miss Jones for a brief space, to discuss
-a very important matter of business. Mr Bradbury was a thin, spare
-man, with keen restless gray eyes, which took in the surroundings at a
-glance. He sat in his luxurious armchair, with his feet crossed on a
-footstool, and as he held up a glass of ’47 port to the light of the
-chandelier, he looked the picture of comfort and happy enjoyment. Yet
-was the mind of that man racked with consuming cares, for he had had a
-bad time of it at Monaco, and he had not only lost his own cash, but
-a considerable sum belonging to other people, in the shape of trust
-moneys, &c. He requested Miss Jones to be seated, also to take a glass
-of wine. Miss Jones complied with the first request, but declined the
-second.
-
-‘I have only learned the death of Colonel Redgrave at Shanklin since
-my return to London. I must have accidentally omitted at Monaco
-reading that portion of the _Times_ which contained the announcement.
-On a memorable occasion I transacted some legal business for him. My
-fellow-lodger Mr Redgrave appears to have tumbled into a good thing in
-the shape of a very handsome legacy.’ Mr Bradbury paused a moment; but
-Miss Jones made no response, but sat with her large black eyes fixed on
-the twitching features of the lawyer, who was now evidently under the
-influence of strong excitement. ‘I have not lived all these years under
-your comfortable roof, Miss Jones, without becoming acquainted with the
-special relations which exist between Mr Redgrave and yourself.’ Again
-the lawyer paused, in expectation of Miss Jones making some reply. ‘I
-mean that I have ever considered Miss Jones as the certain and future
-Mrs Redgrave.’
-
-‘You can hardly expect me, Mr Bradbury, to answer such a statement,’
-replied Martha in a somewhat severe tone.
-
-‘I cannot. But it is necessary that I should assume such to be the
-case. You do not deny it? Now, I can put twenty thousand pounds into
-the scale which contains your right to become Mrs Redgrave, and I can
-deprive him of that amount, if he declines to make you his wife. I do
-not wish to speak against your future husband, but he is selfish and
-avaricious, and I think he will succumb to the temptation I have it in
-my power to lay before him. A short time before I started for Monaco,
-Colonel Redgrave called on me at my office. I had known him many years
-ago in India. He desired me to draw up a will, in which he revoked the
-bequest to Mr Septimus Redgrave _in toto_. He had not been prepossessed
-with his cousin latterly; in fact, he had conceived the most intense
-dislike for him. He preferred that I should execute the will, instead
-of employing Mr Lockwood, the son of the late family lawyer, for what
-reason I know not.’ Mr Bradbury rose from his chair, and unlocking a
-small cabinet, produced a folded parchment suitably indorsed. ‘Here is
-the veritable last will and testament of the late COLONEL REDGRAVE,
-in which the date and purport of the previous will are specially
-mentioned, duly signed and properly witnessed, I need scarcely say.
-If I were to put it in yonder fire, nothing could disturb Mr Redgrave
-in the enjoyment of his legacy. Now, I am going to place implicit
-confidence in your honour, Miss Jones. I shall require ten per cent.,
-or two thousand pounds. You shall require the hand in marriage of Mr
-Septimus Redgrave. Should he refuse these terms, this will shall be
-enforced, and Mr Redgrave loses twenty thousand pounds, and a lady who,
-I am convinced, would make him an excellent wife. You will naturally
-say: “Why should Mr Bradbury run the risk of penal servitude for such a
-sum as two thousand pounds?” In reply, I deny that I run any risk, and
-that sum of money will stave off heavier consequences than I care to
-name.’
-
-It would be difficult to describe the whirlwind of mental emotion
-which agitated the bosom of Martha as she listened to the harangue
-of the lawyer. On the one hand she saw the possibility of realising
-her life-long ambition, of becoming the wife of a man with an income
-of nearly two thousand a year, not to speak of the social position
-attending it. Martha remembered reading a novel by one of the most
-popular authors of our time, wherein the heroine committed a far more
-heinous offence with respect to a will than its mere suppression,
-and yet the delinquent preserved not only the love and esteem of all
-the characters of the tale, but even the good opinion of the readers
-thereof.
-
-The lawyer watched the flushed cheek of his listener with feelings of
-hope, and plied poor Martha with such specious arguments as to the
-nullity of risk and the immense gain to be derived from the prosecution
-of his plan, that she at length consented to proceed to Shanklin by an
-early train on the following morning and seek a private interview with
-Mr Redgrave. As she rose to depart, Martha inquired of the lawyer the
-name of the fortunate recipient of the legacy. ‘Miss Blanche Fraser,’
-was the reply.
-
- * * * * *
-
-Mr Redgrave was considerably astonished on the morning following the
-interview we have described when Miss Jones was announced. He pulled
-out his watch, and finding it wanted an hour to luncheon, decided to
-see her at once. He found Martha in the library. She was pale and
-excited. ‘Well, Martha, I hope nothing is the matter? All well in Bury
-Street?’
-
-‘Yes, Mr Redgrave. I wish to speak to you in private.’
-
-‘Well, speak away, Martha,’ retorted Septimus, somewhat testily.
-
-‘Pardon me; walls have ears. Can we not go into the grounds?’
-
-Septimus paused a moment, surprised at the request, but presently
-assented. He led the way through the hall, and finally stopped in a
-small orchard adjoining the garden. ‘Now, Martha, you can speak with as
-much security as if you were in the middle of Salisbury Plain.’
-
-‘I am the bearer of ill news.’
-
-Septimus turned pale as he beheld the unaccustomed expression of the
-features of the speaker.
-
-‘But it is in my power to ward off the blow, or, I should say, in
-_your_ power. I will come to the point at once. The late Colonel
-Redgrave employed Mr Bradbury to make a subsequent will, in which he
-annulled the will by which you inherit your legacy.’
-
-Septimus felt his knees tremble beneath him, his teeth chattered, and
-he staggered towards a garden-seat which was close at hand.
-
-Martha beheld with satisfaction the effect of the communication upon
-her auditor.
-
-He gasped forth: ‘And who is the legatee?’
-
-‘Miss Blanche Fraser.’
-
-‘Gracious powers! The lady to whom I proposed!’ These words were not
-lost on Martha. They gave her increased determination to proceed with
-her dangerous mission.
-
-‘You can still retain the fortune, if you will perform an act of tardy
-justice.’
-
-‘What do you mean?’ exclaimed Septimus, with a lurking suspicion of the
-nature of the act required.
-
-‘Listen patiently for a few moments. For twenty-five years you have
-been a resident under my mother’s roof; during fifteen years of that
-time you have treated me as something more than a housekeeper; you have
-treated me as a friend. In return, I have been to you as a sister. I
-have watched over your comforts in health, have nursed you in sickness,
-and wasted all my young days in waiting for the moment when you would
-reward my life-long devotion by making me your wife.’
-
-‘My wife!’ retorted Septimus angrily. ‘Ridiculous!’
-
-‘Unless you do so,’ pursued Martha, ‘the second will will be put in
-force.’
-
-‘And how do you propose to set aside that will, if you become my wife?’
-exclaimed Septimus.
-
-‘By simply putting it into the fire,’ replied Martha in a calm decided
-tone.
-
-Now, it was almost instantaneously apparent to Martha that both she
-and Mr Bradbury had displayed a deplorable lack of judgment, when they
-unanimously came to the conclusion that Septimus Redgrave would eagerly
-seize the bait held out to him by the destruction of the second will.
-Selfish and avaricious he might be, but not sufficiently so to induce
-him to stain his conscience with the commission of so great a crime as
-that suggested to him by a man in dire extremity, and a woman who hoped
-to realise her life-long ambition by one grand _coup_.
-
-‘You cannot mean what you say, Miss Jones, at least I hope not,’
-exclaimed Septimus in a severe tone. ‘You have been led into this by
-that man Bradbury, whom I have always considered a great scoundrel.’
-
-‘You refuse my offer then?’ said Martha in a voice pregnant with
-despair.
-
-‘I will not condescend to answer you,’ said Septimus. ‘You had better
-return at once to London. I cannot offer you any hospitality. In the
-first place, my sisters have a strong prejudice against you, which I
-must say is not without warrant; and in the second place, I am engaged
-to be married to the mother of the fortunate legatee. So, if I do
-not become the possessor of the wealth of the late Colonel Redgrave,
-my wife’s daughter will inherit; so the money will still be in the
-family.—Good-morning.’
-
-Septimus bowed, and would have left the unhappy Martha without further
-speech; but the housekeeper caught him by the arm, as she cried in
-hoarse accents: ‘At least you will promise never to mention to any
-human being the scheme I proposed for your benefit?’
-
-‘I promise,’ curtly replied Septimus, and left the orchard without
-more ado, the wretched Martha gazing after his retreating figure with
-features on which despair in its acutest phase was deeply written.
-
-We have but little to add respecting the personages who have figured
-in our tale. Mrs Fraser was, as the reader will readily imagine,
-inexpressibly mortified at so suddenly losing the legacy bequeathed by
-the late Colonel Redgrave. But if anything could soften the blow, it
-was the fact that the fortunate recipient was her only child, her dear
-Blanche, who was shortly afterwards married to Mr Frank Lockwood. On
-the same day Mrs Fraser changed her name for that of Redgrave.
-
-Septimus never entered the house in Bury Street again, employing an
-agent for the removal of his household gods and the numerous curios he
-had accumulated during his long residence as the tenant of Mrs Jones.
-
-Immediately after the failure of his nefarious plot, Mr Bradbury posted
-the second will to Miss Blanche Fraser, and immediately thereafter
-disappeared from Bury Street and Lincoln’s Inn. Several unfortunate
-individuals suffered severely in consequence, as it was found that
-large sums intrusted to him by confiding clients had disappeared,
-‘leaving not a wrack behind.’
-
-Mr Lockwood is now one of the most rising solicitors in London; his
-undeniable abilities, by a singular coincidence, being universally
-recognised immediately after the inheritance by his wife of Colonel
-Redgrave’s legacy.
-
-
-
-
-WHAT’S IN A NAME?
-
-
-When we are told that ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,’
-the fact appears to be self-evident. Yet there was a time when there
-was something in a name. We have abundant evidence from the history of
-the ancients, and from observations of savage tribes, to show that they
-believed in some inseparable and mysterious connection between a name
-and the object bearing it, which has given rise to a remarkable series
-of superstitions, some of which have left traces even amongst ourselves.
-
-The Jews believed that the name of a child would have a great influence
-in shaping its career; and we have a remarkable instance of this sort
-of superstition in quite a different quarter of the world. Catlin, the
-historian of the Canadian Indians, tells us that when he was among
-the Mohawks, an old chief, by way of paying him a great compliment,
-insisted on conferring upon him his own name, _Cayendorongue_. ‘He had
-been,’ Catlin explains, ‘a noted warrior; and told me that now I had
-a right to assume to myself all the acts of valour he had performed,
-and that now my name would echo from hill to hill over all the Five
-Nations.’
-
-The generosity of the Mohawk chief will doubtless be more appreciated
-when we observe that it is seldom the superstition takes the form of
-giving one’s name away as in his case; on the contrary, most savages
-are very much opposed to mentioning their names. A well-known writer
-points out that the Indians of British Columbia have a strange
-prejudice against telling their own names, and his observation is
-confirmed by travellers all over the world. In many tribes, if the
-indiscreet question is asked them, they will nudge their neighbour
-and get him to answer for them. The mention of a name by the unwary
-has sometimes been followed by unpleasant results. We are told, for
-instance, by Mr Blackhouse, of a native lady of Van Diemen’s Land who
-stoned an English gentleman for having, in his ignorance of Tasmanian
-etiquette, casually mentioned the name of one of her sons. Nothing
-will induce a Hindu woman to mention the name of her husband; in
-alluding to him she uses a variety of descriptive epithets, such as
-‘the master,’ &c., but avoids his proper name with as scrupulous care
-as members of the House of Commons when speaking of each other in the
-course of debate. Traces of this may be seen even in Scotland; one
-may often come across women in rural districts who are in the habit
-of speaking of their husbands by no other name than ‘he.’ To such an
-extent is this superstition carried among some savage tribes, that the
-real names of children are concealed from their birth upwards, and they
-are known by fictitious names until their death.
-
-The fear of witchcraft probably is the explanation of all those
-superstitions. If a name gets known to a sorcerer, he can use it as a
-handle wherewith to work his spells upon the bearer. When the Romans
-laid siege to a town, they set about at once to discover the name of
-its tutelary deity, so that they might coax the god into surrendering
-his charge. In order to prevent their receiving the same treatment at
-the hands of their enemies, they carefully concealed the name of the
-tutelary deity of Rome, and are said to have killed Valerius Soranus
-for divulging it. We have several examples in our nursery tales of the
-concealment of a name being connected with a spell. It is made use of
-by Wagner in the plot of his opera of _Lohengrin_, where the hero,
-yielding to the curiosity of his lady-love, divulges the secret of his
-name, and has in consequence to leave her and return to a state of
-enchantment. In Grimm’s tale of _The Gold Spinner_, again, we have an
-instance of a spell being broken by the discovery of the sorcerer’s
-name.
-
-Reluctance to mention names reaches its height in the case of dangerous
-or mysterious agencies. In Borneo, the natives avoid naming the
-smallpox. In Germany, the hare must not be named, or the rye-crop will
-be destroyed; and to mention the name of this innocent animal at sea,
-is, or was, reckoned by the Aberdeenshire fishermen an act of impiety,
-the punishment of which to be averted only by some mysterious charm.
-The Laplanders never mention the name of the bear, but prefer to speak
-of him as ‘the old man with the fur-coat.’ The motive here appears to
-be a fear that by naming the dreaded object his actual presence will
-be evoked; and this idea is preserved in one of our commonest sayings.
-Even if the object of terror does not actually appear, he will at
-least listen when he hears his name; and if anything unpleasant is
-said of him he is likely to resent it. Hence, in order to avoid even
-the semblance of reproach, his very name is made flattering. This
-phenomenon, generally termed euphemism, is of very common occurrence.
-The Greeks, for example, called the Furies the ‘Well-disposed ones;’
-and the wicked fairy Puck was christened ‘Robin Goodfellow’ by the
-English peasantry. The modern Greeks euphemise the name of vinegar into
-‘the sweet one.’ Were its real name to be mentioned, all the wine in
-the house would turn sour. We have an example of the converse of the
-principle of euphemism at work in the case of mothers among the savage
-tribes of Tonquin giving their children hideous names in order to
-frighten away evil spirits from molesting them.
-
-It is, however, in the case of the most dreaded and most mysterious
-of all our enemies—Death—that the superstition becomes most apparent.
-‘The very name of Death,’ says Montaigne, ‘strikes terror into people,
-and makes them cross themselves.’ Even the unsuperstitious have a
-vague reluctance to mentioning this dreaded name. Rather than say, ‘If
-Mr So-and-so should _die_,’ we say, ‘If anything should happen to Mr
-So-and-so.’ The Romans preferred the expression ‘He has lived’ to ‘He
-is dead.’ ‘M. Thiers _a vécu_’ was the form in which that statesman’s
-death was announced; not ‘M. Thiers _est mort_.’
-
-The same reluctance is noticeable in mentioning the names of persons
-who are dead. A writer on the Shetland Isles tells us that no
-persuasion will induce a widow to mention her dead husband’s name.
-When we do happen to allude to a deceased friend by name, we often add
-some such expression as ‘Rest his soul!’ by way of antidote to our
-rashness; and this expression seems to have been used by the Romans in
-the same way. As might be expected, we find this carried to a great
-extreme among savages. In some tribes, when a man dies who bore the
-name of some common object—‘fire,’ for instance—the name for fire
-must be altered in consequence; and as proper names among savages are
-almost invariably the names of common objects, the rapid change that
-takes place in the language and the inconvenience resulting therefrom
-may be imagined. Civilisation has indeed made enormous progress from
-this cumbersome superstition to our own philosophy, which can ask with
-haughty indifference, ‘What’s in a name?’
-
-
-
-
-THE HAUNTED BRIDGE.
-
-A TALE OF THE HIGHLANDS.
-
-
-There are probably few readers who are not familiar, to a greater or
-lesser extent, with the well-ventilated subject of superstition in the
-Highlands of Scotland. There are few mountain countries throughout
-the world that are not rich in lore and legend relating to the
-supernatural: their very configuration suggests that agencies more
-than ordinary have been employed in shaping out their features. It is
-curious to notice how very largely the demoniac theory enters into the
-calculations of the peasantry. For one Fairy glen or knowe there are a
-dozen Devil’s mills, bridges, caldrons, or punchbowls; in fact, it is
-almost always the beings that are supposed to be baleful and inimical
-to the human race that have had their personality perpetuated in these
-legends. This certainly seems a little incongruous; but as this is not
-a treatise on demonology, we are content to leave it so.
-
-Superstition is part of the being of the mountaineer. Brave even to
-rashness, he will face the natural dangers that beset his life—in the
-torrent, on the peak, or in the forest; he fears no odds when he meets
-his foes. And yet this man, who can tread the dizzy ledge on the face
-of a precipice, who can hurl himself on levelled steel, is more timid
-and frightened than a child, when he conceives that forces other than
-earthly are being brought to bear on him. It is partly to the style
-and manner of his life that he owes this. He is brought more into the
-presence of nature than his neighbour of the plains; he becomes imbued
-with the spirit of his surroundings; the deep dark gloom of the woods,
-the lonesomeness of the mountain solitudes, the voices of the storm and
-of the torrent, and of their reproductions in the echoes, appeal to
-him; and a poetical imagination begotten of such an existence finishes
-the process. Thus the roar of a waterfall in its dark chasm becomes to
-him the howlings of some demon prisoned among the rocks; the sighing
-of the wind through the forest trees is caused by the passage of
-spirits; the mists that furl around the mountain peaks and are wafted
-so silently across crest and corrie are disembodied ghosts; and the
-sounds that break the stillness of the night are the shrieks and yells
-of fiends and their victims.
-
-This brings me to my story. I fancy that most of my readers are
-acquainted more or less with the scenery of the Highlands; but in the
-case of by far the larger number of them, I venture to say that such
-acquaintance extends only to the Highlands in their summer or their
-autumn dress. If so, they only half know them. Brave is the tourist who
-ventures amid the bens and glens when rude King Boreas lords it over
-them; when winter’s wind roars adown the gorges of the hill, staggering
-the stalwart pines, mingling the withered leaves and the snowflakes in
-the desolate woods. When icicles hang from the hoary rocks, and the
-deep drift chokes up the ravines, mantles the slopes of the corries,
-and bends in cornices over the threatening cliffs; when the river roars
-through the plain—brown and swollen—and its parent torrents are leaping
-and raving among the boulders; when the mountain hare and the ptarmigan
-are white as the snow that harbours them; and the deer, driven from the
-hills by stress of weather, roam in herds through the low-lying woods;
-and the mountain fox leaves his cairn and prowls around the farm and
-the sheepfold—_then_, if you would enter into the spirit of loneliness
-and solitude, take your way to the Highlands. Do not imagine, however,
-that such is their condition during the whole of winter; on the
-contrary, I have painted a particularly black picture, and it was in
-very much better weather that, two or three years ago, I went north, in
-December, on a visit to some friends in Inverness-shire. The particular
-part of the county I stayed in does not materially affect my adventure,
-so I shall not disclose it.
-
-My time sped by very pleasantly, although the district did not afford
-many neighbours at short distances; but this was a circumstance
-that always procured me an extra hearty welcome when I ventured far
-enough from home to call upon any people. On one of these expeditions
-I had ridden to a house about eight miles away, and the late hour
-of my arrival brought about an invitation to stay for dinner and
-spend the evening. My friends pushed their hospitality to such an
-extent, that they had almost prevailed upon me to stay the night as
-well, when a good-natured challenge changed my wavering plans into
-a firm determination to be off. Our conversation after dinner had
-not unnaturally turned upon ghost-stories, as the district was an
-out-of-the-way one, and the country-folk were fully persuaded of the
-existence of kelpies and warlocks of various kinds. What now happened
-was that some of the young people fancied they had found the reason
-why I was willing to stay all night, and boldly told me that I was
-frightened to cross a certain bridge on my way home that had the
-reputation of being haunted. I knew the spot well, though I had never
-found out its exact story; and when I had assured the country-people
-that I had no fears of the experiment, they solemnly shook their heads,
-and averred that not for sums untold would they cross the bridge after
-nightfall. On the present occasion, as I had been foremost among the
-sceptics during the story-telling, I felt my reputation at stake; and
-declaring I would on no account remain, I gave orders to have my pony
-brought round. The whole party came to the door to see me start—the
-elders inveighing against my foolishness in setting off at that time
-of night; the young people plying me with horrors, and telling me to
-be sure to come round next morning—if alive—and give an account of my
-adventures. To all I gave a merry reply, and lighting my pipe, swinging
-myself into the saddle, and shouting ‘Good-night,’ I cantered off down
-the avenue.
-
-For a couple of miles the road led me down a deep wooded glen. On
-both sides the mountains towered aloft to a height of more than two
-thousand feet, their lower slopes thickly clad with pine and birch,
-their shoulders and summits white from a recent heavy snowfall. The
-river poured along tumultuously, close beneath the road, swirling past
-frowning cliffs of rock, brawling and battling with heaps of boulders,
-shooting in sheets of glancing foam over cascade and rapid. By daylight
-the scene was sufficiently grand and impressive; illumined as it now
-was by a faint moonlight, it was much more so. The night was calm and
-slightly frosty; but overhead, a strong breeze was blowing, and from
-time to time the moon was obscured by the flying clouds. The play
-of light and shade brought about by this was very beautiful; at one
-moment the shaggy hillsides and deep pools of the river were plunged
-in deepest shadow; in the next a flood of pale glory poured over them,
-painting the rushing stream with silver, shooting shafts of light
-among the tall trees, tracing mosaics on the dark surface of the road.
-Each clump of ferns, each bush and stump, took uncommon shape, and it
-required no great stretch of imagination to convert the boulders and
-reefs of rock out in the stream into waterbulls and kelpies. The rush
-and roar of the river drowned all other sounds; but with the exception
-of the echoing tread of my pony and the occasional bark of a fox from
-the hill, there was nothing else to be heard. On my way down the glen I
-passed a few scattered cottages, but their occupants were long ago in
-bed, although it was not much past ten o’clock.
-
-The wilder part of the glen ended in a fine pass, where the hills
-towered almost straight up from the river, and the pines threw so deep
-a shadow, that for a few yards it was impossible to see the road.
-Just beyond, the mountains retreated to right and left, and through a
-short and level tract of meadow-land, road and stream made their way
-down to the shores of the loch. Ahead of me I could see its broad bosom
-glancing in the moonlight, and the great snow-clad mountains beyond
-it. As the improved condition of the road now made rapid progression
-easier, I gave the pony his head, and he went along in a style that
-promised soon to land me at my destination.
-
-There was only one thing that troubled me—the haunted bridge. Once
-past it, and I should thoroughly enjoy my moonlight ride. I do not
-know whether it was the thought of the ghost-stories with which we
-had beguiled the hours after dinner, and which now kept recurring to
-my mind in spite of all effort to the contrary, or whether it was
-the solemn and impressive scenery I had passed through in the glen,
-that had unstrung me; but the nearer I drew to the bridge the more
-uncomfortable I felt regarding it. It was not exactly fear, but a vague
-presentiment of evil—the Highland blood asserting itself. I could not
-get rid of the sensation. I tried to hum and to whistle, but the forced
-merriment soon died a natural death. I was now on the loneliest part of
-the road. From the bottom of the glen as far as the bridge—about three
-miles—there was not a single cottage; and more than a mile on the other
-side of it lay a scattered hamlet. The moon, too, which had hitherto
-befriended me, now threatened to withdraw its light; and where clumps
-of trees overhung the road the darkness was deep. The pony carried me
-along bravely—he knew he was going home; and in a short time a turn in
-the road showed me, some distance ahead, a ribbon of white high upon
-the dark hillside. It was the stream that ran beneath the fatal bridge.
-
-Better get out of this as soon as possible, I thought; and with voice
-and stick I encouraged the pony to increased speed. On we went! The
-roar of the haunted stream was loud and near now; the gloom increased
-as we plunged deeper into the wood that filled its basin; in another
-minute the bridge would be far behind, when, without the least warning,
-the pony shied to one side and then stood stock still, quivering all
-over. The shock all but sent me flying over its head; but by an effort
-I kept my seat. I had not far to look for the cause of the beast’s
-fright. Not a dozen yards away were the dimly seen parapets of the
-bridge; and on one of them crouched an object that froze me with
-terror. There are some moments in which the events of a lifetime pass
-in review; there are some glances in which an infinity of detail can
-be taken in quicker than eye can close. This was one of them. I do not
-suppose that my eye rested on the object of my terror for more than a
-second; but in that brief space I saw what seemed like the upper part
-of a distorted human body, hunchbacked and without legs, with a face
-that glowed with the red light of fire! I can laugh now, when I think
-of my fright; but at the moment, I remember getting the pony into
-motion somehow with stick, bridle, and voice, and speeding across the
-bridge like a thunderbolt, crouching down, Tam o’ Shanter-like, and
-momentarily expecting to feel the grip of a clammy hand on my neck!
-Hard, hard we galloped through the hamlet I have mentioned; nor did I
-slacken the pace until the lights of my abode had gleamed through the
-plantation, and we were safe and sound in the stable-yard.
-
- * * * * *
-
-To make a really good ghost-story, my narrative should go no further;
-but the sequel has still to be told. I invented an excuse to appease
-the curiosity of my friends, who naturally were anxious to know what
-had sent us home in such a fashion—the pony in a lather, and myself
-with a scared, unintelligible expression. I did not want to tell the
-real story until I had made some effort to unravel it. With this end in
-view, I started on foot soon after breakfast for the house I had dined
-at, intending to make a thorough examination of the bridge and the
-course of the stream on my way, and to question some of the cottagers
-in the hamlet. I was saved the trouble, however. I had not gone much
-more than a mile, when I perceived coming along the road towards me a
-sturdy pedlar, with a fur cap on his head, and a pack of very large
-dimensions fastened on his broad shoulders. Such fellows are very
-commonly met with in the outlying districts of the Highlands, where
-they do a roaring trade in ribbons, sham jewellery, and smallwares,
-besides carrying a fund of gossip from place to place. In the specimen
-of the class now before me I was not long in recognising the ghost of
-the haunted bridge, and in hailing him I was soon in possession of the
-whole story. ‘Yes; he was the man that was sitting on the brig about
-eleven o’clock; and was I the gentleman that rode past as if all the
-witches in the countryside were at his heels? Faith, it was a proper
-fright I had given him.’
-
-‘But tell me,’ I asked, ‘what on earth were you doing there at such a
-time of night?’
-
-‘Weel, sir, I was very late of gettin’ across the ferry; and it was
-a langer step than I had thocht doon to the village; and I had had a
-guid walk the day already, and was tired-like. The brig was kind o’
-handy for a rest; so I just sat doon on the dike and had a bit smoke
-o’ the pipe. Losh, sir, when ye cam scourin’ past, I thocht it was the
-deil himsel’; but then I just thocht that it was mysel’ sitting in the
-shadow that had frighted your beastie, and it had run awa’ wi’ you
-like. And when I cam the length o’ the village, I just had to creep
-into a bit shed; and wi’ my pack and some straw I soon made a bed.’
-
-So here was the whole story. The deep shadow on the bridge had
-prevented me from seeing the sitter’s legs; the heavy knapsack had
-given him a humpback; the fur cap and the glow of the pipe accounted
-for the fiery countenance. With mutual explanations we parted—he to
-push his sales in the villages beyond; I, to hurry on to the house in
-the glen, whose inmates at first evinced the liveliest interest in the
-over-night episode—an interest, however, which waned to disappointment
-as I proceeded to explain how the ghost was laid. I may mention that
-I omitted the ‘scourin’ past’ portion of the adventure. How they will
-chaff me when they read this!
-
-
-
-
-FAIRYLAND IN MIDSUMMER.
-
-
- Shall I tell you how one day
- Into Fairyland we went?
- Fairy folk were all about,
- Filling us with glad content;
- For we came as worshippers
- Into Nature’s temple grand,
- And the fairies welcome such
- With the freedom of the land.
-
- Through the green-roofed aisles we went,
- Passing with a careful tread,
- For beside our happy feet
- Purple orchis raised its head;
- And behind, the blue-bells hung,
- Fading now like ghosts at morn,
- Here and there a white one bent,
- Like a ‘maiden all forlorn.’
-
- From the bank across our way
- Ragged Robin flaunted red,
- And athwart a narrow trench
- Feathery ferns their shadows spread.
- Fair white campion from the hedge
- Raised its starry petals chaste,
- And the fragile speedwell blue
- Bade us on our journey haste.
-
- Haste? For why? We sought the pool
- Where the water-lilies bloom,
- And we found it ere the night,
- Hidden in a leafy gloom;
- All around like sentinels
- Yellow iris stood on guard,
- Keeping o’er the virgin queens
- Ever faithful watch and ward.
-
- Like pale queens the lilies white
- On their leafy couches lay,
- Where no wanton hand could reach,
- No disloyal foot could stray.
- Lovingly we bade adieu
- To each golden-hearted queen,
- And stepped out to where the heath
- Laughed to heaven in robe of green.
-
- Here we gathered treasure-trove—
- Eyebright, milkwort, cuckoo-shoes—
- Till our baskets, overfull,
- Many a precious bud must lose;
- Till the sunset glory fell
- On the blossoms in our hand,
- And, with lingering glances, we
- Bade farewell to Fairyland.
-
- FLORENCE TYLEE.
-
- * * * * *
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-<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 51, Vol. I, December 20, 1884, by Various</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
-are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
-country where you are located before using this eBook.
-</div>
-
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 51, Vol. I, December 20, 1884</p>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 9, 2021 [eBook #66696]</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
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-
-<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div>
-
-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 51, VOL. I, DECEMBER 20, 1884 ***</div>
-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_801">{801}</span></p>
-
-
-<h1>CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL<br />
-OF<br />
-POPULAR<br />
-LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.</h1>
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2>
-</div>
-
-<p class='center'>
-
-<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. -->
-
-<a href="#CYPRUS_LOCUSTS">CYPRUS LOCUSTS.</a><br />
-<a href="#ONE_WOMANS_HISTORY">ONE WOMAN’S HISTORY.</a><br />
-<a href="#A_FEW_NOTES_ON_PERSIAN_ART">A FEW NOTES ON PERSIAN ART.</a><br />
-<a href="#COLONEL_REDGRAVES_LEGACY">COLONEL REDGRAVE’S LEGACY.</a><br />
-<a href="#WHATS_IN_A_NAME">WHAT’S IN A NAME?</a><br />
-<a href="#THE_HAUNTED_BRIDGE">THE HAUNTED BRIDGE.</a><br />
-<a href="#FAIRYLAND_IN_MIDSUMMER">FAIRYLAND IN MIDSUMMER.</a><br />
-
-<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. -->
-
-</p>
-
-
-<hr class="full" />
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<div class="figcenter w100" id="header" style="max-width: 43.75em;">
- <img class="w100" src="images/header.jpg" alt="Chambers’s Journal of Popular Literature, Science,
-and Art. Fifth Series. Established by William and Robert Chambers, 1832. Conducted by R. Chambers (Secundus)." />
-</div>
-
-
-<hr class="full" />
-<div class="center">
-<div class="header">
-<p class="floatl"><span class="smcap">No. 51.—Vol. I.</span></p>
-<p class="floatr"><span class="smcap">Price</span> 1½<em>d.</em></p>
-<p class="floatc">SATURDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1884.</p>
-</div></div></div>
-
-<hr class="full" />
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<h2 class="nobreak" id="CYPRUS_LOCUSTS">CYPRUS LOCUSTS.</h2>
-</div>
-<p class="ph3">BY A DWELLER IN THE EAST.</p>
-
-
-<p><span class="smcap">Everybody</span> who has read anything about the
-East must be acquainted with the plague of
-locusts. I distinctly remember that when a small
-boy I was more impressed by the accounts of the
-enormous extent of their flocks than with anything
-else my books could tell me. There was
-to me something appalling, and at the same time
-attractive, in the swarms stretching for miles,
-which obscured the sun, and devoured everything
-green wherever they settled. It is difficult, if
-not impossible, for any one brought up in our
-temperate regions to realise such a state of things.
-We hear, to be sure, of damage done to crops at
-home; just now, it is sparrows; not very long
-since it was game; next year it may be something
-else; but in all these cases it is simply damage—perhaps
-one per cent., or five per cent., or ten
-per cent. But with locusts it means not damage,
-but destruction, or, better still, annihilation of
-the crop. Fancy an English farmer turning out
-after breakfast and admiring his six-acre field
-of wheat, deliciously green, about two feet high.
-Fancy him, too, coming home to dinner at noon
-and seeing this same field as bare as his hand.
-This is no exaggeration, but a plain matter-of-fact
-illustration of what may be seen any spring
-where these abominable insects abound. Once
-seen, it can never be forgotten.</p>
-
-<p>I have had my recollection of these creatures
-and their ways revived by a parliamentary paper
-entitled, ‘Report of the Locust Campaign of 1884,
-by Mr S. Brown, Government Engineer, Cyprus.’
-It gives the results of the measures employed to
-stay the plague to which the island has for ages
-been subject; and so far it is satisfactory enough.
-The locusts have been put down, and for most
-people that is the chief point. I notice that the
-<i>Times</i> has devoted about half a column to the
-paper, but has contented itself with simply copying
-the salient points, the writer evidently
-knowing nothing of the subject. The paper
-itself presupposes a knowledge of a certain nature,
-which no one except those who are acquainted
-with the district can be expected to possess. I
-venture, therefore, to supply the information
-necessary to a thorough understanding of the
-subject.</p>
-
-<p>Speaking as a dweller in the East, I may say
-that we have had the locusts with us always. In
-the old old days, they were sent by the gods; in
-less remote times, they were a dispensation of
-Providence. They came and went, leaving lamentable
-traces of their progress. But it was in
-the nature of things that it should be so, and
-nobody ever thought of trying if something could
-not be done to stop their ravages. Under
-Turkish rule, of course this feeling was intensified
-by the fatalism peculiar to their faith. The
-locusts came of their own accord, and went off
-in the same way; it was <i>kismet</i>, and there was
-nothing to be done. But even Mohammedans
-in time cannot escape altogether the influence of
-Western ideas, and some thirty years ago it
-occurred to Osman Pasha, then governor of Cyprus,
-to try and make head against the scourge which
-devastated the island. He was earnest in the
-cause, but unfortunately died before measures
-could possibly have had any effect. His successors,
-as a rule, talked a great deal, but, after the manner
-of their race, did nothing. A tax was imposed
-on the peasants, which was to be devoted to the
-purchase and destruction of locusts’ eggs. This
-was all very well; but as the officials helped
-themselves to from fifty to ninety per cent. of the
-money collected, very little impression was made
-on the swarms. And then, again, as three parts
-sand and one part eggs did duty as eggs, it is
-not to be wondered at that the insects were as
-plentiful as ever.</p>
-
-<p>So things went on till about fifteen years
-ago, when Said Pasha became governor. He
-kept on the system of buying eggs, but with
-this important difference, that when he paid for
-eggs he saw that he got them. He put some
-Europeans on the Commission of superintendence,
-had the eggs stored, and authorised their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_802">{802}</span>
-destruction only after his personal inspection.
-The proceedings were open to the light of day,
-and everything was done to prevent imposition.
-The result was admirable; in three years, locusts’
-eggs were as valuable as those of the silkworm;
-and in 1870, it was officially reported that the
-insect had ceased to exist in Cyprus. This, however,
-proved to be an exaggeration. No doubt,
-a great impression had been made; swarms were
-no longer to be met with by the ordinary traveller;
-but it is plain that a good many did
-remain in out-of-the-way and difficult districts.</p>
-
-<p>In 1872 it was reported that locusts were
-reappearing. This was pronounced to be a
-calumny, and the observers were referred to
-the official Report, showing that the locust
-had ceased to exist in Cyprus—which, of course,
-was conclusive! In 1875, however, denial was
-no longer possible; no one with eyes in his head
-could doubt the existence of countless myriads
-of plundering insects. Said Pasha by this time
-had left the island, and his successor was of a
-different character, and did nothing to stop their
-increase, which accordingly went on unchecked
-till the British occupation in 1878. As may be
-imagined, the question very soon engaged the
-attention of the authorities, and a determined
-set was made against the creatures. In the
-autumn of 1879, thirty-seven and a half tons
-of eggs were collected and destroyed, and in the
-spring of that year an enormous number of insects
-were trapped. In 1880 larger swarms than ever
-appeared, a great many of which were trapped,
-and two hundred and thirty-six tons of their
-eggs collected. In 1881 the locusts came in still
-greater numbers, and in the autumn and winter,
-thirteen hundred and thirty tons of eggs were
-destroyed. It was evident that what had been
-done was a trifle; exceptional measures were
-declared to be necessary, and preparations were
-accordingly made on a very large scale for the
-campaign of 1882. It was shown that egg-collecting
-alone was not to be depended upon.
-One may think that this affords the easiest means
-of destruction, and so it does, if you can be sure
-of getting at all the eggs. But the breeding-grounds
-are situated in remote and rugged districts,
-to patrol which properly means a very
-large supply of labour, and even then it becomes
-a mere question of eyesight, which often fails.
-Up to a certain stage in its existence the insect
-creeps but cannot fly, and it is then that it must
-be taken. Trapping the non-flying insects is therefore
-the feature which forms the salient matter of
-Mr Brown’s Report, but which will not be understood
-by the public without explanation.</p>
-
-<p>The Report opens with a statement of the
-material employed. This consisted of two thousand
-canvas screens, each fifty yards long; one
-hundred thousand five hundred square yards of
-canvas for screens; twelve thousand six hundred
-and eleven square yards oilcloth; twenty tons zinc
-for traps; and seventy-six thousand one hundred
-and eighty-three stakes for the screens, besides
-cordage and other minor articles. As the reports
-from the breeding districts came in, it was thought
-this supply would prove insufficient, and Mr
-Brown therefore caused one thousand additional
-screens to be made up, and three thousand seven
-hundred and eighty traps of a new type to be
-cut out of the zinc received from England. The
-total apparatus, therefore, when operations began,
-amounted to eleven thousand and eighty-three
-screens, each fifty yards long; and thirteen thousand
-and eight traps; with the necessary complement
-of stakes, tools, and tents for labourers.
-To give an idea of the total length of the screens,
-it may be mentioned, that if stretched continuously
-they would form a line three hundred and
-fifteen miles long, almost enough to encircle the
-whole island. In order to work all this material,
-labour was necessary, and accordingly contracts
-were made to a maximum of thirteen hundred
-and ninety-eight labourers.</p>
-
-<p>This is all very interesting; but what is the
-meaning of it? What are screens? What is
-canvas wanted for? What do they do with oilcloth?
-And what sort of traps do they make
-out of zinc? This is what Mr Brown does not
-tell us, and this is exactly the information which
-I propose to supply. The first step in the process
-is to begin with a little natural history.</p>
-
-<p>The female locust is provided with a sort of
-sword-like appendage, with which she makes a
-hole in the ground, in which she deposits her
-eggs. Over these she exudes a glutinous matter,
-which hardens by exposure, in time forming a
-case impervious to wet, cold, or even fire, the
-whole resembling a small silk cocoon. The
-number of eggs in each of these is variously
-estimated; some say a hundred, others eighty;
-but Mr Brown by actual experiment finds that
-the average may be taken at thirty-two, and that
-the sexes are produced in about equal proportion.
-It is not difficult, therefore, to calculate the rate
-of increase, allowing fifty per cent. to be lost
-through the operation of natural causes, birds,
-caterpillars, &amp;c. A couple of locusts will thus
-produce sixteen individuals or eight couples the
-first year; next year, the product will be a hundred
-and twenty-eight, or sixty-four couples; the
-third year, eight times that; and so on—a calculation
-which may be carried on to any length
-you like, and which will explain the countless
-myriads which everybody has heard of.</p>
-
-<p>The female having performed her duty in
-reproducing her species, is of no further use, and
-both she and her partner disappear—that is to
-say, they both die. It is a popular belief in
-Cyprus that the male eats the female and dies
-of the consequent indigestion. But a more
-scientific explanation of the fact is, that as by
-the end of July—beyond which locusts are never
-seen—everything green is burnt up by the sun,
-their food fails, and they die of starvation.
-There is no mistake about their death; every
-open pool of water is full of them, and the stench
-is abominable, and one may walk along the coast
-for miles amongst their dead bodies, washed up
-by the sea. The eggs remain in the ground till
-hatched by the warmth of the spring sun, which
-brings them out early in March. If the season
-should be cold or wet, the only effect is to
-delay the hatching; the eggs never appear to get
-addled. At the beginning of April this year the
-swarms were on the march, and operations began,
-and were continued till the 13th of May, when all
-that were left were on the wing. It is by taking
-advantage of the habits of the creature that the
-greatest success in its destruction is achieved.
-The young locusts as soon as they can crawl go
-in search of green food. Impelled by this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_803">{803}</span>
-instinct, they go straight on, turning neither to
-the right nor to the left. They are remarkably
-short of sense; they can do nothing but follow
-their nose, and have not an idea of turning a
-corner. If a locust on the march were to meet
-with a lamp-post, he would never think of going
-round it, but would climb up to the top and
-come down on the other side. It is by taking
-advantage of this steady plodding perseverance
-that the arch-inventor Man makes the creature
-work its own destruction. Some twenty
-years ago, Mr Richard Mattei, an Italian gentleman,
-and large landed proprietor in Cyprus, made
-various experiments, which have resulted in the
-employment of the screens and traps which are
-mentioned in Mr Brown’s Report. The manner
-of operation is as follows.</p>
-
-<p>In early spring, it was reported to headquarters
-that one hundred and thirty-three breeding-grounds
-had been discovered. Each of these was
-therefore screened off by a ring-fence. The screens
-are formed of canvas about two feet high, on the
-top of which are sewn about four inches of oilcloth.
-These are arranged so as to form a zigzag
-with angles of about one hundred and thirty-five
-degrees. At intervals, pits are dug of a regulation
-size—a cubic yard—so as to facilitate computation.
-The locusts on the march come up to
-the screen, climb up the canvas, get on to the
-oilcloth, and straightway slip down. Nothing
-daunted, they try again, again, and again, each
-time edging a little nearer to the angle. Arriving
-here at last, they find a pit, into which they fall
-or jump. Naturally, they climb up again; but
-find at the top a framework of wood, lined on
-the inside with sheet-zinc, on which they cannot
-walk, and consequently they fall back into the
-pit. Imagine thousands of the creatures all
-doing this at the same time, and the result will
-be, of course, that one-half smothers the other
-half, and in its turn gets smothered by a few
-spadefuls of earth, which the labourer, always on
-the watch, takes care to apply at the proper
-moment. The pit is then full, and is counted as
-such in the daily report. Mr Brown gives full
-details. The ‘full’ pits contained a depth of
-eighteen inches of locusts; pits three-quarters,
-one-half, one-quarter, and one-eighth full were
-returned as such, and when reduced to ‘full’ pits,
-the total number amounted to fifteen thousand
-nine hundred and nineteen. The whole number,
-however, of pits in which locusts were trapped
-was twenty-six thousand and sixteen, and the
-total number of pits dug far exceeded this.</p>
-
-<p>Every pains was taken to arrive at a correct
-account of the number of locusts thus destroyed,
-and the number for this year is set down at the
-enormous total of fifty-six thousand one hundred
-and sixteen millions. Last year the number
-was computed approximately at one hundred
-and ninety-five thousand millions. With such a
-destruction, it was believed that this year the
-swarms would be less; and this anticipation was
-fully realised, less than one-third appearing of
-what was visible in 1883. This is extremely
-satisfactory, when we find that the swarms of
-1883 were as numerous as those of 1882, which
-in their turn greatly exceeded those of 1881. In
-fact, up to 1883 the locusts had been gaining
-ground; now they are losing it; and it only needs
-care and watchfulness on our part to thoroughly
-exterminate them, or at anyrate to render them
-practically harmless. For if the locust can only
-find food, it will not travel; they march simply
-in order to get wherewith to support existence;
-and if they can find enough near their birthplace,
-they will stop there. But of course this cannot
-be allowed, when we think of their multiplication
-next year and the years after. No; it is a
-question of war to the ‘pit.’ Efforts must not
-be relaxed; the system of reports from the
-breeding districts will still be continued; and
-the supply of screens and traps must always be
-ready for use.</p>
-
-<p>This year, the large supply of material was
-used in a much more careful and methodical way
-than in any previous year. Some idea of the
-extent of the operations may be gathered from
-the fact that in one district—that of Tchingerli—there
-was a continuous line of screens without
-a break for twenty-seven miles in length, arranged
-in three great loops connected by a common
-centre. Another breeding-ground was surrounded
-by screens sixteen miles long; and there were
-many other similar cases. With screens thus fixed,
-with plenty of pits, and with careful supervision,
-the destruction should be complete. Accidents,
-however, will occur, some of which are preventable,
-whilst others are not. Heavy rains and floods,
-for instance, swept away some of the screens; and
-there were also cloudy and windy days, when
-the locusts will not march, and of course will not
-fill the pits. No doubt, occasion was taken on
-such days to help in the destruction by manual
-labour; every little helps; and it is not difficult
-to slay one’s thousands and tens of thousands
-when the victims are all close together. It is
-not unusual to meet the creatures in a body a
-mile wide and a mile deep. They are about
-an inch and a quarter long, and a quarter of
-an inch wide, and march with an interval of
-about an inch, progressing some half-mile a day.</p>
-
-<p>One would think that the importance of information
-to headquarters would be patent to everybody
-in the island; yet such is the apathy, not
-to say stupidity, of some of the islanders, that
-Mr Brown was surprised and disgusted to hear
-that whilst operations were at the height, locusts
-had been discovered at the extreme east point
-of the island, which had been reported free. Not
-only so, but no locusts had existed within thirty-five
-miles, nor had any been seen flying in that
-direction. Material was at once forwarded, but
-unfortunately too late, as the insects had almost
-arrived at the flying stage, when nothing can
-be done. One might as well try to reduce midges
-by squashing them between the hands. The district
-was found to be only a small one—less than
-half a mile in diameter. It may safely be left
-next year to Mr Brown’s tender care.</p>
-
-<p>What is the result of all this time, trouble,
-and expense? You could traverse the locust
-area and see very few; whereas in May and
-June of previous years you might ride through
-flights some of which would cover an area of
-several square miles. The small number that
-are left are thinly scattered over a comparatively
-small area, and as they find sufficient food in
-the natural grasses, they do not migrate. This
-year, up to August not a single flight has been
-seen, and best of all, nothing has been heard
-of damage to the crops. It is calculated that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_804">{804}</span>
-survivors of this year do not amount to more
-than one per cent. of those of last year. The
-problem, therefore, appears to be solved; all
-that is necessary is a small annual expenditure
-to keep the material and labour in working
-order.</p>
-
-
-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<h2 class="nobreak" id="ONE_WOMANS_HISTORY">ONE WOMAN’S HISTORY.</h2>
-</div>
-
-
-<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3>
-
-<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was but a few minutes past seven o’clock
-when Jules tapped at the door of Madame De
-Vigne’s boudoir. The summons was responded
-to by Nanette. ‘Monsieur De Miravel’s compliments
-to Madame De Vigne, and would she
-grant monsieur the honour of an interview for
-a few minutes?’</p>
-
-<p>The answer came at once: ‘Madame De Vigne
-was ready to receive Monsieur De Miravel.’</p>
-
-<p>Daylight was waning, and although the Venetians
-were drawn half-way up the windows, the
-room was in twilight. To De Miravel it seemed
-almost in darkness as he went in; but in a few
-moments his eyes became more accustomed to
-the semi-obscurity, and he then perceived his
-wife standing in the middle of the floor—a tall,
-black-robed figure, crowned by a face whose
-extreme pallor, seen by that half-light, would
-have seemed like that of a dead woman, but for
-the two large, intensely glowing eyes which
-lighted it up.</p>
-
-<p>After his first momentary hesitation, De Miravel
-advanced a few steps and made one of his elaborate
-bows. Madame De Vigne responded by a grave
-inclination of her head, and motioning her visitor
-to a chair, sat down herself on an ottoman some
-distance away. In the silence, not yet broken
-by either of them, they heard the low, far-away
-muttering of thunder among the hills.</p>
-
-<p>De Miravel was the first to speak. ‘I am
-desolated, madame, to have been under the necessity
-of seeking this interview,’ he said. ‘But I
-have been waiting, waiting, waiting till I have
-grown tired. I am tired of being here alone in
-this great hotel, where I know no one. It is now
-two days since I spoke to you. You know my
-proposition. <i>Eh bien!</i> I choose to wait no longer;
-I am here for your answer.’ He spoke the last
-words with a kind of snarl, which for the moment
-brought his long, white, wolfish-looking teeth
-prominently into view.</p>
-
-<p>‘As you say, I am fully acquainted with your
-proposition,’ answered Mora in cold, quiet, unfaltering
-tones. ‘But you know well how hateful
-to me are the conditions which you wish to
-impose. I think I made that point clear to you
-on Wednesday.’</p>
-
-<p>‘You were in a passion on Wednesday. I
-heeded not what you said.’</p>
-
-<p>‘But I meant every word that I said. In view
-of that fact, and knowing what you know—may
-I ask whether in the interim you have not
-seen some way by which those conditions may
-be modified—some way by which, without injury
-to what you conceive to be your interests, they
-may be made less objectionable to me?’</p>
-
-<p>He shook his head impatiently. ‘You are
-only wasting my time and yours,’ he said. ‘When
-I have said a thing, I mean it. As the conditions
-were on Wednesday, even so they are now—altered
-in nothing. If you cannot comply with
-them, tell me so at once, and at once I will seek
-out Sir William. Ah ha! Mademoiselle Clarice
-had better wait awhile before she orders the robe
-for her wedding!’</p>
-
-<p>She heard him apparently unmoved. There
-was not a flash, not as much as a flicker to be
-seen of the passion which had so possessed her
-on Wednesday. Her quietude surprised him, and
-rendered him vaguely uneasy.</p>
-
-<p>‘Consider, Laroche—before it is too late.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Too late?’ he muttered under his breath.
-‘<i>Peste!</i> What can she mean?’</p>
-
-<p>‘You know how utterly impossible it is that
-I should live with you for one day, or even one
-hour, as your wife,’ continued Mora. ‘You know
-that I would sooner seek a refuge in the dark
-waters of yonder lake. Why, then, strive to
-make a desperate woman more desperate? And
-my sister!—she has never harmed you, she does
-not even know of your existence. Why try to
-wreck the happiness of her life, as you wrecked
-mine? Why try to shatter the fair future that
-lies before her? To do so can in nowise benefit
-you. Consider—think again before you finally
-decide. Have pity on this child, even though
-you have none on me. Ah, Laroche, you never
-had a sister, or you would know something of
-that which I feel!’</p>
-
-<p>‘This is child’s play,’ he exclaimed with a
-sneer. ‘We are wasting time. A strong man
-makes use of others to effect his ends. I make
-use of you and your sister. I have said.’ He
-was convinced by this time that her quietude
-was merely that of despair—the quietude of a
-criminal who submits to the hands of the
-executioner.</p>
-
-<p>‘Listen, Laroche!’ she continued in the same
-icy, impassive tones. ‘Although I am not what
-the world calls rich, I am not without means,
-as you are aware. Give me your promise to
-leave England, and never to seek out or in any
-way annoy either my sister or me, and half of
-all I am possessed of shall be settled upon you.
-It will be an income for life which nothing can
-rob you of.’</p>
-
-<p>An eager, greedy light leaped into his eyes.
-‘What do you call an income, dear madame?’
-he said. ‘How many thousand francs a year
-would you be prepared to settle on your brave
-Hector?’</p>
-
-<p>‘Six thousand francs a year would be about
-half my income.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Six thousand francs! And my wife’s sister
-married to the son of one of the richest <i>milords</i>
-in England! <i>Chut!</i> Do you take your Hector
-for an imbecile?’ He rose, crossed to the pier-glass
-over the chimneypiece, adjusted his scarf
-in front of it, and then went back to his chair.
-‘Do you know what is now the great ambition
-of your Hector’s life?’ he asked, gazing fixedly
-at her out of his half-shut eyes. ‘But no—how
-should you? Listen, then, and I will tell you.
-It is to be introduced to two, three, or more of
-the great London clubs where they occupy themselves
-with what you English call “high play.”
-Sir William or his son shall introduce me—when
-I am of their family. Six thousand francs a
-year! <i>Parbleu!</i> when once I have the <i>entrée</i>
-to two or three of the <i>cercles</i> I speak of, my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_805">{805}</span>
-income will be nearer sixty than six thousand
-francs a year.’</p>
-
-<p>‘If such are your views, if this is the course
-you are determined to pursue, I am afraid that
-any further appeal by me would be utterly thrown
-away.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Utterly thrown away, <i>ma belle</i>, an absolute
-waste of time, as I said before.’</p>
-
-<p>‘I felt convinced from the first that it would
-be so.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Ah! Then why amuse yourself at my expense
-in the way you have?’</p>
-
-<p>‘It was not by way of amusing myself that
-I appealed to you, but for the ease of my conscience
-in the days yet to come.’</p>
-
-<p>He stared at her suspiciously for a moment
-or two, then he said with a shrug: ‘I do not
-comprehend you.’</p>
-
-<p>She rose and pushed back her chair. ‘There
-is nothing more to be said. I need not detain
-you further.’</p>
-
-<p>He too rose, but for once he was evidently
-nonplussed. ‘Nothing more to be said?’ he
-remarked after a pause. ‘It seems to me that
-there is much more to be said. I have not yet
-had your answer to the proposition I laid before
-you on Wednesday last.’</p>
-
-<p>‘I thought you understood. But if you want
-my answer in a few plain words, you shall have
-it.’</p>
-
-<p>In the twilight he could see her clear shining
-eyes gazing steadily and fearlessly into his.
-Craven fears began to flutter round his heart.</p>
-
-<p>‘Hector Laroche, you have lost much time
-and put yourself to much trouble and expense
-in hunting down a woman whose life, years ago,
-you made a burden almost too bitter for her to
-bear—and all to no purpose. You have found
-me; what then? You have made a proposition
-to me so utterly vile as altogether to defeat your
-own ends. From this hour I know you not.
-I will never see or speak to you again. It will
-be at your peril to attempt to molest me. I
-have friends who will see that I suffer no harm
-at your hands. There is the door. Begone!’</p>
-
-<p>‘Ho, ho!’ he cried with an hyena-like snarl.
-‘You bid me begone, do you? <i>Eh bien!</i> I must
-not disobey a lady’s commands. I will go—but
-it shall be in search of Sir William.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Your search need not take you far; Sir
-William Ridsdale is here, under this roof.’</p>
-
-<p>Laroche could not repress a start of surprise.
-He was still staring at Mora like a man at an
-utter loss what to say next, when a tap was
-heard at the door, which was followed a moment
-later by the entrance of Nanette: ‘Sir William
-Ridsdale has sent word to say that he should
-like to see Monsieur De Miravel as soon as that
-gentleman is at liberty to wait upon him.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Monsieur De Miravel is at liberty to wait
-upon Sir William at once,’ said Madame De Vigne
-in clear, staccato tones.—‘Nanette, conduct monsieur
-to Sir William’s apartment.’</p>
-
-<p>Laroche scowled at her for a moment. Then
-he said in a low voice: ‘Do you set me at
-defiance? Is it really that I am to tell Sir
-William everything?’</p>
-
-<p>‘Yes; I set you at defiance. Tell Sir William
-all that you know. <i>Scélerat!</i> do your worst.’</p>
-
-<p>The scowl on his face deepened; his lips
-twitched, but no sound came from them. Madame
-De Vigne’s finger pointed to the open door at
-which Nanette was standing. Laroche turned on
-his heel and walked out of the room with the air
-of a whipped cur.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>By this time it was nearly dark; the evening
-was close and sultry; distant thunder reverberated
-among the hills; there was the menace
-of a storm in the air. The grounds of the hotel
-were deserted, and just at present the house was
-as quiet as though it were some lonely country
-mansion, instead of a huge hostelry overflowing
-with guests. It was the hour consecrated to one
-of the most solemn duties of existence, and, with
-few exceptions, the flock of more or less hungry
-birds of passage were engaged in the pleasing
-process of striving to recuperate exhausted nature
-by means of five courses and a dessert.</p>
-
-<p>Nanette, after conducting Laroche to Sir
-William’s room, was on her way back to light
-the lamp in her mistress’s boudoir, when, as she
-turned a corner of the corridor, she was suddenly
-confronted by Jules, between whom and herself,
-as being of the same nationality, a pleasant little
-flirtation was already in full swing. The meeting
-was so sudden and the corridor so dusky, that
-the girl started, and a low cry broke from her
-lips.</p>
-
-<p>‘Hist! do not make a noise, I beg of you,
-ma’amselle,’ whispered Jules; ‘but tell me, is
-madame in her room and alone?’ His face
-looked very pale in the twilight, and Nanette
-could see that he was strangely moved.</p>
-
-<p>‘Madame is in her room, but she is indisposed,
-and cannot see any one this evening—unless,’
-she added archly, a moment after, ‘the business
-of monsieur with her is of very, very great
-importance.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Ah, believe me, dear ma’amselle, it is of the
-very greatest importance. Do not delay, I beg
-of you! Any moment I may be missed from
-the <i>salle</i> and asked for. Tell madame that the
-affair I want to see her upon is one of life and
-death.’</p>
-
-<p>The girl stared at him for a moment, and then
-went.</p>
-
-<p>He stole noiselessly after her and waited outside
-the door. Presently the door opened, and
-Nanette beckoned to him to enter. He went in,
-and found himself alone with Madame De Vigne.</p>
-
-<p>‘Pardon the question, madame,’ said Jules;
-‘but may I ask whether the gentleman—Monsieur
-De Miravel he calls himself—who left this room
-a few minutes ago is a friend of madame?’</p>
-
-<p>Madame became suddenly interested. ‘I have
-been acquainted with the person you name for a
-great number of years,’ she replied after a
-moment’s hesitation.</p>
-
-<p>‘Madame would not like any harm to happen
-to Monsieur De Miravel?’</p>
-
-<p>‘Harm? No; certainly not. I should not
-like harm to happen to any one. But your question
-is a strange one. Tell me why you ask it.’</p>
-
-<p>‘I ask it, because Monsieur De Miravel is in
-danger of his life.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Ah!’ Her heart gave a great leap; she
-turned suddenly dizzy, and had to support herself
-against the table.</p>
-
-<p>‘I have told this to madame in order that she
-may warn Monsieur De Miravel, should she
-think well to do so. If he wishes to save his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_806">{806}</span>
-life, he must leave here at once—to-night;
-to-morrow may be too late.’</p>
-
-<p>Mora was thoroughly bewildered. What she
-had just been told had the effect of a stunning
-blow upon her; it had come so suddenly that
-for a little while her mind failed to realise the
-full meaning of the words.</p>
-
-<p>‘What you have just told me is so strange and
-terrible,’ she said at last, ‘that you cannot wonder
-if I ask you for further particulars. You assert
-that M. De Miravel’s life is in danger. What is
-it that he has done? What crime has he committed,
-that nothing less than his death can
-expiate?’</p>
-
-<p>Jules slowly drew in his breath with an
-inspiration that sounded like a sigh. What
-he was about to tell must be told in a whisper.
-‘Throughout Europe, as madame may be aware,
-there are certain secret Societies and propaganda,
-which, although known by various designations,
-have nearly all one great end in view.
-Of one such Society Monsieur De Miravel is, and
-has been for the last dozen years, an affiliated
-member. Nearly a year ago, several brothers
-of the Society were arrested, tried, and sentenced
-to long terms of imprisonment. Certain
-features of the trial proved conclusively that the
-arrests were the result of information given by
-a spy. There was a traitor in the camp; but
-who was he? That question has at length been
-answered. It has been proved beyond a doubt
-that the traitor is the man who calls himself
-Monsieur De Miravel. The sentence on all
-traitors is death. De Miravel has been condemned
-to die.’</p>
-
-<p>‘This is horrible,’ murmured Mora.</p>
-
-<p>‘It is simple justice, madame.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Has Monsieur De Miravel any knowledge or
-suspicion of the terrible fate to which he has
-been condemned?’</p>
-
-<p>‘None. How should he have, madame?’</p>
-
-<p>Mora remained lost in thought for a few
-moments; then she said: ‘It seems strange that
-you, in the position you occupy, should know
-all that you have told me, and yet Monsieur
-De Miravel himself should know nothing.’</p>
-
-<p>Jules lifted his shoulders almost imperceptibly.
-‘It may seem strange to madame; but it is not
-so in reality. I, Jules Decroze, the poor <i>garçon</i>,
-am a humble brother of that Society which has
-condemned the traitor De Miravel to die. I,
-too, am affiliated to the sacred cause.’</p>
-
-<p>‘You! Oh!’ Involuntarily she moved a step
-or two farther away.</p>
-
-<p>Jules spread out his hands with a little gesture
-of deprecation.</p>
-
-<p>‘I hope you don’t run any risk yourself in
-telling me what you have told me this evening?’
-said Mora after a few seconds of silence.</p>
-
-<p>‘If it were known that I had broken my
-oath, as I have broken it but now, I should be
-sentenced to the same fate as De Miravel. But
-that matters not. I have long owed madame a
-debt of gratitude; to-night I have endeavoured to
-pay it.’</p>
-
-<p>‘You have more, far more than paid it. You
-may have broken your oath, as you say, but you
-have done all that lay in your power to save a
-fellow-creature’s life.’</p>
-
-<p>‘For your sake, madame—not for his, the
-traitor!’ muttered Jules.</p>
-
-<p>If Mora heard, she took no notice. ‘You
-must not remain here another moment,’ she said.
-‘You have run too much risk already. Perhaps
-I may be able to have a few words with you in
-private to-morrow. You say that Monsieur De
-Miravel must go away at once—to-night?’</p>
-
-<p>‘At once. If he lingers here over to-morrow’—— He
-ended with one of his expressive
-shrugs.</p>
-
-<p>Mora shuddered. ‘Suppose he refuses to
-believe what I tell him, and puts it down as
-an invention for the purpose of frightening him
-away?’</p>
-
-<p>‘If madame will say these words to him, “<i>The
-right hand of the Czar is frozen</i>,” Monsieur
-De Miravel will know that she speaks the
-truth.’</p>
-
-<p>A moment later the door opened and closed
-noiselessly, and Mora was alone.</p>
-
-
-<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3>
-
-<p>When Hector Laroche was ushered into Sir
-William Ridsdale’s room, his eyes blinked involuntarily.
-The change from the dusky twilight
-outside to the brilliantly lighted apartment in
-which he now found himself fairly dazzled him
-for the first few seconds.</p>
-
-<p>There were but two people in the room. At
-a large square table, covered with papers and
-documents written and printed, sat the baronet.
-At a smaller table, a little distance away, and
-busily writing, sat Colonel Woodruffe—‘the man
-of the portrait,’ as Laroche muttered to himself
-the moment his eyes lighted on him. Was it
-possible that this other man, this white-haired
-gentleman, whose gaze was bent so keenly on
-him from under his bushy brows, was the great
-Sir William himself? He remembered to have
-seen this person on more than one occasion walking
-about the grounds in the company of Miss
-Loraine, but he had never troubled himself to
-inquire whom he might be. If he were really
-Sir William, then had he been at the hotel for
-two or three days, and he, Laroche, had never
-discovered that fact. What a blunder!</p>
-
-<p>The Frenchman placed his right hand over
-his heart and bowed obsequiously; then he
-advanced with slow, cat-like movements towards
-the table, but came to a stand while he was yet
-some three or four paces away. The keen eyes
-of the white-haired gentleman, fixed so persistently
-on him, made him feel dreadfully uncomfortable.
-He had a great dislike to being stared
-at in that way.</p>
-
-<p>‘You are Hector Laroche, <i>ex-déporté</i> No. 897;
-and I am Sir William Ridsdale.’</p>
-
-<p>For once his start of surprise was thoroughly
-genuine. ‘How! Monsieur knows’——</p>
-
-<p>‘Everything. Madame De Vigne has disclosed
-to me the whole dreadful story of her married
-life. Her I pity from the bottom of my heart;
-but for you, scoundrel, I have no feeling save
-one of utter loathing and contempt!’</p>
-
-<p>‘Monsieur’—— whined Laroche with an indescribable
-writhing of his long lean body.</p>
-
-<p>‘Silence, fellow!’ said Sir William sternly.
-‘It is for you to listen, and not to speak.’ He
-rose and crossed to Colonel Woodruffe and spoke
-to him in a low voice.</p>
-
-<p>The baronet returned to his seat. ‘It is not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_807">{807}</span>
-my intention to say a great deal to you, Monsieur
-Laroche,’ resumed Sir William; ‘I wish to rid
-myself of your presence as soon as may be; and
-what I have to say will be very much to the
-purpose.’</p>
-
-<p>Laroche writhed again, but did not speak.
-Events had taken a turn so utterly unexpected
-by him, the ground had been so completely cut
-from under his feet, that he seemed to have
-nothing left to say.</p>
-
-<p>‘Madame De Vigne is an Englishwoman, and
-as such is entitled to the protection of the laws of
-her country. The first point I wish you clearly
-to understand is, that her income is settled
-strictly upon herself, and that you are not entitled
-to claim so much as a single franc of her money.
-This time, at least, you will not be allowed to rob
-her, as you did once before. The second point
-I wish you clearly to understand is, that if you
-in any way harm, molest, or annoy Madame De
-Vigne or her sister, you will very quickly find
-yourself within the walls of an English prison,
-where you will be able to meditate on your
-folly at your leisure. This is a matter which
-Madame De Vigne’s friends will look to particularly,
-consequently I warn you in time. And
-now, having proved all this to you, I am induced,
-by certain considerations which in nowise affect
-you, to make you an offer which you will probably
-see the wisdom of accepting. The conditions
-of my offer are these: You shall at
-once quit England and never set foot in it
-again; you shall neither write to Madame De
-Vigne nor seek to hold any communication of
-any kind whatever with her or any one connected
-with her. In return for your faithful
-obedience to these instructions, you shall be paid
-an annuity of three thousand francs a year. The
-sum shall be paid you in quarterly instalments
-by my Paris agent, to whom you will present
-yourself in person once every three months.
-When you cease to present yourself, it shall be
-considered either that you no longer care to claim
-the annuity or that you are dead. Such is the
-offer I have to make you, Monsieur Laroche;
-you can either accept it or decline it at your
-own good pleasure; for my own part I care not
-which you do.’</p>
-
-<p>Three thousand francs a year! was Laroche’s
-first thought. Why, scarcely half an hour ago,
-his wife had offered him just double the amount
-on precisely the same terms, and he had laughed
-in her face. Imbecile that he had been!</p>
-
-<p>Coward though he was at heart, as nearly all
-braggarts are, if Laroche just then had happened
-to possess a revolver, he would have felt strongly
-tempted to make use of it and risk the consequences.
-How he hated those two men!—one
-white-haired, smiling, benevolent-looking, as he
-had seen him walking about the grounds, but
-with such a hand of iron hidden in his velvet
-glove; the other stern, impassive, coldly contemptuous,
-who had taken no more notice of
-him during the interview than if he were a dog.
-Yes, he hated them both with the ferocious hatred
-of a tiger balked of the prey in which its claws
-are already fixed.</p>
-
-<p>This other man he felt nearly sure was in
-love with his wife; and he was just as certain
-that Mora De Vigne was in love with him.
-Even at a time like that, it thrilled him with a
-malicious joy to think that so long as he, Laroche,
-was alive they could never be more to each other
-than they were now. Perhaps if he had not
-appeared on the scene till a month or two later,
-they might have been married by that time. If
-he had only known—if he had only had the
-slightest suspicion that such was the state of
-affairs, he would have kept carefully in the background
-till the newly wedded couple should have
-returned from their honeymoon, and then have
-made himself known. That would have been a
-revenge worthy of the name. But now——</p>
-
-<p>Sir William’s voice recalled him to realities.
-‘Perhaps you wish for a little time before you
-make up your mind?’ he said.</p>
-
-<p>Laroche shook his head. His nimble brain
-had already taken in the altered state of affairs;
-he saw that the day had gone hopelessly against
-him, that the battle was lost, and that the only
-thing left him to do was to accept from the
-conquerors the best terms that he could induce
-them to offer. If only he had not refused that
-six thousand francs! But to a man in his position
-even three thousand francs a year was better,
-infinitely better, than nothing. It would at least
-suffice to find him in absinth and cigarettes, and
-would serve to blunt the keen edge of chronic
-impecuniosity.</p>
-
-<p>‘Three thousand francs a year, Sir William!
-It is a bagatelle—a mere bagatelle.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Take it or leave it.’</p>
-
-<p>The Frenchman spread out his hands and drew
-his shoulders up nearly to his ears. ‘<i>Ma foi!</i>
-I have no choice. I must accept.’</p>
-
-<p>‘In that case, nothing more need be said,
-except that you will leave here by the first train
-to-morrow morning. Here is a bank-note with
-which to defray the expenses of your journey;
-and here is the address of my agent, on whom
-you will please call on Wednesday morning next,
-by which time he will be in receipt of my instructions.’
-Sir William pushed the note and the
-address across the table in the direction of Laroche
-as though the latter were some plague-stricken
-creature with whom he was fearful of coming into
-closer contact.</p>
-
-<p>The Frenchman advanced a step or two, picked
-up the papers, and put them away slowly and
-carefully inside his pocket-book, looking the
-baronet full in the eyes as he did so. His teeth
-were hard set, and his breath came and went
-with a fuller rise and fall than usual, but otherwise
-there was nothing to betray the tempest
-of passion at work within him. When he had
-put his pocket-book away again, and still with
-his eyes bent full on the baronet, he said in a
-low, deep voice: ‘It is possible, Sir William,
-that we may some day meet again.’ Then with
-a nod, that might mean much or that might have
-no meaning at all, he turned and walked slowly
-out of the room.</p>
-
-<p>The Frenchman found Nanette waiting for
-him in the corridor. ‘If you please, monsieur,
-my mistress desires to see you in her room
-immediately on a matter of much importance.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Can it be that she is going to renew the
-offer of the six thousand francs?’ was the first
-question that Laroche asked himself. Checkmated
-at every turn though he had been, and
-though all his fine castles in the air had come
-tumbling about his ears, he began to hope<span class="pagenum" id="Page_808">{808}</span>
-that more might be saved from the wreck than
-had seemed probable only a few minutes ago,
-and it was not without a certain revival of
-spirits and a certain return to his old braggadocio
-manner that he followed Nanette to Madame De
-Vigne’s room. Just as he was passing the staircase
-window, the lightning’s lurid scroll unrolled
-itself for an instant against the walls of blackness
-outside. Laroche shuddered, he knew not why.
-A moment or two later he found himself once
-more in the presence of his wife. In the interim,
-the lamp had been lighted and the curtains
-drawn.</p>
-
-
-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_FEW_NOTES_ON_PERSIAN_ART">A FEW NOTES ON PERSIAN ART.</h2>
-</div>
-
-
-<p><span class="smcap">The</span> limner’s art in Persia has few patrons, and
-the professional draughtsman of the present day
-in that country must needs be an enthusiast,
-and an art-lover for art’s sake, as his remuneration
-is so small as to be a mere pittance; and the
-man who can live by his brush must be clever
-indeed. The Persians are an eminently practical
-people, and buy nothing unless it be of actual
-utility; hence the artist has generally to sink to
-the mere decorator; and as all, even the very
-rich, expect a great deal for a little money, the
-work must be scamped in order to produce a
-great effect for a paltry reward. The artists,
-moreover, are all self-taught, or nearly so,
-pupilage merely consisting of the drudgery of
-preparing the canvas, panel, or other material
-for the master, mixing the colours, filling in backgrounds,
-varnishing, &amp;c. There are no schools of
-art, no lectures, no museums of old or contemporary
-masters, no canons of taste, no drawing
-from nature or the model, no graduated studies,
-or system of any kind. There is, however, a
-certain custom of adhering to tradition and the
-conventional; and most of the art-workmen of
-Iran, save the select few, are mere reproducers of
-the ideas of their predecessors.</p>
-
-<p>The system of perspective is erroneous; but
-neither example nor argument can alter the views
-of a Persian artist on this subject. Leaving aside
-the wonderful blending of colours in native carpets,
-tapestries, and embroideries, all of which
-improve by the toning influence of age, the
-modern Persian colourist is remarkable for his
-skill in the constant use of numerous gaudy and
-incongruous colours, yet making one harmonious
-and effective whole, which surprises us by its
-daring, but compels our reluctant admiration.</p>
-
-<p>Persian pictorial art is original, and it is cheap;
-the wages of a clever artist are about one shilling
-and sixpence a day. In fact, he is a mere day-labourer,
-and his terms are, so many days’ pay
-for a certain picture. In this pernicious system
-of time-work lies the cause of the scamping of
-many really ingenious pieces of work.</p>
-
-<p>As a copyist the Persian is unrivalled; he has
-a more than Chinese accuracy of reproduction;
-every copy is a fac-simile of its original, the detail
-being scamped, or the reverse, according to the
-scale of payment. In unoriginal work, such as
-the multiplication of some popular design, a man
-will pass a lifetime, because he finds it pay better
-to do this than to originate. This kind of unoriginal
-decoration is most frequent in the painted
-mirror cases and book-covers, the designs of which
-are ancient; and the painter merely reproduces
-the successful and popular work of some old and
-forgotten master.</p>
-
-<p>But where the Persian artist shines is in his
-readiness to undertake any style or subject;
-geometrical patterns—and they are very clever
-in originating these; scroll-work scenes from the
-poets; likenesses, miniatures, paintings of flowers
-or birds; in any media, on any substance, oils,
-water, or enamel, and painting on porcelain; all
-are produced with rapidity, wonderful spirit, and
-striking originality. In landscape, the Persian is
-very weak; and his attempts at presenting the
-nude, of which he is particularly fond, are mostly
-beneath contempt. A street scene will be painted
-in oils and varnished to order ‘in a week’ on a
-canvas a yard square, the details of the painting
-desired being furnished in conversation. While
-the patron is speaking, the artist rapidly makes an
-outline sketch in white paint; and any suggested
-alterations are made in a few seconds by the facile
-hand of the <i>ustad nakosh</i> (master-painter), a term
-used to distinguish the artist from the mere
-portrait-painter or <i>akkas</i>, a branch of the profession
-much despised by the artists, a body of men
-who consider their art a mechanical one, and their
-guild no more distinguished than those of other
-handicraftsmen.</p>
-
-<p>A Persian artist will always prefer to reproduce
-rather than originate, because, as a copy will
-sell for the same price as an original, by multiplication
-more money can be earned in a certain
-time, than by the exercise of originality. Rarely,
-among the better class of artists, is anything actually
-out of drawing; the perspective is of course
-faulty, and resembles that of early specimens of
-Byzantine art. Such monstrosities as the making
-the principal personages giants, and the subsidiaries
-dwarfs, are common; while the beauties
-are represented as much bejewelled; but this is
-done to please the buyer’s taste, and the artist
-knows its absurdity. There is often considerable
-weakness as to the rendering of the extremities;
-but as the Persian artist never draws, save in portraiture,
-from the life, this is not to be wondered
-at.</p>
-
-<p>The writer has before him a fair instance of
-the native artist’s rendering of the scene at the
-administration of the bastinado. This picture is
-an original painting in oils, twenty-four inches
-by sixteen, on <i>papier-mâché</i>. The details were
-given to the artist by the writer in conversation,
-sketched by him in white paint on the <i>papier-mâché</i>
-during the giving of the order, in the
-course of half an hour; and the finished picture
-was completed, varnished, and delivered in a
-week. The price paid for this original work in
-oils in 1880 was seven shillings and sixpence.
-The costumes are quite accurate in the minutest
-detail; the many and staring colours employed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_809">{809}</span>
-are such as are in actual use; while the general
-<i>mise en scène</i> is very correct.</p>
-
-<p>Many similar oil-paintings were executed for
-the writer by Persian artists, giving graphic
-renderings of the manners and customs of this
-little-known country. They were always equally
-spirited, and minutely correct as to costume and
-detail, at the same low price; a small present
-for an extraordinarily successful performance
-gladdening the heart of the artist beyond his
-expectations.</p>
-
-<p>As to original work by Persian artists in water-colour,
-remuneration is the same—so much per
-diem. A series of water-colours giving minute
-details of Persian life were wished; and a clever
-artist was found as anxious to proceed as the
-writer was eager to obtain the sketches. The
-commission was given, and the subjects desired
-carefully indicated to the artist, who, by a rapid
-outline sketch in pencil, showed his intelligence
-and grasp of the subject. The writer, delighted at
-the thought of securing a correct and permanent
-record of the manners and customs of a little-known
-people, congratulated himself. But, alas!
-he counted his chickens before hatching; for the
-artist, on coming with his next water-colour,
-demanded, and received, a double wage. A
-similar result followed the finishing of each
-drawing; and though the first only cost three
-shillings, and the second six, the writer was
-reluctantly compelled to stop his commissions,
-after paying four times the price of the first for
-his third water-colour, on the artist demanding
-twenty-four shillings for a fourth—not that the
-work was more, but as he found himself appreciated,
-the wily painter kept to arithmetical progression
-as his scale of charge; a very simple
-principle, which all artists must devoutly wish
-they could insist on.</p>
-
-<p>For a reduced copy of a rather celebrated
-painting, of which the figures were life-size, of
-what might be called, comparatively speaking, a
-Persian old master—for this reduction, in oils,
-fourteen inches by eight, and fairly well done,
-the charge was a sovereign. The piece was
-painted on a panel. The subject is a royal
-banqueting scene in Ispahan—the date a century
-and a half ago. The dresses are those of the
-time—the ancient court costume of Persia. The
-king in a brocaded robe is represented seated on
-a carpet at the head of a room, his drinking-cup
-in his hand; while his courtiers are squatted
-in two rows at the sides of the room, and are
-also carousing. Minstrels and singers occupy the
-foreground of the picture; and a row of handsome
-dancing-girls form the central group. All
-the figures are portraits of historical personages;
-and in the copy, the likenesses are faithfully
-retained.</p>
-
-<p>The palaces of Ispahan are decorated with
-large oil-paintings by the most eminent Persian
-artists of their day. All are life-size, and none
-are devoid of merit. Some are very clever, particularly
-the likenesses of Futteh Ali Shah and
-his sons, several of whom were strikingly like
-their father. As Futteh Ali Shah had an acknowledged
-family of seventy-two, this latter fact is
-curious. These paintings are without frames,
-spaces having been made in the walls to receive
-them. The Virgin Mary is frequently represented
-in these mural paintings; also a Mr Strachey, a
-young diplomate who accompanied the English
-mission to Persia in the reign of our Queen
-Elizabeth, is still admired as a type of adolescent
-beauty. He is represented with auburn hair in
-the correct costume of the period; and copies of
-his portrait are still often painted on the pen-cases
-of amateurs. These pen-cases, or <i>kalamdans</i>,
-are the principal occupation of the miniature-painter.
-As one-fourth of the male population
-of Persia can write, and as each man has one or
-more pen-cases, the artist finds a constant market
-for his wares in their adornment. The pen-case
-is a box of <i>papier-mâché</i> eight inches long, an
-inch and a half broad, and the same deep. Some
-of them, painted by artists of renown, are of great
-value, forty pounds being a common price to
-pay for such a work of art by a rich amateur.
-Several fine specimens may be seen in the Persian
-Collection at the South Kensington Museum. It
-is possible to spend a year’s hard work on the
-miniatures painted on a pen-case. These are very
-minute and beautiful. The writer possesses a
-pen-case painted during the lifetime of Futteh
-Ali Shah, a king of Persia who reigned long and
-well. All the faces—none more than a quarter
-of an inch in diameter—are likenesses; and the
-long black beard of the king reaching to his
-waist, is not exaggerated, for such beards are
-common in Persia.</p>
-
-<p>Bookbinding in Persia is an art, and not a
-trade; and here the flower and bird painter finds
-his employment. Bright bindings of boards with
-a leather back are decorated by the artist, principally
-with presentments of birds and flowers,
-both being a strange mixture of nature and
-imagination; for if a Persian artist in this branch
-thinks that he can improve on nature in the
-matter of colour, he attempts it. The most
-startling productions are the result; his nightingales
-being birds of gorgeous plumage, and the
-colours of some of his flowers saying much for
-his imagination. This method of ‘painting the
-lily’ is common in Persia; for the narcissus—bouquets
-of which form the constant ornament
-in spring of even the poorest homes—is usually
-‘improved’ by rings of coloured paper, silk, or
-velvet being introduced over the inner ring of
-petals. Startling floral novelties are the result;
-and the European seeing them for the first time,
-is invariably deceived, and cheated into admiration
-of what turns out afterwards to be a transparent
-trick. Of course, this system of binding
-each book in an original cover of its own,
-among a nation so literary as the Persians, gives
-a continuous and healthy impetus to the art of
-the flower-painter.</p>
-
-<p>Enamelling in Persia is a dying art. The best
-enamels are done on gold, and often surrounded
-by a ring or frame of transparent enamel, grass-green
-in colour. This green enamel, or rather
-transparent paste, is supposed to be peculiar to
-the Persian artist. At times, the gold is hammered
-into depressions, which are filled with designs
-in enamel on a white paste, the spaces between
-the depressions being burnished gold. Large
-<i>plaques</i> are frequently enamelled on gold for the
-rich; and often the golden water-pipes are
-decorated with enamels, either alone, or in combination
-with incrusted gems.</p>
-
-<p>Yet another field remains to the Persian artist—that
-of engraving on gold, silver, brass, copper,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_810">{810}</span>
-and iron. Here the work is usually artistically
-good, and always original, no two pieces being
-alike.</p>
-
-<p>Something must be said about the artist and
-his studio. Abject poverty is the almost universal
-lot of the Persian artist. He is, however,
-an educated man, and generally well read. His
-marvellous memory helps him to retain the traditional
-attributes of certain well-known figures:
-the black-bearded Rūstum (the Persian Hercules),
-and his opponent the Deev Suffid or White
-Demon; Leila and Mujnūn, the latter of whom
-retired to the wilderness for love of the beautiful
-Leila; and in a painfully attenuated state, all
-his ribs being very apparent, is always represented
-as conversing with the wild beasts, who
-sit around him in various attitudes of respectful
-attention. Dr Tanner could never hope to reach
-the stage of interesting emaciation to which
-the Persian artists represent Mujnūn to have
-attained. Another popular subject is that of
-Solomon in all his glory.</p>
-
-<p>These legends are portrayed with varying art
-but unquestionable spirit, and often much
-humour; while the poetical legends of the
-mythical history of ancient Persia, full of strange
-imagery, find apt illustrators in the Persian
-artist. The palmy days of book-illustration have
-departed; the cheap reprints of Bombay have
-taken away the <i>raison d’être</i> of the caligraphist
-and book-illustrators, and the few really great
-artists who remain are employed by the present
-Shah in illustrating his great copy of the <i>Arabian
-Nights</i> by miniatures which emulate the beauty
-and detail of the best specimens of ancient
-monkish art, or in making bad copies of European
-lithographs to ‘adorn’ the walls of the royal
-palaces.</p>
-
-<p>As for the painter’s studio, it is usually a
-bare but light apartment, open to the winds,
-in a corner of which, on a scrap of matting, the
-artist kneels, sitting on his heels. (It tires an
-oriental to sit in a chair.) A tiny table a foot
-high holds all his materials; his paints are mixed
-on a tile; and his palette is usually a bit of
-broken crockery. His brushes he makes himself.
-Water-pipe in mouth—a luxury that even an
-artist can afford, in a country where tobacco is
-fourpence a pound—his work held on his knee
-in his left hand, without a mahl-stick or the
-assistance of a colour-man, the artist squats contentedly
-at his work. He is ambitious, proud of
-his powers, and loves his art for art’s sake.
-Generally, he does two classes of work—the one
-the traditional copies of the popular scenes before
-described, or the painting on pen-cases—by this
-he lives; the other purely ideal, in which he
-deals with art from a higher point of view, and
-practises the particular branch which he affects.</p>
-
-<p>As a painter of likenesses, the Persian seldom
-succeeds in flattering. The likeness is assuredly
-obtained; but the sitter is usually ‘guyed,’ and
-a caricature is generally the result. This is not
-the case in the portraits of females, and in the
-ideal heads of women and children. The large
-dreamy eye and long lashes, the full red lips, and
-naturally high colour, the jetty or dark auburn
-locks (a colour caused by the use of henna, a dye)
-of the Persian women in their natural luxuriance,
-lend themselves to the successful production of
-the peculiarly felicitous representation of female
-beauty in which the Persian artist delights.
-Accuracy in costume is highly prized, and the
-minutiæ of dress are indicated with much aptness,
-the varied pattern of a shawl or scarf being
-rendered with almost Chinese detail. Beauty of the
-brunette type is the special choice of the
-artist and amateur, and ‘salt’—as a high-coloured
-complexion is termed—is much admired.</p>
-
-<p>Like the ancient Byzantine artist, the Persian
-makes a free use of gold and silver in his work.
-When wishing to represent the precious metals,
-he first gilds or silvers the desired portion of the
-canvas or panel, and then with a fine brush puts
-in shadows, &amp;c. In this way a strangely magnificent
-effect is produced. The presentments of
-mailed warriors are done in this way; and the
-jewelled chairs, thrones, and goblets in which the
-oriental mind delights. Gilt backgrounds, too,
-are not uncommon, and their effect is far from
-displeasing.</p>
-
-<p>The painting of portraits of Mohammed, Ali,
-Houssein, and Hassan—the last three, relatives of
-the Prophet, and the principal martyred saints
-in the Persian calendar, is almost a trade in itself,
-though the representation of the human form is
-contrary to the Mohammedan religion, and the
-saints are generally represented as veiled and faceless
-figures. Yet in these particular cases, custom
-has over-ridden religious law, and the <i>Schamayūl</i>
-(or portrait of Ali) is common. He is represented
-as a portly personage of swarthy hue; his dark
-and scanty beard, which is typical of the family
-of Mohammed, crisply curled; his hand is grasping
-his sword; and he is usually depicted as
-wearing a green robe and turban (the holy colour
-of the <i>Seyyuds</i> or descendants of the Prophet). A
-nimbus surrounds his head; and he is seated on
-an antelope’s skin, for the Persians say that skins
-were used in Arabia before the luxury of carpets
-was known there.</p>
-
-<p>Humble as is the lot of the Persian artist, he
-expects to be treated by the educated with consideration,
-and would be terribly hurt at any
-want of civility. One well-known man, Agha
-Abdullah of Shiraz, generally insisted on regaling
-the writer with coffee, which he prepared himself
-when his studio was visited. To have declined
-this would have been to give mortal offence. On
-one of these visits, his little brasier of charcoal
-was nearly extinguished, and the host had recourse
-to a curious kind of fire-igniter, reviver, or rather
-steam-blast, that as yet is probably undescribed
-in books. It was of hammered copper, and
-had a date on it that made it three hundred
-years old. It was fairly well modelled; and
-this curious domestic implement was in the
-similitude of a small duck preening its breast;
-consequently, the open beak, having a spout
-similar to that of a tea-kettle, was directed
-downwards. The Persian poured an ounce or so
-of water into the copper bird, and placed it on
-the expiring embers. Certainly the result was
-surprising. In a few minutes the small quantity
-of water boiled fiercely; a jet of steam was
-emitted from the open bill, and very shortly the
-charcoal was burning brightly. The water having
-all boiled away, the Persian triumphantly removed
-this scientific bellows with his tongs, and prepared
-coffee.</p>
-
-<p>No mention has been made of the curious
-bazaar pictures, sold for a few pence. These cost<span class="pagenum" id="Page_811">{811}</span>
-little, but are very clever, and give free scope for
-originality, which is the great characteristic of
-the Persian artist. They consist of studies of
-town-life, ideal pictures of dancing-girls, and
-such-like. All are bold, ingenious, and original.
-But bazaar pictures would take a chapter to
-themselves, and occupy more space than can be
-spared.</p>
-
-
-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<h2 class="nobreak" id="COLONEL_REDGRAVES_LEGACY">COLONEL REDGRAVE’S LEGACY.</h2>
-</div>
-
-
-<h3 title="CONCLUSION.">IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CONCLUSION.</h3>
-
-<p><span class="smcap">We</span> must ask the reader to accompany us to Bury
-Street, St James’s, and learn how Miss Jones has
-borne the calamity of her lodger’s good fortune;
-for calamity Martha considered the munificent
-legacy of Colonel Redgrave, so far as her own
-matrimonial prospects were concerned. If these
-prospects were dubious prior to his death, they
-were now nearly hopeless. This was a fact the
-housekeeper was unable to conceal from herself,
-in spite of her efforts to take a sanguine view
-of affairs. The letters of Septimus were more
-business-like than ever; and Miss Jones agreed
-with her mother that if Septimus chose to contract
-a matrimonial alliance, they would be powerless
-to interpose the smallest obstacle to prevent it.
-About this time, Mr Bradbury, the second occupant
-of apartments in Bury Street, returned from
-Monaco, where he had been spending his annual
-vacation. Mr Bradbury was a lawyer and a
-bachelor, and about sixty-five years of age. He
-was in no respect a favourite with Miss Jones,
-who in the course of a long residence had learned
-some of the faults and failings of her legal tenant.
-The most important of these was a love of
-gambling. At times, the mental depression of
-the lawyer was so excessive, that Martha entertained
-fears that he would be guilty of some rash
-act which would render notorious the hitherto
-quiet house in Bury Street. But a sudden turn
-in Fortune’s wheel would disperse the mental
-clouds of the gambler, and he would resume
-his usual cheerful manner and speech. On the
-evening of his arrival from Monaco, he dined
-in a more than usual <i>recherché</i> manner, and when
-the dessert had been placed on the table, he
-requested the presence of Miss Jones for a brief
-space, to discuss a very important matter of
-business. Mr Bradbury was a thin, spare man,
-with keen restless gray eyes, which took in the
-surroundings at a glance. He sat in his luxurious
-armchair, with his feet crossed on a footstool,
-and as he held up a glass of ’47 port to the light
-of the chandelier, he looked the picture of comfort
-and happy enjoyment. Yet was the mind
-of that man racked with consuming cares, for
-he had had a bad time of it at Monaco, and he
-had not only lost his own cash, but a considerable
-sum belonging to other people, in the
-shape of trust moneys, &amp;c. He requested Miss
-Jones to be seated, also to take a glass of wine.
-Miss Jones complied with the first request, but
-declined the second.</p>
-
-<p>‘I have only learned the death of Colonel
-Redgrave at Shanklin since my return to London.
-I must have accidentally omitted at Monaco reading
-that portion of the <i>Times</i> which contained
-the announcement. On a memorable occasion I
-transacted some legal business for him. My fellow-lodger
-Mr Redgrave appears to have tumbled into
-a good thing in the shape of a very handsome
-legacy.’ Mr Bradbury paused a moment; but
-Miss Jones made no response, but sat with her
-large black eyes fixed on the twitching features
-of the lawyer, who was now evidently under the
-influence of strong excitement. ‘I have not lived
-all these years under your comfortable roof, Miss
-Jones, without becoming acquainted with the
-special relations which exist between Mr Redgrave
-and yourself.’ Again the lawyer paused,
-in expectation of Miss Jones making some
-reply. ‘I mean that I have ever considered
-Miss Jones as the certain and future Mrs Redgrave.’</p>
-
-<p>‘You can hardly expect me, Mr Bradbury, to
-answer such a statement,’ replied Martha in a
-somewhat severe tone.</p>
-
-<p>‘I cannot. But it is necessary that I should
-assume such to be the case. You do not deny
-it? Now, I can put twenty thousand pounds into
-the scale which contains your right to become
-Mrs Redgrave, and I can deprive him of that
-amount, if he declines to make you his wife. I
-do not wish to speak against your future husband,
-but he is selfish and avaricious, and I think he
-will succumb to the temptation I have it in my
-power to lay before him. A short time before
-I started for Monaco, Colonel Redgrave called
-on me at my office. I had known him many
-years ago in India. He desired me to draw up
-a will, in which he revoked the bequest to Mr
-Septimus Redgrave <i>in toto</i>. He had not been
-prepossessed with his cousin latterly; in fact,
-he had conceived the most intense dislike for
-him. He preferred that I should execute the
-will, instead of employing Mr Lockwood, the
-son of the late family lawyer, for what reason
-I know not.’ Mr Bradbury rose from his
-chair, and unlocking a small cabinet, produced
-a folded parchment suitably indorsed. ‘Here
-is the veritable last will and testament of the
-late <span class="smcap">Colonel Redgrave</span>, in which the date
-and purport of the previous will are specially
-mentioned, duly signed and properly witnessed,
-I need scarcely say. If I were to put it in
-yonder fire, nothing could disturb Mr Redgrave
-in the enjoyment of his legacy. Now,
-I am going to place implicit confidence in your
-honour, Miss Jones. I shall require ten per
-cent., or two thousand pounds. You shall
-require the hand in marriage of Mr Septimus
-Redgrave. Should he refuse these terms, this
-will shall be enforced, and Mr Redgrave loses
-twenty thousand pounds, and a lady who, I am
-convinced, would make him an excellent wife.
-You will naturally say: “Why should Mr Bradbury
-run the risk of penal servitude for such a
-sum as two thousand pounds?” In reply, I
-deny that I run any risk, and that sum of money
-will stave off heavier consequences than I care to
-name.’</p>
-
-<p>It would be difficult to describe the whirlwind
-of mental emotion which agitated the bosom of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_812">{812}</span>
-Martha as she listened to the harangue of the
-lawyer. On the one hand she saw the possibility
-of realising her life-long ambition, of becoming
-the wife of a man with an income of nearly
-two thousand a year, not to speak of the social
-position attending it. Martha remembered reading
-a novel by one of the most popular authors
-of our time, wherein the heroine committed a
-far more heinous offence with respect to a will
-than its mere suppression, and yet the delinquent
-preserved not only the love and esteem of all the
-characters of the tale, but even the good opinion
-of the readers thereof.</p>
-
-<p>The lawyer watched the flushed cheek of his
-listener with feelings of hope, and plied poor
-Martha with such specious arguments as to the
-nullity of risk and the immense gain to be derived
-from the prosecution of his plan, that she at
-length consented to proceed to Shanklin by an
-early train on the following morning and seek
-a private interview with Mr Redgrave. As she
-rose to depart, Martha inquired of the lawyer
-the name of the fortunate recipient of the legacy.
-‘Miss Blanche Fraser,’ was the reply.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Mr Redgrave was considerably astonished on
-the morning following the interview we have
-described when Miss Jones was announced.
-He pulled out his watch, and finding it wanted
-an hour to luncheon, decided to see her at once.
-He found Martha in the library. She was pale
-and excited. ‘Well, Martha, I hope nothing is
-the matter? All well in Bury Street?’</p>
-
-<p>‘Yes, Mr Redgrave. I wish to speak to you in
-private.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Well, speak away, Martha,’ retorted Septimus,
-somewhat testily.</p>
-
-<p>‘Pardon me; walls have ears. Can we not go
-into the grounds?’</p>
-
-<p>Septimus paused a moment, surprised at the
-request, but presently assented. He led the way
-through the hall, and finally stopped in a small
-orchard adjoining the garden. ‘Now, Martha,
-you can speak with as much security as if you
-were in the middle of Salisbury Plain.’</p>
-
-<p>‘I am the bearer of ill news.’</p>
-
-<p>Septimus turned pale as he beheld the unaccustomed
-expression of the features of the speaker.</p>
-
-<p>‘But it is in my power to ward off the blow,
-or, I should say, in <i>your</i> power. I will come to
-the point at once. The late Colonel Redgrave
-employed Mr Bradbury to make a subsequent
-will, in which he annulled the will by which
-you inherit your legacy.’</p>
-
-<p>Septimus felt his knees tremble beneath him,
-his teeth chattered, and he staggered towards a
-garden-seat which was close at hand.</p>
-
-<p>Martha beheld with satisfaction the effect of
-the communication upon her auditor.</p>
-
-<p>He gasped forth: ‘And who is the legatee?’</p>
-
-<p>‘Miss Blanche Fraser.’</p>
-
-<p>‘Gracious powers! The lady to whom I proposed!’
-These words were not lost on Martha.
-They gave her increased determination to proceed
-with her dangerous mission.</p>
-
-<p>‘You can still retain the fortune, if you will
-perform an act of tardy justice.’</p>
-
-<p>‘What do you mean?’ exclaimed Septimus,
-with a lurking suspicion of the nature of the
-act required.</p>
-
-<p>‘Listen patiently for a few moments. For
-twenty-five years you have been a resident under
-my mother’s roof; during fifteen years of that
-time you have treated me as something more than
-a housekeeper; you have treated me as a friend.
-In return, I have been to you as a sister. I have
-watched over your comforts in health, have
-nursed you in sickness, and wasted all my young
-days in waiting for the moment when you would
-reward my life-long devotion by making me your
-wife.’</p>
-
-<p>‘My wife!’ retorted Septimus angrily. ‘Ridiculous!’</p>
-
-<p>‘Unless you do so,’ pursued Martha, ‘the second
-will will be put in force.’</p>
-
-<p>‘And how do you propose to set aside that
-will, if you become my wife?’ exclaimed Septimus.</p>
-
-<p>‘By simply putting it into the fire,’ replied
-Martha in a calm decided tone.</p>
-
-<p>Now, it was almost instantaneously apparent
-to Martha that both she and Mr Bradbury had
-displayed a deplorable lack of judgment, when
-they unanimously came to the conclusion that
-Septimus Redgrave would eagerly seize the bait
-held out to him by the destruction of the second
-will. Selfish and avaricious he might be, but
-not sufficiently so to induce him to stain his
-conscience with the commission of so great a crime
-as that suggested to him by a man in dire
-extremity, and a woman who hoped to realise
-her life-long ambition by one grand <i>coup</i>.</p>
-
-<p>‘You cannot mean what you say, Miss Jones,
-at least I hope not,’ exclaimed Septimus in a
-severe tone. ‘You have been led into this by
-that man Bradbury, whom I have always considered
-a great scoundrel.’</p>
-
-<p>‘You refuse my offer then?’ said Martha in
-a voice pregnant with despair.</p>
-
-<p>‘I will not condescend to answer you,’ said
-Septimus. ‘You had better return at once to
-London. I cannot offer you any hospitality.
-In the first place, my sisters have a strong prejudice
-against you, which I must say is not
-without warrant; and in the second place, I am
-engaged to be married to the mother of the
-fortunate legatee. So, if I do not become the
-possessor of the wealth of the late Colonel Redgrave,
-my wife’s daughter will inherit; so the
-money will still be in the family.—Good-morning.’</p>
-
-<p>Septimus bowed, and would have left the
-unhappy Martha without further speech; but
-the housekeeper caught him by the arm, as she
-cried in hoarse accents: ‘At least you will promise
-never to mention to any human being the
-scheme I proposed for your benefit?’</p>
-
-<p>‘I promise,’ curtly replied Septimus, and left
-the orchard without more ado, the wretched
-Martha gazing after his retreating figure with
-features on which despair in its acutest phase
-was deeply written.</p>
-
-<p>We have but little to add respecting the personages
-who have figured in our tale. Mrs Fraser
-was, as the reader will readily imagine, inexpressibly
-mortified at so suddenly losing the legacy
-bequeathed by the late Colonel Redgrave. But
-if anything could soften the blow, it was the fact
-that the fortunate recipient was her only child,
-her dear Blanche, who was shortly afterwards
-married to Mr Frank Lockwood. On the same
-day Mrs Fraser changed her name for that of
-Redgrave.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_813">{813}</span></p>
-
-<p>Septimus never entered the house in Bury
-Street again, employing an agent for the removal
-of his household gods and the numerous curios
-he had accumulated during his long residence
-as the tenant of Mrs Jones.</p>
-
-<p>Immediately after the failure of his nefarious
-plot, Mr Bradbury posted the second will to
-Miss Blanche Fraser, and immediately thereafter
-disappeared from Bury Street and Lincoln’s Inn.
-Several unfortunate individuals suffered severely
-in consequence, as it was found that large sums
-intrusted to him by confiding clients had disappeared,
-‘leaving not a wrack behind.’</p>
-
-<p>Mr Lockwood is now one of the most rising
-solicitors in London; his undeniable abilities, by
-a singular coincidence, being universally recognised
-immediately after the inheritance by his
-wife of Colonel Redgrave’s legacy.</p>
-
-
-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<h2 class="nobreak" id="WHATS_IN_A_NAME">WHAT’S IN A NAME?</h2>
-</div>
-
-
-<p><span class="smcap">When</span> we are told that ‘a rose by any other
-name would smell as sweet,’ the fact appears to
-be self-evident. Yet there was a time when
-there was something in a name. We have
-abundant evidence from the history of the
-ancients, and from observations of savage tribes,
-to show that they believed in some inseparable
-and mysterious connection between a name and
-the object bearing it, which has given rise to a
-remarkable series of superstitions, some of which
-have left traces even amongst ourselves.</p>
-
-<p>The Jews believed that the name of a child
-would have a great influence in shaping its
-career; and we have a remarkable instance of
-this sort of superstition in quite a different
-quarter of the world. Catlin, the historian of
-the Canadian Indians, tells us that when he was
-among the Mohawks, an old chief, by way of
-paying him a great compliment, insisted on
-conferring upon him his own name, <i>Cayendorongue</i>.
-‘He had been,’ Catlin explains, ‘a
-noted warrior; and told me that now I had a
-right to assume to myself all the acts of valour
-he had performed, and that now my name would
-echo from hill to hill over all the Five Nations.’</p>
-
-<p>The generosity of the Mohawk chief will
-doubtless be more appreciated when we observe
-that it is seldom the superstition takes the form
-of giving one’s name away as in his case; on the
-contrary, most savages are very much opposed to
-mentioning their names. A well-known writer
-points out that the Indians of British Columbia
-have a strange prejudice against telling their
-own names, and his observation is confirmed by
-travellers all over the world. In many tribes,
-if the indiscreet question is asked them, they
-will nudge their neighbour and get him to answer
-for them. The mention of a name by the unwary
-has sometimes been followed by unpleasant
-results. We are told, for instance, by Mr Blackhouse,
-of a native lady of Van Diemen’s Land
-who stoned an English gentleman for having,
-in his ignorance of Tasmanian etiquette, casually
-mentioned the name of one of her sons. Nothing
-will induce a Hindu woman to mention the
-name of her husband; in alluding to him she
-uses a variety of descriptive epithets, such as
-‘the master,’ &amp;c., but avoids his proper name
-with as scrupulous care as members of the
-House of Commons when speaking of each
-other in the course of debate. Traces of this
-may be seen even in Scotland; one may often
-come across women in rural districts who are
-in the habit of speaking of their husbands by
-no other name than ‘he.’ To such an extent
-is this superstition carried among some savage
-tribes, that the real names of children are concealed
-from their birth upwards, and they are
-known by fictitious names until their death.</p>
-
-<p>The fear of witchcraft probably is the explanation
-of all those superstitions. If a name gets
-known to a sorcerer, he can use it as a handle
-wherewith to work his spells upon the bearer.
-When the Romans laid siege to a town, they
-set about at once to discover the name of its
-tutelary deity, so that they might coax the god
-into surrendering his charge. In order to prevent
-their receiving the same treatment at the
-hands of their enemies, they carefully concealed
-the name of the tutelary deity of Rome, and are
-said to have killed Valerius Soranus for divulging
-it. We have several examples in our nursery
-tales of the concealment of a name being connected
-with a spell. It is made use of by
-Wagner in the plot of his opera of <i>Lohengrin</i>,
-where the hero, yielding to the curiosity of his
-lady-love, divulges the secret of his name, and
-has in consequence to leave her and return to a
-state of enchantment. In Grimm’s tale of <i>The
-Gold Spinner</i>, again, we have an instance of a
-spell being broken by the discovery of the
-sorcerer’s name.</p>
-
-<p>Reluctance to mention names reaches its height
-in the case of dangerous or mysterious agencies.
-In Borneo, the natives avoid naming the smallpox.
-In Germany, the hare must not be named,
-or the rye-crop will be destroyed; and to mention
-the name of this innocent animal at sea, is, or
-was, reckoned by the Aberdeenshire fishermen
-an act of impiety, the punishment of which to
-be averted only by some mysterious charm. The
-Laplanders never mention the name of the bear,
-but prefer to speak of him as ‘the old man with
-the fur-coat.’ The motive here appears to be
-a fear that by naming the dreaded object his
-actual presence will be evoked; and this idea
-is preserved in one of our commonest sayings.
-Even if the object of terror does not actually
-appear, he will at least listen when he hears his
-name; and if anything unpleasant is said of him
-he is likely to resent it. Hence, in order to avoid
-even the semblance of reproach, his very name
-is made flattering. This phenomenon, generally
-termed euphemism, is of very common occurrence.
-The Greeks, for example, called the Furies the
-‘Well-disposed ones;’ and the wicked fairy Puck
-was christened ‘Robin Goodfellow’ by the English
-peasantry. The modern Greeks euphemise the
-name of vinegar into ‘the sweet one.’ Were its
-real name to be mentioned, all the wine in the
-house would turn sour. We have an example
-of the converse of the principle of euphemism<span class="pagenum" id="Page_814">{814}</span>
-at work in the case of mothers among the savage
-tribes of Tonquin giving their children hideous
-names in order to frighten away evil spirits
-from molesting them.</p>
-
-<p>It is, however, in the case of the most dreaded
-and most mysterious of all our enemies—Death—that
-the superstition becomes most apparent.
-‘The very name of Death,’ says Montaigne,
-‘strikes terror into people, and makes them
-cross themselves.’ Even the unsuperstitious have
-a vague reluctance to mentioning this dreaded
-name. Rather than say, ‘If Mr So-and-so should
-<i>die</i>,’ we say, ‘If anything should happen to Mr
-So-and-so.’ The Romans preferred the expression
-‘He has lived’ to ‘He is dead.’ ‘M. Thiers
-<i>a vécu</i>’ was the form in which that statesman’s
-death was announced; not ‘M. Thiers <i>est mort</i>.’</p>
-
-<p>The same reluctance is noticeable in mentioning
-the names of persons who are dead. A writer
-on the Shetland Isles tells us that no persuasion
-will induce a widow to mention her dead
-husband’s name. When we do happen to allude
-to a deceased friend by name, we often add some
-such expression as ‘Rest his soul!’ by way of
-antidote to our rashness; and this expression
-seems to have been used by the Romans in the
-same way. As might be expected, we find this
-carried to a great extreme among savages. In
-some tribes, when a man dies who bore the name
-of some common object—‘fire,’ for instance—the
-name for fire must be altered in consequence;
-and as proper names among savages are almost
-invariably the names of common objects, the rapid
-change that takes place in the language and the
-inconvenience resulting therefrom may be imagined.
-Civilisation has indeed made enormous
-progress from this cumbersome superstition to
-our own philosophy, which can ask with haughty
-indifference, ‘What’s in a name?’</p>
-
-
-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_HAUNTED_BRIDGE">THE HAUNTED BRIDGE.</h2>
-</div>
-<p class="ph3">A TALE OF THE HIGHLANDS.</p>
-
-
-<p><span class="smcap">There</span> are probably few readers who are
-not familiar, to a greater or lesser extent, with
-the well-ventilated subject of superstition in
-the Highlands of Scotland. There are few
-mountain countries throughout the world that
-are not rich in lore and legend relating to the
-supernatural: their very configuration suggests
-that agencies more than ordinary have been
-employed in shaping out their features. It is
-curious to notice how very largely the demoniac
-theory enters into the calculations of the
-peasantry. For one Fairy glen or knowe there
-are a dozen Devil’s mills, bridges, caldrons, or
-punchbowls; in fact, it is almost always the
-beings that are supposed to be baleful and
-inimical to the human race that have had their
-personality perpetuated in these legends. This
-certainly seems a little incongruous; but as this
-is not a treatise on demonology, we are content
-to leave it so.</p>
-
-<p>Superstition is part of the being of the mountaineer.
-Brave even to rashness, he will face the
-natural dangers that beset his life—in the torrent,
-on the peak, or in the forest; he fears no odds
-when he meets his foes. And yet this man, who
-can tread the dizzy ledge on the face of a
-precipice, who can hurl himself on levelled steel,
-is more timid and frightened than a child, when
-he conceives that forces other than earthly are
-being brought to bear on him. It is partly to the
-style and manner of his life that he owes this.
-He is brought more into the presence of nature
-than his neighbour of the plains; he becomes
-imbued with the spirit of his surroundings; the
-deep dark gloom of the woods, the lonesomeness
-of the mountain solitudes, the voices of the storm
-and of the torrent, and of their reproductions in
-the echoes, appeal to him; and a poetical imagination
-begotten of such an existence finishes
-the process. Thus the roar of a waterfall in
-its dark chasm becomes to him the howlings of
-some demon prisoned among the rocks; the
-sighing of the wind through the forest trees is
-caused by the passage of spirits; the mists that
-furl around the mountain peaks and are wafted
-so silently across crest and corrie are disembodied
-ghosts; and the sounds that break the stillness
-of the night are the shrieks and yells of fiends
-and their victims.</p>
-
-<p>This brings me to my story. I fancy that most
-of my readers are acquainted more or less with
-the scenery of the Highlands; but in the case
-of by far the larger number of them, I venture
-to say that such acquaintance extends only to
-the Highlands in their summer or their autumn
-dress. If so, they only half know them. Brave
-is the tourist who ventures amid the bens and
-glens when rude King Boreas lords it over them;
-when winter’s wind roars adown the gorges of
-the hill, staggering the stalwart pines, mingling
-the withered leaves and the snowflakes in the
-desolate woods. When icicles hang from the
-hoary rocks, and the deep drift chokes up the
-ravines, mantles the slopes of the corries, and
-bends in cornices over the threatening cliffs;
-when the river roars through the plain—brown
-and swollen—and its parent torrents are leaping
-and raving among the boulders; when the
-mountain hare and the ptarmigan are white as
-the snow that harbours them; and the deer,
-driven from the hills by stress of weather, roam
-in herds through the low-lying woods; and the
-mountain fox leaves his cairn and prowls around
-the farm and the sheepfold—<i>then</i>, if you would
-enter into the spirit of loneliness and solitude,
-take your way to the Highlands. Do not
-imagine, however, that such is their condition
-during the whole of winter; on the contrary,
-I have painted a particularly black picture, and
-it was in very much better weather that, two or
-three years ago, I went north, in December, on
-a visit to some friends in Inverness-shire. The
-particular part of the county I stayed in does
-not materially affect my adventure, so I shall
-not disclose it.</p>
-
-<p>My time sped by very pleasantly, although
-the district did not afford many neighbours at
-short distances; but this was a circumstance that
-always procured me an extra hearty welcome
-when I ventured far enough from home to call
-upon any people. On one of these expeditions
-I had ridden to a house about eight miles away,
-and the late hour of my arrival brought about
-an invitation to stay for dinner and spend the
-evening. My friends pushed their hospitality
-to such an extent, that they had almost prevailed
-upon me to stay the night as well, when a good-natured
-challenge changed my wavering plans<span class="pagenum" id="Page_815">{815}</span>
-into a firm determination to be off. Our conversation
-after dinner had not unnaturally turned
-upon ghost-stories, as the district was an out-of-the-way
-one, and the country-folk were fully
-persuaded of the existence of kelpies and warlocks
-of various kinds. What now happened was that
-some of the young people fancied they had found
-the reason why I was willing to stay all night,
-and boldly told me that I was frightened to cross
-a certain bridge on my way home that had the
-reputation of being haunted. I knew the spot
-well, though I had never found out its exact
-story; and when I had assured the country-people
-that I had no fears of the experiment,
-they solemnly shook their heads, and averred
-that not for sums untold would they cross the
-bridge after nightfall. On the present occasion,
-as I had been foremost among the sceptics
-during the story-telling, I felt my reputation
-at stake; and declaring I would on no
-account remain, I gave orders to have my pony
-brought round. The whole party came to the
-door to see me start—the elders inveighing
-against my foolishness in setting off at that time
-of night; the young people plying me with
-horrors, and telling me to be sure to come round
-next morning—if alive—and give an account of
-my adventures. To all I gave a merry reply,
-and lighting my pipe, swinging myself into
-the saddle, and shouting ‘Good-night,’ I cantered
-off down the avenue.</p>
-
-<p>For a couple of miles the road led me down
-a deep wooded glen. On both sides the mountains
-towered aloft to a height of more than
-two thousand feet, their lower slopes thickly
-clad with pine and birch, their shoulders and
-summits white from a recent heavy snowfall.
-The river poured along tumultuously, close
-beneath the road, swirling past frowning cliffs
-of rock, brawling and battling with heaps of
-boulders, shooting in sheets of glancing foam
-over cascade and rapid. By daylight the scene
-was sufficiently grand and impressive; illumined
-as it now was by a faint moonlight, it was much
-more so. The night was calm and slightly frosty;
-but overhead, a strong breeze was blowing, and
-from time to time the moon was obscured by
-the flying clouds. The play of light and shade
-brought about by this was very beautiful; at
-one moment the shaggy hillsides and deep pools
-of the river were plunged in deepest shadow;
-in the next a flood of pale glory poured over
-them, painting the rushing stream with silver,
-shooting shafts of light among the tall trees,
-tracing mosaics on the dark surface of the road.
-Each clump of ferns, each bush and stump, took
-uncommon shape, and it required no great stretch
-of imagination to convert the boulders and reefs
-of rock out in the stream into waterbulls and
-kelpies. The rush and roar of the river drowned
-all other sounds; but with the exception of the
-echoing tread of my pony and the occasional
-bark of a fox from the hill, there was nothing
-else to be heard. On my way down the glen
-I passed a few scattered cottages, but their occupants
-were long ago in bed, although it was
-not much past ten o’clock.</p>
-
-<p>The wilder part of the glen ended in a fine
-pass, where the hills towered almost straight up
-from the river, and the pines threw so deep a
-shadow, that for a few yards it was impossible
-to see the road. Just beyond, the mountains
-retreated to right and left, and through a short
-and level tract of meadow-land, road and stream
-made their way down to the shores of the loch.
-Ahead of me I could see its broad bosom glancing
-in the moonlight, and the great snow-clad mountains
-beyond it. As the improved condition of
-the road now made rapid progression easier, I
-gave the pony his head, and he went along in a
-style that promised soon to land me at my
-destination.</p>
-
-<p>There was only one thing that troubled me—the
-haunted bridge. Once past it, and I
-should thoroughly enjoy my moonlight ride. I
-do not know whether it was the thought of the
-ghost-stories with which we had beguiled the
-hours after dinner, and which now kept recurring
-to my mind in spite of all effort to the contrary,
-or whether it was the solemn and impressive
-scenery I had passed through in the glen, that
-had unstrung me; but the nearer I drew to
-the bridge the more uncomfortable I felt regarding
-it. It was not exactly fear, but a vague
-presentiment of evil—the Highland blood asserting
-itself. I could not get rid of the sensation.
-I tried to hum and to whistle, but the forced
-merriment soon died a natural death. I was
-now on the loneliest part of the road. From
-the bottom of the glen as far as the bridge—about
-three miles—there was not a single cottage;
-and more than a mile on the other side of
-it lay a scattered hamlet. The moon, too, which
-had hitherto befriended me, now threatened to
-withdraw its light; and where clumps of trees
-overhung the road the darkness was deep. The
-pony carried me along bravely—he knew he
-was going home; and in a short time a turn
-in the road showed me, some distance ahead,
-a ribbon of white high upon the dark hillside.
-It was the stream that ran beneath the fatal
-bridge.</p>
-
-<p>Better get out of this as soon as possible, I
-thought; and with voice and stick I encouraged
-the pony to increased speed. On we went! The
-roar of the haunted stream was loud and near
-now; the gloom increased as we plunged deeper
-into the wood that filled its basin; in another
-minute the bridge would be far behind, when,
-without the least warning, the pony shied to
-one side and then stood stock still, quivering all
-over. The shock all but sent me flying over
-its head; but by an effort I kept my seat. I
-had not far to look for the cause of the beast’s
-fright. Not a dozen yards away were the dimly
-seen parapets of the bridge; and on one of
-them crouched an object that froze me with
-terror. There are some moments in which
-the events of a lifetime pass in review; there
-are some glances in which an infinity of detail
-can be taken in quicker than eye can close.
-This was one of them. I do not suppose that
-my eye rested on the object of my terror for
-more than a second; but in that brief space
-I saw what seemed like the upper part of a
-distorted human body, hunchbacked and without
-legs, with a face that glowed with the red light
-of fire! I can laugh now, when I think of my
-fright; but at the moment, I remember getting
-the pony into motion somehow with stick, bridle,
-and voice, and speeding across the bridge like a
-thunderbolt, crouching down, Tam o’ Shanter-like,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_816">{816}</span>
-and momentarily expecting to feel the grip
-of a clammy hand on my neck! Hard, hard we
-galloped through the hamlet I have mentioned;
-nor did I slacken the pace until the lights of
-my abode had gleamed through the plantation,
-and we were safe and sound in the stable-yard.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>To make a really good ghost-story, my narrative
-should go no further; but the sequel has
-still to be told. I invented an excuse to appease
-the curiosity of my friends, who naturally were
-anxious to know what had sent us home in
-such a fashion—the pony in a lather, and myself
-with a scared, unintelligible expression. I did
-not want to tell the real story until I had
-made some effort to unravel it. With this end
-in view, I started on foot soon after breakfast
-for the house I had dined at, intending to make
-a thorough examination of the bridge and the
-course of the stream on my way, and to question
-some of the cottagers in the hamlet. I
-was saved the trouble, however. I had not gone
-much more than a mile, when I perceived coming
-along the road towards me a sturdy pedlar,
-with a fur cap on his head, and a pack of
-very large dimensions fastened on his broad
-shoulders. Such fellows are very commonly met
-with in the outlying districts of the Highlands,
-where they do a roaring trade in ribbons,
-sham jewellery, and smallwares, besides carrying
-a fund of gossip from place to place. In the
-specimen of the class now before me I was not
-long in recognising the ghost of the haunted
-bridge, and in hailing him I was soon in
-possession of the whole story. ‘Yes; he was
-the man that was sitting on the brig about
-eleven o’clock; and was I the gentleman that
-rode past as if all the witches in the countryside
-were at his heels? Faith, it was a proper
-fright I had given him.’</p>
-
-<p>‘But tell me,’ I asked, ‘what on earth were
-you doing there at such a time of night?’</p>
-
-<p>‘Weel, sir, I was very late of gettin’ across
-the ferry; and it was a langer step than I
-had thocht doon to the village; and I had
-had a guid walk the day already, and was tired-like.
-The brig was kind o’ handy for a rest;
-so I just sat doon on the dike and had a bit
-smoke o’ the pipe. Losh, sir, when ye cam
-scourin’ past, I thocht it was the deil himsel’;
-but then I just thocht that it was mysel’ sitting
-in the shadow that had frighted your beastie, and
-it had run awa’ wi’ you like. And when I cam
-the length o’ the village, I just had to creep
-into a bit shed; and wi’ my pack and some
-straw I soon made a bed.’</p>
-
-<p>So here was the whole story. The deep
-shadow on the bridge had prevented me from
-seeing the sitter’s legs; the heavy knapsack had
-given him a humpback; the fur cap and the
-glow of the pipe accounted for the fiery countenance.
-With mutual explanations we parted—he
-to push his sales in the villages beyond;
-I, to hurry on to the house in the glen, whose
-inmates at first evinced the liveliest interest
-in the over-night episode—an interest, however,
-which waned to disappointment as I proceeded
-to explain how the ghost was laid. I may mention
-that I omitted the ‘scourin’ past’ portion of
-the adventure. How they will chaff me when
-they read this!</p>
-
-
-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
-
-<div class="chapter">
-<h2 class="nobreak" id="FAIRYLAND_IN_MIDSUMMER">FAIRYLAND IN MIDSUMMER.</h2>
-</div>
-
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
- <div class="stanza">
- <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Shall</span> I tell you how one day</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Into Fairyland we went?</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">Fairy folk were all about,</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Filling us with glad content;</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">For we came as worshippers</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Into Nature’s temple grand,</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">And the fairies welcome such</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">With the freedom of the land.</div>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <div class="verse indent0">Through the green-roofed aisles we went,</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Passing with a careful tread,</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">For beside our happy feet</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Purple orchis raised its head;</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">And behind, the blue-bells hung,</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Fading now like ghosts at morn,</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">Here and there a white one bent,</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Like a ‘maiden all forlorn.’</div>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <div class="verse indent0">From the bank across our way</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Ragged Robin flaunted red,</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">And athwart a narrow trench</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Feathery ferns their shadows spread.</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">Fair white campion from the hedge</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Raised its starry petals chaste,</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">And the fragile speedwell blue</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Bade us on our journey haste.</div>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <div class="verse indent0">Haste? For why? We sought the pool</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Where the water-lilies bloom,</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">And we found it ere the night,</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Hidden in a leafy gloom;</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">All around like sentinels</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Yellow iris stood on guard,</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">Keeping o’er the virgin queens</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Ever faithful watch and ward.</div>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <div class="verse indent0">Like pale queens the lilies white</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">On their leafy couches lay,</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">Where no wanton hand could reach,</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">No disloyal foot could stray.</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">Lovingly we bade adieu</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">To each golden-hearted queen,</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">And stepped out to where the heath</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Laughed to heaven in robe of green.</div>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <div class="verse indent0">Here we gathered treasure-trove—</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Eyebright, milkwort, cuckoo-shoes—</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">Till our baskets, overfull,</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Many a precious bud must lose;</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">Till the sunset glory fell</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">On the blossoms in our hand,</div>
- <div class="verse indent0">And, with lingering glances, we</div>
- <div class="verse indent2">Bade farewell to Fairyland.</div>
- </div>
- <div class="stanza">
- <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Florence Tylee.</span></div>
- </div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<hr class="full" />
-
-<p>The Conductor of <span class="smcap">Chambers’s Journal</span> begs to direct
-the attention of <span class="smcap">Contributors</span> to the following notice:</p>
-
-<div class="blockquot_ans">
-
-<p><i>1st.</i> All communications should be addressed to the
-‘Editor, 339 High Street, Edinburgh.’</p>
-
-<p><i>2d.</i> For its return in case of ineligibility, postage-stamps
-should accompany every manuscript.</p>
-
-<p><i>3d.</i> To secure their safe return if ineligible, <span class="smcap">All Manuscripts</span>,
-whether accompanied by a letter of advice or
-otherwise, <i>should have the writer’s Name and Address
-written upon them</i> <span class="allsmcap">IN FULL</span>.</p>
-
-<p><i>4th.</i> Offerings of Verse should invariably be accompanied
-by a stamped and directed envelope.</p>
-</div>
-
-<p><i>If the above rules are complied with, the Editor will
-do his best to insure the safe return of ineligible papers.</i></p>
-
-<hr class="full" />
-
-<p class="center">Printed and Published by <span class="smcap">W. &amp; R. Chambers</span>, 47 Paternoster
-Row, <span class="smcap">London</span>, and 339 High Street, <span class="smcap">Edinburgh</span>.</p>
-
-<hr class="full" />
-
-<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved.</i></p>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 51, VOL. I, DECEMBER 20, 1884 ***</div>
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