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diff --git a/old/68125-0.txt b/old/68125-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f26f8ec..0000000 --- a/old/68125-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2111 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular -Literature, Science, and Art, fifth series, no. 118, vol. III, April 3, -1886, 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. 118, vol. III, April 3, 1886 - -Author: Various - -Release Date: May 19, 2022 [eBook #68125] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 118, VOL. III, APRIL 3, -1886 *** - - - - - -[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. 118.—VOL. III. SATURDAY, APRIL 3, 1886. PRICE 1½_d._] - - - - -THE SCOTTISH BEADLE. - -HALF A CENTURY AGO. - - -Just as the old familiar landmarks of a place undergo in the course -of time that change and decay which are the common lot of all things -earthly ere they are finally removed from sight, nevermore to exist -save as a name or memory, so many of the features or characteristics -of our social life are continually being submitted to that process of -transformation, and, in many respects, of obliteration, which prevails -alike in the moral and the physical world. That process is to be -witnessed every day. It is a result of the inevitable law to which -everything human, every institution of man’s making or developing, is -finally subservient. Assuredly, there is no feature or characteristic -of life, whether viewed in a national or in an individual sense, but -has to submit sooner or later to this universal order of things; and -so, naturally, we may look, and look in vain to-day for that which but -yesterday was an interesting and distinguishing trait in a certain -aspect of the social life of those who then filled, as we do now, the -measure of the time. - -This reflection is irresistible in considering such a subject as that -of ‘Beadles,’ a class of individuals who once filled a unique and -peculiar place in the humbler walks of the social life of their time; -for, as a class, they certainly cannot be said to form a feature in -the social life of the present day. Of course, even yet the number of -persons fulfilling the orthodox functions appertaining to the beadle -is as large as ever—in all probability, larger. No minister surely, in -Scotland at least, but enjoys his appurtenance in the person of his -‘man’ or officer. But the beadle of fifty years ago, the beadle with -whom Dean Ramsay delighted to ‘forgather,’ where now is he? Sadly do -we fear that he is at length sleeping his last long sleep within the -quiet precincts of his ‘ain kirkyard,’ while another performs, after a -fashion, those functions of his office which were ever his delight and -pride, and which brought him in their performance not a little of that -social renown which assuredly belonged to him, and to him alone. - -The many stories told of the doings and sayings of beadles—the old -originals—would fill, we believe, a goodly-sized volume. Not a few such -stories have already been related by Dean Ramsay in his delightful -_Reminiscences_, while many more are collected in other well-known -books of Scottish anecdote. These stories go to prove the beadle to -have been a character which, as has been said, is all but extinct -in our times. A few remote parishes may yet retain worthy enough -representatives of the quaint and ancient ‘bedellus,’ but, generally -speaking, they are mere milk-and-water copies of the old originals. -Initially, he has lost his very name, which mincing modern speech has -corrupted from beadle to ‘church-officer.’ Then, as to his personal -identity, in place of the old-time periwig he was wont to wear, he has -now—why often, he has nothing to show! Instead of the blue swallow-tail -coat with the brightly burnished buttons, and the quaint knee-breeches -whereby there were displayed those ‘shrunk shanks’ of his which -betokened their possessor to have arrived at that sixth age of the -human cycle, he now wears ‘a customary suit of solemn black.’ Instead -of that delightful affection and familiarity which existed between -himself and his minister, there is now a due and proper regard paid to -their respective ‘places.’ Instead of the minister and his elders being -ever in awe of their ‘man,’ he has now to bear himself with appropriate -respect and deference towards the minister and his session. All, -indeed, is now changed; and his ancient worthiness cannot surely be -identified among the plain and—in point of public character—featureless -individuals who methodically and perfunctorily follow in his footsteps. -If he survive at all, it is only here and there in a few stray stories -and traditions embodying a pathetic remembrance of him as having lived -in a bygone time in that social life of our country to which he was -peculiarly indigenous, and of which he was, in a remarkable degree, so -distinctive and interesting a feature. - -Perhaps the time when the beadle flourished at his best and attracted -to himself most of that social renown which made him a personage of -no little importance—in rural districts at anyrate—was from half a -century to a century ago. Of course many persons will yet vividly -remember certain beadles of their acquaintance who were extant even -within a decade or two ago, and enjoying in the flesh all that ‘pride -of place’ to which their connection with ecclesiastical affairs had -elevated them. Indeed, not a few may yet be living in various parts -of the country who may not unworthily claim to share in that peculiar -notorious regard which so many of their predecessors in office enjoyed; -but it is to be feared that even they are every year becoming more -and more a minus quantity, and the time is all but come, if it has -not already come, when, so far as their social popularity as a class -of characteristic individuals is concerned, they will soon, like the -flowers of the forest, be ‘a’ wede away.’ - -Half a century ago or so, however, it was a poor country parish that -had not within its confines some entertaining worthy in the person of -the beadle; for where the parishioners lacked entertainment, whether -of a social or a graver kind, in the efforts of their clergy, which, -indeed, was rarely the case, then they were almost certain to obtain -it in some form or other in the sayings and doings of the inferior -but not less interesting functionaries, their beadles. In not a few -places, the popularity of the latter far eclipsed that of the former: -a fact which was once at least ludicrously emphasised by the story of -the very jovial beadle who excused his too frequent indulgences in -strong drink—a propensity which had merited the repeated rebukes of his -minister, who naturally enough quoted his own sobriety as an example—on -the ground of the greater popularity he enjoyed, and to which the -minister could not, he declared, make anything like the same claim. - -Nor was this general regard in which, as a class, they were held, -derived solely from their connection with the church; for, in addition -to their more serious Sabbath-day functions and opportunities, -they were by no means unwilling to become, in a secular and an -unofficial sense, the valuable receptacles of all the local news and -tittle-tattle, albeit they were not unfrequently at the same time the -ready mouthpiece for the dissemination of the same. In one or two -country districts, we have heard the phrase, ‘to blab like a beadle,’ -which gives some colouring to this latter statement; but, on the whole, -it is only fair to say in his behalf that there were others who could -blab as well as he about those parochial secrets with which it was his -business, more or less, to become acquainted. To be a model to his -class, there was, in fact, no secret but he knew all about, and at -first-hand too; no scandal whispered ominously within the precincts of -the manse or session-house but was ‘piper’s news’ to him; and whether -the _fama_ in question related to the latest heterodoxy of the minister -himself, or to some serious moral defection on the part of the laird, -or had regard to the love ongoings of Matty the farmer’s lass, or even -had to do with such a temporal matter as the chronic rheumatism of the -Doctor’s lady, all was known to his beadleship long before the whisper -could be shapen into palpable words; and thus he was ever, Sabbath-day -and week-day alike, as wise as Sir Oracle himself. - -His local influence, therefore, was by no means despicable. Many -persons finding in him a man of information, of ripe wisdom, of -undeniable honesty, of excellent counsel, in which neither the village -doctor nor the schoolmaster, nor even the minister, could excel, -however nearly they may have approached him, looked up to him often -with genuine regard and affection, and were easily inclined to forgive -whatever faults and failings occasionally exhibited themselves whether -in his ‘walk’ or his ‘conversation;’ for sometimes even _his_ human -nature was liable to err. Thus, whatever he said, gained the ear of -the parish; whatever he did, filled the popular eye; and while the -doctor and the schoolmaster, ay, and even the minister, are each -and all now well-nigh forgotten, to this day _his_ name is still -remembered, and his sayings repeated. In some places, of course, he -occasionally figured small and unworthily; but, generally speaking, -the beadle of the time indicated was really a very notable and -important social character, although his fame did not extend beyond -the bourn of the parish to which he belonged; but of the result of the -pathetic, although petty part he played on his narrow human stage, all -that remains to us to-day is the not uninteresting though sorrowful -reflection that he was a distinguishing feature of a quiet, easy-going, -giving-and-taking time in the past history of Scotland. But with the -advance of the times, the personality of the beadle becomes less -striking, grows less interesting. His quondam local gossip and tattle, -what are they with the multitudinous-tongued newspaper? What are the -village secrets compared with the great doings in the mighty city, -humming yonder like a vast human hive? Soon did our worthy friend feel -that the big, busy world, of which he and his villagers had heard but -little, and knew less, was now beginning to push itself upon them, -until at length one day it was discovered that his and their identity -were being merged and lost in the ever-increasing crowds of men. But -it was only the way of the world, to which even beadles must submit -themselves. That they have done so is only too apparent to-day, when, -in this little corner of the world, of which they were once as native -as the thistle or the heather, perhaps not a score of them are to be -found of the good old style of fifty years ago. - -A few stories about these worthies may not be out of place in -concluding these reflections. Perhaps the most original saying, -embodying a rare thought, quaint yet beautiful, ever expressed by a -beadle was that attributed to Jamie M——, who served in that capacity -for nearly thirty years to the church of B——. His beadleship was, as -far as wages were concerned, trifling, and therefore Jamie had to work -as a stone-breaker to keep body and soul together. At length, after -a long life of patient toil, he took to his deathbed, where one day, -in reply to the minister, who had called to see him, and, by way of -reminding him of the heavenly joys on which he was about to enter, -doubted not that he would soon be joining in the choir celestial, Jamie -said that he had ‘full assurance of faith for certain, but that as for -the choiring, he was aye bad at a tune. Howsoever, when he got to the -New Jerusalem, _he was willin’ to work wi’ his hands if the Maister -wanted him!_’ - -The office of beadle was frequently, in many country parishes, -combined with that of sexton or gravedigger—an office which afforded -considerable scope for the display of those pathetic, if oftentimes -grotesque, traits of character. We remember one worthy who considered -the latter office of much more interest and importance than the former. -‘As beadle he only waited on the living; but as sexton and gravedigger, -he waited on the dead!’ Another worthy used to say that for performing -the duties of beadle he only got the ‘session’s siller;’ while for -assisting at those more solemn and sad burial-rites, he got the ‘deid’s -perquisites!’ - -Dr Begg, in his _Autobiography_, tells a story—not, however, for the -first time—of a grave-digging beadle who, in reply to a question put -to him by his minister, said that ‘Trade’s very dull the noo; I hae -na buried a leevin’ cratur for three weeks.’ This same beadle, who -was very much an eye-servant, was appointed to watch the gooseberries -(Scotticé _grosets_) during the days of the communion, when, amongst -a multitude of worthy people, some doubtful characters came about. On -one occasion, when the beadle saw some one coming out of the manse, and -therefore likely to observe and report, he exclaimed with the greatest -apparent zeal to strangers going near the garden: ‘How daur ye touch -the minister’s grosets?’ But as soon as the manse-people had vanished -out of sight, he proceeded to add, in an undertone: ‘Tak ye a pickle [a -few] for a’ that!’ - -Apropos of the sexton-beadle, the writer lately heard an excellent -story—which has never before been printed—regarding Thomas Carlyle and -a late beadle of Ecclefechan. In the churchyard, which has now been -made famous by the fact that it contains the mortal remains of the -great sage, there stood, and still stands, a very old and dilapidated -tombstone, on which are engraven some illegible hieroglyphics, which -the beadle pretended to decipher, translating their purport in such a -way as to reflect very flatteringly on the moral and social qualities -of the persons—his ancestors—to whom they referred. On one occasion, -when Carlyle visited this place of the dead, the beadle showed him -round, but first of all pointed to this mysterious stone, underneath -which reposed all that was mortal of the beadle’s supposed illustrious -ancestors, and dilated with his well-known exaggeration on the very -high characters which, according to the hieroglyphics of the stone, -they bore when in the flesh. Carlyle, knowing the beadle’s soft point -with regard to his ‘forebears,’ listened for a time in silence to the -glowing description of individuals who never had had any existence save -in imagination, and at length quietly remarked as he passed on: ‘Puir -cratur, ye’ll sune be gathered to them yersel’!’ - -The social popularity which many beadles enjoyed not unfrequently -encouraged them to take certain liberties, which, nowadays at all -events, would not be permitted either within or without the ‘sphere’ -in which they lived and worked. What would be thought of a beadle, for -instance, who would presume to correct the precentor in announcing -from his box a proclamation of marriage between parties, as once did -a beadle of a parish near Arbroath? The precentor had somehow been -provided with a ‘proclaiming’ paper, in which the name of one of the -parties had been wrongly stated, as the beadle supposed; and as the -precentor duly proceeded to make the announcement that ‘there was a -solemn purpose of marriage between Alexander Spink of Fisher’s Loan and -Elspeth Hackett of Burn Wynd,’ he was unceremoniously interrupted by -the beadle suddenly exclaiming: ‘That’s wrang, that’s wrang! It’s no -Sanders Spink o’ Fisher’s Loan that’s gaun to marry Elspeth Hackett, -but Lang Sanders Spink o’ Smithy Croft!’ - -The story of Watty Tinlin, the half-crazy beadle of Hawick parish, -is another proof of this license, which was, on certain occasions, -supposed to be due to his office. One day Wat got so tired of listening -to the long sermon of a strange minister, that he went outside the -church, and wandering in the direction of the river Teviot, saw the -worshippers from the adjoining parish of Wilton grossing the bridge on -their way home. Returning to the church and finding the preacher still -thundering away, he shouted out, to the astonishment and relief of -the exhausted congregation: ‘Say amen, sir; say amen! Wulton’s kirk’s -comin’ ower Teyit Brig!’ Such conduct on a Sunday in the present year -of grace, if it did not relegate the offender to the police cell, would -at anyrate result in a very solemn and serious sitting of the ‘session’ -on the following Monday. But the times are changed; and not only have -beadles, but ministers and churches, too, changed with them; and the -living embodiments of the class whose peculiar and, on the whole, not -unpleasant idiosyncrasies of character and ‘calling’ we have thus -briefly indicated, are now few and far between. - - - - -IN ALL SHADES. - -BY GRANT ALLEN, - -AUTHOR OF ‘BABYLON,’ ‘STRANGE STORIES,’ ETC. ETC. - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -‘We’d better go, Tom,’ Mr Dupuy said, almost pitying them. ‘Upon my -word, it’s perfectly true; they neither of them knew a word about it.’ - -‘No, by Jove, they didn’t,’ Tom Dupuy answered with a sneer, as he -walked out into the piazza.—‘What a splendid facer, though, it was, -Uncle Theodore, for a confounded upstart nigger of a brown man.—But, I -say,’ as they passed out of the piazza and mounted their horses once -more by the steps—for they were riding—‘did you ever see anything more -disgusting in your life than that woman there—a real white woman, and a -born lady, Nora tells me—slobbering over and hugging that great, ugly, -hulking, coloured fellow!’ - -‘He’s white enough to look at,’ Mr Dupuy said reflectively. ‘Poor soul, -she married him without knowing anything about it. It’ll be a terrible -blow for her, I expect, finding out, now she’s tied to him irrevocably, -that he’s nothing more than a common brown man.’ - -‘She ought to be allowed to get a divorce,’ Tom Dupuy exclaimed warmly. -‘It’s preposterous to think that a born lady, and the daughter of a -General Somebody over in England, should be tethered for life to a -creature of that sort, whom she’s married under what’s as good as false -pretences!’ - -Meanwhile, the unhappy woman who had thus secured the high prize of Mr -Tom Dupuy’s distinguished compassion was sitting on the sofa in the -big bare drawing-room, holding her husband’s hand tenderly in hers -and soothing him gently by murmuring every now and then in a soft -undertone: ‘My darling, how glad we are to know that, after all, it’s -nothing, nothing.’ - -Edward’s stupor lasted for many minutes; not so much because he was -deeply hurt or horrified, for there wasn’t much at bottom to horrify -him, but simply because he was stunned by the pure novelty and -strangeness of that curious situation. A brown man—a brown man! It was -too extraordinary! He could hardly awake himself from the one pervading -thought that absorbed and possessed for the moment his whole nature. At -last, however, he awoke himself slowly. After all, how little it was, -compared with their worst fears and anticipations! ‘Thomas,’ he cried -to the negro butler, ‘bring round our horses as quick as you can saddle -them.—Darling, we must ride up to Agualta this moment, and speak about -it all to my father and mother.’ - -In Trinidad, everybody rides; indeed, there is no other way of getting -about from place to place among the mountains, for carriage-roads are -there unknown, and only narrow winding horse-paths climb slowly round -the interminable peaks and gullies. The Hawthorns’ own house was on -the plains just at the foot of the hills; but Agualta and most of the -other surrounding houses were up high among the cooler mountains. So -the very first thing Marian and Edward had had to do on reaching the -island was to provide themselves with a couple of saddle-horses, which -they did during their first week’s stay at Agualta. In five minutes -the horses were at the door; and Marian, having rapidly slipped on her -habit, mounted her pony and proceeded to follow her agitated husband up -the slender thread of mountain-road that led tortuously to his father’s -house. They rode along in single file, as one always must on these -narrow, ledge-like, West Indian bridle-paths, and in perfect silence. -At first, indeed, Marian tried to throw out a few casual remarks about -the scenery and the tree-ferns, to look as if the disclosure was to her -less than nothing—as, indeed, but for Edward’s sake, was actually the -case—but her husband was too much wrapped up in his own bitter thoughts -to answer her by more than single monosyllables. Not that he spoke -unkindly or angrily; on the contrary, his tenderness was profounder -than ever, for he knew now to what sort of life he had exposed Marian; -but he had no heart just then for talking of any sort; and he felt -that until he understood the whole matter more perfectly, words were -useless to explain the situation. - -As for Marian, one thought mainly possessed her: had even Nora, too, -turned against them and forsaken them? - -Old Mr Hawthorn met them anxiously on the terrace of Agualta. He saw -at once, by their pale and troubled faces, that they now knew at least -part of the truth. ‘Well, my boy,’ he said, taking Edward’s hand in his -with regretful gentleness, ‘so you have found out the ban that hangs -over us?’ - -‘In part, at least,’ Edward answered, dismounting; and he proceeded -to pour forth into his father’s pitying and sympathetic ear the whole -story of their stormy interview with the two Dupuys. ‘What can they -mean,’ he asked at last, drawing himself up proudly, ‘by calling such -people as you and me “brown men,” father?’ - -The question, as he asked it that moment, in the full sunshine -of Agualta Terrace, did indeed seem a very absurd one. Two more -perfect specimens of the fair-haired, blue-eyed, pinky-white-skinned -Anglo-Saxon type it would have been extremely difficult to discover -even in the very heart of England itself, than the father and son who -thus faced one another. But old Mr Hawthorn shook his handsome gray old -head solemnly and mournfully. ‘It’s quite true, my boy,’ he answered -with a painful sigh—‘quite true, every word of it. In the eyes of -all Trinidad, of all the West Indies, you and I are in fact coloured -people.’ - -‘But father, dear father,’ Marian said pleadingly, ‘just look at -Edward! There isn’t a sign or a mark on him anywhere of anything but -the purest English blood! Just look at him, father; how can it be -possible?’—and she took up, half unconsciously, his hand—that usual -last tell-tale of African descent, but in Edward Hawthorn’s case -stainless and white as pure wax. ‘Surely you don’t mean to tell me,’ -she said, kissing it with wifely tenderness, ‘there is negro blood—the -least, the tiniest fraction, in dear Edward!’ - -‘Listen to me, dear one,’ the old man said, drawing Marian closer to -his side with a fatherly gesture. ‘My father was a white man. Mary’s -father was a white man. Our grandfathers on both sides were pure white, -and our grandmothers on one side were white also. All our ancestors -in the fourth degree were white, save only one—fifteen whites to one -coloured out of sixteen quarters—and that one was a mulatto in either -line—Mary’s and my great-great-grandmother. In England or any other -country of Europe, we should be white—as white as you are. But such -external and apparent whiteness isn’t enough by any means for our -West Indian prejudices. As long as you have the remotest taint or -reminiscence of black blood about you in any way—as long as it can -be shown, by tracing your pedigree pitilessly to its fountainhead, -that any one of your ancestors was of African origin—then, by all -established West Indian reckoning, you are a coloured man, an outcast, -a pariah.—You have married a coloured man, Marian; and your children -and your grandchildren to the latest generations will all of them for -ever be coloured also.’ - -‘How cruel—how wicked—how abominable!’ Marian cried, flushed and red -with sudden indignation. ‘How unjust so to follow the merest shadow or -suspicion of negro blood age after age to one’s children’s children!’ - -‘And how far more unjust still,’ Edward exclaimed with passionate -fervour, ‘ever so to judge of any man not by what he is in himself, but -by the mere accident of the race or blood from which he is descended!’ - -Marian flushed again with still deeper colour; she felt in her heart -that Edward’s indignation went further than hers, down to the very root -and ground of the whole matter. - -‘But, O father,’ she began again after a slight pause, clinging -passionately both to her husband and to Mr Hawthorn, ‘are they going -to visit this crime of birth even on a man of Edward’s character and -Edward’s position?’ - -‘Not on him only,’ the old man whispered with infinite tenderness—‘not -on him only, my daughter, my dear daughter—not on him only, but on -you—on you, who are one of themselves, an English lady, a true white -woman of pure and spotless lineage. You have broken their utmost and -sacredest law of race; you have married a coloured man! They will -punish you for it cruelly and relentlessly. Though you did it, as he -did it, in utter ignorance, they will punish you for it cruelly; and -that’s the very bitterest drop in all our bitter cup of ignominy and -humiliation.’ - -There was a moment’s silence, and then Edward cried to him aloud: -‘Father, father, you ought to have told me of this earlier!’ - -His father drew back at the word as though one had stung him. ‘My boy,’ -he answered tremulously, ‘how can you ever reproach me with that? You -at least should be the last to reproach me. I sent you to England, and -I meant to keep you there. In England, this disgrace would have been -nothing—less than nothing. Nobody would ever have known of it, or if -they knew of it, minded it in any way. Why should I trouble you with a -mere foolish fact of family history utterly unimportant to you over in -England? I tried my hardest to prevent you from coming here; I tried to -send you back at once when you first came. But do you wonder, now, I -shrank from telling you the ban that lies upon all of us here? And do -you blame me for trying to spare you the misery I myself and your dear -mother have endured without complaining for our whole lifetime?’ - -‘Father,’ Edward cried again, ‘I was wrong; I was ungrateful. You have -done it in all kindness. Forgive me—forgive me!’ - -‘There is nothing to forgive, my boy—nothing to forgive, Edward. And -now, of course, you will go back to England?’ - -Edward answered quickly: ‘Yes, yes, father; they have conquered—they -have conquered—I shall go back to England; and you, too, shall come -with me. If it were for my own sake alone, I would stop here even so, -and fight it out with them to the end till I gained the victory. But -I can’t expose Marian—dear, gently nurtured, tender Marian—to the -gibes and scorn of these ill-mannered planter people. She shall never -again submit to the insult and contumely she has had to endure this -morning.—No, no, Marian darling, we shall go back to England—back to -England—back to England!’ - -‘And why,’ Marian asked, looking up at her father-in-law suddenly, -‘didn’t you yourself leave the country long ago? Why didn’t you go -where you could mix on equal terms with your natural equals? Why have -you stood so long this horrible, wicked, abominable injustice?’ - -The old man straightened himself up, and fire flashed from his eyes -like an old lion’s as he answered proudly: ‘For Edward! First of all, -I stopped here and worked to enable me to bring up my boy where his -talents would have the fullest scope in free England. Next, when I -had grown rich and prosperous here at Agualta, I stayed on because I -wouldn’t be beaten in the battle and driven out of the country by the -party of injustice and social intolerance. I wouldn’t yield to them; -I wouldn’t give way to them; I wouldn’t turn my back upon the baffled -and defeated clique of slave-owners, because, though my father was an -English officer, my mother was a slave, Marian!’ He looked so grand and -noble an old man as he uttered simply and unaffectedly those last few -words—the pathetic epitaph of a terrible dead and buried wrong, still -surviving in its remote effects—that Marian threw her arms around his -neck passionately, and kissed him with one fervent kiss of love and -admiration, almost as tenderly as she had kissed Edward himself in the -heat of the first strange discovery. - -‘Edward,’ she cried, with resolute enthusiasm, ‘we will _not_ go home! -We will not return to England. We, too, will stay and fight out the -cruel battle against this wicked prejudice. We will do as your father -has done. I love him for it—I honour him for it! To me, it’s less -than nothing, my darling, that you should seem to have some small -little taint by birth in the eyes of these miserable, little, outlying -islanders. To me, it’s less than nothing that they should dare to look -down upon you, and to set themselves up against you—you, so great, so -learned, so good, so infinitely nobler than them, and better than them -in every way! Who are they, the wretched, ignorant, out-of-the-way -creatures, that they venture to set themselves up as our superiors? I -will not yield, either. I’m my father’s daughter, and I won’t give way -to them. Edward, Edward, darling Edward, we will stop here still, we -_shall_ stop here and defeat them!’ - -‘My darling,’ Edward answered, kissing her forehead tenderly, ‘you -don’t know what you say; you don’t realise what it would be like for -us to live here. I can’t expose you to so much misery and awkwardness. -It would be wrong of me—unmanly of me—cowardly of me—to let my wife be -constantly met with such abominable, undeserved insult!’ - -‘Cowardly! Edward,’ Marian cried, stamping her pretty little foot upon -the ground impatiently with womanly emphasis, ‘cowardly—cowardly! The -cowardice is all the other way, I fancy. I’m not ashamed of my husband, -here or anywhere. I love you; I admire you; I respect you. But I can -never again respect you so much if you run away, even for my sake, from -this unworthy prejudice. I don’t want to live here always, for ever; -God forbid! I hate and detest it; but I shall stay here a year—two -years—three years, if I like, just to show the hateful creatures that -I’m not afraid of them!’ - -‘No, no, my child,’ old Mr Hawthorn murmured tenderly, smoothing her -forehead; ‘this is no home for you, Marian. Go back to England—go back -to England!’ - -Marian turned to him with feverish energy. ‘Father,’ she cried, ‘dear, -good, kind, gentle, loving father! You’ve taught me better yourself; -your own words have taught me better. I won’t give way to them; I’ll -stay in the land where you have stayed, and I’ll show them I’m not -ashamed of you or of Edward either! Ashamed! I’m only ashamed to say -the word. What is there in either of you for a woman not to be proud of -with all the deepest and holiest pride in her whole nature!’ - -‘My darling,’ Edward answered thoughtfully, ‘we shall have to think and -talk more with one another about this wretched, miserable business.’ - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -The very next morning, as Edward and Marian were still loitering over -the mangoes and bananas at eleven o’clock breakfast—the West Indies -keep continental hours—they were surprised and pleased by hearing -a pony’s tramp cease suddenly at the front-door, and Nora Dupuy’s -well-known voice calling out as cheerily and childishly as ever: -‘Marian, Marian! you dear old thing, please send somebody out here at -once, to hold my horse for a minute, will you?’ - -The words fell upon both their ears just then as an oasis in the desert -of isolation from women’s society, to which they had been condemned for -the last ten days. The tears rose quickly into Marian’s eyes at those -familiar accents, and she ran out hastily, with arms outstretched, to -meet her one remaining girl-acquaintance. ‘O Nora, Nora, darling Nora!’ -she cried, catching the bright little figure lovingly in her arms, as -Nora leapt with easy grace from her mountain pony, ‘why didn’t you come -before, my darling? Why did you leave me so long alone, and make us -think you had forgotten all about us?’ - -Nora flung herself passionately upon her friend’s neck, and between -laughing and crying, kissed her over and over again so many times -without speaking, that Marian knew at once in her heart it was -all right there at least, and that Nora, for one, wasn’t going to -desert them. Then the poor girl, still uncertain whether to cry or -laugh, rushed up to Edward and seized his hand with such warmth of -friendliness, that Marian half imagined she was going to kiss him -fervently on the spot, in her access of emotion. And indeed, in the -violence of her feeling, Nora very nearly did fling her arms around -Edward Hawthorn, whom she had learned to regard on the way out almost -in the light of an adopted brother. - -‘My darling,’ Nora cried vehemently, as soon as she could find space -for utterance, ‘my pet, my own sweet Marian, you dear old thing, you -darling, you sweetheart!—I didn’t know about it; they never told me. -Papa and Tom have been deceiving me disgracefully: they said you were -away up at Agualta, and that you particularly wished to receive no -visitors until you’d got comfortably settled in at your new quarters -here at Mulberry. And I said to papa, nonsense; that that didn’t apply -to me, and that you’d be delighted to see me wherever and whenever I -chose to call upon you. And papa said—O Marian, I can’t bear to tell -you what he said: it’s so wicked, so dreadful—papa said that he’d met -Mr Hawthorn—Edward, I mean—and that Edward had told him you didn’t -wish at present to see me, because—well, because, he said, you thought -our circles would be so very different. And I couldn’t imagine what -he meant, so I asked him. And then he told me—he told me that horrid, -wicked, abominable, disgraceful calumny. And I jumped up and said it -was a lie—yes, I said a lie, Marian—I didn’t say a story: I said it -was a lie, and I didn’t believe it. But if it was true—and I don’t -care myself a bit, whether it’s true or whether it isn’t—I said it was -a mean, cowardly, nasty thing to go and rake it up now about two such -people as you and Edward, darling. And whether it’s true or whether it -isn’t, Marian, I love you both dearly with all my heart, and I shall -always love you; and I don’t care a pin who on earth hears me say so.’ -And then Nora broke down at once into a flood of tears, and flung -herself once more with passionate energy on Marian’s shoulder. - -‘Nora darling,’ Marian whispered, weeping too, ‘I’m so glad you’ve come -at last. I didn’t mind any of the rest a bit, because they’re nothing -to me; it doesn’t matter; but when I thought _you_ had forgotten us and -given us up, it made my heart bleed!’ - -Nora’s tears began afresh. ‘Why, pet,’ she said, ‘I’ve been trying to -get away to come and see you every day for the last week; and papa -wouldn’t let me have the horses; and I didn’t know the way; and it -was too far to walk; and I didn’t know what on earth to do, or how -to get to you. But last night papa and Tom came home’—here Nora’s -face burned violently, and she buried it in her hands to hide her -vicarious shame—‘and I heard them talking in the piazza; and I couldn’t -understand it all; but, O Marian, I understood enough to know that -they had called upon you here without me, and that they had behaved -most abominably, most cruelly to you and Edward. And I went out to -the piazza, as white as a sheet, Rosina says, and I said: “Papa, you -have acted as no gentleman would act; and as for you, Tom Dupuy, I’m -heartily ashamed to think you’re my own cousin!” and then I went -straight up to my bedroom that minute, and haven’t said a word to -either of them ever since!’ - -Marian kissed her once more, and pressed the tearful girl tight against -her bosom—that sisterly embrace seemed to her now such an unspeakable -consolation and comfort. ‘And how did you get away this morning, dear?’ -she asked softly. - -‘Oh,’ Nora exclaimed, with a childish smile and a little cry of -triumph, ‘I was determined to come, Marian, and so I came here. I got -Rosina—that’s my maid, such a nice black girl—to get her lover, Isaac -Pourtalès, who isn’t one of our servants, you know, to saddle the pony -for me; because papa had told our groom I wasn’t to have the horses -without his orders, or to go to your house if the groom was with me, -or else he’d dismiss him. So Isaac Pourtalès, he saddled it for me; and -Rosina ran all the way here to show me the road till she got nearly to -the last corner; but she wouldn’t come on and hold the pony for me, for -if she did, she said, de massa would knock de very breff out of her -body; and I really believe he would too, Marian, for papa’s a dreadful -man to deal with when he’s in a passion.’ - -‘But won’t he be awfully angry with you, darling,’ Marian asked, ‘for -coming here when he told you not to?’ - -‘Of course he will,’ Nora replied, drawing herself up and laughing -quietly. ‘But I don’t care a bit, you know, for all his anger. I’m not -going to keep away from a dear old darling like you, and a dear, good, -kind fellow like Edward, all for nothing, just to please him. He may -storm away as long as he has a mind to; but I tell you what, my dear, -he shan’t prevent me.’ - -‘I don’t mind a bit about it now, Nora, since you’re come at last to -me.’ - -‘Mind it, darling! I should think not! Why on earth should you mind -it? It’s too preposterous! Why, Marian, whenever I think of it—though -I’m a West Indian born myself, and dreadfully prejudiced, and all that -wicked sort of thing, you know—it seems to me the most ridiculous -nonsense I ever heard of. Just consider what kind of people these are -out here in Trinidad, and what kind of people you and Edward are, and -all your friends over in England! There’s my cousin, Tom Dupuy, now, -for example; what a pretty sort of fellow he is, really. Even if I -didn’t care a pin for you, I couldn’t give way to it; and as it is, I’m -going to come here just as often as ever I please, and nobody shall -stop me. Papa and Tom are always talking about the fighting Dupuys; -but I can tell you they’ll find I’m one of the fighting Dupuys too, -if they want to fight me about it.—Now, tell me, Marian, doesn’t it -seem to you yourself the most ridiculous reversal of the natural order -of things you ever heard of in all your life, that these people here -should pretend to set themselves up as—as being in any way your equals, -darling?’ And Nora laughed a merry little laugh of pure amusement, so -contagious, that Edward and Marian joined in it too, for the first time -almost since they came to that dreadful Trinidad. - -Companionship and a fresh point of view lighten most things. Nora -stopped with the two Hawthorns all that day till nearly dinnertime, -talking and laughing with them much as usual after the first necessary -explanations; and by five o’clock, Marian and Edward were positively -ashamed themselves that they had ever made so much of what grew with -thinking on it into so absurdly small and unimportant a matter. ‘Upon -my word, Marian,’ Edward said, as Nora rode away gaily, unprotected—she -positively wouldn’t allow him to accompany her homeward—‘I really begin -to believe it would be better after all to stop in Trinidad and fight -it out bravely as well as we’re able for just a year or two.’ - -‘I thought so from the first,’ Marian answered courageously; ‘and now -that Nora has cheered us up a little, I think so a great deal more than -ever.’ - -When Nora reached Orange Grove, Mr Dupuy stood, black as thunder, -waiting to receive her in the piazza. Two negro men-servants were -loitering about casually in the doorway. - -‘Nora,’ he said, in a voice of stern displeasure, ‘have you been to -visit these new nigger people?’ - -Nora glanced back at him defiantly and haughtily. ‘I have not,’ she -answered with a steady stare. ‘I have been calling upon my very dear -friends, the District Court Judge and Mrs Hawthorn, who are both our -equals. I am not in the habit of associating with what you choose to -call nigger people.’ - -Mr Dupuy’s face grew purple once more. He glanced round quickly at the -two men-servants. ‘Go to your room, miss,’ he said with suppressed -rage—‘go to your room, and stop there till I send for you!’ - -‘I was going there myself,’ Nora answered calmly, without moving a -muscle. ‘I mean to remain there, and hold no communication with the -rest of the family, as long as you choose to apply such unjust and -untrue names to my dearest friends and oldest companions.—Rosina, come -here, please! Have the kindness to bring me up some dinner to my own -boudoir.’ - - - - -POPULAR LEGAL FALLACIES.[1] - -BY AN EXPERIENCED PRACTITIONER. - - -_KISSING THE BOOK._ - -Perjury is a crime which strikes at the very root of the administration -of justice; for if no reliable evidence could be obtained, it would -be impossible to enforce by means of legal proceedings the rights of -those who had been wronged, or to settle in a satisfactory manner the -thousands of disputes which come yearly before the various courts. -And yet, we fear that this pernicious practice is more common than is -generally supposed. Our opinion is that nineteen persons out of every -twenty who will tell an untruth will swear to it as a truth—that is to -say, looking at the matter from the moral standpoint alone. The fear -of punishment has a deterring effect upon some; but the offence is one -which is very difficult of detection if well managed. If two or three -persons swear to a consistent story, and an equal, or even a greater, -number contradict their evidence on oath, who is to decide which -set of witnesses are to be believed, and which are to be prosecuted -for perjury? The punishment on conviction may be any term of penal -servitude not exceeding seven years, or imprisonment, with hard labour, -for a term not exceeding two years; and some people are afraid of -risking this—in which fear lies the principal practical advantage of -administering an oath to a witness before he gives evidence in court. - -Some persons have a variety of ingenious but vain expedients which -they hope will enable them to lie in the witness-box with impunity; -and while gratifying their personal spite, or earning the wages of -falsehood, to evade the pains and penalties attendant upon the practice -of perjury, and the object of this paper is to show how futile the -supposed precautions are, and in what consists the essence of the -oath, and the violation of it which will render the offender liable to -punishment for the perjury committed by him. - -The form of taking the oath varies in different nations; but in all, -the essence of the ceremony is the adjuration addressed to a superior -Power to attest the truth of what the witness is going to assert. -The witness who thought that if he told a lie after having taken the -oath, all the jurymen would be sent to everlasting perdition, was an -extreme illustration of the misconceptions which exist on this subject. -Most people know that the invocation of the Almighty—‘So help me -God’—is one the consequences of which are intended to be personal to -themselves. But they dishonour their Maker if they try to escape from -the consequences by a trick. - -The form of oath varies according to the circumstances and purpose -in and for which it is taken. The manner of administration to a -Christian witness south of the Border is the same. The witness takes -the Holy Gospels in his right hand, and after the form of oath has -been read over to him, he reverently kisses the book; that is to say, -he is supposed to kiss the book; but some persons will, instead of -the book, kiss their own thumb, or avoid contact between their lips -and the book by holding it at an imperceptible distance. This is a -very common, perhaps the most common, mode of attempted evasion. But -another is often attempted, which is more easy of detection—that is -to say, keeping on the glove, in order that the hand and book may not -become actually in contact with each other. It may appear unnecessary -to say that these devices are both equally unavailing for the purpose -intended.[2] The essence of the oath lies in the reverent assent to the -appeal to the Almighty and omniscient God. The witness must at least -pretend to assent to the formulary read over to him, and if he does -this, he is sworn to all intents and purposes. As the oath is complete -in its religious sense, so also is its legal effect the same whether -the hand and the lips actually touch the cover of the book or not. It -has long been the practice to insist upon the witness holding the book -in his or her right hand; but this is by some writers held to be wrong, -inasmuch as the left hand is supposed to be nearer to the heart, and -would receive a more bountiful portion of the blood which is the life, -were not its natural advantages counterbalanced by the effects of daily -labour; therefore, it is contended by them that the left hand ought to -be used in holding the book, when the oath is taken. - -Hebrews are sworn upon the Old Testament, and the witness puts on his -hat before taking the oath; while a Christian invariably uncovers -his head for the purpose. A Chinaman breaks a saucer, the idea being -somewhat similar to our oath—that is to say, he thereby devotes his -soul to destruction if his testimony should be untrue. A Brahmin swears -with his hand upon the head of one of the bulls devoted to his deity. -A West African kills a bird; while his sovereign immolates a few human -beings from among his subjects. And other nations have equally distinct -methods of attesting their intention to speak ‘the truth, the whole -truth, and nothing but the truth.’ - - -_UNDERWEIGHT AND OVERWEIGHT._ - -Formerly, farmers sold butter by customary pounds, some giving eighteen -ounces for a pound, and some twenty ounces; and numerous other articles -were sold by similar local weights. This is now illegal. By the Weights -and Measures Act, 1878, all customary and local weights were abolished. -As these weights of many irregular kinds had been largely used, various -trades were much exercised by their abolition, and evasions have been -frequent, and are not altogether unknown even now. By the Act of -Parliament referred to, the imperial standard pound is the unit of -weight from which all others are to be calculated: one-sixteenth part -of a pound is an ounce; one-sixteenth part of such ounce is a dram; and -one seven-thousandth part of the pound is a grain avoirdupois. A stone -consists of fourteen pounds; a hundredweight of eight such stones; -and a ton of twenty such hundredweights. Any person who sells by any -denomination of weight other than one of the imperial weights, or some -multiple or part thereof, is liable to a fine not exceeding forty -shillings for every such sale, with the following exceptions: gold, -silver, platinum, diamonds, and other precious metals and stones, may -be sold by the ounce troy or by any decimal parts of such ounce, which -is defined as containing avoirdupois four hundred and eighty grains; -and drugs when sold by retail, may be sold by apothecaries’ weight. It -is also enacted that a contract or dealing is not to be invalid or open -to objection on the ground that the weights expressed or referred to -therein are weights of the metric system, or on the ground that decimal -subdivisions of imperial weights, whether metric or otherwise, are used -in such contract or dealing. Any person who prints, and any clerk of a -market or other person who makes any return, price-list, price-current, -or any journal or other paper containing price-list or price-current -in which the denomination of weights quoted or referred to denotes or -implies any other than the standard weights, is liable to a fine not -exceeding ten shillings for every such paper. And every person who uses -or has in his possession for use in his trade a weight which is not of -the denomination of some Board of Trade standard, is liable to a fine -not exceeding five pounds, or in the case of a second offence, ten -pounds; and the weight is liable to be forfeited. - -There is, however, one distinction between underweight and overweight -which many persons lose sight of; or rather, they mistakenly deny its -existence. When any article is sold by weight, it is essential that -full weight should be given, or the person who sells will become liable -to a penalty. But if he uses the proper weights corresponding with -the standards, he will not incur a penalty by giving what is commonly -called ‘thumping weight;’ that is to say, any want of precision in -weighing, if it should result in an excess, would not form a good -ground for a prosecution; while a similar discrepancy on the other -side would do so. It is cruel to give a poor person a loaf of bread -which is less than the authorised weight paid for; but if the weight -is in excess of the amount purchased, there is not much harm done: the -overweight was voluntary, and the tradesman cannot be punished for -giving more than was paid for. - -The penalties, exceptions, &c., applicable to weights also apply to -measures; and the principal alteration made in our time is that the -heaped measures so familiar to us in our youth were abolished in -1878. The standard unit of measure of capacity is the gallon, both -for liquids and solids. The quart is one-fourth of a gallon, and the -pint is one-eighth thereof. Two gallons are a peck; eight gallons are -a bushel; eight bushels being a quarter; and thirty-six bushels, a -chaldron. In using a measure of capacity, the same is not to be heaped, -but either is to be stricken, as in the case of grain, with a round -stick or roller, straight, and of the same diameter from end to end; -or if the article sold cannot, from its size or shape, be conveniently -stricken, the measure must be filled in all parts as nearly to the -level of the brim as the size and shape of the article will admit. -Many articles which used to be sold by measure are now sold by weight, -such as fruit, vegetables, &c.; and therefore these regulations as to -measuring are not quite so universally interesting as they would have -been fifty years ago; while weights have acquired a greater degree of -importance than they ever had in the olden times. - -Every tradesman who values his reputation ought to have his scales -and weights verified frequently; and in any case of any part of his -weighing apparatus being out of order, the authorised inspector ought -to be visited without delay, or some other efficient test should be -applied. Nothing injures a tradesman more than a conviction for having -defective weights or inaccurate scales in his possession. Whatever -suspicions his customers may entertain as to their parcels being -underweight, the certainty of such a conviction will impress them -far more; and many who never previously thought of weighing their -purchases, will begin to do so in consequence of seeing the conviction -reported in the papers; and yet we are willing to believe that in many -cases the conviction has been brought about by carelessness, and has -not been a punishment for deliberate fraud. - - -_IGNORANCE OF LAW AND OF FACT._ - -There is a great difference between the consequences of ignorance of -law and ignorance of fact. Law is supposed to be universally known, -though few if any persons are acquainted with all the multifarious laws -which are in existence, many of them being practically obsolete, others -repealed by implication, though not expressly, and the effect of others -being rendered doubtful by means of inconsistent enactments, which from -time to time puzzle the judges, who have to interpret the law in case -of differences of opinion on the part of other persons. The latter -class of laws lead to the necessity for frequent amending statutes, and -some of these are still imperfect, and need further amendments. The -legal system in its more positive department is thus frequently but a -doubtful path on which to walk; and the common law has its difficulties -as well as the statutory law. And yet the nature of the case requires -that all Her Majesty’s subjects should be held bound by all the laws -which are applicable to their respective positions. The rights of an -unfortunate ignoramus who is kept out of his property by fraud or -force are lost, and his estates become irrecoverable if those rights -are not enforced within the time limited by law, although he may never -have heard of there being a stipulated time for the commencement of an -action. - -Blackstone gives as an illustration the case of a person who, intending -to kill a burglar in his own house, by mistake kills one of his own -family. This being a mistake of fact, is not a criminal offence. But if -another man, mistaking the law, thinks that he has a right to kill a -person who is excommunicate or an outlaw, and acts upon that belief, he -would be liable to be convicted for wilful murder. It may be observed -that the right of a householder to kill a burglar in his dwelling-house -is not an unqualified right; for in that case, a private individual -would be empowered to inflict a greater punishment than would be -awarded by the law after conviction. In case a burglar should attempt -violence which appeared likely to lead to murder of any of the inmates -of the house, the law would hold the person attacked justifiable in -defending his own life, even though in doing so he were compelled to -take the life of the assailant; but the necessity ought to be clearly -proved, if the defence is to succeed. - -In civil actions, when the facts on which the supposed cause of -action arose are in dispute, and if either party has been led -to make concessions to the other party by means of fraudulent -misrepresentations, the ignorance of the victim of the fraud will not -prevent him from taking proceedings to set aside the agreement so -fraudulently obtained, when he becomes acquainted with the facts. But -if the compromise were founded upon a misconception of the law, he -would be bound by it; for he ought to have known the law, or employed -some person who knew it to protect his interests in the matter. But -having neglected this obvious precaution, he must submit to the -consequences with what grace he can assume. - -The system of enacting new laws is not altogether free from objection, -though it is not so easy to apply a remedy as to form an objection. -The laws are passed at irregular times, some coming into operation at -some fixed future time; while others are binding upon all from the very -day on which they receive the royal assent. It is true that when an -Act of Parliament creates a new offence, and a person ignorant of its -existence is convicted of the breach of such new enactment, a slight -penalty is inflicted as a warning to other persons rather than as a -punishment for the offender; but still the stigma remains of having -been convicted for an offence against the law, which is worse to some -sensitive men than a heavy fine would be to some other persons of -different temperament and less unblemished previous character. The -theory that all new laws should be thoroughly made known to all the -persons likely to be affected thereby is like many other well-sounding -theories, it possesses the inherent defect of being impracticable. This -inconvenience of involuntary ignorance of new enactments has been -greatly diminished of late years by the immense increase of newspapers -and the general diffusion of knowledge. The Elementary Education Acts -have so extended the facilities for the acquisition of the art of -reading, and the taste for reading is so cultivated by cheap periodical -literature, that there is much more chance now than formerly of all -classes knowing something of what is being done in the way of new -enactments for the guidance of the people, the parliamentary reports -forming an important part of the contents of every newspaper, and -newspapers have come to be classed among the necessaries of life, even -by those whose incomes are of the smallest. We should, however, be glad -if the legislature could devise some more efficient way of making known -to all persons the laws which they are bound to observe. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] It should be understood that this series of articles deals mainly -with English as apart from Scotch law. - -[2] In Scotland, the Testament is not made use of in taking the oath. -The witness is only required to hold up his right hand, and repeat the -words of the oath after the administrator. - - - - -THE SIGNALMAN’S LOVE-STORY. - - -IN TWO CHAPTERS.—CHAP. I. - -A song which was very popular when I was a boy, says, ‘Most folks fall -in love, no doubt, some time or other.’ It might with equal truth have -said that most folks fall in love two or three times over. I am sure it -was the case with me. It was also my fate to do what, I am told, is one -of the commonest things in the world—that is, to fall violently in love -with a person entirely out of my own circle; not below it, like the -king and the beggar-maid, but a great deal above me; with a girl, too, -who was as proud and haughty and stony as Juno or a sphinx. - -In the time to which I refer, nearly fifty years ago now—I am -seventy-one next birthday—the railway system was in its infancy, but -yet was spreading fast, and I was one of the earliest servants. It was -in no exalted position that I served. My father was dead; my mother -rented a small cottage on the land of the nobleman in whose service -her husband had lived and died; and this nobleman recommended me to -a railway Company which had just constructed a branch through his -estates. I was at first a porter, but afterwards a signalman, and, as -a great favour, I was assigned a post on the branch just mentioned, -close to my own house. The signal was not far from the junction of the -branch with the main line; a very lonely spot for a long way in either -direction, although there was a thriving town some five miles down the -branch; and there was a siding close by where the trucks used in the -scanty local traffic were collected. - -There were some cottages near my crossing—I ought to have said that -there was a level crossing not far from my box—in one of these I lived; -a sprinkling of farmhouses and several very good houses of a higher -class were within sight. In one of these latter, not by any means the -grandest, but handsome enough for all that, lived Squire Cleabyrn; and -it was with his only daughter, Miss Beatrice, that I chose to fall in -love. For that matter, I daresay a score of other young fellows as -poor as myself were as earnestly in love with her as I was, but they -probably had sufficient sense not to show their folly. I did show -mine. I could not help it; and when I recall all I felt and suffered -at the time, I feel I must retract my admission that others were as -much in love with her as myself, but had the sense to conceal it; such -a thing would have been impossible. They could not have concealed it; -they might have refrained from talking about it. I did not talk; but -had they seen the girl as often as I did, and looked into her face as -closely as I did, they could not have hidden their infatuation from -her. In return, she would have looked at them with the same haughty -indifference—which yet had a something of contemptuous wonder in it—as -I was treated with. - -Not that my story has anything of the Lady of Lyons flavour about it; I -was no Claude to an English Pauline; but this girl, this Miss Beatrice, -was so amazingly beautiful that she was famed for full twenty miles -around. In addition, she was one of the best horsewomen in the county, -and this enabled me to see more of her than I should otherwise have -done. She used to ride out, sometimes with a servant only, sometimes -with a party, nearly every day; and nearly every day she came through -the gates at my crossing. I tried not to look at her, feeling and -knowing that there sparkled from my eager eyes more feeling than I -should have allowed to escape me—but in vain. I could not withhold my -gaze from that cold, dark face—she was not a blonde beauty; golden hair -was not the rage in those days—or from her large, deep, unfathomable -eyes, that looked through me and past me as though I had not been -there, or was at best no more than a part of the barrier I swung open -for her passage. Yet these eyes, as I even then knew but too well, read -me to the core, while they seemed to ignore me. - -I am almost ashamed to own it now, and even at this distance of time -it makes my cheeks tingle to recall it, but I have wasted a whole -afternoon, when I had a ‘turn off,’ in hope of seeing Miss Cleabyrn. - -Her father’s house stood on a knoll, with smooth open lawns sloping -down from it on all sides, so that from my signal-box I could see when -any one was walking in the front of the mansion, and when a party -assembled to ride out. Well, I have actually lingered, on some feeble -pretence, for four or five hours about the signal-box, in hope that she -might walk on the lawn, or that she might mount and ride through our -gates. - -I well remember that it was on one of these afternoons that Miss -Beatrice rode through with a small party. Ah! I recall them easily -enough. There was one other lady, and three gentlemen. To open the gate -for them, for her, was the opportunity I had been longing, waiting -for, and wasting my few hours of holiday for; so I offered to do this -to assist my mate, who had relieved me, and who was glad enough to be -spared the labour; and I caught a full glance from the eyes of Miss -Beatrice. The look was one in which she seemed to exchange glances -with me. I knew it meant nothing, that it was all a delusion, and yet -it would be enough to haunt me for days. I knew that also. I had never -seen her look so beautiful before, and I felt my cheeks and brow turn -burning hot in the instant I met this glance. - -They passed. I watched them to the last—I always did—and I saw her -turn her head towards the gentleman who rode by her side. The movement -brought her profile so plainly in view that I could see she was -smiling. As I watched her, the gentleman turned round and looked in -my direction. He was smiling also; it was something beyond a smile -with him, and I then reddened more with shame, than I had before done -with excitement, for I knew he was laughing at me. So Miss Cleabyrn -must have been laughing also; and at what? I was the subject of their -ridicule, and it served me right. Yes; I knew that at the moment, but -to know it did not make the bitter pang less painful. - -I went back to my comrade at the signal-box. He, too, had noticed -the group, and said, as I entered the hut: ‘That was the party from -Elm Knoll, wasn’t it?—Ah! I thought so; and of course that was the -celebrated Miss Cleabyrn. You know who that was riding by her side, I -suppose?’ - -‘No,’ I said, answering as calmly as I could; I was almost afraid to -trust my voice. - -‘That’s a young fellow, a captain from somewhere,’ continued my mate, -‘who is going to marry Miss Cleabyrn. He has got a lot of money. So has -she. Sam Powell, who drives the night-mail, knows him, and told me all -about it.’ - -As the speaker had no idea of the absurd state I was in, he took no -particular notice of me, but changed the subject, and went on with some -indifferent topic. - -I was glad he did so, for although I had an utter contempt for myself -and for my folly in allowing the conduct or the future of Miss Cleabyrn -to excite me, yet I could not have conversed on such a theme as her -marriage; while the knowledge that the person to whom I had been -ridiculed—I felt sure of that—was her avowed lover, seemed to increase -the bitterness of the sting tenfold. - -I had ample opportunity of seeing that the report which I had heard -was likely, at anyrate, to be founded in fact, as the stranger, the -‘captain from somewhere,’ remained a guest at Elm Knoll for fully a -fortnight, during which time not a day passed without my seeing both -him and Miss Cleabyrn, and sometimes more than once each day. So I came -to know him by sight as well as I did her. He was a frank, handsome, -young fellow; that I could see, and was obliged to own; and in his -speech he was pleasant. This was shown by his stopping on two or three -occasions, when riding alone, to ask me some questions, as I opened the -gate for him. - -I was sure he made these occasions, and at first disliked him for it; -but I could not continue to bear ill-will against a man of such kindly -open manners, so I relented, and, ere he left the neighbourhood, used -to look forward with pleasure to seeing him. This was a sad falling-off -from my previous lofty mood, and so was my accepting a cigar from him -as he rode through. In fact, although I have no doubt ‘written myself -an ass,’ as our old friend Dogberry would have said, yet at the worst I -was not without some glimmering of sense, which saved me from making an -absolute example of myself. - -Even during the short time in which the captain—I did not know his -name—was visiting at Elm Knoll, the heat and surge of my absurd passion -had perceptibly moderated, and just then several circumstances combined -to restore me to a right frame of mind. - -After the captain’s departure, Miss Beatrice left home on a prolonged -visit, so that I did not see her; and at the same time I met Patty -Carr, who was, in her way, quite as pretty as Beatrice Cleabyrn, -although not nearly so haughty; and my heart being specially tender and -open to impression just then, I suppose, I speedily thought more of her -than of the young lady at Elm Knoll. Indeed we were married the next -year. - -At the time I speak of, a good many things were in vogue, or at least -had not died out, which have quite vanished now, and among these was -duelling. Every now and then, a duel was fought; but the ridicule -which attended bloodless meetings, and the greater activity of the -police in cases where harm was done, were diminishing them greatly; -yet still, they did occasionally happen. A great stir was made by -a violent quarrel among some officers of a regiment quartered in -Lancashire, in which a challenge to fight a duel had been given and -refused. It was called in the papers of the day, ‘The Great Military -Scandal,’ and arose in the following manner. A certain Major Starley -had offered a gross insult to a young lady, on whom, it appeared, he -had been forcing his attentions for some time; and her only relative, -a half-brother, was in the same regiment with the major. The details -were not pleasant, and it was no wonder that Captain Laurenston -challenged the major; but the latter declined the challenge on some -professional grounds; and when the parties met, high words passed. -These commenced, it appeared, with the captain; but each became violent -in the dispute, until at last the captain thrashed his antagonist in -the presence of several officers. This was not a make-believe beating; -a ‘consider-yourself-horsewhipped’ affair, but a right-down ‘welting,’ -the major being badly cut and bruised. This was serious enough, anyhow; -but what made it worse was that the officers were on duty at the time; -and by the strict letter of military law, the captain would certainly -be punished with death. - -He had expected, it seems, that after so public and such a painful -humiliation, he would infallibly receive a challenge from the injured -officer; but it was not so. He was placed in arrest in the barracks, -and expected to be brought to a court-martial. He heard, however, from -some friendly source that it was intended to hand him over to the civil -power, when he would be charged with an assault with intent to kill. - -In those days, almost anything was transportable, and as Major Starley -belonged to one of the most influential families in the kingdom, there -was no doubt that the captain would be sent to a convict settlement. -There was also no doubt that the prosecution would be conducted in the -most vindictive spirit and pushed to the bitterest end. - -Terrified at such a prospect, the young officer escaped from the -barracks, by connivance of the guard, there was reason to suppose, -although this was never completely proved; at anyrate, he got clear -away, and disappeared. Immediate advantage was taken of this fatal -although very natural step, and a reward was at once offered for his -apprehension. If he could get out of the country, he would be safe, -as there were then no engagements for giving up criminals, so the -ports were watched, an easier thing to do when there was not such a -tremendous outflow of emigration as now. - -Public sympathy was, naturally, strongly in favour of Captain -Laurenston, and against the major, who would be compelled, it was -generally said, to leave the service. But this would not save the -captain from being cashiered, nor from fourteen years’ transportation, -as he was certain to be made an example of, if only for the purpose of -showing that officers would be protected when they refused to accept a -challenge. - -I had taken an interest in all these details, as my mates had -done, and, as with them, my sympathies were on the side of Captain -Laurenston, yet only as a stranger, for I had never, to my knowledge, -heard of him before. But after a while it began to be said that the -captain was the officer who had been so long a visitor at Elm Knoll, -and was the accepted suitor of Miss Cleabyrn. This gave me more -interest in the affair, and I sincerely hoped he might make good his -escape. - -Miss Beatrice had returned to Elm Knoll; but she rarely left the house, -and still more rarely rode out, although it was the hunting season, so -that I hardly ever saw her. - -I was on night-duty at the signals; and when I went there one evening -to relieve the day man, he told me that there were several London -detectives ‘hanging about the place’—he knew this from one of the -guards who had formerly been in the police, and so recognised them. I -naturally asked if the Company suspected anything wrong among their -people, and my mate said no, not at all. The detectives of course would -not say anything about their business; but the guard suspected that -they were after Captain Laurenston, who was likely to try to see Miss -Cleabyrn before leaving England. This appeared feasible enough; and I -was able heartily to echo the wish of my mate, to the effect that the -young fellow might give his pursuers the slip. - -I have said that my signals and crossing were on a branch, of no great -traffic; so, when the last down passengers’ and first night goods’ -trains had passed—they followed each other pretty closely—there was -nothing stirring for several hours. Traffic through the gates at the -level crossing after dark, there was little or none, so my berth was -dull and lonely enough. I did not much mind this, for I was fond of -reading, and on this night—a stormy one it was—I was reading a terrible -ghost story. I laugh at such things now, but I know right well that -they made me ‘creep’ then. I daresay every one knows the sensation, and -has felt it over ghost stories. I was in the midst of the most terrible -part, when I heard a slight noise, and lifting up my eyes, saw at my -little window, quite close to me, that which startled me more than any -ghostly appearance ever will. I thought it _was_ a ghost. The glare of -my lamp fell upon the panes, and I recognised the large deep eyes which -had so often thrilled me. I saw, and knew to a certainty that Beatrice -Cleabyrn was looking at me. She knew by my electric start that she was -recognised. The face vanished from my window, and as I sprang from my -seat, there was a tap at my door. I threw it open. The furious blast of -wind which entered almost blew out my lamp, and I felt the driving rain -even as I stood within the hut. It was Miss Cleabyrn, and she at once -stepped over my threshold. She had on a large cloak, the cape of which -was turned up so as to form a hood, and this was dripping with wet; -great drops of rain were on her face too. I pushed my stool, the only -seat in my hut, towards her, and strove to ask what had brought her to -such a spot on such a night; but I could get out no intelligible words. -She had closed the door after her, and in her very manner of doing so, -there was something which suggested fear and danger, so that I caught -my breath in sympathetic alarm. - -‘You are Philip Waltress, are you not?’ she said. - -I had never heard her speak before, and either I was still under the -influence of my old enchantment, or she really had the most melodious, -most thrilling voice in the world; assuredly I thought so. Of course I -replied in the affirmative. - -‘We—I have heard you spoken of,’ she continued; ‘and always favourably. -I am sure you may be trusted; I am sure you will be faithful.’ - -‘If I can serve you in any manner, Miss Cleabyrn,’ I managed to say, ‘I -will be faithful to any promise I may give—faithful to death.’ This was -a rather strong speech, but I could not help it. As I made it, I felt -that she knew right well, without being led by any report or mention of -me—even if she had heard anything of the sort—why I might be trusted. - -She smiled as I said this. I knew how fascinating was her smile, but -I had never seen it with such sadness in it; it was a thousand times -more enthralling than before. ‘I will confide in you,’ she went on. ‘I -will tell you why I am here in such a tempest; to do this, will be to -confide in you most fully.—I will not sit down’—this was called forth -by another offer of the only seat already mentioned—‘I will stand -here’—she was standing in an angle behind the door, much screened by my -desk and some books which were heaped upon it—‘then no chance or prying -passer-by can see me.’ - -‘None will pass here for some time, Miss Cleabyrn,’ I said; ‘on such a -night as this, on any night, indeed, the place is deserted; but take -the precaution, if it will give you a feeling of greater safety.’ - -She did so; and then proceeded, firmly and collectedly—I was enabled -afterwards to judge how much the effort cost her—to tell me what had -brought her to my station. ‘You have heard of Captain Laurenston?’ she -began. - -I signified that I had done so. - -‘You know that he is pursued by the police; and you know, I have no -doubt, that he is the gentleman who was here in the early part of the -summer?—I thought so. He is in this neighbourhood; is not far from -here. He dares not enter our house at Elm Knoll, as that is not only -under special watch, but we have reason to think that one or more of -our servants are bought over, and would act as spies and informers. He -cannot get away without assistance; and you, he thinks, are the only -man he can trust.’ - -‘_I_ am!’ I exclaimed. ‘Why, what can I do?’ - -‘Perhaps nothing; perhaps everything,’ replied Miss Cleabyrn. ‘He has -been seen and recognised here, and every hour makes it more dangerous -for him to linger. He knows he can trust you. I am sure of it too,’ she -added, after a moment’s hesitation; ‘your very look justifies me in -saying so much.’ - -Ah! she knew what my poor stupid looks had revealed, months before, and -speculated rightly that I would have been taken out and shot dead on -the line, rather than have betrayed her slightest confidence. - -I told her that I would do anything to assist her, and the captain too. -‘In what way,’ I continued, ‘do you——?’ - -‘You must get him away in one of the carriages,’ she interrupted—‘some -carriage which leaves here; for if he ventures to the station, he will -certainly be arrested. You can, for the present, conceal him in your -cottage, where, as I know, nobody lives but your mother and yourself. -We leave all to you. He will come here to-morrow night. The rest is in -your hands.—These are all I can give you now,’ she continued. ‘What -ready money we can command, he will want; but in a short time you shall -be properly rewarded.’ As she spoke, I saw her hands were busy under -her cloak; and in the next instant she laid on the desk before me a -handsome gold watch and chain. - -‘Miss Cleabyrn!’ I gasped at last; ‘you do not think—do not suppose for -a moment that I want—would take from you anything to buy my aid! I am -only too willing to give it. I shall be proud’—— - -‘They are yours!’ she interrupted. ‘Watch for the captain to-morrow -night.—Do not follow me.—No; keep them! All we can do will be but -trifling to show our undying gratitude, if you aid us now.’ She opened -the door as she said this, and in a moment was lost in the darkness of -the night, leaving me standing with the watch and chain in my hand. - - - - -MY DETECTIVE EXPERIENCES. - - -Novel-readers are well acquainted with the modern detective. He is -almost as important a personage as the rich nabob, who was so lavishly -utilised by our progenitors in cutting the Gordian knot of difficulties -in their contemporary works of fiction. If ‘the good man struggling -with the storms of Fate’ required instant rescue from his troubles, -a rich uncle from India appeared upon the scene. So in our day the -villain is run to earth by a supernaturally gifted detective. But -making allowances for the fact that a great part of our fiction is the -work of women, who cannot (presumably) have come in contact with the -detective class, the sketches of these useful individuals by feminine -pens are tolerably close to nature, although they are copies of -pre-existing portraits; or evolved from their inner consciousness, in -the same way as the most vivid description of Switzerland is said to be -the work of Schiller, who had never seen the country. - -My first professional experience of a detective was as follows. On -a certain evening, I found, to my dismay, that the entrance-hall of -my house had been practically cleared of its contents—a hat, two -umbrellas, and a valuable sealskin cloak having disappeared. I gave -information at the nearest police station, and was informed that a -police-officer would wait upon me. On the following day, the servant -announced that a man wanted to speak to me at the street-door. I found -an herculean individual in the garb of a navvy, with large sandy -whiskers and red hair, who informed me that he was a detective. I -ushered him into the dining-room, where he seated himself, and listened -very patiently to my story. He inquired as to the character of the girl -who answered the door. ‘Tolerable,’ I replied. ‘But she is under notice -to leave.’ - -He expressed his conviction that the servant was in collusion with -the thief or thieves. At this moment I was again summoned to the -door, where I beheld a somewhat diminutive individual, attired -as a clergyman. He was an elderly man, with silver hair, a clear -pink-and-white complexion, and wore a suit of superfine broadcloth, -with a white cravat. His ‘get-up’ to the smallest detail was faultless, -even to the gold-rimmed double eyeglass. ‘You have a detective here?’ - -‘Yes.’ - -‘I am a sergeant of the E division; can I speak to him?’ - -In another minute the pair were seated side by side, as great a -contrast as it is possible to conceive. - -Finding that my business alone was not the cause of his visit, I -courteously left them to themselves. In a few minutes, the ‘clergyman’ -left the house, expressing a hope that I should obtain some tidings of -my lost property. The ‘navvy’ remained for about half an hour, relating -some of his experiences. ‘You see, sir, we have different tools for -different jobs. If there is to be any rough-and-tumble business, any -work requiring strength and muscle, anything dangerous, they employ a -man like me.’ The speaker stretched his powerful limbs as he spoke with -some natural pride. ‘Our sergeant would be of no use at all in such -work. He does the delicate work, the organising part of the affair—same -as a general.’ The ‘navvy’ then went on to relate how he had lately -been employed to detect the supposed defalcations of a barmaid at a -small beershop in a low quarter of the town. The customary expedient -of paying for supplies with marked coin was not deemed sufficient, -as an opinion existed that the girl was a member of a gang, whom -it was deemed prudent to discover. ‘So, for a fortnight, I haunted -that public, as you see me now, passing for a navvy who was taking a -holiday and spending his savings; sometimes sitting in the taproom, and -sometimes in front of the bar, smoking and chatting with all comers. -The suspicions formed proved to be correct; and the girl turned out to -be an agent of a gang of area-sneaks and burglars.’ - -I am compelled to record that my loquacious friend was not equally -successful in my case, no trace of the missing property ever having -been discovered. - -My next experience of detectives was on two occasions when I officiated -as a grand-juryman. The reader is probably aware that the grand-jurymen -sit in a room in the immediate proximity of the court, listening to -evidence for the prosecution only, the prisoner not being produced; -the object being to discover whether the prisoner shall be put on his -trial or not. Sometimes there is a perfect procession of detectives, -of every type, according to the nature of the case. One will appear -habited as a workman, unshaven, and giving one the notion of being -out of employment; to be followed by another dressed in the most -faultless style. They are all remarkable for giving their evidence -in an admirable manner, beginning at the beginning, never using a -superfluous word, and leaving off when the end has arrived. This is in -strong contrast to the ordinary witness, especially the female witness, -whom it is difficult to keep to the point. One of the detectives made -a lasting impression on me. He might have stepped on to the boards -of a fashionable theatre as the exponent of Sir Frederick Blount in -Lord Lytton’s play of _Money_—a very light overcoat, check trousers, -patent leather boots, white gaiters and pearl buttons, lemon-coloured -kid gloves, and a silver-headed Malacca cane. He was very pale, with -flaxen hair parted down the middle, and a light fluffy moustache. The -jury opened their eyes very wide when he commenced his business-like -statement by saying that he was a sergeant in the detective force. He -had been driving a swell dogcart in company with another detective, -on the look-out for some noted horse-stealers in one of the Eastern -Counties. He had met them driving a cart to which a stolen horse was -attached. They obeyed his command for a while to follow him to the -market town, but suddenly attempted flight across the fields, deserting -their cart and horses; but were pursued and captured. - -The following is a notable instance of shrewdness on the part of a -detective. Some burglars had been disturbed in their work in a house -near the Regent’s Park by a wakeful butler. He was armed with a gun, -and he succeeded in capturing one burglar and wounding another, who -escaped. There was no doubt of the latter fact, as spots of blood -were plainly discernible on the snowy ground. When the day for the -examination of the captured burglar arrived, a detective placed -himself in the police court in a position whence he could watch -the countenances of the general public. He wisely argued that some -friend of the prisoner would attend in order to convey the earliest -information to the wounded burglar of the result of the examination of -his friend. For a while the detective scanned the grimy features of the -audience in vain; at length he fancied that a woman betrayed more than -ordinary interest in the evidence adduced. At the conclusion of the -examination, he followed the woman to a humble lodging in the Borough; -and there, stretched on a miserable pallet, lay the burglar with a -bullet-wound in his leg. - -A detective who had followed a felonious clerk from England to the -United States, lost the scent at Buffalo, which is about twenty miles -from the celebrated Falls of Niagara. The detective argued that no one -would come so near to the Falls without paying a visit to them. He went -accordingly, and the first person he saw was the runaway clerk absorbed -in admiration of the Horse-shoe Fall. - -With a singular occurrence, which happened to myself, I will conclude -these rambling notes. On the 25th of January 1885, I was seated at tea -with my family in my house, which is located in a very quiet street -in West Kensington. The servant appeared and said a gentleman wished -to speak to me. He had not inquired for any one in particular, but -had said that ‘any gentleman would do.’ I must remind the reader that -all London was at this time ringing with the details of the dynamite -explosion at the House of Commons and the Tower on the preceding day. I -found a tall gentlemanly individual about thirty, of the genus ‘swell,’ -who spoke with all the tone and manner of a person accustomed to good -society. After a momentary glance at me, he turned his head and kept -his eyes intently fixed on the farther end of the street. He spoke in a -low tone, and in somewhat hurried and excited accents. ‘I want you to -assist me in arresting two Irish Americans. I have been following them -for some time, and they have just discovered that fact.’ - -‘Are you a detective?’ I inquired. - -‘I am,’ he replied with his gaze still concentrated on the somewhat -foggy street. ‘I can see them still,’ he continued. - -Now, I am afraid, when I record my reply, I shall be placed on the same -pedestal with Sir John Falstaff at the battle of Shrewsbury, so far as -physical courage is concerned. But I had only lately recovered from a -prostrating illness, which had left me very weak, and had been confined -to the house for a fortnight under medical certificate. I briefly -stated these facts, and added, that I feared I was not at that moment -qualified for an affair such as he alluded to. He sighed in response, -and without removing his gaze from his quarry, said: ‘I wish I could -see a policeman,’ and walked rapidly away in the direction of the two -men. - -Assuming his story to be a true one, the men must have purposely -decoyed him into a quiet street, and there waited, in order to solve -the point whether they were in reality being tracked. Reluctant to -attempt their arrest single-handed, the detective rang at the first -door he came to, to throw them off their guard, and cause them to -suppose that he had friends in the street; also on the chance that he -might obtain a stalwart assistant in his desperate adventure. I have -never heard anything further of my mysterious visitor. My readers can -easily imagine the diversified comments to which my cautious conduct -has given rise—how I have missed a golden opportunity of immortalising -myself, and of becoming the hero of the day! how I have probably -escaped death by knife or revolver from two desperadoes, who, under -the circumstances, could easily have effected their escape in a retired -street and in the gray dusk of a Sabbath evening. - - - - -A BONE TO PICK WITH ARTISTS. - - -I have a bone to pick with my friends the artists! I use the word -‘friends’ advisedly, for have I not had the entrée for years to several -studios in artistic Kensington? First and foremost was that of poor -T. L. Rowbotham, who was so suddenly removed from amongst us some ten -years ago, leaving a reputation for breezy coast scenery, which is -still green in the memory of the public. My ground of offence is this: -that they invest their subjects with so much of their own poetical -imagination, that when we subsequently make acquaintance with the -localities, an acute sense of disappointment is experienced. Thus, I -had been familiar for years with the exquisite engraving after Turner -of Abbotsford, wherein the abode of the Wizard of the North peers -forth like some huge baronial castle from a dense forest of trees -which extends to the bank of the murmuring Tweed. The happy time -arrived at length when I was fated to make acquaintance with Scotland -and its lovely scenery. Need I say that I included in my explorations -Abbotsford and Melrose. My heart beat high as I felt that I was within -a couple of miles of renowned Abbotsford. Could I not see in my mind’s -eye the massive entrance porch, as sketched by Sir William Allan, R.A.; -the baronial hall with the knights in armour, and so on? What was the -reality? A very comfortable country mansion, not of any great size, -and the dense forest melted into thin air! I must candidly admit, with -respect to the last point, that the artist was not responsible for this -omission, as the plantation had been cut down for sanitary reasons by -the descendants of the great Sir Walter. But the rooms were terribly -shrunken as compared with the images in my mind’s eye, as created by -the imaginative Turner and Allan. Melrose Abbey could not be better; -but I was disappointed to find the sacred fane so hemmed in by poor -buildings, which never appear in the artist’s sketches. - -On one occasion, I was carefully watching the deft fingers of my friend -Smith, as he rapidly placed upon paper the outward resemblance of a -picturesque water-mill in a valley in the Lowlands. Suddenly his pencil -described a swelling mountain in the far distance. In vain I protested -at this outrage on authenticity and vraisemblance. Smith was firm, and -descanted in eloquent terms on the improvement caused by the addition. -Herein lies the key of my ground of complaint. - -Haddon Hall is another of my painful awakenings. It is worthy a -pilgrimage to explore those tapestried halls, for they are full of -interest, and the Hall itself is beautifully situated. But he who has -never studied the hundreds of views of Haddon which are in existence, -will be the happier man. The chambers have a dwarfed and shrunken -appearance. The miniature terrace with its moss-grown steps looking -like a view seen through the wrong end of a telescope, completed my -disappointment. - -Fontainebleau was a success, because I was not familiar with any -magnified views thereof. Always excepting the famous courtyard in front -of the renowned horse-shoe staircase, down the steps of which the -defeated Emperor slowly trod ere he bade farewell to his legions, prior -to his departure for Elba. Do we not all know the celebrated print -after Horace Vernet, wherein Napoleon I. is depicted embracing General -Petit, while the stalwart standard-bearer of the erst victorious eagle -covers his weeping face with one hand. In the immense space, the -serried ranks of the Imperial Guard stand like mournful statues. I -sighed as I contemplated the moderate-sized square. Another illusion -had departed! - -Any one who has seen the chamber at Holyrood in which Mary Stuart -held high festival with her ladies, listening the while to the -love-songs of the Italian Rizzio, will candidly admit that it is one -of the smallest supper-rooms in existence! Snug, decidedly—‘exceeding -snug,’ as Sir Lucius O’Trigger remarks with respect to intramural -interment in the Abbey at Bath. And here I must admit that there is -one brilliant exception to the theory I have laid down—Edinburgh! I -have never heard a single individual express disappointment with the -first sight of ‘Auld Reekie!’ Climatic surroundings of course increase -or diminish the enthusiasm. Probably no city has been so profusely -illustrated, and when the special points are seen for the first time, -they are recognised as old familiar friends. Well do I remember my -first experience. The transit from the south at that time was not -managed with the same speed or the same punctuality as nowadays. I -was timed to arrive at the Caledonian station at eleven P.M. It was -considerably past midnight, and dark as pitch, when I stepped into a -cab amidst torrents of rain, and requested to be driven to a certain -hotel. During the journey, I fancied I caught a glimpse of the Scott -Monument, and felt a spasmodic thrill in consequence. When I descended -to the breakfast-room the following morning, all was changed. Before my -gaze stretched the long line of Princes Street, with the elegant Gothic -spire of Scott’s Monument tapering gracefully into the blue sunlit air. -The cries of the Newhaven fishwives were as music to my ear. - -I was so impatient to mount the Castle Hill and the Calton Hill, that -I wished I could be Sir Boyle Roche’s bird, and be in two places at -once. To describe the views from these celebrated eminences would be -to relate a ‘twice-told tale.’ But even at this distance of time I -smile at my outspoken delight as I ‘spotted’ places I had been familiar -with from childhood (on paper), and their unexpected relation to each -other. ‘Why, that is Holyrood below me!’ and then I remembered that the -old palace must have a local habitation somewhere. But there are two -effects which remain for ever imprinted on my memory. The rainclouds -had gathered again, and as they scudded rapidly across the heavens, the -Castle and Rock were one moment in bright sunlight, and then involved -in the deepest gloom, so that the green-covered base appeared as -unsubstantial in the mist as a fairy palace. The second effect was the -Old Town at night as viewed from Princes Street, with the twinkling -lights piled high in air, as if they denoted the lofty towers of a -palace of the gnomes. The walk of a few yards changes the entire scene. -Arthur Seat, Salisbury Crags, and the Pentlands seen from a different -angle create a new picture. Edinburgh, changeable and inexhaustible, -the kaleidoscope of cities! - -I wish to touch with becoming reverence on the disillusions which may -lie under the pictorial representations of the Holy Land. Inspired by -those illustrations, how often have I in imagination left Jerusalem by -one of the city gates, and explored the Valley of Jehoshaphat, ascended -the Mount of Olives, and followed the convolutions of the brook Kedron, -the gently rising moon illumining meanwhile the garden of Gethsemane! -Would a personal examination of some of those sacred places be attended -with perfect satisfaction? I fear not. - - - - -THE SICKROOM FIRE. - - -I am neither doctor nor nurse by profession, but have had twice in my -lifetime to abandon my ordinary occupation and take charge of members -of my family who suffered from severe illness. Like others who were not -taught ‘the regular way,’ I had to meet difficulties as they arose, -and, as often happens, necessity became the mother of invention. - -My first patient was my father: he suffered from nervous fever; and the -slightest noise caused him great suffering, every sound appearing to -be magnified to an extraordinary degree. It was, of course, important -that nothing should occur to break the light sleep which he got from -time to time. His illness occurred in winter, and the season was an -unusually severe one of frost. It was necessary to keep a fire in the -bedroom; yet I found that the poking of it, dropping of cinders on the -fender-pan, and the putting of coals on the fire, interfered sadly -with my patient’s rest; and I saw that I must get rid of the noise if -my nursing was to be a success. My first step was to send out of the -room both fender and fire-irons, and to get an ordinary walking-stick, -such as is sold for sixpence. With this I cleared the bars and did -what poking was necessary for several weeks. When it took fire, as -it occasionally did, a rub upon the hob put it out. All the rattle -of fire-irons and fender was got rid of, and my first difficulty was -overcome. My remaining trouble was putting coals on the fire. If I -shook them out of the scuttle into the grate, it made a deal of noise; -if I rooted them out with a scoop, the sound was nearly as great, and -more irritating, because more prolonged. I managed to get out of that -difficulty by making up the coal in parcels. I brought my coal-box -downstairs, and taking a couple of scoopfuls of coal at a time, I -folded it in a piece of newspaper, and then tied each parcel with -string. I put the parcels one upon another in it until the coal-box -was full, and took them to my patient’s room. When the fire wanted -replenishing, I placed a parcel upon it; the paper burned, away, and -the coal settled down gently with little or no sound. After this, the -fire was no longer a trouble to me or to my patient. - -Some years after my first experience at nursing, my wife was suddenly -attacked with typhus fever. I had to clear the house of children and -servants, and send for two hospital nurses. When I was preparing for -the night on the evening of their arrival, the nurse who was about to -sit up smiled when she saw me bring into the patient’s room a coal-box -full of paper parcels. She evidently looked upon it as the whim of an -amateur. The next morning, she took quite another view of the case, -and said: ‘I thought, sir, that I knew my business pretty well; but -you certainly have taught me something I did not know—how to manage a -sickroom fire. Why, I often let the fire out, and had to sit for hours -in the cold, for fear of wakening patients when they were getting a -good sleep, besides missing the fire afterwards, when they wakened, and -I had not a warm drink for them or the means of making it. With your -parcels, I had a good fire all night without a sound, and never had to -soil my fingers.’ - - - - -THE CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILWAY’S WESTERN TERMINUS. - - -Port Moody, at the head of Burrard Inlet, was the point first selected -as a terminus for the Canadian Pacific Railway. The terminus finally -decided upon, however, lies on Coal Harbour, near the entrance to -this inlet, where the city of Vancouver is now springing up with -great rapidity. The Company’s machine-shops and terminal works will -be located here, and it promises to be an important commercial city -at no distant date. Tenders have been spoken of for a fortnightly -mail-service between that point and Yokohama and Hong-kong. It is also -probable that the carrying of the bulk of tea shipments for England and -the eastern American States and provinces will be done by this route. -This makes the outlook all the more promising for Vancouver. Town-lots -of land have been laid off by the provincial government fronting the -anchorage on English Bay, a large portion of which will be used by the -railway Company for terminal works. - - - - -‘LET THERE BE LIGHT.’ - - - ‘Let there be light;’ and through the abysmal deep, - Where Darkness sat enthroned in silent state, - A tremor passed, as though propitious Fate - Had roused some charmèd castle from the sleep - That sealed all eyes from battlement to keep; - For man or friend the warder dare not wait - To parley with the Voice outside the gate, - For living thing must walk, fly, swim, and creep. - - ‘Let there be light:’ thus at Creation’s dawn, - Ere earth had shape, the glorious mandate ran. - Nature obeyed; and o’er the face of night - Went forth the rosy streaks of our first morn. - Still Nature keeps to one unvarying plan, - And God-like souls still cry: ‘Let there be light.’ - - ALBERT FRANCIS CROSS. - - * * * * * - -Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, -and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. - - * * * * * - -_All Rights Reserved._ - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 118, VOL. III, APRIL 3, -1886 *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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