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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2881e1d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63247 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63247) diff --git a/old/63247-0.txt b/old/63247-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 994355f..0000000 --- a/old/63247-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2228 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, -Science, and Art, No. 748, April 27, 1878, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 748, April 27, 1878 - -Author: Various - -Editor: William Chambers - Robert Chambers - -Release Date: September 20, 2020 [EBook #63247] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL *** - - - - -Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -[Illustration: CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL - -OF - -POPULAR - -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. - -Fourth Series - -CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. - -NO. 748. SATURDAY, APRIL 27, 1878. PRICE 1½_d._] - - - - -OUR CANAL POPULATION. - - -As much interest has latterly been roused concerning the population -habitually living in the English canal traffic boats, we offer the -following particulars on the subject from the personal observation of a -correspondent. His narrative is as follows: - -After allowing one or two barges to pass, the occupants of which seemed -to be surly ill-favoured folks, one at length came in sight which -answered our purpose, and we shall begin with it. - -A cleanly dressed woman looked up at us with a pleasant smile upon her -face as we bade her ‘good-day,’ her husband at the same time answering -our salutation heartily. Whilst waiting for the lock to fill he came -to our side and volunteered some sensible remarks on the great saving -of water effected by the use of the side-pound system, which led to a -conversation between us, and eventually to an invitation to step on -board and go with them as far as Brentford. Accordingly we stepped on -board; but at first had some little difficulty in bestowing our person -out of the way of the long tiller, which swept completely over the -available standing-room in rear of the cabin door, and momentarily -threatened to force us overboard. - -When at length we were well under way, and the man had relieved his -wife at the helm, she invited us to inspect the interior of their -cabin, apologising for its unfurnished state as compared with other -cabins, on the ground that she did not habitually accompany her husband -on his voyages, preferring to stay at home, when possible, to keep -the house in order. With no little pride, however, she pointed out -the usual arrangement of cupboards, lockers, shelves, hooks, &c., by -which the limited space of nine feet by six was made to contain the -utensils and necessaries for the use of a whole family. As was natural -to a good housewife, she dilated mostly upon the cooking capabilities -of a wonderfully small fire-place, erected close by the doorway, at -which, she averred, she could cook as readily as at home. We looked -sharply round for the sleeping accommodation, but failing to discover -anything resembling a bedstead—other than the tops of the lockers -placed round two sides of the cabin, and which we calculated could not -possibly accommodate more than three persons—were considerably puzzled -to understand how such families as we had seen on the other boats were -disposed of at night. The roof was not high enough to admit of hammocks -being slung; nor was the space between the lockers sufficient to -allow of a bed being made up on the floor. Unable to solve the puzzle -ourselves, we suggested that surely, where there was a family of five -or six children, they did not all sleep in the cabin. - -‘Indeed, but they do,’ replied our hostess. ‘And this is how they -manage. The father and mother with the youngest baby sleep at the end -there, with maybe the next youngest at their feet; then a couple of the -children at this side; and another, or two, under here.’ - -‘Under here’ being the space beneath the father’s bed, a very kennel, -closed on all sides except a portion of the front corresponding to the -width of the floor—about three feet. That children even could sleep -in so confined a space without suffering permanently in health seems -contrary to all natural laws; but as a matter of fact, bargemen and -their families appear to be remarkably healthy. Expressing our surprise -that any person could possibly sleep in so cramped a space, our -informant continued: ‘Bless you! that’s nothing. When there’s a butty, -he sleeps as best he can on the floor.’ - -‘And pray, what is a butty?’ we inquire. - -‘Well, you see, by rights there must be two able-bodied people on board -every boat, besides a lad or a lass to take turn about at driving. -Generally it’s the man’s wife. But sometimes it happens as she’s sick -or what not; and then they have to get a growing lad of sixteen or -seventeen to butty with them for a voyage or two; and then of course he -lives and sleeps on the boat along with the family. Not as you must run -away with the idea that we all of us live entirely in the boats, as a -good many of us have as good homes on shore as you’d wish to put foot -in. But on the other hand, there’s as many more who don’t sleep out of -the boat once a year, and hardly know what the inside of a house is -like. - -‘Do I mean to say that children are born in these cabins? Indeed I -do, sir. What is more, many’s the child that is not only born on -board but _dies_ on board too; for as I told you, there’s many that -have no other home than the boat, and no friends but what are boatmen -too. So what _are_ they to do? with their husbands a-travelling all -over the country; Birmingham one week, and Brentford here maybe, the -next. Plenty of ’em indeed have got so used to the boats it would be -downright cruel if they were to be compelled to live in a house ashore -like decent people; because, you see, everything’s so different, and -they’ve become so used to making shift in little room, that they’d be -regularly lost in a house. - -‘How do they get on when they’re sick? Well, you see, it’s mostly a -town that we tie up at, at night, and there’s generally a doctor to -be found, however late it may be; and they get medicine that way. I -once lost a little girl on board. She was taken a little queer on the -Sunday night before we were to start on this very same voyage on the -Monday morning. It so happened that the master couldn’t get a butty, -and so we’d arranged as I should come down with him; though of course -we never dreamt as there was anything serious the matter with little -Polly, or I wouldn’t have stirred with her. All day Monday and Tuesday -the child got so much worse, that when we tied up at night I made the -master take her to a doctor and get some medicine for her. Of course we -were obliged to go on the next day, with little Polly getting worse and -worse every hour, so that at night we were afraid to take her on shore, -and had to pay a doctor to come on board and see her. I hardly liked -the thought of going on the next day; but we were on a time voyage, by -which the master was bound to be in Brentford on a certain day, and so -we had to go on. But before night little Polly died. All that evening -my master tried to get somebody to take his boat on; but it was a busy -time just then, and there wasn’t a boatman to be got for love or money. -We had some thoughts of going on ourselves; but almost as soon as it -was daylight the next morning a policeman came on board and stopped -us, saying, as no doctor had attended the child, there’d have to be -an inquest. It was no use me a-shewing him the medicine bottles, and -saying as two doctors had seen her; he wouldn’t believe us. Nor it -wasn’t till two days afterwards, after my master had been to the last -doctor and got him to give him a letter to the coroner, that we could -get leave to bury the child; which we did, with not a soul belonging to -her following her except my husband in his working clothes, I myself -being too poorly to keep the poor man company in seeing the last of her. - -‘As for children being born in the cabins, sir, I know several women -who have had large families all born on board the boat while it was -making its voyage, with perhaps nobody at all to attend on them except -their husband, or some woman from another boat which chanced to be -working mates with them. - -‘Both my lads can read and write; but there’s nine out of ten as you -see on the boats can’t tell “A” from a bull’s foot, and on that account -the new Act is sure to do good. But my husband can tell you more about -that than I can, and he’ll have done for a mile or two when we get -through this next lock.’ - -‘None such easy work after all—is it, sir?’ inquired the husband, as -after passing through several locks all within a few score paces of -each other, at every one of which he had been very hard at work opening -and closing sluices, he stepped on board the barge and took the helm -from his wife. ‘There is them as thinks we bargees have nought to do -all day except lean our arms on the tiller, smoke our pipes, and chaff -anybody we come across. But you can see for yourself, sir, as we have -all our work at times.’ - -Having expressed our conviction that on that point he was right, we -requested him to enlighten us on several matters connected with his -particular class, which he willingly did somewhat as follows. - -‘About our earnings? Well, I suppose we can’t grumble as times go. -Take it all the year round, one week with another, I and the lads earn -perhaps a couple of pounds. We get paid mostly by the voyage—so much -a ton from one place to another; and if we could only get loaded up -as soon as we emptied, we shouldn’t make a bad thing of it; but the -worst of it is the waiting about for a load when one voyage is finished -before we can start on another. The boats the master finds; but the -horse is my own; and out of what I make I have to feed him, which must -be on the best of corn and hay that can be got for money; otherwise, -he’d never be able to get through the tramp, tramp, for five-and-twenty -or thirty miles—sometimes more—which he has to do day after day, -wet and fine. Look at that corn, sir! Better you won’t find in any -gentleman’s stable, I’ll warrant. And I find that in the long-run it -comes the cheapest, for where those as feeds their horses on anything, -wear out two or three, I don’t use up one. Of course we don’t walk the -whole day through, alongside the horse; but we take it turn about, five -or six miles at a spell; though sometimes when we are working quick -voyages, night and day that is—owners finding relays of horses—we have -regular hours to drive, like watches on board ship; but there ain’t -much of that kind of work now. Our day’s work is mostly over by dark, -sometimes sooner, sometimes later, all depending on the place we choose -to tie up at, or the time we have to wait to pass the locks. - -‘Do I think that railways will do away with canals in time? No, sir; -I don’t. Because, you see, there’s lots of goods as don’t well bear -the packing and unpacking as is necessary for railway travelling, as -can be put straight on board a barge and never be shaken even, till -they are unloaded just at the very place where they are wanted. And -lots of other goods there are that _we_ can carry cheaper than the -railway, where a day or two more on the road don’t matter. Besides -which, there’s plenty of brickfields, collieries, ironworks, and such -like just on the canal banks and some distance from railroads, that -will always use barges to save the expense of carting; so that I don’t -think canals will go out of fashion yet awhile. And that’s why I’m -glad to hear as they’re passing an Act to do something for the poor -children. You see it’s just this way, sir: our people as a rule don’t -know how to read and write themselves, most of ’em having been on the -boats since they could remember, and therefore they don’t see why they -shouldn’t have the advantage of their children’s assistance in working -the barge, the same as _their_ fathers had. - -‘There’s another way in which I think the Act will do good, and that -is this. It will teach our women perhaps to have a little more decency -about them than some of the worst of them have. If you’ll believe me, -sir, I see scenes on the canal sometimes, when some of the worst of -them have been paid, as I can’t bear to look at, though not nearly so -commonly now as I used to. And then again, it doesn’t always follow as -because a man and woman work the same boat that they are married. In -fact, in my opinion it would be a good thing if the lasses were not -allowed on board after they had grown up to be twelve or thirteen, as -it stands to reason that they’re nearly sure to grow up bargewomen. And -after all’s said and done, it’s no fitting life for a woman to lead. As -you’ve seen for yourself, there’s a good deal of hard work attached to -it, even on a fine day like this; but in winter-time it’s simply cruel -to a woman who has a young baby. However, I suppose when our children -are compelled to go to school, as they say this new Act compels them, -there’ll be a stop put to a good deal of what’s wrong about us, and -perhaps folks may not have so good a reason for looking upon us as -something worse than themselves. People seem to think that generally -we are a regular bad lot; but I fancy if they knew a little more about -us, they’d see that, though there _are_ some bad ones amongst us, take -us all in all we are no worse than most of our neighbours. We seem -somehow to have got a name for interfering with people as we chance to -come across; but you may see for yourself, sir, that we have quite as -much as we can do to mind our own business, and a bargeman can no more -afford to neglect his business than anybody else, if he means to do any -good in the world. - -‘What becomes of us when we get old? Well, most of us stick to the -barges as long as we can; and when we are obliged to give up, if we -haven’t put by enough to keep us comfortable, which I’m sorry to say as -there ain’t many of us do, there’s generally a lock to be got or a job -of some sort at the docks; all depending on the sort of character we’ve -kept. - -‘Here we are, sir, at our journey’s end for this time,’ he added, as -the boat slowly floated into a small open basin, there to remain for -the night. The boatman’s wife, being already shawled and armed with -a capacious basket, stepped on shore as soon as the boat came near -enough; and with a cheerful ‘good-night’ to us, went away to do her -marketing before the shops should close. - -Tying up the boat, my bargee friend sent off the boys with the horse -to its stable, and proceeded to gather together and stow away in their -respective lockers the odds and ends which had been in use during the -day; remarking as he did so, that though there were watchmen kept in -every dock, it often happened that the barges were robbed of any loose -things which might be left about, and therefore it was that most of -the boats had a dog on board, who made a better policeman than all the -watchmen. With a last glance round he took from one of the cupboards -a dirty paper, and unfolding it for our inspection, said: ‘There, you -see, reading and writing would be of some use to us after all; for -according to what tonnage is put down there, we get paid. And as you -see, wherever we pay tolls they put down the time we pass, so that if -we get drinking or loitering about for a day the owners know it, and -make up our character according. - -‘Yes; I’m going to sleep on board; but I must go and report our arrival -at the office, and see as the horse is all right first. And as for what -I’ve told you, I’m sure you’re very welcome to know it, especially -if it will only make you believe as if something was done to give -our children a little reading and writing, and to stop so many lads -and lasses being crammed together in the boats, there might be less -respectable people than bargees.’ - -An unclouded moon was shining upon the calm water of the canal and upon -the gaudily painted cabins of some twelve or thirteen barges, which lay -motionless in the basin, displaying no other sign of human habitation -than the thin columns of smoke which issued from their stove-pipes, as -we bade our friend ‘good-night,’ and started on our homeward walk, well -satisfied with the experience we had gained while spending an hour or -two with some of ‘our canal population.’ - - - - -HELENA, LADY HARROGATE. - - -CHAPTER XXIII.—JASPER FEELS PERPLEXED. - -Jasper Denzil, as he slowly made his elaborate toilet on the sunny -September morning which succeeded to the eventful night on which he -had espied from his window Ruth’s slight form gliding across the -lonely park, turned over many things in his mind. His man, who groaned -over the dull monotony of rural existence, and longed to be once -more in Mount Street or Bond Street lodgings, silently opined, as he -applied the ivory-backed brushes to his master’s hair or removed the -silver-gilt stoppers of the scent-bottles, that ‘the captain’ was -brooding over his turf calamities. But he was wrong. Jasper’s reverie -was on a different theme. - -Who or what was this mysterious Miss Willis, this interesting orphan, -whom regard for the mythical major her defunct papa had induced Sir -Sykes to take into the bosom of his family? The conversation which he -had overheard when lurking in the frowsy garden of _The Traveller’s -Rest_ recurred again and again to his memory, and served to explain -much, but not all. That the presence beneath his roof-tree of Ruth -Willis had been imposed upon the baronet by Hold’s importunity, he well -knew. That he had with his own ears heard Hold describe her as his -sister, he well remembered, but he recalled too the sneering tone in -which the adventurer had claimed kindred with the Indian orphan. - -Of one thing alone did Captain Denzil feel sure. Ruth, be her -understanding with Hold what it might, was a lady, and no -blood-relation of the rough rover who claimed to be her brother. Who -then _was_ this Ruth? Again and again Jasper’s thoughts flew back to -the little sister that had died so early, and whose untimely death was -reported to have made the owner of Carbery Chase the morose joyless -recluse that he had long been. Could it be—was it possible that the -child had not died at all, that a false registry, a sham burial, had -thrown dust in credulous eyes, and that the missing member of the -family, hidden for years from all eyes, had at length been introduced -under a fictitious name into the household? - -A profound distrust of their fellow-creatures is usually a cardinal -point of belief with young men of such tastes and habits as those -of Jasper; nor did he find it difficult to accredit Sir Sykes with -concealed villainy of some sort, or Miss Willis with not, as in -sporting language he pithily paraphrased it, ‘running square.’ But -he did desire to find a conceivable motive of some kind; and in the -absence of that was driven to speculations too wild to shape themselves -in rational form. - -‘If the governor had been touched in the head’—thus ran the son’s -dutiful meditations—‘I could have set down the thing as a rich man’s -crazed caprice; but no! he’s as sound as a bell. And then that fellow -the pirate actually bullying him to get this girl foisted upon us! What -imaginable interest can he have in planting her at Carbery Chase, or -what can be the bond of union between a refined dainty little creature -and a buccaneering vagabond of his stamp? The whole affair is a riddle.’ - -It might be added that Jasper was not an adept in the solution of such -social puzzles. Turf rascalities of any sort came quite naturally -within the compass of an understanding well fitted to grasp all that -could be done on the offensive or the defensive where a race-horse was -concerned. He knew as much as an outsider could know regarding touts -and horse-watchers, stable strategy and the tactics of the course. -He no more expected straightforward conduct on the part of an owner -than on that of a trainer or of a jockey. He did not except even those -owners, trainers, and jockeys, whose honesty was proverbial on the -English turf. The money to be won was in his eyes motive sufficient for -any moral obtuseness. But the behaviour of Sir Sykes did not square -itself with any of his ethical theories, however tolerant. - -When, for the very first time since his accident at the steeplechase, -Captain Denzil made his appearance at the family breakfast-table, he -received the congratulations of his sisters on the marked improvement -in his looks. And it was a fact that he not merely seemed but felt in -better health than before, in spite of the loss of sleep incumbent -on his vigil of the previous night. The activity of his thoughts had -stirred his languid pulses and lent a pleasing vigour to his sluggish -mind, and he even began to find existence at Carbery more endurable -since his fancy had been stimulated by the partial discovery which he -had chanced upon. - -‘I should like to have a word with you, Jasper,’ said Sir Sykes. (It -was a very unusual thing for him to say.) ‘You will find me in the -library after breakfast.’ - -Jasper, who had been stealthily admiring the calm unconcern with which -Miss Willis met his gaze, and the perfect steadiness of that young -lady’s nerves, started, but instantly recovered himself. ‘To be sure, -sir,’ he said, toying with his tea-spoon, while his heart quickened its -beating. The enigma was about to be solved then. He could not doubt -that the communication which his father had to make had reference to -the strange doings of which Carbery Chase had of late been the theatre. - -Sir Sykes, in his favourite apartment, was not kept waiting very long. -His only son, in obedience to his father’s invitation, sauntered in -with his customary air of nonchalant indifference, and took his seat -loungingly in an easy-chair opposite to that of Sir Sykes. The baronet -seemed at a loss for words wherewith to begin the announcement he -desired to make. - -‘You are nearly yourself again, Jasper, after your heavy fall?’ said -Sir Sykes, by way of a prelude to the conversation. - -‘Yes; thanks. My arm is a little troublesome, but otherwise I am -getting on capitally,’ replied Jasper after an instant’s hesitation. -He had hesitated in diplomatic doubt as to whether the part of an -invalid would stand him in better stead than that of a flourishing -convalescent, but contented himself with giving an ambiguous answer. -Had Captain Prodgers or any sporting friend put the query, ‘I feel -fit and well’ would have been the appropriate rejoinder; but with his -parent the ex-Lancer did not care to lose any coigne of vantage-ground. - -‘I am glad of it,’ mechanically returned the baronet; and then there -was another pause, more awkward than the last. - -‘My boy,’ said Sir Sykes, plunging with an effort into the subject -nearest to his thoughts, ‘you can’t suppose that I like to see you -wasting your young life in indolent inaction, or that I am blind to the -fact that the quiet humdrum ways of Carbery often pall upon you.’ - -Jasper pricked up his ears. Here was an exordium which promised well, -too well almost. Could it be possible that his father was going to -sign, so to speak, his social ticket-of-leave, and to send him back -where Fashion reigned supreme—to London, Newmarket, Melton? Had the -Fates grown kind; and could he, Jasper Denzil, with a satisfactory bank -balance, once more take his place in the constellation of the gilded -youth of Britain? He opened his lazy eyes a very little wider, and -looked at his father with a renewed interest in the next words that he -should hear. - -‘The case,’ went on Sir Sykes, ‘lies in a nutshell. You are -discontented simply because you have nothing to occupy you and no -one to care for. I should like very much, Jasper, to see you happily -married; I should indeed.’ - -Jasper stared. His roseate visions of a prompt reappearance in -betting-rings and military clubs were fading fast. But this novel -anxiety on the part of Sir Sykes as to his son’s matrimonial future -might be twisted somehow into the foundation of at least a qualified -prosperity. ‘He can’t mean,’ such was Jasper’s inward soliloquy, -‘myself and my wife to be mere pensioners, living indolently here at -Carbery. He must do something for us, he must indeed; unless it is an -heiress he is about to suggest as a desirable daughter-in-law.’—‘I -suppose I must marry, like other people, some of these days,’ said -Jasper, with Pall-Mall philosophy. - -‘And there is this advantage in your position,’ returned Sir Sykes, in -a quick flurried manner, ‘that you need not look for fortune in a wife. -The heir-expectant of Carbery can afford to disregard such matters as -dowry and portion.’ - -A little pink flush rose to the roots of Jasper’s fair hair. He did -not quite enjoy the hearing himself described as heir-expectant, not -feeling sure but that a covert sneer was intended; but it was pleasant -to be told that he was not expected to earn his bread, as he had known -other broken-down men of fashion to do, by wedlock. Perhaps it was -rank, not wealth, on which the governor’s thoughts ran—perhaps Lady -Gladys De Vere. But here Jasper’s meditations were interrupted, and his -thoughts turned into a new channel, when the baronet suddenly said: -‘Has it never occurred to you that Miss Willis, our new inmate here at -Carbery, was a very charming little person, a good girl, and a clever -one, and who would make an excellent wife?’ - -The explosion of a hand-grenade would not have produced a more -startling effect on Jasper’s nerves than did this wholly unexpected -speech on the part of Sir Sykes. For a moment or two he sat -motionless, with arched eyebrows and parted lips, and then said, -stammeringly: ‘Why, I thought the relationship—no, not that, but I -supposed—obstacle—marriage!’ - -It was for Sir Sykes then to look astonished. Either he was a -consummate actor, or his son’s last words had been to him utterly -inexplicable. - -‘I hardly know,’ said the baronet, in that cold half-haughty tone that -had become habitual to him, ‘to what you allude, or what insuperable -stumbling-block you conceive to stand in your way, should you incline -to do so sensible a thing as to pay your addresses to my ward, Miss -Willis. She has, it is true, no fortune; but that deficiency, as I -have already said, is one which I can easily remedy. In addition to -Carbery Chase, which is quite,’ he added with marked emphasis, ‘at my -own disposal, I have a large amount of personal property, and should -be willing to settle a considerable income on your wife—I say on your -wife, Jasper, because, unhappily, I cannot rely on your prudence where -money is concerned.’ - -‘I know I’ve made too strong running, know it well enough,’ answered -the ex-cavalry officer, stroking his yellow moustache; ‘and I don’t -deny, sir, that you have treated me very kindly as to money and that. -But really and seriously, sir, _can_ you wish me to marry Miss Willis?’ - -‘Really, my son, your pertinacity in cross-questioning me on the matter -is—I am sure most unwittingly—almost offensive,’ replied Sir Sykes -nervously. ‘Nor do I see what there would be so very wonderful in -your selection of an amiable and accomplished girl, domiciled in your -father’s house, and the daughter of—poor Willis!’ added the baronet in -conclusion, as though the memory of the deceased major had suddenly -recurred to him with unusual vividness. - -Jasper, who remembered the conversation which he had overheard at _The -Traveller’s Rest_, fairly gasped for breath. His parent’s talent for -duplicity seemed to him to be something strange and shocking, as the -untruthfulness of an elder generation always does appear. - -‘I should not have urged my views upon you as I have done,’ continued -Sir Sykes after a pause, ‘but that I have some idea that the young -lady who has been the unconscious subject of this conversation -entertains—what shall I say?—a preference for your society, which her -feminine tact enables her to hide from general notice. I feel assured -that it only rests with you to win the heart of Ruth Willis—a prize -worth the winning.’ - -We are all very vain. Jasper, fop and worldling though he was, felt -a thrill of gratified vanity run through him like an electric shock, -as his father’s artful suggestion sank into the depths of his selfish -mind. But he made haste to put in a disclaimer. - -‘I’m afraid, sir, you are too partial a judge,’ he said, with an -involuntary glance at the Venice mirror opposite. ‘Miss Willis is too -sensible to care about a good-for-nothing fellow like me.’ - -‘I think otherwise, Jasper,’ returned Sir Sykes. ‘However, for the -present we have talked enough. My wishes, remember, and even—even my -welfare, for reasons not just now to be explained, are on the side of -this marriage. Think it over. To you it means easy circumstances, a -home of your own, the reversion of Carbery Chase, my cordial good-will, -and the society of a charming and high-principled wife. Think it over.’ - -‘I will think it over, sir,’ said Jasper, rising from his chair, and -lounging out of the library with the same listless swagger as that with -which he had lounged into it. ‘I should be glad of course to meet your -wishes, and that. Quite a surprise though.’ - -Left alone, Sir Sykes buried his face in his hands, and when he raised -it again it looked old, worn, and haggard. ‘That scoundrel Hold,’ he -said with a sigh, ‘makes me pay a heavy price for his silence, and even -now his motives are to me a problem that I cannot solve.’ - -(_To be continued._) - - - - -CURIOUS THEATRE CUSTOMS IN PARIS. - - -The visitor to Paris may witness a kind of theatrical performance which -is strikingly different from any that can be seen in Great Britain. -We refer to the Théâtre des Menus Plaisirs, in the Boulevard de -Strasbourg. Part of the entertainment here consists in certain of the -actors and actresses criticising the performances which are proceeding -upon the stage, from seats in various parts of the house—pit, -circle, and gallery—which they have quietly got into unobserved by -the audience. They assume the _rôle_ of ordinary spectators who -find themselves compelled in the interests of literature and art to -remonstrate in a rather extraordinary manner against what they see and -hear upon the stage; and the surprise of the uninitiated when the ball -is set rolling is considerable. - -The manager comes upon the stage and begins a modest speech upon past -successes and future prospects; but he has not far advanced in his -speech when a gentleman rises in the stalls, with hat in hand, and in -the most respectful manner corrects him with regard to a word which he -declares to be ill chosen and misleading, at the same time obliging -the manager with the correct word. Here another gentleman introduces -himself into the dispute, and complicates matters by a new suggestion, -which involves the subject in inextricable confusion and absurdity. -Both gentlemen are extremely polite, but firm in denying the right of -the manager to that word; and the latter is driven frantic, and retires -from the stage glaring at his antagonists. - -Silence for a few seconds succeeds this scene, when suddenly a man -in the front seat of the gallery starts up from his seat with a wild -cry, throws one leg over the gallery, hangs forward suspended from the -railing, and gazes towards the pit entrance of the theatre. He sees -something of absorbing interest, and with another cry he is about to -throw himself over the gallery. The people scream; and then he finds -he has been mistaken; he resumes a normal position, and looking round -upon the audience with a kindly smile, which strangely contrasts with -his late look of anxiety, he asks pardon for unnecessarily disturbing -their composure, and resumes his seat. A tenor singer now comes upon -the stage and commences a song; but the two critics in the stalls are -particular, and take exception to his style; they do so with manifest -regret, but the principles of art must be attended to. With profuse -apologies, and an expressed hope that he will proceed with his song -in the corrected form, the critics resume their seats. The tenor, at -first exasperated, becomes mollified by the courteous manners of the -gentlemen, and begins his song again; but almost immediately a lady -sitting in the front seat of the circle tells him that he is in danger -of dropping his moustache. This last is the final ‘straw’ on the back -of the vocalist, and he retires in high dudgeon. - -By the side of the lady in the circle there sits a meek-looking old -gentleman, who being naturally shocked at the conduct of his wife, -puts on his hat as if to leave the theatre; but the better-half is -equal to the occasion, and knocks his hat over the meek old gentleman’s -eyes, and the meek old gentleman himself back into his seat. Presently -several actresses appear upon the stage, and one of them commences -to sing, with probably a pleasing sympathetic voice; but such is not -the opinion of the lady, who holds the singer up to ridicule. The -vocalist then stops, and engages in a verbal and violent encounter -with her persecutor, who from her place in the ‘circle’ returns the -badinage with interest, so that soon the other retires from the stage -vanquished. The victor is now asked herself to sing, a request with -which she readily complies, singing with abundant action and in good -voice an exceedingly catching song, and at the chorus, giving a royal -wave of the hands towards the gallery to join with her at that point. - -The stranger will be surprised to learn that this disturbing element -in the audience, in reality comes from behind the scenes; the lady who -has just sung is the leading member of the company, and the gentlemen -critics are well-known and highly appreciated comedians. And though -the stranger may think that all this is an impromptu disturbance, it -is quite certain that all is rehearsed as carefully as any play that -is put upon the stage. How long such a performance would secure the -favour of a London audience, is doubtful; here, however, it is an -abiding success, is received with immense applause—the _claqueurs_ or -professional applauders being apparently altogether dispensed with—and -the audience is kept in continual hilarity by the humorous attack and -by the instant and witty reply. - -Within the Parisian theatres the visitor may derive some amusement from -observing the operations of the _claqueurs_, who are employed at the -principal establishments to augment the enthusiasm of the audience. -The men who compose this body of professional applauders appear to -belong to the artisan class; they number from forty to fifty, that is -they are about a hundred hands all told. They occupy the front row of -seats in the second or third gallery, so that to observe them and their -movements it is necessary to occupy a place in one of the galleries. -Their leader sits in their midst, ever ready at the points marked for -him by author or manager to give the signal which ‘brings down the -house.’ As the moment arrives when _the_ bon-mot shall be uttered, the -_chef_ breathes upon his hands, then stretches them slightly upwards, -while he at the same time looks right and left along his ranks. This -is equivalent to ‘Attention’ or ‘Prepare to fire a volley.’ Each man -is now at the ‘ready,’ and waits anxiously upon the _chef_. When the -_mot_ is uttered, he brings his hands together with a frantic wave, -and the others simultaneously with him make a very respectable, even -enthusiastic show of applause. At the end of a song the leader starts -the cry _Ploo, ploo_ (plus, signifying more), in which all join; this, -which is equivalent to our ‘Encore,’ sounds in the stranger’s ears more -like hooting than aught else; but it is no doubt as welcome to the -French actor as a good British cheer is to an English one. - -This little army, like all others, has its awkward squad. One evening -at the ‘Renaissance’ we observed the _chef_ to become very uneasy on -account of one who was exceedingly remiss in his duty; not only was the -amount of applause when given small in volume, but once when the signal -was given he entirely neglected to comply with it. This was gall and -wormwood to the leader, who really seemed a very earnest hard-working -man in his profession; so after finishing the round of applause, he -‘went for’ that awkward man, remonstrated with him, and even gave him -on the spur of the moment, a lesson on the correct method of clapping -hands. After this the pupil shewed marked improvement, and by the -end of the play performed his duty in such a satisfactory manner as -promised well for his future advancement in this handy profession. The -effect of this pernicious system upon the audience is very different, -we should think, from what was anticipated when it was first organised; -for finding that the applause is supplied by the establishment, just as -it supplies programmes or turns on the gas, the audience feel that they -are relieved from all obligations in the matter, and unless stirred by -an irresistible influence, seldom dream of applauding at all. - - - - -THE RIVAL LAIRDS. - - -In a recent article on Curling we endeavoured to give a sketch of the -history of this popular Scottish pastime, together with a brief outline -of the mode in which the game is usually played. The following story -of a match between two rival parishes, supposed to have been played -about the beginning of the present century, may give the reader a -further idea of the enthusiasm evoked on the ice whenever and wherever -curlers forgather. Let the non-initiated imagine himself standing -beside a frozen sheet of water, upon which are assembled a company of -men of various ranks from peer to peasant, each striving to do his -best to support the prowess and honour of his rink. The rink let it be -understood is a certain portion of ice, from thirty to forty yards in -length, apportioned off to the players. The players consist usually of -four on each side, and whereas in the well-known game of grass-bowls, -each player is provided with two wooden bowls which he drives towards -a small white ball called the Jack, each player on the ice has two -curling-stones shaped much like a Gouda cheese—with a handle atop—which -he propels or hurls towards a certain marked spot at each end of the -rink, called the tee; and round each tee is scratched a series of -concentric rings ranging from two to ten or twelve feet in diameter. -Standing at one end of the rink the man whose turn it is to play, waits -the bidding of his director or ‘skip’ who stands at the other end, and -then endeavours to act according to the directions that may be given by -that important personage. Each of the four players on one side plays -alternately against his antagonist, the main object being to send the -stone gliding up the ice so that it may eventually lie within the rings -and as near the tee as possible. Thus, when the ‘end’ is finished, the -side whose stones lie nearest the tee scores so many towards the game. - -Sometimes when the ice is partially thawed the players have difficulty -in hurling their stones all the way to the tee; and sometimes they fail -to get them beyond a transverse mark called the ‘hog-score,’ two-thirds -down the rink—in which case the lagging stone is put off the ice and -cannot count for that ‘end.’ Besoms, however, with which each man is -armed, are here of great account, the laws of the game permitting each -player to sweep the ice in front of an approaching stone belonging to -his side, so as to accelerate its progress, if necessary. The shouts of -‘Sweep, sweep!’ or rather ‘_Soop, soop!_’ are of continual recurrence, -and are exceedingly amusing to strangers. The skip on each side first -directs his three men and then lastly plays himself. On his generalship -in skipping much depends, his efforts being mainly directed first to -get as many stones as possible near the tee, and then to get his men to -‘guard’ them from being driven off by those of the opposite side. Or -he may direct a player to aim at a certain stone already lying, with a -view to take an angle, or ‘wick’ as it is termed, and so land his own -stone near the tee. This wicking is a very pretty part of the game and -requires great delicacy of play. - -The anxiety of the opposing skips is very amusing to watch, and the -enthusiasm of the several players when an unusually good shot is made, -is boundless. A good ‘lead’ or first player, though he is necessarily -debarred from the niceties of the game which fall to the lot of the -subsequent players, is a very important man in the game if he can -place his stones within the circles that surround the tee, or in -familiar parlance, ‘lie within the house.’ Second player’s post is -not so important; but ‘third stone’ is a position given usually to -an experienced player, as he has frequently to either drive off some -dangerous stone belonging to the other side, and himself take its -place; or has to guard a stone of his own side, which though in a good -position may lie open to the enemy. Thus proceeds with varying fortune -this ‘roaring game’ of give and take, stone after stone being driven -along the icy plain, till the skips themselves come to play and so -finish the ‘end.’ - -With these preliminary remarks we proceed to our tale. - - * * * * * - -Snow had fallen long and silently over all the high-lying districts -of the south of Scotland. It was an unusually bad year for the -sheep-farmers, whose stock was suffering severely from the protracted -storm and the snow which enveloped both hill and low-lying pasturage. -But while sheep-farmers were thus kept anxiously waiting for fresh -weather, curlers were in their glory, as day after day they forgathered -on the ice and followed up the ‘roaring game.’ - -The century was young, and the particular year of our story was that -known and spoken of for long afterwards as the ‘bad year.’ In these -days, there was no free-trade to keep down the price of corn or beef, -which during years of bad harvest in Great Britain, or long periods of -frost and snow, rose to famine prices, and were all but unprocurable by -the poorer classes. Oatmeal at half-a-crown a peck told a sad tale in -many a household, and especially on the helpless children—the bairns. - -As we have said, curling had been enjoyed to the full; perhaps there -had even been a surfeit of it, if the real truth were told. Match -after match had been played by parish against parish, and county -against county. Rival rinks of choice players belonging to counties -such as Peebles had challenged those of the neighbouring counties of -Selkirkshire, or even Midlothian. Prizes, consisting of medals or -money, had been gained by various enthusiasts; and last though not -least, matches for suppers of beef and greens—the true curlers’ fare, -had been contested, the reckoning to be paid by the losing rinks. The -benedicts too had played the bachelors, and had as usual, beaten them. - -Country squires had given prizes to be played for by their tenantry -versus adjoining tenantry, and had brought their fur-clad wives and -daughters to the ice to congratulate them on success, or condole with -them on defeat. In short, the sole occupation of the majority of the -adult male rural population of the south of Scotland in the year of -which we speak, seemed to be—curling. - -Amongst other matches in the county of Peeblesshire there was one that -yet remained to come off, namely between the parishes of Tweedsmuir -and Broughton. In a series of matches—or bonspiels as they were -termed—between parish and parish, these two had stood unbeaten. It -therefore remained to be seen which parish should beat the other, and -thereby achieve the envied position of champion of the county. - -When the honour of a _parish_ is at stake on the ice, the choice -of the men who are to play, is a matter of very grave import. In -a friendly match between two rinks, a little unskilfulness on the -part of one or more of the players is a very common affair and is -comparatively unheeded: but in a bonspiel between the two best parishes -in a celebrated curling county, the failure or even the occasional -uncertainty of any one man may be fraught with direst consequences. - -Foremost among the promoters of the forthcoming match which was to -decide matters, were Robert Scott laird of Tweedsmuir, and Andrew -Murray laird of Broughton. These worthies had long been rivals on -other than ice-fields, and though on friendly enough terms at kirk -or market were each keenly alive to his own honour and prowess. Any -game, therefore, in which these rival lairds engaged, was sure to be -closely contested; and the result was at all times as eagerly watched -by interested spectators as it was keenly fought by the rival parties. -It is even said that the lairds had been rivals in love as well as in -other sports, the result of which was that Murray had carried off the -lady and Scott had remained a bachelor, with an old housekeeper named -Betty to take charge of him. But as the story of the love-match was but -the ‘clash’ of the country, it may be taken for what it is worth. - -On the morning of the day fixed for the match (which was to come off -at Broughton and to consist of four men on each side), the laird of -Tweedsmuir was early astir, in order to see that the cart which was -to convey his own curling-stones and those of his men to Broughton—a -distance of some half-dozen miles—was ready, and that the men -themselves were prepared to accompany it. The cart having been duly -despatched with the schoolmaster of the parish, who was to be one of -the players, and the shepherd from Talla Linns, who was to be another, -Laird Scott ordered out his gig and himself prepared to start. - -‘Now Betty,’ cried the laird to his old housekeeper, as he proceeded to -envelop himself in his plaid, ‘you’ll see and have plenty of beef and -greens ready by six o’clock, and a spare bed or two; for besides our -own men it’s likely enough I may bring back one or two of the beaten -lads to stop all night.’ - -‘’Deed laird, tak ye care the Broughton folk dinna get the better o’ -_you_, and beat ye after a’: they tell me they’re grand curlers.’ - -‘Well Betty, I’m not afraid of them, with Andrew Denholm on my side.’ - -Thus assured, the stalwart laird seized the reins and took the road -for Broughton. On his way down the valley of the Tweed he called at -the humble cottage of the said Andrew Denholm, who usually played the -critical part of ‘third stone,’ and was one of his best supporters; and -whose employment, that of a mason, was for the nonce at a stand-still. - -‘What! not ready yet Andrew?’ exclaimed the laird in a tone of -disappointment. ‘Bestir yourself man, or we’ll not be on the ice by ten -o’clock.’ - -‘I’m no’ gaun’ to the curlin’ the day sir,’ replied Andrew with an air -of dejection. - -‘And what for no’?’ inquired the laird with uneasy apprehension. ‘You -know Andrew, my man, the game canna’ go on without you. The honour of -Tweedsmuir at stake too! there’s not another man I would risk in your -place on the ice this day.’ - -‘Get Wattie Laidlaw the weaver to tak’ my place laird; he’s a grand -curler, and can play up a stane as well as ony man in the parish; the -fact is sir, just now I have na’ the heart even to curl. Gang yer ways -yersell laird, and skip against the laird o’ Broughton, and there’s nae -fear o’ the result: and Wattie can play third stane instead o’ me.’ - -‘Wattie will play _nae_ third stane for me: come yourself Andrew, and -we’ll try to cheer you up; and you’ll take your beef and greens up bye -wi’ the rink callants and me in the afternoon.’ - -Denholm was considered one of the best curlers in that part of the -county, and was usually one of the first to be on the ice; to see -him, therefore, thus cast down and listless, filled the laird’s warm -heart with sorrow. He saw there was something wrong. He must rally the -dejected mason. - -‘Do you think,’ continued the laird, ‘that I would trust Wattie to play -in your place; a poor silly body that can barely get to the hog-score, -let alone the tee? Na, na Andrew; rather let the match be off than be -beaten in that way.’ - -Seeing the laird thus determined to carry off his ‘third man’ to the -scene of the approaching conflict, the poor mason endeavoured still -further to remonstrate by a recital of his grievances. - -‘Ye ken sir,’ he began, ‘what a long storm it has been. Six weeks since -I’ve had a day at my trade, though I have made a shilling or two now -and again up-bye at the homestead yonder. But wi’ the price o’ meal at -half-a-crown the peck, and no’ very good after a’; and nineteenpence -for a loaf of bread, we’ve had a sair time of it. But we wadna’ vex -oorsels about that, Maggie and me, if we had meal eneugh to keep the -bairns fed. Five o’ them dwining away before our eyes; it’s been an -unco job I assure you, laird. Indeed if it hadna been for Mag’s sister -that’s married upon the grieve o’ Drummelzier, dear knows what would -have become of us, wi’ whiles no a handfu’ o’ meal left in the girnel. -Even wi’ the siller to pay for it, it’s no’ aye to be gotten; and,’ -faltered the poor fellow in conclusion, ‘there’s just meal eneugh in -the house to-day to last till the morn.’ - -‘Well, cheer up my man!’ cried the laird; ‘the longest day has an -end, and this storm cannot last much longer. In fact there’s a thaw -coming on or I’m far cheated. There’s a crown to Maggie to replenish -the meal-ark, and get maybe a sup o’ something better for the bairns. -And there’s cheese an’ bread in the gig here that will serve you and -me Andrew, till the beef and greens are ready for us up-bye in the -afternoon. Meanwhile, a tastin’ o’ the flask will no be amiss, and then -for Broughton.’ - -Thus invigorated and reassured, the mason took his seat beside the -laird, and amid blessings from the gudewife and well-wishings from the -bairns, the two sped on their journey. - -Arrived at the pond, they found tees marked, distances measured, and -all in readiness for the play to begin. The usual salutations ensued. -Broughton and Tweedsmuir shook hands all round with much apparent -warmth; and the two sides, of four each, took their places in the -following order: - - BROUGHTON. TWEEDSMUIR. - -Wil. Elliot, shoemaker, lead; Mr Henderson, schoolmaster, lead; -Rev. Isaac Stevenson, 2d stone; Wattie Dalgleish, shepherd, 2d stone; -Tam Johnston, blacksmith, 3d stone; Andrew Denholm, mason, 3d stone; -Laird Murray, skip. Laird Scott, skip. - -The play was begun and continued with varying fortune: sometimes -one side scored, sometimes the other. The match was to consist of -thirty-one points; and at one o’clock when a halt was called for -refreshments, the scoring was tolerably even. The frost was beginning -to shew a slight tendency to give way, but this only nerved the players -to further exertions in sweeping up the stones on the somewhat dulled -ice. The scene in the forenoon had been a very lively one: but as the -afternoon approached and the game was nearing an end, the liveliness -was tempered with anxiety, which amounted almost to pain, as shot -after shot was ‘put in’ by one side, only to be cleverly ‘taken’ by -the other. ‘Soop! soop!’ was the incessant cry of the skips as from -their point of vantage they descried a lagging stone; or ‘Haud up! -I tell ye; haud up!’ when from that same point they beheld one of -their players’ stones approaching with sufficient velocity to do all -that was wanted. Anxiety was nearing a crisis. At half-past three the -game stood: Broughton thirty, Tweedsmuir twenty-nine. The game was -anybody’s. Coats had been cast as needless encumbrances; besoms were -clutched with determined firmness: the skips slightly pale with the -terrible excitement of the occasion, and the stake that was as it were -hanging in the balance: want of nerve on their part to direct, or on -the part of any one man to play, might decide the fate of the day. The -last end had come to be played, and Broughton having won the previous -end, was to lead. The shoemaker’s stone is played, and lies well over -the hog-score in good line with the tee, and on the road to promotion. -Tweedsmuir’s leading man, the schoolmaster, passes the souter’s stone -and lies in ‘the house.’ ‘Well played dominie!’ cries Laird Scott to -his lead. And so proceeds the ‘end’ till it comes to our friend the -mason’s turn to play; the blacksmith having just played his first stone -with but indifferent effect. - -‘What do ye see o’ that stane Andrew?’ roars Laird Scott from the tee, -pointing at the same time to the winning stone of the other side, -which, however, was partially ‘guarded.’ - -‘I see the half o’ t.’ - -‘Then,’ says the laird, ‘make sure of it: tak it awa’, and if you rub -off the guard there’s no harm done.’ - -For a moment the mason steadies himself, settles his foot in the -crampet, and with a straight delivered shot shaves the guard and wicks -out the rival stone, himself lying in close to the tee, and _guarded_ -both at the side and in front by stones belonging to his side. - -The effect of such a shot as this, at so critical a period of the game, -was electric, and is not easily to be described. Enthusiasm on the part -of Tweedsmuir, dismay on that of Broughton. But there are yet several -stones to come: the order may again be reversed, and Andrew’s deftly -played shot may be yet taken. We shall see. The blacksmith, the third -player on the Broughton side, follows with his second stone, and though -by adhering to the direction of his skip he might have knocked off the -guard and so laid open Andrew’s winner, over-anxiety causes him to -miss the guard and miss everything. Thus is his second and last stone -unfortunately played for Broughton. - -The mason has his second stone still to play for Tweedsmuir, and -before doing so Laird Scott thus accosts him: ‘Andrew my man, we are -lying shot now; we want but another to be game; and for the honour o’ -Tweedsmuir I am going to give you the shot that will give it to us: do -ye see this port?’ pointing to an open part of the ice (in curling -phraseology a port) to the left of the tee, with a stone on each side. - -‘I see the port sir.’ - -‘Well then,’ continued the laird, ‘I want you to fill that port; lay a -stone there Andrew, and there’s _a lade o’ meal at your door to-morrow -morning_.’ - -The stone is raised just for one instant with an easy backward sweep -of hand and arm, and delivered with a twist that curls it on and on by -degrees towards the spot required. Not just with sufficient strength -perhaps, but aligned to the point. In an instant the skip is master of -the situation. ‘Soop lads! O soop! soop her up—s-o-o-o-p—there now; -let her lie!’ as the stone curls into the ‘port,’ and lies a provoking -impediment to the opposite players. The pressure on players of both -sides is now too great to admit of many outward demonstrations. Stern -rigour of muscle stiffens every face as the two skips themselves now -leave the tee and take their places at the other end. The silence bodes -a something that no one cares to explain away, so great is the strain -of half-hope half-fear that animates every breast. - -Laird Murray is directed by his adviser at the tee (the blacksmith) to -break-off the guard in front, but misses. Scott his antagonist, by a -skilfully played stone, puts on another guard still, in order to avoid -danger from Laird Murray’s second and last stone. One chance only now -apparently remains for the laird of Broughton, who requires but one -shot to reverse the order of things and retrieve the game, and he tries -it. It is one of those very difficult shots known amongst curlers as -an outwick. A stone of his side has lain considerably to the right -of the tee short of it, which if touched on the outer side might be -driven in towards the centre and perhaps lie shot. The inwick would be -easier, but that the stone is unfortunately guarded for that attempt. -He knows that Denholm’s first stone still lies the shot, and is guarded -both in front and at the side; and that with another, Tweedsmuir will -be thirty-one and game. The shot is risked—after other contingencies -have been duly weighed—but without the desired effect: the outlying -stone is certainly touched, which in itself was a good shot, but is not -sufficiently taken on the side to produce the desired effect. The laird -of Broughton pales visibly as the shot is missed, and mutters something -between his clenched teeth anything but complimentary to things in -general. - -The last stone now lies by the foot of our Tweedsmuir laird, who calmly -awaits the word of direction from Andrew at the other end. - -‘Laird!’ shouts the anxious mason, ‘there’s but the one thing for it, -and I’ve seen ye play a dafter-like shot. What would ye say to try an -inwick aff my last stane and lift this ane a foot?’ pointing to a stone -of his side which lay near, though still not counting; ‘that would give -us another shot, and the game!’ - -‘Well Andrew, that’s why I asked you to fill the port, for I saw what -_they_ didna see, that a wick and curl-in would be left: I think it may -be done. At any rate I can but try.’ - -Silence reigns o’er the rink: the sweepers on each side stand in -breathless suspense: the wick taken, as given by Andrew in advice to -the Laird, may proclaim Broughton beaten and Tweedsmuir the champion -parish of the county! - -‘Stand back from behind, and shew me the stone with your besom, Andrew; -there.’ - -The suspense is soon broken, the last stone has sped on its mission, -the wick has been taken, a stone on Laird Scott’s side that was lying -farther from the tee than one of the opponents’, is ‘lifted’ into -second place, which with the mason’s winner makes exactly the magic -score of thirty-one! Like the thaw which after this long-continued -storm will be welcomed by man and beast alike, so does the thaw -now melt the frozen tongues of the players. Hats fly up in frenzy -of delight, and the phenomenon is witnessed (only to be witnessed -on ice) of a Scottish laird and his humble tenant in ecstatic -embrace. Flasks are produced, hands shaken by rivals as well as by -friends—though chiefly by friends: preparations are made to carry home -the paraphernalia of the roaring game: and while Betty congratulates -the laird and his guests on their victory, there is happiness in store -for Andrew Denholm, whose prowess so notably contributed to secure the -honour of Tweedsmuir. - - - - -AN IRISH COUNTRY FUNERAL. - - -The difference between English and Irish as regards the funeral customs -of the peasantry in both countries is great. To have a large assemblage -at the ‘berrin’ is among the latter an object of ambition and pride to -the family; and the concourse of neighbours, friends, and acquaintances -who flock from all parts to the funeral is often immense. Even -strangers will swell the funeral cortège, and will account for doing so -by saying: ‘Sure, won’t it come to our turn some day, and isn’t a big -following—to do us credit at our latter end—what we’d all like? So why -shouldn’t we do what is dacent and neighbourly by one another?’ - -What a contrast there is between a quiet interment in an English -country parish, attended only by the household of the departed, and the -well-remembered scenes in the churchyard of Kilkeedy, County Limerick! - -Here, in days gone by, a funeral was a picturesque and touching sight. -There was something very weird and solemn in the sound of the ‘keen,’ -as it came, mournful and wild upon the ear, rising and falling with -the windings of the road along which the vast procession moved. In the -centre was the coffin, borne on the shoulders of relatives or friends, -and followed by the next of kin. Outside the churchyard gate, where was -a large open space, there was a halt. The coffin was laid reverently on -the ground, the immediate relatives of the dead kneeling round it. - -And now on bended knees all in that vast assemblage sink down. Every -head is bowed in prayer—the men devoutly uncovered—every lip moves; -the wail of the keeners is hushed; you could hear a pin drop among -the silent crowds. It is a solemn and impressive pause. After a few -minutes the bearers again take up their burden and carry it into the -churchyard, when after being three times borne round the church, it is -committed to its final resting-place. - -Years have passed since these scenes were witnessed by the writer of -these pages. The old familiar church has been pulled down (a new -one built on a neighbouring site), and nought of it remains but the -ivy-clad tower and graceful spire left standing—that ‘ivy-mantled -tower,’ where the sparrow had found her a house and the swallow a -nest; whose green depths in the still eventide were made vocal by the -chirpings and chatterings of its feathered inhabitants—the sparrows -fluttering fussily in and out, and after the manner of their kind, -closing the day in noisy gossip before subsiding into rest and silence. -Here too were to be found owls, curiously light—soft masses of feathers -with apparently no bodies to speak of, who captured by the workmen -while clipping the ivy, were brought up, all dazed-looking and sleepy, -to be admired and wondered at by the rectory children, and finally -restored tenderly to their ‘secret bower!’ - -A funeral scene similar to that just described forms the subject of -one of the illustrations in Lady Chatterton’s _Rambles in the South of -Ireland_, sketched by herself. She had stopped to make a drawing of the -beautiful ruins of Quin Abbey in the County Clare, when the wail of an -approaching funeral came floating on the breeze, and the melancholy -cadence was soon followed by the appearance of the usual concourse of -country people. Their figures scattered about in groups, and the coffin -in the foreground, enter with very picturesque effect into the sketch. - -When the funeral is over, those who have attended it disperse through -the churchyard; and any having friends buried there betake themselves -to their graves to pray and weep over them. The wild bursts of grief -and vehement sobbing, even over moss-grown graves whose time-stained -headstones bear witness to the length of time their occupants have -slept beneath, would surprise those who are unfamiliar with the -impulsive and demonstrative Irish nature. - -An old man sitting beside a grave was rocking himself to and fro, and -wiping his eyes with a blue cotton handkerchief, while, rosary in hand, -he prayed with extraordinary fervour. - -‘It’s my poor old wife is lying here,’ he said; ‘the heavens be her -bed! God rest her soul this day! Many’s the long year since she wint -from me, poor Norry, and left me sore and lonesome! She was well on -in years then, though the childer were young; for we were married a -long time before there was any. The neighbours were all at me to marry -again, if it was only for one to wash the shirt or knit the stocking -for me, or to keep the weenochs from running wild about the roads while -I was away at my work earning their bit. But I couldn’t give in to the -notion. I was used to my poor Norry, and the thoughts of a stranger -on the floor was bitter to my heart. Ah, it’s a sore loss to a man in -years when his old wife is took from him! The old comrade he’s had so -long; that understands every turn of him, and knows his humours and -his fancies; and fits him as easy and comfortable as an old shoe. A -man might get a new one—and maybe more sightly to look at than the one -that’s gone—but dear knows, ’twould be at his peril! As likely as not, -she’d fret him and heart-scald him, and make him oneasy day and night, -just blistering like new leather! The old wife is like the shoe he’s -used to, that will lie into his foot. Stretching here and giving there, -and coming, by constant wearing, to fit, as easy and souple as the -skin itself, into th’ exactness of every bump and contrairy spot! For -there’s none of us,’ continued the old man, who seemed to be a bit of -a moralist, ‘that hasn’t our tendher places and our corns and oddities -in body and mind, God help us! Some more and some less, according. And -there’s no one can know where them raw spots lie, or how to save ’em -from being hurt, like the loving crathur that’s been next us through -the long years, in rain and shine. So yer honours,’ he added, getting -up with a last sorrowful look at his wife’s grave, ‘I wouldn’t hearken -to the neighbours, and take a strange comrade. And after a while a -widow sister o’ mine came to live with me and to care my poor orphans; -but my heart is still with my poor Norry here in the clay!’ - -There was another loving couple in the same neighbourhood, whose -apparently impending separation by death caused much sympathy among -their friends. The man was a farmer, and owing to his industry and good -conduct, he and his young wife were in comfortable circumstances and -well to do. They were devoted to each other. When he was attacked with -the severe illness that threatened his life, she nursed him night and -day until she was wasted to a shadow, and looked from anxiety and want -of sleep almost as corpse-like as he did. Her misery when the doctors -pronounced the case hopeless was dreadful to witness. The poor fellow’s -strength was, they said, nearly exhausted, his illness had lasted so -long; so that his holding out was considered impossible. - -Things were in this state, and the sufferer’s death daily expected, -when we were called away from the place, to pay a distant visit. On our -return home after some weeks’ absence, one of the first persons we saw -was young Mrs D—— dressed in the deepest widow’s weeds—a moving mass of -crape. - -It was on a Sunday morning going to church; she was walking along the -road before us, stepping out with wonderful briskness, we thought, -considering her very recent bereavement. We had to quicken our pace to -come up with her, and said when we did so: ‘We are so sorry for you, so -very sorry! You have lost your husband.’ - -‘Thank you kindly; you were always good,’ she said, lifting up her -heavy crape veil from off a face radiant with smiles. ‘He isn’t dead -at all, glory be to God! an’ ’tis recovering beautiful he is. The -doctor says if he goes on gettin’ up his strength as he’s doing the -last fortnight, he’ll soon be finely; out and about in no time.—Oh, the -clothes, is it? Sure ’twas himself, the dear man, bought them for me! -When he was that bad there wasn’t a spark of hope, he calls me over to -him, an’ “Katie my heart,” sez he, “I’m going from you. The doctors -have gave me up, and you’ll be a lone widow before long, my poor child. -And when I’m gone, jewel, and you’re left without a head or provider, -there’ll be no one in the wide world to give you a stitch of clothes -or anything conformable. So I’ll order them home now, darlin’, the -best that can be got for money; for I’d like to leave you dacent and -respectable behind me.” And your honours,’ she went on, ‘so he did. -Two golden guineas he gev for the bonnet; and as for the gownd, ladies -dear, only feel the stuff that’s in it, and ye may guess what _that_ -cost. And beautiful crape, no end of a price!—every whole thing the -hoight of good quality—top lot of the shop, and no stint.—Well,’ she -continued, ‘there they all were in the chest. And sure when himself -got well we thought it a sin and a shame to let lovely clothes like -these lie by without wearing ’em—to be ruined entirely and feed the -moths—after they costing such a sight of money too. So he made me put -them on; and a proud man himself was this morning, and a happy, seeing -me go out the door so grand and iligant—the best of everything upon me!’ - -There was something absurd, almost grotesque, in the self-conscious -complacent way in which the young woman gazed admiringly down on her -lugubrious finery; tripping off exulting and triumphant, her manner in -curious contrast with the sore woe associated with those garments—the -saddest in which mortal can be clad. - - - - -MR ASLATT’S WARD. - - -IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER IV. - -I will pass over the misery of the days that followed; days stretched -by anxiety and suspense to double their ordinary length. The woman -succeeded only too well in proving the truth of her story; and knowing -how useless it would be, Mr Hammond did not attempt to deny that she -was his wife. Nor did he endeavour to justify his conduct, which was -truly inexcusable. Yet in after-years, when our indignation had cooled, -and we were able calmly to reflect upon the history thus revealed, we -could not help pitying the unfortunate young man. He had not been much -past twenty when, on a visit to Wiesbaden, he had made the acquaintance -of a woman several years older than himself, whose brilliant beauty -and fascinating address had fairly bewitched him. She was a gay -adventuress, who, living by the chances of the gaming-table, and tired -of such a precarious livelihood, had fostered the young man’s passion, -and then condescended to marry him. - -Alas! Frederick Hammond had not been long married before he bitterly -regretted the step he had taken. His wife proved the bane of his -life. She had contracted the habit of drinking to excess, and her -intemperance destroyed all hope of happiness in domestic life. Her -husband’s love changed to hatred, and unable to control her vicious -propensities, he deserted her. In one place after another he took -refuge, hoping to elude her search; but again and again she succeeded -in tracking him to his place of concealment, though she was willing -to leave him to himself when he had satisfied her demand for money. -But at last for a long time he heard nothing of her; and as the months -passed into years, the hope sprang up within him that his wife was -either dead, or else had lost all clue to his whereabouts. Weary of -residing abroad, he returned to England, and finding it difficult -to obtain other employment, was glad to accept the post of village -schoolmaster, for he thought the little country village might prove a -secure hiding-place. And here becoming acquainted with Miss Sinclair, -he basely yielded to the temptation to act as though the hope he -cherished that his wife was dead were already a realised fact. He dared -not openly ask Rose’s hand of her guardian; but he sought by all the -means in his power to win her love, and did not rest till he had won -from her a response to his avowed affection, and gained her consent to -a secret engagement. It was a cruel selfish proceeding, for which his -past misfortunes offered no excuse; and thankful indeed were we that -his scheme of eloping with Rose had been frustrated. - -But poor Rose! Bitter indeed was her distress when she found we had -no comfort to give her. The shock was too great for her physical -strength, and ere many hours had elapsed it was evident that a severe -illness would be the consequence. For days she lay tossing in feverish -delirium; whilst we kept anxious watch by her bedside, much fearing -what the issue might be. But our fears were mercifully disappointed; -the fever turned, and soon the much-loved patient was pronounced out of -danger. But the improvement was very gradual, and after a while almost -imperceptible. Extreme exhaustion was accompanied in Rose’s case by an -apathetic indifference to everything around her, which formed the chief -barrier to her recovery. She felt no desire to get strong again, now -that life had no longer any great attraction for her. - -‘If we could only rouse her to take an interest in anything, she would -soon be well,’ the doctor said to me one day. - -A possibility of doing so occurred to me at that moment, and I resolved -to try, though I could scarcely hope to succeed. In the evening, when I -was sitting by Rose’s couch, and knew that Mr Aslatt had gone out, and -would not be back for an hour or two, I said to her gently: ‘I think -you feel a little stronger to-day; do you not, darling?’ - -A heavy sigh was the only response to my question. - -I knelt by her side, and gently drew her head upon my shoulder as I -whispered: ‘I wish you could unburden your heart to me, dear Rose. -Would it not be a relief to tell me the sad thoughts that occupy your -mind?’ - -No answer but by tears, which I was glad to see, for I knew they would -relieve her heavy heart. After a while, words followed. She told me how -little she cared to get well again; what a dreary blank life appeared -to her, now that he whom she had so loved and trusted had proved -unworthy; how it seemed to her she was of no use in the world, and the -sooner she were out of it the better for herself and every one else. -And a great deal more in the same strain. - -I reminded her of her guardian’s love for her, and his great anxiety -for her recovery, and urged her to try to get well for his sake. But -she only shook her head despondingly. ‘I have never been anything but a -trouble to him,’ she said; ‘he would be happier without me. If I were -out of the way, I daresay he would marry. I used to make plans for his -future as well as for my own, you know; but now everything will be -different.’ - -‘I do not think Mr Aslatt would have married,’ I ventured to say. - -‘Why not?’ asked Rose. - -I was silent, and she did not repeat the question. - -‘I have a story to tell you, Rose, which I think you may like to hear,’ -I said presently. - -‘A story!’ she said in surprise. - -‘Yes, darling, a story.’ - -‘Many years ago, a gentleman was passing through the streets of Vienna. -He was a man about thirty years of age, but he looked older, for he -had known sorrow and disappointment, and life appeared to him then -nought but vanity and vexation of spirit. Yet many would have envied -his position, for he possessed much of what the world most values. -He was walking listlessly along, when his attention was attracted by -a group of musicians, who were performing at the corner of a square. -In the centre of the band stood a pretty little fair-haired girl -about six years old. She was poorly clad. Her tiny feet were bare, -and bleeding from contact with the sharp stones with which the roads -were strewn; and tears were in her large blue eyes as, in her childish -voice, she joined in the song. Her pretty yet sorrowful face and the -plaintive tone in which she sang touched the stranger’s kind heart. -He stood still to watch the group, and when the song was ended went -forward to place some money in the child’s upturned palm. “Is this -your little girl?” he asked the man by whose side she was standing. He -replied in the negative. The little girl was an orphan, the child of -an Englishman, who had formerly belonged to the band, but who had died -some months before, leaving his little daughter entirely dependent on -the good-will of his late comrades. - -‘Well, darling, you must know that they did not object to keeping -her with them, as her appearance was calculated to call forth pity, -and thus increase their earnings. But it was a rough life for the -child, and she suffered from the exposure to all weathers which it -entailed. Her father, who it was believed had seen better days, had -never allowed her to go out with the troop, and had done his utmost -to shield her from hardships. But now there was no help for it; she -could not be kept in idleness. Moved with pity for the child’s hapless -lot, the gentleman inquired where the musicians resided, and returned -to his hotel to consider how he might best serve the little orphan. -After much reflection his resolution was taken. He was a lonely man, -with no near relative to claim his love. His heart yearned with pity -for the desolate child, whose pleading blue eyes and plaintive voice -kept appealing to his compassion, to the exclusion of all other -considerations. He determined to adopt her, and provide for her for the -rest of her life. With this intention he sought the street musicians on -the following day, and easily induced them to commit the child to his -care. After handsomely rewarding the musicians, he took her away with -him that very day, and ever since she has had the first place in his -heart. His loving care for the orphan child brought its own reward, for -in striving to promote the happiness of little Rose he found his own.’ - -I was interrupted by a cry from my companion. ‘Rose!’ she exclaimed -excitedly. ‘What are you saying, Miss Bygrave? Tell me—was I—am _I_ -that little child?’ - -‘You are, darling; and now you know how truly you are the light of Mr -Aslatt’s life. He has no one to care for but you, and you alone can -make him happy.’ - -‘And I have really no claim upon him, am in no way related to him, as -I thought! I knew I owed him much, but I had no idea to what extent I -was indebted to him. But for his goodness, what should I be now? Oh, if -I had only known this before! How ungrateful I have been to him, how -wayward and perverse! Oh, Miss Bygrave, I cannot bear to think of it!’ - -‘Do not trouble about that, dear,’ I said, trying to soothe her, for -her agitation alarmed me; ‘it is all forgiven and forgotten by Mr -Aslatt.’ - -‘But I shall never forgive myself,’ she exclaimed passionately. ‘To -think that I have been receiving everything from him for years, living -upon his bounty, and yet making no return, evincing no gratitude, -taking all his kindness as a matter of course, just because I imagined -I was dear to him for my parents’ sake!’ - -‘Nay; you are too hard upon yourself, dear Rose,’ I said gently. ‘To a -certain extent you have been grateful to him; you have again and again -acknowledged to me your sense of his goodness; and now that you know -all, you will clearly _prove_ your gratitude, I have no doubt.’ - -‘But how?’ exclaimed Rose. ‘How can I express—how can I shew my deep -sense of all that I owe him?’ - -‘In the first place, by getting well as soon as possible, and by -letting him see that you once more take an interest in life. For his -sake, I know you will strive to bear bravely a trial, the bitterness -of which he fully appreciates. And Rose, I must beg you not to attempt -to express to Mr Aslatt your sense of indebtedness. He feels a morbid -shrinking from hearing such words from your lips, and has implored -me—in case I ever revealed to you the secret of your early life, as I -have been led to do this evening—to assure you that you are under no -great obligation to him, for he considers that he has been fully repaid -for what he has done for you, by the happiness your companionship has -given him.’ - -‘But I cannot bear to go on receiving so much from him, and yet give no -expression to my gratitude,’ said Rose. - -‘You cannot do otherwise,’ I replied; ‘unless you wish to make him -very unhappy, and that would be a poor return for all his goodness. Do -all you can to please him; be as bright and cheerful as possible; but -do not, I beseech you, let him see that you labour under a sense of -painful obligation to him.’ - -‘I will act as you desire,’ said Rose. ‘But is there really no other -way in which I can prove my gratitude?’ - -‘Not at present,’ I replied. ‘But perhaps at some future time you may -be able to give him what he will consider worth far more than all he -has ever bestowed upon you; but it would not be acceptable to him if it -proceeded only from the promptings of gratitude.’ - -‘I do not understand you,’ said Rose, though her cheek flushed. - -‘Perhaps you may some day,’ I answered. ‘But now, darling, you must be -still, and not talk any more, else I am afraid you will not be so well -to-morrow.’ - -I had hard work to persuade her to be quiet, and though after a time -she refrained from talking in obedience to my repeated injunctions, I -could see her thoughts were dwelling on the communication I had made to -her. Only good results, however, followed from the excitement of that -evening. There was a tinge of pink on Rose’s delicate cheek the next -day; her countenance was brighter, and her manner more animated than we -had seen it for some time. Mr Aslatt was delighted at the change, and -encouraged by it, he began to talk to Rose of the plans he had formed -for taking her to Italy as soon as she felt strong enough to travel. He -was overjoyed to find that she made no objection to his proposal, but -even entered cheerfully into his plans, and declared that she should be -quite ready to start in the course of a few weeks. And so it proved, -for she gained strength with a rapidity which shewed the truth of the -doctor’s words, that she only needed to be roused in order to get well. - -We started for the continent at the end of October. It was thought -that residence abroad during the winter months would promote Rose’s -restoration to health, and afford that diversion of mind which was -so desirable after the trying experience she had passed through. The -result was most satisfactory. There was no return of the apathetic -melancholy which had been so distressing to witness; and her enjoyment -of the various entertainments her kind friend provided for her was -unassumed. I began to hope that, after all, her attachment to Mr -Hammond had not been very deep, but merely a romantic fancy, kindled -by the thought of his misfortunes, and fanned into a flame by the -breath of opposition. A thousand little incidents strengthened this -conviction of mine. Every day it became evident that Rose was learning -to appreciate her guardian’s character more highly than she had done -before. She took a growing delight in his society, and indeed never -seemed quite at ease if he were absent. - -When in the spring we returned to England, Rose’s health and spirits -had so completely returned, that she appeared little different from -the radiant girl whose loveliness had charmed me when I first looked -at her, save that her manner was gentler, being marked by a winning -humility and patience which her former bearing had lacked. - -I did not long remain at Westwood Hall in the capacity of Rose’s -companion, though I have frequently visited it since as her friend. One -day soon after our return from Italy, she came to me with a bright and -blushing countenance, and whispered that she had a secret to tell me. I -had little doubt what the secret was, and could therefore help Rose out -with her confession, that Mr Aslatt had asked her to be his wife, and -that she had consented, though with some reluctance, caused by a sense -of her unworthiness. - -‘I could not do otherwise,’ she said, ‘when he told me that the -happiness of his future life depended upon my answer; though I know how -little I deserve the love he bestows upon me.’ - -‘But Rose,’ I said, anxious to be relieved of a painful doubt, ‘you -have not, I trust, been led to a decision contrary to the dictates of -your heart? You know nothing would be further from Mr Aslatt’s desire -than that you should sacrifice your own inclinations from a mistaken -notion of his claims upon you. He would not be happy if he thought you -had only consented that you might not make him unhappy, and not because -your own happiness would be promoted by the union.’ - -‘I know that,’ murmured Rose, as her cheek took a deeper tint; ‘but it -is not so. I feel very differently towards Mr Aslatt from what I did -when you first knew me. I think him the best and noblest of men, and I -shall be proud and happy to be his wife; only I wish I were more worthy -of him. O Miss Bygrave! I cannot tell you how ashamed I feel, when I -think of the infatuation which led me to deceive so kind a friend, -or how intensely thankful I am that you saved me from a wicked act -which would have caused unspeakable misery for us both! I pity poor Mr -Hammond, and forgive him for the injury he so nearly inflicted upon me; -but I must confess to you that I never really had such confidence in -him or cared for him, as I now care for and trust the one whose love I -have slighted and undervalued so long.’ - -It only remains to add that shortly after that terrible scene at the -Priory, Mr Hammond disappeared, and it was thought, went abroad; but of -him and his wretched wife not a scrap of intelligence has ever reached -us. - - - - -THE MONTH: - -SCIENCE AND ARTS. - - -In a lecture at the Royal Institution, Dr Tyndall has made known the -results of a long series of experiments on fog-signals, all involving -more or less of noise, and demonstrating that the noisiest are the -best. Mariners in a fog are helpless: no lights, no cliffs, no towers -can be seen, and they must be warned off the land through their -ears. So in conjunction with the Trinity House and the authorities -at Woolwich, the Professor fired guns of various kinds and sizes, -and very soon found that a short five-and-a-half-inch howitzer with -a three-pound charge of powder produced a louder report than an -eighteen-pounder with the same weight of charge. Thereupon guns of -different forms were constructed, and one among them which had a -parabolic muzzle proved to be the best, that is in throwing the sound -over the sea, and not wasting it to rearward over the land. Then it -was ascertained that fine-grained powder produces a louder report than -coarse-grained; the shock imparted to the air being more rapid in the -one case than in the other. - -Experiments made with gun-cotton shewed conclusively that the cotton -was ‘loudest of all;’ and ‘fired in the focus of the reflector, the -gun-cotton clearly dominated over all the other sound-producers.’ The -reports were heard at distances varying from two to thirteen miles and -a half. - -When the fog clears off, the noisy signals are laid aside and bright -lights all round the coast guide the seaman on his way. Some years -ago the old oil light was superseded by the magneto-electric light, -and this in turn has given place to the dynamo-electric light, which -excels all in brilliance and intensity. In this machine the required -movements are effected by steam or water power; and when the electric -current is thereby generated, it is conducted by wires to a second -machine, which co-operates in the work with remarkable economy and -efficiency. Readers desirous of knowing the improvements made in the -dynamo-electric machines by Messrs Siemens, and the experiments carried -on in lighthouses, should refer to the _Proceedings_ of the Institution -of Civil Engineers for the present session. - -Particulars of a galvanic battery of extraordinary power have been -brought to this country from the United States. Instead of the carbon -plate commonly used as one of the elements in the cells, it has a -copper plate coated with lead and platinum; and a blowing apparatus -is so combined that a stream of air can be blown through the acid -liquid with which the cells are filled. The effects of this aeration -are remarkable: the galvanic current is rendered unusually powerful, -and a large amount of heat is developed. The way in which these -effects are produced is not yet satisfactorily made out; but that this -battery offers a new and potent means of investigation to chemists and -physicists cannot be doubted. - -An account of an exclusively metallic cell has been given to the Royal -Society by Professors Ayrton and Perry of the Engineering College, -Tokio, Japan, in a paper on ‘Contact Theory of Voltaic Action.’ They -took strips of platinum and magnesium, which were in connection with -the electrodes of the electrometer, and dipped them into mercury, -and immediately saw evidence of a strong current. The experiments -were continued with much care until the Professors felt assured that -‘the electro-motive force obtained was about one and a half times the -electro-motive force of a Daniell’s cell.’ ‘It may be possible,’ they -remark further, ‘by mechanical or other means, or by using another -metal than magnesium, to give constancy to this arrangement; and as -its internal resistance is extremely small, the cell may be of great -practical use for the production of powerful currents.’ - -In a discussion about Iron at the meeting of the Iron and Steel -Institute, one of the speakers shewed that it was not so much quality -of metal as mechanical structure that constituted good iron. He took -certain railway bars and planed them, whereby he was enabled to examine -their structure, and he saw that some of the rails contained much -cinder, which accounted for their showing more signs of wear than -others. On sifting the shavings and passing a magnet over them, all the -iron could be taken out and the quantity of cinder ascertained; and not -until this cinder could be thoroughly got rid of would the manufacturer -be able to produce good iron. The same defect had been noticed in -Swedish iron made for a special purpose; and there was reason to fear -that manufacturers made more haste to send iron into the market than -to produce the best quality. Fortunately, a few scientific men have -introduced improvements which will in time abolish the rule of thumb -that has too long prevailed. - -The manufacture of bricks from slag is still carried on at the Tees -Iron-works, Middlesbrough, by machines constructed for the purpose. The -slag, ground into sand, is mixed with lime, squeezed into moulds, and -each machine turns out about ten thousand bricks a day. Being pressed, -these bricks present advantages over ordinary bricks: they are uniform -in size and thickness; do not break; occasion less trouble to the -bricklayer and plasterer; require less mortar; and do not split when -nails are driven into them, whereby carpenters are saved the work of -plugging. Another important fact, which the labourers will appreciate, -is that the weight of a thousand slag bricks is one ton less than the -weight of a thousand red bricks; and as regards durability, we are -informed that the longer they are kept the harder they become. - -An invention which simplifies photography out of doors may be said -to have claims on the attention of tourists and travellers, as well -as of professional photographers. To carry the bottles, liquids, -and other appliances at present required necessitates troublesome -baggage; but Mr Chardon of Paris shews that all this may be avoided -by the use of his ‘Dry bromide of silver emulsion.’ This preparation, -a mixture of collodion and the bromide, will keep an indefinite time -in bottles excluded from the light, and does not suffer from varying -temperatures. Specimens carried to China, and back by way of the Red -Sea, underwent no alteration; an important consideration for travellers -and astronomers who wish to take photographs in tropical countries. -When required for use the bromide is mixed in certain proportions with -ether and alcohol; the plates are coated with this solution, and as -soon as dry are ready for the photographer. They require no further -preparation, and retain their sensibility through many months. The -image may be developed immediately or after some weeks, according to -circumstances; in proof of which photographs taken at Aden have been -developed in Paris. But a very small quantity of water is necessary, -and the image may be transferred to a film of gelatine or a sheet of -paper at pleasure, which lessens the risk of breakage, and the plates -may be used for fresh pictures. - -An account has been published of the disturbance and destruction which -the telegraph lines in Germany underwent during the widespread storm -one night in March 1876. The destruction was so very great, that had -the storm occurred during a political crisis or a war, the consequences -might have been much more calamitous. This liability to derangement -has in nearly all countries led practical minds to conclude that -underground telegraphs are preferable to lines carried on posts through -the air; and the German government have laid underground wires from -Berlin to Mainz (Mayence), a distance of about three hundred and eighty -miles, which will afford excellent means for comparing the two systems. - -Vast as are the forests of the United States, Americans are finding out -that they are not inexhaustible. The annual product of ‘lumber,’ which -means timber in all its forms, is estimated at ten thousand million -feet, a quantity sufficient to make a perceptible gap in the broadest -of forests. Among the heaviest items of consumption are the railways -with their eighty thousand miles of sleepers, to say nothing of ties, -bridges, platforms, and fences. The average ‘life’ of the wood when -laid in the ground is from four to six years; and each year’s renewal -is said to use up one-sixth of the enormous product above mentioned. -These facts have led some thinking constructors to reconsider the -national objection to precautions, and they now advocate the use of -preserved timber, and have invented a method of preservation. The -principal part of the apparatus is a large air-tight iron cylinder -one hundred feet long, into which the wood is run on rails; all the -openings are closed; steam at a high temperature is forced in, and -the process is maintained until every part of the wood is heated up -to two hundred and twelve degrees. The steam is then driven from the -cylinder; heat is applied; then a vacuum is produced, and ‘many barrels -of sap’ pour from the wood. Creosote oil is then forced into the -cylinder. ‘Every stick is at once bathed with oil. The wood, being in a -soft somewhat spongy condition, the fibres porous, and the pores open, -absorbs at once the hot penetrating oil. If the wood be of a porous -character like pine, it absorbs all the oil required in the first flow -without any pressure; but if the fibre be solid and close and the -timber of a large size, a further pressure of from sixty to one hundred -and fifty pounds is needed to make the impregnation complete.’ This -process reminds us of one on a somewhat similar principle which was -noticed in this _Journal_ for November 25, 1876. - -In an address to the Royal Geological Society of Ireland, Sir Robert -Kane remarked on the activity prevailing among the geologists and -chemists of that country in investigation of their mineral resources. -The search for fluorine in rocks has had favourable results; and the -discovery of phosphoric acid is regarded as an indication of the -extent to which organic remains were included originally in those -mineral masses. Certain beds described by geologists as lower Silurian -and Cambrian, destitute of fossils, nevertheless contain such traces -of phosphorus as shew that they must have been formed in seas rich -in organic life. These facts, as Sir R. Kane shewed, are of special -interest in Ireland, where, owing to the rareness of those newer -formations which furnish the valuable coprolite beds of Cambridge and -Suffolk, such sources of agricultural wealth are absent; but where the -older strata being so largely developed offer resources for discovery -of accumulated organic remains which may be turned to good account in -fertilising the soil. - -Professor Boyd Dawkins, F.R.S., in discoursing to the Manchester -Geological Society, mentioned the discovery of fresh evidence of the -antiquity of man. Certain caves in Cresswell Crags, on the borders -of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire, have been recently explored, and -the relics thereby brought to light prove that man lived in the -hunter-stage of civilisation in the valley of the Trent and its -tributaries, along with the mammoth, woolly rhinoceros, cave-hyena, -lion and reindeer, and that he was capable of progress. In the lowest -stratum in the caves, says Professor Dawkins, implements are found of -the rudest kind and roughest form, made of quartzite pebbles from the -neighbourhood. In the middle stratum implements of flint appear mingled -with the others; but in the uppermost stratum the tools and implements -are of flint, and of the best kind. Among these are bone needles and -other appliances of bone and horn, on one of which is rudely engraved a -figure of a horse. ‘This sequence,’ remarks the Professor, ‘establishes -the fact, that even in the palæolithic age the hunters of reindeer, -horse, mammoth, and other creatures were progressive, and that the -cave-dwellers of the pleistocene age are to be looked upon from the -same point of view as mankind at the present time, as “one man always -living and incessantly learning.”’ If Professor Dawkins is right in -his conjecture, the cave-dwellers of the very remote period which he -describes were somewhat like the Eskimos of the present day. - -To this we may add the fact, that rude stone implements have been found -in the ‘glacial drift’ in New Jersey, United States, and that some -geologists regard this as proof that man lived on the earth during -that far-back, dreary, and cold glacial period. - -In the course of the admirable surveys of their wide-spread territory -carried on by authority of the United States government, discovery -has been made of strange and interesting remains of habitations, -implements, and pottery of a long-departed and forgotten people, -who once occupied the region about the head-waters of the San Juan. -Photographers and geologists among the surveying parties have by means -of pictures, drawings, and descriptions produced a Report, which will -in due time be published at Washington. Meanwhile models of the ancient -ruins have been constructed in plaster, and compared with the dwellings -of certain Indian tribes in New Mexico and Arizona; and these latter, -with allowance for contact with Europeans, are at once recognised as -bearing traces of the dwellings of the forgotten people. ‘Forgotten,’ -says an American contemporary, ‘because the builders of the modern -structures are as ignorant of the ancient builders as we are ourselves.’ - -A correspondent suggests that the ‘stencils’ produced by Edison’s -Electric Pen might be used as communications for blind people, whose -sensitive fingers would, he thinks, feel out the meaning of the -very slight roughness of the surface of the paper occasioned by the -punctures. Why does he not try the experiment? Meanwhile we mention -that a naturalist in New York has produced a Catalogue of Diatomaceæ by -means of the Electric Pen, and published it in quarto form for private -distribution. - -Another correspondent informs us that the horse-shoe described in -the _Month_ (July 1877) as brought into use in Philadelphia with -satisfactory results, was invented in England in 1870 by Mr C. J. -Carr. A statement printed in 1874 sets forth that the shoe is made of -malleable iron in such a way ‘as to allow of the natural growth of -the frog while completely shielding the foot. On the face of the shoe -is a hollow semi-circular cavity, which is filled with a pad of hemp -and tar; and as no calkins or spikes are required, one of the dangers -incident to roughing is entirely obviated.’ We wish success to any one -who will persevere in applying common-sense and kindness to the shoeing -of horses. - -The _Japan Daily Herald_ of 31st January states that when the -telephone was brought under the notice of the Japanese government, -Mr Ito, the (native) Minister of Public Works, at once ordered -experiments to be made. These were carried out by Mr Gilbert, Telegraph -Superintendent-in-chief to the Japanese government, and formerly of -Edinburgh. The experiments were so satisfactory that they were followed -by the establishment of telephonic communication between the police -stations in the metropolis and between the Emperor’s palace and the -various government departments. When the Public Works Department and -the palace were first put in telephonic union, the Emperor and Empress -were present, and expressed great surprise at the result. The English -newspaper, in recording this fact, adds, ‘As well their Majesties -might;’ and it proceeds to speculate whether the Chinese, who have -opposed telegraphs and railways, will ‘give ear to the telephone.’ No -great expectation appears to be entertained that the Chinese will do -anything of the kind. - - - - -TWO HEARTS. - -(Suggested by the picture ‘In Memoriam.’) - - - In the sunlight, darting, dancing, - Birds amid the green leaves glancing, - Gaily sing: - In the balmy air entrancing, - Breathes the Spring. - - ’Tis the dearest hour of daytime; - In the merry, merry Maytime, - Who’d be sad? - Nature revels in her playtime; - All is glad. - - Who is this that cometh slowly? - ’Tis a maiden meek and lowly; - In her eyes, - Look of resignation holy - Shadowy lies. - - Heeds she not the golden gleaming - Of the sunlight softly streaming - Through the leaves: - Still her soul is darkly dreaming; - Still she grieves. - - He her heart to win had striven; - She her heart to him had given; - Hope hath fled— - Heart from heart for aye is riven: - He is dead. - - Mid the cruel cannon’s rattle, - Passed his soul forth in the battle— - Soul that cried - To Heaven for her from the battle - Ere he died. - - On the day when, heavy-hearted, - He had from his love departed - For the fray, - While each heart with sorrow smarted— - On that day - - He had left a little token, - That if earthly ties were broken, - On the tree - Tender tie, though all unspoken, - Still might be. - - He had carved two hearts united— - Sign of troth and promise plighted; - Sign that they - True will be till death-benighted, - Come what may. - - He in each heart—sign that never - Time shall one from other sever— - Graved each name; - Sign that they will be for ever - Still the same. - - Daily comes she here to borrow - Short relief from sorest sorrow, - Partial peace, - Till when on her life’s To-morrow - Grief shall cease. - - So she dreams of heavenly meeting, - Hears her lost love’s tender greeting - Mid the blest, - Where beyond these troubles fleeting, - There is rest. - - Hearts which here were disunited, - Hearts whose hopes on earth were blighted, - On that shore - Rest, in perfect peace delighted, - Evermore. - - * * * * * - -Printed and Published by W. & R. 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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/license - - -Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 748, April 27, 1878 - -Author: Various - -Editor: William Chambers - Robert Chambers - -Release Date: September 20, 2020 [EBook #63247] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL *** - - - - -Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>{257}</span></p> - -<h1>CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL<br /> -OF<br /> -POPULAR<br /> -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.</h1> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" >CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<p class='center'> - -<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> - -<a href="#OUR_CANAL_POPULATION">OUR CANAL POPULATION.</a><br /> -<a href="#HELENA_LADY_HARROGATE">HELENA, LADY HARROGATE.</a><br /> -<a href="#CURIOUS_THEATRE_CUSTOMS_IN_PARIS">CURIOUS THEATRE CUSTOMS IN PARIS.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_RIVAL_LAIRDS">THE RIVAL LAIRDS.</a><br /> -<a href="#AN_IRISH_COUNTRY_FUNERAL">AN IRISH COUNTRY FUNERAL.</a><br /> -<a href="#MR_ASLATTS_WARD">MR ASLATT’S WARD.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_MONTH">THE MONTH: SCIENCE AND ARTS.</a><br /> -<a href="#TWO_HEARTS">TWO HEARTS.</a><br /> - -<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> - -</p> - - - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="header" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/header.png" 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"> -<div class="header"> -<p class="floatl"><span class="smcap">No. 748.</span></p> -<p class="floatr"><span class="smcap">Price</span> 1½<em>d.</em></p> -<p class="floatc">SATURDAY, APRIL 27, 1878.</p> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OUR_CANAL_POPULATION">OUR CANAL POPULATION.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">As</span> much interest has latterly been roused concerning -the population habitually living in the -English canal traffic boats, we offer the following -particulars on the subject from the personal -observation of a correspondent. His narrative is -as follows:</p> - -<p>After allowing one or two barges to pass, the -occupants of which seemed to be surly ill-favoured -folks, one at length came in sight which answered -our purpose, and we shall begin with it.</p> - -<p>A cleanly dressed woman looked up at us -with a pleasant smile upon her face as we -bade her ‘good-day,’ her husband at the same -time answering our salutation heartily. Whilst -waiting for the lock to fill he came to our side -and volunteered some sensible remarks on the -great saving of water effected by the use of the -side-pound system, which led to a conversation -between us, and eventually to an invitation to -step on board and go with them as far as Brentford. -Accordingly we stepped on board; but at -first had some little difficulty in bestowing our -person out of the way of the long tiller, which -swept completely over the available standing-room -in rear of the cabin door, and momentarily -threatened to force us overboard.</p> - -<p>When at length we were well under way, and -the man had relieved his wife at the helm, she -invited us to inspect the interior of their cabin, -apologising for its unfurnished state as compared -with other cabins, on the ground that -she did not habitually accompany her husband -on his voyages, preferring to stay at home, when -possible, to keep the house in order. With -no little pride, however, she pointed out the -usual arrangement of cupboards, lockers, shelves, -hooks, &c., by which the limited space of nine -feet by six was made to contain the utensils -and necessaries for the use of a whole family. -As was natural to a good housewife, she dilated -mostly upon the cooking capabilities of a wonderfully -small fire-place, erected close by the doorway, -at which, she averred, she could cook as -readily as at home. We looked sharply round -for the sleeping accommodation, but failing to -discover anything resembling a bedstead—other -than the tops of the lockers placed round two -sides of the cabin, and which we calculated could -not possibly accommodate more than three persons—were -considerably puzzled to understand how -such families as we had seen on the other boats -were disposed of at night. The roof was not high -enough to admit of hammocks being slung; nor -was the space between the lockers sufficient to -allow of a bed being made up on the floor. Unable -to solve the puzzle ourselves, we suggested -that surely, where there was a family of five or -six children, they did not all sleep in the cabin.</p> - -<p>‘Indeed, but they do,’ replied our hostess. -‘And this is how they manage. The father and -mother with the youngest baby sleep at the end -there, with maybe the next youngest at their -feet; then a couple of the children at this side; -and another, or two, under here.’</p> - -<p>‘Under here’ being the space beneath the -father’s bed, a very kennel, closed on all sides -except a portion of the front corresponding to the -width of the floor—about three feet. That children -even could sleep in so confined a space without -suffering permanently in health seems contrary to -all natural laws; but as a matter of fact, bargemen -and their families appear to be remarkably -healthy. Expressing our surprise that any person -could possibly sleep in so cramped a space, our -informant continued: ‘Bless you! that’s nothing. -When there’s a butty, he sleeps as best he can on -the floor.’</p> - -<p>‘And pray, what is a butty?’ we inquire.</p> - -<p>‘Well, you see, by rights there must be two -able-bodied people on board every boat, besides -a lad or a lass to take turn about at driving. -Generally it’s the man’s wife. But sometimes it -happens as she’s sick or what not; and then they -have to get a growing lad of sixteen or seventeen -to butty with them for a voyage or two; and then -of course he lives and sleeps on the boat along -with the family. Not as you must run away -with the idea that we all of us live entirely in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>{258}</span> -the boats, as a good many of us have as good -homes on shore as you’d wish to put foot in. -But on the other hand, there’s as many more who -don’t sleep out of the boat once a year, and hardly -know what the inside of a house is like.</p> - -<p>‘Do I mean to say that children are born in these -cabins? Indeed I do, sir. What is more, many’s -the child that is not only born on board but <i>dies</i> -on board too; for as I told you, there’s many that -have no other home than the boat, and no friends -but what are boatmen too. So what <i>are</i> they to -do? with their husbands a-travelling all over the -country; Birmingham one week, and Brentford -here maybe, the next. Plenty of ’em indeed -have got so used to the boats it would be -downright cruel if they were to be compelled to -live in a house ashore like decent people; because, -you see, everything’s so different, and they’ve -become so used to making shift in little room, -that they’d be regularly lost in a house.</p> - -<p>‘How do they get on when they’re sick? -Well, you see, it’s mostly a town that we tie up -at, at night, and there’s generally a doctor to be -found, however late it may be; and they get -medicine that way. I once lost a little girl on -board. She was taken a little queer on the -Sunday night before we were to start on this very -same voyage on the Monday morning. It so -happened that the master couldn’t get a butty, -and so we’d arranged as I should come down with -him; though of course we never dreamt as there -was anything serious the matter with little Polly, -or I wouldn’t have stirred with her. All day -Monday and Tuesday the child got so much worse, -that when we tied up at night I made the master -take her to a doctor and get some medicine for -her. Of course we were obliged to go on the next -day, with little Polly getting worse and worse -every hour, so that at night we were afraid to take -her on shore, and had to pay a doctor to come on -board and see her. I hardly liked the thought -of going on the next day; but we were on a time -voyage, by which the master was bound to be in -Brentford on a certain day, and so we had to go -on. But before night little Polly died. All that -evening my master tried to get somebody to take -his boat on; but it was a busy time just then, and -there wasn’t a boatman to be got for love or -money. We had some thoughts of going on ourselves; -but almost as soon as it was daylight the -next morning a policeman came on board and -stopped us, saying, as no doctor had attended the -child, there’d have to be an inquest. It was no -use me a-shewing him the medicine bottles, and -saying as two doctors had seen her; he wouldn’t -believe us. Nor it wasn’t till two days afterwards, -after my master had been to the last doctor and -got him to give him a letter to the coroner, that -we could get leave to bury the child; which we -did, with not a soul belonging to her following her -except my husband in his working clothes, I -myself being too poorly to keep the poor man -company in seeing the last of her.</p> - -<p>‘As for children being born in the cabins, sir, -I know several women who have had large -families all born on board the boat while it was -making its voyage, with perhaps nobody at all -to attend on them except their husband, or some -woman from another boat which chanced to be -working mates with them.</p> - -<p>‘Both my lads can read and write; but there’s -nine out of ten as you see on the boats can’t tell -“A” from a bull’s foot, and on that account the new -Act is sure to do good. But my husband can tell -you more about that than I can, and he’ll have -done for a mile or two when we get through this -next lock.’</p> - -<p>‘None such easy work after all—is it, sir?’ -inquired the husband, as after passing through -several locks all within a few score paces of each -other, at every one of which he had been very -hard at work opening and closing sluices, he -stepped on board the barge and took the helm -from his wife. ‘There is them as thinks we -bargees have nought to do all day except lean our -arms on the tiller, smoke our pipes, and chaff -anybody we come across. But you can see for -yourself, sir, as we have all our work at times.’</p> - -<p>Having expressed our conviction that on that -point he was right, we requested him to enlighten -us on several matters connected with his particular -class, which he willingly did somewhat as follows.</p> - -<p>‘About our earnings? Well, I suppose we can’t -grumble as times go. Take it all the year round, -one week with another, I and the lads earn perhaps -a couple of pounds. We get paid mostly by -the voyage—so much a ton from one place to -another; and if we could only get loaded up as -soon as we emptied, we shouldn’t make a bad -thing of it; but the worst of it is the waiting -about for a load when one voyage is finished before -we can start on another. The boats the master -finds; but the horse is my own; and out of what I -make I have to feed him, which must be on the -best of corn and hay that can be got for money; -otherwise, he’d never be able to get through the -tramp, tramp, for five-and-twenty or thirty miles—sometimes -more—which he has to do day after -day, wet and fine. Look at that corn, sir! Better -you won’t find in any gentleman’s stable, I’ll -warrant. And I find that in the long-run it comes -the cheapest, for where those as feeds their horses -on anything, wear out two or three, I don’t use -up one. Of course we don’t walk the whole day -through, alongside the horse; but we take it turn -about, five or six miles at a spell; though sometimes -when we are working quick voyages, night -and day that is—owners finding relays of horses—we -have regular hours to drive, like watches on -board ship; but there ain’t much of that kind of -work now. Our day’s work is mostly over by dark, -sometimes sooner, sometimes later, all depending -on the place we choose to tie up at, or the time we -have to wait to pass the locks.</p> - -<p>‘Do I think that railways will do away with -canals in time? No, sir; I don’t. Because, you -see, there’s lots of goods as don’t well bear the -packing and unpacking as is necessary for railway -travelling, as can be put straight on board a barge -and never be shaken even, till they are unloaded -just at the very place where they are wanted. -And lots of other goods there are that <i>we</i> can carry -cheaper than the railway, where a day or two -more on the road don’t matter. Besides which, -there’s plenty of brickfields, collieries, ironworks, -and such like just on the canal banks and some -distance from railroads, that will always use barges -to save the expense of carting; so that I don’t -think canals will go out of fashion yet awhile. -And that’s why I’m glad to hear as they’re passing -an Act to do something for the poor children. -You see it’s just this way, sir: our people as a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>{259}</span> -rule don’t know how to read and write themselves, -most of ’em having been on the boats since they -could remember, and therefore they don’t see -why they shouldn’t have the advantage of their -children’s assistance in working the barge, the -same as <i>their</i> fathers had.</p> - -<p>‘There’s another way in which I think the Act -will do good, and that is this. It will teach our -women perhaps to have a little more decency -about them than some of the worst of them have. -If you’ll believe me, sir, I see scenes on the canal -sometimes, when some of the worst of them have -been paid, as I can’t bear to look at, though not -nearly so commonly now as I used to. And then -again, it doesn’t always follow as because a man -and woman work the same boat that they are -married. In fact, in my opinion it would be a -good thing if the lasses were not allowed on board -after they had grown up to be twelve or thirteen, -as it stands to reason that they’re nearly sure to -grow up bargewomen. And after all’s said and -done, it’s no fitting life for a woman to lead. -As you’ve seen for yourself, there’s a good deal -of hard work attached to it, even on a fine day -like this; but in winter-time it’s simply cruel -to a woman who has a young baby. However, -I suppose when our children are compelled to -go to school, as they say this new Act compels -them, there’ll be a stop put to a good deal of what’s -wrong about us, and perhaps folks may not have -so good a reason for looking upon us as something -worse than themselves. People seem to think -that generally we are a regular bad lot; but I -fancy if they knew a little more about us, they’d -see that, though there <i>are</i> some bad ones amongst -us, take us all in all we are no worse than most -of our neighbours. We seem somehow to have -got a name for interfering with people as we -chance to come across; but you may see for yourself, -sir, that we have quite as much as we can -do to mind our own business, and a bargeman can -no more afford to neglect his business than anybody -else, if he means to do any good in the -world.</p> - -<p>‘What becomes of us when we get old? Well, -most of us stick to the barges as long as we can; -and when we are obliged to give up, if we -haven’t put by enough to keep us comfortable, -which I’m sorry to say as there ain’t many of us -do, there’s generally a lock to be got or a job of -some sort at the docks; all depending on the sort -of character we’ve kept.</p> - -<p>‘Here we are, sir, at our journey’s end for this -time,’ he added, as the boat slowly floated into a -small open basin, there to remain for the night. -The boatman’s wife, being already shawled and -armed with a capacious basket, stepped on shore -as soon as the boat came near enough; and with -a cheerful ‘good-night’ to us, went away to do -her marketing before the shops should close.</p> - -<p>Tying up the boat, my bargee friend sent off the -boys with the horse to its stable, and proceeded to -gather together and stow away in their respective -lockers the odds and ends which had been in use -during the day; remarking as he did so, that -though there were watchmen kept in every dock, -it often happened that the barges were robbed of -any loose things which might be left about, and -therefore it was that most of the boats had a dog -on board, who made a better policeman than all -the watchmen. With a last glance round he took -from one of the cupboards a dirty paper, and -unfolding it for our inspection, said: ‘There, you -see, reading and writing would be of some use to -us after all; for according to what tonnage is put -down there, we get paid. And as you see, wherever -we pay tolls they put down the time we pass, -so that if we get drinking or loitering about for a -day the owners know it, and make up our character -according.</p> - -<p>‘Yes; I’m going to sleep on board; but I must -go and report our arrival at the office, and see as -the horse is all right first. And as for what I’ve -told you, I’m sure you’re very welcome to know -it, especially if it will only make you believe as -if something was done to give our children a little -reading and writing, and to stop so many lads and -lasses being crammed together in the boats, there -might be less respectable people than bargees.’</p> - -<p>An unclouded moon was shining upon the calm -water of the canal and upon the gaudily painted -cabins of some twelve or thirteen barges, which -lay motionless in the basin, displaying no other -sign of human habitation than the thin columns of -smoke which issued from their stove-pipes, as we -bade our friend ‘good-night,’ and started on our -homeward walk, well satisfied with the experience -we had gained while spending an hour or two -with some of ‘our canal population.’</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="HELENA_LADY_HARROGATE">HELENA, LADY HARROGATE.</h2> -</div> - - -<h3>CHAPTER XXIII.—JASPER FEELS PERPLEXED.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Jasper Denzil</span>, as he slowly made his elaborate -toilet on the sunny September morning which -succeeded to the eventful night on which he had -espied from his window Ruth’s slight form gliding -across the lonely park, turned over many things -in his mind. His man, who groaned over the -dull monotony of rural existence, and longed to -be once more in Mount Street or Bond Street -lodgings, silently opined, as he applied the ivory-backed -brushes to his master’s hair or removed -the silver-gilt stoppers of the scent-bottles, that -‘the captain’ was brooding over his turf calamities. -But he was wrong. Jasper’s reverie was -on a different theme.</p> - -<p>Who or what was this mysterious Miss Willis, -this interesting orphan, whom regard for the -mythical major her defunct papa had induced -Sir Sykes to take into the bosom of his family? -The conversation which he had overheard when -lurking in the frowsy garden of <i>The Traveller’s -Rest</i> recurred again and again to his memory, and -served to explain much, but not all. That the -presence beneath his roof-tree of Ruth Willis -had been imposed upon the baronet by Hold’s -importunity, he well knew. That he had with -his own ears heard Hold describe her as his sister, -he well remembered, but he recalled too the -sneering tone in which the adventurer had claimed -kindred with the Indian orphan.</p> - -<p>Of one thing alone did Captain Denzil feel sure. -Ruth, be her understanding with Hold what it -might, was a lady, and no blood-relation of the -rough rover who claimed to be her brother. Who -then <i>was</i> this Ruth? Again and again Jasper’s -thoughts flew back to the little sister that had -died so early, and whose untimely death was -reported to have made the owner of Carbery Chase -the morose joyless recluse that he had long been.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>{260}</span> -Could it be—was it possible that the child had -not died at all, that a false registry, a sham burial, -had thrown dust in credulous eyes, and that the -missing member of the family, hidden for years -from all eyes, had at length been introduced under -a fictitious name into the household?</p> - -<p>A profound distrust of their fellow-creatures -is usually a cardinal point of belief with young -men of such tastes and habits as those of Jasper; -nor did he find it difficult to accredit Sir Sykes -with concealed villainy of some sort, or Miss -Willis with not, as in sporting language he pithily -paraphrased it, ‘running square.’ But he did desire -to find a conceivable motive of some kind; and in -the absence of that was driven to speculations too -wild to shape themselves in rational form.</p> - -<p>‘If the governor had been touched in the head’—thus -ran the son’s dutiful meditations—‘I could -have set down the thing as a rich man’s crazed -caprice; but no! he’s as sound as a bell. And -then that fellow the pirate actually bullying him -to get this girl foisted upon us! What imaginable -interest can he have in planting her at -Carbery Chase, or what can be the bond of union -between a refined dainty little creature and a -buccaneering vagabond of his stamp? The whole -affair is a riddle.’</p> - -<p>It might be added that Jasper was not an adept -in the solution of such social puzzles. Turf -rascalities of any sort came quite naturally within -the compass of an understanding well fitted to -grasp all that could be done on the offensive or -the defensive where a race-horse was concerned. -He knew as much as an outsider could know -regarding touts and horse-watchers, stable strategy -and the tactics of the course. He no more expected -straightforward conduct on the part of an -owner than on that of a trainer or of a jockey. -He did not except even those owners, trainers, and -jockeys, whose honesty was proverbial on the -English turf. The money to be won was in -his eyes motive sufficient for any moral obtuseness. -But the behaviour of Sir Sykes did not -square itself with any of his ethical theories, however -tolerant.</p> - -<p>When, for the very first time since his accident -at the steeplechase, Captain Denzil made his -appearance at the family breakfast-table, he received -the congratulations of his sisters on the -marked improvement in his looks. And it was a -fact that he not merely seemed but felt in better -health than before, in spite of the loss of sleep -incumbent on his vigil of the previous night. The -activity of his thoughts had stirred his languid -pulses and lent a pleasing vigour to his sluggish -mind, and he even began to find existence at -Carbery more endurable since his fancy had been -stimulated by the partial discovery which he had -chanced upon.</p> - -<p>‘I should like to have a word with you, Jasper,’ -said Sir Sykes. (It was a very unusual thing for -him to say.) ‘You will find me in the library -after breakfast.’</p> - -<p>Jasper, who had been stealthily admiring the -calm unconcern with which Miss Willis met his -gaze, and the perfect steadiness of that young -lady’s nerves, started, but instantly recovered -himself. ‘To be sure, sir,’ he said, toying with -his tea-spoon, while his heart quickened its beating. -The enigma was about to be solved then. He -could not doubt that the communication which -his father had to make had reference to the strange -doings of which Carbery Chase had of late been -the theatre.</p> - -<p>Sir Sykes, in his favourite apartment, was not -kept waiting very long. His only son, in obedience -to his father’s invitation, sauntered in with -his customary air of nonchalant indifference, and -took his seat loungingly in an easy-chair opposite -to that of Sir Sykes. The baronet seemed at a -loss for words wherewith to begin the announcement -he desired to make.</p> - -<p>‘You are nearly yourself again, Jasper, after -your heavy fall?’ said Sir Sykes, by way of a -prelude to the conversation.</p> - -<p>‘Yes; thanks. My arm is a little troublesome, -but otherwise I am getting on capitally,’ replied -Jasper after an instant’s hesitation. He had hesitated -in diplomatic doubt as to whether the part -of an invalid would stand him in better stead than -that of a flourishing convalescent, but contented -himself with giving an ambiguous answer. Had -Captain Prodgers or any sporting friend put the -query, ‘I feel fit and well’ would have been -the appropriate rejoinder; but with his parent -the ex-Lancer did not care to lose any coigne of -vantage-ground.</p> - -<p>‘I am glad of it,’ mechanically returned the -baronet; and then there was another pause, more -awkward than the last.</p> - -<p>‘My boy,’ said Sir Sykes, plunging with an -effort into the subject nearest to his thoughts, -‘you can’t suppose that I like to see you wasting -your young life in indolent inaction, or that I am -blind to the fact that the quiet humdrum ways of -Carbery often pall upon you.’</p> - -<p>Jasper pricked up his ears. Here was an exordium -which promised well, too well almost. Could -it be possible that his father was going to sign, so -to speak, his social ticket-of-leave, and to send him -back where Fashion reigned supreme—to London, -Newmarket, Melton? Had the Fates grown kind; -and could he, Jasper Denzil, with a satisfactory -bank balance, once more take his place in the -constellation of the gilded youth of Britain? He -opened his lazy eyes a very little wider, and -looked at his father with a renewed interest in -the next words that he should hear.</p> - -<p>‘The case,’ went on Sir Sykes, ‘lies in a nutshell. -You are discontented simply because you -have nothing to occupy you and no one to care -for. I should like very much, Jasper, to see you -happily married; I should indeed.’</p> - -<p>Jasper stared. His roseate visions of a prompt -reappearance in betting-rings and military clubs -were fading fast. But this novel anxiety on the -part of Sir Sykes as to his son’s matrimonial -future might be twisted somehow into the foundation -of at least a qualified prosperity. ‘He can’t -mean,’ such was Jasper’s inward soliloquy, ‘myself -and my wife to be mere pensioners, living -indolently here at Carbery. He must do something -for us, he must indeed; unless it is an -heiress he is about to suggest as a desirable -daughter-in-law.’—‘I suppose I must marry, like -other people, some of these days,’ said Jasper, -with Pall-Mall philosophy.</p> - -<p>‘And there is this advantage in your position,’ -returned Sir Sykes, in a quick flurried manner, -‘that you need not look for fortune in a wife. -The heir-expectant of Carbery can afford to disregard -such matters as dowry and portion.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>{261}</span></p> - -<p>A little pink flush rose to the roots of Jasper’s -fair hair. He did not quite enjoy the hearing -himself described as heir-expectant, not feeling -sure but that a covert sneer was intended; but it -was pleasant to be told that he was not expected -to earn his bread, as he had known other broken-down -men of fashion to do, by wedlock. Perhaps -it was rank, not wealth, on which the governor’s -thoughts ran—perhaps Lady Gladys De Vere. -But here Jasper’s meditations were interrupted, -and his thoughts turned into a new channel, when -the baronet suddenly said: ‘Has it never occurred -to you that Miss Willis, our new inmate here at -Carbery, was a very charming little person, a good -girl, and a clever one, and who would make an -excellent wife?’</p> - -<p>The explosion of a hand-grenade would not -have produced a more startling effect on Jasper’s -nerves than did this wholly unexpected speech on -the part of Sir Sykes. For a moment or two he -sat motionless, with arched eyebrows and parted -lips, and then said, stammeringly: ‘Why, I -thought the relationship—no, not that, but I -supposed—obstacle—marriage!’</p> - -<p>It was for Sir Sykes then to look astonished. -Either he was a consummate actor, or his son’s -last words had been to him utterly inexplicable.</p> - -<p>‘I hardly know,’ said the baronet, in that cold -half-haughty tone that had become habitual to -him, ‘to what you allude, or what insuperable -stumbling-block you conceive to stand in your -way, should you incline to do so sensible a thing -as to pay your addresses to my ward, Miss Willis. -She has, it is true, no fortune; but that deficiency, -as I have already said, is one which I can easily -remedy. In addition to Carbery Chase, which is -quite,’ he added with marked emphasis, ‘at my -own disposal, I have a large amount of personal -property, and should be willing to settle a considerable -income on your wife—I say on your wife, -Jasper, because, unhappily, I cannot rely on your -prudence where money is concerned.’</p> - -<p>‘I know I’ve made too strong running, know it -well enough,’ answered the ex-cavalry officer, -stroking his yellow moustache; ‘and I don’t deny, -sir, that you have treated me very kindly as to -money and that. But really and seriously, sir, -<i>can</i> you wish me to marry Miss Willis?’</p> - -<p>‘Really, my son, your pertinacity in cross-questioning -me on the matter is—I am sure most -unwittingly—almost offensive,’ replied Sir Sykes -nervously. ‘Nor do I see what there would be so -very wonderful in your selection of an amiable and -accomplished girl, domiciled in your father’s house, -and the daughter of—poor Willis!’ added the -baronet in conclusion, as though the memory of -the deceased major had suddenly recurred to him -with unusual vividness.</p> - -<p>Jasper, who remembered the conversation which -he had overheard at <i>The Traveller’s Rest</i>, fairly -gasped for breath. His parent’s talent for duplicity -seemed to him to be something strange and shocking, -as the untruthfulness of an elder generation -always does appear.</p> - -<p>‘I should not have urged my views upon you as -I have done,’ continued Sir Sykes after a pause, -‘but that I have some idea that the young lady -who has been the unconscious subject of this conversation -entertains—what shall I say?—a preference -for your society, which her feminine tact -enables her to hide from general notice. I feel -assured that it only rests with you to win the -heart of Ruth Willis—a prize worth the winning.’</p> - -<p>We are all very vain. Jasper, fop and worldling -though he was, felt a thrill of gratified vanity -run through him like an electric shock, as his -father’s artful suggestion sank into the depths of -his selfish mind. But he made haste to put in a -disclaimer.</p> - -<p>‘I’m afraid, sir, you are too partial a judge,’ he -said, with an involuntary glance at the Venice -mirror opposite. ‘Miss Willis is too sensible to -care about a good-for-nothing fellow like me.’</p> - -<p>‘I think otherwise, Jasper,’ returned Sir Sykes. -‘However, for the present we have talked enough. -My wishes, remember, and even—even my welfare, -for reasons not just now to be explained, are on -the side of this marriage. Think it over. To you -it means easy circumstances, a home of your own, -the reversion of Carbery Chase, my cordial good-will, -and the society of a charming and high-principled -wife. Think it over.’</p> - -<p>‘I will think it over, sir,’ said Jasper, rising -from his chair, and lounging out of the library -with the same listless swagger as that with which -he had lounged into it. ‘I should be glad of -course to meet your wishes, and that. Quite a -surprise though.’</p> - -<p>Left alone, Sir Sykes buried his face in his -hands, and when he raised it again it looked old, -worn, and haggard. ‘That scoundrel Hold,’ he -said with a sigh, ‘makes me pay a heavy price for -his silence, and even now his motives are to me a -problem that I cannot solve.’</p> - -<p class="center">(<i>To be continued.</i>)</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CURIOUS_THEATRE_CUSTOMS_IN_PARIS">CURIOUS THEATRE CUSTOMS IN PARIS.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> visitor to Paris may witness a kind of -theatrical performance which is strikingly different -from any that can be seen in Great Britain. -We refer to the Théâtre des Menus Plaisirs, in -the Boulevard de Strasbourg. Part of the entertainment -here consists in certain of the actors and -actresses criticising the performances which are -proceeding upon the stage, from seats in various -parts of the house—pit, circle, and gallery—which -they have quietly got into unobserved by the -audience. They assume the <i>rôle</i> of ordinary -spectators who find themselves compelled in the -interests of literature and art to remonstrate in a -rather extraordinary manner against what they -see and hear upon the stage; and the surprise -of the uninitiated when the ball is set rolling is -considerable.</p> - -<p>The manager comes upon the stage and begins a -modest speech upon past successes and future prospects; -but he has not far advanced in his speech -when a gentleman rises in the stalls, with hat in -hand, and in the most respectful manner corrects -him with regard to a word which he declares to be -ill chosen and misleading, at the same time obliging -the manager with the correct word. Here another -gentleman introduces himself into the dispute, -and complicates matters by a new suggestion, -which involves the subject in inextricable confusion -and absurdity. Both gentlemen are extremely -polite, but firm in denying the right of -the manager to that word; and the latter is driven -frantic, and retires from the stage glaring at his -antagonists.</p> - -<p>Silence for a few seconds succeeds this scene,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>{262}</span> -when suddenly a man in the front seat of the -gallery starts up from his seat with a wild cry, -throws one leg over the gallery, hangs forward -suspended from the railing, and gazes towards the -pit entrance of the theatre. He sees something -of absorbing interest, and with another cry he -is about to throw himself over the gallery. The -people scream; and then he finds he has been -mistaken; he resumes a normal position, and -looking round upon the audience with a kindly -smile, which strangely contrasts with his late look -of anxiety, he asks pardon for unnecessarily disturbing -their composure, and resumes his seat. A -tenor singer now comes upon the stage and commences -a song; but the two critics in the stalls -are particular, and take exception to his style; they -do so with manifest regret, but the principles of -art must be attended to. With profuse apologies, -and an expressed hope that he will proceed with -his song in the corrected form, the critics resume -their seats. The tenor, at first exasperated, becomes -mollified by the courteous manners of the -gentlemen, and begins his song again; but almost -immediately a lady sitting in the front seat of the -circle tells him that he is in danger of dropping -his moustache. This last is the final ‘straw’ on -the back of the vocalist, and he retires in high -dudgeon.</p> - -<p>By the side of the lady in the circle there sits -a meek-looking old gentleman, who being naturally -shocked at the conduct of his wife, puts on -his hat as if to leave the theatre; but the better-half -is equal to the occasion, and knocks his hat -over the meek old gentleman’s eyes, and the -meek old gentleman himself back into his seat. -Presently several actresses appear upon the stage, -and one of them commences to sing, with probably -a pleasing sympathetic voice; but such is not -the opinion of the lady, who holds the singer up -to ridicule. The vocalist then stops, and engages -in a verbal and violent encounter with her persecutor, -who from her place in the ‘circle’ returns -the badinage with interest, so that soon the other -retires from the stage vanquished. The victor is -now asked herself to sing, a request with which -she readily complies, singing with abundant action -and in good voice an exceedingly catching song, -and at the chorus, giving a royal wave of the -hands towards the gallery to join with her at that -point.</p> - -<p>The stranger will be surprised to learn that this -disturbing element in the audience, in reality comes -from behind the scenes; the lady who has just -sung is the leading member of the company, and -the gentlemen critics are well-known and highly -appreciated comedians. And though the stranger -may think that all this is an impromptu disturbance, -it is quite certain that all is rehearsed -as carefully as any play that is put upon the -stage. How long such a performance would secure -the favour of a London audience, is doubtful; -here, however, it is an abiding success, is received -with immense applause—the <i>claqueurs</i> or professional -applauders being apparently altogether dispensed -with—and the audience is kept in continual -hilarity by the humorous attack and by the -instant and witty reply.</p> - -<p>Within the Parisian theatres the visitor may -derive some amusement from observing the operations -of the <i>claqueurs</i>, who are employed at the -principal establishments to augment the enthusiasm -of the audience. The men who compose -this body of professional applauders appear to -belong to the artisan class; they number from forty -to fifty, that is they are about a hundred hands all -told. They occupy the front row of seats in the -second or third gallery, so that to observe them and -their movements it is necessary to occupy a place -in one of the galleries. Their leader sits in their -midst, ever ready at the points marked for him by -author or manager to give the signal which ‘brings -down the house.’ As the moment arrives when -<i>the</i> bon-mot shall be uttered, the <i>chef</i> breathes upon -his hands, then stretches them slightly upwards, -while he at the same time looks right and left -along his ranks. This is equivalent to ‘Attention’ -or ‘Prepare to fire a volley.’ Each man is now at -the ‘ready,’ and waits anxiously upon the <i>chef</i>. -When the <i>mot</i> is uttered, he brings his hands together -with a frantic wave, and the others simultaneously -with him make a very respectable, even -enthusiastic show of applause. At the end of a -song the leader starts the cry <i>Ploo, ploo</i> (plus, -signifying more), in which all join; this, which is -equivalent to our ‘Encore,’ sounds in the stranger’s -ears more like hooting than aught else; but it is -no doubt as welcome to the French actor as a -good British cheer is to an English one.</p> - -<p>This little army, like all others, has its awkward -squad. One evening at the ‘Renaissance’ -we observed the <i>chef</i> to become very uneasy on -account of one who was exceedingly remiss in his -duty; not only was the amount of applause when -given small in volume, but once when the signal -was given he entirely neglected to comply with it. -This was gall and wormwood to the leader, who -really seemed a very earnest hard-working man -in his profession; so after finishing the round of -applause, he ‘went for’ that awkward man, remonstrated -with him, and even gave him on the spur -of the moment, a lesson on the correct method of -clapping hands. After this the pupil shewed -marked improvement, and by the end of the play -performed his duty in such a satisfactory manner -as promised well for his future advancement in -this handy profession. The effect of this pernicious -system upon the audience is very different, -we should think, from what was anticipated when -it was first organised; for finding that the applause -is supplied by the establishment, just as it supplies -programmes or turns on the gas, the audience feel -that they are relieved from all obligations in the -matter, and unless stirred by an irresistible -influence, seldom dream of applauding at all.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_RIVAL_LAIRDS">THE RIVAL LAIRDS.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> a recent article on Curling we endeavoured to -give a sketch of the history of this popular Scottish -pastime, together with a brief outline of the -mode in which the game is usually played. The -following story of a match between two rival -parishes, supposed to have been played about the -beginning of the present century, may give the -reader a further idea of the enthusiasm evoked -on the ice whenever and wherever curlers forgather. -Let the non-initiated imagine himself -standing beside a frozen sheet of water, upon -which are assembled a company of men of various -ranks from peer to peasant, each striving to do his -best to support the prowess and honour of his -rink. The rink let it be understood is a certain<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>{263}</span> -portion of ice, from thirty to forty yards in length, -apportioned off to the players. The players consist -usually of four on each side, and whereas in the -well-known game of grass-bowls, each player is -provided with two wooden bowls which he drives -towards a small white ball called the Jack, each -player on the ice has two curling-stones shaped -much like a Gouda cheese—with a handle atop—which -he propels or hurls towards a certain marked -spot at each end of the rink, called the tee; and round -each tee is scratched a series of concentric rings -ranging from two to ten or twelve feet in diameter. -Standing at one end of the rink the man whose -turn it is to play, waits the bidding of his director -or ‘skip’ who stands at the other end, and then -endeavours to act according to the directions that -may be given by that important personage. Each -of the four players on one side plays alternately -against his antagonist, the main object being to -send the stone gliding up the ice so that it may -eventually lie within the rings and as near the -tee as possible. Thus, when the ‘end’ is finished, -the side whose stones lie nearest the tee scores so -many towards the game.</p> - -<p>Sometimes when the ice is partially thawed the -players have difficulty in hurling their stones -all the way to the tee; and sometimes they fail -to get them beyond a transverse mark called the -‘hog-score,’ two-thirds down the rink—in which -case the lagging stone is put off the ice and cannot -count for that ‘end.’ Besoms, however, with which -each man is armed, are here of great account, the -laws of the game permitting each player to sweep -the ice in front of an approaching stone belonging -to his side, so as to accelerate its progress, if -necessary. The shouts of ‘Sweep, sweep!’ or -rather ‘<i>Soop, soop!</i>’ are of continual recurrence, -and are exceedingly amusing to strangers. The -skip on each side first directs his three men -and then lastly plays himself. On his generalship -in skipping much depends, his efforts being -mainly directed first to get as many stones as -possible near the tee, and then to get his men -to ‘guard’ them from being driven off by those -of the opposite side. Or he may direct a player -to aim at a certain stone already lying, with a -view to take an angle, or ‘wick’ as it is termed, -and so land his own stone near the tee. This -wicking is a very pretty part of the game and -requires great delicacy of play.</p> - -<p>The anxiety of the opposing skips is very -amusing to watch, and the enthusiasm of the -several players when an unusually good shot is -made, is boundless. A good ‘lead’ or first player, -though he is necessarily debarred from the niceties -of the game which fall to the lot of the subsequent -players, is a very important man in the -game if he can place his stones within the circles -that surround the tee, or in familiar parlance, -‘lie within the house.’ Second player’s post is not -so important; but ‘third stone’ is a position given -usually to an experienced player, as he has frequently -to either drive off some dangerous stone -belonging to the other side, and himself take its -place; or has to guard a stone of his own side, -which though in a good position may lie open -to the enemy. Thus proceeds with varying fortune -this ‘roaring game’ of give and take, stone after -stone being driven along the icy plain, till the -skips themselves come to play and so finish the -‘end.’</p> - -<p>With these preliminary remarks we proceed to -our tale.</p> - - -<p class="p2">Snow had fallen long and silently over all the -high-lying districts of the south of Scotland. It was -an unusually bad year for the sheep-farmers, whose -stock was suffering severely from the protracted -storm and the snow which enveloped both hill and -low-lying pasturage. But while sheep-farmers were -thus kept anxiously waiting for fresh weather, -curlers were in their glory, as day after day they -forgathered on the ice and followed up the -‘roaring game.’</p> - -<p>The century was young, and the particular year -of our story was that known and spoken of for -long afterwards as the ‘bad year.’ In these days, -there was no free-trade to keep down the price -of corn or beef, which during years of bad harvest -in Great Britain, or long periods of frost and snow, -rose to famine prices, and were all but unprocurable -by the poorer classes. Oatmeal at half-a-crown -a peck told a sad tale in many a household, -and especially on the helpless children—the bairns.</p> - -<p>As we have said, curling had been enjoyed to -the full; perhaps there had even been a surfeit -of it, if the real truth were told. Match after -match had been played by parish against parish, -and county against county. Rival rinks of choice -players belonging to counties such as Peebles -had challenged those of the neighbouring counties -of Selkirkshire, or even Midlothian. Prizes, consisting -of medals or money, had been gained by -various enthusiasts; and last though not least, -matches for suppers of beef and greens—the true -curlers’ fare, had been contested, the reckoning to -be paid by the losing rinks. The benedicts too had -played the bachelors, and had as usual, beaten -them.</p> - -<p>Country squires had given prizes to be played for -by their tenantry versus adjoining tenantry, and -had brought their fur-clad wives and daughters to -the ice to congratulate them on success, or condole -with them on defeat. In short, the sole occupation -of the majority of the adult male rural population -of the south of Scotland in the year of which we -speak, seemed to be—curling.</p> - -<p>Amongst other matches in the county of Peeblesshire -there was one that yet remained to come off, -namely between the parishes of Tweedsmuir and -Broughton. In a series of matches—or bonspiels -as they were termed—between parish and parish, -these two had stood unbeaten. It therefore -remained to be seen which parish should beat the -other, and thereby achieve the envied position of -champion of the county.</p> - -<p>When the honour of a <i>parish</i> is at stake on the -ice, the choice of the men who are to play, is a -matter of very grave import. In a friendly match -between two rinks, a little unskilfulness on the -part of one or more of the players is a very -common affair and is comparatively unheeded: -but in a bonspiel between the two best parishes -in a celebrated curling county, the failure or even -the occasional uncertainty of any one man may be -fraught with direst consequences.</p> - -<p>Foremost among the promoters of the forthcoming -match which was to decide matters, were -Robert Scott laird of Tweedsmuir, and Andrew -Murray laird of Broughton. These worthies had -long been rivals on other than ice-fields, and -though on friendly enough terms at kirk or market<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>{264}</span> -were each keenly alive to his own honour and -prowess. Any game, therefore, in which these -rival lairds engaged, was sure to be closely contested; -and the result was at all times as eagerly -watched by interested spectators as it was keenly -fought by the rival parties. It is even said that -the lairds had been rivals in love as well as in -other sports, the result of which was that Murray -had carried off the lady and Scott had remained a -bachelor, with an old housekeeper named Betty to -take charge of him. But as the story of the love-match -was but the ‘clash’ of the country, it may -be taken for what it is worth.</p> - -<p>On the morning of the day fixed for the match -(which was to come off at Broughton and to -consist of four men on each side), the laird of -Tweedsmuir was early astir, in order to see that -the cart which was to convey his own curling-stones -and those of his men to Broughton—a distance -of some half-dozen miles—was ready, and -that the men themselves were prepared to accompany -it. The cart having been duly despatched -with the schoolmaster of the parish, who was to -be one of the players, and the shepherd from -Talla Linns, who was to be another, Laird Scott -ordered out his gig and himself prepared to start.</p> - -<p>‘Now Betty,’ cried the laird to his old housekeeper, -as he proceeded to envelop himself in his -plaid, ‘you’ll see and have plenty of beef and -greens ready by six o’clock, and a spare bed or -two; for besides our own men it’s likely enough -I may bring back one or two of the beaten lads to -stop all night.’</p> - -<p>‘’Deed laird, tak ye care the Broughton folk -dinna get the better o’ <i>you</i>, and beat ye after a’: -they tell me they’re grand curlers.’</p> - -<p>‘Well Betty, I’m not afraid of them, with -Andrew Denholm on my side.’</p> - -<p>Thus assured, the stalwart laird seized the reins -and took the road for Broughton. On his way -down the valley of the Tweed he called at the -humble cottage of the said Andrew Denholm, who -usually played the critical part of ‘third stone,’ -and was one of his best supporters; and whose -employment, that of a mason, was for the nonce at -a stand-still.</p> - -<p>‘What! not ready yet Andrew?’ exclaimed -the laird in a tone of disappointment. ‘Bestir -yourself man, or we’ll not be on the ice by ten -o’clock.’</p> - -<p>‘I’m no’ gaun’ to the curlin’ the day sir,’ replied -Andrew with an air of dejection.</p> - -<p>‘And what for no’?’ inquired the laird with uneasy -apprehension. ‘You know Andrew, my man, -the game canna’ go on without you. The honour -of Tweedsmuir at stake too! there’s not another -man I would risk in your place on the ice this -day.’</p> - -<p>‘Get Wattie Laidlaw the weaver to tak’ my -place laird; he’s a grand curler, and can play up -a stane as well as ony man in the parish; the fact -is sir, just now I have na’ the heart even to curl. -Gang yer ways yersell laird, and skip against the -laird o’ Broughton, and there’s nae fear o’ the -result: and Wattie can play third stane instead -o’ me.’</p> - -<p>‘Wattie will play <i>nae</i> third stane for me: come -yourself Andrew, and we’ll try to cheer you -up; and you’ll take your beef and greens up bye -wi’ the rink callants and me in the afternoon.’</p> - -<p>Denholm was considered one of the best curlers -in that part of the county, and was usually -one of the first to be on the ice; to see him, -therefore, thus cast down and listless, filled the -laird’s warm heart with sorrow. He saw there -was something wrong. He must rally the dejected -mason.</p> - -<p>‘Do you think,’ continued the laird, ‘that I -would trust Wattie to play in your place; a poor -silly body that can barely get to the hog-score, let -alone the tee? Na, na Andrew; rather let the -match be off than be beaten in that way.’</p> - -<p>Seeing the laird thus determined to carry off -his ‘third man’ to the scene of the approaching -conflict, the poor mason endeavoured still further -to remonstrate by a recital of his grievances.</p> - -<p>‘Ye ken sir,’ he began, ‘what a long storm -it has been. Six weeks since I’ve had a day at -my trade, though I have made a shilling or two -now and again up-bye at the homestead yonder. -But wi’ the price o’ meal at half-a-crown the peck, -and no’ very good after a’; and nineteenpence for -a loaf of bread, we’ve had a sair time of it. But -we wadna’ vex oorsels about that, Maggie and me, -if we had meal eneugh to keep the bairns fed. -Five o’ them dwining away before our eyes; it’s -been an unco job I assure you, laird. Indeed -if it hadna been for Mag’s sister that’s married -upon the grieve o’ Drummelzier, dear knows what -would have become of us, wi’ whiles no a handfu’ -o’ meal left in the girnel. Even wi’ the siller to -pay for it, it’s no’ aye to be gotten; and,’ faltered -the poor fellow in conclusion, ‘there’s just meal -eneugh in the house to-day to last till the -morn.’</p> - -<p>‘Well, cheer up my man!’ cried the laird; ‘the -longest day has an end, and this storm cannot last -much longer. In fact there’s a thaw coming on -or I’m far cheated. There’s a crown to Maggie -to replenish the meal-ark, and get maybe a sup -o’ something better for the bairns. And there’s -cheese an’ bread in the gig here that will serve -you and me Andrew, till the beef and greens -are ready for us up-bye in the afternoon. Meanwhile, -a tastin’ o’ the flask will no be amiss, and -then for Broughton.’</p> - -<p>Thus invigorated and reassured, the mason took -his seat beside the laird, and amid blessings from -the gudewife and well-wishings from the bairns, -the two sped on their journey.</p> - -<p>Arrived at the pond, they found tees marked, -distances measured, and all in readiness for the -play to begin. The usual salutations ensued. -Broughton and Tweedsmuir shook hands all round -with much apparent warmth; and the two sides, -of four each, took their places in the following -order:</p> - -<table class="autotable" summary=""> -<tr> -<td class="tdc">BROUGHTON.</td> -<td class="tdc">TWEEDSMUIR.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">Wil. Elliot, shoemaker, lead;</td> -<td class="tdl">Mr Henderson, schoolmaster, lead;</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">Rev. Isaac Stevenson, 2d stone;</td> -<td class="tdl">Wattie Dalgleish, shepherd, 2d stone;</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">Tam Johnston, blacksmith, 3d stone;</td> -<td class="tdl">Andrew Denholm, mason, 3d stone;</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">Laird Murray, skip.</td> -<td class="tdl">Laird Scott, skip.</td> -</tr> -</table> - -<p>The play was begun and continued with varying -fortune: sometimes one side scored, sometimes the -other. The match was to consist of thirty-one -points; and at one o’clock when a halt was called -for refreshments, the scoring was tolerably even.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>{265}</span> -The frost was beginning to shew a slight tendency -to give way, but this only nerved the players to -further exertions in sweeping up the stones on the -somewhat dulled ice. The scene in the forenoon -had been a very lively one: but as the afternoon -approached and the game was nearing an end, -the liveliness was tempered with anxiety, which -amounted almost to pain, as shot after shot -was ‘put in’ by one side, only to be cleverly -‘taken’ by the other. ‘Soop! soop!’ was the -incessant cry of the skips as from their point of -vantage they descried a lagging stone; or ‘Haud -up! I tell ye; haud up!’ when from that same -point they beheld one of their players’ stones -approaching with sufficient velocity to do all that -was wanted. Anxiety was nearing a crisis. At -half-past three the game stood: Broughton thirty, -Tweedsmuir twenty-nine. The game was anybody’s. -Coats had been cast as needless encumbrances; -besoms were clutched with determined -firmness: the skips slightly pale with the terrible -excitement of the occasion, and the stake that -was as it were hanging in the balance: want of -nerve on their part to direct, or on the part of any -one man to play, might decide the fate of the day. -The last end had come to be played, and Broughton -having won the previous end, was to lead. The -shoemaker’s stone is played, and lies well over the -hog-score in good line with the tee, and on the -road to promotion. Tweedsmuir’s leading man, the -schoolmaster, passes the souter’s stone and lies in -‘the house.’ ‘Well played dominie!’ cries Laird -Scott to his lead. And so proceeds the ‘end’ till it -comes to our friend the mason’s turn to play; -the blacksmith having just played his first stone -with but indifferent effect.</p> - -<p>‘What do ye see o’ that stane Andrew?’ roars -Laird Scott from the tee, pointing at the same time -to the winning stone of the other side, which, however, -was partially ‘guarded.’</p> - -<p>‘I see the half o’ t.’</p> - -<p>‘Then,’ says the laird, ‘make sure of it: tak it -awa’, and if you rub off the guard there’s no harm -done.’</p> - -<p>For a moment the mason steadies himself, -settles his foot in the crampet, and with a straight -delivered shot shaves the guard and wicks out the -rival stone, himself lying in close to the tee, and -<i>guarded</i> both at the side and in front by stones -belonging to his side.</p> - -<p>The effect of such a shot as this, at so critical -a period of the game, was electric, and is not easily -to be described. Enthusiasm on the part of -Tweedsmuir, dismay on that of Broughton. But -there are yet several stones to come: the order -may again be reversed, and Andrew’s deftly -played shot may be yet taken. We shall see. The -blacksmith, the third player on the Broughton -side, follows with his second stone, and though -by adhering to the direction of his skip he might -have knocked off the guard and so laid open -Andrew’s winner, over-anxiety causes him to miss -the guard and miss everything. Thus is his -second and last stone unfortunately played for -Broughton.</p> - -<p>The mason has his second stone still to play -for Tweedsmuir, and before doing so Laird Scott -thus accosts him: ‘Andrew my man, we are -lying shot now; we want but another to be game; -and for the honour o’ Tweedsmuir I am going to -give you the shot that will give it to us: do ye -see this port?’ pointing to an open part of the -ice (in curling phraseology a port) to the left of the -tee, with a stone on each side.</p> - -<p>‘I see the port sir.’</p> - -<p>‘Well then,’ continued the laird, ‘I want you to -fill that port; lay a stone there Andrew, and -there’s <i>a lade o’ meal at your door to-morrow -morning</i>.’</p> - -<p>The stone is raised just for one instant with -an easy backward sweep of hand and arm, and -delivered with a twist that curls it on and on -by degrees towards the spot required. Not just -with sufficient strength perhaps, but aligned to -the point. In an instant the skip is master of -the situation. ‘Soop lads! O soop! soop her up—s-o-o-o-p—there -now; let her lie!’ as the stone -curls into the ‘port,’ and lies a provoking impediment -to the opposite players. The pressure -on players of both sides is now too great to admit -of many outward demonstrations. Stern rigour -of muscle stiffens every face as the two skips -themselves now leave the tee and take their places -at the other end. The silence bodes a something -that no one cares to explain away, so great is the -strain of half-hope half-fear that animates every -breast.</p> - -<p>Laird Murray is directed by his adviser at the -tee (the blacksmith) to break-off the guard in front, -but misses. Scott his antagonist, by a skilfully -played stone, puts on another guard still, in order -to avoid danger from Laird Murray’s second and last -stone. One chance only now apparently remains -for the laird of Broughton, who requires but one -shot to reverse the order of things and retrieve the -game, and he tries it. It is one of those very difficult -shots known amongst curlers as an outwick. -A stone of his side has lain considerably to the -right of the tee short of it, which if touched on -the outer side might be driven in towards the -centre and perhaps lie shot. The inwick would -be easier, but that the stone is unfortunately -guarded for that attempt. He knows that Denholm’s -first stone still lies the shot, and is guarded -both in front and at the side; and that with -another, Tweedsmuir will be thirty-one and game. -The shot is risked—after other contingencies have -been duly weighed—but without the desired effect: -the outlying stone is certainly touched, which -in itself was a good shot, but is not sufficiently -taken on the side to produce the desired effect. -The laird of Broughton pales visibly as the shot -is missed, and mutters something between his -clenched teeth anything but complimentary to -things in general.</p> - -<p>The last stone now lies by the foot of our -Tweedsmuir laird, who calmly awaits the word -of direction from Andrew at the other end.</p> - -<p>‘Laird!’ shouts the anxious mason, ‘there’s -but the one thing for it, and I’ve seen ye play -a dafter-like shot. What would ye say to try -an inwick aff my last stane and lift this ane a -foot?’ pointing to a stone of his side which lay -near, though still not counting; ‘that would give -us another shot, and the game!’</p> - -<p>‘Well Andrew, that’s why I asked you to fill -the port, for I saw what <i>they</i> didna see, that a -wick and curl-in would be left: I think it may -be done. At any rate I can but try.’</p> - -<p>Silence reigns o’er the rink: the sweepers on -each side stand in breathless suspense: the wick -taken, as given by Andrew in advice to the Laird,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>{266}</span> -may proclaim Broughton beaten and Tweedsmuir -the champion parish of the county!</p> - -<p>‘Stand back from behind, and shew me the -stone with your besom, Andrew; there.’</p> - -<p>The suspense is soon broken, the last stone -has sped on its mission, the wick has been -taken, a stone on Laird Scott’s side that was lying -farther from the tee than one of the opponents’, -is ‘lifted’ into second place, which with the -mason’s winner makes exactly the magic score of -thirty-one! Like the thaw which after this -long-continued storm will be welcomed by man -and beast alike, so does the thaw now melt -the frozen tongues of the players. Hats fly up -in frenzy of delight, and the phenomenon is witnessed -(only to be witnessed on ice) of a Scottish -laird and his humble tenant in ecstatic embrace. -Flasks are produced, hands shaken by rivals as -well as by friends—though chiefly by friends: -preparations are made to carry home the paraphernalia -of the roaring game: and while Betty -congratulates the laird and his guests on their -victory, there is happiness in store for Andrew -Denholm, whose prowess so notably contributed -to secure the honour of Tweedsmuir.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="AN_IRISH_COUNTRY_FUNERAL">AN IRISH COUNTRY FUNERAL.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> difference between English and Irish as -regards the funeral customs of the peasantry in -both countries is great. To have a large assemblage -at the ‘berrin’ is among the latter an object -of ambition and pride to the family; and the concourse -of neighbours, friends, and acquaintances -who flock from all parts to the funeral is often -immense. Even strangers will swell the funeral -cortège, and will account for doing so by saying: -‘Sure, won’t it come to our turn some day, and -isn’t a big following—to do us credit at our latter -end—what we’d all like? So why shouldn’t -we do what is dacent and neighbourly by one -another?’</p> - -<p>What a contrast there is between a quiet interment -in an English country parish, attended only -by the household of the departed, and the well-remembered -scenes in the churchyard of Kilkeedy, -County Limerick!</p> - -<p>Here, in days gone by, a funeral was a picturesque -and touching sight. There was something -very weird and solemn in the sound of the ‘keen,’ -as it came, mournful and wild upon the ear, rising -and falling with the windings of the road along -which the vast procession moved. In the centre -was the coffin, borne on the shoulders of relatives -or friends, and followed by the next of kin. Outside -the churchyard gate, where was a large open -space, there was a halt. The coffin was laid reverently -on the ground, the immediate relatives of -the dead kneeling round it.</p> - -<p>And now on bended knees all in that vast -assemblage sink down. Every head is bowed -in prayer—the men devoutly uncovered—every -lip moves; the wail of the keeners is hushed; -you could hear a pin drop among the silent -crowds. It is a solemn and impressive pause. -After a few minutes the bearers again take up -their burden and carry it into the churchyard, -when after being three times borne round the -church, it is committed to its final resting-place.</p> - -<p>Years have passed since these scenes were witnessed -by the writer of these pages. The old -familiar church has been pulled down (a new one -built on a neighbouring site), and nought of it -remains but the ivy-clad tower and graceful spire -left standing—that ‘ivy-mantled tower,’ where the -sparrow had found her a house and the swallow a -nest; whose green depths in the still eventide -were made vocal by the chirpings and chatterings -of its feathered inhabitants—the sparrows fluttering -fussily in and out, and after the manner of their -kind, closing the day in noisy gossip before subsiding -into rest and silence. Here too were to be found -owls, curiously light—soft masses of feathers with -apparently no bodies to speak of, who captured by -the workmen while clipping the ivy, were brought -up, all dazed-looking and sleepy, to be admired -and wondered at by the rectory children, and -finally restored tenderly to their ‘secret bower!’</p> - -<p>A funeral scene similar to that just described -forms the subject of one of the illustrations in -Lady Chatterton’s <i>Rambles in the South of -Ireland</i>, sketched by herself. She had stopped to -make a drawing of the beautiful ruins of Quin -Abbey in the County Clare, when the wail of an -approaching funeral came floating on the breeze, -and the melancholy cadence was soon followed by -the appearance of the usual concourse of country -people. Their figures scattered about in groups, -and the coffin in the foreground, enter with very -picturesque effect into the sketch.</p> - -<p>When the funeral is over, those who have -attended it disperse through the churchyard; and -any having friends buried there betake themselves -to their graves to pray and weep over them. -The wild bursts of grief and vehement sobbing, -even over moss-grown graves whose time-stained -headstones bear witness to the length of time their -occupants have slept beneath, would surprise those -who are unfamiliar with the impulsive and demonstrative -Irish nature.</p> - -<p>An old man sitting beside a grave was rocking -himself to and fro, and wiping his eyes with a -blue cotton handkerchief, while, rosary in hand, -he prayed with extraordinary fervour.</p> - -<p>‘It’s my poor old wife is lying here,’ he said; -‘the heavens be her bed! God rest her soul this -day! Many’s the long year since she wint from -me, poor Norry, and left me sore and lonesome! -She was well on in years then, though the childer -were young; for we were married a long time -before there was any. The neighbours were all -at me to marry again, if it was only for one to -wash the shirt or knit the stocking for me, or to -keep the weenochs from running wild about the -roads while I was away at my work earning their -bit. But I couldn’t give in to the notion. I was -used to my poor Norry, and the thoughts of a -stranger on the floor was bitter to my heart. Ah, -it’s a sore loss to a man in years when his old -wife is took from him! The old comrade he’s -had so long; that understands every turn of him, -and knows his humours and his fancies; and fits -him as easy and comfortable as an old shoe. A -man might get a new one—and maybe more -sightly to look at than the one that’s gone—but -dear knows, ’twould be at his peril! As likely -as not, she’d fret him and heart-scald him, and -make him oneasy day and night, just blistering -like new leather! The old wife is like the -shoe he’s used to, that will lie into his foot. -Stretching here and giving there, and coming, by -constant wearing, to fit, as easy and souple as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>{267}</span> -the skin itself, into th’ exactness of every bump -and contrairy spot! For there’s none of us,’ -continued the old man, who seemed to be a bit -of a moralist, ‘that hasn’t our tendher places and -our corns and oddities in body and mind, God -help us! Some more and some less, according. -And there’s no one can know where them raw -spots lie, or how to save ’em from being hurt, -like the loving crathur that’s been next us -through the long years, in rain and shine. So yer -honours,’ he added, getting up with a last sorrowful -look at his wife’s grave, ‘I wouldn’t hearken -to the neighbours, and take a strange comrade. -And after a while a widow sister o’ mine came -to live with me and to care my poor orphans; -but my heart is still with my poor Norry here in -the clay!’</p> - -<p>There was another loving couple in the same -neighbourhood, whose apparently impending separation -by death caused much sympathy among -their friends. The man was a farmer, and owing -to his industry and good conduct, he and his -young wife were in comfortable circumstances and -well to do. They were devoted to each other. -When he was attacked with the severe illness -that threatened his life, she nursed him night and -day until she was wasted to a shadow, and looked -from anxiety and want of sleep almost as corpse-like -as he did. Her misery when the doctors -pronounced the case hopeless was dreadful to -witness. The poor fellow’s strength was, they said, -nearly exhausted, his illness had lasted so long; -so that his holding out was considered impossible.</p> - -<p>Things were in this state, and the sufferer’s -death daily expected, when we were called away -from the place, to pay a distant visit. On our -return home after some weeks’ absence, one of the -first persons we saw was young Mrs D—— dressed -in the deepest widow’s weeds—a moving mass of -crape.</p> - -<p>It was on a Sunday morning going to church; -she was walking along the road before us, stepping -out with wonderful briskness, we thought, considering -her very recent bereavement. We had -to quicken our pace to come up with her, and said -when we did so: ‘We are so sorry for you, so -very sorry! You have lost your husband.’</p> - -<p>‘Thank you kindly; you were always good,’ she -said, lifting up her heavy crape veil from off a -face radiant with smiles. ‘He isn’t dead at all, -glory be to God! an’ ’tis recovering beautiful he -is. The doctor says if he goes on gettin’ up his -strength as he’s doing the last fortnight, he’ll soon -be finely; out and about in no time.—Oh, the -clothes, is it? Sure ’twas himself, the dear man, -bought them for me! When he was that bad there -wasn’t a spark of hope, he calls me over to him, -an’ “Katie my heart,” sez he, “I’m going from -you. The doctors have gave me up, and you’ll be -a lone widow before long, my poor child. And -when I’m gone, jewel, and you’re left without a -head or provider, there’ll be no one in the wide -world to give you a stitch of clothes or anything -conformable. So I’ll order them home now, -darlin’, the best that can be got for money; for -I’d like to leave you dacent and respectable -behind me.” And your honours,’ she went on, -‘so he did. Two golden guineas he gev for the -bonnet; and as for the gownd, ladies dear, only -feel the stuff that’s in it, and ye may guess what -<i>that</i> cost. And beautiful crape, no end of a price!—every -whole thing the hoight of good quality—top -lot of the shop, and no stint.—Well,’ she continued, -‘there they all were in the chest. And -sure when himself got well we thought it a sin -and a shame to let lovely clothes like these lie by -without wearing ’em—to be ruined entirely and -feed the moths—after they costing such a sight -of money too. So he made me put them on; and -a proud man himself was this morning, and a -happy, seeing me go out the door so grand and -iligant—the best of everything upon me!’</p> - -<p>There was something absurd, almost grotesque, -in the self-conscious complacent way in which -the young woman gazed admiringly down on her -lugubrious finery; tripping off exulting and -triumphant, her manner in curious contrast with -the sore woe associated with those garments—the -saddest in which mortal can be clad.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="MR_ASLATTS_WARD">MR ASLATT’S WARD.</h2> -</div> - - -<h3 title="CHAPTER IV.">IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER IV.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">I will</span> pass over the misery of the days that -followed; days stretched by anxiety and suspense -to double their ordinary length. The woman succeeded -only too well in proving the truth of her -story; and knowing how useless it would be, Mr -Hammond did not attempt to deny that she was his -wife. Nor did he endeavour to justify his conduct, -which was truly inexcusable. Yet in after-years, -when our indignation had cooled, and we were able -calmly to reflect upon the history thus revealed, -we could not help pitying the unfortunate young -man. He had not been much past twenty when, -on a visit to Wiesbaden, he had made the acquaintance -of a woman several years older than himself, -whose brilliant beauty and fascinating address had -fairly bewitched him. She was a gay adventuress, -who, living by the chances of the gaming-table, and -tired of such a precarious livelihood, had fostered -the young man’s passion, and then condescended -to marry him.</p> - -<p>Alas! Frederick Hammond had not been long -married before he bitterly regretted the step he -had taken. His wife proved the bane of his -life. She had contracted the habit of drinking -to excess, and her intemperance destroyed all -hope of happiness in domestic life. Her husband’s -love changed to hatred, and unable to control her -vicious propensities, he deserted her. In one -place after another he took refuge, hoping to -elude her search; but again and again she succeeded -in tracking him to his place of concealment, -though she was willing to leave him to -himself when he had satisfied her demand for -money. But at last for a long time he heard -nothing of her; and as the months passed into -years, the hope sprang up within him that his -wife was either dead, or else had lost all clue to -his whereabouts. Weary of residing abroad, he -returned to England, and finding it difficult to -obtain other employment, was glad to accept the -post of village schoolmaster, for he thought the -little country village might prove a secure hiding-place. -And here becoming acquainted with Miss -Sinclair, he basely yielded to the temptation to act -as though the hope he cherished that his wife was -dead were already a realised fact. He dared not -openly ask Rose’s hand of her guardian; but he -sought by all the means in his power to win<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>{268}</span> -her love, and did not rest till he had won from -her a response to his avowed affection, and gained -her consent to a secret engagement. It was a -cruel selfish proceeding, for which his past misfortunes -offered no excuse; and thankful indeed -were we that his scheme of eloping with Rose had -been frustrated.</p> - -<p>But poor Rose! Bitter indeed was her distress -when she found we had no comfort to give her. -The shock was too great for her physical strength, -and ere many hours had elapsed it was evident -that a severe illness would be the consequence. -For days she lay tossing in feverish delirium; -whilst we kept anxious watch by her bedside, -much fearing what the issue might be. But -our fears were mercifully disappointed; the -fever turned, and soon the much-loved patient -was pronounced out of danger. But the improvement -was very gradual, and after a while almost -imperceptible. Extreme exhaustion was accompanied -in Rose’s case by an apathetic indifference -to everything around her, which formed the chief -barrier to her recovery. She felt no desire to get -strong again, now that life had no longer any great -attraction for her.</p> - -<p>‘If we could only rouse her to take an interest -in anything, she would soon be well,’ the doctor -said to me one day.</p> - -<p>A possibility of doing so occurred to me at that -moment, and I resolved to try, though I could -scarcely hope to succeed. In the evening, when I -was sitting by Rose’s couch, and knew that Mr -Aslatt had gone out, and would not be back for -an hour or two, I said to her gently: ‘I think -you feel a little stronger to-day; do you not, -darling?’</p> - -<p>A heavy sigh was the only response to my -question.</p> - -<p>I knelt by her side, and gently drew her head -upon my shoulder as I whispered: ‘I wish you -could unburden your heart to me, dear Rose. -Would it not be a relief to tell me the sad -thoughts that occupy your mind?’</p> - -<p>No answer but by tears, which I was glad to -see, for I knew they would relieve her heavy heart. -After a while, words followed. She told me how -little she cared to get well again; what a dreary -blank life appeared to her, now that he whom she -had so loved and trusted had proved unworthy; -how it seemed to her she was of no use in the -world, and the sooner she were out of it the better -for herself and every one else. And a great deal -more in the same strain.</p> - -<p>I reminded her of her guardian’s love for -her, and his great anxiety for her recovery, and -urged her to try to get well for his sake. But -she only shook her head despondingly. ‘I have -never been anything but a trouble to him,’ she -said; ‘he would be happier without me. If I were -out of the way, I daresay he would marry. I used -to make plans for his future as well as for my -own, you know; but now everything will be -different.’</p> - -<p>‘I do not think Mr Aslatt would have married,’ -I ventured to say.</p> - -<p>‘Why not?’ asked Rose.</p> - -<p>I was silent, and she did not repeat the -question.</p> - -<p>‘I have a story to tell you, Rose, which I think -you may like to hear,’ I said presently.</p> - -<p>‘A story!’ she said in surprise.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, darling, a story.’</p> - -<p>‘Many years ago, a gentleman was passing -through the streets of Vienna. He was a man -about thirty years of age, but he looked older, for -he had known sorrow and disappointment, and -life appeared to him then nought but vanity and -vexation of spirit. Yet many would have envied -his position, for he possessed much of what the -world most values. He was walking listlessly -along, when his attention was attracted by a group -of musicians, who were performing at the corner of -a square. In the centre of the band stood a pretty -little fair-haired girl about six years old. She -was poorly clad. Her tiny feet were bare, and -bleeding from contact with the sharp stones with -which the roads were strewn; and tears were in -her large blue eyes as, in her childish voice, she -joined in the song. Her pretty yet sorrowful face -and the plaintive tone in which she sang touched -the stranger’s kind heart. He stood still to watch -the group, and when the song was ended went -forward to place some money in the child’s upturned -palm. “Is this your little girl?” he asked -the man by whose side she was standing. He -replied in the negative. The little girl was an -orphan, the child of an Englishman, who had -formerly belonged to the band, but who had died -some months before, leaving his little daughter -entirely dependent on the good-will of his late -comrades.</p> - -<p>‘Well, darling, you must know that they did -not object to keeping her with them, as her -appearance was calculated to call forth pity, -and thus increase their earnings. But it was -a rough life for the child, and she suffered -from the exposure to all weathers which it -entailed. Her father, who it was believed had -seen better days, had never allowed her to go -out with the troop, and had done his utmost to -shield her from hardships. But now there was no -help for it; she could not be kept in idleness. -Moved with pity for the child’s hapless lot, -the gentleman inquired where the musicians -resided, and returned to his hotel to consider how -he might best serve the little orphan. After much -reflection his resolution was taken. He was a -lonely man, with no near relative to claim his love. -His heart yearned with pity for the desolate child, -whose pleading blue eyes and plaintive voice kept -appealing to his compassion, to the exclusion of all -other considerations. He determined to adopt her, -and provide for her for the rest of her life. With -this intention he sought the street musicians on -the following day, and easily induced them to -commit the child to his care. After handsomely -rewarding the musicians, he took her away with -him that very day, and ever since she has had -the first place in his heart. His loving care for -the orphan child brought its own reward, for in -striving to promote the happiness of little Rose he -found his own.’</p> - -<p>I was interrupted by a cry from my companion. -‘Rose!’ she exclaimed excitedly. ‘What are you -saying, Miss Bygrave? Tell me—was I—am <i>I</i> -that little child?’</p> - -<p>‘You are, darling; and now you know how truly -you are the light of Mr Aslatt’s life. He has no -one to care for but you, and you alone can make -him happy.’</p> - -<p>‘And I have really no claim upon him, am in -no way related to him, as I thought! I knew I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>{269}</span> -owed him much, but I had no idea to what extent -I was indebted to him. But for his goodness, -what should I be now? Oh, if I had only known -this before! How ungrateful I have been to him, -how wayward and perverse! Oh, Miss Bygrave, -I cannot bear to think of it!’</p> - -<p>‘Do not trouble about that, dear,’ I said, trying -to soothe her, for her agitation alarmed me; ‘it is -all forgiven and forgotten by Mr Aslatt.’</p> - -<p>‘But I shall never forgive myself,’ she exclaimed -passionately. ‘To think that I have been receiving -everything from him for years, living upon his -bounty, and yet making no return, evincing no -gratitude, taking all his kindness as a matter of -course, just because I imagined I was dear to him -for my parents’ sake!’</p> - -<p>‘Nay; you are too hard upon yourself, dear -Rose,’ I said gently. ‘To a certain extent you -have been grateful to him; you have again and -again acknowledged to me your sense of his goodness; -and now that you know all, you will clearly -<i>prove</i> your gratitude, I have no doubt.’</p> - -<p>‘But how?’ exclaimed Rose. ‘How can I express—how -can I shew my deep sense of all that I owe -him?’</p> - -<p>‘In the first place, by getting well as soon as -possible, and by letting him see that you once -more take an interest in life. For his sake, I -know you will strive to bear bravely a trial, the -bitterness of which he fully appreciates. And -Rose, I must beg you not to attempt to express -to Mr Aslatt your sense of indebtedness. He -feels a morbid shrinking from hearing such words -from your lips, and has implored me—in case -I ever revealed to you the secret of your early -life, as I have been led to do this evening—to -assure you that you are under no great obligation -to him, for he considers that he has been fully -repaid for what he has done for you, by the happiness -your companionship has given him.’</p> - -<p>‘But I cannot bear to go on receiving so much -from him, and yet give no expression to my gratitude,’ -said Rose.</p> - -<p>‘You cannot do otherwise,’ I replied; ‘unless -you wish to make him very unhappy, and that -would be a poor return for all his goodness. Do -all you can to please him; be as bright and cheerful -as possible; but do not, I beseech you, let him -see that you labour under a sense of painful -obligation to him.’</p> - -<p>‘I will act as you desire,’ said Rose. ‘But is -there really no other way in which I can prove my -gratitude?’</p> - -<p>‘Not at present,’ I replied. ‘But perhaps at -some future time you may be able to give him -what he will consider worth far more than all he -has ever bestowed upon you; but it would not be -acceptable to him if it proceeded only from the -promptings of gratitude.’</p> - -<p>‘I do not understand you,’ said Rose, though -her cheek flushed.</p> - -<p>‘Perhaps you may some day,’ I answered. ‘But -now, darling, you must be still, and not talk any -more, else I am afraid you will not be so well to-morrow.’</p> - -<p>I had hard work to persuade her to be quiet, -and though after a time she refrained from talking -in obedience to my repeated injunctions, I could -see her thoughts were dwelling on the communication -I had made to her. Only good results, -however, followed from the excitement of that -evening. There was a tinge of pink on Rose’s -delicate cheek the next day; her countenance was -brighter, and her manner more animated than -we had seen it for some time. Mr Aslatt was -delighted at the change, and encouraged by it, he -began to talk to Rose of the plans he had formed -for taking her to Italy as soon as she felt strong -enough to travel. He was overjoyed to find that -she made no objection to his proposal, but even -entered cheerfully into his plans, and declared -that she should be quite ready to start in the -course of a few weeks. And so it proved, for she -gained strength with a rapidity which shewed the -truth of the doctor’s words, that she only needed -to be roused in order to get well.</p> - -<p>We started for the continent at the end of -October. It was thought that residence abroad -during the winter months would promote Rose’s -restoration to health, and afford that diversion of -mind which was so desirable after the trying -experience she had passed through. The result -was most satisfactory. There was no return of the -apathetic melancholy which had been so distressing -to witness; and her enjoyment of the various -entertainments her kind friend provided for her -was unassumed. I began to hope that, after all, -her attachment to Mr Hammond had not been -very deep, but merely a romantic fancy, kindled -by the thought of his misfortunes, and fanned into -a flame by the breath of opposition. A thousand -little incidents strengthened this conviction of -mine. Every day it became evident that Rose -was learning to appreciate her guardian’s character -more highly than she had done before. She took -a growing delight in his society, and indeed never -seemed quite at ease if he were absent.</p> - -<p>When in the spring we returned to England, -Rose’s health and spirits had so completely returned, -that she appeared little different from the -radiant girl whose loveliness had charmed me -when I first looked at her, save that her manner -was gentler, being marked by a winning humility -and patience which her former bearing had lacked.</p> - -<p>I did not long remain at Westwood Hall in -the capacity of Rose’s companion, though I have -frequently visited it since as her friend. One day -soon after our return from Italy, she came to -me with a bright and blushing countenance, and -whispered that she had a secret to tell me. I -had little doubt what the secret was, and could -therefore help Rose out with her confession, that -Mr Aslatt had asked her to be his wife, and that -she had consented, though with some reluctance, -caused by a sense of her unworthiness.</p> - -<p>‘I could not do otherwise,’ she said, ‘when he -told me that the happiness of his future life -depended upon my answer; though I know how -little I deserve the love he bestows upon me.’</p> - -<p>‘But Rose,’ I said, anxious to be relieved of -a painful doubt, ‘you have not, I trust, been led -to a decision contrary to the dictates of your heart? -You know nothing would be further from Mr -Aslatt’s desire than that you should sacrifice your -own inclinations from a mistaken notion of his -claims upon you. He would not be happy if -he thought you had only consented that you -might not make him unhappy, and not because -your own happiness would be promoted by the -union.’</p> - -<p>‘I know that,’ murmured Rose, as her cheek -took a deeper tint; ‘but it is not so. I feel very<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>{270}</span> -differently towards Mr Aslatt from what I did when -you first knew me. I think him the best and -noblest of men, and I shall be proud and happy -to be his wife; only I wish I were more worthy of -him. O Miss Bygrave! I cannot tell you how -ashamed I feel, when I think of the infatuation -which led me to deceive so kind a friend, or how -intensely thankful I am that you saved me from -a wicked act which would have caused unspeakable -misery for us both! I pity poor Mr Hammond, -and forgive him for the injury he so nearly -inflicted upon me; but I must confess to you that -I never really had such confidence in him or -cared for him, as I now care for and trust the one -whose love I have slighted and undervalued so long.’</p> - -<p>It only remains to add that shortly after that -terrible scene at the Priory, Mr Hammond disappeared, -and it was thought, went abroad; but of -him and his wretched wife not a scrap of intelligence -has ever reached us.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_MONTH">THE MONTH: -<br /> -SCIENCE AND ARTS.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> a lecture at the Royal Institution, Dr Tyndall -has made known the results of a long series of -experiments on fog-signals, all involving more or -less of noise, and demonstrating that the noisiest -are the best. Mariners in a fog are helpless: no -lights, no cliffs, no towers can be seen, and they -must be warned off the land through their ears. -So in conjunction with the Trinity House and the -authorities at Woolwich, the Professor fired guns -of various kinds and sizes, and very soon found -that a short five-and-a-half-inch howitzer with a -three-pound charge of powder produced a louder -report than an eighteen-pounder with the same -weight of charge. Thereupon guns of different -forms were constructed, and one among them -which had a parabolic muzzle proved to be the -best, that is in throwing the sound over the sea, -and not wasting it to rearward over the land. -Then it was ascertained that fine-grained powder -produces a louder report than coarse-grained; the -shock imparted to the air being more rapid in -the one case than in the other.</p> - -<p>Experiments made with gun-cotton shewed conclusively -that the cotton was ‘loudest of all;’ -and ‘fired in the focus of the reflector, the gun-cotton -clearly dominated over all the other sound-producers.’ -The reports were heard at distances -varying from two to thirteen miles and a half.</p> - -<p>When the fog clears off, the noisy signals are -laid aside and bright lights all round the coast -guide the seaman on his way. Some years ago -the old oil light was superseded by the magneto-electric -light, and this in turn has given place -to the dynamo-electric light, which excels all in -brilliance and intensity. In this machine the required -movements are effected by steam or water -power; and when the electric current is thereby -generated, it is conducted by wires to a second -machine, which co-operates in the work with -remarkable economy and efficiency. Readers desirous -of knowing the improvements made in the -dynamo-electric machines by Messrs Siemens, and -the experiments carried on in lighthouses, should -refer to the <i>Proceedings</i> of the Institution of Civil -Engineers for the present session.</p> - -<p>Particulars of a galvanic battery of extraordinary -power have been brought to this country from -the United States. Instead of the carbon plate -commonly used as one of the elements in the -cells, it has a copper plate coated with lead and -platinum; and a blowing apparatus is so combined -that a stream of air can be blown through the -acid liquid with which the cells are filled. The -effects of this aeration are remarkable: the galvanic -current is rendered unusually powerful, and a large -amount of heat is developed. The way in which -these effects are produced is not yet satisfactorily -made out; but that this battery offers a new and -potent means of investigation to chemists and -physicists cannot be doubted.</p> - -<p>An account of an exclusively metallic cell has -been given to the Royal Society by Professors -Ayrton and Perry of the Engineering College, -Tokio, Japan, in a paper on ‘Contact Theory of -Voltaic Action.’ They took strips of platinum -and magnesium, which were in connection with -the electrodes of the electrometer, and dipped -them into mercury, and immediately saw evidence -of a strong current. The experiments were continued -with much care until the Professors felt -assured that ‘the electro-motive force obtained was -about one and a half times the electro-motive force -of a Daniell’s cell.’ ‘It may be possible,’ they remark -further, ‘by mechanical or other means, or -by using another metal than magnesium, to give -constancy to this arrangement; and as its internal -resistance is extremely small, the cell may be of -great practical use for the production of powerful -currents.’</p> - -<p>In a discussion about Iron at the meeting of the -Iron and Steel Institute, one of the speakers -shewed that it was not so much quality of metal -as mechanical structure that constituted good iron. -He took certain railway bars and planed them, -whereby he was enabled to examine their structure, -and he saw that some of the rails contained -much cinder, which accounted for their showing -more signs of wear than others. On sifting the -shavings and passing a magnet over them, all the -iron could be taken out and the quantity of cinder -ascertained; and not until this cinder could be -thoroughly got rid of would the manufacturer be -able to produce good iron. The same defect had -been noticed in Swedish iron made for a special -purpose; and there was reason to fear that manufacturers -made more haste to send iron into the -market than to produce the best quality. Fortunately, -a few scientific men have introduced improvements -which will in time abolish the rule -of thumb that has too long prevailed.</p> - -<p>The manufacture of bricks from slag is still -carried on at the Tees Iron-works, Middlesbrough, -by machines constructed for the purpose. The -slag, ground into sand, is mixed with lime, squeezed -into moulds, and each machine turns out about -ten thousand bricks a day. Being pressed, these -bricks present advantages over ordinary bricks: -they are uniform in size and thickness; do not -break; occasion less trouble to the bricklayer and -plasterer; require less mortar; and do not split -when nails are driven into them, whereby carpenters -are saved the work of plugging. Another -important fact, which the labourers will appreciate, -is that the weight of a thousand slag bricks is one -ton less than the weight of a thousand red bricks; -and as regards durability, we are informed that the -longer they are kept the harder they become.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>{271}</span></p> - -<p>An invention which simplifies photography out -of doors may be said to have claims on the attention -of tourists and travellers, as well as of professional -photographers. To carry the bottles, -liquids, and other appliances at present required -necessitates troublesome baggage; but Mr Chardon -of Paris shews that all this may be avoided by -the use of his ‘Dry bromide of silver emulsion.’ -This preparation, a mixture of collodion and the -bromide, will keep an indefinite time in bottles -excluded from the light, and does not suffer -from varying temperatures. Specimens carried -to China, and back by way of the Red Sea, underwent -no alteration; an important consideration -for travellers and astronomers who wish to take -photographs in tropical countries. When required -for use the bromide is mixed in certain proportions -with ether and alcohol; the plates are coated with -this solution, and as soon as dry are ready for the -photographer. They require no further preparation, -and retain their sensibility through many months. -The image may be developed immediately or -after some weeks, according to circumstances; in -proof of which photographs taken at Aden have -been developed in Paris. But a very small -quantity of water is necessary, and the image -may be transferred to a film of gelatine or a -sheet of paper at pleasure, which lessens the risk -of breakage, and the plates may be used for fresh -pictures.</p> - -<p>An account has been published of the disturbance -and destruction which the telegraph lines in -Germany underwent during the widespread storm -one night in March 1876. The destruction was -so very great, that had the storm occurred during -a political crisis or a war, the consequences might -have been much more calamitous. This liability -to derangement has in nearly all countries led -practical minds to conclude that underground telegraphs -are preferable to lines carried on posts -through the air; and the German government -have laid underground wires from Berlin to Mainz -(Mayence), a distance of about three hundred and -eighty miles, which will afford excellent means -for comparing the two systems.</p> - -<p>Vast as are the forests of the United States, -Americans are finding out that they are not -inexhaustible. The annual product of ‘lumber,’ -which means timber in all its forms, is estimated -at ten thousand million feet, a quantity sufficient -to make a perceptible gap in the broadest of -forests. Among the heaviest items of consumption -are the railways with their eighty thousand -miles of sleepers, to say nothing of ties, bridges, -platforms, and fences. The average ‘life’ of the -wood when laid in the ground is from four to -six years; and each year’s renewal is said to use -up one-sixth of the enormous product above mentioned. -These facts have led some thinking constructors -to reconsider the national objection to -precautions, and they now advocate the use of preserved -timber, and have invented a method of preservation. -The principal part of the apparatus is a -large air-tight iron cylinder one hundred feet long, -into which the wood is run on rails; all the -openings are closed; steam at a high temperature -is forced in, and the process is maintained until -every part of the wood is heated up to two hundred -and twelve degrees. The steam is then -driven from the cylinder; heat is applied; then -a vacuum is produced, and ‘many barrels of sap’ -pour from the wood. Creosote oil is then forced -into the cylinder. ‘Every stick is at once bathed -with oil. The wood, being in a soft somewhat -spongy condition, the fibres porous, and the pores -open, absorbs at once the hot penetrating oil. If -the wood be of a porous character like pine, it -absorbs all the oil required in the first flow without -any pressure; but if the fibre be solid and -close and the timber of a large size, a further -pressure of from sixty to one hundred and fifty -pounds is needed to make the impregnation -complete.’ This process reminds us of one on a -somewhat similar principle which was noticed in -this <i>Journal</i> for November 25, 1876.</p> - -<p>In an address to the Royal Geological Society of -Ireland, Sir Robert Kane remarked on the activity -prevailing among the geologists and chemists of -that country in investigation of their mineral -resources. The search for fluorine in rocks has -had favourable results; and the discovery of phosphoric -acid is regarded as an indication of the -extent to which organic remains were included -originally in those mineral masses. Certain beds -described by geologists as lower Silurian and Cambrian, -destitute of fossils, nevertheless contain such -traces of phosphorus as shew that they must have -been formed in seas rich in organic life. These -facts, as Sir R. Kane shewed, are of special interest -in Ireland, where, owing to the rareness of those -newer formations which furnish the valuable coprolite -beds of Cambridge and Suffolk, such sources -of agricultural wealth are absent; but where the -older strata being so largely developed offer -resources for discovery of accumulated organic -remains which may be turned to good account in -fertilising the soil.</p> - -<p>Professor Boyd Dawkins, F.R.S., in discoursing to -the Manchester Geological Society, mentioned the -discovery of fresh evidence of the antiquity of man. -Certain caves in Cresswell Crags, on the borders -of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire, have been -recently explored, and the relics thereby brought -to light prove that man lived in the hunter-stage -of civilisation in the valley of the Trent and its -tributaries, along with the mammoth, woolly -rhinoceros, cave-hyena, lion and reindeer, and that -he was capable of progress. In the lowest stratum -in the caves, says Professor Dawkins, implements -are found of the rudest kind and roughest form, -made of quartzite pebbles from the neighbourhood. -In the middle stratum implements of flint appear -mingled with the others; but in the uppermost -stratum the tools and implements are of flint, and -of the best kind. Among these are bone needles -and other appliances of bone and horn, on one of -which is rudely engraved a figure of a horse. -‘This sequence,’ remarks the Professor, ‘establishes -the fact, that even in the palæolithic age the -hunters of reindeer, horse, mammoth, and other -creatures were progressive, and that the cave-dwellers -of the pleistocene age are to be looked -upon from the same point of view as mankind at -the present time, as “one man always living and -incessantly learning.”’ If Professor Dawkins is -right in his conjecture, the cave-dwellers of the -very remote period which he describes were somewhat -like the Eskimos of the present day.</p> - -<p>To this we may add the fact, that rude stone -implements have been found in the ‘glacial drift’ -in New Jersey, United States, and that some geologists -regard this as proof that man lived on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>{272}</span> -earth during that far-back, dreary, and cold glacial -period.</p> - -<p>In the course of the admirable surveys of their -wide-spread territory carried on by authority of the -United States government, discovery has been -made of strange and interesting remains of habitations, -implements, and pottery of a long-departed -and forgotten people, who once occupied the region -about the head-waters of the San Juan. Photographers -and geologists among the surveying -parties have by means of pictures, drawings, and -descriptions produced a Report, which will in due -time be published at Washington. Meanwhile -models of the ancient ruins have been constructed -in plaster, and compared with the dwellings of -certain Indian tribes in New Mexico and Arizona; -and these latter, with allowance for contact with -Europeans, are at once recognised as bearing traces -of the dwellings of the forgotten people. ‘Forgotten,’ -says an American contemporary, ‘because -the builders of the modern structures are as ignorant -of the ancient builders as we are ourselves.’</p> - -<p>A correspondent suggests that the ‘stencils’ produced -by Edison’s Electric Pen might be used as -communications for blind people, whose sensitive -fingers would, he thinks, feel out the meaning of -the very slight roughness of the surface of the -paper occasioned by the punctures. Why does he -not try the experiment? Meanwhile we mention -that a naturalist in New York has produced a -Catalogue of Diatomaceæ by means of the Electric -Pen, and published it in quarto form for private -distribution.</p> - -<p>Another correspondent informs us that the -horse-shoe described in the <i>Month</i> (July 1877) as -brought into use in Philadelphia with satisfactory -results, was invented in England in 1870 by Mr C. -J. Carr. A statement printed in 1874 sets forth -that the shoe is made of malleable iron in such a -way ‘as to allow of the natural growth of the frog -while completely shielding the foot. On the face -of the shoe is a hollow semi-circular cavity, which -is filled with a pad of hemp and tar; and as no -calkins or spikes are required, one of the dangers -incident to roughing is entirely obviated.’ We -wish success to any one who will persevere in -applying common-sense and kindness to the shoeing -of horses.</p> - -<p>The <i>Japan Daily Herald</i> of 31st January states -that when the telephone was brought under the -notice of the Japanese government, Mr Ito, the -(native) Minister of Public Works, at once ordered -experiments to be made. These were carried out -by Mr Gilbert, Telegraph Superintendent-in-chief -to the Japanese government, and formerly of Edinburgh. -The experiments were so satisfactory that -they were followed by the establishment of telephonic -communication between the police stations -in the metropolis and between the Emperor’s -palace and the various government departments. -When the Public Works Department and the -palace were first put in telephonic union, -the Emperor and Empress were present, and expressed -great surprise at the result. The English -newspaper, in recording this fact, adds, ‘As well -their Majesties might;’ and it proceeds to -speculate whether the Chinese, who have opposed -telegraphs and railways, will ‘give ear to the -telephone.’ No great expectation appears to be -entertained that the Chinese will do anything of -the kind.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="TWO_HEARTS">TWO HEARTS.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">(Suggested by the picture ‘In Memoriam.’)</p> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">In</span> the sunlight, darting, dancing,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Birds amid the green leaves glancing,</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Gaily sing:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In the balmy air entrancing,</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Breathes the Spring.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">’Tis the dearest hour of daytime;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In the merry, merry Maytime,</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Who’d be sad?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Nature revels in her playtime;</div> - <div class="verse indent22">All is glad.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Who is this that cometh slowly?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">’Tis a maiden meek and lowly;</div> - <div class="verse indent22">In her eyes,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Look of resignation holy</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Shadowy lies.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Heeds she not the golden gleaming</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of the sunlight softly streaming</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Through the leaves:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Still her soul is darkly dreaming;</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Still she grieves.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">He her heart to win had striven;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">She her heart to him had given;</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Hope hath fled—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Heart from heart for aye is riven:</div> - <div class="verse indent22">He is dead.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Mid the cruel cannon’s rattle,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Passed his soul forth in the battle—</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Soul that cried</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To Heaven for her from the battle</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Ere he died.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">On the day when, heavy-hearted,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He had from his love departed</div> - <div class="verse indent22">For the fray,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">While each heart with sorrow smarted—</div> - <div class="verse indent22">On that day</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">He had left a little token,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That if earthly ties were broken,</div> - <div class="verse indent22">On the tree</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Tender tie, though all unspoken,</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Still might be.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">He had carved two hearts united—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sign of troth and promise plighted;</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Sign that they</div> - <div class="verse indent0">True will be till death-benighted,</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Come what may.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">He in each heart—sign that never</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Time shall one from other sever—</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Graved each name;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sign that they will be for ever</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Still the same.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Daily comes she here to borrow</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Short relief from sorest sorrow,</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Partial peace,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Till when on her life’s To-morrow</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Grief shall cease.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">So she dreams of heavenly meeting,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Hears her lost love’s tender greeting</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Mid the blest,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Where beyond these troubles fleeting,</div> - <div class="verse indent22">There is rest.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Hearts which here were disunited,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Hearts whose hopes on earth were blighted,</div> - <div class="verse indent22">On that shore</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Rest, in perfect peace delighted,</div> - <div class="verse indent22">Evermore.</div> - </div> -</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,, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL *** - -***** This file should be named 63247-h.htm or 63247-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/2/4/63247/ - -Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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