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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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