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diff --git a/old/66696-0.txt b/old/66696-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8b3c3ed..0000000 --- a/old/66696-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2164 +0,0 @@ -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. - - * * * * * - -The Conductor of CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL begs to direct the attention of -CONTRIBUTORS to the following notice: - -_1st._ All communications should be addressed to the ‘Editor, 339 - High Street, Edinburgh.’ - -_2d._ For its return in case of ineligibility, postage-stamps - should accompany every manuscript. - -_3d._ To secure their safe return if ineligible, ALL MANUSCRIPTS, - whether accompanied by a letter of advice or otherwise, _should - have the writer’s Name and Address written upon them_ IN FULL. - -_4th._ Offerings of Verse should invariably be accompanied by a - stamped and directed envelope. - -_If the above rules are complied with, the Editor will do his best to -insure the safe return of ineligible papers._ - - * * * * * - -Printed and Published by W. & R. 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