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diff --git a/29716-h/29716-h.htm b/29716-h/29716-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c854567 --- /dev/null +++ b/29716-h/29716-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7470 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Harmsworth Monthly Pictorial Magazine, by Various. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +div.centered {text-align: center;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ + div.centered table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;} /* work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 2 */ + + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + + + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + +.caption {font-weight: bold; + font-size: small;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +div.backright { + background: top right no-repeat; + } + + div.backleft { + background: top left no-repeat; + } + + div.sandbag-left { + float:left; + clear:left; + padding-right: 10px; + } + + div.sandbag-right { + float:right; + clear:right; + padding-left: 10px; + } + + div.sandbag { + float:right; + clear:right; + padding-left:10px; +} + + .author {text-align: right; margin-right: 5%;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Harmsworth Magazine, v. 1, 1898-1899, +No. 2, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: The Harmsworth Magazine, v. 1, 1898-1899, No. 2 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: August 17, 2009 [EBook #29716] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARMSWORTH MAGAZINE *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h2><span class="smcap">The</span></h2> + + <h1>HARMSWORTH<br /><br /></h1> + +<h3>MONTHLY PICTORIAL<br /><br /></h3> + +<h1><span class="smcap">MAGAZINE.</span></h1> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/0002.jpg" width="200" height="148" alt="" title="title deco" /> +</div> +<h3>VOLUME 1, 1898-9. No 2.</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class='centered'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" width="65%" cellspacing="0" summary="CONTENTS"> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#My_travelling_companion">MY TRAVELLING COMPANION</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_10000_TOY">A £10,000 TOY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_UNIQUE_EXPERIENCE_AT_THE_SEASIDE">A UNIQUE EXPERIENCE AT THE SEASIDE</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_MEDICAL_DETECTIVE_AND_HIS_WORK">THE MEDICAL DETECTIVE AND HIS WORK.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_ONLY_WHITE_ZOO_IN_EXISTENCE">THE ONLY WHITE "ZOO" IN EXISTENCE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#IN_A_DISAPPEARING_CHESHIRE_TOWN">IN A DISAPPEARING CHESHIRE TOWN.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THAT_FIVE_HUNDRED_POUND_PRIZE">THAT FIVE HUNDRED POUND PRIZE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_MOST_CRUEL_SPORT_IN_THE_WORLD">THE MOST CRUEL SPORT IN THE WORLD.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_DESCENT_OF_REGINALD_HAMPTON">THE DESCENT OF REGINALD HAMPTON.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_MODERN_MINIATURE_CRAZE">THE MODERN MINIATURE CRAZE</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO_KEEP_THE_DOGS_DOWNSTAIRS">TO KEEP THE DOGS DOWNSTAIRS.</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#FAMOUS_LONDON_DOOR-KNOCKERS">FAMOUS LONDON DOOR-KNOCKERS</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#OUR_MONTHLY_GALLERY_OF_BEAUTIFUL_AND_INTERESTING_PAINTINGS">OUR MONTHLY GALLERY OF BEAUTIFUL AND INTERESTING PAINTINGS.</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 314px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0001.jpg" width="314" height="600" alt=""WILL HE COME?" + +From the Painting by Marcus Stone, R.A." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"WILL HE COME?" +<br /> +From the Painting by Marcus Stone, R.A.</span><br /> +<i>By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W.</i> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0002.jpg" width="600" height="385" alt="" title="My Travelling companion" /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="My_travelling_companion" id="My_travelling_companion"></a>My travelling companion</h2> + +<h4><span class="smcap">A Complete Story</span></h4> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Catherine Childar.</span></h3> + +<p class="center"><i>Illustrated by Fred. Pegram.</i></p> + + +<p>It was a miserable day in November—the sort of day when, according to +the French, splenetic Englishmen flock in such crowds to the Thames, in +order to drown themselves, that there is not standing room on the +bridges. I was sitting over the fire in our dingy dining-room; for +personally I find that element more cheering than water under depressing +circumstances.</p> + +<p>My eldest sister burst upon me with a letter in her hand: "Here, Tommy, +is an invitation for you," she cried.</p> + +<p>My name is Charlotte; but I am generally called Tommy by my +unappreciative family, who mendaciously declare it is derived from the +expression "tom-boy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, bother invitations," was my polite answer. "I don't want to go +anywhere. Why, it's a letter from Mysie Sutherland! How came you to open +it?"</p> + +<p>"If she will address it to Miss Cornwall, of course I shall open it. +I've read it, too—it's very nice for you."</p> + +<p>"Awfully jolly," put in Dick, who had followed my sister Lucy into the +room.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't want to go a bit."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, you'll just have to. It's disgraceful of you, Tom; why, you +may never get such a chance again. You'll meet lots of people in a big +country house like that, and perhaps—who knows?—marry a rich +Scotchman."</p> + +<p>"I declare, Lucy, you are quite disgusting with your perpetual talk +about marrying! Why, I shan't have the time to get fond of anyone!"</p> + +<p>"You're asked for a month; and if that isn't time enough, I don't know +what is."</p> + +<p>"Time enough to be married and divorced again," cried Dick.</p> + +<p>"But I shan't come to that; and besides, I have no clothes fit to be +seen."</p> + +<p>"Oh, never mind; I'll lend you my white silk for evenings." And my +sister, who was always good-natured, carried me off to ransack her +wardrobe.</p> + +<p>There was no help for it; remonstrances were useless; I had to go. The +invitation was from a schoolfellow of mine, Mysie Sutherland by name. +She lived near Inverness, and asked me to go and stay a month with her. +The idea filled me with apprehension. She was the only daughter, and +lived in style in a large house: I was one of a numerous family herded +together in a small house in Harley Street. Her father was a wealthy +landed proprietor: mine was a struggling doctor. Altogether I was shy +and nervous, and would much have preferred to remain at home; but Lucy +and Dick had decided I should go, and I knew there was no appeal.</p> + +<p>A few days afterwards I was at Euston Station, on my way to the North. +My mother and sister had come to see me off, and stood at the carriage +door, passing remarks upon the people.</p> + +<p>A knot of young men standing by the bookstall attracted our attention, +from their constant bursts of laughter. There was evidently a good joke +amongst them, and they were enjoying it to the full. The time was up, +and the train was just about to start, when one of them rushed forward +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>and jumped into my carriage. The guard slammed the door, his friends +threw some papers after him in at the window, and we were off.</p> + +<p>For some time we sat silent, then a question about the window or the +weather opened a conversation. My companion was a good-looking young +man, with thick, curly brown hair. He had neither moustache, beard, nor +whiskers, which gave him a boyish appearance, and made me think he might +be an actor. His eyes were peculiar—they were kind eyes, honest eyes, +laughing eyes, but there was something about them that I could not make +out. As he sat nearly opposite to me I had every opportunity of studying +them, but not till we had travelled at least a hundred miles did I +discover what it was. They were not quite alike. There was no cast—not +the slightest suspicion of a squint—no, nothing of that kind; only they +were not a pair—one eye was hazel, the other grey; and yet the +difference in colour varied so much that sometimes I thought I must be +mistaken. At one moment, in the sunlight, the difference was striking; +but when next I saw them, in shadow, the difference was hardly +perceptible. Yet there it was, and it gave a peculiar but agreeable +expression to the face.</p> + +<p>He was extremely kind and pleasant, and I must own that when an old +gentleman got in at Rugby I was sorry our <i>tête-à-tête</i> should be +interrupted. We had been talking over all sorts of subjects, from +pitch-and-toss to manslaughter, exclusive—for those two subjects had +not yet been discussed. (I know it is a very vulgar expression, and I +ought not to use it, only I am always with the boys and I am a "Tommy" +myself.)</p> + +<p>The old gentleman, however, did not trouble us long, for he had made a +mistake and had got into the wrong train. He hobbled out much quicker +than he got in, and my friend the actor was most polite in helping him +and handing out his parcels.</p> + +<p>When that was over we settled down again comfortably. By the time we got +to Crewe we were like old friends, and chatted together over my +sandwiches, or at least while I ate them, for he had his lunch at +Preston, as Bradshaw informed us the passengers were expected to do.</p> + +<p>I fully expected we should get an influx of companions here, for the +platform was crowded, but my carriage door was locked and I noticed the +guard hovering near; he seemed particularly anxious to direct people +elsewhere. Perhaps he thought that as I was an unprotected female I +should prefer to be quite alone, and I was busy concocting a little +speech about "a gentleman coming back," in case he should refuse to let +my actor come into the carriage. It was quite unnecessary, however, as +directly he caught sight of him in the distance he opened the door with +an obsequious bow. I began to wonder if he knew him. Perhaps he was a +celebrated actor, and when actors are celebrated nowadays they are +celebrated indeed. I felt quite elated at having anything to do with a +member of such a fashionable profession, and looked at him with more +interest than ever.</p> + +<p>I was dreadfully sorry when we reached Carlisle, for there my journey +ended—for that day at least. I was to spend the night with a maiden +aunt, living near Carlisle, and go on to Inverness the next morning. The +station came in sight only too soon. My companion had been telling me +some mountaineering experiences which had been called to his mind by the +scenery we had been passing through, and the train pulled up in the +middle of a most exciting story. I had to leave him clinging to a bare +wall of rock in a blinding snowstorm, while I went off to spend the +night with my Aunt Maria. There was no help for it. My aunt, a thin, +quaint old lady, stood waiting on the platform. She wore a huge +coalscuttle bonnet, which in these days of smaller head coverings looked +strange and out of proportion, a short imitation sealskin jacket, and a +perfectly plain skirt, which exposed her slender build in the most +uncompromising (or perhaps I ought to say compromising) fashion.</p> + +<p>I recognised her at once, and felt secretly ashamed of my poor relation. +It was horrid of me, and I hated myself for it; but at that moment I +really did feel ashamed of her appearance, and actually comforted myself +with the thought that my companion had seen my fashionable and befrilled +sister at Euston.</p> + +<p>I was pleased to find that he was as sorry to part as I was. He broke +off his story with an exclamation of disgust. "I thought you said you +were going to Scotland," he cried.</p> + +<p>"So I am," I answered; "but not till to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Here Aunt Maria came forward. I had to get out and be folded in the +embrace of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> two bony arms. My companion (I had not found out his name) +had, in the meantime, put my bag and my bundles upon the platform, and +was standing, cap in hand, bowing a farewell.</p> + +<p>He looked so pleasant, and Aunt Maria so forbidding, that my heart sank +at the thought that he was going away, and that in all probability I +should never see him again. Involuntarily I stretched out my hand to bid +him a more friendly good-bye. Perhaps it was forward of me—Lucy always +says I have such queer manners—but really I could not help it; I felt +so sorry that our pleasant acquaintance should come to an end so soon.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 381px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0004.jpg" width="381" height="600" alt=""PERHAPS IT WAS FORWARD OF ME."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"PERHAPS IT WAS FORWARD OF ME."</span> +</div> + +<p>Mysie Sutherland met me at Inverness. A pompous-looking footman came +forward and condescended to carry my bag; one porter took my box to a +cart in waiting, another put my rugs into the carriage, and Mysie and I +went off at the rate of ten miles an hour. The pleasure of meeting her, +the speed of the motion, the comfort of the well-stuffed cushions, quite +raised my spirits. How different from trudging along with cross Aunt +Maria!</p> + +<p>We soon arrived at Strathnasheen House, and a very fine place it looked +as we drove through the park. I began to get a little nervous again at +the thought of meeting strangers; but Mysie comforted me, saying that +her mother was just an angel, and her father very nice when you got used +to him. As I had never been intimate with angels, and hardly expected to +be there long enough to get used to an old man's peculiarities, I still +trembled.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 433px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0005.jpg" width="433" height="600" alt=""I WALKED IN TO DINNER ON SIR ALEXANDER'S ARM."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I WALKED IN TO DINNER ON SIR ALEXANDER'S ARM."</span> +</div> + +<p>We had reached the porch. The pompous footman got down and executed a +fantasia with elaborate "froisture" upon the knocker. The butler, who +must have been waiting in the hall in a stunned condition till the +performance was over, flung open the door, and I entered Strathnasheen +House. The pompous one clung to my bag as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> dainty trifle he could +carry without loss of dignity. The butler stood motionless, content with +"existing beautifully," the more so as a second footman, with powdered +hair, plush breeches, and unimpeachable calves, rushed forward to our +assistance. He was such a magnificent and unexpected apparition that I +gazed in wonder, and eventually in horror.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0006.jpg" width="600" height="482" alt="THE NEW FOOTMAN SPILT THE GRAVY OVER MY WHITE SILK +DRESS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE NEW FOOTMAN SPILT THE GRAVY OVER MY WHITE SILK +DRESS.</span> +</div> + +<p>It was my travelling companion of the day before!</p> + +<p>I never knew how I got through the dreaded introduction to Sir Alexander +and Lady Sutherland. I have a faint recollection of going up to a tall +old man in spectacles, and answering his polite inquiries in a dazed, +bewildered way. I recollect, also, that Lady Sutherland made an +impression of softness and warmth, and that she said something about +"changing my feet," which I looked upon as a mysterious and +uncomplimentary suggestion.</p> + +<p>Then Mysie carried me off to show me my room. There was a blazing fire, +which was very inviting, and I was glad to plead fatigue and sit down +till dinner.</p> + +<p>Tired I certainly was, but that was nothing to my mental condition. My +hero a footman! What would Lucy say to me? And Dick? Well, they always +said I had low tastes, and they turned out to be right.</p> + +<p>Then I tried to persuade myself that I had been mistaken—that this was +another man; but I soon gave that up, for I knew all the while it was a +mere subterfuge. I had recognised him at once—his eyes alone were +sufficient; but, in fact, I knew all his features perfectly. Had I not +sat opposite them all day in the railway carriage, and thought of them +half the night, as I tossed upon Aunt Maria's hard, uncomfortable bed? I +grew hot from head to foot as I remembered it.</p> + +<p>It is all very well to say class distinctions are rubbish and that all +men are equal, but I could not feel flattered to find my Admirable +Crichton in plush breeches. The more I thought of it the more wonderful +it appeared. When I got over the first shock my brain began to steady +itself. I was sure of two things: first and foremost, that the footman +was the man I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> travelled with; secondly, that the man I had +travelled with was a gentleman; but how to reconcile the two facts I did +not know.</p> + +<p>When I went down into the drawing-room I found a large party assembled +for dinner: a number of men, mostly young, standing about in groups. +These were some neighbours whom Sir Alexander had invited to shoot and +dine. Lady Sutherland, Mysie, and myself were the only ladies.</p> + +<p>After a painful indecision upstairs I had come to the conclusion that I +must in some way acknowledge the existence of my travelling companion. +After our friendly intercourse yesterday it would be snobbish to pretend +I had never seen him before. And yet I was in agony to know how to do +it. Young, shy, staying for the first time in a large country house, +among people higher than myself in the social scale, it was not +agreeable to flaunt an acquaintance with one of the men-servants. Still, +it had to be done, if only for the sake of my own self-respect.</p> + +<p>And this was the man before whom I had blushed for poor Aunt Maria +yesterday! Only yesterday? It seemed a week ago!</p> + +<p>So as I walked in to dinner on Sir Alexander's arm and passed close to +my footman, I gave him a slight—a very slight—inclination of the head, +it could hardly be called a bow.</p> + +<p>I devoutly hoped nobody behind detected it, but I could see it was not +lost upon my footman. He was equal to the occasion. The only +acknowledgment he made was to put a still more respectful deference into +the curve of his respectful, deferential back. I breathed more freely as +I sat down in my place on Sir Alexander's right.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 455px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0007.jpg" width="455" height="600" alt=""'ARE ALL YOUR FOOTMEN CALLED PETER?' I ASKED."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'ARE ALL YOUR FOOTMEN CALLED PETER?' I ASKED."</span> +</div> + +<p>We were eleven to dinner, and a little discussion ensued as to who +should sit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> near my friend Mysie. I noticed a good deal of manœuvring +on the part of a dark, middle-aged man to sit there. Mysie saw it too, +and seemed pleased when he succeeded. As he drew in his chair to the +table he gave her a glance which spoke volumes. I was quite excited. I +wondered if anyone else had noticed it. I was certain there was +something between those two.</p> + +<p>This was the only interest I had. My host was absorbed in the carving +and in the details of the day's sport; my other neighbour was evidently +too hungry to waste his time in talking to a chit of a girl like myself. +It was a dull and tedious meal. Lady Sutherland was gentle and polite, +but not talkative. Mysie was too absorbed in her neighbour. As they were +on the opposite side of the table I could catch a word now and then, +though they spoke in an undertone.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 225px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0008.jpg" width="225" height="500" alt=""PETER CAME FORWARD WITH THE COLONEL'S GREATCOAT IN HIS +HAND."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"PETER CAME FORWARD WITH THE COLONEL'S GREATCOAT IN HIS +HAND."</span> +</div> + +<p>The number of courses, the number of strangers, the number of servants, +all confused and bewildered me; the only thing I had grasped was that my +footman friend was called Peter. It was an ugly name and most +unsuitable. Indeed, he appeared to think so himself, for he seldom +answered to it. I cannot say my friend shone as a waiter; he was far +more in his element relating mountaineering adventures. I suddenly +recollected his story of having spent the night on a ledge of rock in a +snowstorm. How did a footman get into such a predicament? One can only +picture him carrying a picnic basket in the tamest of scenery.</p> + +<p>The only other people that interested me besides my travelling companion +were Mysie and her friend. I did not wish to act the spy, but a sort of +fascination compelled me to look and listen. The gentleman was immensely +<i>empressé</i>, yet nobody seemed to notice it but myself.</p> + +<p>"Have you heard from your cousin Fred?" I heard him say.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, we never hear anything of him now. I'm afraid he'll never do +any good. A rolling stone, you know——"</p> + +<p>"I thought he was such a favourite of yours," said Mysie's dark admirer, +with a world of meaning in his eyes and voice.</p> + +<p>She was conscious of it, and blushed deeply as she replied, "You always +made that mistake. I liked him when we were children; he was my cousin +and I saw a good deal of him, but now——"</p> + +<p>Here my attention was suddenly called to myself, and I heard no more. A +pint of rich brown gravy was trickling down over my white silk dress! +<i>Mine</i>, do I say? Far worse—<i>Lucy's</i> white silk dress!</p> + + + +<p>My dismay was too great for words. Besides, all words were idle, and I +knew the culprit was my friend the new footman, who would be scolded +enough as it was. Sir Alexander glared furiously at him and rapped out +an oath, while I mopped up the thick greasy fluid with my table-napkin +and murmured sweetly that it did not signify in the least.</p> + +<p>I was glad when the dinner, with its innumerable courses and +interminable dessert, came at last to an end and we ladies were alone in +the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of the new importation, mamma?" said Mysie.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<p>I blushed scarlet. For one brief moment I actually thought she was +alluding to me, but I soon found out it was Peter she was talking about. +That did not make me feel any cooler; if possible, I grew redder and +redder.</p> + +<p>Lady Sutherland considered a few minutes in a fat, comfortable sort of +way. Then she said, slowly, "Well, dear, he puzzles me a good deal. I +cannot think he has been well trained. He does not wait so cleverly as +the last Peter. Didn't he spill something on your dress, my dear?" +turning to me.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's nothing," I replied, eagerly, twisting my skirt still more +out of shape to hide the huge brown spot. To change the conversation I +went on, "Are all your footmen called Peter?"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 412px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0009.jpg" width="412" height="600" alt=""COLONEL WITHERINGTON WITH HIS HAND ON PETERS SHOULDER, +THE PAIR SHAKING WITH LAUGHTER."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"COLONEL WITHERINGTON WITH HIS HAND ON PETERS SHOULDER, +THE PAIR SHAKING WITH LAUGHTER."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Yes, at least the second one is." It was Lucy who answered me. "Our +first footman is always called Charles and the second one Peter. Papa +made that arrangement because he got so mixed when we changed servants. +After all, mamma, the new Peter may improve. He can hardly have got over +his journey yet."</p> + +<p>I racked my brain for a change of subject. I was so afraid it should +come out that we had travelled together. I was too young to see the +amusing side of it, and was in terror lest Peter himself should reveal +it to the kitchen. With more abruptness than was polite I turned to +Mysie.</p> + +<p>"Who was that dark man who sat by you at dinner?" I asked.</p> + +<p>She looked a little embarrassed as she replied, "A near neighbour of +ours, Colonel Witherington. We have known him for years and are great +friends; I always like to talk to him, he has so much to say."</p> + +<p>"Methinks the lady doth explain too much," was my inward comment. An owl +could see that she was in love with him. (It is true that the owl is the +bird of wisdom.)</p> + +<p>After a short interval the gentlemen joined us. They were all evidently +anxious to get home, and ordered their dogcarts (or whatever they had) +as soon as they decently could. Colonel Witherington was the last to go. +He had lingered so long that the butler and the pompous Charles had +retired, leaving only Peter standing in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Now don't come out of the warm room, Sir Alexander," said Colonel +Witherington; "I shall manage very well—your man is out here."</p> + +<p>Peter now came forward with the Colonel's greatcoat in his hand; and the +drawing-room door was shut.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a peal of laughter was heard, long, loud, and irresistible. +Then another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> voice joined in—the merriment seemed uncontrollable. The +Sutherland family looked at each other in angry astonishment. Could it +be the new footman indulging in this unseemly mirth? Impossible!</p> + +<p>Sir Alexander opened the door into the hall; we followed him with one +accord. What a sight met our eyes! There stood Colonel Witherington, +with his hand on Peter's shoulder, the pair of them shaking with +laughter.</p> + +<p>"Go back, my dears," said Sir Alexander, with a wave of his hand towards +us. With the true instinct of the British pater-familias, he was eager +to send his women-kind away from anything unusual or improper; but +Mysie's curiosity was too great—besides, Colonel Witherington was now +dragging the footman forward.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 442px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0010.jpg" width="442" height="600" alt=""'COME AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF, YOU RASCAL.'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'COME AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF, YOU RASCAL.'"</span> +</div> + +<p>"Come and explain yourself, you rascal. Why, Mysie"—the name slipped +out unawares—"don't you see who it is? It's your cousin Fred."</p> + +<p>An explosion of dynamite would have less upset the worthy baronet than +this announcement. He stood speechless and staring; Lady Sutherland +looked annoyed and incredulous. As for me, I cannot describe my +feelings; I was in a perfect whirl. Mysie was the first to recover from +her astonishment. She joined in the laughter of the two men.</p> + +<p>"How like you, Fred, to do a thing like that! Do come and tell us all +about it. I thought you were at the Cape. Still, that loud guffaw +sounded familiar. But how different you look without your moustache—and +your hair, too! Well, I should never have known you!"</p> + +<p>"The want of a moustache made me recognise him," said Colonel +Witherington. "He was just such a beardless boy when he joined the +regiment. I noticed the likeness at dinner; and when I got a chance of +looking into his eyes I was sure——"</p> + +<p>"I call it most ungentlemanlike—most unpardonable," began Sir +Alexander, who had now recovered his speech.</p> + +<p>"I did it for a lark," said the supposed footman, in a hearty, cheerful +voice. "I wondered what you really thought of the good-for-nothing +nephew, and how you would receive him if he returned like the prodigal +son in the parable."</p> + +<p>"It was hardly fair on us, Fred," said Lady Sutherland's gentle voice.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, dear Aunt Margaret; but <i>you</i> would never be found +wanting." Mysie stepped back a few paces and took hold of my arm; her +cousin went on: "Talk of Her Majesty's uniform, these togs beat all. I +never was so gorgeously attired in my life."</p> + +<p>Sir Alexander was too angry to endure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> this any longer. He marched off +to the smoking-room, and tried to soothe his nerves with the fragrant +weed. The rest of us went back into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"Do lock the door," whispered Mysie to Colonel Witherington; "the +servants will be coming in."</p> + +<p>Fred Sutherland (to give him his right name) then explained his strange +conduct. He had been obliged to leave his regiment, and had, as they +knew, gone to the Cape. Here he fell in with an old school-fellow who +was going to the diamond fields. They joined forces, bought a claim for +a mere song, and set to work. To the surprise of the whole camp they +were successful. In the claim, which had been abandoned months before as +"no go," they came upon one of the largest stones that had ever been +turned up in South Africa.</p> + +<p>Fred Sutherland turned his share into cash directly and started for +home. "I'm quite a millionaire, I assure you," cried the footman, +slapping his plush breeches.</p> + +<p>It looked so impudent and familiar of him to be sitting among us dressed +like that, that his aunt could not bear it.</p> + +<p>"Do go and take off those dreadful clothes," she said; "I can't think +what made you do such a thing."</p> + +<p>"I haven't done it in vain; I've learned what I wanted to know," he +said, with a light laugh and a look at Mysie and Colonel Witherington.</p> + +<p>A wave of depression came over me. Of course he was in love with his +cousin and came to see how the land lay.</p> + +<p>Poor fellow! Still, he seemed to bear up.</p> + +<p>He turned towards me as if expecting an introduction. He did not show +the slightest sign of ever having met me before. I never was so puzzled +in my life. What ought I to do?</p> + +<p>"This is my school-fellow—Miss Cornwall—but she will prefer to make +your acquaintance in other attire; won't you, Lofty?"</p> + +<p>"I have done so before," said I, summoning up courage and holding out my +hand. "We travelled together from Euston."</p> + +<p>Everything was so astonishing that nobody seemed surprised. I was +pleased to see the expression which beamed on the footman's face, and to +feel the cordial grip as we shook hands.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Colonel Witherington, "you had better come home with me. +Nobody need know anything about it. You must manage your father with +regard to Fred," he whispered to Mysie, "and I will call early again +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>And so ended my little adventure—or rather it did not end here, for +Fred came back with me when I returned to London. And—well, my +travelling companion has promised never to leave my side.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 468px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0011.jpg" width="468" height="600" alt=""FRED SUTHERLAND THEN EXPLAINED HIS STRANGE CONDUCT."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"FRED SUTHERLAND THEN EXPLAINED HIS STRANGE CONDUCT."</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0012.jpg" width="600" height="280" alt="VIEW OF THE "COUNTRY" THROUGH WHICH THE RAILWAY RUNS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">VIEW OF THE "COUNTRY" THROUGH WHICH THE RAILWAY RUNS.</span> +</div> + + + + +<h2><a name="A_10000_TOY" id="A_10000_TOY"></a>A £10,000 TOY.</h2> + +<p class="center">COMPLETE WORKING RAILWAY IN A ROOM.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Robert Machray</span>.</p> + + +<p>The seven beautiful illustrations which appear in this article are taken +from photographs of what is without doubt one of the mechanical marvels +of the day. They clearly set forth the most complete, and, at the same +time, the most costly miniature model railway system in the world.</p> + +<p>So perfect, indeed, is this line and its equipment that the first +cursory glance at these pictures of it will certainly cause the beholder +to imagine that he is looking at presentments of some portions of the +London and North-Western Railway or of some other well-known, full-grown +railway. But his eye, on gazing a little longer at these views, will +take note of the curious circumstance that the entire system appears to +be embraced within the four walls of a single room. Having discovered +this, he will look still more closely, and then he will see other things +which will immediately excite his interest, and he will forthwith "want +to know" all about it.</p> + +<p>This wonderful railway is owned, controlled, and operated by Mr. Percy +H. Leigh of Brentwood, Worsley, one of the suburbs of Manchester. This +gentleman has no professional connection with railroading, but for +some years past he has amused himself with models of locomotives and +their practical working. "Some men spend their money on racehorses, +others on yachts, and so on," says Mr. Leigh, "but this railroad of mine +is more to my fancy."</p> + +<p>I am not permitted to state how much exactly this hobby of Mr. Leigh's +has cost him, but I am not betraying any confidence when I say that in +one way and another a sum not far short of ten thousand pounds has been +spent on his Liliputian line. This large amount may be accounted for by +the fact that Mr. Leigh was not to be satisfied with anything short of +perfection in every detail. His instructions to the contractors who +built and equipped the "road" were that there were to be no "dummies," +and that everything was to be made accurately to scale. How faithfully +and thoroughly Messrs Lucas and Davies, of Farringdon Road, have carried +out his commands will be evident from the following statement with which +they have been kind enough to supply me.</p> + +<p>The country, if I may so term it, within which the railway runs, is a +great, oblong, single-storied building, consisting of one chamber, +ninety feet in length by thirty feet in breadth. It has been added on to +Mr. Leigh's residence, and was specially constructed with a view to +giving the line a sufficient range for its successful operation,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> and +also to afford it protection from damp and other undesirable effects of +the weather. The room is provided with a double floor—a wooden one, on +which stand the trestles supporting the track itself, and, two or three +feet below it, another of concrete. An even temperature all the year +round is secured by means of two rows of hot-water pipes. When these +precautions are considered, it will be seen that this railway system +probably enjoys the most perfect climate in existence.</p> + +<p>The line has not yet been given any comprehensive name. Perhaps it is +almost too soon for that, for it is hardly more than finished; indeed, +the goods-engine remains to be delivered by the builders. But it might +be christened, from the names of the two stations on it, the Oakgreen +and Beechvale Railway.</p> + +<p>First of all, to describe the track. The road-bed is made of pitch pine, +mounted on sixty-five trestles, three feet from the floor, and the track +extends to 276 feet, of a double line of rails. Of the rails all +together there are 1,200 feet; and some idea of what this means may be +understood from the fact that when they came from Sheffield, where they +were specially rolled for Mr. Leigh, they formed two solid heaps of +metal, each as high as a man. The rails are of mild steel; they are +double-headed, and about an inch in height; some of them are nearly +twelve feet long. They are fastened down to 2,000 pitch pine sleepers by +4,000 malleable cast-iron chairs, held in place with hard-wood wedges +and 16,000 screws. All the fish plates, bolts, and nuts used in joining +the rails together are exact miniatures of those to be seen on an +ordinary railway. The track is ballasted with nine hundredweight of +limestone chips, and the gauge is six inches.</p> + +<p>Details which involve a large number of figures are apt to be rather dry +and tiresome; but in the present case, if frequent reference be made +from the letterpress to the illustrations, it will be seen with what +extreme care, and with what extraordinarily minute and even loving +faithfulness, all the features of a first-class modern railway have been +reproduced in miniature.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0013.jpg" width="600" height="410" alt="OAKGREEN STATION, WHERE THE LINE STARTS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">OAKGREEN STATION, WHERE THE LINE STARTS.</span> +</div> + +<p>The line starts from Oakgreen, the principal station, where are located +the offices of the management. In front of the buildings is a platform +twenty-four feet long, provided with the usual seats and other +conveniences for passengers, of whom a few may be noticed waiting for +the express to convey them to their destination. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> platform is +sheltered from the elements by a glass roof, while the gates admitting +to it are of the regular palisade type. At the further end is a +passenger foot-bridge of trellis-work covered over; it stands high above +the line, and is reached by two staircases, and everybody is warned not +to venture to cross the railway by any other means. At the same time +there are level crossings for the greatly daring.</p> + + +<p>Behind the station proper is the goods station and siding, forty feet +long, the goods shed itself being four feet long.</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="caption">WYNNSTAYBEECHVALE STATION, SHOWING TUNNEL IN THE DISTANCE.</span></p> +<div class="backright" style="background-image: url(images/illus_0014.jpg); height: 100%;"> +<div class="sandbag-right" style="width:600px; height:250px;"> </div> +<div class="sandbag-right" style="width:400px; height:150px;"> </div> + +<p>Both of these stations, and indeed the other station and the whole line, +are beautifully lighted up, when necessary, by electric lamps fitted +with reflectors. There are in all fifty-eight of these soft, lovely +lights; and a particularly tall one will be observed in the goods +station for the purpose of affording sufficient light to that very busy +portion of the company's undertakings. The lamps are supplied from +storage batteries placed under the track, and their illuminating +capacity is enough to light up the whole room without bringing the gas, +with which it is also fitted up, into requisition.</p> + +<p>The electric lamps also serve the purpose of lighting up both the signal +cabins and the signal posts along the line. There are three of the +former mounted at the side of the track, and they contain no less than +twenty-six levers, from which stretch flexible wires and runners to the +signal posts. The last-named, which are twelve in number, are three feet +in height, and are fully equipped with semaphores, lamps showing red, +green, and white, platforms and ladders. Besides these, there are also +worked from the signal cabins sixteen sets of points, by means of rod +connections and levers. Every particular with regard to the signalling +and the shunting has been thought out and executed with the most +laudable and painstaking thoroughness and accuracy. And these +arrangements decidedly add a somewhat picturesque element to the line, +while they also strengthen the effect of reality which is the chief +impression given by this marvellous railway.</p></div> + +<p>It is, of course, impossible to enumerate every matter of interest +connected with the line itself, but it must be stated that there have +been provided two turntables to take the locomotive and tender, and that +the turntables have four levers for the points, and also that they have +been furnished with spring buffers; and, further, that a tank, into +which the boiler can be emptied, has been let into the track.</p> + +<p>In the course of the length of the line, the train passes through a long +cutting, forty feet in extent, and two feet deep. To heighten the +illusion, the sides of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> cutting are covered with grass, and on the +top of both sides there is a dwarf hedge. This portion of the road +supplies it with its chief scenic attraction. Some distance from the +cutting there is a road bridge across the railway, three feet long by +two feet wide. Before reaching the second station, Beechvale, a long and +fearsome tunnel has to be negotiated—its actual length is eighteen +feet. The station-house, platform, and other accessories of Beechvale +are very similar to those at Oakgreen.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0015a.jpg" width="600" height="394" alt="TURNTABLE FOR THE ENGINE AND TENDER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">TURNTABLE FOR THE ENGINE AND TENDER.</span> +</div> + +<p>The locomotive, with its tender, is five feet long and about eighteen +inches in height. It is of six-inch gauge, and is an exact duplicate on +a small scale of an express of the London and North-Western Railway. It +is a real working locomotive, most exquisitely made. The only points in +which it differs from its model are such as come from its comparatively +diminutive size. Thus, its boiler has not the usual number of tubes, it +has no injector, and steam is got up in it by a charcoal fire, the +charcoal being kept at a great heat by a "blast."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0015b.jpg" width="600" height="345" alt="SNAP-SHOT OF THE TRAIN EN ROUTE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SNAP-SHOT OF THE TRAIN EN ROUTE.</span> +</div> + +<p>The cost of the engine and tender was £320 or a little more, and it was +made entirely by Mr. Lucas, of Lucas and Davies. It took him nearly nine +months to complete it, but from this period there would have to be +deducted a good many hours when he was called away to attend to some +other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> piece of business for his firm. And here I may remark that it +took eighteen months to build the line, five months of which were +occupied in fitting up the large room already mentioned.</p> + +<p>The speed of the train on the straight portions of the line is six miles +an hour, but it is considerably less on the curves at either end, which +are twenty-six feet in diameter. The contractors experienced a great +deal of difficulty in getting the curves exactly right, as the six-inch +gauge of the railway, no other line being of any assistance in this +particular, introduced an entirely new problem in railroad construction. +The engine can travel six times round the entire length of the system +without its being necessary to renew the charcoal fire.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0016.jpg" width="600" height="398" alt="DEEP CUTTING, FORTY FEET LONG." title="" /> +<span class="caption">DEEP CUTTING, FORTY FEET LONG.</span> +</div> + +<p>There are both a passenger train and a goods train. The former consists +of three carriages and a guard's van. One carriage is a first-class +corridor, a second is a third-class corridor, and the third is a +composite first-class and third-class carriage. Each of them is fitted +with the usual upholstered seats found in compartments belonging to +their classification; there are hat racks and blinds, mirrors and +lavatories and so forth in every carriage; there are carpets, too, on +the floors of the first-class. The guard's van has not been neglected, +but in its dog-boxes and other appointments is a facsimile of the vans +that go out daily from Euston. As a matter of fact, the whole train is +panelled and painted throughout in the familiar colours of the London +and North-Western Railway. The carriages are mounted on bogies, and have +been completely equipped with carriage springs, grease boxes for the +axles, spring buffers, draw-bars and screw couplings right and left. The +two corridor carriages have the proper extending covered ways.</p> + +<p>The goods train is quite as remarkable in its way as every other part of +this railway. It is composed of ten trucks and vans, and has besides a +guard's brake-van fitted with a screw-down brake of the usual sort. +There are two high-side trucks, four medium, and two low; two covered-in +vans and two cattle trucks, and, if a glance be taken at the +illustration which exhibits the goods train most completely, it will be +noticed that all of these trucks and vans are loaded with appropriate +articles of freight—logs of wood, slates, casks of beer, marble, and +other things, while the two bullock wagons are filled with animals.</p> + +<p>All these trucks and vans are fitted with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> hand lever brakes, +tarpaulins, chains, hooks, stanchions, and everything necessary for the +handling of the no doubt enormous goods traffic of the road. They are +all mounted on carriage springs, and have grease boxes, spring buffers, +and every other device in use on the London and North-Western +Railway—from which they have been copied, like everything else on this +Liliputian line. The greatest railway in the world took a friendly +interest in the smallest, and supplied it with the drawings and models +from which it and its rolling stock have been imitated.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0017a.jpg" width="600" height="361" alt="THE HEAVY GOODS TRAIN—THE TRUCKS LOADED WITH +MERCHANDISE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE HEAVY GOODS TRAIN—THE TRUCKS LOADED WITH +MERCHANDISE.</span> +</div> + +<p>One tiny detail I think I must mention in conclusion, and it is that the +management have thoughtfully provided fourteen hand lamps for the +service of the line.</p> + +<p>In acknowledging my indebtedness to Mr. Leigh, I should like to say that +he has found in his miniature railway not only a source of continual +amusement, but also a means of doing good to others, for he has on more +than one occasion shown it in operation to large gatherings of people, +who have flocked to see it both on account of the interest naturally +excited by it, and also for the sake of "sweet charity," the proceeds +realised from these exhibitions being devoted to some worthy object.</p> + +<p>For the photographs which accompany this article we are indebted to Mr. +J. Ambler, of Manchester.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0017b.jpg" width="650" height="243" alt="" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0018a.jpg" width="650" height="371" alt="THE VERY SHORT MEMORY of Mr. JOSEPH SCORER" title="" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2><a name="A_UNIQUE_EXPERIENCE_AT_THE_SEASIDE" id="A_UNIQUE_EXPERIENCE_AT_THE_SEASIDE"></a>A UNIQUE EXPERIENCE AT THE SEASIDE</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By John Oxenham</span>.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Illustrated by H. M. Brock.</i></p> + + +<p>Could it, after all, be called unique? Hardly, perhaps, in the strict +sense of the word, since others shared in it. But to us it was, and I +trust ever will be, a unique experience.</p> + +<p>We have generally spent our August holiday at the seaside in apartments, +and suffered many things in consequence—an uninterrupted succession of +mixed odours of cooking from early morning till late at night; fleas and +other insect pests, which seemed to thrive mightily on the powders put +down for their extermination; landladies afflicted with spasms and +inordinate thirst, and landladies' cats with unappeasable appetites; +cramped quarters, of course, which did not afflict one on fine days, but +on rainy ones became pandemonium; terrible attempts at amateurish +cooking and service—in which the dining-room's vegetables and tarts got +mixed up with the drawing-room's vegetables and pies—and slatternly +maids of all work, who killed on the spot even one's seaside appetite, +the moment they appeared to set the table.</p> + +<p>And so, after mature consideration of ways and means, we decided this +time to attain to the dignity of a small furnished house—or a cottage, +at all events—if by any chance such could be found within the limits of +a moderate purse.</p> + +<p>Further consideration fixed on Eastnor as the place where our holiday +was to be spent.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 275px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0018b.jpg" width="275" height="450" alt=""'WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU, SIR?'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU, SIR?'"</span> +</div> +<p>We had, in the course of twelve years' wanderings, tried most of the +South and East Coast watering-places, and found most of them a-wanting. +If the atmosphere was bracing, the beach was shingle. If the beach was +sandy, the atmosphere was enervating.</p> + +<p>Somewhere in our family history a strain of Israelitish blood must have +got mixed with all the other strains. It probably dates right away back +to the forty years' wanderers, or even, maybe, as far back as Noah—in +whose family one can conceive, at one period of its history, almost as +strong a craving for sand as had again out-cropped in this present +rising generation of mine.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 232px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0019.jpg" width="232" height="400" alt=""THE DOOR OPENED, AND A SMALL LAME MAN LOOKED AT ME."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"THE DOOR OPENED, AND A SMALL LAME MAN LOOKED AT ME."</span> +</div> + +<p>The one thing my youngsters insist on is sand—wet sand with pools, for +amateur canal-engineering; dry sand for houses and forts, and Canutish, +wave-repelling castles. Sand, and plenty of it, is their one demand, and +no holiday is complete without it. When they were very young, +Broadstairs was all right for a time, and satisfied their inordinate +cravings; but it became too crowded, and to our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> family connoisseurs the +quality of the sand has deteriorated somewhat, and has got too much +mixed up with mud and buns and paper bags, and other people's babies, +and so we had to try further afield.</p> + + + +<p>The Great Sahara would have been just about the very thing for us, but +on inquiry I found the journey to be a long and trying one, and a trifle +beyond our means, and the accommodation for visitors somewhat defective.</p> + +<p>Eastnor was named to us; we had never tried Eastnor. Was there +sand?—Yes, any amount. So to Eastnor I journeyed, with a +Saturday-to-Monday ticket and stringent orders from headquarters to +first try the sand—as to quality, quantity, texture, depth and +pools—and if up to standard measurement, I was authorised to pick up a +small house for August on the most reasonable terms obtainable.</p> + +<p>The requirements were at least one sitting-room and three bedrooms and a +kitchen—if an extra room or two without extra charge, so much the +better. I was to come back fully informed as to what was left in the +house in the way of furnishings and utensils, and what we would be +expected to take with us.</p> + +<p>I found Eastnor all right as regards sand; the very streets were full of +it, and as I stood on the Esplanade at low tide, and leaned up against a +strong south-west breeze, and saw the dry sand sweeping like smoke along +the flats and piling knee-deep to windward of the groins, and got my +mouth and eyes and ears full of it, I decided, from the taste and smell +and feel of it, that—from a sand point of view, at all events—Eastnor +would do.</p> + +<p>Now to find a lodgment for the night, and then to prowl round for a +house.</p> + +<p>I struck a neat little confectioner's for tea, and, following a plan +which had acted well on previous occasions, asked, as I was paying for +it, if they could accommodate me for the night.</p> + +<p>Well, they had rooms, but they were let for the following week—being +regatta week—and, yes, said the stout lady behind the counter, she +thought she had better not take me; but the "Balaclava Inn," next door, +put up beds—I had better try there.</p> + +<p>Yes, at the "Balaclava" they put up beds, and they showed me to a room. +"But if I should get a good let to-morrow—lots of folks come down on +Sunday to stop for regatta," said the hostess—"I shall have to turn you +out; but maybe I can find you a bedroom nigh handy."</p> + +<p>This just to show the extreme independence of the aborigines.</p> + +<p>Then I turned out to find the desirable seaside residence with the +maximum of accommodation and comfort at the minimum of cost.</p> + +<p>I rooted round till I struck the chief estate agent—who was also the +chief grocer—of the town.</p> + +<p>His shop was full, and trade was evidently booming.</p> + +<p>I stood behind a triple row of clamorous lady visitors, who were +ordering everything under the sun in the grocery line, and complaining +vehemently to the badgered shop-men that their last orders had all been +very inadequately fulfilled. I waited patiently till the mob, having +apparently bought up the whole shop, thinned out, and a dapper +London-trained young shopman smoothed down his ruffled front hair and +leaned over the counter and asked, "And what can I do for you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I want a small furnished house," I said, meekly.</p> + +<p>"Ah," he said, with a grin, "I'm afraid we are out of them at present; +I'll ask Mr. Wilson."</p> + +<p>"Small furnished house for August?" echoed Mr. Wilson, in aggrieved +amazement. "Not such a thing to be had in Eastnor. All let a month ago. +You should come in May or June to get a house for August."</p> + +<p>I thanked him, and left depressed. I wandered through the town, and +found myself back on the Esplanade. I walked the whole length of it, and +then along the sea bank into the uninhabited region beyond.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>Not quite uninhabited, as it proved, for, about half a mile from the +Esplanade, I came suddenly on a cottage with nothing between it and the +sandy beach but a tiny garden plot, with a bit of grass and some +nasturtiums and pinks mixed up with cabbages and potatoes and a row of +scarlet-runners. It looked very clean and inviting, and I said to +myself, "Now, if only that were to let, it's just exactly what I want."</p> + +<p>There could be no harm in asking, so I went up to the door and knocked. +No one came. I knocked again. Still no answer. I waited. It seemed to me +there was some movement in the side room, the sliding window of which +was partly open, but was covered with a white curtain.</p> + +<p>I knocked again, and the door opened suddenly, and disclosed the small +brown face of a small lame man, looking up at me with a pair of small +but very sharp brown eyes, with, as I now remember, a slightly startled +look in them, as of one caught in the act.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" he said, in a sharp voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wanted to ask if this cottage is by any chance to let any time in +August."</p> + +<p>He hesitated, and then snapped, "How long for?"</p> + +<p>"Two, three, or four weeks."</p> + +<p>"When d'you want it?"</p> + +<p>"About the seventh or eighth."</p> + +<p>He pondered the matter, and barked, "Come in."</p> + +<p>I went in. It was charming. Nicely, though plainly, furnished, and as +clean as a new pin. I went all over it. Two sitting, four bedrooms, +kitchen, scullery, wire spring mattresses, wool beds, two blankets to +each bed, blankets very white and almost new.</p> + +<p>"And the rent?" I asked, wondering how much above my limit I would not +go to possess all this for a month.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, slowly, "three guineas a week is what we generally get, +but if you could wait till the twelfth I'd let it go for two and a half, +if you'll buy the stuff in the garden. I reckon there's a good pound's +worth between the potatoes and cabbages and beans, and they'll be just +about ready by the time you come in. I've made a good let for the three +weeks before you come, and they don't want to go out till the eleventh, +and" (dropping his voice to a confidential whisper) "my missus, she's +expecting to be laid up very soon, and she wants to go to her folks at +Wilborough, else I wouldn't let it go so cheap."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0020.jpg" width="600" height="374" alt=""I GAVE A DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF MY ADVENTURES TO MY +RECEPTIVE FAMILY CIRCLE."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I GAVE A DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF MY ADVENTURES TO MY +RECEPTIVE FAMILY CIRCLE."</span> +</div> + +<p>Diplomatically veiling my satisfaction, I closed the bargain on the +spot, and sat down then and there and wrote out a couple of agreements, +by which Joseph Scorer agreed to let, and John Oxenham agreed to take, +for one month, from August 12th, the cottage known as Sandybank Cottage +in the town of Eastnor, with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> furniture, etc., named in the +inventory attached, for the sum of ten guineas, whereof the receipt of +one pound was hereby acknowledged.</p> + +<p>"What about the inventory?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I've got one ready for the other folks. If you like to check it I'll +make you a copy and send it on."</p> + +<p>It was a strange and wonderful document, that inventory, but with Mr. +Scorer's assistance I succeeded in checking the main points of it. Many +of the items were strange; the spelling was phonetic and curious, and at +times stumped us both, and then Mr. Scorer would scratch his head and +opine that it must mean so-and-so.</p> + +<p>"One cundler" in the kitchen brought us to a dead-lock for full five +minutes. At last Mr. Scorer pointed to a battered implement with its +bottom full of holes, hanging on the wall, and said, triumphantly, +"That's it."</p> + +<p>"What in heaven's name is it?" I asked, gazing suspiciously at the +shapeless object.</p> + +<p>"Why, you squeedge your cabbages through it," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see, a colander."</p> + +<p>The humours of that inventory come upon me still in the dark night +watches at times, and I laugh internally till my wife wakes up and +advises me to get up and take a dose of camphor if I feel as bad as all +that.</p> + +<p>The larger articles, such as bedsteads and chairs and washstands, we +easily identified, and these we triumphantly ticked off first, and then +gradually worried out the smaller ones.</p> + +<p>"One indimat" caused us some trouble in the best bedroom, but finally a +strip of straw matting, two feet by one, was hauled out from its +lurking-place under the washstand, whither it had crept for concealment, +and reluctantly answered to its name.</p> + +<p>The crockery was heterogeneous, and was slumped under colour-headings.</p> + +<p>"Three cupps pink; one sosir pink; three cupps blew; four sosirs blew +(one crack)," and so on.</p> + +<p>That searching inventory went right to the root of things, and by its +<i>fiat-justitia-ruat-cœlum</i> candour impressed me most favourably with +the stark, staring, straight-forward honesty of Mr. Joseph Scorer.</p> + +<p>"One bird in glass case, bird's leg broke—four orments, all crack—one +ormlu clock (won't go)"—could transparent honesty go further than this?</p> + +<p>Moreover Mr. Scorer asked me casually, "Did you know Mr. William Henry +Sawyer, Esquire, of the 'Ome Office?"</p> + +<p>I did not. My acquaintance does not as a rule extend to the Home Office.</p> + +<p>"A nice gentleman, 'e is. Been 'ere in this 'ouse every year for the +last five years. 'E comes early, about May, and sometimes again in +October."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 197px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0021.jpg" width="197" height="400" alt=""I WAS SURPRISED TO SEE A HEAP OF LUGGAGE."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I WAS SURPRISED TO SEE A HEAP OF LUGGAGE."</span> +</div> + +<p>"It is good to be Mr. William Henry Sawyer, Esquire, of the Home +Office," I said. I am a fairly truthful man as men go, and I never spoke +a truer word than that, but that knowledge only came to me later.</p> + +<p>I was delighted with Mr. Joseph Scorer, and with his receipt in my +pocket and my two pounds in his, I went home on the Monday morning +triumphant, and on the Monday evening whistled myself into the bosom of +my family to the tune of "See, the conquering hero comes."</p> + + +<p>I gave a detailed description of my adventures to my receptive family +circle, and when my wife heard Mr. Scorer's last message, "I will come +over the day before you are coming in, and have the place put in order, +and will have a fire on in the kitchen for you," she labelled him +"treasure," and vowed we would keep on going there every year.</p> + +<p>"I wish I had remembered to ask you to tell him to get in some coals, +and milk, and bread," she said, regretfully.</p> + +<p>"I did," I answered, triumphantly. "He suggested we would want them, and +I paid him for them, and for oil for the lamps too, so that's all +right."</p> + +<p>"You have done well," said my wife, and I thought so myself.</p> + +<p>August 12th found us duly landed at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> Eastnor station, and furtively +raking out our belongings from the piles of other people's. At last they +were all collected, and I chartered a carriage and a porter's cart to +convey us and our luggage to Sandybank Cottage.</p> + +<p>Mr. Joseph Scorer met us at the door, and we forthwith took possession. +The kitchen fire was lighted, the coal was there, and the milk, and the +bread, and oil.</p> + +<p>Everything was as nice as it could be.</p> + +<p>The luggage was carried in, and we settled down to a month's solid +enjoyment and undisputed possession of our new abode.</p> + +<p>Mr. Scorer was solicitous of our comfort. He altered the inventory in +one or two minor points, in respect of articles broken by our +predecessors. He dug enough potatoes for next week's dinners, and cut +two plump cabbages. He collected his £4 15s., half the balance of the +rent, and departed, followed by the blessings of the entire family, save +those members who were already knee deep in the ocean just the other +side of the garden patch.</p> + +<p>"This is simply splendid," said my wife, beaming at me in the way I +like; "it seems almost too good to be true."</p> + +<p>She was right.</p> + +<p>Next morning was magnificent. My wife went out to buy up the town. All +the rest of us plunged into the sea, except the servant, Amelia Blatt, +who was rapidly converting herself into a negress over the intricacies +of the strange little range in the kitchen.</p> + +<p>One of the advantages of Sandybank Cottage was that from its proximity +to the beach you could use your bedroom as a bathing machine, assume +your marine costume therein, skip across the lawn, and be into the water +with a hop and a jump.</p> + +<p>It was simply delightful, really almost too good to be true, as my wife +had said.</p> + +<p>We all had a glorious bathe and a scamper on the sands, and then trooped +up to the cottage to dress. As we came up over the lawn I was surprised +to see a great heap of luggage, and two bicycles, lying around, +evidently all just discharged from a couple of retreating carriages.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 445px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0022.jpg" width="445" height="550" alt=""IT WAS LUDICROUS STANDING THERE IN A BATHING SUIT."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"IT WAS LUDICROUS STANDING THERE IN A BATHING SUIT."</span> +</div> + +<p>I am an unusually modest man, and it was rather over-facing. There were +several ladies in the party and an elderly gentleman. They all turned +and watched our advent. The ladies looked put out at something. I feared +it might be at myself in my bathing costume. However, my foot was on my +native heath, so to speak, which was more than could be said of theirs, +so I put on as bold a face as could legitimately be expected of a modest +man in nothing but a bathing costume, and went forward. The old +gentleman also seemed disturbed, but he disguised his feelings to the +best of his power, and addressed me suavely.</p> + +<p>"Been enjoying a last bathe?" he asked.</p> + +<p>There was just a hint of "What the deuce do you mean by it, sir?" in his +tone.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't refrain from one more dip, I suppose?" he said again, with a +forced smile. "Might I ask what time you are leaving? We understood—"</p> + +<p>"Leaving?" I said, with some force. "Why, we only got here yesterday."</p> + +<p>He gazed at me in blank astonishment, the ladies also.</p> + +<p>"Oh," he said, soothingly, "there must be some mistake."</p> + +<p>"I am not aware of any," I answered, somewhat brusquely.</p> + +<p>It was ludicrous, standing there in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> bathing suit, discussing the +matter under the gaze of three pairs of outraged female eyes, and a +blazing sun.</p> + +<p>"But, my good sir," said the old gentleman, "I have taken this +cottage—it is Sandybank Cottage, is it not?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"It is."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Joseph Scorer's?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 429px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0023.jpg" width="429" height="550" alt=""A PARTY OF THREE OLD MAIDEN LADIES, WITH THREE DOGS AND +TWO CANARIES."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"A PARTY OF THREE OLD MAIDEN LADIES, WITH THREE DOGS AND +TWO CANARIES."</span> +</div> + +<p>I was getting angry and the sun was blistering my neck.</p> + +<p>"Well, I have taken it for four weeks from August 13, and have paid a +deposit on it."</p> + +<p>"And I have taken it for four weeks from August 12, and have paid a +deposit and half the rent," I said. "We came in yesterday, and we go out +September 9."</p> + +<p>"And you have an agreement with Mr. Scorer?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I have, but I have not got it on me."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be hanged," said the old gentleman, very red in the face, +and turned to his women folk.</p> + +<p>"My dears, there is evidently some mistake. An infernal nuisance, but +this gentleman is evidently not to blame. Would you mind my seeing your +agreement?" he asked, turning again to me.</p> + +<p>"Certainly I would mind. My agreement has nothing to do with you, sir, +and I am not in the habit of having my word doubted. Now perhaps you +will permit me to go in and dress, before my neck is absolutely raw."</p> + +<p>They hung around for a time, talking unpleasantly among themselves, and +finally the old gentleman stalked off to the town, and came back with a +cart for their belongings. They were loaded up, and the party +disappeared in a cloud of dust on the way to Eastnor.</p> + +<p>"That is rather a curious thing," said my wife, when I detailed the +experiences of the morning to her on her return from her shopping. "I +hope—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we're all right," I said, lightly. "They can't put us out. +Possession, you know—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. I wasn't thinking of that," she said, with a far-away look +in her eyes.</p> + +<p>By evening the raw edge of the annoyance of the morning had worn off. We +sat in the porch enjoying the evening breeze, and counted ourselves for +the time being among the fortunate ones of the earth. Our charity even +extended at odd moments to the disappointed would-be occupants of our +shoes—and bedrooms, and we devoutly hoped they had found rooms +somewhere, and were not occupying airy apartments in bathing machines.</p> + +<p>"It was a stupid mistake of Mr. Joseph Scorer's," we said, "and he ought +to be more careful."</p> + +<p>"I shall write when I have time," I said, "and tell him so."</p> + +<p>But I never had time. I was much too fully occupied with other things.</p> + +<p>Next day, after a morning bathe and paddle on the sands and early +dinner, we started for a long afternoon's ramble round Eastnor, to get +some idea of the place, leaving the two youngest children with the +servant, with strict injunctions not to get drowned, and to get their +tea whenever they felt like it.</p> + +<p>We did Eastnor thoroughly, and then, noticing that there was a concert +on the pier that night, my wife suggested tea at a confectioner's, and +an adjournment to the pier afterwards for the concert. This was carried +with acclaim. We enjoyed the tea, the concert, and the stroll home, and +arrived at Sandybank Cottage about ten o'clock, fully satisfied with our +day's outing.</p> + +<p>Amelia met us at the door. She was in a state of extreme nervous +excitement.</p> + +<p>"Thank goodness you come 'ome!" she burst out.</p> + +<p>She was unfortunate in the place of her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> birth and up-bringing, was +Amelia. To judge from her accent she must have been born right up in the +steeple of Bow Church. Otherwise she was a sterling girl. I will tone +down her vernacular: it does not spell easily.</p> + +<p>"Sich a dye I never had. Seems to me we'd better git away 'ome's quick's +we can," she began.</p> + +<p>"Why, Amelia, what's the matter?" asked her mistress.</p> + +<p>"Matter?" said Amelia, with rising inflection. "Well, there's been a +party of three old maiden ladies, with three dawgs, and two kinaries, +and a parrick in a cage, all a-settin' cryin' on their boxes outside +here all day long since half an hour after you left, a-waitin' for you +to come back and go out of this 'ouse and let 'em come in. They say they +took it from August 14 for a month, and paid a dee-posit, and they was +to come in to-day. And the kitching fire was to be ready lighted, an'—"</p> + +<p>"And there was to be coal, and bread, and milk in the house, and oil for +the lamps, and they'd paid for them," said I.</p> + +<p>"My! Did you hear 'em?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said, "I didn't."</p> + +<p>"And what did you do, Amelia?" asked my wife, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I just told 'em straight that we was 'ere for a month, and there must +be some mistake, seein' as we wasn't a-goin' out till our time was up, +and then they just set down and cried, and the parrick swore awful till +they covered him up. He belonged to a nevew what was a sailor man, they +said, when he begun to swear, and I told the children to run inside lest +they'd catch it. Then they was so misrable settin' there, dabbin' of +their poor little red noses, that I made 'em some tea, and they could +'ave kissed me, and they wanted me to take pay for it, but I wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"You're a good girl, Amelia, and you did quite right," said her +mistress, and turning to me—</p> + +<p>"This is really very trying and very uncomfortable. What do you suppose +is the meaning of it?"</p> + +<p>She looked a little bit as though she thought it was my fault.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what's the meaning of it," I said, feeling angry. "I'm +afraid Mr. Joseph Scorer has a very short memory. If I had him here I'd +try if screwing his neck round would lengthen it."</p> + +<p>Next day being Sunday we had a genuine day of rest, and enjoyed it with +quite a novel sense of freedom from the cares and worries of life.</p> + +<p>On Monday, by the morning train and the station omnibus, arrived a +family much like our own—father, mother, four children, servant, and +innumerable boxes.</p> + +<p>I had had my bathe, and was sitting in the porch armed with a pipe and +my stamped agreement with Mr. Scorer, prepared to repel all intruders. +So, before the grinning omnibus-man had time to dump down the baggage, I +took the father on one side, showed him my agreement, and explained the +situation, telling him his was the third party I had had to turn empty +away.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 443px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0024.jpg" width="443" height="600" alt=""I TOOK THE FATHER ASIDE AND SHOWED HIM MY AGREEMENT."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I TOOK THE FATHER ASIDE AND SHOWED HIM MY AGREEMENT."</span> +</div> + +<p>He was very wroth, and swore, I should say, as lustily as the old maids' +nephew's parrot could have done. He was a lawyer, too, and wanted to go +into the legal aspects of the case. I assured him that they did not +interest me, unless I had some ground of action against Mr. Joseph +Scorer for the disturbance of my peaceful possession of his much-let +habitation.</p> + +<p>He was a good fellow on the whole, and he left me his name and business +address, and made me promise to let him know if I ever found out where +Mr. Scorer had gone to, and also to refer to him any of the outraged +claimants to the cottage who wished to take legal action in the matter.</p> + +<p>His wife and the youngsters had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> peering out anxiously at us from +the back windows of the bus while this colloquy was taking place. The +father explained the matter to them, and, with a wave of his hand to me, +they drove crestfallen back to Eastnor.</p> + +<p>On Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, variously-composed parties +arrived with their baggage, and I turned them all away, and sent them to +find lodgings in Eastnor, suffering much in the doing of it from their +unnatural ill-humours and chagrin.</p> + +<p>On Saturday there arrived a rollicking reading-party of students from +Oxford with a coach. I explained my painful situation and experiences, +and informed them that they made the eighth party I had had to repulse.</p> + +<p>They were merry, good-humoured fellows, and they lay flat on my patch of +lawn and fairly screamed with delight at the cuteness of Mr. Joseph +Scorer. "He was born an Oxford gyp," they averred.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0025.jpg" width="550" height="540" alt=""THEY SCREAMED WITH DELIGHT AT THE CUTENESS OF MR. +SCORER."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"THEY SCREAMED WITH DELIGHT AT THE CUTENESS OF MR. +SCORER."</span> +</div> + +<p>They enjoyed the affair so much that I could hardly get rid of them. My +wife gave them tea and cakes, and they sat and smoked, and laughed, and +joked, till the stars were up, and then they got a carriage and drove +off to the hotel, after promising to come up every day about noon to +assist me in my hateful task of holding the fort against all comers.</p> + +<p>And they did it, too, and enjoyed it immensely.</p> + +<p>On the pier, on Sunday morning after church, we met at intervals all the +families who ought to have been stopping in Sandybank Cottage.</p> + +<p>The irate first old gentleman stopped me to ask, "Well, how are you +getting on? Say, that was the nastiest trick I ever was served. If I +could find Mr. Scorer I would jolly well like to wring his nasty little +neck."</p> + +<p>I said I felt that way myself, but I feared there was not much chance of +laying hands on it.</p> + +<p>I told him I had now had to send away eight different parties who all +claimed the cottage, and at that he felt very much better.</p> + +<p>My lawyer friend was just passing, and I introduced him to the old +gentleman, and, catching sight of my young friends from Oxford, I +introduced them all to one another, and they all had a very lively time +together, and enjoyed themselves extremely.</p> + +<p>On Monday I bethought me to go to the station, and acquaint the cabmen +with the true state of matters, and beg them not to bring any more +parties to Sandybank Cottage. They listened with broad grins to all I +had to say, but absolutely refused to comply with my wishes. It all +meant double fares for them, and all was grist that came to their mills, +and it wasn't in human nature to refuse a fare when it was offered, and +in fact any such refusal might invalidate their licences, and would +certainly lose them their places. So, much as they regretted the +annoyance it caused me, they felt in duty bound to go on dumping +would-be tenants and their baggage on my front lawn as fast as they came +along.</p> + +<p>I could find no arguments to advance against all this, and so the game +went merrily on.</p> + +<p>That day two separate parties arrived within ten minutes of one another. +The Oxford contingent was sitting on the lawn, and revelled in the +disgust of the heads of the families when they were made acquainted with +the state of affairs.</p> + +<p>Paterfamilias number two, who I think from his manner must have been a +performing Strong Man, threatened to pitch me and my belongings bodily +into the sea. Young Oxford, however, came to the rescue, and Mr. Strong +Man and family eventually retired amid the hootings of the crowd.</p> + +<p>For the curious situation of matters at Sandybank Cottage could no +longer be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> hidden under a bushel. The news had got abroad, and numbers +of people came up each day now, and sat round our house to enjoy the +fun. In fact we had become one of the centres of attraction of Eastnor, +and the folks travelled up to Sandybank Cottage as at other places they +would have gone to a switchback or a nigger minstrel show.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 241px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0026a.jpg" width="241" height="350" alt=""THREATENED TO PITCH ME AND MY BELONGINGS BODILY INTO THE +SEA."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"THREATENED TO PITCH ME AND MY BELONGINGS BODILY INTO THE +SEA."</span> +</div> + +<p>Perhaps the funniest thing was to see the three old maiden ladies come +straggling up every day in single file, each with a wheezy waddling pug +dog in a lead, which was fastened round its body lest undue pressure on +its neck should induce the inevitable apoplectic fit a day sooner than +was assigned for it. They came panting up, and gazed mournfully at the +cottage, and reproachfully at me whenever I appeared, and they looked +sadly at the gradually disappearing supply of potatoes and cabbages for +which they had paid, and which I was eating. For Mr. Joseph Scorer had +sold and been paid for that garden produce no less than sixteen times +over. It needs a genius of that kind to run a garden profitably.</p> + +<p>In the natural course of things the local paper gave a humorous account +of the affair, which was copied into one of the London dailies, and this +it was that eventually brought about the climax.</p> + +<p>Among the would-be occupants this week was a well-known actress, who +came with her maid and a companion and a white poodle. We had rejoiced +in her exceedingly, at a distance, for many a year, and both my wife and +myself were delighted to make her more intimate acquaintance—much more +delighted, in fact, than, under the circumstances, she was to make ours. +We invited her in, and gave her tea, and apologised for the annoyance +she was being put to through no fault of ours, and did our best to make +her comfortable.</p> + +<p>When young Oxford saw her they were with difficulty restrained from +chairing her to an hotel, and on the whole I think, when the first +annoyance had passed off, she rather enjoyed herself.</p> + +<p>By Saturday night we had repelled sixteen different attempts on our +tenancy of Sandybank Cottage and, by this time, if a single day, except +Sunday, had passed without the arrival of one or more claimants we would +have begun to suspect something had gone wrong.</p> + +<p>There was one thing, however, that puzzled me exceedingly, and no amount +of thoughtful consideration of the subject cast any light upon it. What +on earth had made Mr. Joseph Scorer act in this way? If he had let the +cottage in the usual manner he could have made at least £22 or £23 all +told in the two months. As it was I reckoned he had made about £37 by +his monstrous duplicity, and it was the utter inadequacy of the plunder +which puzzled me so much.</p> + +<p>Why would a man want to hang sixteen indictments for fraud around his +neck for such a very small reward? It seemed inconceivable, especially +in such a smart and far-seeing man as Mr. Joseph Scorer. It was the +action of a fool; and whatever else he was, Mr. Joseph Scorer could +hardly be called a fool, except in this one point of utter inadequacy of +motive.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 181px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0026b.jpg" width="181" height="350" alt=""WE FOUND A GENTLEMAN SITTING ON THE BENCH."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"WE FOUND A GENTLEMAN SITTING ON THE BENCH."</span> +</div> + +<p>However, my eyes were to be opened, and in a somewhat unpleasant +fashion—the process is not, as a rule, an enjoyable one.</p> + +<p>On Sunday the 29th, being the third Sunday of our visit, when we +returned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> from church and the usual augmented Sabbath meeting of +malcontents on the pier, we found a gentleman sitting on the bench in +the porch awaiting our arrival.</p> + +<p>Sunday had hitherto been an off day with us, and we rather resented this +infraction of the rules of the game.</p> + +<p>I went up to him and addressed him somewhat curtly.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, and what can I do for you?"</p> + +<p>He looked at me whimsically, and said—</p> + +<p>"Your name is Oxenham?"</p> + +<p>"It is."</p> + +<p>"Mine is Sawyer."</p> + +<p>"Not Mr. William Henry Sawyer, Esquire, of the Home Office?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, smiling at the evidently recognised formula.</p> + +<p>"I understood you only came down in May and October."</p> + +<p>"So I do generally; but, seeing that the cottage is mine, I suppose I +have the privilege of coming whenever I choose."</p> + +<p>"The cottage is yours?" I said, in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly. I bought it and its contents five years ago, and I run +down whenever the spirit moves me."</p> + +<p>I sat silent, looking at him.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 463px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0027.jpg" width="463" height="500" alt=""I CALLED HER AND PUT THE QUESTION."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I CALLED HER AND PUT THE QUESTION."</span> +</div> + +<p>"But if the cottage is yours," I said, at last, "how came that little +scoundrel——"</p> + +<p>"That's just what I have come down to find out," he said. "Now, tell me, +Mr. Oxenham, from whom did you take the cottage?"</p> + +<p>"From Mr. Joseph Scorer."</p> + +<p>"William, you mean; but that is a detail."</p> + +<p>"Joseph," said I. "Stay! I'll show you my agreement," and I went inside +and got it.</p> + +<p>"Joseph?" he said, with knitted brow, as he perused the document; and, +after a pause, "Then what the deuce has become of William? What kind of +a man was he?"</p> + +<p>"Small, sharp, brown man, with one club foot."</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Which foot?" he asked.</p> + +<p>I had to cast back my thoughts.</p> + +<p>"Left," I said, at last.</p> + +<p>"No, right," said he.</p> + +<p>"Left; I am quite sure of it."</p> + +<p>He tapped the folded paper against his hand, and said—</p> + +<p>"One of us is wrong. Scorer has been in my service for fifteen years, +and I ought to know."</p> + +<p>"Suppose we ask my wife if she remembers?"</p> + +<p>I called her and put the question.</p> + +<p>"His left foot was the lame one," she said, after a thoughtful pause. "I +can see him standing there"—she said it so decidedly that we +involuntarily turned to look, but he was not there, except in her +memory—"and it was his right shoulder that humped up. Yes, I am quite +sure of it."</p> + +<p>"This is very curious," said Mr. Sawyer. "I am afraid there is something +wrong. Besides, Scorer never could have done such a thing. He was as +honest as the day."</p> + +<p>"And yet he let this cottage sixteen times over to sixteen different +parties, and I have had the privilege, such as it is, of holding the +fort against them all."</p> + +<p>"I can't believe William Scorer would do such a thing," he said, looking +at us with eyes full of puzzled suspicion, as though he were not quite +sure whether I had told him all I knew of the matter.</p> + +<p>"Joseph," said I.</p> + +<p>He tapped his foot impatiently, and we lapsed into silence. An idea +struck me suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Is there a Joseph Scorer as well as a William?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He looked at me abstractedly.</p> + +<p>"There was a brother," he said at last, "and, if I remember rightly, a +twin brother, but I have not heard of him for years. I do not think I +ever saw him. I have an idea he went to the bad." Our eyes met and held +one another, and my thought crossed his.</p> + +<p>"What do you suspect, Mr. Oxenham?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I suspect that I met Joseph and you know William," I said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I left William in charge here."</p> + +<p>"And I found Joseph."</p> + +<p>"Then where is William?"</p> + +<p>"William is the missing link. Find him, and we get to the bottom of the +matter."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that sounds common sense. Now, where is William?"</p> + +<p>That was by no means an easy question to answer. Mr. Joseph Scorer could +probably have told us, but as the discovery of William was but the first +step towards the discovery of Joseph, that fact did not advance us.</p> + +<p>The puzzle, however, solved itself in the simplest manner possible, and +without any assistance from us.</p> + +<p>As there was a spare bedroom in the cottage, the least we could do was +to put it at Mr. Sawyer's disposal if he cared to make use of it. So we +invited Mr. Sawyer to occupy it for a day or two, and he consented to do +so, and turned out to be a very pleasant and genial companion.</p> + +<p>The tide next morning did not serve well for bathing till about an hour +after breakfast. Then Sawyer and I and some of the youngsters went in.</p> + +<p>It was one of those absolutely still mornings when the water is as +smooth as oil, and you can hear the beat of the steamers' paddles miles +away, and when you shout it is like shouting inside a bell.</p> + +<p>We were all swimming and paddling about, enjoying ourselves immensely, +when I saw the three little fat pugs and the three old ladies coming +along the beach path to take their regular wistful morning look at the +cottage, where they ought to have been living, and were not.</p> + +<p>Then from behind the cottage came a great tumult—the noise of many +voices, mingled with groans and laughter, and there swept round the side +of it a mob of people, who came to a stand on the little green plot in +front.</p> + +<p>We were still wondering what was the meaning of it, when Amelia Blatt, +our servant, came tearing down the sands towards us, holding on to her +square inch of cap with one hand, and to her flying skirts with the +other.</p> + +<p>"They want you up there," she panted.</p> + +<p>"Who are they, and what do they want?"</p> + +<p>"It's all them folks he let the house to, and they've got 'im——"</p> + +<p>And as we made for the shore, Amelia, who was a very modest girl, fled +precipitately up the slope.</p> + +<p>"Hey, Milly!" I shouted, "bring us down a couple of those big bath +towels."</p> + + +<p class="author"><span class="caption">"'THEY WANT YOU UP THERE,' SHE PANTED."</span></p> +<div class="backright" style="background-image: url(images/illus_0028.jpg); height: 100%;"> +<div class="sandbag-right" style="width:350px; height:220px;"> </div> +<div class="sandbag-right" style="width:190px; height:280px;"> </div> + +<p>Amelia made no answer, but presently the big bath-towels met us under +the arms of a small boy. We twisted our ordinary towels apron-wise over +our dripping bathing-suits, and draped the big bath-towels gracefully +over our shoulders, and then stalked as majestically as circumstances +permitted towards the noisy crowd, which resolved itself into its +component elements as we drew near.</p> + +<p>The outer fringe consisted of excited and irrepressible small boys of +the town, who scampered round and round, shouting and dancing, and +cuffing one another, in sheer enjoyment of living and the knowledge that +something unusual was on foot. Inside them stood a number of the town +loafers, all facing in towards the centre of the ring, and laughing and +making jocular remarks to one another. Closer in still, came an excited +circle of our friends who, like the old ladies, ought to have been +living in the cottage, but were not. The irascible old gentleman was +there, purple in the face and swearing frightfully; the solicitor was +there, with a slightly anticipatory look in his face; the Strong Man was +there, and looked as if he wanted to break something; and closer in than +all these, forming a solid bodyguard of white flannels and laughing +faces and briar pipes, were our young friends from Oxford.</p> + +<p>The three little old ladies, with their pugs in their arms, crept round +the revolving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> outskirts of the crowd, and joined my wife, who stood +wondering in the doorway, and began timidly questioning her as to the +meaning of the uproar.</p></div> + +<p>Mr. Sawyer and I elbowed our way through the crowd, and the bodyguard +opened to let us into the circle.</p> + +<p>In the centre stood a little, trembling meek, brown-eyed, crooked man.</p> + +<p>"Scorer!" said I, "by all that's wonderful!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 397px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0029.jpg" width="397" height="500" alt=""WE STALKED AS MAJESTICALLY AS OUR CIRCUMSTANCES +PERMITTED TOWARDS THE NOISY CROWD."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"WE STALKED AS MAJESTICALLY AS OUR CIRCUMSTANCES +PERMITTED TOWARDS THE NOISY CROWD."</span> +</div> + +<p>"William!" said Sawyer.</p> + +<p>"Jos—-! No, by Jove! it is the other leg!"</p> + +<p>"Now, William," said Mr. Sawyer, "what is the meaning of all this?"</p> + +<p>The crooked little man's eyes brightened when he saw Mr. Sawyer.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sawyer, sir, I know no more than a babe unborn. I come in by the +10.30, and no sooner hadn't my foot touched the ground than these young +gentlemen they gathered round me and began a arskin' what I meant by it, +and then all them others came along. I dunno what's matter wi' em. Seems +to me they're all gone crazy."</p> + +<p>"Where's Joseph?"</p> + +<p>"Why, ain't he 'ere? I left him 'ere when I went into h—orspital; and +'e said 'e'd keep things all shipshape till I come out."</p> + +<p>"Where did you find him? I thought he was away."</p> + +<p>"He come to see me just when I were sickening, Mr. Sawyer, sir, and he +promised to keep things all straight and shipshape till I were right +again. So I sent off the wife to her folks—for her trouble—you know, +and then Joe he took me along to the h—orspital, and he said he'd keep +things all—"</p> + +<p>"I see," said Mr. Sawyer; "and how's the wife?"</p> + +<p>"She's A1, Mr. Sawyer, sir."</p> + +<p>"And the baby?"</p> + +<p>"He's a reg'lar little ripper, sir, and as straight as a lath."</p> + +<p>There was more ingenuous pride packed into those last five words than +any five words ever held before; but the meek brown eyes shone suddenly +moist.</p> + +<p>One of the Oxford boys started, "Three cheers for the baby! Hip, hip, +hurrah!—rah!!—rah!!!" And then they fell naturally into "He's a jolly +good fellow!" and yelled it at top of their voices, while they all +joined hands and danced round us till their faces were all on fire, and +all their pipes were out for want of breath to keep them going, and +William Scorer's eyes were like to fall out of his head. They did not +quite understand matters, but they saw there had been some mistake, and +they were all very healthy and very happy. They could not forget Joseph, +but they heartily forgave William for his brother's sins, and they vowed +they would not have missed the fun for three times the amount of +Joseph's little peculations.</p> + +<p>"What's it all mean, Mr. Sawyer, sir?" asked the bewildered William.</p> + +<p>"It means this, William, that that scamp of a brother of yours has let +this house of mine some sixteen times over to sixteen different people, +and all for about the same date, and that most of them have paid him a +deposit. Hence——" and he waved his hand comprehensively over the +throng.</p> + +<p>"Nay,—sure—ly!" said the little man, and it seemed to me that his +stricken wonder was not absolutely untinged with admiration.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was nothing more to be said or done. Everybody recognised that +fact. Joseph was not to be found, and William was not to blame.</p> + +<p>The stout little gentleman vowed he'd be something'd if he'd ever heard +of such a something'd queer business before. The Strong Man looked +regretfully at William, and wished he was Joseph just for five minutes +or so. The solicitor recognised the fact that a case would not lie +against little "Dot-and-carry-one," as he called him, so he put it in +his pipe and smoked it, and by degrees the crowd thinned away, and left +us in peaceable possession. The last to go were the three little old +ladies, and from their manner I should say they were by no means +convinced of the existence of William's brother Joseph.</p> + +<p>The Oxford boys, by the way, insisted on chairing little William to the +"Blue Pig," down the Wilborough Road, and tried to induce him to enjoy +himself, but as he declined to touch anything stronger than gingerbeer, +there was no great harm done.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sawyer stayed a couple of days with us, and offered us the cottage +free for next August, to make up for the annoyances we had suffered; +and, unless we hear that William Scorer has been taken ill again, and +that his brother Joseph has come to nurse him, we shall accept the +invitation.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 398px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0030a.jpg" width="398" height="400" alt=""'THREE CHEERS FOR THE BABY! HIP, HIP, HURRAH!'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'THREE CHEERS FOR THE BABY! HIP, HIP, HURRAH!'"</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0030b.jpg" width="650" height="404" alt=""TWO'S COMPANY."" title="" /> + +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_MEDICAL_DETECTIVE_AND_HIS_WORK" id="THE_MEDICAL_DETECTIVE_AND_HIS_WORK"></a>THE MEDICAL DETECTIVE AND HIS WORK.</h2> + +<p class="center">CRIMINALS CONVICTED BY THE MICROSCOPE.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By T. F. Manning</span>.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0031a.jpg" width="200" height="300" style="margin-top: -3em;" alt="" title="O" /> +</div> +<p><span class="smcap">wing</span> to the fact that they often flatly contradict one another, medical +experts do not stand very high in popular repute; nevertheless, it is a +positive fact that a single medical expert is worth half Scotland Yard +in the detection and prevention of crime. Thousands of rivals in love, +disagreeable husbands, dangerous political agitators, harsh masters and +mistresses, rich uncles, and people of that sort, would be popped off +with a few grains of arsenic, or a drop of prussic acid, only that it is +well known the doctor has the eyes of a hawk for poison. And, on the +other hand, many and many a family is saved from the suspicion attaching +to the sudden death of a member, and even many an innocent man from the +scaffold, by the proof of natural death which the doctor supplies.</p> + +<p>Although great poisoning, shooting, stabbing, and other homicidal trials +have a wonderful fascination for all newspaper readers, very few fully +appreciate the medical evidence, which is usually the most important +link in the chain. The evidence is of three kinds—that of the ordinary +medical man, who sees the patient dying, perhaps, and performs the +post-mortem; that of the chemist, who, in his quiet laboratory, traces +the poison or identifies the blood stain; and that of the expert, who +gives his inference from the facts stated by the first two. It is these +experts who often differ from one another.</p> + +<p>In a large number of cases the <i>post-mortem</i> examination is the first +step in unravelling a mystery.</p> + +<p>The man who performs it is not to be envied, for the smallest scratch on +his hand may admit a dose of deadly poison.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 388px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0031b.jpg" width="388" height="500" alt="THE OLD STYLE DETECTIVE—EXAMINING SCENE OF MURDER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE OLD STYLE DETECTIVE—EXAMINING SCENE OF MURDER.</span> +</div> + +<p>Many medical men, indeed, wear rubber gloves, and those less careful +generally cover their hands with a layer of sticky ointment. It takes +from two to four hours to do the job thoroughly.</p> + +<p>But it is not all cutting up, as most people think. The first thing done +is to notice the position of the body, and whether there are any +weapons, bottles, or glasses near.</p> + +<p>Then it is examined from head to toe for scratches, cuts, bruises, +moles, tattoo marks. Everything about the hair, eyes, teeth, nose, ears, +and other parts, is written down. The height, the age, the muscular +development, are all noted.</p> + +<p>Of course, this inspection alone often reveals the cause of death. +Suppose, however, that no external injury is found and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> no organ is +diseased, the suspicion of poisoning naturally arises. In that case, the +doctor looks for certain marks that the commonest poisons make, and then +he places the stomach and other parts in glass jars, which are securely +covered, sealed, labelled, and handed to the analyst.</p> + +<p>Poisoning is not much favoured by the Briton as a means of killing +either himself or anybody else. He generally does the deed in a more +open, if more brutal, way. But it is to be feared that a great many more +people get rid of undesirable contemporaries in this manner than is +popularly supposed.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 502px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0032.jpg" width="502" height="600" alt="THE DETECTIVE—NEW STYLE—IN THE LABORATORY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE DETECTIVE—NEW STYLE—IN THE LABORATORY.</span> +</div> + +<p>Probably, in most cases, the ordinary medical attendant is able to tell +whether a person is dying a natural death or is being carried off by +some deadly drug. His position, however, is not a pleasant one. It is +impossible to be certain; and, in order to make a full investigation, he +must suggest either that the victim is committing suicide, or that +someone else, perhaps his wife or son, is committing murder. And, after +all, the signs in the living are very obscure. Of course, if a person is +foolish enough (as many are) to drink sulphuric or nitric acid, his +mouth and throat are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> burned as if he swallowed coals of fire, the +former leaving black and the latter yellow stains; but when the poison +is arsenic, or opium, or strychnine, the symptoms are very like those of +certain diseases.</p> + +<p>When the cholera was last in London, a father, mother, son, and daughter +dined together. Immediately after dinner, all, except the son, became +suddenly ill, and died in a few hours, with the symptoms of arsenic +poisoning.</p> + +<p>The son, who was always quarrelling with the rest of the family, was +arrested on the doctor's report and charged with murder. But a +<i>post-mortem</i> examination showed that cholera was the real cause of +death.</p> + +<p>Apoplexy, in the same way, is very like opium poisoning; and +hydrophobia, lock-jaw, and even some cases of hysteria, closely resemble +poisoning by strychnine.</p> + +<p>Still, when a healthy man grows suddenly ill soon after a meal, the +doctor keeps his eyes open, and if death follows he has a pretty shrewd +idea of what caused it.</p> + +<p>At all events, he feels perfectly justified in assuming that the case is +not a normal one. He therefore hands over to the analyst the jars and +other receptacles containing the portions of the subject's body likely +to bear traces of the poison, knowing full well that if any poison is +there the analyst will infallibly detect it.</p> + +<p>The analyst begins by making a series of what may be called "brews," +mincing, pounding, boiling, cooling, filtering, decanting, and +distilling, over and over again. In these operations various solvents +are used in succession, plain water separating out one class of poisons, +alcohol dissolving out another group, benzol taking up a third, naphtha +a fourth, ammonia a fifth, and so on. This preliminary work takes, not +hours, but days to perform. At an early stage in it the operator +discovers such volatile poisons as prussic acid, chloroform, carbolic +acid, and phosphorus, if any of them be present. Later on he comes +across the alkaloids, such as strychnine, digitalin, cantharidin, and +other terrible poisons of that class.</p> + +<p>Finally, the residue of the animal matter with which we have supposed +the medical detective to be experimenting is mixed with hydrochloric +acid, and distilled once again, after which it can contain no poison +except one of the metals.</p> + +<p>Thus, in the course of his examination, the analyst has made a number of +decoctions, in one of which the poison is certain to be. In each +decoction there may be any one of several groups of poisons.</p> + +<p>In which is it, and what is it? After all this patient labour the +solution is still far off. It may be a ptomaine from poisonous fish or +decayed meat, a deadly berry, or leaf, or root, a small quantity of +morphia, or phosphorus, or lead, or arsenic, or antimony.</p> + +<p>Each brew is tested in turn. But, as illustrating the general procedure, +take the last, which contains whatever metal may have had the fatal +result. First, the chemist tests with "group reagents." He knows that if +he puts into the glass containing the last brew certain bodies in +succession, some metals, if they are there, cannot be kept from rushing +into the arms of one, others will as passionately embrace another, +others still will unite with a third, while some will always repudiate +any alliance. There are in all cases signs of the union, when it takes +place, such as a blue or white or red colour, or a powder falling to the +bottom, or a fizzing of escaping gas.</p> + +<p>In practice the analyst puts a little of the brew in a small glass +test-tube, pours in some distilled water, and carefully drops in some +hydrochloric acid. Now, if there is either silver, mercury, or lead, in +the brew, down goes a white powder; if none of these things is there, no +change follows.</p> + +<p>Next he adds some sulphuretted hydrogen water, a sort of aerated water +smelling of rotten eggs. If tin, platinum, bismuth, cadmium, arsenic, or +one of several other metals, is in the brew, a coloured powder falls to +the bottom. Should nothing occur, he adds other things, until he has +tested for five groups of metals.</p> + +<p>When he finds a poison belonging to a certain group, he has still to +ascertain which of five or six bodies it is.</p> + +<p>For instance, after adding the first two test-liquors, if he sees a +yellow coloration or precipitate, he knows that he has either arsenic or +tin or cadmium. He then adds some strong ammonia, after boiling the +liquid till the smell of rotten eggs has disappeared. If the powder +dissolves, and the colour goes, he is quite sure he has found arsenic.</p> + +<p>In this business-like way the murderer is convicted.</p> + +<p>But now arises the necessity for making doubly sure, and another kind of +test altogether is employed. Life and death hanging on the result, the +test must be beyond all doubt. But arsenic is one of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> those +self-assertive things about whose presence there cannot be the most +infinitesimal doubt. Give a man a particle the size of a mustard-seed, +and let him swallow it. When he dies bury him, and let him lie under the +earth for a quarter of a century. Then gather the few remnants, give +them to a chemist, and he will return you a considerable portion of the +poison in the same state as that in which it was administered.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 249px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0034a.jpg" width="249" height="250" alt="ARSENIC CRYSTALS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">ARSENIC CRYSTALS.</span> +</div> + +<p>Probably the most famous special test for arsenic is Marsh's, the +invention of a Woolwich chemist, and equally famous is Reinsch's, which +is performed as follows: The suspected liquid is put in a little glass +test-tube with some hydrochloric acid. Then a small bit of bright copper +is dropped in, and the test-tube is held over a flame.</p> + +<p>Now, arsenic has the wildest love for copper, and every trace of it in +the tube flies to the slip of copper and covers it with a grey coat. +Another metal does the same, certainly, but they can be distinguished +subsequently.</p> + +<p>Presently the copper is removed, washed, dried, and placed in a tough +glass tube, very narrow at one end. This is held over a flame and +carefully heated, and then a phenomenon, not unknown, either, in the +loves of mortals, occurs. The arsenic abandons the copper, and clings in +crystals to the sides of the glass tube, where it can be recognised by +the aid of a magnifying-glass or microscope; and if the crystals are +heated with a bit of acetate of potash the odour drives the chemist from +the room.</p> + +<p>To this curious fact, that arsenic loves copper when it is wet with warm +hydrochloric acid, and hates it when it is hot and dry, is due the +discovery of many a crime.</p> + +<p>It is already plain to the reader that the analyst's task is not an easy +one. Sometimes the analytical examination is of vast extent; sometimes +it is greatly narrowed by hints from the family doctor. These hints are +interesting, and show that the doctor is, when he knows his business, a +real and a very skilful detective.</p> + +<p>The doctor's eye is a wonderful one. When he enters a room, he not only +measures the patient from head to toe, notes the colour of his face, the +posture of his body, the signs of pain, stupor, or perhaps sham; but +observes the manner of the other people present, and sees every bottle, +glass, and cup in the place.</p> + +<p>Now, although sudden death is usually from natural causes, when it +occurs soon after food there is always suspicion, as we have said. So, +if the doctor perceives great pain and nausea, he thinks of arsenic, +antimony, tinned meats, mushrooms, toadstools, and other things; if the +pupil of the eye is as small as a pin-head, and the sick man is drowsy, +he thinks of opium; if something seems to have caught hold of the +patient's heart, and to be squeezing it like a sponge, he thinks of +digitalis; if the poor victim is being worked like a puppet, and his +pupils are large with fear, he thinks of strychnine; if there is great +thirst, colic, and cramps in the legs, he thinks of lead.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 342px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0034b.jpg" width="342" height="500" alt="IS IT ARSENIC, OR NOT?" title="" /> +<span class="caption">IS IT ARSENIC, OR NOT?</span> +</div> + +<p>He knows that prussic acid kills like a bullet in the brain—a glass of +cold water taken while hot from exercise may do the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> same—and he smells +for it. He can also tell if it is phosphorus or carbolic acid, by the +smell.</p> + +<p>He knows that relatives usually kill each other by means of particular +poisons; that other poisons are used for suicidal purposes; that the +photographer takes cyanide of potassium, the medical man and chemist +prussic acid or morphia, the poor man vermin-killer or oxalic acid, or +carbolic acid, or some such agonising destroyer of life. And thus, +though all poisons lead to the same end—stoppage of the breathing and +blood circulation—yet each has its own particular way of sending the +soul to eternity. He can therefore often tell the analyst detective how +to take a short cut.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 378px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0035.jpg" width="378" height="400" alt="THE SPECTROSCOPE—AN INSTRUMENT THAT HAS BEEN FATAL TO +MANY CRIMINALS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE SPECTROSCOPE—AN INSTRUMENT THAT HAS BEEN FATAL TO +MANY CRIMINALS.</span> +</div> + +<p>By the way, there is no such thing as a slow poison—that is, a poison +which, taken to-day, does not show its effects for weeks. This is a +fiction of the novelists. On the other hand, there is—except in the +case of prussic acid and nicotine—no death straight away after taking +poison, as one sees it on the stage, Shakespeare notwithstanding.</p> + +<p>An actual case will show that the discovery of murder by the doctor and +analyst is not always plain sailing.</p> + +<p>A good many years ago, a Mr. Sprague was tried for the murder of the +Walker family by means of the well-known poison of the deadly +nightshade. The medical evidence showed clearly that they all died from +belladonna poisoning, and belladonna was found in the rabbit-pie they +had for dinner. A common-sense jury, however, acquitted the prisoner; +and only recently have medical men solved the mystery by discovering +that rabbits can eat any quantity of this plant without suffering harm, +while their flesh becomes fatally poisonous.</p> + +<p>A second case shows what wonders the chemists can work. A surgeon's wife +died from corrosive sublimate, given in a draught by her husband. He +said that, in making up the draught, he mistook a bottle of mixture, +which he had prepared for a sailor, for the water-bottle, and had poured +some of it into his wife's draught. The sailor's mixture was analysed, +and it certainly contained corrosive sublimate; but, not content with +finding the poison, the analyst measured the quantity present, and, +while the sailor's mixture contained only ten grains to an ounce of +liquid, the wife's draught contained fifteen grains, showing that the +surgeon's ingenious explanation was a lie!</p> + +<p>Blood is so characteristic a fluid that it might be supposed a skilful +analyst could never have any difficulty in recognising it. Of course, if +he were given, say, a cupful in its ordinary state, he could not make a +mistake. But he never gets a chance of earning his fee so easily.</p> + +<p>When the police seek his assistance they give him, perhaps, a suit of +dirty clothes, which may be stained by two or three small dark spots +that might be anything.</p> + +<p>Or perhaps he is given a rusty knife, or a perfectly clean hatchet, and +is asked to say if there is blood on it. And when he comes into court he +is expected to tell the jury whether the blood is human or animal, how +old it is, was it spilled from a living blood vessel, and in what part +of the body was this blood vessel.</p> + +<p>Take an actual case. Years ago a celebrated murder was committed in +Eltham, and in the report of Dr. Letheby, the analyst, is the following +note:—</p> + +<p>"On the evening of May 3rd I received from Mr. Mulvaney" (of the police) +"a brown paper parcel containing a pair of dark trousers, a man's shirt, +and a man's wide-awake hat. On the following evening I received from Mr. +Mulvaney a brown paper parcel containing a lock of hair, a pair of men's +boots, and a plasterer's hammer."</p> + +<p>These were all very dirty, but that did not prevent the analyst from +finding a number of blood stains and hairs, and giving valuable and +decisive evidence at the trial.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 234px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0036a.jpg" width="234" height="250" alt="HUMAN BLOOD MAGNIFIED 400 TIMES." title="" /> +<span class="caption">HUMAN BLOOD MAGNIFIED 400 TIMES.</span> +</div> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 246px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0036b.jpg" width="246" height="250" alt="PIG'S BLOOD MAGNIFIED MANY TIMES." title="" /> +<span class="caption">PIG'S BLOOD MAGNIFIED MANY TIMES.</span> +</div> +<p>What the analyst first does, when he receives such an article as a pair +of trousers, is to scrutinise every inch of its sur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>face with a +magnifying glass. If he finds a little lump of dark-coloured stuff he +scrapes it off and puts it into a watch glass. If he discovers merely a +dark stain, he cuts out the piece of cloth and puts it into a small +quantity of distilled water.</p> + + + +<p>Now he has to find out whether the suspicious-looking thing is really +blood, or whether it is merely red paint, or logwood, or cochineal, or +madder, or iron-mould. There are three ways of doing this, and he nearly +always utilises them all.</p> + + + +<p>First, there is the marvellous spectroscope test. This test will reveal +the presence of the minutest trace of blood, and it is practically +infallible. It depends on the curious property, possessed by nearly all +bodies, of absorbing certain parts of the light that passes through +them. Sunlight passing through a prism is split up into the familiar +seven colours of the rainbow. But if a little blood dissolved in water +is placed in a glass tube, and if the light is made to pass through it +on its way to the prism, the blood takes something out of it; for now +among the seven bright colours are seen two dark bands near the middle +of the yellow ray. Nothing but blood gives these two bands in that +particular place, with the exception of two or three substances that are +not likely to be found on criminals' clothes. These are cochineal, mixed +with certain chemicals, hot purpurin sulphuric acid, and the red dye of +the banana-eater.</p> + +<p>Blood, however, changes after it is shed. In stains a few weeks old the +colouring matter changes from what is technically called hæmoglobin to +methæmoglobin, and, later still, to hæmatin. All of these give different +spectra. The analyst has standard spectra already mounted, and he +invariably looks at the mounted or standard specimen and the suspected +liquid at the same time, placing them side by side, so that a mistake is +impossible. All the red colours in the world, in fact, have been tried, +and, with the exceptions named above, none of them gives a spectrum like +the colouring matter of blood in any of its forms.</p> + +<p>But though the spectroscope is a certain discoverer of blood, it can +draw no distinction between human and animal blood. That duty remains to +the microscope.</p> + + + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0036c.jpg" width="550" height="271" alt="" title="LITTLE LINKS IN THE CHAIN OF EVIDENCE." /> +</div> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 550px;" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='center'>Man. </td><td align='center'>Mouse. </td><td align='center'>Horse. </td><td align='center'>Camel.</td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'>Toad. </td><td align='center'>Pike. </td><td align='center'>Pheasant. </td><td align='center'>Pigeon.</td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="4" align="center"><span class="caption">LITTLE LINKS IN THE CHAIN OF EVIDENCE.<br />THE CORPUSCLES IN +THE BLOOD OF DIFFERENT CREATURES.</span></td></tr> + +</table></div> + + + + + + +<p>With the microscope can be seen those red corpuscles which, in some +mysterious manner, seize on the oxygen of the air as it passes into the +lungs, shoulder it, so to speak, and rush away with it, like so many +ants, to the remotest parts of the body. Unfortunately, they can only be +seen in blood that has not been very long shed—that is to say, some +weeks or months. To see these, the analyst scrapes the little clot from +the piece of cloth, or wood, or iron, and places it on a slip of glass; +over this he carefully lays the little film called a cover-glass; and +then he gently places, at the edge of the latter, the tiniest possible +drop of water. This gradually insinuates itself, and soon dissolves the +blood clot; and, when the mixture is placed under a microscope +magnifying from 300 to 500 diameters, he sees one of several pictures. +The various shapes and arrangements taken by these little bodies are +illustrated on the following page. Small as they are—it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> would take +12¼ millions to cover a square inch—they have the most peculiar way +of behaving, and only the practised eye of the microscopist can +recognise them in all their disguises.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0037a.jpg" width="350" height="348" alt="HUMAN BLOOD CORPUSCLES UNDER THE MICROSCOPE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">HUMAN BLOOD CORPUSCLES UNDER THE MICROSCOPE.</span> +</div> + +<p>Individually, the blood corpuscle is just like a tiny round biscuit, and +measures 1/3200 to 1/4000 of an inch across its face. It is these two +factors, the shape and measurement, which enable the medical man to say +whether the blood is human. The picture above shows how a corpuscle +looks under the microscope. Looking at its face, it is like a +thick-edged biscuit, with a dark depression in the centre. Some are +turned sideways in our illustration. These exist in blood and nothing +but blood, so that, when the spectroscope fails, the microscope +succeeds.</p> + +<p>But it is not always that the analyst can get sufficient blood to place +under the microscope. Perhaps he gets a piece of cloth saturated with a +trifle of red fluid which he cannot scrape off, or perhaps he gets a +stain some months or years old (Dr. Tidy identified a blood stain one +hundred and one years old), in which the corpuscles are destroyed. Or +perhaps he gets a garment which has been carefully washed, on which +there is only the faintest trace of colouring matter. Even then the +microscope tells whether the stain is blood.</p> + +<p>Our detective mixes the particle of blood-stained wood, or earth, or +dust, or cloth fibres, with water and caustic potash, and filters it. +Then he takes a drop of the liquid and places it in the useful +watch-glass. Into this he puts some glacial acetic acid and a crystal of +ordinary table salt. He heats the mixture and lets it cool. And, if it +is blood, he gets peculiar crystals visible under the microscope. These, +by the way, differ to some extent in different animals.</p> + +<p>Another test is so new that it has not yet been given a fair trial. It +is as follows:—If a fairly large quantity of blood can be got, it is +burned, and the ash is analysed. Now, there are two salts always in +blood—sodium and potassium salts. But, while the quantity of the former +in human blood is usually twice that of the latter, it is six times as +great in the sheep's blood, eight times as great in the cow's blood, and +sixteen times as great in the blood of a fowl. Very important results +are expected from this principle.</p> + +<p>Reliable as are the microscope and spectroscope, the analyst always uses +the third means at his disposal—the chemical test. For instance, he +gets a knife covered with dark red stains. Are they blood, or are they +only the rust formed by vinegar or the juice of a lemon that has +deceived so many people? Assuming that he has removed the stain, he +places the matter in any kind of tiny vessel, and drops in some tincture +of galls. If the thing is only rust, he has some excellent blue ink; if +it is blood, he finds that a reddish powder makes its appearance.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 286px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0037b.jpg" width="286" height="500" alt="BURNING CLOTH IN THE LABORATORY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">BURNING CLOTH IN THE LABORATORY.</span> +</div> + +<p>Perhaps he gets a handkerchief with a red stain. If the cloth is white +he can apply a test direct to it, but as a rule he prefers to dissolve +the stain out. Now, a handkerchief may be stained with a number of +different reddish things—Condy's fluid, jam, cochineal log-wood, or red +paint. He puts a drop of ordinary ammonia on the cloth. If<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> the stain is +caused by currant, gooseberry, or other fruit juice it turns blue or +green; if it is Condy's fluid it becomes blue; if it is cochineal it +becomes crimson, and so on. But if it is blood, it does not change in +the least. Other tests might be described, but we have not the space.</p> + +<p>Probably the most interesting of all his duties to the analyst is that +of judging from what animal the blood stains came. This can be done only +in some cases; that is, when the blood is not quite so old that the red +corpuscles have entirely lost their shape.</p> + +<p>Of course this is a matter of the greatest importance when a man is on +his trial; for, in the first place, every spot of blood found on his +belongings is supposed to have come from his victim, although it may be +nothing more than the blood of a fish; and, in the second place, the +stock explanation of blood stains on his clothing offered by a prisoner +is that they came from some animal he killed. The plan is to ask him +what animal. Five times out of six he will say a domestic fowl or some +kind of bird especially if he is a poacher who has killed a +gamekeeper—and then he is done for.</p> + +<p>Look at the pictures on page 149 and you have the whole thing in a +nutshell. It will be seen that the red corpuscles of the blood of birds, +reptiles, and fishes (with the exception of the cyclostomata) are oval, +while those of mammalian blood are round. Here is, at once, a sure way +of differentiating mammalian blood from that of the other three great +classes of animals. The only difficulty is that blood corpuscles get out +of shape, under certain circumstances, and are no longer either oval or +round. But there is another difference. A mammalian corpuscle is of +uniform substance throughout: that of a fish, bird, or reptile has a +small, dense spot near the centre, called a nucleus. Snails, slugs, +worms, and other low forms of animal life do not come into the question +at all, for their blood is generally colourless, and, if not, it is +blue-green, violet, brown, being scarcely ever red, and then not from +the presence of corpuscles.</p> + +<p>All that remains for the analyst, therefore, supposing he finds a round +corpuscle, is to say to what mammalian animal it belongs. (The llama, +alpaca, camel, and their kin, by the way, have oval corpuscles.)</p> + +<p>How are the corpuscles of different mammalia to be distinguished under +the microscope? Merely by their size. They have all been measured with +the greatest care, a specially small unit of length, called a micron, +having been invented for the purpose. It is only 1/25000 of an inch +long, and, expressed in tenths of a micron, the average diameter of a +human blood corpuscle is 77; of a dog, 73; of a rabbit, 69; of a cat, +65; of a sheep, 50; of a goat, 41; and of an elephant, 94. But these are +average measurements, and some corpuscles are smaller, some larger.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 600px;" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='center'>Cat's Hair</td><td align='center'>Bat's Hair</td><td align='center'>Berlin Wool.</td><td align='center'>Reindeer's Hair.</td><td align='center'>Woody Fibre.</td></tr> +</table> + +<img src="images/illus_0038.jpg" width="600" height="117" alt="MORE TINY CLUES.—HUMAN HAIR CONTRASTED WITH ANIMALS' +HAIR, WOOL, AND FIBRE." title="" /> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 600px;" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='center'>Human Hair</td><td align='center'>Fox Hair</td><td align='center'>Hare's Hair</td><td align='center'>Squirrel's Hair.</td><td align='center'>Human Hair Bulb.</td></tr> +</table> +<img src="images/illus_0038b.jpg" width="600" height="112" alt="" title="MORE TINY CLUES" /> +<span class="caption">MORE TINY CLUES.—HUMAN HAIR CONTRASTED WITH ANIMALS' +HAIR, WOOL, AND FIBRE. + + +</span> +</div> + + + +<p>Therefore, when it is a question of whether the blood is that of a dog, +pig, hare, rabbit, or man, he would be a daring man that would give a +decided opinion. But it is certainly possible to come to a safe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +conclusion as to whether it is that of a human being or a sheep, goat, +or elephant.</p> + +<p>Owing to the influence of disease on the blood, however, it is never +really safe to say absolutely "This is human blood," and, in fact, all +that is generally stated in evidence is whether it is mammalian.</p> + +<p>There is one other important piece of work the medical detective can +perform in his laboratory, in the way of tracking criminals; that is to +distinguish hairs from vegetable fibres, and human hairs from animals'. +Our illustrations show how it is done. He simply places the thing to be +tested under the microscope, and—as he is acquainted with every +description of hair, cotton, wool, silk and other fibre—he can tell at +a glance what it is.</p> + +<p>Hair is more like wool than anything else, but wool is irregular and +hair is pretty regular in breadth. The hair of an adult, also, has a +streak in the middle.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 406px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0039.jpg" width="406" height="550" alt="AN IMPORTANT CLUE—MEASURING FOOTSTEPS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AN IMPORTANT CLUE—MEASURING FOOTSTEPS.</span> +</div> + +<p>We append accurate illustrations, from microscopic photographs, of the +hairs of many animals. Obviously, there is no difficulty to the +practised eye in distinguishing them. In fact, most animals' hairs can +be known by the naked eye, or with a small magnifying glass; but that of +skye terriers and spaniels is wonderfully like human hair.</p> + +<p>On all these little things hinges, very often, the terrible issue of +"guilty" or "not guilty"!</p> + +<p>Some years ago, a woman was found dead with a knife lying loosely in her +hand. This fact might mislead people into thinking it was a case of +suicide; but the fact that the knife was not held tight made the doctor +suspicious. He examined the blood on the knife, and found woollen fibres +which resembled those of the husband's clothes. This discovery so acted +on the husband that he confessed his guilt.</p> + +<p>On another occasion a Taunton man was seen last in company with a man +subsequently found dead. In the Taunton man's possession was a knife +with a slight film of blood on the blade. He said he had been cutting +raw beef. The analyst easily showed, however, that the blood on the +knife came from a living animal; and, further, he found on it some +little scales from the lining of the human gullet. The Taunton man was +convicted.</p> + +<p>A remarkable instance of the analyst's power was given in a Cornwall +murder case. A man was found with his head broken. On a hammer belonging +to a suspect were a couple of grey hairs. This hammer, however, had been +used for beating goat-skins, and, in fact, it was found in a hedge on +which a goat-skin was spread out to dry.</p> + +<p>But the medical witness swore that the two hairs came from somebody's +eyebrow, and, on comparing them with the dead man's eyebrow, they +corresponded!</p> + +<p>In one case a man was very near being hanged—and in the old days, +doubtless, he would have been hanged—mainly because a knife with red +stains was found in his possession. The medical witness found that they +were rust caused by an acid fruit; and then it was found that the +prisoner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> had actually used a knife for cutting a lemon. But, curiously, +this stain is so very like blood that the naked eye of even the most +skilful medical jurist would be deceived by it.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0040a.jpg" width="550" height="371" alt="FOOTPRINTS.—(1) WHEN RUNNING. (2) STANDING. (3) WALKING. + + +" title="" /> +<span class="caption">FOOTPRINTS.—(1) WHEN RUNNING. (2) STANDING. (3) WALKING. + + +</span> +</div> + +<p>Footprints are usually left to the police to interpret. But, very +probably, the result is often a miscarriage of justice. When the police +are working up a case they would not be human if they did not view +evidence with a certain amount of bias. The scientific witness, on the +other hand, has no personal interest one way or the other. And, +moreover, the comparison of a naked foot with its supposed print on the +ground, or the fitting of a boot to a boot-mark, is a process requiring +not only the most exact measurements, but consideration of the kind of +mark made on different kinds of soil, and in the various positions taken +by the foot in standing, walking, and running. In running we press +mainly on the toes, and in walking the greater part of the foot comes +down, and the longer the foot rests on the ground the deeper is the +impress. In fact, an expert can make a pretty shrewd guess as to the +rate at which the owner of the foot was travelling, by considering the +size and depth of the footprint.</p> + +<p>In order to make a comparison a cast has to be taken, if the mark is on +soft ground. This is done by heating the footprint with a hot iron, and +filling it in with paraffin. From this a plaster cast is taken, and it +can be preserved for comparison until someone is arrested.</p> + +<p>When the footprint is found in snow, gelatine is used to take the form +of it, and from this also a plaster cast is made.</p> + +<p>Of course, these operations have to be carried out with the greatest +care, for footprints are frequently the strongest pillars of an +indictment. In order to compare the foot of the suspected person, he is +made to walk, stand, and run, over a surface similar to that on which +the incriminating print has been found. There is one case in which the +scientific detective is certain—when the person has stood still on +soft, but firm and tenacious, soil.</p> + +<p>The footprints represented in our sketch are those of course of naked +feet, which give the clearest impression. But a corresponding variation +occurs in all footprints made by persons wearing boots, so that the +attitude or action of the wearer is easily told.</p> + +<p>Now and again some deformity, such as the possession of six or of only +four toes, leaves no room for doubt. When the mark has been made by +boots, rather than with the naked foot, it is frequently easy to +identify it by the arrangement and number of the nails, by a missing +nail, or a patch, or a hole, or a heel worn on one side.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, footprints are, to the medical man, exceedingly doubtful +evidence, although from this view the police, and probably the jury, +differ.</p> + +<p>Taking him altogether, the medical detective does his work with a skill, +certainty, and absence of prejudice, worthy of emulation by all engaged +in hunting down the criminal. The story of modern medical detective work +is one of the most romantic of our times.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0040b.jpg" width="500" height="223" alt="MURDER OR SUICIDE—WHICH?" title="" /> +<span class="caption">MURDER OR SUICIDE—WHICH?</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_ONLY_WHITE_ZOO_IN_EXISTENCE" id="THE_ONLY_WHITE_ZOO_IN_EXISTENCE"></a>THE ONLY WHITE "ZOO" IN EXISTENCE.</h2> + +<p class="center">LORD ALINGTON'S QUAINT HOBBY.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Alfred Arkas</span>.</p> + + +<p>The subject of eccentric hobbies is always fascinating, more especially +when the hobby-rider need spare neither time nor expense in humouring +his particular fancy.</p> + +<p>From time to time we hope to give our readers some account of the many +curious and interesting hobbies pursued by those who are distinguished +in this direction, although it is doubtful if a more interesting example +than the Crichel White Farm is to be found.</p> + +<p>The White Farm belongs to Lord Alington, whose name is better known in +connection with Turf matters. It was he who bred the immortal Common, +one of the grandest horses that ever won the Derby. Common was sold for +£15,000. The same week two other of Lord Alington's horses changed +hands, the three together making a record price of £39,000. These facts +are of peculiar interest in this connection, since the White Farm and +the Racing Stud Farm are practically the same, one being part and parcel +of the other.</p> + +<p>Near the entrance to the White Farm there appears a long low building, +over which three flags are flying. This is one of the racehorse stables; +and the flags, which are of yellow silk, bear the names of three of +Crichel's winners.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett, Lord Alington's trainer, is 74 years of age, and one of +the most successful men the turf has ever known. In spite of his age he +is as sprightly as a young man; and I should say many another "good 'un" +is to be expected from his hands.</p> + +<p>Common's stable overlooks a portion of the White Farm, and is that seen +in the illustration of the white mule.</p> + +<p>Crichel is situated six miles from Wimborne, in Dorsetshire. It is on +the edge of the New Forest.</p> + +<p>On nearing the farm one gets the impression that there is something +unusual about the place. The long low stable buildings, the tall white +masts and bright yellow flags, numberless white-painted cages, aviaries, +outhouses, and the spotless white of the fencings and gateways, all lend +it a pleasing individuality.</p> + +<p>On turning into the big White Farm gate one encounters the spectacle of +a teeming population of bird and animal life. All are pure white, +spotlessly clean, and you couldn't find a dark hair or feather if you +tried to do so.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0041.jpg" width="600" height="516" alt=""ALL ARE PURE WHITE, SPOTLESSLY CLEAN."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"ALL ARE PURE WHITE, SPOTLESSLY CLEAN."</span> +</div> + +<p>The only thing that seems to be missing at a first glance is a white +elephant; but the farm is that itself in a sense, as one may readily +imagine, when the difficulty of keeping it stocked is considered.</p> + + +<p class="author"><span class="caption">A PICTURESQUE CORNER OF THE FARM.</span></p> + +<div class="backright" style="background-image: url(images/illus_0042a.jpg); height: 100%;"> +<div class="sandbag-right" style="width:550px; height:300px;"> </div> +<div class="sandbag-right" style="width:300px; height:60px;"> </div> + +<p>Although one could hardly conceive a more complete collection of white +birds and beasts, it is by no means so large or varied as in the past. +The mortality among what may be termed the "hot-house"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> species—the +birds and animals from tropical countries—was very great, and the +difficulty and expense of constantly replacing them was so considerable +that Lord Alington decided to dispense with them altogether.</p> + + + +<p>The most striking creatures on the estate—and well they know it—are +the white peafowl. The many-coloured peacock with which we are familiar +is a beautiful bird, but I never saw anything in my life as perfect as +the white specimen at Crichel.</p> + +<p>We were fortunate enough, by the exercise of the patience of Job, to +stalk one of these birds, and snap him in full war paint.</p> + + + +<p>The photograph will give some idea of the beauty of the bird, but it +cannot convey any adequate notion of the rich silken texture of the +plumage, or the aristocratic stateliness of this beauty among beauties. +Built into the hedge close to the place where our snapshot of the white +peacock was taken, are several white cages devoted to some of the rarer +breeds of white pigeons and guinea pigs. At the extreme end are the +white rats and mice.</p></div> + + + +<p>One of the rarest and most interesting members of the white family is +the mule—which is really much more like a pony in appearance—shown in +another illustration.</p> + + +<p>The poor brute has experienced many social vicissitudes; originally he +was the property of the "Shadow of God upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> Earth," as the Sultan of +Turkey modestly styles himself.</p> + +<p>When Lord Alington was visiting Constantinople, the Sultan, who had +heard of his hobby, presented the animal to him. The mule had not long +been installed at the White Farm, when a gentleman who drove a +four-in-hand of these animals was ordered abroad. He had a white mule in +his team which he sold to Lord Alington, and so the farm became +possessed of a pair.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 373px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0042b.jpg" width="373" height="400" alt=""FANNY," THE WHITE DEER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"FANNY," THE WHITE DEER.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0042c.jpg" width="550" height="435" alt="THE WHITE PEACOCK—THE KING OF THE WHITE FARM." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE WHITE PEACOCK—THE KING OF THE WHITE FARM.</span> +</div> +<p>They were regularly used in harness till the death of the last-mentioned +purchase. Then, as the survivor threatened to die of inactivity and +crass laziness, he was given to the local baker, who uses him for the +work of distributing bread round the country-side.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0043b.jpg" width="400" height="355" alt="WHERE THE SHAGGY GUINEA-PIGS LIVE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">WHERE THE SHAGGY GUINEA-PIGS LIVE.</span> +</div> + +<p>From the Yildiz Kiosk to a country cart! How are the mighty fallen!</p> + + +<p>In a little paddock on the left-hand side of the entrance, a small but +most interesting collection of white animals attracts the attention of +the visitor. It consists of four superb Angora sheep and a pigmy bull.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0043c.jpg" width="500" height="328" alt="A PRESENT FROM THE SULTAN TO LORD ALINGTON." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A PRESENT FROM THE SULTAN TO LORD ALINGTON.</span> +</div> + +<p>The pigmy bull has no history of any particular interest. But if he +lacks history, he has a temper—a temper with which it is useless to +argue. The photographer, with courage worthy of a better cause, leapt +light-heartedly into the paddock, with the trigger of his hand camera at +half cock. With a lightning movement he took aim, but the pigmy was too +quick for him. He charged our harmless snapshotter, who, "retiring in +confusion," as the war correspondents say, made for the fence and fell +over it, camera and all, only half a second before the infuriated +animal's head rammed furiously into the iron railings. A moment's +hesitation and these photographs had never seen publication. The +photograph of the bull we reproduce was taken immediately after the +adventure. Tiny as the animal is, it is not a creature to be trifled +with. As a matter of fact the brute had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> a bad fit of tantrums during +the rest of the day, and the last sound we heard as we wended our way +through the quiet lanes that evening was the angry bellowing of offended +majesty.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0043a.jpg" width="500" height="292" alt="THE PIGMY BULL—NOT LARGER THAN A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG—AND +THE WHITE ANGORA SHEEP." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE PIGMY BULL—NOT LARGER THAN A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG—AND +THE WHITE ANGORA SHEEP.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0044.jpg" width="500" height="401" alt="FEEDING TIME OF THE PIGEONS, FOWLS, AND TURKEYS" title="" /> +<span class="caption">FEEDING TIME OF THE PIGEONS, FOWLS, AND TURKEYS</span> +</div> + +<p>In endeavouring to get a snapshot of Fanny, the white deer, we had quite +a different experience. With the modesty and timidity characteristic of +the breed, she was strongly opposed to the idea of being photographed. +She literally flew round the paddock for some time after our entrance, +and I was very much afraid we should have to give her up as a hopeless +job.</p> + +<p>However, by the exercise of great patience we were enabled to get a +snapshot as she stood nervously surveying us from a dark corner. Fanny +is one of the beauties of the farm; she is on the most friendly terms +with her keeper, and follows him about like a dog. Needless to say, she +has not a dark hair in her coat.</p> + +<p>An even greater expenditure of time and ingenuity was necessary in +photographing the smaller denizens of Lord Alington's Zoo.</p> + +<p>Your ordinary guinea pig is a nervous fellow at best; the white variety +suffers from hyper-sensitiveness. Over and over again, by frequent +offerings of the most tempting dainties, were the shaggy bright-eyed +little creatures lured from their haunts. But no matter how stealthily +stalked by the camera fiend, they were off like greased lightning long +before he was near enough; which circumstance explains why only two of +these interesting little pets appear in the vicinity of the runs. At one +time during my visit I saw the small paddock devoted to their use simply +alive with them.</p> + +<p>The White Farm guinea pigs are much larger than the ordinary cavies kept +by most of us in boyhood days, and the coat is long and shaggy. Save for +the head they are more like pigmy Angora sheep than anything.</p> + +<p>For much the same reason we were unable to photograph more than a small +corner of the rabbit run. It literally teems with pure white rabbits, +but they are not used to visitors, and their native modesty makes them +shun the camera like the plague. Only three or four braved the ordeal, +but as they are much like their companions, one has only to multiply +them indefinitely to obtain some idea of what the run looks like when in +full swing.</p> + +<p>The title "King of the White Farm" undoubtedly belongs to the peacock. +You have only to glance at him to realise that he is equally certain of +his position.</p> + +<p>But there is another gentleman—the white turkey cock—on the estate who +obviously does not share this view, and, were it not for the fact that +his consummate vanity renders him blissfully unconscious of his +colleague's pretensions, I imagine there would be war. Certainly the +turkey cock is a beautiful and stately creature. He was purchased by +Lord Alington for £10.</p> + +<p>Needless to say, all the ducks and fowls are of the prevailing colour, +and very fine birds they are. Even the pigs must turn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> grey or get +themselves bleached if they wish to take up permanent quarters at +Crichel.</p> + +<p>The pigeons interested me more than anything else in the place, possibly +on account of their number, and intelligence. The whole farm is alive +with them, and the sight of the colony whirling in mid-air above their +cotes is one not readily forgotten.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0045a.jpg" width="550" height="419" alt="SOME HUMBLE MEMBERS OF THE GREAT WHITE FAMILY." title="" /> +<span class="caption">SOME HUMBLE MEMBERS OF THE GREAT WHITE FAMILY.</span> +</div> + +<p>They cross the sun like a white cloud, and when they swoop downwards to +the ground the air vibrates with the hum of whirling wings. They have a +trick of sitting along the coping tiles of the roof in single file like +a company of soldiers drawn up in line, and on one occasion I saw some +hundreds resting so closely together in this fashion that there was not +room for a sparrow between them the whole length of the roof.</p> + +<p>They are perfectly tame, and are the most knowing-looking rascals I have +ever seen. Feeding time is a great institution, and, to my mind, is the +most fascinating sight on the farm.</p> + +<p>They know their dinner hour to the second, and some time before it is +due the air is white with returning stragglers.</p> + +<p>The ceremony is interesting enough to justify several illustrations, but +we can find room for only one. Preparatory to the all-important +function, the birds collect in their hundreds on the roofs of the +adjoining buildings. A few seconds later the more impatient spirits +among them fly to the ground and move restlessly about near the door +from which they know the attendant will emerge.</p> + +<p>Directly the man appears they swarm round him as he makes his way into +the middle of the grass plot where the food is scattered.</p> + +<p>There is not a single feather in any one of the birds which is not of +the purest white. A dark feather seals the doom of its unfortunate +owner. However, this is a rare event. Possibly the birds conspire to +preserve uniformity of colour by plucking alien shades from each other's +plumage before they are noticed by the keeper.</p> + +<p>If space would permit, one might illustrate many other interesting +features of the White Farm, but enough has been said to give a general +notion of the charm and interest of Lord Alington's fascinating hobby.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0045b.jpg" width="650" height="353" alt="" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0046.jpg" width="600" height="330" alt="THE CHOLERA SHIP" title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE CHOLERA SHIP</span> +</div> + +<h2><a name="THE_CHOLERA_SHIP" id="THE_CHOLERA_SHIP"></a>THE CHOLERA SHIP</h2> + + +<p class="center">A COMPLETE SHORT STORY<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Cutcliffe Hyne</span>. <i>Illustrated by Richard Jack.</i></p> + + +<p>She was not the regular Portuguese mail. She was an ancient seven-knot +tramp, which had come across from Brazil to Loando, and had been lucky +enough to pick up half a cargo of coffee there for Lisbon. She called in +at Banana, the station on the mangrove-spit at the mouth of the Congo, +where the river pilots live (and on occasion die), and where the Dutch +factory used to bring trade till the Free State killed it with duties; +and at Banana she had further fortune. There were two hundred and thirty +negroes there, Accra men and Kroo-boys mostly, a gang that had made +their fifteen or twenty pounds apiece on the railway, and were waiting +to go home.</p> + +<p>The passenger-boys had collected their chattels, and were gathering in a +howling chattering mob by the surf-boats ready to go on board, when the +first notion came to me of joining her. It was the Danish harbour-master +who gave it. He came up, under his old white umbrella with the green +lining, to the house where I was staying, and told me that the tramp was +going to call in at San Thomé and the Bonny River.</p> + +<p>"Now, we don't hanker to get rid of you here, Mr. Calvert," he said, +"but if you want to climb that mountain in Fernando Po, you're not +likely to get so good a chance for the next three months to come. Your +place is on the road between San Thomé and Bonny, though of course +you'll have to make it worth the skipper's while to stop. But that's +your palaver."</p> + +<p>"Can you put a figure on it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I should take it," said the harbour-master, "that you could hustle the +man into Fernando Po for ten sovereigns. He's only a Portugee. Come +aboard now in my gig and see him."</p> + +<p>The tramp's interior was not inviting. We went into the chart-house and +drank the inevitable sweet champagne with the captain; and whilst the +bargain was being made, a thousand cockroaches crawled thoughtfully over +the yellow-white paint.</p> + +<p>"I tell you straight," said the harbour-master in English, "she's a +dirty ship, and the chop'll be bad enough to poison a spotted dog. But +if you will go to these Portugee and Spanish places to sweat up +mountains, that's part of the palaver."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if the grub's good enough for them, it won't kill me."</p> + +<p>"Then if you will go, I'll send my boy off in the boat for your boxes +one-time, because the Old Man's in a hurry to be off. He's got a bishop +on board below, very sick with fever, and he wants to be out of this +stew and get to sea again as quick as it can be done. Thinks it'll give +the ship bad luck, I suppose, if the bishop pegs out."</p> + +<p>The harbour-master's boy was speedy, and the harbour-master himself +piloted us out into the wide gulf of the river's mouth. The +beer-coloured stream gave up its scent of crushed marigolds strongly +enough to pierce through the smells of the ship and the smells of the +crowded chattering negroes on the fore-deck, and the old steamer began +to groan and creak as she lifted to the South Atlantic swell. The sun +went down, and night followed like the turning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> out of a lamp. The +lighthouse flickered out on the Portuguese shore away on the port bow, +and above it hung the Southern Cross, a pale faint thing, shaped like an +ill-made kite.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 424px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0047b.jpg" width="424" height="600" alt=""CAME DOWN OFF THE UPPER BRIDGE."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"CAME DOWN OFF THE UPPER BRIDGE."</span> +</div> + +<p>The bumping engines stopped, and the Dane came down off the upper +bridge. He stood with me for a minute on the brown, greasy deck planks, +and then went down the ladder into his boat.</p> + +<p>"Oscar-strasse, tretten, Kjobnhavn!" he shouted, as the gig dropped +astern. "Mind you come. I shall be home in another nine months."</p> + +<p>"Wanderers' Club, London; don't forget; sorry I haven't a card left," I +hailed back, and wondered in my mind whether in any of the world's +turnings I should ever meet that good fellow again. But the steamer was +once more under way, mumbling and complaining, and the store-keeper at +that moment was beginning to open the case of dried fish—baccalhao, as +they call it on the coast—to which we traced back the hideous plague +which in the next few days swept away her people like the fire from a +battery of guns.</p> + +<p>There were only two other passengers beside the bishop and myself—a +pair of yellow-faced, yellow-fingered Portuguese from down the coast, +traders both, with livers like Strasbourg geese. The Skipper was a +decent, weak little chap from Lisbon, who might have been good-looking +if he had sometimes washed; the Chief Engineer was a Swede, who spoke +English and quoted Ibsen; and the other officers I never came specially +across. There was only one of my own countrymen on board, a fireman from +Hull, one of the strongest men I ever met, and certainly the most +truculent ruffian. His name was Tordoff on the ship's books, but that +was a "purser's name." He spoke pure English when he forgot himself, and +certainly had once been a gentleman.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 369px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0047a.jpg" width="369" height="550" alt=""LIFTED THE BODY AS THOUGH IT HAD BEEN RED-HOT."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"LIFTED THE BODY AS THOUGH IT HAD BEEN RED-HOT."</span> +</div> +<p>It was baking hot down below, and the place was alive with rats and +cockroaches.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> I rigged a wind-scoop through the port in my room, got +into pyjamas, and lay down on the top of the bunk. But I can't say I did +much business with sleep; the menagerie held cheerful meetings all +round, and the perspiration tickled as it ran off my body in little +streams; and these things keep a man awake. My room was to starboard, +and when through the porthole I saw day blaze up from behind the low +line of African hills, I turned out, rolled a cigarette, and went on +deck. I was just in time to see the first funeral.</p> + +<p>Four very frightened-looking men and a profane mate were fitting a +couple of biscuit sacks over a twisted figure which lay on the grimy +greasy deck planks. They pulled one over the head and another over the +heels, and then with a palm and needle made them fast about the figure's +middle. Afterwards they lashed a fire-bar along the shins, and then, +with faces screwed up and turned away, they lifted the body as though it +had been red-hot, and toppled it over the rail.</p> + +<p>The dead man dived through the swell alongside almost without a splash; +but, as though his coming had been a signal, a dozen streaks of foam +started up from various points, each with a black triangular fin in the +middle of it; and I did not feel any the happier from knowing precisely +what that convoy meant.</p> + +<p>However, the sharks and the body drifted away into the wake astern, and +I rolled another cigarette and got a chair and sat on the break of the +bridge deck. From there I saw the mate and his four hands fetch one by +one five other bodies out of the forecastle, and prepare them for +burial. Three they covered with canvas; and then the supply of biscuit +sacks seemed to run out, because the last two they put over the side +with the fire-bar attachment only.</p> + +<p>The fifth man had to be content with four participators in his funeral. +The remaining sailor held strangely aloof; his face turning through a +prism of curious colours; his body swaying in uncouth jerks. As the +fifth corpse toppled over the rail, this fellow threw himself down on +the hatch cover, and lay there writhing and screaming in a torment of +cramps.</p> + +<p>At that moment a man in a white serge cassock, which reached to his +heels, came out of one of the forecastle doors and walked rapidly across +to the new victim. He was a long lean man with a hawk's nose, and bright +large eyes. The skin of his face was like baggy yellow leather, and it +was dry with fever. As he knelt beside the writhing sailor, I saw the +metal crucifix nearly fall from his thin hands through sheer weakness. +He was the Portuguese bishop from down-coast of course, and when I +remembered that he had just been through black-water fever (which is own +brother to yellow jack) I judged that from a human point of view he was +behaving with exquisite foolishness in meddling with first-crop cholera +patients. But I respected him a good deal for all that, and went and got +opium and acetate of lead and gave the man on the hatch a swingeing +dose. It was a useless thing to do, because the chap had got to die, and +one incurred one's own risks by going near him; but if that bishop was a +fool, I had got to be a fool too, and there was an end of it.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0048.jpg" width="600" height="432" alt=""HE KNELT BESIDE THE WRITHING SAILOR."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HE KNELT BESIDE THE WRITHING SAILOR."</span> +</div> + +<p>Mark you, I wasn't feeling a bit frightened then. I'd been through +cholera-cramp in India, and knew what my chances were, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> was ready to +face them without whimpering; though of course I'd freely have given +every farthing I was worth to have been snugly back in the Congo again. +But the thing had got to be seen through, and I intended to keep my end +up somehow. I couldn't afford to die like a rat in a squalid hole like +that.</p> + +<p>I had breakfast all to myself that morning, because no one else turned +up; and afterwards the captain did me the honour to call me into +consultation. My Portuguese is off colour, but I speak enough to get +along with.</p> + +<p>"You English know so much about these things," he said.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0049.jpg" width="600" height="530" alt=""'WE NO FIT FOR STOKE, SAR. WE GENTLEMEN WID MONEY, +SAR.'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'WE NO FIT FOR STOKE, SAR. WE GENTLEMEN WID MONEY, +SAR.'"</span> +</div> + +<p>"We keep clean ships," I answered, "and when anything goes wrong on them +we do not lose our heads. Also we try to trace our way back to the root +of evils. How did this plague start?"</p> + +<p>"You must have brought it on board at Banana. We had not in the ship +before you came."</p> + +<p>"We did not bring it. There is no cholera in the Congo now. And, +moreover, your passenger-boys are none of them sick. We must try back +further."</p> + +<p>We did that together laboriously; and at last traced the mischief to +that fatal case of baccalhao which had been shipped at Bahia, an +infected port; and had this essence of pest promptly thrown to the +sharks. Next we went into the question of hands.</p> + +<p>"I have not enough firemen and trimmers left to man a single watch," +said the captain. "The cholera hit the stoke-hold first. The fellows who +are working there now have stood three watches on end, and they are +hardly making enough steam to give her steerage way."</p> + +<p>"If you let your old beast of a tramp stop and drift about here like a +potato-chip in a frying-pan it won't improve matters. Those of us who +don't peg out with cholera will start murdering one another. The niggers +will begin."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. I wanted some of them to serve as firemen for good pay. +But they will not listen to me. I do not think they understood. Will you +come and translate?"</p> + +<p>We took revolvers, holding them ostentatiously in our pockets. I crossed +the dizzy sunshine of the lower main deck. The negroes on the forecastle +head were chattering together like a fair of monkeys, but they ceased +when we came up, and stared at us with faces working with excitement.</p> + +<p>"Which be head-man?" I asked.</p> + +<p>A big fellow stood forward, hat in hand. "I fit for head-man, sar."</p> + +<p>I told him hands were wanted for the stoke-hold, and that the gorgeous +pay of four shillings English per diem was offered.</p> + +<p>"We no fit for stoke, sar," said he. "We gentlemen wid money, sar. We +passenger-boys, sar."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very well, daddy," said I. "But stoke you've got to. And if you won't +do it civilly you'll do it the other way. Now my frien', pick me out +twelve good strong boys. If you don't do it, I'll shoot you dead +one-time; if they won't work, I'll shoot them. You quite savvy?"</p> + +<p>We got the men and they went off to the stokehold, frightened and +raging. Poor wretches, eight of them toppled over in the next +twenty-four hours, and half-a-day later the engines stopped for the last +time. I was smoking industriously under the alley-way, and Tordoff came +and loafed near me.</p> + +<p>"I'm a bally fine chief-engineer, aren't I?" said he.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm the best man that's left of all our crowd, that's all. +They're every sinner of them dead, black men, white men, and Portuguese. +Where are we now?"</p> + +<p>"Slap bang under the equator. That mountain-top sticking out of the +water is San Thomé."</p> + +<p>"Then I'm off there," said Tordoff. "This bloomin' steamer's played out. +She can't steam, and she wouldn't sail if there was any wind, which +there isn't. I shall take one of the boats and skip. You'd better come +too."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"What for? Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because there are only two boats and they aren't enough for all hands."</p> + +<p>"The boats will hold all the white men, or them that call themselves +white. But if you are one of the missionary crowd that hold niggers as +good——"</p> + +<p>"I'm not. I know what niggers are, and therefore I'm not an Exeter Hall +fool about them. I'll make free to tell you this boat-game's been +thought of before; but that bishop says he won't leave the niggers to +peg out alone; and if he's going to be idiot enough to stay, I am going +to be another idiot. That's the size of it."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Tordoff, "I've got no use for that kind of foolishness +myself, and if you're left, you needn't come and haunt me afterwards. +You've had the straight, square tip. And you'll do no good by spreading +this palaver about. If anyone tries to stop us there'll be a lot of men +killed. We aren't the kind of crowd that'll stick at trifles if we're +meddled with. So long!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 405px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0050.jpg" width="405" height="600" alt=""'THIS STEAMER IS PLAYED OUT. I SHALL TAKE ONE OF THE +BOATS AND SKIP.'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'THIS STEAMER IS PLAYED OUT. I SHALL TAKE ONE OF THE +BOATS AND SKIP.'"</span> +</div> + +<p>He slouched off, and I went to the deck of the bridge and looked down on +a curious scene. The main deck was a shambles. There were a score of +corpses there, pitching about stiffly to the roll of the ship, with no +one offering to touch them. There were a score more of sick, shrieking +and knotting themselves in their agony. The survivors were in two sorts +of panic—the comatose, and the madly violent. A crowd of yelling +dancing negroes, most of them stark naked, had set up a ju-ju on a +barrel of the fore-deck winch, and were sacrificing to it a hen which +they had stolen from one of the coops. The little wooden god I knew: it +was one that I had picked up in the Kasai country, and I was taking it +home as a curiosity. It had been lifted from my own state-room by some +prowling negro, and was now receiving fresh daubs of red blood amid the +clamour of frantic worshippers. It was quite a reasonable thing to +expect under the circumstances. But what threw the action of these +savages into grotesque relief was the sight of another man crouched in +prayer beside the bulwarks. It was the bishop. His tottering hands were +pinning the crucifix to his hollow chest; his hips<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> were swaying under +him with weakness; his dry cracked lips moved noiselessly; and the +molten sunlight beat upon him as it pleased.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 427px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0051.jpg" width="427" height="600" alt=""I WAS FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE AMONGST A CROWD OF FURIES."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"I WAS FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE AMONGST A CROWD OF FURIES."</span> +</div> + +<p>The sight of that man gave me a bad feeling. Before I knew quite how it +happened, I was down on the frizzling main-deck, and the ju-ju had been +plucked from the winch barrel and flung over the side, together with the +tortured hen, and I was fighting for my life amongst a crowd of furies. +Tordoff was there too (though I'm sure I don't know how he came), and +thanks to him I got back again on to the bridge deck; but the bishop did +not come with us. He stayed down there amongst those sullen animal +blacks, imploring them, praying with them, soothing them. He was a +braver man than I, that Portuguese.</p> + +<p>Another night came down, and the steamer wallowed in inky blackness. In +the morning we were still more helpless. The mates, the few remaining +sailors, the stewards and cooks, and the two yellow traders had gone; +the captain lay in the alley-way with a knife between his +shoulder-blades; the bishop and I and Tordoff were the only white men +remaining on board. Yes, Tordoff. I went into the pantry smoking a +cigarette, and found him there, eating biscuits and raisins.</p> + +<p>"You here?" I said, "Why, man, I thought you cleared out with the rest."</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I thought it would be so fine to stay behind and be able +to scoff the cabin grub just as I pleased. I just stayed for the grub, +it's worth it."</p> + +<p>"You're rather a decent sort of liar," I said; "do you mind shaking +hands?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see the need," he said; "and besides, I'm using my hands to eat +these raisins; but you may kick me if you like. There isn't a redder +fool than me in both Atlantics. By the way, how's the padre?"</p> + +<p>"Very sick. I looked into his room and found him lying in his bunk. He +couldn't talk."</p> + +<p>"I put him there. Found the old fool preaching to those beasts on all +fours this morning, and looked on till he dropped; then I lugged him +under cover."</p> + +<p>"Any more dead?"</p> + +<p>"Five pegged out during the night. They were lying pleasantly in and +amongst the others, and there were seven more sick. I told the head-man +when I went down with the padre to have them put over the side or I'd +kill him. And when I came back I found he'd shoved over the whole dozen. +The man-and-a-brother's a tolerable brute when he comes to handling his +own kind, Mr. Calvert."</p> + +<p>We went out then and set the passenger-boys to washing down decks. We +could not give them the hose because there was no donkey working; but +they drew water in buckets and holystoned and scraped and scrubbed till +they cleaned the infection out of the decks, and sweated it out of +themselves. The cholera seemed to have exhausted itself. There were +three other cases, it is true, but they were mild, and none died. In +their fright the boys would have chucked their friends overboard as soon +as they were taken sick, but I promised the head-man to shoot him most +punctually if any one went over the side who was not a pukka corpse, and +if niggers were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> addicted to gratitude (which they are not), there are +gentlemen now living on the Kroos coast who might remember me +favourably. For we did get in. A B. and A. boat picked us up three weary +days later, and towed us at the end of an extremely long hawser into the +very place to which I wanted to go.</p> + +<p>Of course Fernando Po, being Spanish, kept us very much at arm's length; +and we did a thirty days' most rigid quarantine, which made (after the +last case had recovered) a matter of forty days in all. But we had no +more deaths, and the bishop pulled up into fine form. He was not a man +that I could ever bring myself to like, and as Tordoff was for the most +part sullen and unwishful for talk, the time that we swung to our anchor +off Port Clarence was not exhilarating.</p> + +<p>Still it was pleasant to think that one was alive, and to realise that +one had got respectably out of a very tight corner—yes, one of the +tightest. The tramp's two boats never turned up again. I suppose they +carried cholera away with them, and drifted about in the belt of +equatorial calms, full of sun-dried corpses, till some tornado came and +swamped them. So that we three were the only Europeans left out of +thirty-four, and of the two hundred and thirty negroes who left Banana +in the Congo, only seventy-four came to Fernando Po. It was a tolerable +thinning out, but when it came to climbing the peak, that made up for +all which had gone before. Indeed it is a wonderful mountain.</p> + +<p>I saw Tordoff again just as I was going away from the island, and tried +to put it to him delicately that I was not badly off, and would like to +give him a lift if the thing could be managed.</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Calvert," he said, "thanks. I prefer to go to the devil my own +gait. I don't suppose you'd ever know who I am; but if anybody describes +me and asks, just say you haven't seen me."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 366px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0052a.jpg" width="366" height="600" alt=""'THERE ISN'T A REDDER FOOL THAN ME IN BOTH ATLANTICS.'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'THERE ISN'T A REDDER FOOL THAN ME IN BOTH ATLANTICS.'"</span> +</div> + +<p>And that is the last I have seen or heard of him. It is extraordinary +how one drifts away from men. But, on the other hand, I should not be in +the least surprised at stumbling across Tordoff again, in purple and +fine linen for choice on the next occasion.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0052b.jpg" width="400" height="266" alt="" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IN_A_DISAPPEARING_CHESHIRE_TOWN" id="IN_A_DISAPPEARING_CHESHIRE_TOWN"></a>IN A DISAPPEARING CHESHIRE TOWN.</h2> + +<p class="center">THE STRANGE STORY OF NORTHWICH.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Percy L. Parker</span>.</p> + + +<p>The town of Northwich is subject to fits, and the reason is that people +like salt. The existence of the fits is proved by a glance at the photos +here given, and a few words will explain their cause.</p> + +<p>A stranger who knows nothing of the town may well be alarmed as he walks +down its streets, for on all sides he sees walls and houses standing at +every possible angle. Houses lean against each other in a way suggestive +of intoxication; doorways are all awry, and pavements and roads roll +like a sea-serpent.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0053a.jpg" width="600" height="461" alt="CASTLE CHAMBERS, WHICH FELL OVER WHOLE IN THE NIGHT." title="" /> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 600px;" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><i>May & Co. photo.</i>]</td><td align='right'>[<i>Northwich.</i></td></tr> +</table> + +<span class="caption">CASTLE CHAMBERS, WHICH FELL OVER WHOLE IN THE NIGHT.</span> +</div> + +<p>It is not certain that you will find your horse or cow in its stall next +morning even if you lock the door at night, for a great gulf may have +swallowed it alive. Most people like to see their fireplaces standing +above the level of the floor, but such prejudices cannot be tolerated at +Northwich, and if your fireplace goes beneath the floor, well, such is +one of the privileges of living in the place. It may happen that your +house falls over in the night, or that its roof may come crashing down +on your head. Even churches are not safe. Two at least have suffered +demolition, and one is now closed as unsafe. The town bridge leads a +vagrant life, and makes constant settlements, which impede the traffic +on the river. Northwich cannot boast a town hall, for it also was a +victim of the "moving" spirit of the place.</p> + +<p>The details of this state of things are little known even in England, +but a graphic description recently appeared in a German newspaper. It +declared that so serious was the condition of Northwich that the +inhabitants had fled to the neighbouring mountains, and all that could +be seen on the site of the ancient town was the funnel of a passing +steamer.</p> + +<p>Some worthy people at Bradford evidently had a similar idea, for after a +certain bank of that town had lent the Northwich authorities £5,000 they +heard such alarming things about the place that they sent two directors +to see if there was any chance of anything being left of Northwich when +the repayment of the loan was due.</p> + +<p>It is true that boats have been seen in the streets of Northwich, for +every now and then they get flooded. The case of Northwich is serious +enough, but there is still dry land, the people have not fled to the +mountains, and the bank is pretty certain to be paid. What then is the +matter?</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 314px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0053b.jpg" width="314" height="450" alt="ONE OF THE MOST COMMON SIGHTS IN NORTHWICH." title="" /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 314px;" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><i>T. Birtles, photo.</i>]</td><td align='right'>[<i>Warrington.</i></td></tr> +</table> +<span class="caption">ONE OF THE MOST COMMON SIGHTS IN NORTHWICH.</span> +</div> + + +<p>Northwich has the misfortune to be built on the top of a pie-crust. If +you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> cover some fruit in a pie-dish with a crust and then pump out the +juice and fruit through a hole in the crust and place a heavy weight on +it, you naturally expect the crust to break and the weight to fall into +the dish. The pie under Northwich is made of rock salt, and on the top +of the salt is a large amount of juice (or brine), and over it is the +earth's crust. But a good many Jack Homers have been at this pie and +have pumped the brine away. The heavy buildings on the crust have then +broken through it, and in this way Northwich is subject to "fits." +Locally they are called "subsidences."</p> + +<p>The classic event at Northwich was the upsetting of a house called +"Castle Chambers," occupied at the time by a solicitor. At 3 o'clock one +morning in May, this house fell back into a large hole which suddenly +opened at the rear of it. But not a single brick was moved nor a pane of +glass broken, though the chimney was not proof against such antics and +fell to the floor. This was due to the way in which the house was built.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0054b.jpg" width="550" height="507" alt="WHERE A HORSE WAS SWALLOWED UP." title="" /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 550px;" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><i>May & Co. photo.</i>]</td><td align='right'>[<i>Northwich.</i></td></tr> +</table> +<span class="caption">WHERE A HORSE WAS SWALLOWED UP.</span> +</div> + +<p>For so universal and expected are these subsidences, that the houses are +now all built in wooden frames with massive timber beams screwed tightly +together. This has revived a style of building common enough more than a +hundred years ago, specimens of which are often seen in country places. +If the house subsides it falls as a whole and does not necessarily +collapse. All you have to do is to use a screw-jack to raise the house, +fill in the hole, remove the jack, and sleep as before till another +subsidence, when the same operation is gone through. Castle Chambers, +however, were taken down and the ground made "sound." Twelve months +after another subsidence took place, and the result is shown in the +above photograph.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0054a.jpg" width="600" height="365" alt="THE SECOND SUBSIDENCE ON THE SITE OF CASTLE CHAMBERS." title="" /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 600px;" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><i>May & Co. photo.</i>]</td><td align='right'>[<i>Northwich.</i></td></tr> +</table> +<span class="caption">THE SECOND SUBSIDENCE ON THE SITE OF CASTLE CHAMBERS.</span> +</div> + + + +<p>Just opposite Castle Chambers stood the old "Wheat Sheaf Inn." It was +built with timber to resist the dreaded subsidence, but to no purpose. +Money was frequently spent in making good the damage done. One year it +had to be raised no less than nine feet! A year after part of the +building disappeared, then the cellars went, and as a climax a horse +which was in the stable was swallowed up.</p> + +<p>One Sunday morning a neighbouring farmer put his horse—worth £30 with +its harness—into the stable, and when he returned after doing his +business, he found that the beast had gone down a hole 15 ft. in +diameter which had suddenly opened. The house was then pulled down and +built further up the street. This shows how owners in Northwich stand to +lose both buildings and the sites of them.</p> + +<p>Next to the "Wheat Sheaf" was a butcher's shop, which was robbed one day +of a sausage machine by the gaping earth. When it is mentioned that a +second horse disappeared, and that a minister had a narrow escape from +being swallowed, the fun of the following story will be appreciated. The +minister one day in a funny mood was making some remarks at a public<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +meeting about the strange disappearance of the horses and the sausage +machine. He suggested that when the people below received the first +horse they naturally wanted a sausage machine, and hence the +disappearance of that useful article. Then so much did they enjoy the +produce of the machine that they wanted a second horse, and hence the +second disappearance. At this point the chairman of the meeting rose and +gravely asked whether on one occasion they did not also want a minister +(referring to the funny man's escape), and the story-teller meekly ended +his tale.</p> + +<p>Another extraordinary subsidence was that which took place in a house in +Tabley Street. The family were quietly seated in a room when they heard +a tremendous crash, which soon brought the neighbours out to see what +was the matter. An adjoining room was found to be minus its fireplace; +instead there was a big hole reaching to the cellar beneath. The marble +mantel-piece was smashed, and the tiled floor or hearth had fallen to +the cellar. The cellar wall of the next house had given way, and there +was great danger that the chimney would come smashing down. Soon after +the walls cracked and the floors were drawn apart, making the house more +breezy than comfortable. This was a peculiarly hard case, for the +proprietor had recently spent a good deal of money in putting the +property in order. In the end, the house and site were worth nothing.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0055.jpg" width="650" height="562" alt="A CHASM IN A ROADWAY." title="" /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 650px;" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><i>T. Birtles, photo.</i>]</td><td align='right'>[<i>Warrington.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="caption">A CHASM IN A ROADWAY.</span></td><td align='right'><span class="caption">BRINE PUMPING SHAFT IN A FIT.</span></td></tr> + +</table> +</div> + + + +<p>The house of a linen draper in the town sank one-fifth of its height +between the years 1881 and 1891, and in the seven years since it has +sunk nearly another fifth. One kitchen window looks out on the river, +and the water is now but a few inches below the window sill. When I saw +it the moon was shining on the water, making the scene singularly +effective. At one time the kitchens were lofty rooms, now one can hardly +stand upright in them, for the floors and the walls have not kept pace.</p> + +<p>Another house I saw had eight steps of one foot each down to the front +door. Not many years ago the doorstep was on the road level. An +ironmonger's shop floor has sunk six feet in a similar way. One side of +the floor is describing a semicircle, and the walls have long been +cracked.</p> + +<p>The "Crown and Anchor," the chief hotel in the place, had to be rebuilt, +for to walk its floors was "like being at sea in a heavy gale." The +floor of the dining-room had sunk so much that it was several feet below +the level of the roadway, and the windows afforded a beautiful view of +passing feet.</p> + + + +<p>A jeweller had the novel experience of seeing his fireplace sink below +the level of the floor and his mantel-piece half buried. Even the police +station was not safe. It was built at a cost of £2,000, repairs to the +extent of £300 were soon needed, but it became so bad that it had to be +abandoned.</p> + +<p>There are several streets in Northwich where the houses are simply +tobogganing into each other, and all over the place are houses which +have been condemned and now are closed. One street became suddenly +several feet wider than it used to be, for one side was sliding away. It +was afterwards found that the houses on that side had moved three feet +from their foundations, which were discovered under the kerb stones of +the pavement! The Marston Road sank 15 feet in forty years, and at last +had to be abandoned owing to a huge chasm many feet in width which +formed across it.</p> + +<p>It is only fair that even the buildings of the salt works in the town +are not exempt from these subsidences, which, indeed, are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> due to their +activity. One photograph is given which shows a pumping shaft in a +serious epileptic fit, which ended in its total collapse. Some time ago +the curious sight might have been seen of a large wall travelling from +three to four feet away from the building of which it was once a part. +And in several of the salt works I found the walls parting in all +directions, the floors in the shape of an S, and whole blocks of +buildings waiting for the house-breaker.</p> + +<p>One of the most remarkable features of these subsidences is that no loss +of human life has occurred. A girl with a child was passing the "Wheat +Sheaf Inn" on the occasion of a subsidence and was nearly swallowed up, +but not quite. The only loss of life was that of the two horses already +mentioned and a cow. A man was driving a cow through the streets and +turned to speak to a friend. On looking round he found that his cow had +been swallowed up. He was assured that the animal would be pumped up +with the brine at some point, but the beast was never seen again!</p> + +<p>The subsidences already mentioned are almost invariably caused by the +pumping away of the brine. Other subsidences are caused by the falling +in of old and disused salt mines which have not been properly worked, or +worked too near the surface. The result of these subsidences is +generally seen in the formation of huge lakes of water called "flashes." +One of these covers 100 acres, and is 40 to 50 feet deep. They cover +what were formerly fields, and the ensuing loss was very great.</p> + +<p>One gentleman had to make a new road to his property because 100 acres +were under water, and other areas were badly damaged by subsidences; +another built a house costing £6,000, and the largest offer he could get +for it was £1,500—it had been so much injured by subsidence.</p> + +<p>The area over which these subsidences take place is about two square +miles. Some years ago the property in Northwich was valued at £311,885, +but the depreciation on it was valued at one <i>third</i>, or £102,945—the +annual loss being £5,147. When the matter was brought before the House +of Commons it was stated that damage had been done to no less than 892 +buildings. But the number to-day, if it could be estimated, would be +infinitely larger. These 892 buildings comprised five public buildings, +15 manufacturing works, 21 slaughter-houses and stables, 34 ware-houses +and workshops, 41 public-houses, 140 shops, and 636 houses and cottages.</p> + +<p>In ten years the pumping up of brine had excavated from beneath beneath +Northwich a space large enough to form a ship canal from Northwich to +Warrington 150 feet wide and 30 feet deep. And a well-known authority +declares that the subsidences during the present century form an +excavation very much more extensive than was required for the Manchester +and Liverpool Ship Canal. For the subsidences correspond with the amount +of salt taken from the earth.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 527px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0056.jpg" width="527" height="600" alt="ANOTHER VIEW OF CASTLE CHAMBERS ON ITS BACK." title="" /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 527px;" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><i>May & Co. photo.</i>]</td><td align='right'>[<i>Northwich.</i></td></tr> +</table> +<span class="caption">ANOTHER VIEW OF CASTLE CHAMBERS ON ITS BACK.</span> +</div> + + + +<p>Every ton of white salt consumes one ton of rock salt, and a ton of rock +salt represents a solid cubic yard. As 1,200,000 tons of white salt are +made every year at Northwich it follows that at least 1,200,000 cubic +yards of solid foundation are removed from beneath Northwich each year. +This is equal to an annual uniform subsidence of 248 acres one yard +thick. No wonder that Northwich has fits!</p> + +<p>Taking the fits as proved, we will now look more closely beneath the +pie-crust of Northwich. The best way to do so is to get into a big tub +which will just hold two people and go down the shaft of a salt mine, +lowered by a windlass. First of all you pass through 32 feet of soil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +and drift, and then about 92 feet of what would commonly be called rock. +Then below these 124 feet you come to the first bed of rock salt, which +averages about 75 feet in thickness. Passing through this you come to 30 +feet more of rock, and below again is found another bed of rock salt, +which averages in thickness about 90 feet. It is the lower bed of rock +salt which is mined. The bottom of the mine down which I went was 330 +feet below the surface, but the atmosphere was delightful, being cool +and dry and not in the least oppressive. A magnificent chamber, 25 feet +high and 17 acres in extent, had been dug out of the salt, and its +extent could easily be gauged by the help of the candles which had been +lit all round the mine. Massive pillars of salt of 10 or 12 feet square +are left at intervals of 25 yards to support the roof.</p> + +<p>The rock is got largely by blasting. A hole is drilled, and into the +bottom of the hole a small powder ball is put. Loose powder is placed in +a piece of straw and the straw is lighted. In a few seconds it burns +down to the powder ball, and the rock salt which has lain so quietly in +its bed for æons breaks up, and in process of time may find itself in +any quarter of the globe.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0057b.jpg" width="600" height="429" alt="A FLOOD IN THE +STREETS OF NORTHWICH." title="" /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 600px;" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><i>T. Birtles, photo.</i>]</td><td align='right'>[<i>Warrington.</i></td></tr> +</table> +<span class="caption">A FLOOD IN THE +STREETS OF NORTHWICH.</span> +</div> + +<p>No damage is done to the surface by the mining of this lower bed of rock +salt. It is too deep for that. The subsidences are all connected with +the upper bed of salt. These upper beds used to be worked because the +lower beds were not known, and when they were neglected they fell in, +and in this way the large sheets of water of which I have spoken were +formed above the earth's crust.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0057a.jpg" width="500" height="428" alt="T. Birtles, photo.HOUSES WHICH +COLLAPSED OWING TO A SUBSIDENCE." title="" /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 500px;" summary="HOUSES WHICH +COLLAPSED OWING TO A SUBSIDENCE."> +<tr><td align='left'><i>T. Birtles, photo.</i>]</td><td align='right'>[<i>Warrington.</i></td></tr> +</table> +<span class="caption">HOUSES WHICH +COLLAPSED OWING TO A SUBSIDENCE.</span> +</div> + +<p>But the mining of the upper bed of salt by man does not account for the +subsidences here recorded. The name of the dangerous miner is "water." +When water reaches the upper bed of salt it dissolves it as water does +snow. Water can take in 26 degrees of salt and no more, and then it is +called brine. Underneath Northwich is a sea of brine which lies on the +top of the upper bed of salt rock. From this brine white salt is made by +a process of evaporation, and that is why all over Northwich you see +numbers of pumping stations which pump up the brine as fast almost as it +is made. As the brine is taken out fresh water flows in and takes up its +26 degrees of salt. In this way the great cavities under Northwich which +cause all the subsidences are made; they will grow bigger and bigger as +long as the pumping up of brine is continued.</p> + +<p>Truly Northwich lives and moves and has its being in salt, and promises +to be buried in it too.</p> + +<p>Brine pumping is the source of a terrible in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>justice. A man may buy a +piece of land large enough to erect a pumping station, and if on that +spot he can tap the brine there is nothing to prevent him from drawing +brine from any part of Northwich. And though his neighbour's house is +engulfed in the process, and though he is ruined thereby, he can secure +no compensation. If you were to mine salt or coal under your neighbour's +house you could be brought to book, but not if you take water, salt or +fresh.</p> + +<p>Such was the law till a few months ago. But after a tremendous fight a +bill has been passed which gives a Compensation Board power to levy not +more than three-pence a ton on all brine pumped at Northwich. This levy +is to go to the compensation of those whose houses and property have +suffered. But at present not a penny has been paid and in no case will a +penny ever be paid for all the damage done before the passing of the +Act. Such is the tragedy of salt getting.</p> + +<p>Illustration: OUR ARTIST'S WAKING DREAM OF A STREET IN NORTHWICH.]</p> + +<p>Northwich has been called the salt metropolis of the world, and as +becomes a metropolis it is unique. It has a Salt Museum, the only one in +existence, which contains the finest collection of Indian and American +salts in the country. It also contains some very interesting exhibits. +Among them are a pair of boots and an old broom-head which were left in +an old salt mine for fifteen years. They had not much beauty when they +were left, but Nature has made them exquisitely beautiful, for they are +encased in salt crystals which were formed upon them in those fifteen +years.</p> + +<p>No one can go down a salt mine without asking, How did this salt come +here? And no one can fail to be impressed by the answer. Æons before the +footfall of man was heard upon the earth there stretched across Cheshire +a great salt lake; and under the hot sun of a semi-tropical age the salt +crystallised out of the water and rested at the bottom of the lake. How +many years it is since the first layer was deposited can hardly be +imagined, for it was formed under deep waters, while now it is over 300 +feet beneath the earth's crust. But there are few finer fields for the +exercise of the imagination than in trying to conceive the vastness of +time and change which have elapsed since then. And when one does realise +something of the eternity of that time one ceases to wonder that +Northwich has fits when its heart of salt is taken from it.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0058a.jpg" width="500" height="397" alt="" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0058b.jpg" width="500" height="252" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="THAT_FIVE_HUNDRED_POUND_PRIZE" id="THAT_FIVE_HUNDRED_POUND_PRIZE"></a>THAT FIVE HUNDRED POUND PRIZE.</h2> + + + +<p class="center">THE STORY OF A GENIUS.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Richard Marsh</span>.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Illustrated by John H. Bacon.</i></p> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0059.jpg" width="500" height="360" alt="" title="THAT FIVE HUNDRED POUND PRIZE" /> +</div> +<p>To him, the idea, from all points of view, suggested nothing but +objections. He told her so.</p> + +<p>"You know, Philippa, I don't believe, as the cant of the day has it, +that a woman ought to earn for herself her daily bread; and that a woman +should earn her husband's daily bread as well—to me, the mere idea of +such a thing is nauseous. There may be men who are content to take the +good which their wives provide. Thank goodness, I am not one of them. In +this matter I am old-fashioned in my notions. I look at woman from a +point of view which is, perhaps, my own. To me, the woman who, urged +even by necessity, works for money, soils her womanhood, falls away from +her high estate. I pity her, but—not <i>that</i> woman, if you please, for +me. Necessity, Philippa, surely does not urge you. Am I not always at +your side? Believe me, my day will come—come shortly! Only wait!" +Putting his arm about her waist, he looked up into her face, with, in +his eyes, a certain light of laughter. "Besides, in the great army of +the workers, what work do you think there is for you? Do you think that +in you there is the making of a woman of letters, Philippa?"</p> + +<p>So he kissed her, and she said nothing. She could say nothing. She could +only let him fondle her, as though they still were sweethearts. For she +loved him, and he loved her. But though she loved him, in her heart +there was a hot remonstrance, which she allowed to remain unspoken, +because she loved him. It was easy to say that there was no necessity to +prick her with a spur. But there were the tradesmen's bills unpaid, the +rent in arrear, and the children wanted things—not to speak of herself +and of him. And there was a drawer full of his unaccepted manuscripts. +They went hither and thither, from editor to editor, and then for the +most part they seemed to settle in the drawer.</p> + +<p>She understood well enough what he meant when he asked if she thought +that she had in herself the making of a woman of letters. She had been a +nothing and a nobody. She had not even been very pretty. Certainly no +superfluity of money had been thrown away upon her education. It was not +at all as it is in the story books, but, quite by chance, he met her. +Before he knew it, he was wooing her. And, when things came to the worst +at home, he married her—she having nothing which she could call her own +except the things which she was wearing. And he had very little more. It +was not strange that he should doubt if in her there was the making of a +woman of letters—she, who, save in the way of love letters, had +scarcely ever written a line.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey Ford was a genius. He had given her to understand that from the +very first—in the days when, in her ignorance, she scarcely understood +what a genius was. He gave her to understand it still, almost every day. +With him, to write was to live. To be a great writer was the dream of +his life. He strove to realise his dream with that dogged pertinacity +which is only to be seen in the case of a master passion. When they +first were married, he was struggling to be a dramatist. He was quite +conscious that, in the trade of the writer, wealth was only to be +achieved by the successful playwright. He believed that his was +essentially the playwright's instinct. Although his plays met with +abundance of good words, they did not attain production. It seemed as if +they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> never would. When they began to be actually starving, she +suggested that he should put aside playwriting for a time, and try to +earn money by other products of his pen. He had acted on her suggestion. +He had become that curiosity of modern civilisation—a writer for the +magazines. And, in a way, he had been successful. He was earning, +perhaps, an irregular hundred and fifty pounds a year. But what are an +irregular, a very irregular, hundred and fifty pounds a year, when there +are three babies? And yet he said that there was no spur of necessity to +urge her on.</p> + +<p>The worst of it was, she was beginning to be a doubter. She would not +own it, even to herself, but she was beginning to fear that he might be +mistaking the desire to be, for the power to be. What he considered his +best work invariably came back. He said that this was because editors +were unable to appreciate strikingly original ideas when they were +presented to them by a wholly unknown man. What they desired was a +commonplace, and when he said this, she—well, she said nothing. From +the first she had insisted on his reading aloud to her everything he +wrote. Unconsciously to herself she had become a critic. She was +beginning to fear that he was only at home in the lower levels. When he +soared, he floundered. It was only among the hacks that he held his own. +Even then, at times, he lagged behind. So far from hinting to him her +fears, she would almost rather have died than have allowed him to know +she had them. Their love for each other had never faltered, even when +their cupboard was emptiest. It had seemed to grow stronger with the +coming of each child. And, what is more, it appeared to her that, but +for him, she would have dropped into a ditch.</p> + +<p>Lately there had been growing up within her a desire to add to the +family income. And, oddly enough, it had seemed to her that the best way +to do this would be by writing. She had hinted something of this desire +to Geoffrey. She had suggested, playfully, that she should join her pen +to his—that they should collaborate. He had received her playful +suggestion in such a way that she had not ventured to repeat it in +earnest. She knew him, through and through. She knew that he desired to +succeed, not only for himself, but, first of all, for her. He loved his +work for the work's sake. He cared nothing for fame in the sense of +popularity, or its equivalent, notoriety. In that respect he was a +clear-sighted man—he knew what the thing was worth. For himself he +cared nothing for the material products of success. His own tastes were +of the simplest kind. He desired to achieve success simply that he might +pour the fruits of success into her lap. He wished her to owe nothing to +anyone but to himself, to owe nothing even to her own self. He wanted to +be all in all to her, to have his love her beginning, and her end.</p> + +<p>She knew this. Yet—the rent was overdue. Of late his manuscripts +seemed coming back worse than ever. He seemed to be out of the vein. And +the children wanted things so badly. And so——</p> + +<p>Well, one day he came to her with an expression of countenance which she +knew so well. It meant that a new idea, some fresh project, either was +germinating, or else had germinated, in his mind. In his hand he held a +newspaper.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 462px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0060.jpg" width="462" height="600" alt=""'I AM GOING IN FOR A PRIZE COMPETITION.'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'I AM GOING IN FOR A PRIZE COMPETITION.'"</span> +</div> + + + +<p>"Philippa, I am going to do what I have told you I thought that I should +never do—I am going in for a prize competition. See here." He opened +the paper out in front of her. "The <i>North British Telegraph</i> is +offering £500 for the best story, £250 for the second best, and £100 for +the third best. I am going to win<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> one of those prizes—mark my words, +and see if I don't."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 465px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0061.jpg" width="465" height="500" alt=""SHE BEGAN ATTENTIVELY TO STUDY THE ANNOUNCEMENT."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"SHE BEGAN ATTENTIVELY TO STUDY THE ANNOUNCEMENT."</span> +</div> + + +<p>He was kneeling at the table by her chair. She had her hand upon his +shoulder. She smiled as he spoke. She knew his tone so well. He was +always going to do this, that, or the other. But somehow, after all, he +seldom did it.</p> + +<p>"Are you? The money would be very useful."</p> + +<p>"Useful! I should think it would. Why, to us, it would be a fortune. But +that's not the only thing. You know how ideas come to me in an instant. +Directly I saw that announcement I saw <i>the</i> story which will be the +very thing."</p> + +<p>"Did you?" Her heart grew faint. She was beginning to be a little afraid +of his sudden flashes of inspiration. "How long is the story to be?"</p> + +<p>"It does not say exactly, but it says that it should not exceed a +hundred and fifty thousand words. It will give me elbow room. I shall +have a chance to let myself go—to get into my stride. I am sick of +dancing in fetters, with a limit of four thousand words or so."</p> + +<p>"But it will take you a long time to write, won't it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, about six weeks. It will take me no time, when I am once well into +the story. You know how I do travel, when I once have got my grip. It is +half mapped out in my head already. Every line of it will practically be +written before I begin. There will only be the pen work to do." Putting +both his hands upon her shoulders, he stooped his eager face to hers. +"Philippa, you see if I don't do the trick this time."</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey, if I were you, I wouldn't be so sanguine. You know how +disappointed you have been before."</p> + +<p>Thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets, he began to stride about +the room.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know that is so, and I won't be sanguine. But, somehow, I feel +quite certain that, this time, I have the thing—however, I'll say +nothing. But don't you tell me not to be sanguine, or you'll put me +clean off—you know how funny I am, that way. You keep the children +quiet, and don't let me hear a sound, and you'll see—well, you'll see +what you will see." He laughed, and she laughed too. "Don't you laugh at +me! If I don't get the first prize, it'll be hard lines if I don't get +one of the three—even a hundred pounds is not to be despised."</p> + +<p>"But, Geoffrey, what will become of your other work during those six +weeks? And you know, when you have finished a long story, you never feel +inclined to start again at once."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk to me like that, or you'll drive me off my head. Philippa, +I've set my heart upon doing this thing—do let me do it. You don't want +me to be a penny-a-liner all my life, sweetheart, do you? By the way, I +saw <i>The Leviathan</i> at the library. There's a first-rate story in it, by +a new man—Philip Ayre. I know good work when I see it, and that is good +work. And, do you know, it might almost be a story about us—you should +read it. It is called 'Two in One.'" Wandering hither and thither about +the room, he did not notice that his wife's face had suddenly been bent +low over her mending, and that her cheeks had paled. "Another thing, I +met old Briggs." Mr. Briggs was their landlord. "I assure you, when I +saw him coming, I was half inclined, Dick Swiveller fashion, to dodge +down some side street. I made sure he was going to dun, and that I +should have to shuffle. But, to my surprise, he was quite friendly. He +asked how you were, and how the children were, and never said a word +about the rent. So, of course, I said nothing either. I'm just going for +a stroll, and a smoke, and a think. Mind, when you go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> to the library, +that you don't forget to read that thing in <i>The Leviathan</i>."</p> + +<p>When he had gone, spreading out the paper which he had brought in front +of her she began attentively to study the announcement of the <i>North +British Telegraph</i> prize story competition. Putting down the +figures—150,000—upon a scrap of paper, she began to divide and to +sub-divide them, as if she were trying to find out exactly what they +meant. When she had finished her calculations, she continued to sit in a +brown study, quite oblivious of the heap of mending which still lay +unfinished on her knee.</p> + +<p>"If I could only help him to win it—if I only could! Poor Geoff! The +day on which he gave me five hundred pounds, as the product of his own +work, would be the happiest day that he had ever known. My own, own +Geoff!</p> + +<p>"I wonder if he will win it? Oh, if he only would! But supposing that he +does not win it, it would be just as well that—that someone else should +win it—someone in—in his own home. Oh, what a wicked wretch I am! +What's that? It's baby! I do hope she won't wake up. There's all this +mending, and I've only milk enough for one more bottle. There! She is +waking up! You naughty, naughty, <i>darling</i> child!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 449px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0062.jpg" width="449" height="600" alt=""UPSTAIRS THE WIFE SAT WITH THE CHILDREN."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"UPSTAIRS THE WIFE SAT WITH THE CHILDREN."</span> +</div> + +<p>The next day Geoffrey Ford began his story. He began to pour it out upon +the paper, white-hot from the furnace of his brain. Seldom had he seen +his way so clearly. It had come, as he said, in an instant. It possessed +him, as it were, body and soul and mind, as his work was wont to possess +him when, as he thought, he saw his way. His ideas would come to him +with the force of a mighty rushing river. He could not dam them back. He +felt that he was obliged to give them instant utterance or they would +overflow the banks, and so be lost. He worked best, or he thought that +he worked best, at high pressure. He believed in striking the iron when +the force of the fire had almost made it liquid. Not for him was the +journeyman labour of hammering out tediously, and with infinite care, +cold iron.</p> + +<p>The story was to be called "The Beggar." He had even got the title! It +was one of those half-psychological, half-transcendental stories, in the +turnings and twistings of which he liked to give his fancy scope. His +fault was not too little imagination, but too much. The task of keeping +it within due bounds was not only a task which he hated, but possibly it +was a task which was beyond his strength. There are impressionists in +painting. He was an impressionist in literature. He was fond of large +effects—effects which were dashed in by a single movement of the brush. +To descend to details was, he thought, a descent indeed. He was +conscious that there was a public which would read a volume which, from +first to last, only dealt with the minutest particularity, with a couple +of days in the life of a single individual. That was a public he +despised. He preferred to deal with a whole life in the course of a +couple of pages.</p> + +<p>He was, in short, a genius. And when I say a genius, I mean, in this +connection, a wholly unmanageable person. As you read his work, you felt +that you were in the presence of an exceptional mind—in the presence of +a man who saw things, great things, things worth seeing, which were +hidden from other men—who saw them, as it were, by flashes of +lightning. That was just how he did see them—by flashes of lightning. +He saw them for an instant, then no more. Partially, and not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> the whole. +In a lurid light, which almost blinded the beholder. So, when you read a +work of his, you were startled, first by the light, then by the +darkness. It seemed strange that a man who one moment could be so light, +the next could be so dull. Soon you began to be irritated. Then you were +bored. When you reached the end—if you ever reached the end—you +wondered if the man was mad, or if he was merely stupid. But he was +neither mad nor stupid. He was a genius, who, so far, declined to allow +himself to be managed. When he became manageable, he would cease to be a +genius—in the sense in which the word is here being used. Then, if he +wrote at all, he would write what the plainest of plain men could +plainly read.</p> + +<p>The idea of his story was not an unattractive one—to a certain sort of +writer. It was to be the story of a beggar, of a man who asked for alms +in the streets, and who, by the exercise of certain arts, which verged +upon the marvellous, amassed a fortune. Geoffrey Ford proposed to follow +the beggar, as he amassed his fortune, and to show what he did with his +fortune, when he once had gained it. And in the little room upstairs, +the wife sat with the children, watching over their every movement to +see that they made no unnecessary sound. They were good children. When +papa was writing, even the baby seemed to do her best to keep the peace. +The little ones seemed willing to give up the birthright of the +child—the right to enter into the heritage of life with a rush of happy +noise. And, below, the husband, and the father, wrote, and wrote, and +wrote, and rushed about the room, chasing his dreams, so that he might +imprison them, with ink, on paper.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 414px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0063.jpg" width="414" height="600" alt=""HE FELT THAT SHE WAS TREMBLING."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HE FELT THAT SHE WAS TREMBLING."</span> +</div> + + + +<p>The days went by, and the story grew. And so wrapped up was the writer +in its growth, that he failed to notice that about his wife there was +something unusual, and even a little strange. She was interested in his +work, there could be no doubt of that. But she did not, as he was +inclined to think that she was apt to do, worry him with continual +questions as to how it was getting on, and inquiries into this, or that. +She let him go his own way, without making so much as even one +suggestion. She was wont to be a little too free with her suggestions, +he sometimes fancied. For her suggestions hampered him. And—but this he +did not notice—she went her own way too. Rather an odd way it seemed to +be. For one thing, she seemed to be unusually busy. She did not come +into the room in which he was working even after the children had gone +to bed. She seemed to have something on her mind. She became distinctly +paler. It might have been illness, or it might have been anxiety, or it +might have been overwork. A queer look came into her eyes. Sometimes it +was almost like a look of apprehension. Then there would come a timidity +in all her movements, as if she were even afraid of him. Then it would +be like a look of vacancy, as if her thoughts were far away. When that +vacant look was there, she seemed to be unconscious of her husband's +presence—just as he had a trick, in his meditative moods, when he was +thinking of his work, of becoming unconscious of her. Then again, as one +looked into her eyes, one would have thought that she was possessed by +some mastering excitement—a flaming fire which glowed within.</p> + +<p>One afternoon her husband came in from his daily visit to the Library +Reading Room. He was not in his happiest mood. He was a man of moods. +When the black mood was upon him, all the world was black.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<p>"On my word, I do not know what things are coming to. There's Graham, of +<i>The Leviathan</i>, sends back everything I send him. That MS. which came +back this morning, he has had two months, and it's a first-rate thing. +Then he goes and fills his pages with stuff which I wouldn't put my name +to. The new number's out, and there's another story in it by that man +Philip Ayre. I never read such rubbish in my life."</p> + +<p>His wife had looked up at him, as he came in, with a smile of welcome. +When he began to speak of <i>The Leviathan</i>, her face dropped again. It +went paler than even it was wont to do. There was a tremor in her voice.</p> + +<p>"I thought you said that that other story of his was rather good."</p> + +<p>"It was good enough—of its kind. But it's a kind I hate. There's a +craze about for sickly pathos, which, to me, is simply disgusting. In +that man Ayre there's the making of a popular writer. Mark my words, and +see if he doesn't make a hit. In a few months he will be all the +rage—you see. And it is to make room for such men as Ayre that I shall +be condemned to eat my heart out till I die."</p> + +<p>Putting down her work, his wife came to him from the other side of the +table.</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey, don't say that!"</p> + +<p>Tears were actually in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Philippa, what's the matter?" As he put his arms about her and drew her +on to his knee, he felt that she was trembling. "Sweetheart, what is +wrong?"</p> + +<p>"Don't speak like that of Philip Ayre!"</p> + +<p>"Not speak like that of Philip Ayre! Why, lady, do you hold a brief for +him? You silly child! It's only a foolish way I have. But if you could +only realise how I long, and long, and strive, and strive, to stand up +with the best of them, you would understand how it galls me to find how +I am thrust aside by men whose work seems to me to be so poor a thing. +For their work's sake, I almost begin to hate the man."</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey! Geoffrey! Not that! not that!"</p> + +<p>Flinging both her arms about his neck, she burst into an hysterical +flood of weeping—she who never cried.</p> + +<p>"Dear heart!—tell me!—what is wrong!—Philippa! Philippa!—my wife."</p> + +<p>She did not tell him what was wrong. It seemed as if she could not tell +him what was wrong. Perhaps, as he told himself, it was because, after +all, there was nothing wrong. She was only out of sorts that +day-unusually out of sorts for Philippa.</p> + +<p>After a while he began upon another theme.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 322px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0064.jpg" width="322" height="600" alt=""HIS WIFE WENT WHITE TO THE LIPS."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HIS WIFE WENT WHITE TO THE LIPS."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Sweetheart, if something doesn't come in soon—and I don't know where +it's going to come from—I can't see what we shall do for money. I don't +know if you are acquainted with the state of the family finances. What +we must owe the people I am afraid to think. Why they don't worry us +more than they do is a mystery to me. I see you've been getting new +boots for the children. They wanted them. But they'll have to be paid +for, I suppose. Never mind! All things come to those who wait, and luck +will come to me. I'm sure I've waited. Let's hope that an unexpected +cheque will come along. Anyhow, wait until the 'The Beggar' is finished. +It'll be a splendid thing-you see! I'm putting some of the best work +into it I ever did. If it doesn't win the first prize, it's bound to win +the third. Why, Philippa, your eyes are red. The idea of your crying +because I was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> pushed against the wall to make room for an unknown ass +like Mr. Philip Ayre!"</p> + +<p>"The Beggar" was finished. It was sent in. Then came the weeks of +waiting. Geoffrey Ford did scarcely any work. The larger proportion of +the work he did came back again. He seemed to be in a curious frame of +mind—as though he took it for granted that that five hundred pounds was +already on its way to him.</p> + +<p>"If I get that five hundred pounds," he would say, "I will do this, or +that."</p> + +<p>His wife grew sick at heart.</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey, I wish you wouldn't think of it so much. You make me think +about it, too. And then, if you don't get it, you know what a bitter +disappointment it will be."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you take it for granted that I shan't get it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't take anything for granted. I never do. I wish you wouldn't +either."</p> + +<p>"There's one thing, I don't believe that these competitions are ever +conducted fairly. I don't see how they can be. I don't see how any man, +or any set of men, can wade through a cartload of MSS. in such a manner +as to be able to judge, with critical nicety, which is the best one in +the truckful. But I'm sure of this, I don't believe that any man sent in +a better story than 'The Beggar'—a more original one, I mean. I know +the sort of people who enter for these competitions-a lot of wretched +amateurs."</p> + +<p>She said nothing in reply. What could she say? She knew that it was not +only conceit which prompted him to talk like that. She understood quite +well the almost anguished longing which filled his heart. Her own heart +throbbed pulse for pulse with his.</p> + +<p>Returned MSS. seemed to annoy him more than usual. He was case-hardened, +as a rule. When they reappeared, he simply packed them up again, and +sent them off upon another journey. Especially was he irritated by the +return of a MS. which he had sent to <i>The Monthly Magazine</i>.</p> + +<p>"I knew that would come back. I see that Philip Ayre has something in +this month's number. I don't know who he is. So far as I know, he is the +very last discovery. But I believe that that man is destined to be my +evil star."</p> + +<p>His wife went white to the lips.</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey! I wish you wouldn't talk like that. It doesn't sound like you +at all."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they're quite right in preferring his work to mine, only—" +He shrugged his shoulders. "Philippa, I sometimes wish that you were a +writer. Then you would understand me better. You would understand what I +feel when I see the dream of my life growing dimmer and dimmer, and more +dream-like, every day."</p> + +<p>Philippa was still.</p> + +<p>The day approached on which the conductors of the <i>North British Herald</i> +had stated that they would announce the winners in their competition for +stories. Geoffrey Ford's anxiety increased to fever heat. His heart +stood still every time he heard the postman's knock. His wife knew that +it was so, although he did his best to hide how it was with him.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," he said, "I shall know if I have won."</p> + +<p>"Or," his wife suggested faintly, "if you have lost."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 427px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0065.jpg" width="427" height="600" alt=""HE BEGAN TO UNFASTEN IT WITH HANDS WHICH TREMBLED."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HE BEGAN TO UNFASTEN IT WITH HANDS WHICH TREMBLED."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Or, as you say, if I have lost. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> we won't speak of losing. I have +never put my heart into anything as I have put it into this. I am sure +that 'The Beggar' is the best work I have ever done—I am sure of it. I +will go further, and say I believe it is as good work as I shall ever +do. Upon my honour, Philippa, something tells me I shall win—it does! +Oh, if I could only win!"</p> + +<p>He had arranged that a copy of the issue of the paper containing the +announcement should be sent to him by post. That morning the postman +brought him two enclosures. One was a bulky parcel. When he saw it, his +heart, all at once, ceased beating. He had to gasp for breath. Without a +word, he began to unfasten it, with hands which trembled. Philippa +bustled about the breakfast table, as if her own heart was not working +like a wheezy pair of bellows.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 511px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0066.jpg" width="511" height="600" alt=""'BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU SAY! I AM PHILIP AYRE.'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU SAY! I AM PHILIP AYRE.'"</span> +</div> + +<p>"Philippa! it's 'The Beggar'! the manuscript—come back again!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind." How she tried to speak in the most commonplace of voices. +"You can send it somewhere else. It's sure to get accepted."</p> + +<p>"Send it somewhere else?" She saw that his lips were twitching, that +his face seemed bloodless. "But—I don't understand. Not a word of +explanation is enclosed. I don't know what it means. Perhaps there's +some mistake. Let's—let's see who's won."</p> + +<p>The other enclosure which had come for him was obviously a copy of the +paper. He tore it open-still with hands which trembled. He searched its +columns for the announcement.</p> + +<p>"My God!"</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey! what's the matter? Who has won? Oh, Geoffrey, have you won?"</p> + +<p>"Me! me!" He rose to his feet, as it were, inch by inch. "It's Philip +Ayre!"</p> + +<p>"Philip Ayre!"</p> + +<p>Falling on her knees beside the table, Mrs. Ford covered her face with +her hands.</p> + +<p>"It's Philip Ayre! Didn't I tell you he was destined to be my evil star? +Curse——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Ford rose up in front of him.</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey, be careful what you say! I am Philip Ayre."</p> + +<p>"You? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>She advanced to him, on tottering feet, with outstretched hands.</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey, I am Philip Ayre!"</p> + +<p>"You are Philip Ayre? What on earth do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Geoffrey, don't you understand? Philippa—Philip Ayre!"</p> + +<p>There was a moment's pause—a pause which, probably, neither of them +ever would forget.</p> + +<p>"You—you are Philip Ayre! How dull I must have been not to have seen +the pretty play upon your name before. Philippa—Philip Ayre. Of course! +So you have been my rival. My wife—the mother of my children—the woman +I loved better than all the world."</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey, don't say that I have been your rival!"</p> + +<p>"No? Not my rival? What then?"</p> + +<p>"I did it all for you!"</p> + +<p>"For me? I see. I am beginning, for the first time, to understand the +meaning of words. You did it for me? This is not a foreign language +which you are speaking—I suppose it is English?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Geoffrey, will you listen to me for a moment?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly; and I shall understand that I am listening to you, to your +own self, for the first time. It is someone else I have listened to +before. Proceed, Mr. Philip Ayre."</p> + +<p>She seemed to find some difficulty in proceeding. Very soon she was to +give another child unto the world. Perhaps it was that which made her +seem so weak. She never had been very pretty. She had not grown prettier +with the passage of the years. Now, as she stood trembling so that she +had to clutch at the table to keep her stand, she seemed an +insignificant, pale-faced, ill-shaped woman—not a thing of beauty to +the eye. She seemed, also, to be in mortal terror.</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey, I would have told you all along, only I was afraid."</p> + +<p>"Afraid to tell me that you had set up as a rival in the business? I +see. Go on."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have done it at all if we hadn't been so short of money."</p> + +<p>"Which was because you had a blundering fool for a husband. That is +clear. Well?"</p> + +<p>"The children wanted things, and—and there were the bills, and—and the +rent."</p> + +<p>"Which you paid. Now I understand Mr. Briggs' civility, the tradesmen's +reticence. I have been living on my wife. What a blind worm a man who +has the use of his eyes can be!"</p> + +<p>"I—I never meant to be your rival—never, Geoffrey, never."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Philip Ayre——"</p> + +<p>"Don't call me Mr. Philip Ayre!"</p> + +<p>"Why not? Aren't you Mr. Philip Ayre?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Geoffrey! Geoffrey!"</p> + +<p>She knelt down before him, so that her hands fell on his knees as he was +seated on his chair. He moved her hands and rose.</p> + +<p>"Let us understand each other, quietly. Philippa, I told you, before we +were married, that I objected to a woman who worked for money. I had no +objection to <i>women</i> who worked for money. That was no affair of mine. I +simply objected to make such an one my wife. I imagined, when you became +my wife, that you would make my hopes and my ambitions yours. Indeed, +you told me that you would. I was poor, and you were poor. You knew that +I would work for you with all my strength. And so I have done. When, a +little time ago, you suggested that you, too, should become a labourer +for hire, I told you, with such courtesy as I could command, that, to +me, the idea was nauseous. Perhaps I should have told you then, what, +indeed, I had told you before, and what I tell you now again, that +rather than have a wife who worked for money, I would have no wife. You +were perfectly aware of this. You were well acquainted with what I +thought and felt upon the matter. I do not say that my thoughts and +feelings were correct. Still, they were mine. You said you loved me. You +swore it every day. I never dreamed that, to you, my wishes were +nothing, and less than nothing. And that you should deliberately set +yourself to cheat me out of the fruits of what you well knew was the +labour and the longing of my life—"</p> + +<p>"Not cheat you, Geoffrey—no, not cheat you!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, cheat me! cheat me! I suppose that you sat upstairs and pretended +to keep the children quiet, while I sat down here and wrote. And for +every page I wrote, you wrote another, the object of which was to rob me +of the life-blood with which I had written mine. But far be it from me +to reproach you, Mr. Philip Ayre. You have won, and I—poor devil!—I +have lost. It is the fortune of war. I am without a penny. You have your +five hundred pounds. And, as it is quite impossible that I can consent +to be the recipient of charity from the woman who calls herself my wife, +I have the pleasure, Mr. Philip Ayre, of wishing you good day."</p> + +<p>She sprang between the door and him.</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey! What are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to live my own life. I am going to earn my own living under +the shelter of a roof for which I myself have paid. I am going to meet +you with the gloves off, in fair and open fight, not behind a hedgerow, +with a gun in my hand, Mr. Philip Ayre."</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey, any—any hour I may be taken ill."</p> + +<p>"What do you wish me to do? I will stay here until you are well, but +only until then, on the understanding that not a penny of your money is +to be used for me."</p> + +<p>"The children are upstairs. Won't you—won't you let them in?"</p> + +<p>"Let them stay upstairs. Philippa! What is the matter?"</p> + +<p>Her time was come—that was the matter. By noon their fourth child was +born.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + +<p>When the nurse came to the sitting-room door, she found Geoffrey pacing +round and round like some wild creature in a cage.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ford, sir?"</p> + +<p>He looked round with a start.</p> + +<p>"Yes, nurse."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Ford would like to see you, sir."</p> + +<p>"To see me? Oh! Is she well enough?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, she's not so well as she might be. But she says that it +would do her good to see you. Only you musn't let her talk too much, nor +yet you musn't stay too long."</p> + +<p>"I won't stay too long."</p> + +<p>He went upstairs. He paused for a moment outside the bedroom door. Then +he entered the room.</p> + +<p>"<i>Geoff, I'm going to die!</i>"</p> + +<p>Her words so frightened him that, in the suddenness of his fear, he +staggered backwards.</p> + +<p>"To die!"</p> + +<p>"All along I knew that I should. I knew it when I was writing that +wicked book—the book which has won the prize, I mean. Perhaps that was +why I wrote it. It is the best way out of the trouble. I should never +have been the same wife to you again. I know you so well. But, Geoffrey, +you won't refuse to accept a legacy from me when I am dead. It is the +only thing I have ever had to give you. For the children's sake, and the +little baby's sake, and mine."</p> + +<p>He sat on a chair by the bedside, trying to hold himself in, as it were, +with every muscle of his body.</p> + +<p>"Philippa, you musn't talk like that."</p> + +<p>"If you'll forgive me, Geoff, I'll be content—only promise that you'll +accept my legacy."</p> + +<p>"Not if you die, I won't."</p> + +<p>"Geoff!"</p> + +<p>"I'll accept it if you live."</p> + +<p>Holding the baby in his arms, he knelt beside the bed. She turned to +him. They were face to face. As he began to perceive how she had wasted +to a shadow, it did not seem as if he could read enough of the story +which was told upon her face. She, in her turn, did not seem as if she +could gaze long enough at him.</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey, do you really mean that if I live, and get well, really and +truly well, you will take me for your wife again—that I shall be to you +the same wife that I have always been?"</p> + +<p>"Philippa, if one of us is to die for the other, let me be the one to +die."</p> + +<p>"Geoff, I do believe that if there is anything which must be done, you +must be the one to do it. Can't you understand, that if you love to do +great things for me, I, also, love to do great things for you. I can't +help it. It was that which made me Philip Ayre."</p> + +<p>"Be Philippa—or Philip Ayre. Only—stay with baby and with me."</p> + +<p>She was silent for some moments as she lay and looked at him with a +singular intensity of gaze.</p> + +<p>"I think, Geoffrey, I shall live."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0068.jpg" width="600" height="566" alt=""'BE PHILIPPA—OR PHILIP AYRE. ONLY—STAY WITH BABY AND +WITH ME.'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'BE PHILIPPA—OR PHILIP AYRE. ONLY—STAY WITH BABY AND +WITH ME.'"</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_MOST_CRUEL_SPORT_IN_THE_WORLD" id="THE_MOST_CRUEL_SPORT_IN_THE_WORLD"></a>THE MOST CRUEL SPORT IN THE WORLD.</h2> + +<p class="center">THE HORRORS OF THE BULL-FIGHT.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>By Sidney Gowing.</i></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0069a.jpg" width="350" height="308" alt="" title="bull fight" /> +</div> + + +<p>Do not believe it when you are told that bull-fighting is near its end. +The great sport is as popular and deeply rooted in Spain as cricket is +in Britain, and will last as long. To attempt to stop bull-fighting by +law would cause a bigger revolution among the Spaniards than the most +fearful disasters at home or abroad.</p> + +<p>The great home of bull-fighting is Seville, and when the Seville fights +are in their glory even Madrid takes second place. The Seville bull-ring +is a little larger than that of Madrid, though it is not quite so +gorgeously designed. Still, it holds over 14,000 people.</p> + +<p>Nearly every Sunday throughout the year there is a bull-fight of sorts +to be seen.</p> + +<p>About 300,000 people go to the bull-fight every week in Spain, on an +average. One must also count in an infinite number of little amateur +fights in outlying villages of the provinces.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0069b.jpg" width="600" height="391" alt="THE PROCESSION SALUTING THE PRESIDENT." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE PROCESSION SALUTING THE PRESIDENT.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0069c.jpg" width="650" height="395" alt="THE GORGEOUSLY DRESSED MATADORS ENTERING THE ARENA." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE GORGEOUSLY DRESSED MATADORS ENTERING THE ARENA.</span> +</div> + + +<p>But at a <i>pukka</i> bull-fight in Seville, six of the finest bulls and at +least forty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> horses are provided, to say nothing of the <i>cortège</i> of +gold-clad operators drawing terrific salaries. Fashion and the masses +turn out together to hoot and whistle and shout, and nothing on earth +short of Armageddon could stop a fight half-way.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0070.jpg" width="650" height="411" alt="THE CRUELLEST PART OF THE PERFORMANCE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE CRUELLEST PART OF THE PERFORMANCE.</span> +</div> + +<p>Half-past two in the afternoon is the usual time for commencement. Seats +in the sun cost between eighteenpence and two shillings, and in the +shade anything from three shillings to five pounds. The bulk of the +seats are merely stone steps, like the face of a pyramid, and above them +a double row of chairs fenced in by a balcony. It is only these last +that are covered from the sky. Half the ring is protected by its own +height from the heat of the sun, and the other half is open to its +glare.</p> + +<p>When the amphitheatre is full of sun-hatted Spaniards, with a sprinkling +of girls wearing white mantillas (only at bull-fights are white +mantillas the thing), the president takes his place in a little box by +the side of the big white platform that is set apart for special +visitors.</p> + +<p>Then the door at the far end of the arena opens, and the suite comes +forth. There are a couple of sombre-looking cloaked horsemen mounted on +rather sorry nags, and these amble forward, salute the president, and +request the key of the <i>Toril</i>, the great stable where the bulls wait to +die. Then come the matadors—they who do the killing—from two to four +of them, dressed in knickerbocker attire, with short jackets, after the +fashion of an Eton coat. These are generally of light pink or blue silk, +hung with infinite short tassels of spun gold or silver. The cloak, +which is as fine a piece of embroidery as one could find anywhere, is +lapped round the back and held tight in front. The hats are not of the +inverted saucepan-lid type that are always depicted in bull-fight +pictures, but big black furry structures, bulging at the sides. The men +are short, but well made, and carry themselves with a lithe swing that +at times savours distinctly of swagger.</p> + +<p>In a double row the banderilleros come next—they whose duty it is to +place the papered darts—and behind them a few chulos, who are in the +first stages of the art, and whose duties are confined to agile +exercises with the red cloak.</p> + +<p>In the rear ride the picadors—heavily clad lancers—gaily dressed +somewhat after the Mexican fashion, and carrying long wooden lances that +bear nothing more hurtful than a short blade, the size of a flattened +tea-spoon, at the end. These lancers would look still more impressive +but for the fact that their steeds are aged and weary carriage hacks, +such as would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> in Britain be sent to the knacker's yard.</p> + +<p>Six picadors complete the <i>cortège</i>, with a hanger-on or two behind to +help direct the horses. They, poor brutes, are bandaged over one +eye—the eye that is to be nearest the bull.</p> + +<p>The suite salutes the president, who is a Town Magnate of high degree, +and he bows his stateliest in reply. The gorgeous cloaks are only for +show, and they are thrown over the barrier into the little corridor that +separates the ring from the tiers of seats, and held by an official. In +return, the fighters receive their working cloaks—scarlet, +blood-stained, and ragged—and range themselves round the walls of the +ring. And here let us get rid of the word "toreador"—it is never used +in Spain. All other nations seem to take kindly to it, but <i>torero</i> is +the Spanish for bull-fighter.</p> + +<p>The heralds at the far end of the arena lead off with a flourish of +trumpets, and the great door with the iron bull's head over the top +swings open and shows a gloomy cavity beyond. There is nothing to see +for about ten seconds. There is a hush all round the tiers of waiting +people, and presently a blurred shadow looms through the dark.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0071b.jpg" width="600" height="534" alt=""FLINGING HORSE AND RIDER LIKE STUFFED MUSEUM +SPECIMENS."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"FLINGING HORSE AND RIDER LIKE STUFFED MUSEUM +SPECIMENS."</span> +</div> + +<p>The bull trots out nimbly to the rim of the arena, glares aggressively +at the empty space ahead of him, shakes his mighty head, and every line +of his lithe frame says "Ready!" He is not like our British bulls, heavy +and ponderous, but spry and agile as a terrier, twisting on his own axis +like a small rater in stays. He was not goaded or tortured before the +entry, to make him savage, as the historians of bull-fights would have +us believe—there is no necessity. It is almost the finest part of the +spectacle, this first entry, and those who cannot bring themselves to +sit out the drama of blood and steel that comes later should witness it +and then go. So the bull trots in and looks round for something to slay. +This is a chance for a young and agile torero to show his skill.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0071a.jpg" width="500" height="363" alt=""THE AWFUL DRIVE HOME OF THE GREAT HORN INTO THE HORSE'S +BODY."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"THE AWFUL DRIVE HOME OF THE GREAT HORN INTO THE HORSE'S +BODY."</span> +</div> + +<p>The seeker of fame runs out to about the centre of the sandy arena and +stands with his arms folded. His Majesty the bull waits for nothing +farther, but puts all four hoofs to the ground and thunders towards the +youngster at full gallop. Just as the great horns lash upwards for the +toss, the boy twists himself round, and at that moment the space between +the two is to be counted by inches. The bull usually puts so much +vicious power into this first effort, that at the attempted toss he +flings his forequarters clear of the ground, and his forefeet come down +with a sounding crack on the hard floor. There is nothing left for the +fighter to do but run, and he vaults the barrier into the corridor +beyond. The bull frequently gathers so much impetus in following at the +runner's heels, that he too must leap the fence—a goodly jump for a +bull—about five feet. Then follows a wild scramble of corpulent +policemen, sweetmeat-sellers, water-carriers, and so forth, and they +scuffle heavily over the barrier into the deserted ring. But a door is +soon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> opened, the bull turned back into the arena, and the herd of +onlookers climb feverishly back into safety.</p> + +<p>There are three picadors on their sorry mounts standing round the fence, +but before these come a little knot of chulos, men with cloaks, inviting +the bull to a species of game of "touch." The chances are largely in +favour of the men here, for the cloaks are large, and can be fluttered +in the bull's face while the holder is two or three yards away. Besides, +a bull charges with closed eyes, and always attacks the cloak, not the +man. There are exceptions to this, but such exceptions give a new turn +to the fight, and moreover give work to the little surgeon in the +whitewashed room beyond the stables, and to the priest who attends +without for the peace of soul of those that may need him before the +sixth bull is slain.</p> + +<p>Here, again, a matador, he who kills, will often take a cloak and show +the audience three or four artistic passes with it, as distinct from the +go-as-you-please way in which cloaks are wielded by the chulo. These +passes only allow the cloaker to miss the bull by a short breadth, and +are well defined and recognised by all connoisseurs. The bull has now +given up those wild rushes from a distance, and fences warily, evidently +much annoyed at the fruitlessness of his charges, and the impossibility +of driving his horns home in solid flesh. So out comes the picador on +his halting steed, and plants himself well away from the barrier, so +that he may not be thrown against it in the fall. His legs are cased +beneath the yellow leggings with sheet iron, for he cannot shield them +from the enemy's rush. Horsemanship is absent—there is no need for it. +To plant his lance, and fall without hurting himself, is the whole art +of a picador, and this part is the greatest blot on the performance. It +is merely an act of deliberate slaughter, for the horse is intended to +be killed, and will be kept there till it is killed.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0072.jpg" width="500" height="379" alt=""IT IS ONE OF THE MOST PERILOUS FEATS, THIS PLACING OF +DARTS."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"IT IS ONE OF THE MOST PERILOUS FEATS, THIS PLACING OF +DARTS."</span> +</div> + +<p>The horse always seems vaguely conscious of something wrong, though it +is not generally unmanageable. The other horses, while their comrade is +being done to death, often grow restive and frightened, though they are +unable to see what goes on. The bull seldom appears anxious to attack +the horse, but it is pushed forward under his nose, and the big picador +on top poises his lance aggressively. Then comes the short, plunging +charge, the shock of the short lance-point in the bull's shoulder, and +the awful home drive of the great horn into the tottering horse's body. +In such a case the forequarters of the mount are lifted clear from the +ground, and I have even seen a strong eight-year-old bull fling horse +and rider over his back, as if they had been lightly stuffed museum +specimens, instead of weighty flesh and blood. The breed of bulls called +Miura—one of the most dangerous to fighters—generally strike home +about the horse's chest, and thus death is rapid and sudden; but the +famed Muruve bulls usually attack the flanks, and the scenes that follow +this are too shudderingly horrid to put down on clean paper. Even then, +if the wounds allow of the horse standing at all, the stricken beast is +mounted again and led forward for another fall, though the populace +resent this by whistles, as a rule. Whistling, by the way, is the +Spanish method of expressing disapproval.</p> + +<p>A bull that takes the stab of the lance without flinching is usually +esteemed and applauded; but a young animal may be turned by the first +chilling pain of the raw steel. If the horse is overthrown, the picador +falls with a crash, and wriggles aside as best he can that the poor +beast may not roll on him. In the nick of time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> a chulo flaunts his +crimson rag in the bull's face and draws him away from the helpless +lancer, who is hoisted to his feet by the assistants and given a lift on +to his steed's back again—if the latter is still capable of bearing a +man. If not, the dagger-man—"cachetero" he is called—arrives with a +short arrow-headed knife, and severs the doomed beast's backbone at the +neck with one short stab. There is no quicker death. The horse wilts +like a rent air-balloon, and is dead without a quiver.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0073a.jpg" width="550" height="314" alt=""A SERIES OF PASSES WITH THE SCARLET FLAG."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"A SERIES OF PASSES WITH THE SCARLET FLAG."</span> +</div> + +<p>He is happier than the long line of his fellows that wait in the gloomy +stables beyond.</p> + +<p>On an average about three horses fall to a bull, but a single bull has +often killed twenty. Some cattle seem to have a leaning towards +horse-slaughter, but the majority appear not to relish it. They stand +before the picador, and gaze as if considering whether it would be +sportsmanlike to rend such a tottering beast. Still, three corpses +usually lie about the sand, with the dark, raw pools around them, before +the second trumpet-blare sounds.</p> + +<p>This is the signal for the withdrawal of the horses. A bull must be +allowed to kill as many as he likes, and then the banderilleros are rung +on. One comes forward—dressed like the rest, but without any cloak as a +protection—carrying a pair of gaily-papered wooden darts, pointed with +a large iron barb at one end. He walks into the centre, places his feet +together, and defies the bull by a rapid poise of the twin sticks, one +in each hand.</p> + +<p>If the bull charges at once it is touch and go with the holder, and he +must plant his barbs exactly parallel either in the nape of the bull's +neck or behind the shoulders—always well on top and within an inch or +two of each other. A slight clumsiness is loudly hooted and whistled at +by the audience, who are as keen critics of everything that transpires +as our own crowds are of cricket.</p> + +<p>It takes years to make a good banderillero. Three, or even four pairs of +banderillas are planted in the shoulder of the bull, and they mislike +him much. He tosses his head and roars angrily when the first pair are +placed, but the pain of the inch-long barb, as it falls over and grips +the flesh, generally bewilders the bull for a second, and allows the +banderillero time to slip aside and run for the barriers.</p> + +<p>It is one of the most perilous feats, this placing of darts, for they +are never thrown, except in the accounts of bull-fights that occur in +novels or newspapers, but thrust into the enemy's neck by hand.</p> + +<p>Possibly the bull refuses to charge until the fighter runs towards him +from an obtuse angle, and this is the easiest plan for the man. On the +other hand, a daring matador will sometimes take a pair of darts and sit +on a chair before his prey.</p> + +<p>On the charge the slayer slips aside, plants the darts neatly, and the +chair often flies twenty feet into the air. This is seldom practised, +except at the great Easter fights during Holy Week.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0073b.jpg" width="600" height="387" alt=""NOW ONE OR THE OTHER HAS TO DIE."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"NOW ONE OR THE OTHER HAS TO DIE."</span> +</div> + +<p>The darts are about two feet six inches long, and merely round pieces of +deal, more or less straight, with a wrought-iron semi-arrow at the +extremity. The barb is thus single, like a fish-hook. There is not room +on a bull for more than four pairs, if they are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> placed properly; so the +banderilleros are rung out, and the trumpets sound the entry for the +last act of the red drama.</p> + +<p>The matador comes forward. He walks up to the bedizened and top-hatted +president, doffs his cap, and makes a speech. He holds a red cloth in +one hand, about four feet square, and in the other a straight Toledo +sword with a slightly rounded end. There is a ceremony to go through +here, and ceremony is the breath of life in the nostrils of a Spaniard. +He dedicates the bull to the president, or to the chief lady visitor, +and waves the sword and the sable cap impressively the while. Then, with +a majestic sweep, he flings the cap to the audience to hold for him—a +coveted honour—and walks out to face the bull.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0074a.jpg" width="650" height="345" alt=""ONE SHORT STAB OF HIS DAGGER BEHIND THE SKULL."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"ONE SHORT STAB OF HIS DAGGER BEHIND THE SKULL."</span> +</div> + +<p>This latter, by loss of blood and much chasing, is glum of aspect and +foot-weary. The nerve-tearing barbs rattle their wooden holders about +his back as he moves. He seems to recognise that the last part of the +fight has come, for all the teasing chulos have withdrawn, and he is +alone with one small, wiry man with a bright sword. The time for wild +rushes is past; the bull plants himself gloomily and waits his chance. +There is the <i>faena</i> to go through first—a series of passes with the +scarlet flag. There may be a dozen or so to show, each well recognised +by the schools of bull-fighting, and each with its own value and +technique. <i>Alto</i>, <i>de pecho</i>, <i>derecho</i>, and so forth—they are too +numerous and intricate to explain here; but when the bull has bravely +charged the last of them, and passed under the flag into space again on +the other side, then comes the preparation for the death-stroke. No +other beast in the world would have fought so long. Tiger, wild boar, +any of the most blood-thirsty tropical brutes, steeped in vicious +savagery—none of them will stand up to the enemy after such bitter dole +as is the portion of a bull in the arena, and fight to the end without +once turning tail.</p> + +<p>So the matador arranges the cloak in his left hand and the sword in his +right. Teasing has been the form so far, but now one or the other has to +die, and it is not as invariably the bull as most people suppose. There +are many ways of making the last stroke.</p> + +<p>A short aim, a wave of the flag, and with the last blind, lunging charge +the swordsman slips aside, and his blade runs up to the hilt behind the +bull's shoulder. The hammered steel feels the great tired heart within, +and the enemy falls—the pluckiest beast of his day.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0074b.jpg" width="600" height="451" alt=""REMOVING THE BODY OF THE BULL."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"REMOVING THE BODY OF THE BULL."</span> +</div> + +<p>This is what should happen, and with a first-rate swordsman it does. But +often half-a-dozen lunges are made, till at last the red, tottering +brute kneels down peacefully from sheer inability to stand, and the +puntillero comes up behind and writes the end with one short stab of his +iron dagger behind the skull. The matador walks round the barriers +bowing to the cheers of the people, and behind him stalks a chulo, who +picks up for him the showers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> of cigars, hats, and so forth that are +showered into the ring.</p> + +<p>A big folding gate swings back, and two teams of gaily-ribboned mules +canter in with smart teamsters running beside them. One is hitched to +the bull, and with a shout and a long sweep round the reddened sand the +bull is hauled out at full gallop, one horn drawing a wavy line in the +yellow floor, and one stiff fore-leg wagging grimly to the long lope of +the jingling mules. The dead horses are drawn out in the same way, with +the same ringing whoop, and as the gates close on the slain the <i>Toril</i> +looms open afresh, and the second bull comes forward to his death.</p> + +<p>There are variations. Instead of receiving the charge upon the sword the +matador may achieve the "volapie" (half-volley), by running towards the +bull and driving the sword home as the two meet. Or, a favourite method, +but a difficult one, is to sever the spinal cord behind the skull with +the point of the sword as the great head goes down to toss. Yet another +variation that I have seen more than once is the tinkling of the sword +upon sand, a rapid leap, as it seems, of three feet into the air, by the +matador, and his writhing collapse upon the floor. Then a hurried flash +of red cloaks in the bull's face, to draw him from the fallen man. The +fighters are vastly plucky about their mishaps, and generally manage to +run out rather than be carried. Few of them, if they have seen much +bull-fighting, but are scarred freely with old wounds. The horn +generally enters the stomach or groin, and a terrible wound it makes. +The photograph illustrating the "death-stroke" on this page shows +Espartero, who was the most famous and most utterly reckless of toreros +during his life. His sword is up to the hilt in the bull's left +shoulder, the flag just passing over its forehead, and its right horn +shaving the matador's right knee by a few inches, The upward toss, if +the bull were just a little nearer, would bury the horn in Espartero's +waist, but those four inches were the rim between life and death, and a +second later the bull was stretched upon the sand.</p> + +<p>Espartero was killed in the Madrid arena in July 1894. As he +administered the death-stroke, the bull, a fierce and very hardy Miura +called Perdigon, drove its horn home, and the two died together. +Espartero was accorded by far the finest funeral that was ever seen in +Spain, easily eclipsing that of any statesman or royal personage that +ever died there. His loss was made almost a cause for recognised +national mourning. He was an esparto-grass weaver by trade ere he took +to the arena, and before his death was wont to receive between £300 and +£500 for a single afternoon's work in the ring.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0075.jpg" width="600" height="500" alt="ESPARTERO, THE FAMOUS BULL-FIGHTER, WHO WAS KILLED IN THE +MADRID ARENA IN JULY 1894." title="" /> +<span class="caption">ESPARTERO, THE FAMOUS BULL-FIGHTER, WHO WAS KILLED IN THE +MADRID ARENA IN JULY 1894.</span> +</div> + +<p>Bull-fighters begin as chulos, drawing about £3 a week, and when +qualified as banderilleros they make from £5 to £30 a week. A +first-class matador, such as Guerrita, draws about £300 or more for a +single fight, and generally there are two first-class matadors in a good +Seville or Madrid fight.</p> + +<p>A really good bull-fight costs from £1,500 to £2,000 and more. Good +bulls are worth between £30 and £50 apiece if full-grown and from the +best flocks. The cattle are perfectly wild during their lifetime, and +are allowed to run at large among the plains and marshes as they please.</p> + +<p>The horses, poor beasts, are worn-out carriage-hacks, and cost about £2 +apiece.</p> + +<p>Without question bull-fighting is a truly loathsome sport, and the +British traveller whose curiosity leads him to witness a performance is +rarely tempted to repeat the experiment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_DESCENT_OF_REGINALD_HAMPTON" id="THE_DESCENT_OF_REGINALD_HAMPTON"></a>THE DESCENT OF REGINALD HAMPTON.</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Halliwell Sutcliffe</span>.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Illustrated by W. Rainey, R.I.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 472px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0076a.jpg" width="472" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<p>Reginald Hampton, the distinguished aeronaut, was at the mercy of any +wind that chose to do him an ill turn. He had entirely lost control of +his balloon—of which he was the only occupant—and, so far as he could +see, the odds were fairly even as to whether he would find a watery +grave in the English Channel, or a rocky one on the Kentish mainland. +First came a kind of gentlemen-at-large breeze, which took him seawards; +then a rival gust drove him back; finally the balloon stopped for a +couple of minutes to think out the situation. Reginald Hampton, being by +nature a fatalist and by training an aeronaut, awaited the decision +without any appearance of impatience or anxiety; when his vehicle was +ready to move on, he would try to fall on his feet if possible, but not +for the world would he wish to hasten the departure.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0076b.jpg" width="600" height="376" alt=""IN THE HAMMOCK REPOSED A MAIDEN."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"IN THE HAMMOCK REPOSED A MAIDEN."</span> +</div> + +<p>The balloon, after profound meditation, decided in favour of land, and +in no long time she began to settle quietly down, with the gentleness of +a snow-flake, and finally sank gracefully into the arms of a huge pear +tree, white with blossom; whereupon the aeronaut grappled her to the +tree, filled and lit a comfortable-looking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> pipe, and leaned carelessly +over the edge of the car, to spy out the nakedness of this foster land. +It was against his principles to seem otherwise than dispassioned on +these occasions.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 434px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0077.jpg" width="434" height="500" alt=""HE TOOK A CONTENTED SURVEY OF HIS FRUIT TREES."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HE TOOK A CONTENTED SURVEY OF HIS FRUIT TREES."</span> +</div> + +<p>Below him he saw a big garden, full of yews, box, fruit trees, and +spring flowers, all hobnobbing with one another in the cheeriest manner +imaginable. At the far end of the garden stood a house, of ruddy +complexion, prosperous bulk, and Queen Anne architecture. Immediately +beneath him—the branches diverged considerately, so as to allow his +vision free play—a hammock was swinging gently from side to side, and +in the hammock reposed a maiden. Now the prospect of a speedy demise did +not excite Reginald Hampton, but a suggestion of feminine beauty had +never been known to fail in this. He nearly fell out of the car in his +eagerness to distinguish the details of the girl's appearance. A girl in +a hammock, he reflected, ought always to be pretty, and artistic +propriety demanded that she should be a veritable Peri when he had taken +the trouble to save his neck by falling into the very tree to which her +hammock was attached.</p> + +<p>So eager was he, indeed, that his teeth lost their hold of the big +briar, which cannoned from branch to branch, and dropped, somewhat +forcibly, into the girl's hand. The prospective Peri was naturally a +little startled, and more than a little angry, because the pipe had hurt +her considerably. She slipped out of the hammock and stood looking about +her with an air of enraged bewilderment. And from the clouds there came, +as it were, a voice independent of any human tabernacle, a <i>vox et +preterea nihil</i>.</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully sorry—upon my word, most careless of me—may I come down +and make my apologies in proper form?"</p> + +<p>"Please, where are you?" demanded the girl. The tree was so constructed +that Hampton could more easily see her than she him; and moreover it is +one of the most difficult things in the world to locate an unexpected +sound.</p> + +<p>"I'm tree'd," laughed the voice, "straight above your head."</p> + +<p>"That sounds odd," returned the other, beginning to enter into the +spirit of the situation; "how on earth did you get there, and who are +you?"</p> + +<p>"An aeronaut. If you will leave the shelter of this particularly fine +tree and look up above, you will see a balloon; attached to the balloon +is a car, and attached to the car is myself."</p> + +<p>"And do you propose to stay up there indefinitely? It isn't very +amusing, is it?"</p> + +<p>"Not particularly. If you can suggest a method of escape, I shall be +only too happy to descend."</p> + +<p>"Climb out of the car, and then down the tree-trunk. Nothing could be +simpler."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, but have you ever tried that particular form of gymnastic +exercise? Directly I begin to get out of the car, she will topple over, +and I wouldn't for the world give you the trouble of collecting my +fragments at the bottom."</p> + +<p>"Please don't. It would be like making one of those wretched toy-houses +out of bricks, and I know I should never fit in the pieces properly. +Still, you can't stay up there for ever, can you, now?"</p> + +<p>"Not possibly. For one thing, I have not tasted food for twelve hours, +and I shall expire if I don't get some presently."</p> + +<p>"I might bring you a sandwich, if you have got a piece of string you can +let down," said the girl, with the easy <i>badinage</i> of an old friend. It +is not every day that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> one is privileged to encounter a tree'd +balloonist, and she felt that the proprieties were not particularly at +home in such an <i>al fresco</i> environment.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," responded the aerial voice, "but I prefer to reach firm +ground, if it can any way be managed. I say, could you get me a ladder?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'll hunt up the gardener, and tell him to bring one. You think +you can get down that way?"</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 398px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0078.jpg" width="398" height="650" alt=""'WHAT THE MISCHIEF ARE YOU DOING IN MY PEAR TREE?'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'WHAT THE MISCHIEF ARE YOU DOING IN MY PEAR TREE?'"</span> +</div> + +<p>"I think so. If the gardener holds the ladder tight against my car, it +should fix it pretty firmly, and then I can climb on to the ladder. By +the way, you are awfully good to take all this trouble on behalf of an +entire stranger. I forgot to make the observation earlier, because, you +see, we grow accustomed to finding ourselves uninvited guests. I once +dropped into the middle of a Royal Garden Party."</p> + +<p>"Did you, really? Tell me all about it," said the girl, forgetting her +errand of mercy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they thought at first I was a Nihilist or a Fenian or something, +come to blow up the whole Royal Family. I escaped finally by explaining +that the Prince of Wales—who was fortunately absent—had hired me to +make the descent by way of affording a little relief to the tedium of +the gathering. Incidentally, may I ask into what particular garden I +have had the good luck to fall?"</p> + +<p>"This is Caviare Court, Fullerton, Kent."</p> + +<p>"<i>No?</i> You don't mean it?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes. Why shouldn't I mean it?"</p> + +<p>"That really is odd. Then your father is Colonel Currie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. How ever do you come to know that?"</p> + +<p>"Because he happens to be my mother's brother. My name is +Hampton—Reginald Hampton."</p> + +<p>There was silence for some time; then—</p> + +<p>"You should have told me that before," said the girl, in an aggrieved +tone.</p> + +<p>"I don't see that <i>we</i> are responsible for parental quarrels," responded +the other, warmly. "My mother married the wrong man, from Colonel +Currie's point of view, and they have sworn eternal enmity. But how +should that affect us? By Jove, we're cousins! To think that I have to +thank the friskiness of my balloon for getting to know you."</p> + +<p>Another silence.</p> + +<p>"I hope father won't come home while you're here," cried the girl, +suddenly. "He's never seen you, but you may be like the family, and it +is not a likeness one can easily mistake. Have you a peculiar little +dent in the middle of an otherwise straight nose?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>The query was advanced with an eagerness ludicrously at variance with +the difference of their respective situations. It seemed—as Charles +Lamb said of humorous letters to distant lands—as though eagerness must +grow so stale before it reached the summit of this big pear tree.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have," answered Hampton, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Then your fate is sealed. Father may return at any moment, and you +really musn't come down into the garden."</p> + +<p>"But I'm awfully hungry," said Mr. Hampton, plaintively.</p> + +<p>"I'll send you up something to eat, as I suggested at first."</p> + +<p>"I have no string, or rope, or anything I can let down."</p> + +<p>This was scarcely accurate, but Reginald Hampton saw too many +capabilities in the situation, to let it go readily. Finally, he +overcame the girl's scruples, and she departed in quest of a ladder.</p> + +<p>As his daughter disappeared at the rear of the house, Colonel Currie +came round the front. He was smoking a cheroot, the slowly curling smoke +from which, as also his whole gait and mien, was suggestive of peaceful +proprietorship. He paused to examine his bed of spring wallflowers, +stooped to uproot an impertinent dandelion which had taken root in his +otherwise irreproachable turf, gathered a fine auricula and placed it in +his button-hole. Then he took a contented survey of his fruit trees, +until his eyes finally rested upon the white-robed bower of the balloon. +A change came o'er the spirit of the Colonel's pastoral dream. His ruddy +gills assumed a purplish hue, his grizzled hair stood up in fighting +attitude. He advanced to the foot of the tree and peered upwards. His +inability to see the occupant of the balloon called to battle the last +drop of the plentiful supply of choler wherewith Indian heats had +endowed him.</p> + +<p>"What the mischief are you doing in my pear tree?" thundered the +Colonel.</p> + +<p>His voice was suggestive of heavy artillery at short range; but +masculine anger was not one of the things that ruffled the balloonist's +equanimity.</p> + +<p>"I'm sitting tight until your gardener is kind enough to bring me a +ladder," he responded, imperturbably.</p> + +<p>"Eh? What? Well, upon my soul, sir! Do you know that this is my very +finest pear-tree—jargonelles, sir, I tell you, jargonelles? You and +your impudent machine have ruined the crop. It's just the spirit of this +confounded age—anarchy, disruption, red riot—no man's house safe—his +garden a refuge for any air-climbing rascal who cares to take up his +quarters in it."</p> + +<p>The Colonel, from this point onwards, seemed to imagine that he was +talking <i>at</i> a coolie; coolie intercourse cultivates the faculty of +expression wonderfully, and Reginald Hampton's host entertained that +amused aeronaut for fully ten minutes with a wealth of epithet—very old +in bottle, and of a fine tawny flavour. Hampton took advantage of the +panting calm that followed the outburst to put in a plea for himself.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 458px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0079.jpg" width="458" height="600" alt=""'THERE IS A GENTLEMAN AT THE VERY TOP OF THE TREE DYING +FOR WANT OF FOOD.'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'THERE IS A GENTLEMAN AT THE VERY TOP OF THE TREE DYING +FOR WANT OF FOOD.'"</span> +</div> + +<p>"I can only say, sir, that I regret this <i>contretemps</i> as much as +yourself. The fact is, I had no choice in the matter; the wind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> got the +better of me, and took me just where it pleased."</p> + +<p>"P—r—r—rh—Humph, humph!" sputtered the old gentleman. "Serves you +right for getting inside such a flimsy contrivance. Can't understand how +any man can be fool enough to want to career through the air when heaven +has blessed him with a pair of sound legs. Perhaps you have no legs, +though, for I'm hanged if I can see you," he concluded, irately, +returning to his pet grievance.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have legs—rather long ones," returned the aeronaut, genially. +"As to ballooning, it is a matter of personal taste, of course. We +needn't quarrel about that, need we, Colonel Currie?"</p> + +<p>"Eh, eh? How do you come to know my name?"</p> + +<p>Reginald Hampton, in the privacy of his retreat, smiled beautifully to +himself. He had watched the old gentleman's progress through the garden, +and had guessed that he was tremendously proud of his flowers, his +trees, his lawn; and an inspiration had come to this light-hearted +trifler with another man's pear blossom.</p> + +<p>"I guessed it, sir," he responded, very suavely. "I knew I had dropped +somewhere in Kent, and a glance at that well-kept grass of yours, at the +rare profusion of early flowers, at the extreme +fulness—er—profligacy—of your fruit-blossom, told me in a moment that +the garden could belong to only one man in the county. Do you suppose I +have been a horticultural enthusiast all these years without knowing +Colonel Currie by name? Why, the—the dahlias you exhibit are alone +sufficient to make your name cling to one's memory. Sir, I am deeply +sorry that I have injured your crop of jargonelles, but I cannot regret +that I have been privileged to meet you."</p> + +<p>Reginald Hampton had a cheery way of emerging with safety from any +embarrassment in which he happened to find himself. His haphazard +assumption of enthusiasm for the one subject on earth of which he knew +least might so easily have led him astray; yet in the very nick of time +that word <i>dahlia</i> crept into his consciousness and won the day. It +chanced that dahlia-cultivation was the Colonel's most absorbing hobby. +The old gentleman's anger had already begun to cool, under the influence +of his enemy's persistent politeness, and this liberal application of +the flattery-trowel at once set up a counter-current of positive +cordiality.</p> + +<p>"I apologise, sir, I apologise for the—ah—breadth of my language. +These little accidents will happen, of course—do happen, doubtless, +every day—and I had no idea that you were a grower of dahlias. Now, +what soil do you consider the most suitable for the Cactus varieties?" +Thus the Colonel, in tones of peace.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 569px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0080.jpg" width="569" height="600" alt=""WHY, WHATEVER IS THE MATTER?' SHE CRIED."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"WHY, WHATEVER IS THE MATTER?' SHE CRIED."</span> +</div> + +<p>There was stillness in the flowery region just above the Colonel's head. +A perplexed balloonist was at one and the same time suppressing an +outburst of hysterical laughter, and encouraging coy soil-theories to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +evolve themselves from the blank chambers of his brain.</p> + +<p>"It is difficult to say off-hand," he began. "Every grower, you see, has +his own views."</p> + +<p>"So he has, so he has—and he likes to hear other people's views, if +only for the sake of abusing them. What is your own candid opinion on +the subject?"</p> + +<p>"Well, as you ask me, I should say—use pretty much the same soil as you +would for the other varieties. Er—ah—a suspicion of loam, not too dry, +and fairly well matured, sprinkled over the surface, is not +inadvisable."</p> + +<p>"You don't say so? For my part, I stick to the old-established methods, +but no doubt modern enterprise has done something in the way of +development. Loam, you say, sprinkled over the surface? I must try it."</p> + +<p>"But be careful that it just hits the happy mean in the matter of +moisture. If you keep it too dry, the plant runs to leaf instead of +flower; if too wet, the colour is apt to—to run a little."</p> + +<p>The balloonist, having fairly spread the wings of his imagination, was +by this time quite prepared to fly into fresh difficulties. He was +enjoying himself tremendously, and had even forgotten that his +prospective rescuer was rather late in coming to his aid.</p> + +<p>"But," objected the Colonel, omitting to notice a slight horticultural +mistake of the aeronaut's, "but how do you manage about the watering? +The loam must be wet at some times and comparatively dry at others."</p> + +<p>"My dear sir, you mistake; the latest method is to carefully remove the +surface loam before watering, and then to replace it, moistened to the +proper degree."</p> + +<p>"This is all very interesting," quoth the Colonel. "How it does one good +to talk with a genuine enthusiast on these delightful subjects! You are +trying for the blue dahlia, of course?"</p> + +<p>"I've got it, sir," responded the balloonist, with triumphant emphasis. +He was now prepared to go any lengths, trusting that Fate would see the +thing through satisfactorily.</p> + +<p>The Colonel skipped about in the wildest excitement.</p> + +<p>"<i>Got the blue dahlia?</i> Why, I have only got half way to it, and I +thought I was farther than most men. You know, of course, that there is +a prize of a thousand pounds offered for that unique production? Have +you claimed it?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't care to," said Hampton, carelessly. "Frankly, there are so +many poor men trying for the prize—praiseworthy toilers who finish a +hard day's work by an evening's tending of some cottage garden—that I +could not bear to step in and take the prize. I have quite enough money, +too; I should scarcely know what to do with more."</p> + +<p>The airy invisibility of the stranger, the unwontedness of the scene, +must have played havoc with the Colonel's credulity. He absorbed +everything, as a dry sponge sucks up water. The aeronaut's car was +shaking visibly.</p> + +<p>"But that is not all," said the latter recklessly. "I promptly set to +work on a new colour, and I produced——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—you produced——"</p> + +<p>"<i>A pea-green dahlia, twelve inches in diameter.</i>"</p> + +<p>"My dear, my very dear sir," cried the Colonel, well-nigh hysterical +with wonder and delight, "I insist on your coming down <i>at once</i> from +that tree and partaking of luncheon with me. I have some excellent '49 +port, and we'll discuss the two subjects together. Really, it is very +remiss of me not to have suggested your coming down sooner; the +situation is not well adapted to conversation, and doubtless you are far +from comfortable."</p> + +<p>"No apology necessary, I assure you. I took the liberty, some time ago, +of requesting your daugh—your gardener to bring me a ladder. He will +appear presently, I have no doubt—in fact, I see him coming at this +moment."</p> + +<p>Now Miss Currie, though apparently she had forgotten the very existence +of Reginald Hampton, had in point of fact followed his fortunes with an +interest bordering on trepidation. Having run the gardener to earth, she +was informed by that functionary that there was not a ladder about the +place sufficiently long to reach to the top of the pear tree; the +Colonel's longest ladder had been broken a week ago, and of the others +not one was half the necessary size.</p> + +<p>"But you <i>must</i> find one somewhere," insisted the girl, with the pretty +imperiousness of feminine youth; "there is a gentleman at the very top +of the tree, and he is at this moment dying for want of food. What a +pity the pears are not ripe! Can't you think of someone who would lend +you a ladder?"</p> + +<p>The gardener scratched his head and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> pondered. There <i>was</i> one at +Langbridge Farm, a good mile away, but it was a powerful hot morning to +walk a mile with a heavy ladder on one's shoulder. Still, Missy seemed +anxious, and Missy had had a right to have her own way ever since she +was as high as one of his dwarf rose trees.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0082.jpg" width="600" height="460" alt=""THE COLONEL GREW PURPLE, THEN WHITE, AND BEAT UPON THE +TABLE WITH HIS FINGERS."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"THE COLONEL GREW PURPLE, THEN WHITE, AND BEAT UPON THE +TABLE WITH HIS FINGERS."</span> +</div> + +<p>So the gardener had departed to Langbridge Farm, and Miss Currie had +peeped round the corner of the house, to see how it was faring with the +balloonist. She found her worst fears confirmed; her father was standing +under the pear tree and abusing the poor man like a pickpocket. The +girl, realising how futile it would be for her to put in an appearance +and add to the already deafening hurly-burly, quietly secreted herself +in a lilac-bush, and listened to what was going on. She began to laugh +as the aeronaut unwound his imaginative threads; then she grew angry +with him for his recklessness; then she laughed again at the astounding +coolness of the man, and the skilful manner in which he avoided all +difficulties in his path. Finally, at the end of what seemed to her an +eternity and a half, the gardener appeared with his borrowed ladder, and +proceeded in the direction of the pear tree. Miss Currie watched the old +man place the ladder against the tree, under the combined directions of +her father and the unconcerned occupant of the balloon-car, and then she +thought the time was ripe for her to stroll up in a negligent manner.</p> + +<p>"Why, whatever is the matter?" she cried, with innocent surprise.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, my dear, nothing," responded the Colonel, beamingly. "A very +worthy gentleman and a magnificent florist has, by good fortune, become +my guest, and he is coming down in order to partake of luncheon."</p> + +<p>"But where is he, and how did he come there?" she went on, deeming it +highly prudent to disown any previous knowledge of the matter.</p> + +<p>The old gardener looked at her with an intelligent grin, inwardly +remarking that Missy was a deep one, she was. The aeronaut laughed with +incontinent heartiness. The Colonel explained to her how the accident +had occurred. After which Reginald Hampton climbed out of his nest, +reached <i>terra firma</i>, and found himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> entirely satisfied with the +slim beauty of his rescuer.</p> + +<p>The moment might have been an embarrassing one for the average man; it +was, however, precisely the kind of situation that Reginald Hampton most +enjoyed.</p> + +<p>"Delighted to make your acquaintance at closer quarters," he remarked, +first raising his cap to the Colonel, and then extending his hand. "Your +daughter, I presume?" he added, turning to Violet Currie. "I am glad, by +the way, she did not happen to be occupying the hammock there, or my +abrupt descent might have startled her somewhat."</p> + +<p>"So it might, so it might," responded his host, urbanely. "Now, let us +go indoors; you must be positively famishing, and that port of mine is +itching, I know, to see the light of day."</p> + +<p>"What a time you are going to have!" whispered the girl, as they took +their places at table.</p> + +<p>He and she managed to stave off the evil day until lunch was half over; +but procrastination was not nearly as wholesale a thief of time as they +wished him to be.</p> + +<p>"Now, about those two unique dahlias of yours," began the Colonel; "you +really must allow me to come and see them."</p> + +<p>"Delighted, sir. Any time that may be convenient to you. Come and spend +a week with me."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind. I should say to-morrow if, literally, any time would +do," laughed the Colonel; "but I think even you cannot induce dahlias to +flower before July."</p> + +<p>"Well, no. Of course, my 'anytime' presupposed these natural limits," +said the aeronaut, aloud.</p> + +<p>"I fancied they were spring flowers," said the aeronaut in a +stage-aside. "So I can go scot-free until July. I must marry her before +then."</p> + +<p>Colonel Currie was on the point of launching well out into his favourite +waters—in which case the Providence of so fatuous a trifler as Reginald +Hampton must surely have deserted him—when a certain peculiarity in his +guest's face arrested his attention. He gazed fixedly at him for a few +moments, then frowned ominously.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, sir, but you have the family nose. I have never seen +that peculiar dent in the middle in any but a Currie nose. Is it +possible—"</p> + +<p>"I also beg your pardon, Colonel," responded the balloonist, following a +sudden inspiration; "but before answering your question, may I ask if +you are really as devoted to flowers as you seem to be?"</p> + +<p>"I am indeed. They are the passion of my life," said Colonel Currie, +still gazing perplexedly at his companion's nasal hallmark.</p> + +<p>"For my part, I can never forgive a florist—a true florist—who can +find it in his heart to put other—other considerations first. If a man +told me that he possessed a blue dahlia, for instance, I would go and +see that man in the teeth of gatling guns."</p> + +<p>"So would I. Grape-shot is a matter of no consequence by comparison."</p> + +<p>"If the man had relations in the house whom it made my head ache to +meet, I would still go. Nothing in the world, sir, ought to stand in the +way of a blue dahlia."</p> + +<p>"Nothing," responded the Colonel, forgetting everything else in a sudden +fervour of sympathetic enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"You are quite convinced of that?"</p> + +<p>"Quite. How can you doubt me?"</p> + +<p>The aeronaut paused, and then planted this shot squarely in the +Colonel's astonished person.</p> + +<p>"Then, uncle, you won't mind my saying that I am Reginald Hampton, and +that it will be necessary for you to see the blue dahlia <i>and</i> your +sister in conjunction."</p> + +<p>The Colonel grew purple, then white; he stammered, and beat upon the +table with his fingers, and talked in strange languages. But he had the +good sense to see that he was cornered. Besides, what had his nephew +ever done to him, and how could he help being proud of so unique an +horticulturist?</p> + +<p>Finally, the Colonel reached out his hand across the table.</p> + +<p>"Confound you, boy, you've conquered me! I must see that dahlia!" he +cried.</p> + +<p>"How to arrange matters floral when the merry month of July comes round, +I can't guess," mused Reginald Hampton, as he lit a Manilla. "But +sufficient for the day is the evil thereof, and my bounden duty is to +marry the little girl in June."</p> + +<p>Which he did.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_MODERN_MINIATURE_CRAZE" id="THE_MODERN_MINIATURE_CRAZE"></a>THE MODERN MINIATURE CRAZE</h2> + +<p class="center">ILLUSTRATED BY CHARMING EXAMPLES.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By H. M. Tindall</span>.</p> + + +<p>A painter once made a miniature of King Charles II. which was more or +less of a caricature. "Is that like me?" said the King when he saw it. +"Then, odd's fish, I'm an ugly fellow!"</p> + +<p>The remark recalls another made to our own Queen when she said to +Chalon, the miniaturist, that photography would ruin his profession.</p> + +<p>"Ah! non, madame; photographie cannot flattère," was the confident +reply.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 294px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0084a.jpg" width="294" height="400" alt=""KATHLEEN"." title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By M. Josephine Gibson.</i><br /> + +"KATHLEEN".</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 290px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0084b.jpg" width="290" height="400" alt="MA BELLE."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By M. Josephine Gibson.</i><br /> + +"MA BELLE."</span> +</div> + +<p>These comments seem to imply that miniatures make either "ugly fellows" +or flattered dames, which is by no means true. But in selecting those +which accompany this article, we sought for pretty faces, and decided to +admit no "fellows" of any sort except one—no less than a Lord Chief +Justice.</p> + +<p>The very marked attention which the miniatures in the Royal Academy +attracted this year is one of many things which show how great a revival +there has been in the taste for miniatures—a revival which is one of +the most significant features in the history of modern art.</p> + +<p>When photography appeared, it had no difficulty for a time in sweeping +miniatures out of the field, for many people preferred the novelty of an +exact portrait to a "work of art."</p> + + + +<p>But the pendulum of taste has again swung back. We no longer accept a +coloured photograph as a substitute for a genuine miniature, but realise +that the two things are quite distinct. At the same time, there are +to-day a number of so-called miniaturists who content themselves with +copying photographs. But all those whose work is here represented +condemn the practice, and do their work from the life. This involves, of +course, several sittings for the person to be painted—a fact sometimes +resented. Two famous miniaturists wanted to paint King Charles II., so +to save time he made them paint him at the same sitting.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cecil Rhodes is a man who thinks sittings are superfluous. He gave a +commission to Miss Carlisle—a clever portrait painter and +miniaturist—to paint his portrait, but nothing could induce him to give +a sitting. Miss Carlisle therefore had to dodge him in all sorts of ways +to see what manner of man he was.</p> + +<p>He used to pass her studio on his way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> to the Park in the morning, so +Miss Carlisle was always on the watch for him and on many other +occasions, about which he knew nothing.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 467px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0085.jpg" width="467" height="650" alt="[By Edith Maas. + +"DELIA."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By Edith Maas.</i> [<i>By Maud Coleridge.</i> [<i>By Annie G. Fletcher.</i><br /> + +"DELIA." MISS MURIAL WILSON. "SWEET GENEVIEVE."</span> +</div> + + + +<p>Miss Carlisle was born in South Africa, where her grandfather, General +Sir John Bisset, was well known. Curiously enough, when Miss Carlisle +was quite a young girl she came over to England on the same boat as Mr. +Cecil Rhodes. He was then, she says, "a long and lanky youth, who spent +all his time in reading books." He was coming to Oxford to keep his +terms.</p> + +<p>By the way, there was a famous lady miniaturist in the days of Charles +I. named Carlisle, and to show his appreciation of her work the King +presented her with £500 worth of ultramarine!</p> + +<p>To paint a miniature is as arduous a task as to paint a large picture in +oils, and requires quite as much skill. Miss Coleridge—whose miniature +of her uncle, Chief Justice Coleridge, attracted so much attention in +the Academy this year, and is reproduced on p. 202—says: "I find the work, though I love it, even harder than +painting large portraits; it requires quite as much thought and care. It +is only by working straight from the life, studying your model's +expression and character, that you can hope to be even the most humble +disciple of the art as it was in the last century.</p> + +<p>"The great difficulty I experience is in getting people to understand +that they must sit to me. They all say, 'Miss or Mr. So-and-So paints +from photos—why can't you?' No doubt these artists do a very charming +lightly-stippled coloured photo for them, but there can never be any +life in these things, nor can they be anything else than coloured +photographs, however pleasant to the eye of their owners."</p> + +<p>The portrait of Miss Wilson, one of the beauties of the season, is also +by Miss Coleridge, who works a great deal in pastels.</p> + + +<p>Many amusing stories are told by artists about their sitters, but as a +rule the stories are told with this absurd restriction: "but you mustn't +publish that"—which, of course, takes the point absolutely away.</p> + + + +<p>Mr. Alyn Williams, the President of the Society of Miniature Painters, +to whom the Society owes its origin and prosperity, tells a good story +which he does not claim to be original. He tells it rather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> to show the +difficulties which an artist is sometimes made to overcome by his +client.</p> + +<p>A man who distinctly came from the provinces once went to an artist who +had painted a celebrated picture of David, and said that he wanted him +to paint a picture of his father.</p> + +<p>The artist consented, and suggested that it would be necessary for the +subject to come to his studio. That, however, the son declared to be +impossible, and at last the fact came out that he was dead.</p> + +<p>"Have you a photograph?" asked the artist.</p> + +<p>No; a photograph had never been taken.</p> + +<p>"Then I cannot paint him," declared the artist.</p> + +<p>"But you painted David," retorted the man, "and he has been dead much +longer than my father!"</p> + +<p>This was irresistible, and so the artist consented to do his best.</p> + +<p>When the fancy picture of the father was finished, the faithful son came +to see it, and liked it very much.</p> + +<p>"It is very good," he said. "But," he added, after a little reflection, +"how he has changed!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0086.jpg" width="500" height="650" alt="A PORTRAIT." title="" /> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" style="width: 500px;" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="caption">[<i>By Alyn Williams.</i></span></td><td align='left'><span class="caption">[<i>By A. R. Merrylees.</i></span></td><td align='left'><span class="caption">[<i>By Mabel E. Hankin.</i></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="caption">A "GAINSBOROUGH" PORTRAIT.</span></td><td align='left'><span class="caption">A BONNIE BAIRN.</span></td><td align='left'><span class="caption">A PORTRAIT.</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + + + +<p>Miss Merrylees, whose miniatures, seven in number, make a fine show at +the Academy, once had to paint a miniature of a clergyman; but the only +way of getting his right expression was to make him recite long poems +and dramatic scenes from Shakespeare. While he was doing this, Miss +Merrylees "went on painting madly."</p> + +<p>Another time she was painting a little boy, who was sitting very still +and silent.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he convulsed his painter by propounding this tremendous query: +"Do you like your groom to sit <i>so</i>, or <i>so</i>?" And he indicated two +varieties of the akimbo manner.</p> + +<p>A charming portrait of a pretty child indicates Miss Merrylees' style of +work. This was exhibited both in the Royal Academy and the Paris Salon.</p> + +<p>Holbein, who was a great miniaturist, had a very summary method of +dealing with people who troubled him while he was painting miniatures. A +nobleman once came into his studio while he was painting a lady, and was +promptly thrown downstairs, like Daddy Longlegs of immortal fame.</p> + +<p>The King, Henry VIII., heard of it, but sympathised with the painter. +"Of seven peasants I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> can make as many lords, but not one Holbein," he +said.</p> + +<p>King Henry had a special reason for this sympathy. When he heard of a +pretty woman he sent Holbein to paint her, with a view to making her his +wife. On one occasion, at least, a flattering miniature led its unhappy +subject into trouble—Anne of Cleves.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 231px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0087a.jpg" width="231" height="400" alt="MRS. C. L. SHAND." title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By Edith Maas.</i><br />MRS. C. L. SHAND. </span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 267px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0087b.jpg" width="267" height="380" alt="MISS PAMELA PLOWDEN." title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By Winifred Hope Thomson.</i><br />MISS PAMELA PLOWDEN. </span> +</div> + +<p>A word should be said about the origin of the miniature. In the first +instance the word had nothing to do with the size of a painting. It +comes from the Latin word <i>minium</i>, or red lead. In old days the +capitals of illuminated missals were painted with this by great artists, +while the less important work was done by minor ones. Thus the +<i>miniatura</i> meant the picture painted by the great artist. The word +miniature, in its present sense, was born in the 18th century, which was +the best period of British miniature painting.</p> + +<p>The material on which miniatures have been painted has varied from time +to time. To-day ivory cut very thin is almost invariably used.</p> + +<p>The elephant is not a graceful or artistic beast, and no particularly +sentimental thoughts at first sight attach to him. But artists to-day +would be at a loss without his tusks, and much sentiment is lavished on +them in the form of lovers' portraits.</p> + +<p>While love lasts the miniature will always be in vogue, for artists +frankly admit that it is so convenient to carry in the pocket. It +represents so much in so little. Miniature painting is especially +therefore "the lovers' art." Some say that it makes the subject +"beautiful for ever," and what more could Romeo want?</p> + +<p>Ivory, however, is of comparatively modern use in the art world and the +studio. Vellum, gold, silver, and enamel were the things on which +miniatures were painted before the days of ivory.</p> + +<p>The prices of these dainty pictures vary enormously. As much as £3,000 +was paid for one in the Hamilton collection, while another in a diamond +setting sold at Christie's for £2,000. Nowadays, £5 to £100 is easily +obtained, according to the skill of the painter.</p> + +<p>Her Majesty the Queen is a great collector of miniatures. Her collection +at Windsor is of great historic as well as financial value. She has +greatly encouraged the art, and has been repeatedly painted in +miniature. She frequently gives these miniatures of herself away as +special presents.</p> + +<p>Miss Carlisle painted one of the Queen with which she was very pleased. +She gave it to the Prince of Wales, who said that it was the best of his +mother which had been painted for many years.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>To deal in detail with the miniatures on these pages. Mr. Alyn Williams +is the painter of the charming portrait of a lady in the Gainsborough +style.</p> + +<p>Miss Küssner, who is represented by a miniature of Lady Dudley, has +already painted an enormous number of ivories. She arrived in New York +in 1893 an unknown girl, with a letter of introduction to a lady of +social influence, but "very exclusive."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0088a.jpg" width="500" height="470" alt="THE PRIDE OF ENGLAND. By Esmé Collings" title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By Esmé Collings.</i><br />THE PRIDE OF ENGLAND.</span> +</div> + +<p>In much fear and trembling the letter was presented. The lady was too +unwell to see the artist, but she sent word down that she would see the +miniature she had with her.</p> + +<p>"This was almost more than she could bear, and she sat waiting the +maid's return in sadness that was near despair. But when she did come, +how the little miniaturist's sinking heart leaped; for the maid brought +an invitation—the lady would see her in her own room." So a friend +tells the tale.</p> + +<p>Since then Miss Küssner has pained many of the English aristocracy, and +gets £100 a miniature.</p> + +<p>This is how Miss Küssner works. First comes the study of her sitter, and +perhaps one entire sitting will be devoted to this. Then follows the +sketching of the face on the ivory—a transcript of the form and spirit. +Lastly comes the actual painting, with infinitesimally small brushes, +each stroke made under a powerful magnifying glass.</p> + +<p>Lady Dudley's marriage was quite a romance. She was the daughter of Mr. +Gurney, of Norfolk, whose business reverses caused him to resign his +partnership in the well-known Gurney Bank and surrender his possessions +for the benefit of his creditors.</p> + +<p>His wife came to London and opened a milliner's shop, and in this her +two daughters served. But it was not a success, and so the daughters +entered the employ of a well-known West End <i>modiste</i>. But the Duchess +of Bedford and Lady Henry Somerset became interested in them; and it was +as the adopted daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Bedford that Rachel +Gurney married Lord Dudley.</p> + +<p>Miss Winifred Hope Thomson, whose miniature of Miss Pamela Plowden we +give, had the place of honour in the miniature room of the Academy this +year. Simplicity of style is the feature of Miss Thomson's work, and +probably the reason why her miniatures are considered like those of the +great Cosway.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0088b.jpg" width="277" height="350" alt=""DAFFODIL." By E. J. Harding." title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By E. J. Harding.</i><br />"DAFFODIL." </span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 282px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0088c.jpg" width="282" height="350" alt="HON. MRS. BENYON. By Edith Maas." title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By Edith Maas.</i><br />HON. MRS. BENYON. </span> +</div> + +<p>Miss Edith Maas is another lady whose miniatures are very greatly +admired for their beauty and style. Her portrait of Delia, the daughter +of the Rev. and Hon. Ed. Lyttelton, Head Master of Haileybury College, +has been exhibited in the New Gallery. The other miniatures we give are +of Mrs. Shand, wife of His Honour Judge Shand,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> and the Hon. Mrs. +Benyon, daughter of Lord North. The latter was exhibited in the '93 +Academy.</p> + + +<p>The number of ladies well known as clever miniature painters is quite +extraordinary, and with but few exceptions all the portraits on these +pages were painted by ladies.</p> + +<p>Miss M. Josephine Gibson sends us two charming pictures which she calls +"Ma Belle" and "Kathleen." These are exquisite, both in conception and +execution. Mrs. Lee Hankey, who, with Miss Gibson, is on the Council of +the Society of Miniature Painters, is represented by one strong picture. +"Daffodil" is by Mrs. E. W. Andrews, also known as "E. J. Harding." All +these ladies have miniatures in this year's Academy.</p> + +<p>From the studios of Mr. Esmé Collings, of Bond Street, comes the +charming miniature of two girls' heads, originally painted in black and +white. This gentleman has published a very dainty little brochure on +"The Revival of Miniature Art," which gives some romantic stories about +miniatures and their painters.</p> + +<p>One tells how the Comte de Guiche, being in love with a daughter of +Charles I., wore her portrait, mounted on a snuff box, over his heart, +and owed his life to this circumstance, for the box turned aside a +bullet which struck him in battle—a hint which all soldiers should +take. This box is now in the possession of the Baroness Burdett-Coutts.</p> + +<p>Other stories tell of Richard Gibson and Miss Biffin, both gifted +miniaturists. But the first was a dwarf, 3 feet 10 inches high, who +married another dwarf of his own height who lived till she was +ninety-seven, and became the mother of nine children. As for Miss +Biffin, she was limbless, but managed her paint-brush and pencil with +her mouth.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 280px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0089a.jpg" width="280" height="400" alt="LADY DUDLEY. By Miss Küssner." title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By Miss Küssner.</i><br />LADY DUDLEY.</span> +</div> + +<p>Of course there are miniatures <i>and</i> miniatures. But Shakespeare, by a +miniature in words, has given us an exquisite conception of what a +miniature in art should be—at least when it is "Fair Portia's +counterfeit."</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"... Here in her hair</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The painter plays the spider, and hath woven</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faster than gnats in cobwebs; but her eyes—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How could he see to do them? having made one,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Methinks it should have power to steal both his,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And leave itself unfurnished."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>But Bassanio was not an art critic—merely a lover! The miniaturist, +however, who can weave on ivory "a golden mesh to entrap the hearts of +men" may surely find content.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 290px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0089b.jpg" width="290" height="400" alt="THE LATE LORD COLERIDGE. By Maud Coleridge." title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By Maud Coleridge.</i><br />THE LATE LORD COLERIDGE.</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0090.jpg" width="650" height="284" alt="" title="HIS LORDSHIP & MISS O'CALLAGHAN" /> +</div> +<h2><a name="HIS_LORDSHIP_MISS_OCALLAGHAN" id="HIS_LORDSHIP_MISS_OCALLAGHAN"></a>HIS LORDSHIP & MISS O'CALLAGHAN.</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">A Comedy by Charles Kennett Burrow</span>.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Illustrated by Edmund J. Sullivan.</i></p> + + +<p>After my engagement to Lucy Vivian I took to working very hard—a man +always does that or nothing at all—and the work suited me better than +the idleness. I suppose we had been engaged five months, and I was +beginning to grow accustomed to it, when one afternoon the amiable peer +who had been of such service to me in the affair strolled into my +studio. Directly I set eyes on him I knew he had something in the wind, +his manner was so absolutely uninterested.</p> + +<p>He nodded to me without speaking, crossed over to the fire (it was +bitterly cold outside), and stood with his back to it. Then he pulled +off his gloves slowly and invited me to come and shake hands.</p> + +<p>"You lazy beggar!" I said; "you come here! Can't you see I'm working?"</p> + +<p>"Working! you're always working. What's come over you?"</p> + +<p>"You forget——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's Lucy, is it?" he asked. "Well, well! she's a dear child, Phil, +I admit."</p> + +<p>"Lord St. Alleyne," I said, "you never spoke a truer word."</p> + +<p>"Why will you always be throwing that confounded title in my face? I'm +only an Irish peer; that title has been a great drawback to me."</p> + +<p>"How?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"It makes people take twice as long as they should to find out I'm a +decent chap."</p> + +<p>"It didn't take me long," I said.</p> + +<p>"You're different, Phil; it's the women it troubles."</p> + +<p>I shrugged my shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you want?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"A cigar," he said.</p> + +<p>"You know where they are, don't you?" I replied.</p> + +<p>He went to my cigar cabinet and selected one thoughtfully. Then he lit +it and drew his favourite armchair up to the hearth. His profile was +towards me, and I remarked, as I had done a hundred times before, what a +beautiful face it was. The lines were as clear and round as a woman's; +the mouth sensitively delicate, but firmly set; the nose straight, with +only the slightest indentation below the brows. It was a face of +singular purity and candour. After a time he bent forward towards the +blaze and looked hard into the fire's heart.</p> + +<p>"I believe I'm done for, Phil," he said.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I won't tell you till you put down those brushes. You know you can't +see."</p> + +<p>"All right," I said. "If you come here to make me neglect my duty, I +suppose I must put up with it."</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" he said; "sit down then and don't be an ass."</p> + +<p>"I'll sit down, but perhaps I can't help being an ass."</p> + +<p>"I daresay you can't, poor dear," he said. Then he lay back in his chair +and laughed. "To think of me," he chuckled, "falling in love."</p> + +<p>I sat down at the other side of the fire and lit a pipe.</p> + +<p>"But you've been in love ever since I knew you."</p> + +<p>"The others didn't count; this does."</p> + +<p>I begged him to explain.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's like this. When I saw her often I wasn't quite sure about +it, but now that I can't see her at all the thing's dead certain."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>I again begged him to be more explicit. "You talk in the dark," I said.</p> + +<p>"Then why don't you light a lamp?"</p> + +<p>I did as he suggested and sat down again.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything else I can do for you?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "you're coming over to Ireland with me to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I'll see you hanged first," I said.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 478px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0091.jpg" width="478" height="600" alt=""HE LIT IT, AND DREW HIS FAVOURITE ARMCHAIR UP TO THE +HEARTH."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"HE LIT IT, AND DREW HIS FAVOURITE ARMCHAIR UP TO THE +HEARTH."</span> +</div> + +<p>"The train leaves Euston at 8.45 p.m."</p> + +<p>"It can leave when it likes. I shan't be there."</p> + +<p>"By eleven o'clock on Thursday we shall be in Stromore."</p> + +<p>"Well?" I said, weakly.</p> + +<p>"I knew you'd come!" he said.</p> + +<p>"But I won't," I said.</p> + +<p>He smiled tenderly upon me.</p> + +<p>"And yet," he said, "I endured that dragon Mrs. Vivian for your sake for +full ten minutes."</p> + +<p>"If you'll explain what it's all about," I said, "I'll do anything I can +to help you, but as to—"</p> + +<p>He tapped me on the knee with the poker.</p> + +<p>"Listen!" he said. "In my opinion, my cousin, Mrs. O'Callaghan, is mad."</p> + +<p>"I'm not surprised to hear it," I said.</p> + +<p>He tapped me again with the poker.</p> + +<p>"My cousin, Mrs. O'Callaghan, has a daughter, and in any decent man's +home," he added, "there'd be something to drink Norah's health in."</p> + +<p>I got up wearily and produced what was required, and we drank solemnly +to Norah O'Callaghan.</p> + +<p>"That's better," said St. Alleyne. "Now Mrs. O'Callaghan has her heart +set on Norah's going into a convent, and Norah, poor child, thinks she +has a leaning towards the religious life, and that before she has seen +any other life at all. When I heard of this folly I went over, but never +a sight of the girl could I get except with her mother. The old woman +never lets her outside the grounds, and there they walk up and down for +an hour every day."</p> + +<p>I was becoming seriously interested, and St. Alleyne saw it.</p> + +<p>"Does Miss O'Callaghan know you care for her?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I suppose any girl knows," he said.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever speak to her about it?"</p> + +<p>"Not seriously," he said.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it possible she thinks you were playing with her and may be +playing still; and, granted she cares for you, mayn't that be driving +her into the convent?"</p> + +<p>His face was suddenly flushed with a kind of pitying shame.</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" he said. "It may be so, Phil; I never meant to play with her, +I swear that."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," I said, "but it looks as though there might be +something in what I suggest."</p> + +<p>"It does," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Have you written to her?"</p> + +<p>He tapped me once more with the poker.</p> + +<p>"No, and if I did she'd never get the letter. I know my cousin, Mrs. +O'Callaghan. She thinks all the St. Alleynes are a bad lot, because, I +suppose, my grandfather was a wild devil once. That's where I have to +suffer for my name."</p> + +<p>"But you could convince her otherwise, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"I'd undertake to do it, if I were sure of Norah."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + +<p>I knocked the ashes from my pipe and stood up. The situation interested +me; my own happiness was so near that I was prepared to do a great deal +for my friend.</p> + +<p>"Well," I said, "suppose I go over with you, how am I to help?"</p> + +<p>He rose and stood by my side, putting his right arm round my shoulder. +He was quite his old cheerful self again.</p> + +<p>"We'll think of that when we get there," he said. "You must draw Mrs. +O'Callaghan off while I talk to the girl somehow. If I have a sure +friend at hand the thing can be managed. I knew you'd come, old man. My +cousin, Mrs. O'Callaghan," he added, "has burnt her own boats; if she +hadn't played me this trick I might never have discovered that I wanted +Norah."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 384px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0092.jpg" width="384" height="500" alt=""MY FRIEND WAS CONSUMING LARGE CIGARS."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"MY FRIEND WAS CONSUMING LARGE CIGARS."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you would," I said.</p> + +<p>"You know, of course," he said, pinching my ear.</p> + +<p>When I awoke the next morning I confess that our project did not look +particularly hopeful, but I had undoubted faith in St. Alleyne's +ingenuity, and it was a great satisfaction to me to see Lucy, and let +her into the secret of our expedition. Her eagerness, indeed, was much +greater than mine, and she made me promise to send her a telegram +directly there was any good news to communicate.</p> + +<p>It was a bitterly cold night in January when St. Alleyne and I crossed, +and I am not a particularly good sailor. I remained on deck for the sake +of the air, the saloon being hopeless, and made what efforts I could to +keep myself warm. Every now and then I looked into the smoking-room, +where my friend was consuming large cigars; I envied him his occupation, +but rejected all his invitations to join him. After a time he came out +and wrapped me up in half a dozen rugs on a seat. By the time we reached +Dublin I was numb to the heart, and knew I was in for a violent cold.</p> + +<p>However, we made no delay, but caught the mail for the south. The +carriage was warmer than the boat, and by a judicious arrangement of +rugs I managed to bring back some heat into my blood, and with it came a +revived interest in our expedition. St. Alleyne had said nothing about +his plan since starting, but as I looked across at him I could see that +he was thinking hard. He caught my eye and smiled.</p> + +<p>"Feel better?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Much," I said.</p> + +<p>"You look a poor starved rat of a man, even now."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," I said, "that I haven't your terrific constitution."</p> + +<p>"It hasn't been much good to me so far," he said, "and I'll thank you, +Mr. Mildmay, for one of those excellent cigars of yours."</p> + +<p>"I think I could manage one myself," said I, sitting up.</p> + +<p>"Bravo! Now we can talk seriously.... I've been thinking, Phil."</p> + +<p>"I could see that!"</p> + +<p>"You could, could you? Well, I've hit on a plan—a beautiful plan."</p> + +<p>"Capital!" I said.</p> + +<p>"But the carrying through depends upon you."</p> + +<p>"Am I in fit condition?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Faith, you'll be in too good condition presently. It depends on your +sickness."</p> + +<p>It was always necessary to beg St. Alleyne to explain: I did this +forcibly, and he brought his head close to mine.</p> + +<p>"I told you, I think," he said, "that in my opinion my cousin, Mrs. +O'Callaghan, is mad?"</p> + +<p>"You did."</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "she's not so mad,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> neither. She has some idea of true +charity. Now Norah is a great hand with the sick; she has a way with +her, as we say over here, and Mrs. O'Callaghan encourages her to visit +them; it's all part of the convent scheme."</p> + +<p>"I begin to see," I said; "I'm to be sick."</p> + +<p>"And who," said he, "would you rather see in your suffering than an +angel like Norah?"</p> + +<p>"I'd rather see Lucy," I said.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, you're a constant creature. I have a little place over here +near Stromore, as you know; but you mustn't be ill there; you must go to +the hotel." He paused and looked at me.</p> + +<p>"Go on," I said.</p> + +<p>"And being very low," he continued, very slowly, "you'll speak to Biddy +about it."</p> + +<p>"Who's Biddy?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Mahony's daughter; he runs the hotel. And you'll say that you'd like to +see someone—a woman for choice—as you have something weighing on your +mind; and then you might drop Miss O'Callaghan's name. Now Biddy was +Norah's maid for a time, and what more natural than that she should +suggest bringing her old mistress to the poor sick guest?"</p> + +<p>"You're a rogue," I said.</p> + +<p>"Then Norah will come to you," he went on, "and I shall be in the next +room, and after a time you'll speak of me, and then—"</p> + +<p>"We must wait for the rest," I said, "But what will your cousin, Mrs. +O'Callaghan, be doing all the time?"</p> + +<p>"She'll be talking to Mahony about the price of oats downstairs."</p> + +<p>"This is a very charming plan," I said, "but will it work? And do you +think me humbug enough to mix myself up in such an affair?"</p> + +<p>"You're humbug enough for anything," he said, "but have you the nerve?"</p> + +<p>"It doesn't need much nerve," I said.</p> + +<p>"You haven't seen Norah," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll risk it; I came over here to help you, and I may as well do +it, little as the job suits me."</p> + +<p>"Oh," he laughed, "it'll be grand to see my cousin Mrs. O'Callaghan's +face!"</p> + +<p>It was important to our plan that St. Alleyne and I should not seem to +be together, so he gave me final instructions before we reached Stromore +Station. "You must get the bedroom over the door," he said, "because +there's a sitting-room next to it, and we must have them both."</p> + +<p>"Suppose it's already occupied?" I said.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 424px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0093.jpg" width="424" height="500" alt=""WE SWUNG UP THE ROAD FROM THE STATION."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"WE SWUNG UP THE ROAD FROM THE STATION."</span> +</div> + +<p>"You don't know Stromore in the winter," he said; "there won't be a soul +in the place, and Mahony will kneel at your feet."</p> + +<p>"I hope he won't," I said, "because I might feel inclined to kick him."</p> + +<p>"Kick Mahony!" he cried, "the man's six feet two, and as strong as an +ox. You'd better begin to be sick almost at once, hadn't you?"</p> + +<p>"I feel bad enough," I said.</p> + +<p>We shook hands in the carriage as the train pulled up at Stromore; on +the platform we did not know each other.</p> + +<p>I secured a car at once, and told the man to drive to the St. Alleyne +Arms, and as we swung up the road from the station I looked back and saw +his lordship coming slowly down the steps.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do ye know," asked my driver, "how long his lordship's come for?"</p> + +<p>"His lordship!—whose lordship?"</p> + +<p>"Lord St. Alleyne," he said, looking at me incredulously.</p> + +<p>"What do I know about the man?" I asked. "Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"He's there, sure, comin' down the shteps."</p> + +<p>"Indeed," I said, and told the man to hurry, as I was cold.</p> + +<p>I had no difficulty in securing the two rooms I wanted, and as I took +possession of them I felt some of the pangs of a conspirator. I was +also, as a matter of fact, quite sufficiently unwell to see things +rather gloomily, and as I sat by my window after lunch, and looked out +into the grey street, I confess that I wished myself engaged in a less +dubious enterprise.</p> + + +<p>And then, as I sat there, I heard the brisk sound of wheels, and a +carriage drove by, and in it there sat a lady of a rather severe aspect +and a girl. The girl glanced up at the inn as she passed; from out of a +nest of white fur, there looked a face that made me come nearer to +forgetting Lucy than anything I could have imagined. "That," said I to +myself, "is Norah, and the other is Mrs. O'Callaghan. My dear St. +Alleyne, I'll begin my part of the game this minute if it's to help you +to win that child."</p> + +<p>And indeed there was no time to be lost, for we had arranged that St. +Alleyne was to call at eleven o'clock the next morning to see how things +were getting on. I accordingly looked for a bell-rope, but, being unable +to find one, I opened the door and called downstairs. Biddy came up +light as a bird, and with a merry engaging smile on her face.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0094.jpg" width="500" height="387" alt=""THE GIRL GLANCED UP AT THE INN."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"THE GIRL GLANCED UP AT THE INN."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Biddy," I said, "I feel ill, and I think I'll go to bed. I've caught a +bad cold, and it may turn to fever with me."</p> + +<p>"Lord save us!" she cried, "will I send for the docther?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'll see how I am later. And, Biddy, at six o'clock, I might try to +eat some dinner."</p> + +<p>"To be sure, sorr," she said. "Can I do anythin' for ye now?"</p> + +<p>"No," said I, pressing my hand against my forehead, "but if I want +anything I'll ring."</p> + +<p>"There's no bell," she said, "so you must just knock on the flure, an' +I'll hear ye."</p> + +<p>With that she departed, and I made up the fire and got slowly into bed. +My head did ache a little, but not enough to make me unhappy, and it +seemed to me, as I lay in the midst of that apparently dead Irish town, +that I was coming perilously near to playing the fool. But my confidence +in St. Alleyne was unbounded, and under all his lightness of manner it +was plain that he was in deadly earnest; so presently, thinking of him +and of the face I had seen, and being horribly tired after the previous +night, I fell comfortably asleep.</p> + +<p>When I awoke it was dark outside and there was only the red glow of +firelight in the room. I got up to light a candle, and felt rather +lightheaded and feverish; it gave me some satisfaction to realise that I +should not have to altogether act my part. I looked at my watch and +found that it was a quarter to six. I lay down again and listened; +beyond the slight movement in the house there was not a sound to be +heard; I might have been in a lodge in the wilderness.</p> + +<p>Presently I heard Biddy's light step on the stairs, and there was a +tentative knock at the door.</p> + +<p>"Come in," I cried, and she entered with dinner and a lamp.</p> + +<p>"Are you betther, sorr?" she asked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," said I, "but worse."</p> + +<p>"Will I send for Docther Nolan now?"</p> + +<p>"No, Biddy, I'll try to eat some dinner."</p> + +<p>"Do, poor soul!" she said. She drew a little table to the bedside, and, +having set the food on it, left me. It was not a good dinner; a healthy +appetite and an easy conscience might have been satisfied with it, but +neither of these was mine at the moment, so I did no more than just play +with it. Then I knocked on the floor for Biddy, who came up at once. She +was always smiling; she had one of those faces to which only laughter or +tears seem natural.</p> + +<p>"Have ye done, sorr?" she asked, in undisguised surprise.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I said, "I can't eat."</p> + +<p>She suggested Doctor Nolan again.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm afraid a doctor could do no good until I've got something off +my mind."</p> + +<p>"Will I sind for a priest, thin?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"At present, Biddy, it's not a matter for a priest, but if you knew of +some good woman, not a nun, but still in the world—" I paused from +sheer inability to go on; I was so unused to this kind of thing that any +sign of suspicion on Biddy's part would have meant disaster. But Biddy +had a kind heart, and instantly scented a romance.</p> + +<p>"Ah," she said, "I see how it is wid ye."</p> + +<p>I said nothing, but lay still, watching her face. I tried once or twice +to mention Miss O'Callaghan's name, but my lips refused to approach it +without a weakness that might have betrayed me. And then, all at once, +Biddy did it for me.</p> + +<p>"I might ast Miss O'Callaghan to see ye," she said.</p> + +<p>My face burned. "And who's Miss O'Callaghan?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"A dear, dear heart," said Biddy, "an' just the lady to help ye if it's +love you're throubled about. She's had throuble herself," she added, +"an' may his lordship be made to pay for it!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean about Miss O'Callaghan and his lordship?"</p> + +<p>"Was I her maid for three years and not know her secrets?"</p> + +<p>I begged Biddy to explain, which she refused to do; but I gathered +enough from her to judge that my surmise had been correct, and that +Norah was wholly his lordship's if he could get fair speech with her.</p> + +<p>"Biddy," said I, "you're a good girl, and if you can bring Miss +O'Callaghan to see me at half-past eleven to-morrow I'll dance at your +wedding."</p> + +<p>"I'll go to her now," she said; "rest quiet, now, till I come back."</p> + +<p>When Biddy had gone I was almost sorry that I had not taken her +completely into my confidence, but her interest seemed so deeply engaged +on my behalf that I felt sure she would work strongly on Miss +O'Callaghan's feelings; and so it proved, for she returned in an hour to +say that the lady would come on the following morning. After this piece +of news I calmly went to sleep again, and only awoke to find Biddy once +more at my bedside with breakfast.</p> + +<p>I assured her that I felt somewhat better, and would be ready for Miss +O'Callaghan when she came. Just as I had finished breakfast I heard St. +Alleyne's voice below. Presently Biddy came up with curiosity shining +from her face.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't ye tell me," she said, "that ye knew his lordship?"</p> + +<p>"Biddy, can I trust you?" I asked.</p> + +<p>She tossed her head. "Thrust me," she said, "an' why not, sure?"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 484px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0095.jpg" width="484" height="600" alt=""BIDDY, I FEEL ILL, AND I THINK I'LL GO TO BED."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"BIDDY, I FEEL ILL, AND I THINK I'LL GO TO BED."</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I knew I could. Well, you'll show Lord St. Alleyne up, and he won't go +down again until after Miss O'Callaghan has seen me."</p> + +<p>"Lord save us!" cried Biddy.</p> + +<p>"I know," I went on, "that you have your late mistress's happiness at +heart, and this will make it safe. It depends upon you whether there is +to be a great wedding at Stromore, or the convent for Miss O'Callaghan."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 372px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0096.jpg" width="372" height="600" alt=""'MISS O'CALLAGHAN TO SEE YE, SORR.'"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"'MISS O'CALLAGHAN TO SEE YE, SORR.'"</span> +</div> + +<p>"Lord save us!" Biddy cried again, between laughter and tears.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. O'Callaghan," I said, "is a strange woman, I understand."</p> + +<p>"She is that!" Biddy interjected.</p> + +<p>"And therefore this interview must be arranged as best it can. On your +life, don't say a word to either of them about his lordship being here!"</p> + +<p>Biddy's hesitation was only momentary; she promised, and fled from the +room.</p> + +<p>When St. Alleyne came in I saw he had not had much sleep and that his +nerves were on the rack, but his manner was as unperturbed as ever. He +sat down on the side of my bed and looked at me curiously.</p> + +<p>"How are you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly well," I answered; "don't I look it?"</p> + +<p>"You look a bit flushed, that's all."</p> + +<p>"And with good cause. Miss O'Callaghan will be here in half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" he said, and walked to the window. He stood silently with +his back to me for some time, looking down into the street. Then he +said, "How are you going to manage the interview?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know; if you worry me I shall make a mess of it."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to worry you, old chap," he said; "you must just do it +your own way."</p> + +<p>"I saw her yesterday."</p> + +<p>He swung round and faced me.</p> + +<p>"What did you think of her?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I think," said I, "that you must have been born for each other."</p> + +<p>His face lit up with a sudden, boyish smile.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," he said, and turned to the window again. A moment later he +stepped back quickly.</p> + +<p>"There she is," he said, "and my cousin, Mrs. O'Callaghan, with her."</p> + +<p>"It was just like you," I cried, "to stand there where the whole street +could see you."</p> + +<p>"Don't be angry, Phil," he said, humbly, "she didn't look up."</p> + +<p>"For heaven's sake get into the next room and shut the door."</p> + +<p>He came over to me swiftly and rested his hands on my shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Play up, Phil," he whispered, "for the sake of old times." Then he left +me, and the door of the sitting-room closed softly behind him.</p> + +<p>When I heard footsteps on the stairs and realised that the game had +really commenced, the ambiguity of my position overwhelmed me; I wished +myself, for a moment, well out of the affair at any price. But the +thought of the greater strain upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> St. Alleyne, and what it meant to +him, restored my composure, and I waited with closed eyes. The door +opened, and I heard Biddy's voice say, "Here's Miss O'Callaghan to see +ye, sorr." When I looked up, a vision of loveliness greeted my eyes.</p> + +<p>Miss O'Callaghan came towards me with a face full of the tenderest +solicitude. She was wearing a tailor-made dress that fitted her to +perfection, and on her head she had a large hat, from under which tiny +tendrils of dark hair had escaped; her skin was of the whiteness of rose +petals except where the blood flushed, her eyes had the look of wet +violets in spring. My lips murmured incoherent thanks and welcome. I +could not force my mind away from the waiting figure in the next room.</p> + +<p>"You wished to see me," she said, in a soft voice that had an under-note +of sadness. "If I can help you, please be quite free with me. It's to be +my life's work to help those who are in trouble."</p> + +<p>"Your life's work?" I repeated.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "I'm to go into a convent."</p> + +<p>"My trouble will seem very small to you, but to me it seems great, and +it has to do with so worldly a thing as love."</p> + +<p>Her face flushed and paled again before she answered—</p> + +<p>"True love can never be small—it is always beautiful."</p> + +<p>"That is my thought of it, too," I said; "but however much one wants to +do the right thing, it is sometimes terribly hard to decide."</p> + +<p>"I know," she said, "I know."</p> + +<p>"Now suppose," I said, "that I loved a girl with all my heart—as I do," +I added, thinking of Lucy, "but had never told her so; and suppose that +her friends, for some foolish reason, did not like me, and wished her to +devote her life to a calling which she herself had some leaning to——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, breathlessly, and I could see she was applying the case +to herself.</p> + +<p>"And suppose," I went on, "I had been blind in the past, and perhaps +unknowingly allowed the time to go by when I should have spoken: would I +be justified in coming into her life again, drawing her away from the +peace that this calling might already have given her, and asking her to +come back with me into the world where love is?"</p> + +<p>For an instant she turned her head aside, and I saw the tears heavy +under her eyelids.</p> + +<p>"It would be for her to decide," she said; "you should tell her."</p> + +<p>"That's just what my friend Lord St. Alleyne thinks," I said.</p> + +<p>"You know him?" she cried. The look in her eyes at that moment was +certainly not for me.</p> + +<p>"He is my very dear friend," I said, "and I have often heard him speak +of you. I know him for one of the best men alive."</p> + +<p>She slipped down on her knees by the bed, and if I had not already known +all about the matter her eyes would have told me.</p> + +<p>"I believe he is, I believe he is," she said. "Tell me about him. Is he +well? When did you see him last?"</p> + +<p>"No longer ago than this morning," I said.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 442px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0097.jpg" width="442" height="600" alt=""SHE SPRANG TO HER FEET, AND RAN TO HIM WITH A JOYFUL +CRY."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"SHE SPRANG TO HER FEET, AND RAN TO HIM WITH A JOYFUL +CRY."</span> +</div> + +<p>She hid her face and was silent for a time; I could see that she loved +him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> beyond the ordinary love of women, and the sight sent such a wave +of content through me that I believe I laughed softly. At any rate she +looked up and I could not bear to see her unhappy any longer.</p> + +<p>"My dear Miss O'Callaghan," I said, taking into my hand the warm little +gloved fingers that lay on the coverlid, "will you forgive me for being +a conspirator and a humbug? Remember I did it for the sake of my friend, +and I knew he was worth it. I spoke of him and not of myself."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she cried. And then, with a hand at her bosom, "Oh, +tell me, tell me!"</p> + +<p>"St. Alleyne," I said, "loves you, and he's here to tell you himself." +And with that I raised my voice and called his name. The door opened +instantly—he must have had his hand on the latch the whole time—and +there he stood, with his arms stretched out to her and the name, +"Norah," on his lips. She sprang to her feet and ran to him with so +joyful a cry that I knew my part in the comedy was over, and just as +they embraced I turned away and closed my eyes.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later they came back; she was leaning on his shoulder and he +had an arm about her waist.</p> + +<p>"This conspiracy has been so successful," I said, "that I shall never +engage in another. It would never do to spoil my record."</p> + +<p>"You have two friends now instead of one," Miss O'Callaghan said.</p> + +<p>"Phil," said St. Alleyne, "get up, you old dear, while Norah and I go +downstairs to see my cousin, Mrs. O'Callaghan."</p> + +<p>They left me once more, and as I dressed I felt so absurdly +light-hearted that I had to sing to myself; I forget what the song was, +but I know, there was something about lovers' meetings in it. As I +reached the foot of the stairs I heard voices in the dining-room; one of +them was rather high-pitched and hard, but it sounded pleasant enough as +it said, "Well, St. Alleyne, you've beaten me this time, and I suppose I +must give in, but it will take you long years to make me believe in your +family."</p> + +<p>And I concluded it was the voice of his lordship's cousin, Mrs. +O'Callaghan.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TO_KEEP_THE_DOGS_DOWNSTAIRS" id="TO_KEEP_THE_DOGS_DOWNSTAIRS"></a>TO KEEP THE DOGS DOWNSTAIRS.</h2> + + +<p>Here is an interesting photograph of a pair of "dog gates" which may be +seen at Slyfield Manor, near Leatherhead, in Surrey.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0098.jpg" width="500" height="348" alt=""DOG GATES," + +" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"DOG GATES,"<br /> + +Slyfield Manor, Leatherhead, Surrey.</span> +</div> + +<p>These gates were very common in country houses in the days of Queen +Elizabeth, but there are not many to be seen to-day. Dogs know how to +behave now, and there is no need for them.</p> + +<p>As their name implies, the gates were used to keep the dogs of the house +from wandering upstairs into bedrooms and other places where they had no +right.</p> + +<p>But many people like to hear their dogs scratching at the door in the +morning.</p> + +<p>The gates shown in our photograph are in excellent condition. They were +photographed by Mr. S. H. Wrightson, of Aldershot.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0099a.jpg" width="650" height="491" alt="" title="CRICKET & CRICKETERS." /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="CRICKET_CRICKETERS" id="CRICKET_CRICKETERS"></a>CRICKET & CRICKETERS.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Pictures by Mr. "Rip."</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Words by M. Randall Roberts</i></p> + + +<p>Why is it, in these days of up-to-date cricket reporting, no one has +noticed the most striking characteristic of Ranjitsinhji's play? The +pose of W. G. Grace's tip-tilted foot as he stands at the wicket, Abel's +serio-comic expression as he cocks his eye and ambles from the pavilion, +and Mr. Key's rotundity, are as familiar as Mr. Chamberlain's eye-glass +even to the non-cricketing public; but the ballooning of Prince +Ranjitsinhji's silk shirt has hitherto been allowed to lie in obscurity.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 285px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0099b.jpg" width="285" height="400" alt="RANJI FIELDING." title="" /> +<span class="caption">RANJI FIELDING.</span> +</div> + +<p>About the silk shirt itself there is no particular mystery; dozens of +other cricketers wear one exactly like it; but none of these garments +"balloon" with the same unvarying persistence as Ranji's. Whether half a +gale is blowing on the Hove ground, or there is not enough wind to move +the flag at Lord's, the Indian prince's cricket shirt always presents +the appearance of the mainsail of a six-tonner on a breezy day in the +Solent. Anyone can satisfy himself as to the truth of this assertion by +glancing at the first illustration on page 213. The +batsman's face is concealed by his arm, and his attitude in playing the +ball is almost identical with that of hundreds of other cricketers. Yet +there is no mistaking the player. It's Ranji as plainly as if his name +was printed all over it; the curve in his shirt gives him away at once. +Unkind critics, indeed, declared that the secret of his success in +Australia was that, while the rest of Mr. Stoddart's team were panting +for a breath of fresh air with the thermometer at 100° in the shade, +some mysterious Indian deity was perpetually blowing on Ranji with a +thousand cooling zephyrs. Nowadays, Ranjitsinhji's critics are becoming +more sane; but when first he burst into splendour, many of his weird +strokes were attributed to some supernatural agency. Ranji's most +telling stroke, as every cricketer knows, is what is technically known +as the "hook" stroke. Most fine batsmen are content to stop short +straight balls on a fast wicket. Ranji is more ambitious. When he sees a +ball of this kind coming, he stands directly in front of his wicket, and +at the moment when the ball is apparently on the point of going through +his body, he "hooks" it round to leg.</p> + +<p>How hazardous this proceeding is may be gathered from the obvious fact +that if the batsman fails to get his bat exactly in the proper place in +exactly the proper fraction of a second, he will infallibly have to +retire either with a fractured skull or "leg before wicket."</p> + + + +<p>While the cricket scribes used to regard Ranjitsinhji's good fortune in +escaping a violent end while playing this speciality of his as a +supernatural gift, practical cricketers consider the stroke bad form. +"That leg stroke of yours," said an old player to him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> in the pavilion +at Lord's, "is all very well now and then, but it's not cricket; it's +far too risky. If you miss the ball, you're bound to be out leg before." +"Quite so," replied Ranji; "but one would be out pretty frequently, +clean bowled, if one missed the ball—every time a straight ball came, +in fact."</p> + +<p>Ranjitsinhji's batting has been variously described as satanic, +electric, and elusive. "Serpentine" would be far more accurate. Anyone +in the least familiar with the famous Indian's style will at once see +the point of the epithet.</p> + +<p>The line of beauty, we all know, is a curve; and the real secret of the +attractiveness of Ranji's batting (from the spectators' point of view) +is that every position he assumes seems to be laid out in a curve.</p> + +<p>In the illustration on page 215. "Rip" has but very +slightly exaggerated the effect of the sinuous curves into which Ranji's +body resolves itself before he makes a stroke. That he can unbend faster +than any other cricketer past or present is an incontestable fact. The +yarn of how in a match at Cambridge he once brought off a catch with +such amazing rapidity that the batsman, under the impression that the +ball had travelled near the boundary, continued running till Ranji +extracted the ball from his pocket, is most likely apocryphal; but to +anyone who has seen him fielding slip the feat ascribed to him won't +seem impossible.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 442px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0100.jpg" width="442" height="700" alt="RANJI BATTING—A STUDY IN GRACEFUL POSE." title="" /> +<span class="caption">RANJI BATTING—A STUDY IN GRACEFUL POSE.</span> +</div> + +<p>By the way, it's an odd thing that while Ranjitsinhji's batting owes its +attractiveness to the "curves" of the batsman, an equally graceful +player—to wit, the lengthy William Gunn—is built on uncompromisingly +straight lines. Somebody said that if Gunn were to model his style on +Ranji's the result would be a sea-serpent—six and a half feet of +curves.</p> + +<p>Briggs has so many attitudes and antics of his own that he can't be said +to have any characteristic pose. In everything he does he's "Johnny." +Briggs may be said to have just missed greatness by a lack of +seriousness. According to George Giffen, if he had only taken batting +more seriously Briggs would have been, after W. G. Grace, the second +best all-round cricketer in England. There's a deadly earnestness about +his bowling and fielding, but as a batsman he always seems more anxious +to amuse the spectators than to improve his average. Like other famous +men, Johnny Briggs may be often misunderstood, but at any rate this is +the impression he creates. About six years ago, in the middle of the +cricket season, Briggs appeared to have suddenly gone "stale," and the +Lancashire Committee suggested to him that he should take a week's +holiday. Briggs selected<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> a remote village in Wiltshire; but, as luck +would have it, the villagers were particularly keen cricketers, and when +the news got about that the great Briggs was in their midst, the captain +of the local team at once waited on him to ask what would be his terms +for playing in a match against a neighbouring town.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 244px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0101a.jpg" width="244" height="300" alt="JOHNNY BRIGGS MEANS BUSINESS." title="" /> +<span class="caption">JOHNNY BRIGGS MEANS BUSINESS.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 293px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0101b.jpg" width="293" height="300" alt="AND TAKES A WICKET FIRST BALL." title="" /> +<span class="caption">AND TAKES A WICKET FIRST BALL.</span> +</div> + + + +<p>"I asked," says Briggs, "what I thought were absolutely prohibitive +terms, namely, £10; but the terms were accepted, so of course I had to +play. My side lost the toss, and I had to begin the bowling. My first +ball was hit out of the ground for six, and in a short time 100 went up +with no wicket down. I suggested to the captain that he had better let +someone else bowl, but he said that if he took me off, the spectators +who kept pouring into the ground would want their money back, and would +see that they got it, too. Finally, I had two wickets for about 120 +runs. The crowd looked a trifle nasty, but what finished them was when I +went in to bat and was bowled second ball.</p> + + +<p>"As I left the ground I heard, 'That's him. 'E's no blooming Briggs, +'e's a blooming fraud. Let's give him a jolly hiding.' Only the railway +station and a couple of stalwart policemen saved me from the jolly good +hiding, and I have never tried village cricket since."</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 208px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0101c.jpg" width="208" height="300" alt="MAKES THE CROWD LAUGH." title="" /> +<span class="caption">MAKES THE CROWD LAUGH.</span> +</div> + +<p>A. G. Steel declares that the secret of Dr. Grace's phenomenal success +against young batsmen is the terror inspired by the sight of his beard. +Batsmen meeting the champion for the first time see an enormous man, +with a great black beard waving in the breeze, rushing up to the +wickets. They expect something quite different from the gently lobbed-up +ball which this black-bearded giant delivers; before they can recover +from the shock of surprise they find themselves clean bowled.</p> + +<p>But W. G.'s beard does something more than frighten young cricketers. As +Maurice Read says, "it talks to you." Other human beings wag their +heads; Grace wags his beard when things are going wrong. It is even said +that, with a team that knows him, he can indicate to the fieldsmen to +change their positions by merely moving his beard.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 242px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0101e.jpg" width="242" height="300" alt="WAITING FOR ANOTHER." title="" /> +<span class="caption">WAITING FOR ANOTHER.</span> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 263px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0101d.jpg" width="263" height="300" alt="A RARE CATCH." title="" /> +<span class="caption">A RARE CATCH.</span> +</div> + +<p>There are dozens of persons all over the country<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> who pose as cricket +authorities on the strength of having once watched the champion +practising at the nets. At a cricket match in a small Welsh town one of +these gentlemen was acting as umpire, and could not agree with his +fellow umpire as to whether a certain batsman was run out.</p> + +<p>The argument waxed very fierce, until the umpire of the visiting team +called out—</p> + +<p>"What do you know about cricket? You 'aven't shook 'ands with Lord +Hawke, 'ave yer?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Well, I 'ave," triumphantly declared the other, as the crowd dispersed.</p> + +<p>And the batsman was declared out.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 478px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0102.jpg" width="478" height="700" alt=""Ranji" A STUDY IN CURVES." title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Ranji"<br />A STUDY IN CURVES.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="FAMOUS_LONDON_DOOR-KNOCKERS" id="FAMOUS_LONDON_DOOR-KNOCKERS"></a>FAMOUS LONDON DOOR-KNOCKERS</h2> + + +<p>What souvenir of a great man can compete with the knocker of his door? A +door-knocker is to a man's house what a sign is to a shop or tavern; but +it is also something more. Take, for instance, the knocker on the door +of the official residence of the Prime Minister, No. 10, Downing Street. +No less a person than Lord Beaconsfield once described to a friend this +particular knocker as having a marked resemblance to the features of his +political opponent, Mr. Gladstone. There is no knocker in existence, we +may fairly state, that has been handled by so many distinguished people +as this one. If only the friends of Mr. Gladstone were enumerated, they +would make up a long list of illustrious names, and many Prime Ministers +have resided at the unpretentious, old-fashioned mansion so conveniently +situated for the Houses of Parliament.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 279px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0103a.jpg" width="279" height="400" alt="THE PRIME MINISTER'S (10, Downing Street, Westminster.)" title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE PRIME MINISTER'S (10, Downing Street, Westminster.)</span> +</div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0103b.jpg" width="300" height="299" alt="THOMAS CARLYLE'S. (Cheyne Row, Chelsea.)" title="" /> +<span class="caption">THOMAS CARLYLE'S. (Cheyne Row, Chelsea.)</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0103c.jpg" width="300" height="295" alt="MR. ALMA TADEMA'S. (St. John's Wood.)" title="" /> +<span class="caption">MR. ALMA TADEMA'S. (St. John's Wood.)</span> +</div> + +<p>The knocker on the door of Carlyle's house, Cheyne Row, Chelsea, a house +which was occupied by him for half a century, is another very +interesting specimen. Scarcely was the young ex-schoolmaster and author +of "Sartor Resartus" well settled in his new abode than he began to +receive callers, who, if not very famous then, have since achieved +considerable renown.</p> + +<p>Among them was young Mr. Charles Dickens, then the blushing "Boz," who, +with Mrs. Dickens, stepped out of a gorgeous green hackney coach to +administer a knock on the door, having driven all the way from Doughty +Street, Brunswick Square, to pay a call. Forster, Serjeant Talfourd, +Maclise, Macready, Landor, Leigh Hunt, and Thackeray were frequent +knockers during the first decade.</p> + + + +<p>It is not difficult to imagine some youthful admirer of Carlyle giving a +timid knock at the door, and then wishing that he had the courage to run +away from the house before being ushered into the presence of the +irascible Philosopher. Mr. Alma Tadema's knocker is forbidding enough +in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> appearance, and holds out but little promise of the beauties of that +wonderful house where the artist resides in St. John's Wood. No doubt it +is, like everything else about his home, from a design by the great +painter himself.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 324px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0104a.jpg" width="324" height="400" alt="THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE'S. + +(Piccadilly.)" title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE'S. + +(Piccadilly.)</span> +</div> + +<p>The most beautiful knocker in this collection, if not the most beautiful +in London, is that of the Duke of Devonshire, at No. 80, Piccadilly. It +represents a head of classic contour set in a circular disc, chiselled +with an exquisite border. Not a few among the Duke's guests have so far +expressed their admiration of this work of art as to desire duplicates +for themselves, but it is not known if any exist, it having been done by +the Duke's own command from his own designs.</p> + +<p>It is to be wished that the Duke would follow up his artistic success in +this particular by designing a wall for Devonshire House to replace the +existing hideous structure.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0104b.jpg" width="300" height="263" alt="CHARLES DICKENS'. +" title="" /> +<span class="caption">CHARLES DICKENS'.<br /> + +(17, Doughty Street.)</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0104c.jpg" width="300" height="292" alt="DR. JOHNSON'S. +" title="" /> +<span class="caption">DR. JOHNSON'S.<br /> + +(Bolt Court, Fleet Street.)</span> +</div> + +<p>Dickens' door-knocker recalls the residence of the happy couple who +removed to Doughty Street from Furnival's Inn shortly after their +marriage. It was here that Charles Dickens the younger was born, and +where the author of "Pickwick" first became on terms of friendship with +many of the brilliant men of letters of his day. The knocker is held in +its place by a fleur-de-lis of the same metal, and it was Serjeant +Talfourd who humorously rallied Dickens on his supposed predilection for +the French, who at that time were in the midst of preparing that series +of more or less revolutionary movements which preceded the downfall of +Louis Philippe and the ascendency of the third Napoleon.</p> + + + +<p>But an older and more characteristic door-knocker may be found well +within a mile of Doughty Street, still on the door of a house once +inhabited by the great sage Dr. Samuel Johnson himself. Surely if any +knocker is characteristic of its owner this one is. It represents a +sturdy fist clenching a baton from which depends a bulky wreath of +laurel fastened in the middle by a lion's head. The worthy doctor, as we +are told by Boswell, carried no key, nor did he permit any member of his +oddly-selected household to possess one. At all times and seasons the +house in Bolt Court was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> inhabited, and unquestionably the burly knocker +resounded in the ears of the inhabitants of the court often enough, and +at unseemly hours, for the sage was not at all scrupulous as to what +hours he kept, and many a time would talk irregularly on at the club +until some of his neighbours had serious thoughts of rising.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 281px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0105a.jpg" width="281" height="300" alt="CRUIKSHANK'S." title="" /> +<span class="caption">CRUIKSHANK'S.<br />(Hampstead Road, N.W.)</span> +</div> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 288px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0105b.jpg" width="288" height="400" alt="THE KNOCKER THAT SUGGESTED SCROOGE IN DICKENS' "CHRISTMAS +CAROL."" title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE KNOCKER THAT SUGGESTED SCROOGE IN DICKENS' "CHRISTMAS +CAROL."<br />(8, Craven Street, Strand.)</span> +</div> + +<p>The contemporaries of the great caricaturist George Cruikshank during a +fruitful period of his life will gaze not without feelings of emotion on +the accompanying representation of the familiar knocker on his house in +the Hampstead Road.</p> + +<p>It was Clarkson Stanfield who, calling upon his friend Cruikshank one +day, had much ado in making the artist's aged servant aware that a +visitor awaited at the portals; again and again he knocked, but in vain; +the servant's deafness was proof against the onslaughts of a vigorous if +not wholly artistic door implement. At last, losing all patience, he +picked up the foot-scraper and was about to impetuously hammer away at +the panels, when the caricaturist, hastily throwing up an upper window +sash, recognised and appeased his indignant visitor.</p> + + + +<p>"You should," remarked Stanfield, "get a younger servant, or a heavier +knocker, or else build your house in Turkish fashion—that is, without +doors."</p> + + + +<p>In every article which deals with the curiosities of London, the name of +Dickens must figure very largely. The last knocker of our collection is +the most remarkable one of all, inasmuch as Dickens derived his idea of +Scrooge in "A Christmas Carol" from its hideous lineaments. Look at our +photograph and then read Dickens' own description of the unamiable +Scrooge:</p> + +<p>"Oh! but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge; a +squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old +Sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out +generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. +The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, +shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait.... He carried his own low +temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; +and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0105c.jpg" width="650" height="187" alt="" title="" /> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="OUR_MONTHLY_GALLERY_OF_BEAUTIFUL_AND_INTERESTING_PAINTINGS" id="OUR_MONTHLY_GALLERY_OF_BEAUTIFUL_AND_INTERESTING_PAINTINGS"></a>OUR MONTHLY GALLERY OF BEAUTIFUL AND INTERESTING PAINTINGS.</h2> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 434px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0106.jpg" width="434" height="550" alt="A CUBAN BELLE. +" title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W.</i><br />A CUBAN BELLE.<br /> +From the Painting by Gabriel Ferrier. + +</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0107.jpg" width="600" height="316" alt="SUMMER. +" title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W.</i><br />SUMMER. +<br /> +From the Painting by W. Reynolds Stephens. + +</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0108.jpg" width="600" height="358" alt="MAKING A MARRIAGE IN THE OLDEN TIME. +" title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W.</i><br />MAKING A MARRIAGE IN THE OLDEN TIME. +<br /> +From the Painting by A. T. Vernon. + +</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 382px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0109.jpg" width="382" height="600" alt="THE WATER CARRIER. +" title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W.</i><br />THE WATER CARRIER. +<br /> +From the Painting by J. W. Godward. + +</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 384px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0110.jpg" width="384" height="600" alt="WHICH WINS? +" title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W.</i><br />WHICH WINS? +<br /> +From the Painting by Arthur J. Elsley. + +</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 392px;"> +<img src="images/illus_0111.jpg" width="392" height="600" alt="A BURDEN OF LOVE. +" title="" /> +<span class="caption">[<i>By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., London, W.</i><br />A BURDEN OF LOVE. +<br /> +From the Painting by N. Sichel.</span> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4>FOOTNOTE</h4> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Copyrighted in the U.S.A. by Cutcliffe Hyne, 1898.</p></div> + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Harmsworth Magazine, v. 1, +1898-1899, No. 2, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARMSWORTH MAGAZINE *** + +***** This file should be named 29716-h.htm or 29716-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/7/1/29716/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. 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