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diff --git a/old/50183-h/50183-h.htm b/old/50183-h/50183-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 0beed9d..0000000 --- a/old/50183-h/50183-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3017 +0,0 @@ -<!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 Chambers's Journal, by Various. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <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: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} - - -.ph3{ - text-align: center; - font-size: large; - font-weight: bold; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -/* Poetry */ -.poem { - margin-left:10%; - margin-right:10%; - text-align: left; -} - -.poem br {display: none;} - -.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} - - .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i18 {display: block; margin-left: 9em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, -Science, and Art, No. 720, October 13, 1877, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 720, October 13, 1877 - -Author: Various - -Editor: William Chambers - Robert Chambers - -Release Date: October 11, 2015 [EBook #50183] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL, OCT 13, 1877 *** - - - - -Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_641" id="Page_641">{641}</a></span></p> - -<h1>CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL<br /> -OF<br /> -POPULAR<br /> -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.</h1> - -<div> -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<p class='center'> - -<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> - -<a href="#THRIFT_AND_UNTHRIFT">THRIFT AND UNTHRIFT.</a><br /> -<a href="#FROM_DAWN_TO_SUNSET">FROM DAWN TO SUNSET.</a><br /> -<a href="#MARKET-GARDEN_WOMEN">MARKET-GARDEN WOMEN.</a><br /> -<a href="#SEA-SPOIL">SEA-SPOIL.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_ADMIRALS_SECOND_WIFE">THE ADMIRAL'S SECOND WIFE.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_CROCODILE_AND_GAVIAL">THE CROCODILE AND GAVIAL.</a><br /> -<a href="#SHAMROCK_LEAVES">SHAMROCK LEAVES.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_ITALIAN_GRIST-TAX">THE ITALIAN GRIST-TAX.</a><br /> -<a href="#SWEET_LOVE_AND_I">SWEET LOVE AND I.</a><br /> - -<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> - -</p> - - - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/header.png" width="600" height="294" alt="Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art. Fourth Series. Conducted by William and Robert Chambers." /> -</div> - - -<hr class="full" /> -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="" width="85%"> -<tr><td align="left"><b><span class="smcap">No.</span> 720.</b></td><td align="center"><b>SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1877.</b></td><td align="right"><b><span class="smcap">Price</span> 1½<i>d.</i></b></td></tr> -</table></div></div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div> - - - -<h2><a name="THRIFT_AND_UNTHRIFT" id="THRIFT_AND_UNTHRIFT">THRIFT AND UNTHRIFT.</a></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">We</span> lately said a word on Rich Folks, hinting that -so far from being the monsters of iniquity which -moralists and preachers have for ages denounced -them, they are, taken all in all, public benefactors; -for without the accumulation of wealth, by means -of thrift and honest enterprise, the world would -still have been in a deplorably backward condition. -Riches are of course comparative. An artisan who -by savings and diligence in his calling has insured -for himself a competence for old age, is doubtless -rich and respectable. Doing his best, and with -something to the good, he is worthy of our esteem. -What he has laid aside in a spirit of economy goes -to an augmentation of the national wealth. In a -small way he is a capitalist—his modicum of surplus -earnings helping to promote important schemes -of public interest.</p> - -<p>Great Britain, with its immense field for successful -industry and enterprise, excels any country -in the capacity for saving. In almost every branch -of art there is a scope for thrift beyond what is -obtainable elsewhere. Thriftiness, however, among -the manual labouring classes was scarcely thought -of in times within living remembrance. Savings-banks -to receive spare earnings came into existence -only in the early years of the present century. -Now, spread in all directions, and established in -the army and navy, they possess deposits amounting -to nearly thirty millions sterling. Besides -these accumulations, much is consigned to Friendly -Societies; and it is pleasing to observe that within -the last twenty years, the artisan classes have -expended large sums in the purchase of dwellings -purposely erected for their accommodation. All -this looks like an advance in thrifty habits—a -stride in civilisation.</p> - -<p>But after every admission of this kind has -been made, it is too certain that vast numbers -live from hand to mouth, save nothing -whatever from earnings however large, and -are ever on the brink of starvation. In this -respect, the working classes, as they are usually -styled, fall considerably below the peasantry -of France, who, though noted for their ignorance, -and for the most part unable to read, -have an extraordinary aptitude for saving; of -which there is no more significant proof than their -heavy loans to government when pressed to pay -an enormous war indemnity to Germany. As -the thrift of the French agriculturists sinks to -the character of a sordid parsimony, which is -adverse to social improvement, no political economist -can speak of it with unqualified admiration. -It only shews what can be done by two or three -things—the economical use of earnings, the economical -use of time, and the strict cultivation -of temperate habits. From each of these predominating -qualities a lesson might be judiciously -taken. Though a lively race, fond of amusement, -the French peasantry, and we may add, the -peasantry of Switzerland, know the value of time. -In them the 'gospel of idleness,' so pertinaciously -preached up by indiscreet enthusiasts, has -no adherents. In all our experience, we have -never seen such assiduity in daily labour from -early morn till eve, as among the French and -Swiss rural population. They would repudiate -any dictation of a hard and fast line as to hours. -Time is their beneficent inheritance, to make the -most of for themselves and families.</p> - -<p>Pity it is that in our own country time is -so unthriftily squandered. Obviously there is a -growing disposition among the operative classes to -diminish the daily hours of labour, to the detriment -of individual and general prosperity. When -we began life, ten hours a day, or sixty in the -week, were considered a fair thing. Then came a -diminution to nine, to eight hours, along with -whole and half-holidays, but no lowering of -wages. How this is to go on, we are unable to -explain. We fear that unless something like -common-sense intervene, a degree of individual -and national disaster will ensue scarcely contemplated -by the votaries of 'St Lubbock.' In -his late speech at the opening of the Manchester -Town-hall, Mr Bright adverted to the -awkward consequences of indefinitely shortening -the hours of labour. He is reported to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_642" id="Page_642">{642}</a></span> -have said: 'We have for many years past been -gradually diminishing the period of time during -which our machinery can work. We are surrounded -by a combination whose object is not -only to diminish the time of labour and the products -of labour, but to increase the remuneration -of labour. Every half an hour you diminish the -time of labour, and every farthing you raise the -payment of labour which is not raised by the -ordinary economic and proper causes, has exactly -the same effect upon us as the increase of the -tariffs of foreign countries. Thus we often find, -with all our philanthropy in wishing the people -to have more recreation, and with our anxiety -that the workman should better his condition -through his combination, that we are ourselves -aiding—it may be inevitably and necessarily—but -it is a fact that we are aiding to increase the difficulties -under which we labour in sending foreign -countries the products of the industry of these -districts; and we must bear in mind that great -cities have fallen before Manchester and Liverpool -were known; and that there have been great -cities, great mercantile cities on the shores of the -Mediterranean, the cities of Phœnicia, the cities -of Carthage, Genoa, and Venice.' Such sentiments -are worth taking to heart. The preaching up of -recreation, otherwise idleness, has gone rather too -far. We begin to perceive that wages can be paid -only in proportion to work done, and that if -people choose to amuse themselves, there must -correspondingly be a new adjustment of payments.</p> - -<p>At the late meeting of the British Association, -there was some profitable discussion on work, -wages, and thrift. One speaker emphatically -pointed out that unthrift was more concerned in -producing poverty in families than a deficiency in -wages. He said, that where there was a deficiency -of food 'it would mostly be found that what was -wanted had been consumed in drink.' Adding, -'As a matter of fact, the large families did the best, -and the greatest men in science and as statesmen -were mostly members of large families and younger -sons upon whom early struggles for mental growth -had produced brilliant results.' This corresponds -with ordinary experience. Within our own knowledge, -the greater number of persons distinguished -in literature, the arts, and in commerce have been -the sons of parents whose means of bringing up -their families did not exceed a hundred, in some -instances not eighty, pounds a year. Yet upon -these slender resources, through the effects of -thrift—as, for example, the case given by the late -Sir William Fairbairn—families of six or seven -children were respectably reared, and attained -prominent places in society.</p> - -<p>In almost every large town is observed a painful -but curious contrast in the administration of earnings. -On one side are seen the families of small -tradesmen making a manful struggle to keep up -respectable appearances at a free revenue of not -more than a hundred a year; while alongside of -them are families earning two pounds a week and -upwards, who make no effort at respectability, and -are constantly in difficulties. The explanation -simply lies in thrift and unthrift. In one case -there are aspirations and enlightened foresight; in -the other there is a total indifference to consequences. -A few weeks ago, the Rev. F. O. Morris, -of Nunburnholme Rectory, Hayton, York, communicated -to the <i>Times</i> some remarkable revelations -concerning unthrift. 'A gentleman of my -acquaintance,' he says, 'living in a midland -manufacturing town, gave me, two or three years -ago, the following instances of the unthriftness, or -rather the outrageous extravagance, of the artisans -there; such cases being quite common, the exceptions -only the other way. I must premise that -many of them with families were at that time -earning from eight to twelve pounds a week; a -single man as much as five pounds a week, and -yet, though paid on Saturday evenings, they would -come on the following Monday night to ask the -manager for an advance of the next week's wages. -And this not for any legitimate expenditure, for -even those who had families lived generally in one -room, kept no servant, and only employed charwomen. -Nevertheless, well they might be in -want of ready-money, for often you would see a -party setting out on a Sunday for an excursion -to some place or other in a carriage with four -horses, and dressed in the most extravagant -manner, but at the same time with much taste, -owing no doubt to their employment being in -the lace-trade.</p> - -<p>'A charwoman told the wife of my informant -that she knew one married couple who can -earn seven pounds a week who often came to -her on a Thursday to borrow a shilling, their -money being all gone. They lived in two rooms, -very badly furnished. A needle-woman also -told the lady that she knew a couple who earned -eight pounds a week, or even more, between -them, who lived in two rooms wretchedly furnished, -without even a cup or saucer, besides the -two they used, to give a friend a cup of tea; -that the woman would give four or five guineas -for a dress, and had given as much as six guineas, -which she would wear all day, from the first thing -in the morning till it was shabby, when she would -buy another as expensive, or even more so, according -to the fashion. She never cooked their own -dinner, but bought the most expensive things, -took them to a public-house to be cooked, and -dined there, eating and drinking afterwards. The -"hands" in the trade of the place would often -order, for one week, black tea at 4s. a pound, and -green at 6s. Thy would also buy cucumbers at 1s. -and 1s. 6d. apiece, beefsteaks for breakfast at -1s. 3d. a pound, and would only eat them fried in -butter; salmon in like manner when it first came -in at 3s. or 4s. a pound, and lamb at a guinea a -quarter. For more light fare they would buy -oysters at 2s. or 2s. 6d. a dozen, put down gold on -the counter, and eat them as fast as a man could -open them for them. My friend saw two men -thus eat 10s. worth standing at a stall in the -market-place. A man earning L.3 a week, paid -on the Saturday evening, got into a row with the -police on the Sunday, was fined 25s. on the -Monday, and not one out of a hundred or more -of his fellow-workmen could advance him the -money to pay the fine with, and he had to borrow -it of the foreman. Another was earning L.4 a -week. His master told him he ought to lay by. -"Oh," said he, "I can spend all I make." "But," -said the master, "what shall you do, if the times -are bad, with your wife and children?" "Let 'em -go to the Union," said he. The master himself -told my friend this. Mr Baker, the Inspector of -Factories, in one of his Reports, stated that a -moulder, his wife, and boy on an average earn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_643" id="Page_643">{643}</a></span> -L.5, 10s. 6d. a week. He mentions a case of a -moulder, his wife, and three children earning -L.8, 7s. 2½d.</p> - -<p>'How can we wonder, with such facts as -these before us, that Mr Sandford, Her Majesty's -Inspector, stated in one of his Reports: "Out -of 50 (lads) examined in nine different night -schools, 29, or 58 per cent., could not read. These -night scholars are certainly not the most untaught -of the collier lads. 'There's none of them as can -read in our pit,' I heard two young colliers say; -'no, nor the master neither.' And yet we wonder -that our colliers do not invest their earnings -wisely."'</p> - -<p>Loud and prolonged has been the denunciation -of public-houses as the cause of crime and misery—so -easy is it to mistake secondary for primary -causes. While admitting that public-houses scattered -in profusion are the cause of many evils, -we go a little farther, and looking for what produces -the cause, find that it consists in depraved -tastes, want of self-respect, unthrift. To a man -of elevated tendencies and intelligent foresight, -the number of public-houses is a matter of -no importance. He passes by the whole with -indifference. Their allurements only excite his -pity. He scorns their temptations. It is to this -pitch of fortitude we should like to see the -weak-minded brought, through education and the -habitual cultivation of self-respect, along with -a deep consciousness of responsibilities. In -therefore so exclusively attacking public-houses -as the cause of intemperance, we are in a sense -beginning the process of cure at the wrong end. -We are expending energies on secondary causes, -leaving the seat of the disease untouched. Under -infatuations of this kind, the misdirection of -moral power is pitiable. The subject is wide, -and might be expatiated on to any extent. We -here confine ourselves to the remark, that the -thing to cultivate is Thrift—not only as regards -the expenditure of money but expenditure of -time, and in saying this we fear that those who -have systematically, though with good intentions, -advocated a degree of recreation that must be -deemed excessive and dangerous, have not a little -to answer for in promoting habits of unthrift.</p> - -<p class='right'> -W. C. -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div><div> -<h2><a name="FROM_DAWN_TO_SUNSET" id="FROM_DAWN_TO_SUNSET">FROM DAWN TO SUNSET.</a></h2> - - -<h3>PART II.</h3> - - -<h4>CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was about this time, or some three or four days -after Kingston's arrival, that Mistress Dinnage -was sitting—languidly for her—at the door of the -lodge. Mistress Dinnage lived a life of constant -energy; she did not sit and lament; she had her -sorrows; but they were closed within the proudest -heart that ever beat, and no man knew of them. -But all the more dangerous is the stern sorrow -that feeds upon itself, the aching, ever-present -grief, so stoically disregarded. Mistress Dinnage -indulged in neither tears nor regrets; bravely she -did her duty day by day, and never would sit -down to court a sweet and fancied dream. But -when evening came, what had she to do? Father -was not home; the tall clock in the corner went -tick, tick, tick! Lady Deb was busied with her -kinsman Kingston Fleming; old Marjory was no -companion to Mistress Dinnage. Lives are so -different. In some more genial lives, in some gay -changeful or adventurous life, sorrow and despair -are kept at bay. In contrast to this life of Margaret's, -there was May Warriston far away, dreaming -through courtly galleries, gazing on splendid -pictures, listening to ravishing music, kneeling -before gorgeous shrines. Amid such scenes as -these, the heart-strings may be tuned to never a -discordant note. But in eternal calm, in depressing -sickness, in dreary hours of solitude, <i>then</i> the grim -spectre looks on us face to face. We may work; -ay, but when we pause to rest? Work, everlasting -work, gives a stern sense of satisfaction and the -comfort of 'something done;' but unlightened -by sweeter moments, neither softens the heart nor -strengthens the mind. Under that stern government, -imagination sleeps, thought grows torpid, -the poor wounded soul is grasped within the iron -hand it defies, Nature herself lies bruised and -bleeding.</p> - -<p>In the hours of hard work and daylight, sorrow -was to Margaret Dinnage unheeded, unheard, uncared -for; but when forced inaction came, when -the little room darkened slowly, and the lightest -whisper of the breeze began to be heard above the -hushed tumult of the world, then the tall clock -told a monotonous tale moment by moment to the -proud still heart—a tale of solitude and hopeless -calm. She would go to the porch not to hear it; -but to go out and roam about the happy fields she -could not, for there she had played when a child. -No; better stand at the door and watch; father -would be coming soon.</p> - -<p>One evening as Mistress Dinnage thus watched, -the gate swung to; not the stooping form of old -Jordan Dinnage, but a tall and tower-like figure -loomed through the gloaming and darkened the -doorway. Loud and full beat the heart of Mistress -Dinnage; she could not speak. For the first time -for years, she and Charles Fleming were alone.</p> - -<p>'Who is at Enderby?' he asked, in a short stern -voice.</p> - -<p>'Mistress Deborah,' she answered, with hurried -breathless utterance, 'an' Master Kingston Fleming.'</p> - -<p>'Not my father?'</p> - -<p>'No.'</p> - -<p>'Has Master Sinclair been here lately?'</p> - -<p>'Yes; he was over yesterday morning.'</p> - -<p>Then the gloaming parted as it were to admit of -a blink of sunshine, and the dark eyes that were -gazing up sought the haggard eyes that were gazing -down upon them, and all in a flash. Twilight and -the wild sweet solitude around them drew those -proud hearts together with a power that yearning -nature could not resist. The spell of Love was -woven around them. Not one word was uttered: -stern silence, weary endless longing, pride, grief, -trouble, despair, all were now hushed in one -long embrace. Long and wordless as had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_644" id="Page_644">{644}</a></span> -estrangement, so swift and wordless the wooing; -no syllable was needed to tell what the soul had -known.</p> - -<p>What mattered it in that supreme moment that -he was a hunted ruined fugitive—that she was a -poor and penniless girl—that they met but to part -again? The sweet summer breeze was blowing -round them; the trees trembled with gladness -overhead; they were young; the world was wide -and free. The solemn warning voice of the old -clock, for them spoke in vain.</p> - -<p>When Mistress Dinnage could speak, she whispered -on his breast: 'Thou'rt in trouble.'</p> - -<p>'In trouble? Yes.' Then, with a reckless laugh, -he took her face between his hands, and answered -by wild and passionate kisses.</p> - -<p>'Nay; thou must speak,' she went on earnestly, -and holding back his head with her little hands. -'Kisses will not aid thee, or I would kiss thee till I -died. Speak, Master Fleming! Art thou ruined?'</p> - -<p>'Ay; stick and stone.'</p> - -<p>'I saw it in thy face, only now the love-light -covers it. Oh, how canst thou look so glad for my -poor love, when thou'rt ruined and <i>disgraced</i>? -Bethink thee, Master Fleming. Thine old home -will go to strangers. Thy sister will share in thy -disgrace. Thy father will go in sorrow to the -grave. Thou'rt ruined, disgraced, <i>dishonoured</i>!'</p> - -<p>He caught her to his heart, and then held her -wildly from him, regarding her with infinite -pathos. '<i>And wilt thou throw me over, Meg?</i>'</p> - -<p>Then spoke she anxiously: 'What is it thou -mean'st? Speak out to me. Let there be no -secrets and no riddling. Dost thou love me <i>truly</i>?'</p> - -<p>Then answered the proud liquid glance of those -dark eyes; and whispered the youth low in -her ear: 'I would like to kill thee for this -questioning! <i>Truly</i>, love? Dost thou know -Charles Fleming so little, that thou'rt in doubt? -that thou canst believe he could wrong the only -girl he ever loved? Ruffian, gamester, roysterer -though I be, I would keep thee pure as snow—snowdrift. -Thou shalt make me a better man, who -knows? For thy love I thirst, Meg, and have -thirsted long. Now—ruined, an outcast, a fugitive, -is the moment I choose to seek thee! Wilt have -me, Meg, for better, for worse? Wilt share the -fortunes of a sinner? Perilous, comfortless, will -be thy lot, love. Wilt thou be my wife?'</p> - -<p>She could not speak; she answered by a low cry -of love and joy. What recked Mistress Dinnage -of the proud grand home and the heir of the -Flemings, all passed away! She loved—with all -the pure abandonment of a woman's love—this -houseless wanderer.</p> - -<p>So came Charlie Fleming, and went, and haunted -in the twilight round Enderby, and no one knew -of it save Mistress Dinnage. She was put about, -dismayed, torn by anxiety by all she heard; and -the two loves of her life, the loves of father and -lover, were wrestling wildly in her soul. Though -fearing for her lover, yet, strange inconsistency, -her step was light as air, her heart was filled with -a new joy, and her eyes with happy tears.</p> - -<p class='p2'>'I must go,' thought Kingston Fleming desperately -to himself, the morning after the above -scene. 'The old fellow won't turn up, neither -does Charlie. I mustn't compromise <i>her</i>. But she -must not be alone. I doubt—I doubt sorely -about the future. Poor sweet child! I will -speak to old Marjory; she must hold that flighty -Mistress Dinnage in the house. And I will get -Deb to send for May Warriston.' So thinking, -Kingston went into the garden, where he saw -Deborah at her flowers, and abruptly he began: -'I am come to say farewell, Deb. Don't look -scared, little coz; you shall not be left alone.'</p> - -<p>'Then whom shall I have, King?' she asked, -clinging suddenly to his arm. 'Father is away; -Charlie is away; and I am in hourly fear of evil -tidings. You say, <i>not alone!</i> O King, I shall -be alone indeed!'</p> - -<p>'Little one, I am going to write to May Warriston, -to beg her to come and bear you company. -Meantime, I am going to see your father. -I know his whereabouts, love; I will send him -home to-night. And have ye not Marjory, Jordan, -and your beloved Mistress Dinnage?'</p> - -<p>'Ay, I have them all. But what are weak -women and a poor old man compared to your -size and strength? With you, King, I am safe. -In your presence I can be thoughtless and glad -again. In your presence—I am happy.'</p> - -<p>'O Deb, Deb! Don't persuade me. I mustn't -stay with you. Ill tongues will be talking of -you and me.'</p> - -<p>'What! of brother and sister? Of kinsfolk? It -cannot, cannot be. But let the world talk! What -matters it? Will you, for paltry slander, forsake -me at this strait?'</p> - -<p>'Not forsake you, but consider you. Let go my -hand, Deb! I am easily unmanned nowadays. -I must go.'</p> - -<p>'Well, go, go!'—and she pushed him from her. -'And indeed I would have you seek my father, -King, for I am very sad at heart. Cheer him up; -comfort him; wean him from his temptation if -you can. It is that terrible gambling that is the -ruin of the Flemings. Oh, tell him so! But above -all things, send him home, for I have a dark, dark -foreboding on me; and this night alone at Enderby -would drive me mad.'</p> - -<p>'He shall come.'</p> - -<p>'Then go, King, quickly.'</p> - -<p>'You are in a hurry to be rid o' me, now. -Good-bye, sweet Deb; good-bye. You will not -come and see me off?'</p> - -<p>'Nay; I cannot.'</p> - -<p>'Well, good-bye, Enderby.' Kingston Fleming -bared his head and gazed round, strangely moved, -at the old familiar scene. His keen blue eyes grew -dim. It did not shame his manhood that tears -were drawn like life-blood from his heart, as he -nobly renounced a sore temptation. 'Good-bye, -Enderby; good-bye.'</p> - -<p>He was gone. But still Deborah Fleming, -amid her gay and dazzling flowers, seemed to -see him standing there, a tall graceful figure, a -face full of sadness and regret, a bared head -that reverently bowed its adieus; and the words -still rang in her ears: 'Good-bye, Enderby; -good-bye.' Ten short minutes and all life had -changed for her; only when he was gone, she -waked to her despair. The sun had ceased to -shine, the birds had ceased to sing, the flowers -to bloom. She left her gathered flowers to die, -and went home like one stunned.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_645" id="Page_645">{645}</a></span></p> - - -<h4>CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.</h4> - -<p>Sir Vincent did return that night; he had -seen Kingston, he said. He was very late, and he -was tired. He asked Deborah if Mistress Dinnage -were with her.</p> - -<p>'Yes, dear father. But you are going to sleep -at home?'</p> - -<p>'Ay; but I may be off early—too early for even -thee, my bird of dawn.'</p> - -<p>'Nay, father; I will be up, not to see thee off, -but to hold thee here. Thou shalt not go tomorrow!'</p> - -<p>He smiled. He looked pale. He kissed her -fondly.</p> - -<p>'Lady Wilful, I must. I want to see my boy. -He is ever in trouble.'</p> - -<p>'Nay; think not about it to-night, father. King -has promised to find him out.'</p> - -<p>And so they parted. Weary-hearted, with all -the brightness called up for her father laid aside, -Deborah sought her chamber, weeping. She recalled, -the night when her father had told her -Kingston Fleming was betrothed, her wild despair. -But she was a child, and the bright morrow had -then brought hope and healing. Now she was a -woman, and a woman's sorrow lay deep within her -breast. Tired out, Deborah undressed and lay -down on her bed, not to wake and weep, but to -sink into a deep dreamless slumber....</p> - -<p>With a start she awoke. A start often wakes -us from the soundest sleep, as if some spirit -spoke. Deborah Fleming was so wide awake in a -moment that she saw through her open window -the little pale ghost of the waning moon, the -drifting clouds flitting by. A strange feeling -was on Deborah. Had she been dreaming that she -had seen a light shining under her father's door? -Dream or vision, she seemed to see it still, and was -irresistibly drawn thither by a mysterious inner -sense of alarm. She must go to her father's room, -to see that all was well. With a wildly beating -heart, she threw on her dressing-gown and went -swiftly out. Gray dawn filled all the passages, -a gray cold dawn, and the little birds were beginning -to twitter. But yes—oh, strange and true, a -light was glimmering under her father's door!</p> - -<p>Deborah heard him moving; she knocked. -'Father!'—No answer.—'Father!'</p> - -<p>'Who is there?'</p> - -<p>'Deborah! Father, open your door; I must -speak with you at once.'</p> - -<p>She tried the door: it gave way; and Deborah -saw a room scattered over with papers, in the -wildest confusion. The window stood open, and -Sir Vincent, looking gray and haggard in the -uncertain light, stood against the table in the -middle of the room. He was dressed; his long -white hair was ruffled; his face was gray, pale; -his eyes gleamed strangely on Deborah from under -their lowering brows.</p> - -<p>'Father!' said Deborah, 'my father!' A great -trembling was on her, he looked at her so strangely; -but she kept outwardly calm. She laid her hands -upon his arm, and then her eyes fell from his -troubled face to his trembling hand, which was -striving vainly to hide something amongst the -papers on the table. Deborah saw the handle of a -pistol; she drew it out, and regarded him steadfastly. -'Father, father! what is this?'</p> - - - -<p>He turned from her; his white head was bowed -with shame in his hands, and she heard a bitter -sob.</p> - -<p>'I know it now,' said Deborah, with terrible -calmness. 'God called me here. O dear father, -what have you thought on? To get free of ruin, -you would kill your soul. Kind heaven have -mercy on thee! You would leave me, father; you -would leave me and Charlie.' She flung the pistol -out of the room; she threw her arms round him. -Sobs were shaking the strong man's frame.</p> - -<p>'O never think to leave me alone, father dear. -It was sinful of you not to call me; you might -have known your little daughter would sooner -share your death, than wake to find you dead.'</p> - -<p>'God forgive me, Deb; God forgive me;' and he -sank into his chair faint, trembling, shuddering. -Deborah, on her knees beside him, scarcely knew -her proud father, he was so unmanned. She -waited in silence, with her head laid down on his -knee. When he could speak, he said: 'I see God's -hand in this; I believe in Him as I never believed -before. Child! nothing less than a miracle -brought thee here, as heaven is my witness; in -another moment, Deb, I should have been a dead -man. I had the pistol in my hand; may He -forgive me, Deb!'</p> - -<p>Then Deborah looked up white and calm: 'What -could have induced you, father? What ruin could -be great enow to justify so great a sin? The loss -of house and lands? Let them go. You and I -had better live in some poor honest way, than keep -at Enderby. Let it go. It is no great matter, so -long as you have your children's love.'</p> - -<p>He groaned. 'It isn't all, Deb; ruin isn't all. -We have that, and enow. But ye know the -old saying, "Death before dishonour."—Charlie, -Charlie!' and the father's tremulous lips struggled -piteously to utter more.</p> - -<p>'Has Charlie <i>disgraced</i> us then? How, father?'</p> - -<p>'God forbid that I tell thee how. My boy has -killed me.'</p> - -<p>'Will <i>money</i> save him, father?' The stern low -voice scarcely seemed Deborah Fleming's.</p> - -<p>'Money, ay; but we are beggars.'</p> - -<p>Deborah started to her feet. 'Well, think of it -no more; you are wearied to death, my father. -Thinking won't right you nor save Charlie. Sleep -in peace, father, for I will save ye both this day.'</p> - -<p>He stared in her face. 'Heaven bless thee, Deb. -I know not what thou say'st. I think my brain is -shaken, Deb. But <i>thou'rt</i> my only stay.' With -that, the heart-broken old man, fallen so lowly -from his high estate, lay down, and fell into a deep -sleep. Not so Deborah.</p> - -<p>Late in the morning, Sir Vincent awaked, and -called for his daughter. It seemed that she -was near, for he had scarcely called before she -stood beside his bed. His strength was recruited; -the strong and nervous spirit had regained its -power, and lived again in torture. He gazed up at -Deborah, piteous in his grim sorrow; still, in all -his strength, he turned to her: 'Deborah, my -child, what is to be done?'</p> - -<p>'I am decided, father. I will be Adam Sinclair's -wife. He has money enow to buy Enderby. -Look you, you have nothing more to say; only -see that he knows he may marry me.'</p> - -<p>'Thou'lt marry Adam Sinclair! Deb, art in -earnest? Can ye do this? But does it vex ye, -love? Does it grieve ye <i>too</i> much?'</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_646" id="Page_646">{646}</a></span></p> - -<p>She looked so calm, he could not believe this -sacrifice, but half believed her indifferent; he was -sorely trembling.</p> - -<p>'Nay, father. How vexed? how grieved? Ask -me no questions. You know, father, I was -always "Lady Wilful," and very firm. Here -now is a note writ by mine own hand to <i>him</i>. -I am decided.'</p> - -<p>Sir Vincent rose up; he knew not if he were -most glad or grieved or scared, as he took her in -his arms and blessed her. Never had Deborah -received love or blessing so passively. She put -the note in his hands, and looking at him with her -great gray earnest eyes: 'Sweet father,' she said, -'it must needs be soon; and that he may know -that I am in earnest, I have left that "soon" to -him. I am sincere with him, father, and I tell him -I have no love to give; but I would fain save -Enderby; and so I ask him if he will save Enderby -for love of me, and yet leave me free. There is -a loophole, father, for I have no wish to wed. -But if he must wed Deborah Fleming, and only -this will move him, I am ready. But as he will -choose the wedding-day, I stipulate for freedom -till that day, never to write nor meet till the -bells ring for the wedding. Let me be Deborah -Fleming till then, and forget Adam Sinclair! -Lovers and wooing I cannot abide. And life is -long enow from the wedding to the grave!'</p> - -<p>Sir Vincent stood with the letter in his hand. -'Deborah, ye speak strangely; yet you are smiling, -and your eyes and cheeks are bright. Little one, -tell thy wretched father if thou'rt unhappy over -this? Speak, Deb, darling; and if it grieves thee, -I will see myself in jail, and Charlie on the -gallows, ere thou shalt sacrifice thy life. Deborah, -be honest with me.'</p> - -<p>'Why, I am honest always. It will not hurt -<i>me</i>. I will be a good wife to him till the day I die, -if it must needs be so. But would you have me -say I love him, reverence him? This cannot be. -But if he will not save Enderby otherwise, I will -be his wife. Of the rest—I will not ask you—I -dare not. But Charlie shall be saved.'</p> - -<p>At these words Sir Vincent fell on his knees, and -kissed his child's dress like one beside himself, and -then pale and wordless, rushed away.... Then -Deborah was left <i>alone</i>. The gay sun was shining -in, and the birds were singing from far and near; -away up, Deborah's pet bird the skylark was -pouring out his supreme song of freedom in the -blue fields of space. She heard the trilling -cadence from the wild bird's throat. It drew her -to the window, where she leaned out, and drank in -those delirious strains of joy, and stretched out her -arms to the blue sky, and thought of the little -nest where the bird would drop, when tired -with wandering and with song. Could she be -Deborah Fleming? Would the messenger now -speeding to Lincoln Castle bring her back freedom, -or death in life? She must wait, she must -wait! Meantime, the o'ercome was ringing in -her ears of an old song that Kingston Fleming -whistled when a boy, and the sweet warm sun -was shining on her, and Deborah laid her aching -head and her arms down on the window-sill and -fell fast asleep. It was then that Mistress Dinnage -stole in; her face too was pale and grave, but not -so pale as the sleeping one over which she leaned. -With her hands clasped, she stood regarding it till -her lips quivered, and tears of troubled anxiety -started to her eyes. 'Ay,' she said with stern -tenderness, 'you will die for him yet; but <i>I</i> would -die for <i>him</i> and <i>you</i>.' Then softly and in tender -care, young Mistress Dinnage passed a soft cushion -under the little head, and laid a light shawl over -Deborah to shield her from the sun, and stole -away.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /></div><div> -<h2><a name="MARKET-GARDEN_WOMEN" id="MARKET-GARDEN_WOMEN">MARKET-GARDEN WOMEN.</a></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">While</span> the fruit-harvest is in progress, travellers -through the western outskirts of London will -doubtless have noticed the numerous gangs of -women employed in gathering and packing fruit and -vegetables for market; the railway in that district -running for several miles through market-gardens -and orchards. The peculiar dress of these women—consisting -of a large calico sun-bonnet, brightly -coloured neckerchief, short skirts reaching scarcely -below the knee, and large holland aprons—is alone -sufficient to attract attention, even in the momentary -glimpse one obtains of them as the train -sweeps past. Daily, in sunshine and rain, these -women are busy collecting the fruit and vegetables -which are nightly conveyed to the London markets; -and as some knowledge of their manner of life and -the amount of their earnings may prove interesting, -we offer to our readers the substance of a conversation -held with a member of one of the gangs -during the earlier part of the season.</p> - -<p>'Do we get pretty good wages? Well, you see, -sir, it all depends on the season. Just now, when -strawberries are in and peas, we can earn as much -as thirty shillings a week—some weeks more. -Raspberries and beans we do pretty well with, but -gooseberries and currants ain't so good: eight-and-twenty -shillings a week is as much as we can make -at those, working hard and long for that. Of -course we have to work long hours, beginning at -four or five o'clock in the morning, and keeping at -it till eight and sometimes later at night, generally -taking about an hour's rest at dinner-time. But as -we gather all the fruit by piece-work, and so to -speak, our time is our own, what dinner-time we -take depends on what sort of a morning's work -we've made—sometimes longer and sometimes -shorter. You see, this is how we work. In my -gang there's six of us, that have always worked -together for a good many years now. We get one -on each side of a row of strawberries or raspberries -or peas, or what not; and when one basket is full, -we puts a few handfuls in our apron, always -managing so as to take in all the baskets full -together; and then at night, when our work is -counted up, we share it equally amongst us. We -always know every night how much we have made, -but only get paid once a week, on Saturdays: -Saturday, you know, being an easy day with us, -on account of there being no market on Sunday. -Our missis is very good that way: every Saturday, -afore twelve o'clock, there is our money, much or -little; though there is some of the masters as think -nothing of keeping their women waiting about till -six or seven o'clock at night before they pay them, -and perhaps then only gives 'em a part of it; which -comes hard on folks as live from hand to mouth, as -we have to do; the shop at which we deal only -giving one week's credit—pay up one Saturday -night, and run on as much as you like till the next; -or if you don't pay up, no more credit till you -does.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_647" id="Page_647">{647}</a></span></p> - -<p>'Apples and pears and such-like fruit we have -nothing to do with—men gather <i>them</i> in. In fact -as often as not the master sells the fruit as it stands -on the tree, and the buyer has to get his own men -to pluck it. But there's always some sort of fruit -or vegetables to be gathered from the beginning of -spring till the end of summer as we can do by -piecework; and then the potatoes come in, which -we pick up after they've been turned out of the -ground by men or by a machine; but that we does -by day-work, getting one-and-sixpence a day when -we work from six to six; and one-and-twopence -when we work from eight till dark. In winter-time -there's always something to be done dibbing in -cabbage-plants, weeding, and such-like; but what -with sharp frosts and heavy snows, we don't earn -much then, perhaps doing three or four days' work -in a week. Of course if we haven't had the sense to -put by some of the money we make in the good -times of summer, times come cruel hard on us in -the winter; and very few of us like to apply to the -parish if we can anyhow help it. Not but what -our missis is good to us in that way, often finding -us a day's work when it ain't needed, and always -giving us a half-pint of beer at the end of the day; -which we can't claim, you know.</p> - -<p>'We don't take much count of rain either winter -or summer, because, you see, people will have their -fruit and vegetables fresh gathered; and so we -wrap ourselves well up and make the best of it. -As I said before, Saturday we don't do much; but -then we have to make up for it on Sundays, so as -to send the fruit fresh to Monday's market.</p> - -<p>'Don't we suffer from rheumatics? Well, you -mightn't think so, but it ain't often any of us ails -much. You see, being out in all weathers, we get -hardened to it; and besides, we always take good -care to keep our feet warm and dry—that's why -we wear such heavy boots; and that's the chief -thing to look after, if you don't want to catch cold; -so people say. There ain't many of us but what is -on the wrong side of thirty; four out of <i>my</i> gang -being widows this many a year, with grown-up -sons and daughters; and it's the same in most -gangs. Sometimes we have young women amongst -us; but there's not many of 'em stays at it after -they are married; not all the year through, I mean; -perhaps coming for a day or two at the busiest -times; but even then it hardly pays them, if they -have a young family about 'em. The gangs of -young women as you sometimes see, we don't -count as belonging to us; they only coming up -from Shropshire mostly—for a month or six weeks -at the busiest part of the season. Children we -never have working with us, I suppose because they -wouldn't be careful enough about not crushing -the fruit; which as <i>you</i> know, it would never pay -to send crushed fruit into market. For my part, -I'm very glad as there is no children allowed -amongst us, as though it ain't very hard work, -it's terribly tedious and back-aching. When our -children is old enough, we send the girls out to -service somewhere; and there's always plenty of -work for the lads, of some sort, about the farms; -which is a good deal better than breaking their -backs at <i>our</i> work.</p> - -<p>'We all of us in my gang live hereabouts, in -those little cottages that you see yonder. Three -shillings a week the rent of 'em is; but then -there's a good piece of garden-ground at the back; -and most of us has lodgers, young men what work -on the farms and in the gardens mostly. Four -rooms there is in my cottage; and I have three -lodgers, sometimes four, two sleeping in one room. -Good lads they are too. You see, as they get -home before I do, I always lay my fire in the -morning before I go out; and a neighbour of mine -sets it alight in time for the kettle to be a-boiling -when they come in to their tea at six o'clock; and -they never misses leaving a potful of good strong -tea for me to have when I get home; which you -may be sure is all the more grateful through -being the only hot drink I get all day, having only -a drop of cold tea, which I carry in that can there, -for my breakfast. And maybe if we are working -near a public-house, we club up, and one of us goes -and gets a drop of beer to drink with our dinners.</p> - -<p>'If it wasn't for the lodgers, the gardens wouldn't -be much use to us; but they generally take it in -hand, and often comes to take a pride in it; so that -we are never short of such vegetables as are in -season; which helps a good way towards the rent. -They also chop up my wood and fetch my water -for me, and make themselves handy in a score of -ways; indeed if I lost my lodgers, I don't know -what I should do. It ain't much cooking I do in -the week; but what there is to do I do after I -come home. On Sunday the lads always look for -a hot dinner; which when I'm at home, I cook for -them; and when I'm at work I get all ready on -Saturday night, and one of 'em takes it to the -bakehouse to be baked. When we do work on -Sundays, if we anyhow can manage it, we try to -get done by three or four o'clock, so as we may be -in time to dress and go to church; which as a rule -we mostly do.</p> - -<p>'I can't read nor yet write, and I don't suppose -as there's a-many amongst the oldest of us as can. -It wasn't much chance of schooling girls like us -got in my time, as we was sent out to work at -something or other when we was about nine or -ten. I did go to school for a little while; but if I -learnt anything I must have forgotten it again. -The young ones are better off for the matter of -that, and are always willing to read or write a -letter for us when we want 'em.</p> - -<p>'Nineteen years I've been at it regular now, -sir; and though I was left a widow with seven -children, the oldest of 'em only ten and one at the -breast, I'm proud and thankful to say as we've -never had any need to ask once for a loaf of bread -even from the parish, and trust as we never shall. I -ain't the only one either, for there's Mrs Amblin as -lives next door to me was left with nine children, -oldest only twelve, and has lived to see 'em all -doing for themselves without being beholden to -nobody for a crust of bread. Some years, when -the fruit has been backward or scarce, we've had a -very close push to make ends meet; but it has only -taught us to be more careful when we have a good -season, and to put by a little more towards a bad -one. We don't use any bank, bless you! what -little we can manage to put by, we generally likes -to have handy where we can put our hand on it -when we want it. Of course, there's no telling -what may happen; but while I have my health -and strength left me, I shall always be able to earn -as much as I need; and if it should happen as <i>they</i> -fail me, well, what with lodgers and the shilling -or two my children will help me with, I daresay I -shall struggle along somehow. Mostly, though our -children don't come to be much more than field-hands<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_648" id="Page_648">{648}</a></span> -and farm-labourers, when the time comes -they don't begrudge what is due to their parents, -and manage somehow to keep 'em out of the workhouse. -Not but some of 'em goes to the bad, as -might be expected, seeing the little schooling we -can afford to give them, and the temptations there -is for them nowadays; but it is only here and -there one, and they generally finish up by listing -for a soldier, which soon steadies 'em. One of my -lads is away now in the East Indies; and though I -don't often hear from him, he seems to be getting -on quite as well as ever he'd ha' done at home. -Our girls mostly gets acquainted with one or other -of the men working about the place where they -are at service, and get married, sooner perhaps -than what we old folks think they ought to—about -nineteen or twenty—and settle down near -where their husbands work.</p> - -<p>'We don't get much chance of holidays when -once the season begins, until it is over; because, -you see, sir, the master must keep the market -supplied; and if he finds one of us not to be -depended on to do our work every day, he very -soon gets somebody in her place that is; which -perhaps is one reason why young women never -care to settle down to our life. Altogether, our -work ain't so very hard; and if we do have to keep -at it for a many hours at a stretch, it's all in the -open air, which is a good deal better than being -shut up in the walls of a factory; and if we are -anyways steady and careful, we can always make -sure of a pretty good living. So that you see, sir, -there's many as is worse off than us poor garden-women.'</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /></div><div> -<h2><a name="SEA-SPOIL" id="SEA-SPOIL">SEA-SPOIL.</a></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Somewhat</span> more than a year ago, we called attention -to the changes which are to be perceived in -the relations of land and water; the action of -rivers on the land, and the influence of delta-lands -in restoring land, to the earth, being noted in the -article alluded to; whilst the destructive action -of the sea on many points of the coast was also -detailed. In the present instance we purpose to -examine a few of the more typical cases of sea-action -viewed in its destructive effect upon the -land, and also some aspects of earth-movements -which undoubtedly favour the destructive power -of the ocean.</p> - -<p>As regards these destructive powers, much depends -of course on the nature of the rock-formations -which lie next the sea. A hard formation will, -<i>cæteris paribus</i>, resist the attack of the waves to a -greater extent than a deposit of soft nature; and the -varying nature of the coast-lines of a country determines -to a very great extent the regularity or irregularity -of the sea's action. A well-known example -of a case in which the ocean has acquired over the -land an immense advantage in respect of the softness -of the formations which favoured its inroad, is -found on the Kentish coast. Visitors to Margate -and Ramsgate, or voyagers around the south-east -corner of our island, know the ancient church of -Reculver—or the 'Reculvers' as it is now named—as -a familiar landmark. Its two weather-beaten -towers and the dismantled edifice are the best -known objects amongst the views of the Kentish -coast; and to both geologist and antiquary the -'Reculvers' present an object of engrossing interest. -In the reign of Henry VIII. the church was one -mile distant from the sea; and even in 1781 a very -considerable space of ground intervened between -the church and the coast-line—so considerable -indeed, that several houses and a churchyard of -tolerable size existed thereupon. In 1834 the sea -had made such progress in the work of spoliation, -that the intervening ground had disappeared, and -the 'Reculvers' appeared to exist on the verge at -once of the cliff and of destruction. An artificial -breakwater has, however, saved the structure; but -the sacred edifice has been dismantled, and its -towers used as marine watch-houses. The surrounding -strata are of singularly soft nature, and -hence the rapidity with which the eroding action -of the waves has proceeded.</p> - -<p>An equally instructive case of the destructive -action of the sea is afforded by the history of the -parish of Eccles in the county of Norfolk. Prior -to the accession of James VI. to the English -crown the parish was a fairly populous one. At -that date, however, the inhabitants petitioned the -king for a reduction of taxes, basing their request -on the ground that more than three hundred acres -of their land had been swept away by the sea. -The king's reply was short but characteristic. He -dismissed the petition with the remark, that the -people of Eccles should be thankful that the -sea had been so merciful. Since the time of the -niggardly sovereign just mentioned, Eccles has not -been spared by the sea. Acres upon acres have -been swallowed up by the insatiable waves, and -as Sir Charles Lyell informs us, hills of blown -sand—forming the characteristic <i>sand-dunes</i> of the -geologist—occupy the place where the houses of -King James's petitioners were situated. The spire -of the parish church, in one drawing, is indeed -depicted as projecting from amongst the surrounding -sand-dunes, which the wind, as if in league -with the ocean, has blown in upon this luckless -coast.</p> - -<p>The comparison of old maps of counties bordering -on the sea with modern charts, affords a striking -and clear idea of the rate and extent of this -work of destruction. No better illustration can be -cited of the ravages of the ocean than that exhibited -in maps of the Yorkshire coast-lines, and -particularly in the district lying between Flamborough -Head and the mouth of the Humber. -Whilst the district between the Wash in Lincolnshire -and the estuary of the Thames shews an -equally great amount of destructive change. Three -feet per annum is said to be no uncommon rate for -soft strata in these localities to be carried away; -and the geologist may point to the famous Goodwin -Sands—notorious alike in ancient and modern -history—as another example of the results of sea-action, -and of the wear and tear exercised by the -mighty deep. The contemplation of such actions -fits us in a singularly apt manner for the realisation -of the full force and meaning of the Laureate's -words:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There rolls the deep where grew the tree.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Earth, what changes hast thou seen!<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>It is highly important, however, to note that -the sea receives aid of no ordinary kind in its acts -of spoliation by the operation of certain forces -affecting the land itself. Land frequently disappears -from sight beneath the surface of the sea -by a process of subsidence or sinking. We must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_649" id="Page_649">{649}</a></span> -therefore clearly distinguish between the land -which the sea literally takes by its own act, and -that which becomes its property through this -curious subsidence and sinking of the earth's crust. -No doubt the result is practically the same in each -case; the sea being in either instance the gainer, -and the land the loser. But the sinking of land -being a phenomenon less familiar to the ordinary -reader, we venture to note a few of its more prominent -aspects.</p> - -<p>A primary consideration to which it is needful to -direct attention consists in the due appreciation of -the fact that the land and not the sea is to be here -credited with the action under discussion. When -a considerable part of a coast-line formerly existing -above tide-marks is found to gradually sink below -the sea-level, the observer is probably apt to assume -that the sea has simply altered its level. -The idea of the sea being a constantly changing -body is so widely entertained, and that of the -land being a solid and immovable portion of the -constitution of the earth, is also so deeply rooted -in the popular mind, that it may take some little -thinking to throw on the land the burden of the -change and alteration. It is nevertheless a fact -that the great body of water we name the ocean -in reality obeys the laws we see exemplified in -the disposition of the water contained in a cup or -bowl. The water of the sea thus maintains the -same level, and is no more subject to violent and -permanent alterations than is the water in the cup -or bowl. Hence when part of a coast-line appears -to become submerged, we must credit the land with -being the seat of the change, seeing that the sea -must be regarded as stable, unless indeed it could -be shewn that the level of the sea had undergone -a similar change on all the coasts it touches. -Thus if the southern coast of England were found -to have been depressed say to the extent of six -feet, we must credit the land with the change, -unless we could shew that the sea-level on the -opposite or French coast had also changed. Now -the alterations of land are mostly local or confined -to limited areas, and are not seen in other lands -bounded by the same sea or ocean as the altered -portion. Hence that the land must be regarded as -the unstable and the sea as the stable element, has -come to be regarded as a fundamental axiom of -geology.</p> - -<p>When, therefore, the works of man—such as -piers, harbours, and dwellings—become the spoil -of the sea, the action has either been one effected -by the force of the waves without any change of -level of the land, or one in which land has simply -subsided independently of the destructive action -of the sea. In the extreme south of Sweden this -action of land-subsidence is at present proceeding -at a rate which has been determined by observations -conducted for the past century and a half or -more. The lower streets of many Swedish sea-port -towns have thus been under water for many -years, and even streets originally situated far -above the water-level have been rendered up as -prey to the sea by this mysterious sinking of -land. Linnæus (as on a former occasion we -remarked) in 1749 marked the exact site and position -of a certain stone. In 1836 this stone was -found to be nearer the water's edge by one hundred -feet than when the great naturalist had observed -it; the subsidence having proceeded at this rate -and degree in eighty-seven years. The earliest -Moravian missionaries in Greenland had frequently -to shift the position of the poles to which they -moored their boats, owing to the subsidence of -land carrying their poles seawards, as it were, by -the inflow of the sea over what was once dry land. -On the coasts of Devon and Cornwall the observer -may detect numerous stumps of trees—still fixed -by their roots in the soil in which they grew—existing -under water; the site being that of an old -forest which was submerged by the sinking of the -land, and which has become converted into the -spoil and possession of the sea. Even the long -arm of the sea—the 'loch' of the Scotch and the -'fjord' of Norway—which seen in the outline of a -map, or in all its natural beauty, imparts a character -of its own to the scenery of a country, exists -to the eye of the geologist simply as a submerged -valley, whose sides were once 'with verdure -clad,' and on whose fertile slopes trees grew -in luxuriant plenty. The subsidence of the land -has simply permitted its place to be occupied by -water, and the vessel may sail for miles over -what was once a fertile valley.</p> - -<p>Occasionally the fluctuations of land may be -exemplified to an extent which could hardly be -expected, a fact well illustrated by the case of the -Temple of Jupiter Serapis at Puzzuoli on the Bay -of Naples. This temple, now in ruins, dates from -a very ancient period, three marble pillars remaining -to mark the extent of what was once a -magnificent pile of buildings. Half-way up these -pillars the marks of boring shell-fish are seen; -some burrows formed by these molluscs still containing -the shells by means of which they were -excavated. At the present time, the sea-level is -at the very base of the pillars, or exists even below -that site. Hence arises the natural question—'How -did the shell-fish gain access to the pillars, -to burrow into them in the manner described?' -Dismissing as an irrelevant and impossible idea -that of the molluscs being able to ascend the dry -pillars, two suppositions remain. Either the pillars -and temple must have gone down to the sea -through the subsidence of the land, or the sea -must have come up to the pillars. If the latter -theory be entertained, the sea-level must be regarded -as having of necessity altered its level all -along the Bay of Naples and along all the Mediterranean -coasts. And as this inundation would -have occurred within the historic period, we would -expect not only to have had some record preserved -to us of the calamity, but we should also have been -able to point to distinct and ineffaceable traces of -sea-action on the adjoining coasts. There is, however, -no basis whatever for this supposition. No -evidence is forthcoming that any such rise of the -sea ever took place; and hence we are forced to -conclude that the subsidence or sinking of the -land contains the only rational explanation of the -phenomena. We had thus a local sinking of land -taking place at Puzzuoli. The old temple was -gradually submerged; its pillars were buried -beneath the waters of the sea, and the boring -molluscs of the adjacent sea-bed fixed on the -pillars as a habitation, and bored their way into -the stone. Then a second geological change supervened. -The action of subsidence was exchanged -for one of elevation; and the temple and its -pillars gradually arose from the sea, and attained -their present level; whilst the stone-boring shell-fish -were left to die in their homes. The surrounding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_650" id="Page_650">{650}</a></span> -neighbourhood—that of Vesuvius—is the scene -of constant change and alteration in land-level; -and the incident is worth recording, if only to -shew how the observation of the apparently -trifling labours of shell-fish serves to substantiate -a grave and important chapter in the history of the -earth.</p> - -<p>The statistics of wrecks and of the amount of -human property which have fallen a prey to the -'sounding main' may thus be shewn to be not -only paralleled but vastly exceeded in importance -and extent by the records of the geologist, when he -endeavours to compute the losses of the land or -the gains of the sea. But on the other hand, the -man of science asks us to reflect on the fact that -the matter stolen from us by the sea is undergoing -a process of redistribution and reconstruction. The -fair acres of which we have been despoiled, will -make their appearance in some other form and -fashion as the land of the future; just indeed as the -present land represents the consolidated sea-spoil -of the past, which by a process of elevation has -been raised from the sea-depths to constitute the -existing order of the earth. Waste and repair are -simply the two sides of the geological medal, and -exist at the poles of a circle of ceaseless natural -change. So that, if it be true that the sea reigns -where the land once rose in all its majesty, as -the Laureate has told us, no less certain is it -that—to conclude with his lines—</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There where the long street roars, hath been<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stillness of the central sea.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Thus the subject of sea-spoil, like many another -scientific study, opens up before us a veritable -chapter of romance, which should possess the -greater charm and interest, because it is so true.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /></div><div> -<h2><a name="THE_ADMIRALS_SECOND_WIFE" id="THE_ADMIRALS_SECOND_WIFE">THE ADMIRAL'S SECOND WIFE.</a></h2> - - -<h3>CHAPTER IV.—LAURA BROUGHT TO TASK.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Admiral says 'good-night' to the last of -his guests; then he turns to his daughter, who is -evidently preparing for a speedy retreat.</p> - -<p>'Don't run away yet, Laura; we keep early -hours at Government House, but it is not very -late yet.'</p> - -<p>Rather reluctantly, Mrs Best obeys. She knows -perfectly well why her father wishes her to remain, -and she shrewdly suspects what subject of -conversation he is likely to introduce. Now that -she has had her triumph, by carrying out a -pet plan with regard to Katie, that very success -makes her uneasy, for she knows she will be called -to account. However, she resolves to be brave, -and at once leads the way to the music-room. The -servants have already put out most of the lights, -but here the wax-candles are throwing lustre -over scattered music and deserted seats. Laura -gathers up some of the songs, wondering when her -father will begin, and how the attack will open. -She knows it is coming, for he is restlessly pacing -to and fro the room with that quarter-deck march -of his, that betokens an uneasy mind.</p> - -<p>'Why were the Greys not here this evening, -Laura?'</p> - -<p>She smooths out the leaves of an Italian duet, -lays it on the music-stand, and replies with apparent -indifference: 'Because they were not invited, -papa.'</p> - -<p>'Why not? I gave you the list, and I'm certain -their names were down. Why did you omit -them?'</p> - -<p>'Is it always necessary to invite the same people -over and over again? The Greys have been at -every party that has taken place since I came here -to stay.'</p> - -<p>'Had you any <i>particular</i> reason for leaving -them out, Laura?' asks the Admiral, turning -round quickly, as he notes his daughter's slightly -scornful tone of voice.</p> - -<p>For a moment Mrs Best is undecided. Perhaps -a slight meaningless excuse will do. But only -for a passing second does she think thus. Her -frank loyal nature asserts itself, and she says in -a quick earnest manner, with her eyes a little -lowered, her cheeks a little flushed: 'I had a -good reason, papa. Kate Grey makes herself far -too much at home here. One would imagine she -has some special privilege in this house.'</p> - -<p>'Well, and I am always glad to see her.'</p> - -<p>'She knows that, and presumes on the knowledge. -People seeing her so much at home at -Government House, are beginning to talk in a -most unpleasant manner.'</p> - -<p>'What do they say, Laura?'</p> - -<p>'They say you mean to make her your second -wife. O papa, surely, <i>surely</i> you will never do -that! A girl so selfish, so ambitious, so fond of -admiration, so, so'——</p> - -<p>'Stop, Laura! The category of faults you lay -to poor Katie's charge is surely long enough. So -people say I mean to make her my second wife, -do they?'</p> - -<p>A flush passes over the Admiral's face, and -mounts to his brow. A quick throb rises at his -heart, as for the first time he hears Katie's name -coupled with his own. Till this moment, his -thoughts about her have been vague and unsettled. -He admires her very much—more than any other -lady he knows; but the idea of making her an -offer of marriage has never seriously entered his -head. But now, his daughter's very cautions, her -very reports of the world's gossip, shadow forth to -him that a marriage between him and Miss Grey -may not be so very preposterous after all, not -such utter madness as he himself would have -called it a few months ago.</p> - -<p>Laura, seated on a music-stool, her hands clasped -before her, and her eyes fixed on her father's face, -reads its meaning at once; and as a brave, a loving, -and a fearless daughter, she will not shrink from -the duty she believes is required of her now. -'Dear papa,' she exclaims, 'let me entreat you -not to risk your future happiness! Kate Grey -would never make you a good wife. She cares far -too much for herself ever to study the true -interests of any other person.'</p> - -<p>'Why are you so bitter against Miss Grey?'</p> - -<p>'I am not bitter. I only tell the real sad truth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_651" id="Page_651">{651}</a></span> -Don't let her come to rule in your house; don't -let her rob me of my father's love.'</p> - -<p>Sir Herbert draws near his daughter, and looks -tenderly down at her flushed face and moistened -eyes. 'Be reasonable, my child! No one can -ever rob you of my love; but' (here he pauses, -as though hesitating how to word his meaning—adding -composedly enough) 'should I ever -marry Miss Grey or any other lady, you must -not be prejudiced against my choice, Laura. My -marriage can never injure you in the least. -Remember, your poor mother's fortune was all -settled on you before you married Robert Best.'</p> - -<p>'I am not thinking of money, papa. Mere -money considerations do not influence me in the -least.'</p> - -<p>'Possibly not. But let me allude to the subject -once more while we are talking. Robert has left -you mistress of his fine estate. You have duties -and responsibilities that separate you almost -entirely from me now. Is not that the case?'</p> - -<p>'Yes. I wish I could be more with you.'</p> - -<p>'You cannot, Laura, without neglecting your -own interests. Therefore I am at times lonely—very -lonely in the midst of surrounding society -and occupation. My house needs a head. My -heart yearns sometimes for congenial companionship. -Don't grudge me happiness, Laura, if I can -see my way towards gaining it.'</p> - -<p>'I hope and pray every possible happiness may -be yours, papa; but don't look to Katie Grey for -such a thing. She would marry any one to obtain -position and wealth.'</p> - -<p>Sir Herbert turns away, and walks to the end -of the room; but he soon comes back again, and -sees his daughter watching him with eyes that are -misty and tearful.</p> - -<p>'I am thinking of my own precious mother. -Oh, how different she was from this girl! Miss -Grey is all unworthy to take her place.'</p> - -<p>In her earnestness, Mrs Best has risen from the -music-stool, and stands before her father with -great tears coursing down her cheeks. She raises -her clasped hands to him in the most imploring -of all attitudes. The snowy crispy dress with its -white folds gives her a shadowy, almost ghost-like -look; and as her pathetic entreating face turns to -the Admiral, it almost seems to him as though the -soul of her mother is appealing to him through -Laura's eyes. Never has the likeness struck him -so much. It is as though his beloved Bess had -come from the grave to bid him beware.</p> - -<p>The daughter sees the impression she has made, -and like many another, presumes too much on her -success, and goes a step too far. Had she stopped -at this point, perhaps her father would have -given her the promise she requires, that he will -not marry Kate Grey. But Laura wipes away -her tears, and exclaims: 'You are coming round -to my views, papa! You are beginning to see how -unfit this Katie is to be your wife. Miss Grimshaw -quite agrees with me about her true character.'</p> - -<p>Sir Herbert steps back—draws himself up to his -full height. 'And what in the world does Miss -Grimshaw know about the matter?'</p> - -<p>'She has great powers of discernment. Indeed -it was she who first raised my suspicions, and set -me to watch Katie's manœuvres.'</p> - - - -<p>'Very kind of her! I ought to be particularly -grateful for her surveillance!'</p> - -<p>A cloud gathers on the Admiral's brow; but -Laura, unwarned, goes on: 'Adelaide Grimshaw is -<i>all</i> kindness. O papa, I wish you would fix on -<i>her</i>! She would fill the position of mistress to -your household with tact and taste, and would -make you an excellent wife.'</p> - -<p>'Thank you for your suggestion, Laura; but be -assured if ever I do marry, Miss Grimshaw will -not be my choice.'</p> - -<p>He shudders as memory recalls to his mind -the lank figure of the very elderly lady his -daughter commends to his notice. He recalls the -faded face, the thin wiry curls, the lymphatic eyes, -the bleating plausible voice, with which, in the -calmest manner, she is wont to gossip over the -frailties of her neighbours, and pass hard judgments -on those who are younger and more attractive -than herself. Then his thoughts revert to -Katherine Grey. Whatever her faults may be, -fortunately they are all the very opposite of Miss -Grimshaw's: mind and body are altogether formed -in a very different mould. After this, the conversation -comes to a close, and father and daughter -separate—she to lament over the Admiral's infatuation; -he to wander for an hour or two more through -the dimly lighted empty suite of rooms.</p> - -<p>Laura's words have moved him strangely. His -pulse quickens as he remembers that what has -been to him a half-formed purpose, a whispered -secret, is already the town's talk, and that everybody -is watching to see what will come next.</p> - -<p>Has Katie herself heard of these reports, and -begun to trace out the shadow of possible coming -events? Would she be very much surprised if he -tried to give these airy rumours a solid foundation?</p> - -<p>Such is the train of thought which floats through -Sir Herbert's mind long after the great house is -closed for the night, and left apparently to sleep -and silence. He hears the measured tramp of the -sentry on the cold damp pavement outside; the -distant sound of the ships' bells in the harbour, as -it is borne in by the wintry blast; and the musical -peals from the church steeples that chime the small -morning hours; but the question still rings its -changes in his mind and finds no satisfactory -answer.</p> - - -<h3>CHAPTER V.—THE QUESTION ANSWERED.</h3> - -<p>The next morning Katie takes up her position -at her father's writing-table. She has a letter to -answer—a very confidential one from her friend -and confidant, Liddy Delmere—and she feels -bound to return confidence for confidence. Ere -the epistle is finished, she starts up and thrusts -it into her desk. Her eyes have been constantly -wandering from the paper to the cold -slippery streets, where people are jostling against -each other as they make their way through the -showers of falling sleet and gusts of rough wind. -Surely no one would venture out except in a case -of absolute necessity; yet the girl evidently expects -<i>some one</i>; and by the rapid closing of her -desk, no doubt the 'somebody' is in sight.</p> - -<p>A tall upright figure may be observed emerging -from the crowds of passers-by; an officer, by the -gold buttons on his rough outside coat. Guiding -his umbrella skilfully, Sir Herbert walks quickly -on, and soon Katie hears his well-known knock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_652" id="Page_652">{652}</a></span> -at the door, and his well-known step in the hall, -as he takes his way to her father's library downstairs.</p> - -<p>'He will come up here presently with some -apology to me, or I'm much mistaken,' muses -Kate, as she takes a swift look at herself in the -glass; and ere long the door is thrown open, and -Sir Herbert Dillworth announced. He glances -quickly round the room, and this is what he sees: -a pretty, well-harmonised interior, a blending of -soft warm colours, and a blazing fire in the grate, -that reflects itself in the polished steel surrounding -it. And Kate Grey, the brightest point of the -whole scene, is sitting beside the writing-table, -and looking up with a smile to greet him. She -wears a morning dress of ruby Cashmere, and a -single knot of the same colour in the thick rolls of -her dark hair. There is not a shadow of resentment -in those lustrous eyes as she holds out -her hand, frankly and pleasantly, to her visitor. -Feeling perfectly self-possessed herself, she owns -to a degree of satisfaction as she notices how -disturbed Sir Herbert looks. The fact is his -daughter's words are still ringing in his memory—'People -say you mean to make her your second -wife'—and he is wondering what Katie herself -would say on such a subject. Will she ignore the -dreary barrier of years that lies between them? -Will she forget that he has gone some distance -farther on in life's journey, while she is in the -very prime and flush of girlhood? These thoughts -flash through his mind, and make him appear -nervous and absent as he begins to talk about last -night's party. But his mind is made up.</p> - -<p>'We missed <i>you</i>, Miss Grey. Will you pardon -us that you had no invitation? My daughter is -not much accustomed to sending them out.'</p> - -<p>'Please, don't mention it, Sir Herbert. I am -very glad to go to Government House when I'm -wanted there; but one cannot always be invited, -you know.'</p> - -<p>'But I like you always to come. The omission -shall not happen again. We had a wretchedly -stupid gathering. Spare me similar disappointments -in future, Miss Grey, by—by taking the right of -arranging these matters into your own hands.'</p> - -<p>The girl looks up inquiringly. Nothing can be -more unsuspecting and guileless than the questioning -eyes that meet Sir Herbert's.</p> - -<p>'Will you <i>take</i> the right, Katie? My life has -grown strangely desolate and lonely of late; will -you cheer it with your presence? In short, will -you be my wife?'</p> - -<p>The question is asked now, eagerly and impassion'dly, -and Miss Grey's eyes droop under the -Admiral's gaze. This vision has been dazzling her -mind so long; she has dreamt of it, thought of it; -and now the offer of marriage has really come! -Though the triumph is making her heart throb, -she can hardly tell whether she is glad or -sorry. But she does not draw back. For the -treasure of Sir Herbert's loyal affection, for his -true earnest love, she will give in exchange her -youth and beauty. She thinks the bargain a fair -one, and wonders can anything more be required.</p> - -<p>When Sir Herbert leaves his affianced wife, he -goes down to her father, to tell him of what he -calls his 'good fortune.'</p> - -<p>'Yes; and mamma and Helen shall hear all -about it from me. Won't they be surprised!' adds -the young lady with a short low laugh, as the -Admiral goes out of the room. She hears him -close the library door, and then says to herself -with another little spasmodic laugh: 'Every one -will be surprised, as I am myself, to think how -quickly it has all come about. Last evening I was -excluded from Government House, and now I -have promised to rule and reign there. Which -has conquered—Laura Best or I?'</p> - - -<h3>CHAPTER VI.—FAMILY COUNSEL.</h3> - -<p>Mr Grey's library is a curious little room, fitted -up quite in his own way. Maps cover the sides -of the walls, and a large bookcase holds the -books, which are mostly nautical. Models of ships -and steamers are on various shelves, there is an -astrolabe near the window, and a sextant and -some pattern guns on the table. Mr Grey is busy -at the moment with official papers; his nimble -fingers are copying a 'General Memo.' with wonderful -rapidity. Hearing the stately step of his -chief coming along the passage, he naturally supposes -the Admiral has returned to give further -directions about some orders ere long to be -circulated amongst the ships. So he glances up -over his spectacles pen in hand. Great is his -surprise at seeing evident signs of agitation in -Sir Herbert's face, as he says in a low tone: 'Put -aside your papers for an instant, Grey. I want to -consult you on quite another subject. I have come -to ask your consent to my marriage with your -daughter Katie.'</p> - -<p>'Your marriage with my daughter, Sir Herbert!' -and Mr Grey lets a huge drop of ink splash on -his 'General Memo.' in his surprise.</p> - -<p>'You seem astonished, Grey. Have you any -objection to accept me as your son-in-law?'</p> - -<p>'Pardon me, Sir Herbert, pardon my hesitation; -but you startled me for the moment. I am conscious -of the honour you are doing us; but have -you considered how young and inexperienced -Katie is? A mere girl, in fact. She is but little -used to the ways of the world; hardly wise -enough to hold the high position you offer her.'</p> - -<p>The Admiral smiles. 'I will take the risk of all -that. Katie is willing, and I am ready to marry -her just as she is.'</p> - -<p>'Then I give my full sanction.'</p> - -<p>'Wish me joy, Grey. You don't say a word -about that.'</p> - -<p>'I will wish you something better and deeper -than mere joy, Sir Herbert. I pray you may -have true and unmixed happiness with my -daughter. May she prove a wife worthy of you, -and may you never regret your choice.'</p> - -<p>There is a tremble in Mr Grey's voice as he -grasps the Admiral's hand and ratifies the new -bond sprung up so suddenly between them; and -he looks thoughtfully after Sir Herbert as he -leaves the room. Surely women are fickle, and -his daughter Katie the most fickle of her sex!</p> - -<p>Only two months ago, Walter Reeves had come -into that very same room on the very same kind -of mission. The same, but with a difference. He -has not actually proposed for Katie, but had asked -permission to visit at the house with that intention, -in the event of his love being reciprocated. And -Katie knows all this, and up to the present has -received Walter's attentions, and seemed to take -them as her right. But now all this is set aside, -and a man nearly as old as her father himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_653" id="Page_653">{653}</a></span> -has stepped in and won the girl as a willing -prize. Well may the old sailor marvel! Things -have changed since the days 'long ago,' when -<i>he</i> wooed his wife, and waited nine long years -for her because he could not afford to marry -sooner. His true old-fashioned love has but -intensified as years have sped on; the trials of life -have but drawn the wedded pair closer to each -other. Will this be the experience of Katie and -the Admiral?'</p> - -<p>Worthy Mr Grey cannot settle that point; so -he goes up-stairs to hear what Katie herself has to -say on the subject.</p> - -<p>Miss Grey lingers in the drawing-room after -the Admiral has gone. There seems something -strangely sad and vague and solemn in the whole -affair, now it has gone so far; and when her -mother comes into the room with Helen leaning -on her arm, she exclaims at once, with glowing -cheeks and flashing eyes and defiant tone: 'Wish -me joy, mother, and Helen! I am going to be -married!'</p> - -<p>'I'm glad it is settled at last, Katie; and I hope -you will be very happy. Walter has had plenty of -patience, I'm sure,' says Mrs Grey in her quiet -voice, as she settles Helen comfortably on the sofa -and turns round to give Katie a kiss of congratulation.</p> - -<p>But her daughter draws back with a look of -annoyance.</p> - -<p>'Why do you talk of Walter? I am not going -to marry <i>him</i>. My intended husband's name -stands far higher in the Navy List. I'm going to -be married to Admiral Sir Herbert Dillworth!'</p> - -<p>'Sir Herbert!' exclaim Helen and her mother -together.</p> - -<p>'Yes. Why are you surprised?'</p> - -<p>'I'm sure we've good reason for surprise, considering -all that has gone on about Walter. Katie, -Katie! what new fancy has hold of you now?' -The voice is Mrs Grey's, the tone one of reproach.</p> - -<p>Katie is growing angry. 'The fancy is no new -one, mother. Had you not all been very blind, -you might have guessed what was coming long -ago.'</p> - -<p>'Do you really love Sir Herbert?' asks Helen, -with that deep-seeing look of hers, that somehow -always makes her elder sister a little in awe of -her.</p> - -<p>'I like him; the rest will come by-and-by; and -I'm glad and proud of my lot.'</p> - -<p>There is a ring in Katie's voice, as though she -has flung down the gauntlet of self-approval, and -challenges any one to take it up and contradict -her. Her father is not the one to do this. He -comes into the room at the moment, hears Katie's -asseveration, and feels as if a world of doubt had -rolled away from his mind. Considering his own -word 'his bond,' he judges his daughter by the -same standard. 'That's right, Katie, and sounds -earnest. You may well be proud of your lot, and -of Sir Herbert too: there isn't a better, braver, -more honourable man alive; he's unselfish and -high-principled to his heart's core. I've served -three commissions under him, and ought to know -him well; and I'd rather see a child of mine -lying in her grave, than that she should bring -discredit on his name. Kiss me, my girl! I wish -you happiness. Well may you be proud of our -Admiral!'</p> - - - -<p>Katie receives the kiss just a little impatiently; -she believes she has won 'high stakes,' and does -not relish any doubts on the subject.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /></div><div> -<h2><a name="THE_CROCODILE_AND_GAVIAL" id="THE_CROCODILE_AND_GAVIAL">THE CROCODILE AND GAVIAL.</a></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Two</span> species of crocodile inhabit our Indian rivers, -and both are especially numerous in such streams -as the Ganges and its tributaries, the Berhampooter, -and many others. Sir Emerson Tennent, -in his <i>Natural History of Ceylon</i>, points out an -error which Anglo-Indians and others are often -given to—namely, of applying the term <i>alligator</i> -to animals which are in reality <i>crocodiles</i>. There -are no alligators in the Indian peninsula. The -true alligator is the hideous cayman of South -America, and differs in one or two important -respects from the crocodile of the Nile and Ganges.</p> - -<p>The first and by far the most widely distributed -of the two saurians inhabiting our Indian rivers -is the common crocodile, exactly similar to the -animal frequenting the Nile and other streams -of Northern Africa, and known throughout Bengal -by its Hindustani title of 'Mugger.' The second -species is the Gavial or Gurryal (<i>Gavialis Gangeticus</i>). -This reptile is, I believe, only found -in Hindustan, and is indigenous to the Ganges; -hence its specific title.</p> - -<p>The habits of the two creatures are in general -very similar, but yet differ in one or two important -points. The mugger often grows to an enormous -size, not unfrequently reaching twenty feet in -length, and is thick built in proportion. The limbs -are short, feet palmated, the fore-feet furnished with -five, the hind with four toes. The head (which in -aspect is extremely hideous) is broad and wedge-shaped, -the muzzle rather narrow, the eyes small, -deep set, and of a villainous glassy green hue. -The jaws when shut lock as closely and firmly -together as a vice. The teeth are of a formidable -description, varying much in size and length. -When the mouth is closed, the tusks in the extremity -of the lower jaw pass completely through and -often project above the tip of the upper. The -body is incased with scaly armour-plates, very -thick and massive on the back, but to a less extent -on the sides of the body. The reptile breathes -through its nostrils, which are situated near the tip -of the snout. By this wonderful provision of -nature, the crocodile is enabled to lie in wait for -its prey with the whole of its body, except the -nostrils, concealed beneath the surface of the -water.</p> - -<p>The gavial much resembles the mugger in -general structure (though the body is not usually -so thickly built), with one notable exception, and -that is the totally different shape and character of -the snout. The jaws of the gavial are long, straight, -and narrow; the teeth, which are regular, wide -apart from one another, and even, are of a far less -formidable description than those of the common -crocodile. They much resemble in general appearance -the rows of jagged teeth which garnish -the edges of the upper jaw of the saw-fish. The -snout is often several feet in length, and there -is a peculiar knob or protuberance at the tip; and -the nostrils, as in the other species, are situated -near the extremity.</p> - -<p>The gavial has been described by some writers -as 'the scourge of the Ganges' and a 'ferocious -animal;' but I venture to say that this is a highly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_654" id="Page_654">{654}</a></span> -exaggerated if not an altogether erroneous statement. -It is possible that occasionally—though I -am convinced <i>very rarely</i>—the gavial may seize a -human being; but the reptile is essentially a fish-eater, -and unlike the mugger, is little to be -dreaded by the swimmer or bather. I have frequently, -when strolling along the banks of our -Indian rivers, observed the head of a gavial momentarily -raised above the surface of the water in -the act of swallowing some large fish held transversely -across its jaws, the long beak and rows of -sharp teeth with which nature has furnished it, -greatly assisting the creature in snapping up such -slippery prey.</p> - -<p>Crocodiles frequent the wide open channels and -reaches of our large Indian rivers, especially in the -neighbourhood of large towns, such as Dinapore, -Allahabad, or Benares. In such resorts, whole -families of both gavials and muggers may be seen -lying together side by side on points of sand or -low mud islands left dry by the current of the -stream; they delight to bask in the scorching rays -of the mid-day sun.</p> - -<p>The animals always lie asleep close to the -margin, and generally with their heads pointing -away from the water. They are extremely watchful; -and on being alarmed by the near approach of -some boat gliding past or human beings walking -along the bank, after contemplating the objects -of their suspicion for a short space of time, they -one after another awkwardly wheel round, and -with a splash and a flounder speedily vanish beneath -the surface of the water, to reappear again so soon -as the cause of their alarm has passed.</p> - -<p>Though hideous and repulsive in appearance, -these reptiles nevertheless fulfil a most useful -office as scavengers. In the neighbourhood of -large towns on the banks of the Ganges, hundreds -of dead bodies are daily cast into the holy river -by the Hindus; and in a tropical climate like -India, were it not for crocodiles, turtles, and -vultures assembling and devouring the corpses, -speedily some dreadful plague would break out -and spread death around.</p> - -<p>Judging from the accounts of travellers, the -crocodiles inhabiting the African continent must -be far more dangerous than their confrères of Asia; -for though we sometimes hear of muggers taking -to man-eating, especially in Lower Bengal and -parts of Assam, yet such practices are not the -rule, as is generally supposed.</p> - -<p>I have, however, seen patches of water near the -foot of ghats or flights of steps fenced round -with a close and strong hedge of bamboo stakes, -driven firmly into the river-bed, for the purpose of -protecting bathers or women drawing water from -the assaults of man-eating crocodiles; and it is a -dangerous practice at all times to bathe in pools -frequented by such monsters. Cows, horses, sheep, -goats, and dogs, besides the numerous wild inhabitants -of the jungle, all form a prey of the mugger. -The cunning animal, well acquainted with some -spot where, towards sunset, flocks and herds, after -the heat of the day has passed, are in the habit of -drinking, there lies in wait concealed amid the sedge -bordering the margin. Presently some unlucky -victim in the shape of a poor bullock parched with -thirst, comes hurrying down the bank and eagerly -approaches the water; but hardly has its mouth -reached the surface, when the blood-thirsty crocodile -seizes it by the nose; and if once successful in -securing a firm grip, the chances are, that unless -the herdsman is at hand to render assistance, the -unfortunate bullock, in spite of struggling desperately -to free itself, is soon dragged down on to its -knees, and later beneath the surface of the pool.</p> - -<p>It has been asserted that tigers ere now have been -seized, and after a hard fight, overpowered by the -crocodile. Possibly this may occasionally happen; -but I imagine such an occurrence to be extremely -rare; and my impression is, that such redoubtable -champions, each capable of inflicting severe punishment -on his opponent, would avoid rather than -risk coming to blows.</p> - -<p>It is generally imagined that the plated coat of -mail covering the crocodile's body renders the -animal invulnerable to bullets. Such may have -been the case in the days of brown-bess; but a -spinning conical ball fired from a Martini-Henry -or other grooved weapon of the present day, will -not only readily pierce, but even pass completely -through the body of the largest crocodile.</p> - -<p>It is the extraordinary tenacity of life with -which all the lizard family are endowed, that has -in a great measure given rise to this notion of -their invulnerability; for unless shot through the -head, neck, heart, or such-like vital part, the -crocodile, even when desperately wounded by a -bullet through the body, will almost invariably -gain the water, only shortly afterwards to sink -dead to the bottom, to be devoured by some of its -cannibal relations.</p> - -<p>Near a station where I happened to be quartered -for many years in Central India, there was a large -lake where crocodiles were known yearly to breed. -After some trouble, I procured two mugger's eggs -from some fishermen who frequented the spot. -They were of an oval shape, dirty white colour -and rough surface. The female crocodile about -the month of May, having scraped a hole with -her feet in the sand or mud of some dry island, -deposits her eggs therein, and carefully covers -them up, leaving the heat of the sun to hatch -out her progeny. Meanwhile she hovers about -the spot, till at length the thin layer of sand -covering the eggs upheaves, the young issue forth, -and escorted by the mother, take to their natural -element, the water.</p> - -<p class='right'> -J. H. B. -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -</div><div> - -<h2><a name="SHAMROCK_LEAVES" id="SHAMROCK_LEAVES">SHAMROCK LEAVES.</a></h2> - -<p class='ph3'>A WEDDING.</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">At</span> Irish country weddings of the lower orders, the -priest is paid by voluntary contributions of the -wedding guests. The marriage is generally celebrated -in the evening, and is followed, especially -among the farming classes, by a grand festivity, to -which his "Riverince" is always invited. After -supper, when the hearts of the company are merry -with corned beef and greens, roast goose, ham, and -whisky-punch, the hat goes round.</p> - -<p>Honor Malone was the prettiest girl in the -barony; and a lucky boy on his marriage day was -the bridegroom; albeit on the occasion he looked -very ill at ease in a stiff, shiny, brand-new, tight-fitting -suit of wedding clothes. Lucky, for in -addition to her good looks, the bride had fifty -pounds to her fortune and three fine cows.</p> - -<p>Very pretty and modest she looked seated beside -the priest, blushing a great deal, and wincing not -a little at his Reverence's somewhat broad jokes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_655" id="Page_655">{655}</a></span> -And most becoming was the 'white frock' in -which she was attired; a many-skirted garment, -resplendent with 'bow-knots' and trimmings of -white satin ribbons.</p> - -<p>'As good as new,' my lady's-maid at the Castle, -from whom she had bought it, had assured her. -'Made by the grandest French dressmaker in all -London, and worn at only a couple of balls; her -young ladies were so cruel particular, and couldn't -abide the suspicion of a crush or a soil on their -gowns.'</p> - -<p>In the midst of his jokes and his jollity (and -with an eye to future dues, nowhere is a priest -half so good-humoured as at a wedding), while -apparently absorbed in attention to the pretty -bride, whose health had just been drunk in a -steaming tumbler, Father Murphy perceived with -his business eye that preparations were being made -for sending round the plate in his behalf.</p> - -<p>The stir began at the end of the table where the -'sthrong farmers' mustered thickest. A goodly -set they were, in their large heavy greatcoats of -substantial frieze, corduroy knee-breeches, and -bright blue stockings; their comely dames wearing -the capacious blue or scarlet cloth cloak with silk-lined -hood, which, like the greatcoat of the men, -is an indispensable article in the gala toilet of -their class, even in the dog-days.</p> - -<p>In the midst of the group was Jim Ryan. -Now this Jim Ryan was the sworn friend and -adherent of Father Murphy; he would have gone -through fire and water to serve his Reverence. He -was rather a small man in the parish as regarded -worldly goods, having neither snug holding nor -dairy farm; but he was highly popular, being considered -a 'dhroll boy' and good company.</p> - -<p>When the proceedings of this devoted follower -met the priest's business eye before alluded to, -they caused considerable surprise to that intelligent -organ, insomuch as greatly to damage a very -pretty compliment his Reverence was in the act of -making to the bride.</p> - -<p>First Jim Ryan took hold of the collecting plate, -and seemed about to carry it round. Then, as if -suddenly recollecting himself, he stopped short, -and dashed it down on the table with a clatter and -a bang that made Mrs Malone wince, for it was -one of her best china set.</p> - -<p>Jim's next proceeding was to try all his pockets. -He dived into his waistcoat, breeches, and swallow-tailed -coat receptacles, one after another, but without -finding what he wanted. At last, after much -hunting and shaking, and many grimaces of disappointment, -he pounced on the object of his -search, and drew carefully from some unknown -depths a large tattered leather pocket-book.</p> - -<p>By this time every one's attention was fixed upon -him. Deliberately he opened the book, and peering -inside—having first ascertained by a covert -glance around that the company were observing—he -extracted from it a bank-note. This, when -unfolded, he spread out and flattened ostentatiously -on the table, so that all who looked might read -'Ten Pounds' inscribed upon it!</p> - -<p>A flutter of astonishment ran through the guests, -not unmixed with signs of dismay among the richer -portion. Fat pocket-books that a few moments -before were being pompously produced by their -owners, were stealthily thrust back again. A -sudden pause was followed by a great whispering -and consulting among the farmers. Anxious and -meaning looks were bestowed on the latter by -their wives, to say nothing of expressive nudges, -and digs into conjugal ribs where practicable. -For there was always much rivalry in these -offerings. Misther Hennessy, who drove his family -to mass every Sunday in his own jaunting car, -would scorn to give less than Misther Welsh; -though <i>he</i> too was a 'warm' man, and always got -top price for his butter at Limerick market. And -now to be outdone by Jim Ryan! To proffer his -Reverence five pounds, when the likes of him -was giving ten! It was not to be thought of! -So the result, after Jim had deposited his note -with a complacent flourish on the plate, and had -gone his rounds with the latter, was the largest -collection that had ever gladdened the heart or -filled the pockets of Father Murphy.</p> - -<p>As the priest was leaving the place, Jim came -up to him and laid his hand on the horse's bridle: -'A good turn I done yer Riverince this night, didn't -I? Such a mort of notes an' silver an' coppers -I niver laid eyes on! I thought the plate would -be bruk in two halves with the weight. An' now'—in -a whisper, and looking round to see there was -no one listening—'where's my tin pound note -back for me?'</p> - -<p>'Your ten pound note, man! What do you mean -by asking for it? Is it to give you back part of -my dues, you want?</p> - -<p>'Ah then now, Father Murphy dear, sure an' -sure you niver was so innocent as to think that -blessed note was mine! Where upon the face of -the living earth would a poor boy like me get -such a sight of money as that? Tin pounds! I -borryed it, yer Riverince, for a schame; an' a -mighty good an' profitable schame it's turned out. -Sure I knew the sight of it would draw the coin -out of all their pockets; an' by the powers! so it -did.' A fact his Reverence could not deny, while—not -without interest—he refunded Jim's ingenious -decoy-duck.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /></div><div> -<h2><a name="THE_ITALIAN_GRIST-TAX" id="THE_ITALIAN_GRIST-TAX">THE ITALIAN GRIST-TAX.</a></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> our own favoured realms millers have their -troubles, no doubt, as well as other folk, but at -anyrate they are not tormented with a <i>grist-tax</i>; -and indeed in these enlightened days we should -have thought that such an impost was unknown -in all countries claiming to have attained a high -degree of civilisation. Mr Edward Herries, C.B., -late Her Majesty's Secretary of Legation at Rome, -in the course of his elaborate Report on the Financial -System of Italy, has, however, shewn us our -mistake; and in tracing the history and present -position of the tax, he furnishes us with some -curious particulars respecting it.</p> - -<p>As our readers will doubtless be struck with -the anomaly of a powerful government having -recourse nowadays to indirect taxation to augment -its revenue, it may be well at the outset to cite a -brief paragraph from Mr Herries' Report, in order -to shew how it happened that the grist-tax came -to be reimposed upon the people of Italy.</p> - -<p>Towards the close of the year 1865, he writes, -M. Sella, then Minister of Finance, having to meet -a deficit estimated for 1866 at upwards of two -hundred and sixty-one million lire (say ten million<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_656" id="Page_656">{656}</a></span> -four hundred and fifty thousand pounds), and -being compelled, he said, to have recourse to indirect -taxation for a large increase of revenue, -urged upon the Chamber of Deputies the revival -of the grist-tax, which he considered as fulfilling -more completely than any other new impost that -could be found the essential conditions of great -productiveness, wide diffusion, and equal pressure -on all parts of the kingdom.</p> - -<p>The impost seems to have made its first appearance -in Sicily, where it was a source of revenue -during the Norman period, and there, no one was -allowed to carry corn to be ground without first -obtaining, after much delay, a permit, for which -he had to pay the duty chargeable on the grinding -of the corn. The attestation of the officer in -charge of the mill was requisite for the removal of -the flour, for which a certain route was prescribed, -and which was always to be accompanied by the -permit. The miller was not even allowed to keep -the key of his own mill, and was prohibited from -grinding corn between sunset and sunrise. The -wants of the population, however, sometimes made -it necessary to relax this rule; and in such cases the -miller (whose family was never to remain in the -mill with him) was securely locked and barred in -for the night, without any means of communicating -with the outer world, whatever might happen. This -treatment, however, was at length seen to be cruel; -and permission was granted to any miller exposed -to imminent peril from fire, flood, or other calamity, -to free himself from nocturnal incarceration -by breaking (if he could) through the door, window, -or roof. It does not seem to have been foreseen, -Mr Herries aptly remarks, that such a gracious -concession might be rendered nugatory by the -strength of the barriers or the feebleness of the -miller!</p> - -<p>Up to 1842, the millers themselves were -considered as responsible fiscal agents; but after -that time, the supervision of every mill was intrusted -to an official called a 'weigher' (<i>custode -pesatore</i>); but not being usually a very faithful -guardian, bribery soon became rampant. In the -Ecclesiastical State, where the tax was farmed -out to contractors, the mode of its exaction was in -many respects similar to that existing in Sicily. -By an edict of 1801, which deserves notice -as a legislative curiosity, a miller was liable to -be sent to the galleys, besides paying a heavy -fine, for a variety of offences—such as that of -grinding corn not regularly consigned to him in -the manner prescribed; of receiving corn or sending -out flour at night; and others of similar -enormity. In the district of the Agro Romano, -all bread had to be stamped; and the absence -of the proper stamp exposed the guilty baker -to a fine of one hundred scudi and corporal -punishment, or even to slavery in the galleys. -The inhabitants of this district were only allowed -to use bread baked within it, and they might -be compelled to declare where they got their -bread.</p> - -<p>Though the tax was temporarily abolished in its -last strongholds in the year 1860, it was subsequently -revived, until all the statutes relating to -the subject were finally consolidated in 1874. -The tax, which must now be paid to the miller -at the time of grinding, is charged at the rate -of two lire (of about tenpence each) per hundred -kilograms on wheat; and one lira on maize, rye, -oats, and barley. The miller pays periodically -to the collector of taxes a corresponding fixed -charge for every hundred revolutions of the -millstone, to be ascertained by an instrument -called <i>contatore</i>, which is affixed to the shaft at -the cost of the government. The amount of -this charge is determined for every mill according -to the quality and force of the machinery and -the mode of grinding. The miller may refuse the -rate as first calculated; in which case the revenue -authorities have the power to employ an instrument -which will record the weight or volume of -the corn ground; or of collecting the tax directly -by their own officers, or of farming the tax. Should -they not think fit to exercise such powers, the rate -is determined by experts. The impost, it is perhaps -hardly necessary to say, is an eminently -unpopular one, and was only consented to under -the pressure of extreme necessity.</p> - -<p>The great difficulty in the way of the smooth -working of the grist-tax was the impossibility of -procuring the mechanical means of control contemplated -by the law; and in point of fact, when -it came into operation no effective instrument was -in existence. By the end of August 1871, however, -matters had changed, and no fewer than 78,250 -registering instruments were supplied, and by 1874 -the greater number of these <i>contatori</i> were in active -operation. The <i>contatore</i>, however, does not give -universal satisfaction; and Mr Herries thinks that -what is wanted to remove doubts as to fair treatment, -is some instrument capable of recording the -weight or the quantity of wheat ground. Best of -all would be the abolition of the grist-tax; but in -a country where the mass of the people consume -no articles of luxury which can be taxed by revenue -officers, and also from whom no direct impost -could be exacted, the continuation of the grist-tax -seems to be an absolute necessity.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /></div><div> -<h2><a name="SWEET_LOVE_AND_I" id="SWEET_LOVE_AND_I">SWEET LOVE AND I.</a></h2> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sweet</span> Love and I have strangers been<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These many years,<br /></span> -<span class="i18">So many years.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He came to me when Life was green<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And free from fears,<br /></span> -<span class="i18">These present fears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He came, and for a little space<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My life was gladdened by his grace;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But soon he fled, and joy gave place<br /></span> -<span class="i18">To grief and tears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">'O Love, come to me once again!'<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My lone heart sighs,<br /></span> -<span class="i18">So sadly sighs.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">'Recall thy fearless nature, then,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweet Love replies,<br /></span> -<span class="i18">Softly replies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">'Thou canst not? Then I cannot be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The same that once I was to thee.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There's no room in the heart for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i18">Where fears arise.'<br /></span> -</div> - -<p class='right'> -A. C. S. -</p></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class='center'>Printed and Published by <span class="smcap">W. & R. Chambers</span>, 47 Paternoster -Row, <span class="smcap">London</span>, and 339 High Street, <span class="smcap">Edinburgh</span>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class='center'><i>All Rights Reserved.</i></p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular -Literature, Science, and Art, No. 720, October 13, 1877, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL, OCT 13, 1877 *** - -***** This file should be named 50183-h.htm or 50183-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/1/8/50183/ - -Produced by Susan Skinner 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 print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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