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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb50164 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65389 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65389) diff --git a/old/65389-0.txt b/old/65389-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2fd7dfd..0000000 --- a/old/65389-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2165 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, -Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 15, Vol. I, April 12, 1884, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, - Fifth Series, No. 15, Vol. I, April 12, 1884 - -Author: Various - -Release Date: May 20, 2021 [eBook #65389] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 15, VOL. I, APRIL 12, -1884 *** - - - - -[Illustration: - -CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL - -OF - -POPULAR - -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART - -Fifth Series - -ESTABLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, 1832 - -CONDUCTED BY R. CHAMBERS (SECUNDUS) - -NO. 15.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, APRIL 12, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._] - - - - -NATURE AROUND LONDON. - - -Most people have the impression that to enjoy country sights and -sounds, and all the peaceful rural beauties and bright hues of an -English landscape, one must go a long way out of London. Mr Richard -Jefferies, in his recent volume, _Nature near London_ (Chatto and -Windus), has, with his admirable power of nature-painting, shown this -to be a mistake. About twelve miles from the great metropolis there -are to be found small picturesque villages lying in the heart of leafy -copses, and rural lanes imbedded in greenery, and filled with bird -and insect life. Here the wayfarer, weary with the dust and smoke of -London, may inhale an atmosphere laden with resinous and balmy scents, -and stretch himself in the cool grass beside streams beloved by the -angler, where patches of forget-me-nots gem the greensward with their -soft turquoise-blue, and the yellow flag hangs out in the bright summer -sunshine its gay streamers of gold. - -Mr Jefferies tells us regarding one of these tiny brooks, that he -watched season after season a large trout that lay in a deep pool -under the shadow of a great beech-tree. For nearly four years, in -shadow and sunshine, he observed this veteran of the finny tribe as -he lay meditatively watching the world outside from the quiet depths -of his snug pool. The noisy little sedge-birds chattered overhead, -and the patient anglers cast their lines with crafty care by the side -of the brook; but no bait they could use had any charm for him. At -length, by slow degrees, there came to be a comparative friendliness -and confidence between the trout and the patient watcher who stood so -still and silent by the edge of the pool. Sometimes the trout would -venture out of the shadow, and raising himself over a dead branch that -lay in the water, display all his speckled beauties in the ripple and -sunshine. At last, one bright summer morning, an end came to this -quaint friendship. An awful revolution occurred in the quiet life of -the brook—the water was dammed up and let off by a side-hatch, in -order that some large pipe might be laid down; and the big trout, with -his lesser brethren, fell a victim to the predatory instincts of a -party of navvies. Our author looked in vain next day into the still -depths of the beech-tree pool; his finny friend was gone, and the place -looked empty and dull without him. - -It is impossible to describe to any one who has not experienced it -for himself, how much the near neighbourhood of London enhances all -the beauties of the country, and brings out the sweet scents of the -fields and hedges. In the cool dewy mornings, the honeysuckle trailing -along the hedgerows perfumes the air all around, and mingles with the -delicious scent of the bean and hay fields. In these woodland copses, -nature has opened her flowery cornucopia and poured out her treasures -with a liberal hand. Here one stumbles upon a clump of wild-roses, with -their delicate pink glow and faint sweet perfume; there, a few steps -farther bring you to a lime-tree laden with blossoms, and you feel -the whole perfumed air heavy with the slumberous hum of the bees busy -overhead. Rabbits dart out and in from under the green palm-like fronds -of a great clump of brake-fern; the woodpeckers call to each other; the -jays screech from the leafy lanes; wood-pigeons coo from the depths -of the copse-wood. There is no blank of silence, no absence of the -companionship of living things, no lack of vivid interest for any one -who can scan with an intelligent eye the pages of nature’s great book. - -Away over the rippling hayfields, the lark, mounting upwards, a tiny -speck in the cloudless blue of the summer sky, makes the air quiver -with the glad thrilling notes of his morning song; and down in the -leafy hollow of the copse, where the brook murmurs gently beneath the -overhanging boughs, the blackbird trills his mellifluous flute-like -notes. Birds, our author says, abound. ‘In some places, almost every -clod has its lark, every bush its songster.’ - -One particular lane, with a high hedge bordered with elm-trees, had -four or five nightingales; and a copse near it resounded in the season -with the cheerful call of the cuckoo. Magpies, which have become scarce -in many places throughout the country, are plentiful near London, -where some birds are also found which, in many country districts, -are but rare and occasional visitors, such as the blackcap, shrike, -and gorgeous kingfisher. To a student of bird-life, such spots as a -little wood, which our author christened Nightingale Copse, cannot -fail to prove a perfect paradise. It was a favourite resort not only -of nightingales, but of other migratory birds—chiff-chaffs, willow -wrens, golden-crested wrens, fieldfares, &c. In the fields bordering -the highway, partridges abounded; and Mr Jefferies counted on one -occasion as many as seventeen young pheasants all feeding together on -the wheat-stubbles. Nor is the ear the only sense which is charmed in -these woodland copses—in the hedgerows, and under the straggling trees -and bushes which border the woods, flowers abound, gleaming out in the -sunshine from between the tall grasses with a sudden surprise of vivid -colour; or spreading like enamel over the short turf; or intertwining -their gay garlands with the clustering masses of creeping bramble. Each -flower has its own peculiar habitat, where it flourishes luxuriantly. -There are patches of the yellow rock rose, of the cranesbill, of the -sweet purple wild thyme, of the starry white stitchwort, of the campion -and yellow snapdragon; while stately and tall under the shadow of the -birch-trees, the foxglove hangs out to the rustling breeze its lovely -bells of clouded purple. Nor is heath awanting; ‘the open slopes beyond -Sandown are covered with heath, growing so thickly, that even the -narrow footpaths are hidden by the overhanging bushes of it. Beneath -and amid the heath, what seems a species of lichen grows so profusely -as to give a gray undertone to the whole.’ - -In autumn, this stretch of heath blazes out into a deep glory of -purple, so rich and full, that it seems to give the very atmosphere a -glow of purple light. Beyond the heath, there are fir-woods, stretching -to the east and west; while southwards, the heath melts into the soft -green of corn and meadow lands, with scattered clumps of trees. The -open slopes among the straggling firs, which dot like sentinels the -borders of these pine-woods, are covered with forests of tail ferns, -amid which the browsing cows are lost to sight, and only reveal their -whereabouts by the tinkling music of the small bells suspended to their -necks. - -Adders are common in these woods, and are sometimes killed for the sake -of their oil, which some folks consider a specific for deafness. It -is procured by skinning the adder and taking the fat and boiling it; -the result being a clear oil, which never thickens even in the coldest -weather. It is applied by pouring a small quantity into the ear, -exactly in the same manner as the poison was poured into the ear of the -sleeping king in _Hamlet_. Squirrels abound in these copses, and so do -weasels and stoats. - -In some fields christened by our author Magpie Fields, because he one -day saw ten magpies all together in one of them, herbs abound which -are in request among herbalists for medicinal purposes. One of these -is yarrow. One day, looking at some mowers at work in a hayfield, he -saw a man in advance of the others pulling up the yarrow plants as -fast as he could and carefully laying them aside. Asking him why he -did so, he answered, that although it seemed such a common weed, it -was not without its value, for that a person sometimes came and took -away a whole trap-load of it. The flowers were boiled, and mixed with -cayenne pepper, and were then used as a remedy for colds in the chest. -Dandelions are also in request; the tender leaves are pulled in the -spring, and taken away in sackfuls to be eaten as salad. There are also -hellebore and blue scabious; and the rough-leaved comfrey; and borage -with its reminiscences of claret-cup; and groundsel, dear to the owners -of pet birds; and knotted figwort, and Aaron’s rod; and a whole tribe -of strongly scented mints and peppermints. The belief in these simples, -which made the reputation in the middle ages of many a wonder-working -doctor and village witch, is fast dying out in the country districts, -where the agricultural labourers scarcely know one herb from -another; but it flourishes still around the mighty and enlightened -metropolis. The herb self-heal is to be found in many hedgerows of many -harvest-fields, as well as on the stubbles near London; but very few -reapers now would know it if they saw it, or ever think of applying it -to any accidental cut or gash. - -In the harvest and turnip-hoeing seasons, picturesque bivouac fires dot -the fields and lanes. These do not owe their existence to parties of -pleasure-seekers, who go a-gipsying under the greenwood tree, but are -rather the outcome of a hard struggle for the means of subsistence. -They belong to wandering Irish labourers, who move about from farm to -farm wherever they can get work, sleeping in barns or outhouses, and -in fine weather doing their cooking in the open air. Nothing can be -more unlike the populace of the vast adjacent metropolis than these -agricultural labourers, native or imported. Look at the ploughman -in the furrows yonder, with his stolid characterless face, vacantly -regarding the team of three stately horses before him. Intent day -by day on the earth beneath his feet, he sees, or at least notices -little else. ‘His mind imbibes the spirit of the soil,’ and cannot -rise beyond. When the plough stops, he takes out his bread and cheese; -and as he munches away, his eyes fall on the sunbeams glittering on -the roof of the Crystal Palace; but the sparkling reflection awakens -no train of thought in his uncontemplative soul; he takes no interest -except in the furrows at his feet; although near London, he is not of -it. - -In the collection of English pottery in the Museum is preserved the -simple rustic memory of these tillers of the soil, the men who, -centuries ago, ploughed like this simple countryman these beautiful -English acres, scattering the seed over the furrows in the green flush -of spring, and garnering the golden grain beneath the mellow skies of -autumn. It is curious that so much of the unwritten history of our race -should be preserved by so frail a thing as earthenware. These jugs and -mugs, with their quaint mottoes and ornamentation, carry the spectator -back to the sports and habits of a bygone age. - -‘May the best cock win,’ recalls a brutal sport now almost unknown. The -frog at the bottom of the jug is a rebuke to the too greedy toper; -while the motto on another cup shows that there were grumblers even in -the good old days, and that times were hard then as well as now: - - Here’s to thee, mine honest friend, - Wishing these hard times to mend. - -Beyond the woodlands and valleys which Mr Jefferies has described so -happily, are the vast South Downs, hidden in masses of gray mist. -These wide sheep-walks are seemingly endless in their extent. They are -profusely covered with flowers in their season, with patches of furze, -and with short thick grass, amid which the wild thyme luxuriates, -spreading out into soft cushions of purple which might make a seat for -a king, and permeating with its aromatic fragrance the whole keen air -of the uplands. The furze is full of bird-life. Only game has decreased -with the increase of cultivation; and with the decrease of game, foxes -have become fewer. A few years ago, they were so abundant, that a -shepherd told our author that he had sometimes seen as many as six at a -time sunning themselves on the precipitous face of the cliffs at Beachy -Head. They ascend and descend the precipice by narrow winding-paths of -their own with the greatest ease and in perfect safety, unless a couple -have a quarrel on one of the narrow rock-ledges, when fatal results -often ensue—one or both toppling over. - -‘Lands of gold,’ says our author, ‘have been found, and lands of spices -and precious merchandise; but the South Downs are the land of health. -There is always the delicious air, turn where you will; and the grass, -the very touch of which refreshes.’ Besides all this, there is the -peculiar beauty which gives its chief charm to all elevated situations, -the interest of the panorama which spreads around and beneath—the -distant trees which wave in the freshening breeze; the gleam of light -which brings out into strong relief the warm bit of colouring supplied -by the tiled roof of yonder farmhouse; the flashes of sunshine which -brighten up the gloom, and chase the shadows across the swelling -uplands and green low-lying meadows beyond. - -Seen in the shifting lights and glooms of a breezy autumn day, this -lofty, lonely spot seems a land of enchanted beauty, which holds the -spectator spellbound, till masses of cloud, rolling up from the sea, -throw deep purple shadows over the peaceful landscape, and warn him -that darkness is about to fall over the flower-spangled slopes and -gleaming sea beyond. - - - - -BY MEAD AND STREAM. - -CHAPTER XXIII.—CHANGES. - - -The arrival of a stranger in Kingshope was not such an unusual -occurrence as to attract much particular attention. The villagers were -accustomed in the summer to frequent visits of bands of ‘beanfeasters’ -or ‘wayzegoose’ parties, as the annual outings of the employees of -large city firms are called. On these occasions there were athletic -games on the common, pleasant roamings through the Forest, and high -revel in the _King’s Head_ or the _Cherry Tree_ afterwards. Then -there were itinerant photographers, negro minstrels, and gypsy cheap -Jacks, with caravans drawn by animals which may be best described as -the skeletons of horses in skin-tights—working the Forest ‘pitch’ or -‘lay’—these being the slang terms for any given scene of operation -for the professional vagrant. The bird-snarers and the pigeon-flyers -seemed to be always about. In the hunting season there were generally -a few guests at the _King’s Head_; and so, although every new visitor -underwent a bovine stare, he was forgotten as soon as he passed out of -sight. - -Mr Beecham’s ways were so quiet, that before he had been a week in -the place, he had glided so imperceptibly into its ordinary life that -he seemed to be as much a part of it as the parson and the doctor. -His presence was of course observed, but there was little sign of -impertinent curiosity. It was understood that he was looking about -the district for a suitable house in which to settle, or for a site -on which to build one. This accounted for his long walks; and there -was nothing remarkable in the fact that his peregrinations led him -frequently by Willowmere, and sometimes into the neighbourhood of -Ringsford Manor. - -Although his ways were so quiet, there was nothing reserved or -mysterious about them. The object which had brought him to Kingshope -was easily comprehended; he entered into conversation with the people -he met, and took an interest in the affairs of the place—the crops, -the weather, and the prospects of the poor during the coming winter. -Yet nothing more was known of his antecedents than that he came from -London, and that he visited the city two or three times a week. He -dressed plainly; he lived moderately at the inn—not like one who -required to reckon his expenses carefully, but like one whose tastes -were simple and easily satisfied. - -The general belief was that he had belonged to one of the professions, -and that he had retired on a moderate competence, in order to devote -his time to study of some sort. He himself said nothing on the subject. - -One of the first acquaintances he made was Uncle Dick, who adhered to -the kindly old country custom of giving the time of day to any one he -met in the lanes or saw passing his gates. The first salutation of the -master of Willowmere induced Mr Beecham to make inquiries about the -district, which led to future conversations. These would have speedily -introduced the stranger to the farmhouse and its mistress; but hitherto -he had not availed himself of the cordial invitation which was given -him. He was apparently satisfied with the privilege of going over the -land with Uncle Dick, inspecting his stock and admiring his horses, and -thus speedily developing a casual acquaintanceship into a friendship. -On these occasions he had opportunities of seeing and conversing with -Madge, and she formed as favourable an opinion of him as her uncle had -done. - -‘Has he ever said what made him think of coming to settle hereabout?’ -inquired the dame one day, after listening to their praises of the -stranger. - -‘Never thought of asking him,’ replied Crawshay, wondering if there was -anything wrong in having neglected to put such a natural question. - -‘He mentioned that some friends of his lived near here at one time,’ -said Madge, ‘and that he had always liked the Forest.’ - -‘Has he spoken about any family? Is he married? Has he any children?’ - -‘Why, mother, you wouldn’t have me go prying into what doesn’t concern -us!’ was Crawshay’s exclamation. ‘It does seem a bit queer, though, -that he seems to have nobody belonging to him.’ - -Aunt Hessy thought it very queer; and when Philip came next, she asked -him to describe Mr Shield to her again. - -‘He must have changed very much since I last saw him,’ she said -thoughtfully. ‘I scarcely know what put it into my head, but this Mr -Beecham is much more like what I should have fancied your uncle would -grow into, than the gentleman you describe. But foreign parts do seem -to alter people strangely. There was neighbour Hartopp’s lad went away -to California; and when he came back ten years after, it took his own -mother two whole days before she would believe that he was himself. -Yes, foreign parts do alter people strangely in appearances as well as -feelings.’ - -It was regarded by the little group as a good joke that Aunt Hessy -should have formed the romantic suspicion that the stranger in the -village might be her old friend Austin Shield. They did not know -anything of the confidential letter. She had said nothing about it yet, -and her conscience was much troubled on that account. - -‘It’s wrong to keep a secret from Dick,’ she kept saying to herself. ‘I -know it is wrong, and I am doing it. If harm come of it, I shall never -forgive myself; I hope others may be able to do it.’ - -She regarded with something like fear the enthusiasm with which Philip -spoke of the social revolution he was to effect by means of the wealth -placed at his command. Yet it was a noble object the youth was aiming -at. Surely wealth could do no harm, when it was used for the purpose of -making the miserable happy, of showing men how they might prosper, and -teaching them the great lesson, that content and comfort were only to -be found in hard work. The scheme looked so feasible to her, and was -so good, that she remained silent lest she should mar the work. She -bore the stings of conscience, and prayed that Philip might pass safely -through the ordeal to which he was unconsciously being subjected. He -talked of the bounty of his uncle, and she was uneasy, knowing that -this bounty might prove his ruin, although she was quite unable to see -how that could come about as matters looked at present. She was simply -afraid, and began to understand why preachers often spoke of gold as -a fiend—the more dangerous because it appeared as the agent of good. -Then there was the coming of this stranger at the same time that Philip -met his uncle in London. Of course there was nothing to associate the -two in her mind except the period of their arrival. But she was puzzled. - -‘There is not the slightest resemblance between the two men, I assure -you,’ Philip said; ‘but there is this strong resemblance between my -uncle as he is now and as he was, by your own account, when you knew -him long ago—he is as odd in his ways as ever. He will not discuss -anything with me except by letter. That, you might say, was no more -than prudent, as it can leave no room for dispute as to what we say to -each other.’ - -‘He wants to make you careful,’ said the dame, with some feeling of -relief; for this arrangement seemed to prove that he was desirous of -helping Philip to pass the test. - -‘But, besides, he will scarcely see me at all; and when he does, he is -as short with me and in as great a hurry to get rid of me as he was on -the first day I called on him. When I try to explain things to him, he -says: “All right; go your own way. If you want me to consider anything, -you must write it out for me.” I don’t mind it now, having got used to -it; but sometimes I cannot help wondering’—— - -Philip checked himself, as if he had been about to say something which -he suddenly remembered should not be spoken even to his dearest friends. - -‘Well?’ queried Uncle Dick, looking at him along the line of his -churchwarden pipe as if it were a gun and he were taking aim. ‘What are -you stopping for? You can’t help wondering at what?’ - -‘Only at his droll ways,’ answered Philip. ‘I should have thought that -risking so much money in my hand, he would have been anxious to have -the fullest particulars of all that I was doing with it.’ - -‘So should I, lad. What does your father say about it?’ - -‘Nothing more than that he will want to speak to me one day soon. He is -not pleased.’ - -‘There don’t seem to me much to be not pleased about.—Eh, mother?’ - -‘We’ll see after a bit,’ answered the dame, cautiously, but smiling. -‘We don’t know yet whether Philip is to prove himself a very wise man -or’—— - -‘Or a fool,’ interrupted Crawshay, with one of his hearty laughs. - -‘Nay, Dick; not that. Philip will never prove himself a fool; but he -might do worse—he might prove himself a sensible man doing foolish -things.’ - -The stranger who provoked this discussion went on in his calm way, -seeking what apparently he could not find, but always with a pleasant -smile or a kindly ‘good-day’ to the people he met in the fields and -lanes. - -One of his favourite halting-places was at the stile which gave access -from the roadway to the Willowmere meadows. On the opposite side of the -road were the willows and beeches, bordering the river. Four of the -latter trees were known as the ‘dancing beeches,’ from the position in -which they stood, as if they had suddenly halted whilst whirling round -in a country-dance; and when the wind blew, their branches interlaced -and creaked in unison, as if they wanted to begin the dance again. -This was a famous trysting-place, and in the summer-time the swains -and their maidens would ‘wander in the meadows where the May-flowers -grow.’ This is the burden of a rustic ballad which you would often -hear chanted in the quiet evenings. It served the double purpose of -supplying the place of conversation and of agreeably expressing the -thoughts of the singers. Uncle Dick sometimes saw and heard them; but -with kindly indifference to his clover, he would shake his head and -turn away, remembering that he, too, had once been young. - -Mr Beecham resting on the stile could, by an easy movement of the -head, command nearly the whole of the hollow in which the village lay; -and looking upward, could catch glimpses of Willowmere House peering -through the apple and pear trees of the orchard. - -After the lapse of years, how new it all looks, and yet how old; -how changed, and yet familiar. There is the church, the same gray -weather-beaten pile, in spite of the vicar’s manful efforts to get it -put into a state of thorough repair. The vicar himself is the same -cheery good friend in gladness, and the sympathising comforter in -sorrow; his hair is almost gray now, and his figure is inclined to be -rotund; but he is still the same. There are, however, new gravestones -in the churchyard, and they bear the names of old friends. Their places -in the world have been easily filled up; their places in the memory of -the survivors never can be. Ay, there is change indeed. - -But here is the golden autumn, its lustre slowly growing dim under the -touch of approaching winter; there are the green fields and the red -ploughed lands—they are just as they looked long ago, although his -eyes see them through the sad haze which separates him from the past. -There are the sounds of the cattle, the ripple of the river, and the -rustle of the trees—sounds to which he gave no particular heed in the -old time, and now they are like the voices of welcoming friends. - -So the present steps by us; pain and sorrow plant milestones on our -way; by-and-by the eye glances tenderly backward and over them, and in -old age we hear the voices of our youth. - -‘Good-afternoon, Mr Beecham. Do you think it will rain?’ - -He lifted his head, and bowed to Madge and Philip as they were about to -pass over the stile. He looked up at the sky. - -‘I am afraid it will rain; but you will be home before it begins, I -think.’ - -Philip gave her his hand; she mounted the three foot-worn wooden steps -and descended on the meadow side. - -‘I hope you will always have a strong hand to help you over the stiles, -Miss Heathcote,’ he said, smiling; but there seemed to be as much of -earnest as of jest in his meaning. - -‘I believe she may fairly count upon that, Mr Beecham,’ answered Philip. - -‘The pity is, we so seldom find what we count upon,’ said Mr Beecham, -shaking his head. - -‘Then we must make the best of what we do find,’ replied Philip -cheerfully, ‘and scramble over somehow without a helping hand.’ - -The two passed on at a smart pace up the meadow, Mr Beecham looking -after them with a dream in his eyes. - -Overhead, on this afternoon, was a sky gloomy and threatening; but on -the horizon were rivers of pale golden light, giving hope and courage -to the weary ones who were like to faint by the wayside. Suddenly a -white light relieved the gloom immediately above, and the golden rivers -were lashed with dark promontories; but still, the farthest point was -light. Again suddenly a white glory burst through the gloom, dazzling -the eyes and breaking the clouds into fantastic shapes, which fled from -it like the witches of evil fleeing before the majestic genii of good. -Another change, and all gradually toned down into the soft repose of a -calm evening, bearing the promise of a pleasant day to follow. - -‘I have lived alone too much,’ muttered Mr Beecham with a long-drawn -breath, which is the only approach to a sigh ventured upon by a man -past middle age; ‘and my own morbid broodings make me superstitious, -showing me symbols in everything. I hope this one may turn out well, -however.’ - -Philip and Madge had disappeared by this time, and Mr Beecham walked -slowly on to the village. - -When the young people reached the homestead, Madge announced that -Philip had come to tell them something very important, which he had -refused to reveal until they should be in the house. - -Aunt Hessy glanced uneasily from one to the other; but seeing no -sign of disturbance on either face, her uneasiness passed away. She -concluded that it was some jest with which Philip had been teasing -Madge. - -‘I have seen Mr Shield again to-day,’ he began, ‘and I have received -new instructions from him.’ - -‘He is not going to send you off to Griqualand, after all?’ queried -Madge quickly. - -‘O no; but maybe you would prefer that he should order me off there, -rather than tell me to take chambers in town.’ - -‘Chambers in town! What can that be for?’ - -‘Well, he was as short and bustling as ever; he never seems to have -time to discuss anything. “That’s what I want,” he says; “if you don’t -like it, write, and tell me why.” All he said about it was that he -desired me to feel independent.’ - -The uneasy expression reappeared on Aunt Hessy’s face. - -‘Have you consented to make this change?’ she asked quietly. - -‘I could see no objection; and in several ways the arrangement will be -convenient. I made it clear that it was not in any way to be considered -as a step towards separating me from my family. He said I could please -myself as regarded my family—he had nothing to do with that.... Do you -not like it, Madge?’ - -The clear eyes looked wistfully in his face. ‘No, Philip; I do not like -it. But perhaps Mr Shield is right; and it may be as well that you -should have the experience of being away from us for a time at least.’ - -‘Living away from you! Why I shall be here as often as ever!’ - -She said nothing; and Aunt Hessy put the apparently irrelevant question: - -‘Have you seen Mr Beecham to-day, Madge?’ - -‘We saw him by the stile at the foot of the meadow as we passed.’ - -Aunt Hessy, with evident disappointment, abandoned the droll fancy -which had for a time possessed her mind. - - - - -SOME QUEER DISHES. - - -If, in England, a man was pushed to discover a new animal food, it -would, I think, be a long time before he hit upon bats as at all likely -to furnish him with a desirable addition to his table, even if their -diminutive size did not place an insuperable obstacle in the way of -their being so utilised. But in many of the South Sea Islands where -the flying-fox—a species of bat, fifteen inches or so across the -wings—is common, it is used as food by the natives, and its flesh is -by no means to be despised even by epicures. This animal, frugivorous -in his tastes as a rule, does not for all that turn up his nose at a -plump moth or a succulent beetle when they chance to come in his way; -but he usually confines himself to fruit—ripe bananas of the best -quality and plenty of them being about his mark; and dreadful havoc he -and his friends would make in the banana gardens, if the natives—well -aware of his habits—did not hasten to bind quantities of dead leaves -round the ripening fruit, and so preserve it from his attacks. It -would seem absurd to a stranger to the country to be informed that -such an insignificant animal as a bat could seriously threaten the -fruit-harvest in countries where it is so abundant; but he would -change his opinion when informed that the flying-foxes often settle in -hundreds in any likely plantation; and as they always destroy very much -more than they consume, the loss and inconvenience they cause to the -natives may be properly estimated. - -The bat in question is not so strictly nocturnal in his habits as his -English brother; and although he usually sallies out at sunset, yet I -have often noticed them sailing about in broad daylight, provided the -weather was dull and overcast; the flight is even and regular, very -like that of a rook, and not in the least resembling the extremely -erratic mode of progression affected by our native species. If in their -manner of flying—a few steady flaps and then a long sail—they remind -one of the rook, they also resemble our old friend in their habit of -assembling together at bedtime, when they all retire to roost on the -same grove of trees, and hang head downwards with their wings wrapped -round their bodies, looking like a collection of large cobwebs. - -It must not, however, be supposed that the meeting and subsequent -proceedings take place in silence; the contrary is the case; and an -immense amount of chattering is carried on for a considerable time, -when no doubt all the affairs of the day are duly discussed, as well -as other matters amatory and otherwise. In the old heathen times, the -rookeries were strongly tabooed by the priests; and even to the present -day, the natives, more especially the old men, have an evident aversion -to interfere with the sacred trees, a feeling which does not in the -least prevent them from killing all the bats they can in other places. - -The natives prepare them for food by first cutting off the wings and -then passing the body through the fire, to remove the fur, and with -it the strong foxy smell with which it is impregnated. It is then -carefully scraped, split open, and afterwards grilled on the coals -spitchcock fashion, when it is ready for consumption; and is capital -eating, having a rich gamy flavour something between a hare and a -woodcock. - -I was so much encouraged by the success of my first essay at -bat-eating, that I afterwards had a pie made of several I had shot, and -from my previous experience, rather looked forward to a good dinner; -but when the pastry was cut open, I was grievously disappointed by -finding that the fetid odour peculiar to the live animal had survived -the cooking—from being unable to escape from the pastry—rendering it -utterly uneatable, and so for the future contented myself with bat _au -naturel_—that is, native fashion. - -The above-mentioned animal is very common in Australia, and is quite -as great a nuisance among the orchards there as he is in the islands; -but it will be some considerable time, I fancy, before our colonial -brothers utilise him in the kitchen. - -I don’t suppose that many people—at least English people, who are -tolerably prejudiced in their way—have ever voluntarily gone in for -a cuttle-fish or octopus diet, as they are horribly weird, uncanny -animals to look at; and few, I opine, would feel inclined to make -a ‘square meal’ off the shiny creatures, at least until other more -prepossessing kinds of food remained to be tried. Nevertheless, -throughout the whole of the Pacific, including Japan, all the different -varieties of cuttle and octopus are regarded as a _bonne bouche_ of -peculiar excellence; and both in its capture and preparation, the -natives display considerable ingenuity. I remember once, when sailing -in the tropics, seeing one morning the deck of our little schooner -nearly covered with that very elegant little cuttle-fish called the -‘flying-squid.’ The sea had been very rough during the night, and I -could never properly ascertain whether the squid had come on board of -their own accord, attracted by the light—as the men affirmed—or had -been left there by a heavy sea we had shipped just before daylight. -Anyway, our cook, a smart Maltese, at once set to work to collect -them, and then, much to the disgust of the sailors, who are the most -prejudiced of mortals, he forthwith proceeded to cook them for the -cabin table, and sent us down dishes of squid both curried and fried -that were much approved of by all who partook of them; and proved a -delightful change after the long course of ‘salt junk’ and tinned soup -and bouillie that the slow sailing of our little craft had obliged us -to adopt. - -These fish were about six inches long, had large brilliant eyes of -a set expression, and were furnished with a pair of flippers or -wings. They also—unlike any other kind of fish that I am acquainted -with—rejoice in a couple of tails, in lieu of the orthodox number. The -body, almost transparent, was of a delicate olive brown. Altogether, -they were pretty little things, and tasted even better than they looked. - -I am now about to introduce my readers to a dish of octopus prepared -_secundum artem_ by a South Sea native. The octopus is by no means, -without proper apparatus, an easy animal to lay hold of; on the -contrary, it demands all the cunning of the most experienced South Sea -fisherman to wile him from his haunts in the coral and to secure a -good number for a feast. - -But here is my Tongese friend Fakatene, just about to launch his -_hamatefna_, or fishing-canoe; and we cannot do better than accompany -him on his trip, and lend a hand in catching the fish we are to -partake of. But first, just notice how ingeniously his tiny vessel -is constructed out of timber of the bread-fruit tree. This tree does -not, so far south—we are in about twenty-three degrees five minutes -south—attain to any great size, and the timber, therefore, is -proportionately small and scarce, which accounts for the small size of -the pieces used. The hull, you notice, is pretty well in one piece, -except that queer-shaped bit so artfully let in near the bows, and so -close-fitting all round that even a penknife could not be introduced -between the seams; and were it not for the difference in the grain of -the wood, the ingenious patch would never be detected. The top sides -are formed of several small planks neatly sewn on to the hull with -sinnet, and joined in the same manner to one another; and yet, with all -this patching, she exceeds in beauty, in the grace of her lines, and in -her extreme buoyancy in the water, the finest four-oar ever turned out -by Searle in his most palmy days. - -Fakatene is pleased with our admiration of his highly prized canoe, -and takes some pains to explain that she was moulded on the lines of -the bonito, one of the swiftest of fishes. Not such a bad idea that, -we consider, for a poor native; but one that we intellectual white men -are much too proud, not to say too conceited, to follow; so we go in -for all kinds of scientific curves and angles, with the result that -our builders are constantly producing craft that will neither pull nor -sail, and that would have been a disgrace to Noah himself, or even to -prehistoric man.—But to return to our canoe. She is provided with an -outrigger called a ‘thama,’ to prevent capsizing; with a carved-wood -bailer, in case we ship a sea or make any water from the working of -the seams; also with a long three-pronged fish-spear, a few lines, a -bamboo of fresh water; and last, but not least, with the inevitable -fire-stick, or smouldering twist of tapa cloth, to furnish a light for -our friend’s _seluka_ (cigarette). Off at last; and Fakatene, who poled -swiftly over the shallow part of the reef, has taken to his paddle, -and coasting along the island for some distance, we soon come to a -favourable spot for our purpose; so we drop anchor—a large stone—and -business commences. - -The octopus dwells in holes in the reef, keeping only a portion of -his body exposed, so that, while he can look out for his prey, he can -at the same time quickly withdraw within his hole, directly his dread -enemy the shark appears, who is always foraging about the reefs in -search of adventurous cuttles. - -Now, I must tell you that the octopus, although partial enough to -crabs, is particularly fond of the inhabitant of the spotted cowrie or -ear-shell, so common in our shops; and so Fakatene, well aware of this -fact, has prepared a cunning bait, artfully constructed of a number of -small plates of the shell fastened together in such a manner that while -similar in appearance to the real thing, yet, being much heavier, and -not containing any air, sinks at once, which a real shell would not -do. Our friend now lowers his line, with the shell-bait attached, until -it touches the bottom, and then raising it a few inches off the ground, -jerks it gently up and down. Presently, a pull on the line shows that -the fish has taken the bait; more jerking on the part of the native; -which the octopus replies to by at once throwing out a fresh arm. The -jerking still continues; until the fish, dreading the escape of his -prey, lets go his hold of the rocks, and wraps the whole of his body -round the shell; when the native, perceiving that his line is no longer -fast to the ground, gently hauls up the line, and finally deposits an -immense octopus in the bottom of the canoe. Our new friend no sooner -finds himself caught, than he lets go the deceptive bait, and with his -great goggle eyes staring hard at nothing in particular, sprawls about -in the most awkward fashion, at the same time giving vent to a species -of grunt, until at last he finally retires into the darkest corner he -can find, and collapses into a lump of grayish-looking jelly, about a -third part of his apparent size when in motion. - -Having by the same means secured several more fish, we return to land, -when the canoe is duly housed, and Fakatene disposes of the octopi by -turning them inside out and hanging them up to dry in the sun, having -first carefully saved all the sepia left in the fish, as this is -esteemed a great luxury, and an indispensable ingredient in preparing -the sauce. - -When the cuttle is to be cooked, it is first of all carefully cleaned -and scraped, when all the outer skin, including the hideous-looking -suckers, comes off. The fish is then cut in pieces, and having been -tied up in a banana-leaf, is baked in an oven for a considerable -time in conjunction with cocoa-nut milk and a certain proportion of -the inky-hued sepia above mentioned, and which, as is well known, is -made use of by the fish when alive to obscure the water when escaping -from the pursuit of its enemies. It takes some time to cook octopus -properly, as it is naturally tough and stringy; but when well prepared, -it is one of the most delicate and luscious dishes I ever tasted; -and, singular to say, the cooking converts the tripy, stringy-looking -substance into a solid meaty food, bearing a curious resemblance to -lobster both in taste and colour, only rather firmer in texture; a most -unlooked-for occurrence in such dissimilar articles. - - - - -A WITNESS FOR THE DEFENCE. - -IN THREE CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER II. - - -When I got back to town, the sessions were only a week off; so the -first thing I did was to call on the solicitor in charge of my murder -case, in order to learn from him how it stood, and to take it off his -hands. The magistrate, of course, had sent the prisoner for trial. -When I came to read the depositions, the case against him seemed -perfectly simple, and as conclusive as circumstantial evidence could -make it. The crime had not occurred so long ago but that a diligent -search had unearthed several witnesses. The servant-girl, who had now -become the wife of a dairyman in the immediate neighbourhood, was -found. She proved the bad conduct of young Harden, and the ill-will -which gradually grew up between him and her former mistress. She also -spoke to his ejectment from the house on the day of the murder, and -to his threats at the street-door. She swore to the knife, which had -been in the possession of the police ever since, as having belonged -to the prisoner. There were other witnesses to the same facts; and -the landlord, my client, and several others, proved the flourishing -of the identical knife and the ominous words in the public-house. To -complete the chain, the man who had instructed me proved the finding of -the knife in the room where the murder was committed; and two or three -witnesses remembered being by his side and seeing him stoop down and -pick it up. These, with the final facts of his sudden disappearance and -changes of name, appeared both to me and to my friend to be capable of -being spun into a rope quite strong enough to swing John Harden out of -the world. - -‘But,’ said my solicitor-friend, ‘the queerest thing of all is that no -one is going to appear for the prisoner.’ - -‘No one to appear for him?’ - -‘No one. Young Elkin holds a watching brief on behalf of the prisoner’s -master, and that is all. He said Harden had been in Mr Slocum’s—that’s -his master—service for over seven years, behaving extremely well all -the time. He was invaluable to his old master, who is something of -an invalid. He had turned religious, and was disgusted at his former -wicked life.’ - -‘But I suppose he has money—or, at anyrate, if Slocum is so fond of -him, why doesn’t he pay for the defence?’ - -‘Why, it seems that his notion of religion forbids Harden to avail -himself of worldly arts. Slocum is only too anxious to retain some -one; but Harden won’t have it, and no one can persuade him. Says he -is in the hands of a Higher Power, and it shall be given him what he -shall speak, and all the rest of it. He wanted to make a speech to the -magistrate; but Slocum, by Elkin’s advice, did manage to induce him to -hold his tongue for the present, and say he would reserve his defence. -Of course they hope he will come to his senses before the trial. But I -don’t know how that will be. I never saw such an obstinate pig. Only -gave in to his master about not speaking because the poor man began to -whimper in court!’ - -The main part of my work had been done for me, and it only remained -to bespeak copies of the depositions, see the witnesses, and make -sure that they intended to say at the Old Bailey substantially the -same things as they had said at the police court—a most necessary -precaution, the imagination being so vivid in people of this class that -they are very likely to amplify their tale if possible—and prepare the -brief for the prosecuting counsel. This done, I had but to let things -take their course. - -When the day of the trial came, I was betimes in my place at the -Central Criminal Court, having various other cases in hand there. The -prisoners, as is customary, were first put up and arraigned—that is, -had the substance of their several indictments read over to them—and -were called on to plead ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty.’ These disposed of, -the case for John Harden was called, and I looked at him with some -curiosity. No sooner had I done so than I knew that his was a face -upon which at some time or other I had looked before, and of which I -had taken note. It is a useful peculiarity of mine that I never forget -a face to which I have once paid any attention, and I can generally -recollect the place and circumstances under which I last saw it. But -here the latter part of my powers failed me. I knew the face well, but -could not imagine when and where I had beheld it. I even knew that I -had seen the man bare-headed, and that he was not then, as now, bald on -the crown. The thing worried me not a little. In the meanwhile, John -Harden was being put up to take his trial for the murder of Agatha -Harden. - -‘I, m’lud, appear to prosecute in this case,’ said my counsel, starting -up and down again like the blade of a knife. - -‘Does nobody appear for the prisoner?’ asked the judge. - -‘I understand, m’lud, that the prisoner is not represented,’ said -counsel, appearing and disappearing as before. - -‘My lord,’ said an agitated voice from the body of the court, ‘I have -used all possible efforts’—— - -‘Si-lence!’ proclaimed the usher. - -‘Who is that?’ inquired the judge, looking over his spectacles. - -‘My lord, I am this foolish fellow’s master; and I am perfectly -convinced’—— - -‘I cannot hear you, sir. If the prisoner wishes to have counsel -assigned to him for his defence, I will name a gentleman, and will -take care that the prisoner shall have due opportunity for his -instruction; and if you desire to give evidence on his behalf, you can -do so.—Prisoner, is it your wish that counsel be assigned to you for -your defence?’ - -Harden had been standing with his head slightly bent, and his clasped -hands resting on the rail of the dock. He now looked up at the judge, -and replied in a grave and impassive voice: ‘My lord, I wish no help -but the help of God. I am in His hands, and I am an innocent man. If -He sees good to deliver me, He will do so. Who am I, that I should -interfere with His work?’ - -‘You appear to me,’ said the judge gently, ‘to be under an unfortunate -delusion. You say rightly that you are in God’s hands; but that should -not hinder you from using such instruments for your deliverance as he -offers you. Once more I will ask, do you now desire to be represented -by counsel?’ - -‘I do not, my lord.’ - -‘So be it.—Now, Mr Clincher.’ - -Rising once more, counsel for the prosecution proceeded to open his -case. It was clear and straightforward, put concisely and tellingly, -and embraced the facts which the reader already knows. He then called -his witnesses; and as each after each left the box, it was easy to see -from the faces of the jury that things were likely to go hard with the -prisoner. Always, in answer to the inquiry, ‘Do you wish to put any -questions to this witness?’ Harden replied: ‘No, my lord. He has said -the truth, for all I know.’ - -So smoothly did the trial run its course, that only one incident -called for remark. This was when my client got into the box; and so -indecently eager did he appear to be to procure the conviction of the -prisoner, that he twice called down upon himself a severe rebuke from -the judge, for persistently volunteering irrelevant statements to -Harden’s prejudice. And when counsel at length said, ‘That, m’lud, is -my case,’ and sat down, but little doubt remained as to the prisoner’s -fate. I still sat with my gaze fascinated by the set face in the dock, -trying—trying to remember when and where I had last looked upon it. - -‘Do you propose, prisoner, to call any witnesses?’ asked the judge. - -‘Only my master, my lord—Mr Slocum. He’ll speak for me, and he’ll say, -I know, that I’m not the man to kill any living thing.’ - -‘Very well.—And now, before calling him, do you desire to address the -jury?’ - -The interest of the case, which, except for that interest which is -inseparable from a trial for murder, had slightly flagged, revived now -that a human being was virtually at grips with death. For what had just -passed meant that there was no defence or attempt at a defence, that -the jury must convict, and that the man must die, without hope of mercy -for so cowardly and ungrateful a murderer. There was not a sound in the -court. It was late in the afternoon, and the winter sun was setting. -Its rays lit up the crimson hangings, the scarlet robes of the judge, -the intent faces, all looking one way, the drooping head and white -composed countenance of the prisoner—the man standing up there in full -health and strength, and whose life was going down with the sun. - -‘I have but a few words to say, my lord and gentlemen. I didn’t do it. -I was bad enough, and maybe cruel enough in those days, to do it; but I -didn’t. I was so drunk and so mad, my lord and gentlemen, that I might -have done it if it had happened earlier in the day, unknown almost to -myself, and be standing here rightly enough. But I _know_ I couldn’t -have done it, and why? Because I was miles away at the time. My poor -aunt, as I’ve heard from what has been said, must have been killed -between a quarter to and a quarter past eight in the evening. Well, at -eight o’clock I was at least five miles off. If I’d done it directly -the girl went out of the house—as she says, at a quarter to eight—it -isn’t according to reason that I could have broke open the cupboard, -took the money, and got five miles off in a quarter of an hour.’ He -stopped, and drew the cuff of his coat across his forehead. - -Where _had_ I seen him before? Where and when had I seen him do that -very action? - -‘O gentlemen, I couldn’t have done it! I couldn’t, bad as I was! I -know, now, how bad that must have been—the mercy of God has been upon -me since those days—but bad as I was, I owed her too much, and knew -it, to have hurt her in any way. Won’t you believe me? I tell you I was -miles away at the time—miles away. Who can tell us you’re saying true? -you will ask. No one, I suppose. Not a soul was near me that I knew, to -come here and speak the truth for me this day. But I know the same God -that saved Daniel can save me from a sorry end, if it is His will to -do it—if not, His will be done! I’m keeping you too long, only saying -the same over and over again. I’ll just tell you how it was, and I’ve -done, and you must do as duty bids you.’ - -Another pause. The silence of death, or rather of a deathbed. The faces -in the distance of the darkened court shimmered through the gloom, like -those of spectres waiting to welcome a coming shade. Then the gas-light -burst forth, and all sprang into sudden distinctness, and there was a -general half-stir as of relief. - -‘Oh, isn’t there one here that can speak for me? Is there any one who -remembers the great gas-main explosion in —— Street that year?’ - -There was again a stir, and a more decided one. Clearly there were -many in court who remembered it. I did, for one. And remembering it, -I seemed as one in a tunnel, who sees the glimmer from the distant -opening, but can distinguish no feature of the landscape beyond. - -‘I was there—that night. It was the night of the day I was turned -out of doors—the night of the murder. How I came to be there, so far -from my aunt’s neighbourhood, I don’t know, but I found myself working -hard, helping to lift the stones and timber of the house-fronts that -were blown in, and getting the poor crushed people out. I worked a long -time, till I was like to drop; and a policeman clapped me on the back -and gave me a word of praise and a drink of beer out of a can. I wonder -where that policeman is now, and if he’d remember?’ - -He did not respond, wherever he might be. No one to help—no friendly -plank to bridge over the yawning grave. What was it, this that I was -trying so hard to recall? - -‘I wandered off after that into the by-streets. I knew those parts -well. I had had a comrade who used to live there, and many a wicked and -foolish prank we’d played thereabouts. The beer I had just drunk on an -empty stomach had muddled me again a bit, but I was quite sober enough -to know every step of the way I went, and remember it now. I turned up -Hoadley Street, and then to the left along Blewitt Street; and just -when my aunt must have been struggling with the wretch that took her -life, whoever it was, I heard a clock strike eight. I did, gentlemen, -and I suppose I never thought of it since; but now I remember it as -clear as day. I was standing at the time at the corner of Hauraki -Street.’ - -It all came back to me in a moment! I heard the patter of the rain -on the cab-roof—I saw the gleam of the infrequent lights on the wet -flags—I listened to the objurgations of the cabman at the obstructing -dray—I took note of the reflection in the mirror, the queer -street-name which would not rhyme so as to make sense. The strokes of -the clock striking eight were in my ears. I saw the lamp at the corner, -and the man underneath looking up at it—the man with the short broad -face, the sharp chin, the long thin mouth turned down at the corners, -and the blank in the front teeth—the innocent man I was hounding to -his death—the prisoner at the bar! - -As I sprang to my feet, down with a crash went my bag full of papers, -my hat and umbrella, so that even the impassive judge gave a start, and -the usher, waking up, once more proclaimed ‘Si-lence!’ with shocked -and injured inflection. Heedless of the majesty of the law, I beckoned -to my counsel, and as he leaned over to me in surprise, I whispered -earnestly in his ear. I never saw the human face express more entire -astonishment. However, seeing that I was unmistakably in earnest, he -merely nodded and rose to his feet. - -‘Your lordship will pardon me,’ he said, ‘for interfering at this -stage between the prisoner and the jury; but I am instructed to make a -communication which I feel sure will be as astounding to your lordship -and the jury as it is to myself. I think I may say that it is the most -surprising and unprecedented thing which ever occurred in a court of -justice. My lord, the solicitor who instructs me to prosecute tenders -himself as a witness for the defence!’ - - - - -OUR HEALTH. - -BY DR ANDREW WILSON, F.R.S.E. - - -II. FOOD AND HEALTH. - -From the point of view of the political economist, the idle man has no -right to participate in the food-supply of the active worker. Whatever -may be the correctness and force of the arguments which the economist -may use by way of proving that the non-worker and non-producer has -no right to participate in the ordinary nutritive supply of his -fellows, the physiological standpoint assumes another and different -aspect. The idle man grows hungry and thirsty with the regularity of -the man who works. He demands food and drink as does his energetic -companion; and the plea that idleness can need no food-support, -may be met in a singularly happy and forcible fashion by a plain -scientific consideration. In the first instance, the idle man might, -by an appeal to science, show, that whilst he apparently spent life -without exertion, his bodily functions really represented in their -ordinary working an immense amount of labour. Sleeping or waking, that -bodily pumping-engine the heart does not fail to discharge its work, -in the circulation of the blood. The rise and fall of the chest in -the sleeping man remind us that it is not death but his ‘twin-brother -sleep,’ that we are observing. If we make a calculation respecting the -work which the heart of a man, idle or active, performs in twenty-four -hours, we may discover that it represents an amount of labour equal to -one hundred and twenty foot-tons. That is to say, if we could gather -all the force expended by the heart during its work of twenty-four -hours into one huge lift, such force would be equal to that required -to raise one hundred and twenty tons-weight one foot high. Similarly, -the work of the muscles of breathing in twenty-four hours, represents -a force equal to that required to lift twenty-one tons one foot high. -These are only two examples out of many, which the ordinary work and -labour of mere vegetative existence, without taking into consideration -any work performed—in the popular sense of the term—involves. - -We thus discover that, apart altogether from the every-day labour of -life, in which brain and muscles engage, an immense amount of work is -performed in the mere act of keeping ourselves alive. Nowhere in nature -is work performed without proportionate waste, or wear and tear of the -machine that works. This dictum holds quite as true of the human body -as of the steam-engine. And as the engine or other machine requires to -be supplied with the conditions necessary for the production of force, -so the living body similarly demands a supply of material from which -its energy (or the power of doing work) can be derived. As the engine -obtains the necessary conditions from the fuel and water it consumes, -so the living body derives its energy from the food upon which it -subsists. Food in this light is therefore merely matter taken from the -outside world, and from which our bodies derive the substances required -for the repair of the waste which the continual work of life entails. -In the young, food serves a double purpose—it supplies material for -growth, and it also affords substance from which the supply of force is -derived. In the adult, whilst no doubt, to a certain extent, the food -supplies actual loss of substance, it is more especially devoted to the -performance of work, and of maintaining that equilibrium or balance -between work and repair, which, as we have seen, constitutes health. - -Viewed in this light, the first important rule for food-taking is -founded on the plain fact, that in the food we must find the substances -necessary for the repair of our bodies, and for the production of the -energy through which work is performed. Food-substances in this light -fall into two well-marked classes—namely, into _Nitrogenous_ and -_Non-nitrogenous_ substances. Another classification of foods divides -them into _organic_ and _inorganic_, the former being derived from -animals and plants—that is, from living beings—while the latter are -derived from the world of non-living matter. Thus, animal and plant -substances represent organic foods; while water and minerals, both of -which are absolutely essential for the support of the body, represent -inorganic food materials. It would appear that from living matter -alone, do we obtain the materials for generating force. The inorganic -water and minerals, however, appear to be absolutely necessary for the -chemical alterations and changes which are continually taking place -within the body. - -Adopting the classification of foods into the _Nitrogenous_ and -_Non-nitrogenous_ groups, we discover examples of the first class in -such substances as _albumen_, seen familiarly in white of egg and other -substances; _gluten_, found in flour; _gelatin_, obtained from hoofs -and horns; _legumin_, obtained from certain vegetables; _casein_, found -in milk; and allied chemical substances. These substances possess a -remarkable similarity or uniformity of composition. It would appear -that in the process of digestion they are reduced to a nearly similar -state, and on this account they can replace one another to a certain -extent in the dietaries of mankind. - -The nitrogenous foods have often been popularly termed ‘flesh-formers,’ -and doubtless this name is well merited. For, as the result of -experiment, it would seem that the chief duty performed by the -nitrogenous parts of our food is that of building up and repairing the -tissues of the body. They also produce heat, through being chemically -changed in the blood, and thus aid in the production of force or -energy. But it would also appear tolerably certain, that in a complex -fashion the nitrogenous parts of our bodies assist or regulate in a -very exact manner the oxidation or chemical combustion of the tissues. - -It should be noted that nitrogenous foods are composed chemically of -the four elements, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen; the presence -of the last element giving the characteristic name and chemical -features to the group. Most of these foods in addition contain small -proportions of sulphur and phosphorus. - -An interesting advance in our knowledge of the part played by -nitrogenous foods in the work of the body was made, when an idea -of Liebig was overthrown by later experimentation. Liebig supposed -that the nitrogenous foods required first to be actually converted -into tissue—that is, into bodily substance—before their energy -or work-producing power could be liberated. In this view, muscular -force, through which we move, was believed to be dependent on the -changes, destructive or otherwise, which take place in the muscles. The -substance called _urea_, chiefly given off as a waste product by the -kidneys and chemically representing nitrogenous waste, was in Liebig’s -view regarded as representing the results of muscular force which -had been exerted. But two scientists, Fick and Wislicenus of Zurich, -proved, by a laborious series of personal experiments in mountain -ascents, that a non-nitrogenous diet will maintain the body for a short -time during the performance of severe work, no great increase in the -amount of urea given off being noticed. The work in question was proved -to have been performed on the carbon and hydrogen of the food consumed. -These experiments have led to the now accepted view, that a muscle, -instead of losing substance during work and thus wasting, in reality -consumes nitrogen, and grows. The exhaustion of the muscle is dependent -not so much on chemical waste, as on the accumulation within it of the -waste products of other foods. The muscle, in other words, is merely -the agent whereby so much energy, derived from the food, is converted -into actual and applied force. Did muscle really waste, as Liebig -supposed, the heart’s substance would be entirely consumed by its work -of one week! - -Such being the functions and nature of nitrogenous foods, we may now -glance at the non-nitrogenous division. Four groups of foods are -included in this latter class—namely (1) Starches and sugars, or -‘amyloids’ as they are often termed; (2) fats and oils; (3) minerals; -(4) water. The _starches and sugars_ include not merely starch and -sugar, as ordinarily known, but various gums, and certain acids, -such as lactic and acetic acids. Starch, as in bread, is a most -important food. These foods appear to go directly to maintain animal -heat, and to give energy, or the power of doing work, to the animal -frame. The heat-producing powers of starches and sugars are certainly -inferior to those of the fats and oils. But starches and sugars can -be converted into fat within the system; and hence persons who suffer -from a tendency to obesity are warned to exclude these foods from -their dietaries. Starches and sugars likewise appear to assist in -some measure the digestion of nitrogenous foods. That _fats and oils_ -are heat-producing foods is a fact taught us by the common experience -of mankind that northern nations consume the greatest proportion of -fat. The heat-producing powers of fat have been set down at two and -a half times as great as those of starch and sugar; and there is no -doubt that, in addition to assisting in the conversion of food into -body substances, the fatty parts of our food also assist in the work -of removing waste matters from the body. Fat, in addition, being -chemically burned in the blood, gives rise to the force which we exert -in ordinary muscular work. - -The _mineral_ parts of our food play an important part in the -maintenance of the frame. We thus require iron for the blood, -phosphorus for the brain and nerves, and lime for the bones; whilst -a variety of other minerals is likewise found in the blood and other -fluids of the frame. The uses of the mineral constituents of our -body are still a matter of speculation. Small as may be the quantity -of certain minerals required for the support of the body, serious -health-derangement may result when we are deprived of these substances. -Thus, scurvy appears to be a disease associated with the want of the -mineral potash in the blood; and the cure of this disease is therefore -accomplished when we supply to the blood those mineral elements which -have previously been deficient. Common salt, or chloride of sodium, as -it is chemically termed, although not entering into the composition -of the body, appears to form an important part of all the secretions; -and there can be little doubt that this mineral aids the formation and -chemical integrity of the gastric juice of the stomach. - -_Water_ forms the last item in the list of non-nitrogenous foods. Of -all foods, perhaps, water is the most important, seeing that it is a -substance which, in the absence of all other nourishment, can sustain -life for a period numbering many days. Thus, whilst a man dies in -from six to seven days when deprived of solid food and water, life -may be prolonged to as many as sixty days on water alone. The high -importance of water as a food is abundantly proved, when we discover -that it constitutes about two-thirds of the weight of the body; that it -enters into the composition of the brain to the extent of eighty per -cent.; that the blood consists of nearly eighty per cent. of water; -and that even bone contains ten per cent. of this fluid. Entering thus -into the composition of every fluid and tissue of the body, and being -perpetually given off from lungs, skin, and kidneys in the ordinary -work of life, there is little wonder that water assumes the first place -amongst foods. Regarding the uses of water as a food, we see that -it dissolves and conveys other foods throughout the system; that it -assists in removing waste products; and that it also takes a share in -regulating the temperature of the body through its evaporation on the -skin. - -Having thus considered the chemistry of foods, we may now pass -to discuss the natural rules which science describes for the -health-regulation of life in the matter of diet. A primary rule for -food-taking is that which shows that, for the due support of the -body, we require a combination of nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous -foods. This fact is proved by the consideration that milk, ‘nature’s -own food,’ on which the human being grows rapidly in early life, is -a compound of both classes of foods. So also, in an egg, from which -is formed an animal body, we find a combination of the two classes. -Death results if we attempt to feed on either class alone; and as the -body consists of both classes of substances, the justification for -the combination of foods is complete. Man can obtain the required -combination of nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous foods from animals -alone, from vegetables alone, or from animals and vegetables combined. -The water, of course, which is an absolutely essential feature of all -dietaries, is regarded as an additional item. In regulating the dietary -of mankind, it is found that the food of nations is determined largely, -or completely, by their situation on the earth’s surface. Thus, the -northern nations are largely animal feeders; whilst the southern -peoples of the world are to a great extent vegetarians. Individual -experience and taste produce amongst the units of a nation special -proclivities in the way of diet. But we can readily see that mankind, -with that elasticity of constitution and power to avail themselves of -their surroundings, can adapt themselves to their environments, and -become animal feeders, vegetable feeders, or subsist on a mixed dietary -at will. This is the true solution of the vegetarian controversy. It is -climate and race which determine the food of a nation. It is individual -intelligence, liking, and constitution which determine variations and -departures from the dietaries of the race. - -The relations between food and work naturally present themselves -as topics of the highest importance. In determining the standard -of health, it is clear that from our food alone, we can obtain the -energy or power of work required for the discharge of the duties of -life. An interesting point therefore arises regarding the differences -which are entailed by varying conditions and amounts of labour. Dr -Letheby tells us that an adult man in _idleness_ requires, to obtain -from his food for the support of his body, 2.67 ounces of nitrogenous -matter and 19.16 ounces of non-nitrogenous matter per day. If the -individual is to participate in _ordinary labour_, the amount of -nitrogenous matter obtained from his food must be increased to 4.56 -ounces, while the non-nitrogenous must be represented by 29.24 ounces. -In the case, lastly, of _active labour_ the amount of food required -must be increased to 5.81 ounces of nitrogenous, and 34.97 ounces of -non-nitrogenous matter. - -Dalton gives the following as the quantity of food, per day, required -for the healthy man, taking free exercise in the open air: meat, -sixteen ounces; bread, nineteen ounces; fat or butter, three and a -half ounces; water, fifty-two fluid ounces. It ought to be borne in -mind that these amounts of food represent the diet for a whole day -compressed, so to speak, into a convenient and readily understood form. -Another calculation, setting down the daily amount of food required by -an adult, at nitrogenous matter three hundred grains, and carbon at -four thousand grains, shows that these amounts would be obtained from -eighteen ounces of bread; one ounce of butter; four ounces of milk; -two ounces of bacon; eight ounces of potatoes; six ounces of cabbage; -three and a half ounces of cheese; one ounce of sugar; three-quarters -of an ounce of salt; and water (alone, and in beverages) sixty-six and -a quarter ounces—a total of no less than six pounds fourteen and a -quarter ounces. Summing up the question of the amounts of food required -by a healthy adult daily, and _excluding water in all forms as a matter -of separate calculation_, it may be said that four and a half ounces of -pure nitrogenous matter would be required in addition to three ounces -of fatty food, fourteen ounces of starch or sugar, and one ounce of -mineral matter. An ordinary adult consuming in twenty-four hours, food -items equal to those contained in one pound of meat and two pounds -of bread, may be regarded as consuming food of sufficient amount for -ordinary work. When the work is increased, the diet must naturally be -increased likewise. We find that persons in active employment require -about a fifth part more nitrogenous food, and about twice the quantity -of fat consumed by those engaged in light work; the sugars and starches -remaining the same. - -An interesting practical calculation has been made regarding the -amounts of different foods required to perform a given and fixed piece -of work. Taking the work performed by the German observers already -named, as a standard, namely, that of raising a man’s weight (one -hundred and forty pounds) ten thousand feet high, it has been found -that the amounts and cost of various foods required for the performance -of this work is as follows: Bread, 2.345 pounds, cost 3½d.; oatmeal, -1.281 pounds, cost 3½d.; potatoes, 5.068 pounds, cost 5¼d.; beef-fat, -0.555 pounds, cost 5¼d.; cheese, 1.156 pounds, cost 11½d.; butter, -0.693 pounds, cost 1s. 0½d.; lean beef, 3.532 pounds, cost 3s. 6½d.; -pale ale, nine bottles, cost 4s. 6d. - -The proportion of the different food-elements in an ordinary -dietary has been set down as follows: nitrogenous matter one, fats -six, starches and sugars three; and these proportions appear to be -represented with singular exactness in the ordinary dietaries which -experience has recommended to mankind. Excess of food in the matter of -nitrogenous elements tends to induce diseases of an inflammatory and -gouty nature, and likewise leads to fatty degeneration of the tissues. -When, on the other hand, there exists lack of nitrogenous substances, -the individual experiences weakness, want of muscular power, and -general prostration. The healthy mean is that in which the proportions -of nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous food are maintained as above -indicated. - -In the construction of dietaries, a few practical hints remain for -notice. Thus, as regards sex, the dietaries of women are usually, in -the case of the working-classes, estimated at one-tenth less than those -of the opposite sex. Age has an important influence in determining -the amount and quality of food. The growing body consumes more food, -relatively to work and weight, than the adult, inasmuch as it requires -material for new tissue. An infant under eight or nine months should -receive no starch whatever in its dietary, because it is unable to -digest that substance. Health is naturally a condition in which the -question of foods assumes a high importance, and various dietaries, -as is well known, are adapted for the cure of disease. The relation -of food to work has already been alluded to, and statistics detailed; -but it may be added that the brain-worker requires his food in a -more readily digestible form, and also in smaller bulk and in more -concentrated shape, than the muscle-worker or ordinary labourer. What -has been said concerning foods will tend to show how wide is the field -which the subject of nutrition occupies. It may only here be added, -that the education of the individual in health laws and in the science -of foods and food-taking, forms the only sure basis for the intelligent -regulation of that all-important work—the nourishment and due -support of the frame in relation to the work we perform and to every -circumstance of life. - - - - -THE COMMON-SENSE OF SUPERSTITIONS. - - -Out of a medley of magpies, May cats, broken looking-glasses, crickets, -village cures, lucky days, and tumbles up-stairs, there dawns a hint -towards the solving of a very puzzling problem. The problem is, not -why these things are called lucky or unlucky, but how it is that -multitudes grow up in every generation to believe the same absurdities, -and that still in this world of common-sense such items of uncommon -nonsense keep their character for ‘coming true.’ How is this, and -where do the secret links exist between the sense and the nonsense? If -any one takes the trouble to gather together about a hundred rustic -superstitions and old beliefs of quackery, the reason of the character -for ‘coming true’—that is, the reason of the traditional hold upon the -people—will presently begin to be plainly written across the whole -medley, dawning by degrees, just as writing in acid might dawn upon an -apparently blank missive held to the heat. - -Most superstitions are signs of ill-luck. This in itself is a tell-tale -fact. Unlucky omens are so numerous, that no believer could escape -them for long; and in all likelihood he observes not only the unlucky -signs, but his ill-luck following. The truth is, that the magpie on his -path had no connection with his loss of money; and on his wedding-day, -his bride’s unlucky glance in the looking-glass after she was fully -arrayed, had nothing to do with her discontent as a wife; nor need -the servant who broke the looking-glass have cried, looking forward -to seven years of ill-luck. In all three cases, as all the neighbours -knew, the ill-luck came. But it came because of the prepossessed frame -of mind that observed and discounted these signs. The superstitious -character lacks those practical and courageous qualities which wrest -luck from fortune and make the best of life. The omens of ill-luck -have come to the fortunate as often; but they were never noticed, -because they who were cheerily fighting the battle had better use for -their time. At this moment, the present writer knows of no household -more radiantly prosperous than one in which the largest looking-glass -was broken a few days after a move to their newly-built home; and no -marriage more replete with happiness than a Saturday marriage, though -proverbially Saturday’s marriage ‘has no luck at all.’ Of course, -neither the prosperous household nor the well-matched pair were of that -languid and timid mind that takes nervous note of superstitions. - -But, it may be objected, there are signs of good luck too, though -not so many. Certainly; and there is no truth better known than that -courage commands success, and such courage in exceptional cases may -come from a very trivial encouragement. There is a country superstition -that if a man sets off running and runs round in a circle, when he -hears the cuckoo for the first time, he will never be out of work till -spring comes again. But the man who valued steady work would exert -himself in a more sensible direction than unproductive circle-running, -and be safe from idle days. Again, if a tumble up-stairs is lucky, -the predisposition to luck is in the person who will be active and -quick enough to run up the staircase. Another good omen, the turning -of a garment inside out in dressing, though it seems to tell of the -slovenliness that will not succeed, has probably an origin that -indicated something better; it is a country saying, and it might -well refer to the hurry and awkwardness of rising without artificial -light before day—a habit likely to help the farmer’s household to -good fortune. Or as proof of the real nature of many good signs which -time has perverted into superstitions, can we doubt that the crickets -which chirp round the hearth for luck were first noticed there because -crickets, as a rule, only come to a warm and cosy fireside—the kind of -hearth that marks a happy cottage home? - -A simple grain of common-sense like this must have been the origin of -many senseless observances. It was necessary to guard ladders from -being knocked down, so superstition began to warn the passers-by: if -the children went under the ladder, they would not grow; if girls went, -they would have no chance of being married within the year; and if -a man passed under, he would be hanged—in memory of the criminal’s -ladder under the gibbet. - -To take another original grain of common-sense. Warnings against -carelessness assumed the form of omens. To spill the salt was -unfortunate; or in some country places, to spill new milk; or in parts -of Southern Europe, to spill the oil. Leonardo da Vinci painted spilt -salt near Judas in his famous ‘Last Supper.’ It is one of the most -widespread of ill omens, though in different places there are shades of -difference; for instance, in Holland it betokens a shipwreck. - -Beside the superstitious disposition being what we may call an unlucky -disposition, and beside the germ of encouragement that makes its own -success out of some ‘good signs,’ and the atom of original prudence -that still exists in some so-called bad omens, there are two other -reasons why superstitions still keep hold of the people by a reputation -for ‘coming true.’ These two reasons cover a great deal of ground -in our theory of explanation. The first is the vague character of -forecasts. For instance, we all know the rhymes about the luck of -birthdays, which country-people of different shires repeat rather -variously. One Scottish version is: - - Monday’s bairn is fair of face; - Tuesday’s bairn is full of grace; - Wednesday’s bairn is a child of woe; - Thursday’s bairn has far to go; - Friday’s bairn is loving and giving; - Saturday’s bairn works hard for a living; - But the bairn that is born on the Sabbath day, - Is lively and bonnie, and wise and gay. - -Contrast with this the English version: - - Born of a Monday, fair in face; - Born of a Tuesday, full of God’s grace; - Born of a Wednesday, merry and glad; - Born of a Thursday, sour and sad; - Born of a Friday, godly given; - Born of a Saturday, work for your living; - Born of a Sunday, never shall we want— - So there ends the week, and there’s an end on’t. - -Any superstitious rustic who, from the page of the cottage Bible, dug -out the deep secret of the day of his birth, would easily find the -rhyme true of himself for any day of the week. Any country girl would -trust it was true, if she was born on a Monday. And who that came -on a Tuesday would confess himself graceless? But about Wednesday’s -bairn there seems to be a difference of opinion among the prophets: -one rhyme predicts ‘a child of woe;’ the other says, ‘merry and glad;’ -while a third, well known in Devonshire, says, ‘sour and grum;’ and -thereby, from self-contradiction, the old rhyme goes down like a house -of cards. But all the rhymsters are agreed that Saturday’s child works -hard for his living—as no doubt the children of every other day of -the week work too, in the sphere of labouring country-life in which -these old sayings are known. And as variable as this forecast there -are many others; for every firm believer in superstition has a secret -satisfaction in proving it true; and which of us is there that could -not read our life as the interpretation of any forecast, since we all -can look at the bright or the dark side, having known alike the good -and the evil days? - -The other reason for the reputation for truth is, that, for credulous -folk, unlucky omens are too terrible to be put to the test. If they -were freely tried, they would be detected as a mental tyranny, a -popular fraud; and in a few generations would be remembered by the -rustic classes, only as the learned now remember the foolish excitement -of their forefathers in science, seeking the Elixir of Life and the -Philosopher’s Stone. If dinner-parties of thirteen were to become -the fashion, we should not see, as we often see now, the cautious -arrangements of Christmas invitations, or even the timid compromise of -bringing in a side-table to accommodate the thirteenth. But which of -the credulous would dare to test these things? It reminds the writer -of a doubt—still unsolved—whether the taste of parsley would cause a -parrot to drop down dead. Parsley as a parrot-poison was heard of in -childhood, not as a superstition, but as a physical fact. What if it -were true? The _if_ was too terrible. We had visions of our feathered -gray ‘Prince Charlie’ seizing the green stuff in his hooked beak, -and rolling off the perch in mortal agonies. So we disbelieved, but -coward-like avoided the chance, just as all the world avoids thirteen -at table. - -As to superstitious cures, some of them contain slight elements of -medicinal value; but most depend upon that influence upon the nerves -which is well known to be capable of giving energy for a time and -allaying pain. Some of the old cures were decidedly disagreeable and -troublesome. The native of Devonshire who wanted to get rid of a wart -was solemnly enjoined to steal a piece of meat, and after rubbing -the wart with it, throw it over his left shoulder over a wall. The -Hertfordshire villager, when afflicted with ague, might be cured if he -would go to Berkhampstead, where oak-trees grew at the cross-roads; and -after pegging himself by a lock of hair to the trunk of one of these -trees, he was to give a vigorous jump, and rid himself at once of the -ague and the tuft of hair. The loss of the hair was so painful, and the -loss of the ague so doubtful, that the Berkhampstead folks many years -ago ceased to go to ‘the cross-oaks.’ The ague, the toothache, and -dog-bites were the subject of many charms. In the former two maladies, -a nervous impression might go far to cure; and in the last, a charm -against hydrophobia would protect the simple believer from the great -peril that is in a brooding fear of madness. The ludicrous cures were -a legion in themselves. It seems heartlessly unkind to give a poor -dog the measles; but many an old nurse took a lock of hair from the -nape of the sick child’s neck, made a sort of sandwich of it between -bread-and-butter, and watched at the door to transfer, or fancy she had -transferred, the measles to a stray dog—probably a stray dog, because -only an ill-fed animal would take her bread. Equally unkind was it to -strive to give our dumb friend the whooping-cough; but by the same -process, with a bunch of hair and a piece of meat, the nurse could be -guilty of that absurdity as well. - -Have any of our readers ever encountered a toad with the -whooping-cough? The Cheshire toads ought to be sometimes found crowing -and whooping and in need of change of air; for the superstitious -Cheshire woman whose child has the cough, knows that she has only -to poke a toad’s head into her child’s mouth to transfer the -whooping-cough to the toad. Query, Is the disease also transferred—and -in that case, what are the alarming results—when the victim of -whooping-cough gets rid of it by being passed nine times under and over -a donkey? The cure for rickets is to pass the child under and over -the donkey nine-times-nine turns. This was actually done in London -as late as 1845; when a man and a woman, solemnly counting, passed -the unfortunate child under and over the unsuspecting moke eighty-one -times, in the midst of an admiring crowd. If there was one pass more -or less, the charm would fail—a broad enough hint of the excuses -that could be made when such cures as these were sought in vain. The -eighty-one turns must have confused the counters’ arithmetic, as no -doubt the child had personal objections, and lifted its voice aloud; -and sore must have been the trial even to the patience of a donkey. - -So, to sum up, we would suggest that superstitions keep their false -character for truth, firstly, because those who observe them therein -prove their own leaning towards ill-luck; secondly, because forecasts -are vague, and interpretations can be traced somehow in the chances of -life; thirdly, because the penalty of ill omens is so dreaded, that -the credulous shrink from putting them to the test; fourthly, because -there are nervous cures, and love-charms, and dreams, in which anxious -consciousness points right—the wish being father to the thought; -fifthly, victims of superstition are secretly pleased when (by chance) -an unlucky omen comes true, and have a satisfaction even in relating -their misfortunes; while, since no one tells of the cases that do _not_ -come true, every chance fulfilment is a new rivet in the chain that -ought long ago to have fallen to pieces. - - - - -NOXIOUS MANUFACTURES. - - -There is just now a most wholesome activity in regard to the national -health, and the public are peculiarly interested in the various details -of our sanitary machinery. Of this, by no means the least important -department is that instituted under the Alkali Works Regulation -Act, 1881, or, in other words, the inspection of noxious works and -factories. In connection with the pollution of rivers, this is an -old grievance; but too little has hitherto been done to realise or -to remedy the evil in its general effects upon the public health. So -greatly, too, have works prejudicial to health increased of late years, -that their inspection has been decided upon none too soon. Probably, it -will never be known how far the death-rate has been influenced by this -cause. It is, however, one of the unavoidable penalties of civilisation -that we should live under unwholesome conditions of life. - -A multitude of influences injurious to health spring into active -existence with the development of commerce and the growth of luxury. -Most of these are evident enough. All the elements, indeed, are -equally guilty. The earth, air, fire, and water, are allied against -civilised humanity; and modern science is constantly bringing to -light disagreeable facts in this connection. We have long lived in -the comfortable belief that Mother Earth was the great purifier. -The reverse is, it seems, nearer the truth. Years after the germs -of infection have been consigned to the ground, they have been -disinterred, and found to be not a whit diminished in virulence. -Archæologists should, we are told, beware of handling newly found -relics, lest, perchance, they should contract some archaic disease. -Even mummies, it appears, in spite of their venerable respectability, -are objects of legitimate suspicion! Fire, too, has a dreary catalogue -of sins to answer for. It not only robs us of much of the oxygen, of -which those of us who live in the towns have so scanty a supply, but it -gives us in exchange unconsumed carbon in quantities which fill the air -with smut. In smoke alone it furnishes us with food for reflection—and -digestion—and probably will continue to do so for some time to come. - -Again, water is the most insidious enemy of all. The most indispensable -of the elements—and we are reminded of our obligations to it pretty -frequently—it is credited with doing the greatest harm. In league -with unnatural substances, it has developed such an affinity for -noxious matter that it appears that nothing short of boiling can -possibly enable us to drink it with any security. To most people, cold -boiled water will not seem a very attractive beverage, but it has the -advantage of being in many ways a safe one. - -The air, too, is anything but true to the trust committed to her -charge. We have long confidingly believed in her good-will. Our sewers, -drains, and chimneys discharge their pestilent exhalations into the -air; but instead of carrying these away into space, she receives them -only to bestow them upon us again. - -The outlook is indeed gloomy, and unless we make some progress in -sanitary science, it is not a little difficult to see how we are to -continue to support the burden of civilised existence. - -In this connection, it is reassuring to know that something is being -done to lessen these ominously numerous artificial dangers. The works -which come within the scope of the Alkali, &c. Works Act, 1881, are -very injurious to life. The manufacture of alkalies, acids, chemical -manures, salt, and cement, alike involve processes prejudicial to -health. More than one thousand of these were visited by the inspectors, -appointed in pursuance of the above Act, during the year 1882; and -it is interesting to know that some intelligent means are being -devised whereby the offensive character of these manufactures may be -diminished. To take a single cause of mischief. The manufacture of -alkalies and acids has long been conducted in such a way that the -proportion of noxious matter which was allowed to escape into the -chimney, or atmosphere, often reached from twenty to forty grains per -cubic foot of air, twenty being a not uncommon amount. The maximum -amount which might be allowed to escape with impunity has been -estimated at four grains per cubic foot; and it is a very important -feature of the Act that it has been instrumental in reducing this -very considerably. In the alkali works proper the escape has been -brought down to two grains, while in some cases it is under one. The -sulphuric acid works alone are now conspicuous for their failings in -this important respect, the average escape in those examined during the -year being 5.5. Again, chemical manure-works have long been a pregnant -source of annoyance to the inhabitants of the neighbourhood in which -these are carried on. - -It is, curiously enough, the smaller establishments of the kind which -are the most harmful. The larger works have long employed the most -complete processes, because the escape of effluvia would otherwise -have been so great, that it would have speedily aroused hostile action -on the part of the public. The imposition of preventive measures -in the case of the smaller works—in many of which no precautions -whatever have hitherto been adopted—is attended with some difficulty, -since it involves an expenditure which would in some cases be almost -prohibitive. It appears, indeed, that no maximum of escape can be fixed -in works of this kind, and all that remains to be done is to render it -compulsory that processes should be adopted for washing out such gases -as are soluble, and for burning those which are more susceptible to -such a method of treatment. Since such pernicious agents as fluorine -compounds escape during the action of sulphuric acid upon phosphates, -the question is one of some urgency. Again, another cause of complaint -is the escape of sulphuretted hydrogen during the process of making -sulphate of ammonia. In the larger gas-liquor-works the gas is burned, -and converted into sulphuric acid in lead chambers; while in others it -is passed through oxide of iron; and both these methods are perfectly -satisfactory when properly carried out. Again, the discharge of -sulphurous or muriatic gases evolved in extracting salt from brine is -an evil which has remained unremedied almost down to the present time. -Not the least curious feature of this question, too, is the fact that -many of the products of distillation are so valuable that it is more -than mere neglect to throw them away in the form of noxious gases. It -is unnecessary to describe here the state of the salt districts. They -might serve as a type of the abomination of desolation. The combined -effect of the gases and the soot, which pours forth in prodigious -volumes and from the chimneys of nearly a hundred salt-works in -Cheshire alone, is most deplorable. - -The only possible conclusion from this Report is that we are still far -behindhand in these matters. We have, for instance, long continued -to burn coal on the same principle, and are very slow to believe in -any of the new methods which have been and are continually being -introduced. Yet not only is black smoke very much more injurious to -animal and vegetable life than when it has been rendered colourless by -burning, but it is peculiarly wasteful. It has long been known that -many valuable commodities could be obtained from coal; and but too -little progress has hitherto been made in this direction. It is, then, -all the more interesting to know that in some works in the north of -England the gases from the blast furnaces have been cooled and washed, -and ammoniacal salts obtained in such quantities as to make the process -economical; while by the ‘Young and Beilby’ process it is contended -that not only can the fuel be consumed for nothing, but that there will -be several shillings a ton profit. - -So far as manufactures are concerned, there certainly seems to be -no valid reason why the rule that they must consume their own smoke -should not be much more freely enforced. In the case of the alkali -trades, which have long been in a very bad state, it is, of course, -an unfortunate time to suggest the necessity for the outlay of more -capital in improved works. But the exigencies of the public health are -paramount, and needlessly offensive processes cannot be tolerated much -longer. Such a case as that reported from Widnes, where waste heaps of -offensive matter, consisting chiefly of sulphur and lime, are allowed -to accumulate, although the sulphur could be extracted at a profit, and -so prevented from poisoning the streams for miles around, is certainly -difficult to explain. The drainage from these heaps alone is estimated -as carrying away twelve tons or seventy pounds-worth of sulphur a day. -But perhaps as soon as some satisfactory system for eliminating the -sulphur has been hit upon, this will be remedied. We have certainly -much yet to learn in sanitary science. The old theories are one by one -being exploded, and it will no longer do for us to poison the air we -breathe, under the pleasing impression that its purifying properties -are inexhaustible. Civilisation has made such strides that she has -succeeded in overturning the equilibrium of nature. The equilibrium -must be restored. - - - - -TRIMMING THE FEET OF ELEPHANTS. - - -The feet of elephants kept for show purposes are trimmed two or three -times a year. The sole of an elephant’s foot is heavily covered with -a thick horny substance of material similar to the three toe-nails on -each foot; and as it grows thicker and thicker, it tends to contract -and crack, often laming the animal. Barnum the American showman -recently subjected his elephants to the trimming process at one of -the towns where he was exhibiting. With a knife about two feet long, -great pieces of horn, six inches by four, and a quarter of an inch -thick, were shaved off. Often pieces of glass, wire, nails, and other -things are found imbedded in the foot, which have been picked up during -street parades. Sometimes these irritating morsels work up into the -leg and produce a festering sore. A large nail was found imbedded in -the foot of one of the elephants, which had to be extracted with a -pair of pincers, and the wound syringed with warm water. During the -operation, the huge creature appeared to suffer great pain, but seemed -to know that it would afterwards obtain relief, and therefore bore it -patiently, and trumpeted its pleasure at the close. Three times around -an elephant’s front-hoof is said to be his exact height. - - - - -SONNETS OF PRAISE. - - -THE VALES. - - The nestling vales lie sheltered from rough winds, - As little babes in tender keeping grow, - Some narrow gorge each flowery limit binds; - Thus we from childish eyes hide elder woe. - The vales are thick with corn, with plenty shine; - Thus should the children smile in sunny glee, - For One hath blessed them with a love divine, - The untried pilgrims of life’s stormy sea. - Though rough winds cannot enter, gentle rain - Refreshes the green vale, till springs arise, - Their source the snow-clad hills; so age should gain, - By gentle teaching childhood’s eager eyes. - Rain fills the pools, the thirsty vale is blest; - Thus should the children thrive, by love caressed. - - -THE MOUNTAINS. - - The lofty mountains with their snowy crests, - God’s ensigns, praise their Lord throughout the land; - Their heights, which few can reach, in human breasts - Inspiring awe, yet quake beneath His hand. - Oft ’twixt their summits and the lower earth, - The wreathing cloud-mists roll, alone they dwell - As sight-dimmed age. Our cries of pain or mirth - Molest them not; thus age with deadening spell - Benumbs our ears, yet near each lonely peak - Sing mountain birds, sunbeams each summit crown. - From highest heaven thus God’s saints may seek - Refuge in thoughts divine, though long years drown - Earth’s sounds; on mountain crest reposed the Ark, - Our home above shines clear, as earth grows dark. - - M. P. - - * * * * * - -Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, -and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. - - * * * * * - -_All Rights Reserved._ - - * * * * * - -[Transcriber’s note—the following changes have been made to this text. - -Page 236: missing word “pounds” inserted—“3.532 pounds”.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 15, VOL. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 15, Vol. I, April 12, 1884</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 20, 2021 [eBook #65389]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 15, VOL. I, APRIL 12, 1884 ***</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">{225}</span></p> - -<h1>CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL<br /> -OF<br /> -POPULAR<br /> -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.</h1> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<p class='center'> - - -<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> - -<a href="#NATURE_AROUND_LONDON">NATURE AROUND LONDON.</a><br /> -<a href="#BY_MEAD_AND_STREAM">BY MEAD AND STREAM.</a><br /> -<a href="#SOME_QUEER_DISHES">SOME QUEER DISHES.</a><br /> -<a href="#A_WITNESS_FOR_THE_DEFENCE">A WITNESS FOR THE DEFENCE.</a><br /> -<a href="#OUR_HEALTH">OUR HEALTH.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_COMMON-SENSE_OF_SUPERSTITIONS">THE COMMON-SENSE OF SUPERSTITIONS.</a><br /> -<a href="#NOXIOUS_MANUFACTURES">NOXIOUS MANUFACTURES.</a><br /> -<a href="#TRIMMING_THE_FEET_OF_ELEPHANTS">TRIMMING THE FEET OF ELEPHANTS.</a><br /> -<a href="#SONNETS_OF_PRAISE">SONNETS OF PRAISE.</a><br /> - -<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> - -</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter w100" id="header" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/header.jpg" alt="Chambers’s Journal of Popular Literature, Science, -and Art. Fifth Series. Established by William and Robert Chambers, 1832. Conducted by R. Chambers (Secundus)." /> -</div> - - -<hr class="full" /> -<div class="center"> -<div class="header"> -<p class="floatl"><span class="smcap">No. 15.—Vol. I.</span></p> -<p class="floatr"><span class="smcap">Price</span> 1½<em>d.</em></p> -<p class="floatc">SATURDAY, APRIL 12, 1884.</p> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="NATURE_AROUND_LONDON">NATURE AROUND LONDON.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Most</span> people have the impression that to enjoy -country sights and sounds, and all the peaceful -rural beauties and bright hues of an English -landscape, one must go a long way out of London. -Mr Richard Jefferies, in his recent volume, <i>Nature -near London</i> (Chatto and Windus), has, with his -admirable power of nature-painting, shown this -to be a mistake. About twelve miles from the -great metropolis there are to be found small -picturesque villages lying in the heart of leafy -copses, and rural lanes imbedded in greenery, -and filled with bird and insect life. Here the -wayfarer, weary with the dust and smoke of -London, may inhale an atmosphere laden with -resinous and balmy scents, and stretch himself -in the cool grass beside streams beloved by the -angler, where patches of forget-me-nots gem the -greensward with their soft turquoise-blue, and the -yellow flag hangs out in the bright summer sunshine -its gay streamers of gold.</p> - -<p>Mr Jefferies tells us regarding one of these -tiny brooks, that he watched season after -season a large trout that lay in a deep pool -under the shadow of a great beech-tree. For -nearly four years, in shadow and sunshine, -he observed this veteran of the finny tribe as -he lay meditatively watching the world outside -from the quiet depths of his snug pool. The -noisy little sedge-birds chattered overhead, and -the patient anglers cast their lines with crafty care -by the side of the brook; but no bait they could -use had any charm for him. At length, by slow -degrees, there came to be a comparative friendliness -and confidence between the trout and the -patient watcher who stood so still and silent -by the edge of the pool. Sometimes the trout -would venture out of the shadow, and raising -himself over a dead branch that lay in the water, -display all his speckled beauties in the ripple -and sunshine. At last, one bright summer -morning, an end came to this quaint friendship. -An awful revolution occurred in the quiet life of -the brook—the water was dammed up and let off -by a side-hatch, in order that some large pipe -might be laid down; and the big trout, with his -lesser brethren, fell a victim to the predatory instincts -of a party of navvies. Our author looked -in vain next day into the still depths of the beech-tree -pool; his finny friend was gone, and the -place looked empty and dull without him.</p> - -<p>It is impossible to describe to any one who has -not experienced it for himself, how much the -near neighbourhood of London enhances all the -beauties of the country, and brings out the sweet -scents of the fields and hedges. In the cool -dewy mornings, the honeysuckle trailing along -the hedgerows perfumes the air all around, and -mingles with the delicious scent of the bean and -hay fields. In these woodland copses, nature has -opened her flowery cornucopia and poured out her -treasures with a liberal hand. Here one stumbles -upon a clump of wild-roses, with their delicate -pink glow and faint sweet perfume; there, a -few steps farther bring you to a lime-tree laden -with blossoms, and you feel the whole perfumed -air heavy with the slumberous hum of the bees -busy overhead. Rabbits dart out and in from -under the green palm-like fronds of a great -clump of brake-fern; the woodpeckers call to -each other; the jays screech from the leafy lanes; -wood-pigeons coo from the depths of the copse-wood. -There is no blank of silence, no absence -of the companionship of living things, no lack -of vivid interest for any one who can scan with -an intelligent eye the pages of nature’s great -book.</p> - -<p>Away over the rippling hayfields, the lark, -mounting upwards, a tiny speck in the cloudless -blue of the summer sky, makes the air quiver -with the glad thrilling notes of his morning song; -and down in the leafy hollow of the copse, where -the brook murmurs gently beneath the overhanging -boughs, the blackbird trills his mellifluous -flute-like notes. Birds, our author says, abound. -‘In some places, almost every clod has its lark, -every bush its songster.’</p> - -<p>One particular lane, with a high hedge bordered -with elm-trees, had four or five nightingales; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">{226}</span> -a copse near it resounded in the season with the -cheerful call of the cuckoo. Magpies, which have -become scarce in many places throughout the -country, are plentiful near London, where some -birds are also found which, in many country -districts, are but rare and occasional visitors, such -as the blackcap, shrike, and gorgeous kingfisher. -To a student of bird-life, such spots as a little -wood, which our author christened Nightingale -Copse, cannot fail to prove a perfect paradise. -It was a favourite resort not only of nightingales, -but of other migratory birds—chiff-chaffs, -willow wrens, golden-crested wrens, fieldfares, -&c. In the fields bordering the highway, -partridges abounded; and Mr Jefferies counted -on one occasion as many as seventeen young -pheasants all feeding together on the wheat-stubbles. -Nor is the ear the only sense which -is charmed in these woodland copses—in the -hedgerows, and under the straggling trees and -bushes which border the woods, flowers abound, -gleaming out in the sunshine from between the -tall grasses with a sudden surprise of vivid colour; -or spreading like enamel over the short turf; or -intertwining their gay garlands with the clustering -masses of creeping bramble. Each flower has -its own peculiar habitat, where it flourishes luxuriantly. -There are patches of the yellow rock -rose, of the cranesbill, of the sweet purple wild -thyme, of the starry white stitchwort, of the -campion and yellow snapdragon; while stately -and tall under the shadow of the birch-trees, the -foxglove hangs out to the rustling breeze its lovely -bells of clouded purple. Nor is heath awanting; -‘the open slopes beyond Sandown are covered -with heath, growing so thickly, that even the -narrow footpaths are hidden by the overhanging -bushes of it. Beneath and amid the heath, what -seems a species of lichen grows so profusely as to -give a gray undertone to the whole.’</p> - -<p>In autumn, this stretch of heath blazes out into -a deep glory of purple, so rich and full, that it -seems to give the very atmosphere a glow of -purple light. Beyond the heath, there are fir-woods, -stretching to the east and west; while -southwards, the heath melts into the soft green -of corn and meadow lands, with scattered clumps -of trees. The open slopes among the straggling -firs, which dot like sentinels the borders of these -pine-woods, are covered with forests of tail ferns, -amid which the browsing cows are lost to sight, -and only reveal their whereabouts by the tinkling -music of the small bells suspended to their -necks.</p> - -<p>Adders are common in these woods, and are -sometimes killed for the sake of their oil, which -some folks consider a specific for deafness. It is -procured by skinning the adder and taking the -fat and boiling it; the result being a clear oil, -which never thickens even in the coldest weather. -It is applied by pouring a small quantity into the -ear, exactly in the same manner as the poison was -poured into the ear of the sleeping king in <i>Hamlet</i>. -Squirrels abound in these copses, and so do weasels -and stoats.</p> - -<p>In some fields christened by our author Magpie -Fields, because he one day saw ten magpies all -together in one of them, herbs abound which are -in request among herbalists for medicinal purposes. -One of these is yarrow. One day, looking -at some mowers at work in a hayfield, he saw a -man in advance of the others pulling up the -yarrow plants as fast as he could and carefully -laying them aside. Asking him why he did so, -he answered, that although it seemed such a -common weed, it was not without its value, for -that a person sometimes came and took away a -whole trap-load of it. The flowers were boiled, -and mixed with cayenne pepper, and were then -used as a remedy for colds in the chest. Dandelions -are also in request; the tender leaves are -pulled in the spring, and taken away in sackfuls -to be eaten as salad. There are also hellebore -and blue scabious; and the rough-leaved comfrey; -and borage with its reminiscences of claret-cup; -and groundsel, dear to the owners of pet -birds; and knotted figwort, and Aaron’s rod; -and a whole tribe of strongly scented mints and -peppermints. The belief in these simples, which -made the reputation in the middle ages of many -a wonder-working doctor and village witch, is -fast dying out in the country districts, where -the agricultural labourers scarcely know one -herb from another; but it flourishes still around -the mighty and enlightened metropolis. The -herb self-heal is to be found in many hedgerows -of many harvest-fields, as well as on the stubbles -near London; but very few reapers now would -know it if they saw it, or ever think of applying -it to any accidental cut or gash.</p> - -<p>In the harvest and turnip-hoeing seasons, -picturesque bivouac fires dot the fields and lanes. -These do not owe their existence to parties of -pleasure-seekers, who go a-gipsying under the -greenwood tree, but are rather the outcome of a -hard struggle for the means of subsistence. They -belong to wandering Irish labourers, who move -about from farm to farm wherever they can get -work, sleeping in barns or outhouses, and in fine -weather doing their cooking in the open air. -Nothing can be more unlike the populace of the -vast adjacent metropolis than these agricultural -labourers, native or imported. Look at the -ploughman in the furrows yonder, with his stolid -characterless face, vacantly regarding the team of -three stately horses before him. Intent day by -day on the earth beneath his feet, he sees, or at -least notices little else. ‘His mind imbibes the -spirit of the soil,’ and cannot rise beyond. When -the plough stops, he takes out his bread and -cheese; and as he munches away, his eyes fall on -the sunbeams glittering on the roof of the Crystal -Palace; but the sparkling reflection awakens no -train of thought in his uncontemplative soul; he -takes no interest except in the furrows at his feet; -although near London, he is not of it.</p> - -<p>In the collection of English pottery in the -Museum is preserved the simple rustic memory -of these tillers of the soil, the men who, centuries -ago, ploughed like this simple countryman these -beautiful English acres, scattering the seed over -the furrows in the green flush of spring, and -garnering the golden grain beneath the mellow -skies of autumn. It is curious that so much of -the unwritten history of our race should be -preserved by so frail a thing as earthenware. -These jugs and mugs, with their quaint mottoes -and ornamentation, carry the spectator back to -the sports and habits of a bygone age.</p> - -<p>‘May the best cock win,’ recalls a brutal sport -now almost unknown. The frog at the bottom -of the jug is a rebuke to the too greedy toper;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">{227}</span> -while the motto on another cup shows that there -were grumblers even in the good old days, and -that times were hard then as well as now:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Here’s to thee, mine honest friend,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Wishing these hard times to mend.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Beyond the woodlands and valleys which Mr -Jefferies has described so happily, are the vast -South Downs, hidden in masses of gray mist. -These wide sheep-walks are seemingly endless in -their extent. They are profusely covered with -flowers in their season, with patches of furze, and -with short thick grass, amid which the wild -thyme luxuriates, spreading out into soft cushions -of purple which might make a seat for a king, -and permeating with its aromatic fragrance the -whole keen air of the uplands. The furze is full -of bird-life. Only game has decreased with the -increase of cultivation; and with the decrease -of game, foxes have become fewer. A few years -ago, they were so abundant, that a shepherd told -our author that he had sometimes seen as many -as six at a time sunning themselves on the -precipitous face of the cliffs at Beachy Head. -They ascend and descend the precipice by narrow -winding-paths of their own with the greatest -ease and in perfect safety, unless a couple have -a quarrel on one of the narrow rock-ledges, when -fatal results often ensue—one or both toppling -over.</p> - -<p>‘Lands of gold,’ says our author, ‘have been -found, and lands of spices and precious merchandise; -but the South Downs are the land of -health. There is always the delicious air, turn -where you will; and the grass, the very touch -of which refreshes.’ Besides all this, there is the -peculiar beauty which gives its chief charm to -all elevated situations, the interest of the panorama -which spreads around and beneath—the distant -trees which wave in the freshening breeze; the -gleam of light which brings out into strong relief -the warm bit of colouring supplied by the tiled -roof of yonder farmhouse; the flashes of sunshine -which brighten up the gloom, and chase the -shadows across the swelling uplands and green -low-lying meadows beyond.</p> - -<p>Seen in the shifting lights and glooms of a -breezy autumn day, this lofty, lonely spot seems -a land of enchanted beauty, which holds the -spectator spellbound, till masses of cloud, rolling -up from the sea, throw deep purple shadows over -the peaceful landscape, and warn him that darkness -is about to fall over the flower-spangled -slopes and gleaming sea beyond.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak x-ebookmaker-important" id="BY_MEAD_AND_STREAM">BY MEAD AND STREAM.</h2> -</div> - -<h3>CHAPTER XXIII.—CHANGES.</h3> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> arrival of a stranger in Kingshope was not -such an unusual occurrence as to attract much -particular attention. The villagers were accustomed -in the summer to frequent visits of bands -of ‘beanfeasters’ or ‘wayzegoose’ parties, as the -annual outings of the employees of large city -firms are called. On these occasions there were -athletic games on the common, pleasant roamings -through the Forest, and high revel in the <i>King’s -Head</i> or the <i>Cherry Tree</i> afterwards. Then there -were itinerant photographers, negro minstrels, and -gypsy cheap Jacks, with caravans drawn by animals -which may be best described as the skeletons of -horses in skin-tights—working the Forest ‘pitch’ -or ‘lay’—these being the slang terms for any -given scene of operation for the professional -vagrant. The bird-snarers and the pigeon-flyers -seemed to be always about. In the hunting -season there were generally a few guests at the -<i>King’s Head</i>; and so, although every new visitor -underwent a bovine stare, he was forgotten as -soon as he passed out of sight.</p> - -<p>Mr Beecham’s ways were so quiet, that before -he had been a week in the place, he had glided -so imperceptibly into its ordinary life that he -seemed to be as much a part of it as the parson -and the doctor. His presence was of course -observed, but there was little sign of impertinent -curiosity. It was understood that he was looking -about the district for a suitable house in which -to settle, or for a site on which to build one. -This accounted for his long walks; and there -was nothing remarkable in the fact that his -peregrinations led him frequently by Willowmere, -and sometimes into the neighbourhood of Ringsford -Manor.</p> - -<p>Although his ways were so quiet, there was -nothing reserved or mysterious about them. The -object which had brought him to Kingshope was -easily comprehended; he entered into conversation -with the people he met, and took an interest -in the affairs of the place—the crops, the weather, -and the prospects of the poor during the coming -winter. Yet nothing more was known of his -antecedents than that he came from London, -and that he visited the city two or three times -a week. He dressed plainly; he lived moderately -at the inn—not like one who required to reckon -his expenses carefully, but like one whose tastes -were simple and easily satisfied.</p> - -<p>The general belief was that he had belonged -to one of the professions, and that he had retired -on a moderate competence, in order to devote his -time to study of some sort. He himself said -nothing on the subject.</p> - -<p>One of the first acquaintances he made was -Uncle Dick, who adhered to the kindly old -country custom of giving the time of day to -any one he met in the lanes or saw passing his -gates. The first salutation of the master of -Willowmere induced Mr Beecham to make inquiries -about the district, which led to future -conversations. These would have speedily introduced -the stranger to the farmhouse and its -mistress; but hitherto he had not availed himself -of the cordial invitation which was given -him. He was apparently satisfied with the privilege -of going over the land with Uncle Dick, -inspecting his stock and admiring his horses, and -thus speedily developing a casual acquaintanceship -into a friendship. On these occasions he -had opportunities of seeing and conversing with -Madge, and she formed as favourable an opinion -of him as her uncle had done.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">{228}</span></p> - -<p>‘Has he ever said what made him think of -coming to settle hereabout?’ inquired the dame -one day, after listening to their praises of the -stranger.</p> - -<p>‘Never thought of asking him,’ replied Crawshay, -wondering if there was anything wrong -in having neglected to put such a natural question.</p> - -<p>‘He mentioned that some friends of his lived -near here at one time,’ said Madge, ‘and that he -had always liked the Forest.’</p> - -<p>‘Has he spoken about any family? Is he -married? Has he any children?’</p> - -<p>‘Why, mother, you wouldn’t have me go prying -into what doesn’t concern us!’ was Crawshay’s -exclamation. ‘It does seem a bit queer, though, -that he seems to have nobody belonging to -him.’</p> - -<p>Aunt Hessy thought it very queer; and when -Philip came next, she asked him to describe Mr -Shield to her again.</p> - -<p>‘He must have changed very much since I -last saw him,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I scarcely -know what put it into my head, but this Mr -Beecham is much more like what I should have -fancied your uncle would grow into, than the -gentleman you describe. But foreign parts do -seem to alter people strangely. There was neighbour -Hartopp’s lad went away to California; and -when he came back ten years after, it took his -own mother two whole days before she would -believe that he was himself. Yes, foreign parts -do alter people strangely in appearances as well -as feelings.’</p> - -<p>It was regarded by the little group as a good -joke that Aunt Hessy should have formed the -romantic suspicion that the stranger in the village -might be her old friend Austin Shield. They -did not know anything of the confidential letter. -She had said nothing about it yet, and her conscience -was much troubled on that account.</p> - -<p>‘It’s wrong to keep a secret from Dick,’ she -kept saying to herself. ‘I know it is wrong, and -I am doing it. If harm come of it, I shall never -forgive myself; I hope others may be able to -do it.’</p> - -<p>She regarded with something like fear the -enthusiasm with which Philip spoke of the social -revolution he was to effect by means of the wealth -placed at his command. Yet it was a noble object -the youth was aiming at. Surely wealth could do -no harm, when it was used for the purpose of -making the miserable happy, of showing men -how they might prosper, and teaching them the -great lesson, that content and comfort were only -to be found in hard work. The scheme looked -so feasible to her, and was so good, that she -remained silent lest she should mar the work. -She bore the stings of conscience, and prayed -that Philip might pass safely through the ordeal -to which he was unconsciously being subjected. -He talked of the bounty of his uncle, and she was -uneasy, knowing that this bounty might prove -his ruin, although she was quite unable to see how -that could come about as matters looked at present. -She was simply afraid, and began to understand -why preachers often spoke of gold as a fiend—the -more dangerous because it appeared as the -agent of good. Then there was the coming of this -stranger at the same time that Philip met his -uncle in London. Of course there was nothing -to associate the two in her mind except the period -of their arrival. But she was puzzled.</p> - -<p>‘There is not the slightest resemblance between -the two men, I assure you,’ Philip said; ‘but -there is this strong resemblance between my uncle -as he is now and as he was, by your own account, -when you knew him long ago—he is as odd in -his ways as ever. He will not discuss anything -with me except by letter. That, you might say, -was no more than prudent, as it can leave no -room for dispute as to what we say to each -other.’</p> - -<p>‘He wants to make you careful,’ said the dame, -with some feeling of relief; for this arrangement -seemed to prove that he was desirous of helping -Philip to pass the test.</p> - -<p>‘But, besides, he will scarcely see me at all; -and when he does, he is as short with me and -in as great a hurry to get rid of me as he was -on the first day I called on him. When I try -to explain things to him, he says: “All right; go -your own way. If you want me to consider -anything, you must write it out for me.” I don’t -mind it now, having got used to it; but sometimes -I cannot help wondering’——</p> - -<p>Philip checked himself, as if he had been about -to say something which he suddenly remembered -should not be spoken even to his dearest -friends.</p> - -<p>‘Well?’ queried Uncle Dick, looking at him -along the line of his churchwarden pipe as if it -were a gun and he were taking aim. ‘What are -you stopping for? You can’t help wondering -at what?’</p> - -<p>‘Only at his droll ways,’ answered Philip. ‘I -should have thought that risking so much money -in my hand, he would have been anxious to have -the fullest particulars of all that I was doing -with it.’</p> - -<p>‘So should I, lad. What does your father say -about it?’</p> - -<p>‘Nothing more than that he will want to speak -to me one day soon. He is not pleased.’</p> - -<p>‘There don’t seem to me much to be not pleased -about.—Eh, mother?’</p> - -<p>‘We’ll see after a bit,’ answered the dame, -cautiously, but smiling. ‘We don’t know yet -whether Philip is to prove himself a very wise -man or’——</p> - -<p>‘Or a fool,’ interrupted Crawshay, with one of -his hearty laughs.</p> - -<p>‘Nay, Dick; not that. Philip will never prove -himself a fool; but he might do worse—he might -prove himself a sensible man doing foolish -things.’</p> - -<p>The stranger who provoked this discussion went -on in his calm way, seeking what apparently he -could not find, but always with a pleasant smile -or a kindly ‘good-day’ to the people he met in -the fields and lanes.</p> - -<p>One of his favourite halting-places was at the -stile which gave access from the roadway to the -Willowmere meadows. On the opposite side of -the road were the willows and beeches, bordering -the river. Four of the latter trees were known -as the ‘dancing beeches,’ from the position in -which they stood, as if they had suddenly halted -whilst whirling round in a country-dance; and -when the wind blew, their branches interlaced -and creaked in unison, as if they wanted to begin -the dance again. This was a famous trysting-place,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">{229}</span> -and in the summer-time the swains and -their maidens would ‘wander in the meadows -where the May-flowers grow.’ This is the burden -of a rustic ballad which you would often hear -chanted in the quiet evenings. It served the -double purpose of supplying the place of conversation -and of agreeably expressing the thoughts -of the singers. Uncle Dick sometimes saw and -heard them; but with kindly indifference to his -clover, he would shake his head and turn -away, remembering that he, too, had once been -young.</p> - -<p>Mr Beecham resting on the stile could, by an -easy movement of the head, command nearly the -whole of the hollow in which the village lay; and -looking upward, could catch glimpses of Willowmere -House peering through the apple and pear -trees of the orchard.</p> - -<p>After the lapse of years, how new it all looks, -and yet how old; how changed, and yet familiar. -There is the church, the same gray weather-beaten -pile, in spite of the vicar’s manful efforts to get it -put into a state of thorough repair. The vicar -himself is the same cheery good friend in gladness, -and the sympathising comforter in sorrow; his -hair is almost gray now, and his figure is inclined -to be rotund; but he is still the same. There are, -however, new gravestones in the churchyard, -and they bear the names of old friends. Their -places in the world have been easily filled -up; their places in the memory of the survivors -never can be. Ay, there is change indeed.</p> - -<p>But here is the golden autumn, its lustre slowly -growing dim under the touch of approaching -winter; there are the green fields and the red -ploughed lands—they are just as they looked -long ago, although his eyes see them through the -sad haze which separates him from the past. -There are the sounds of the cattle, the ripple of -the river, and the rustle of the trees—sounds to -which he gave no particular heed in the old time, -and now they are like the voices of welcoming -friends.</p> - -<p>So the present steps by us; pain and sorrow -plant milestones on our way; by-and-by the eye -glances tenderly backward and over them, and in -old age we hear the voices of our youth.</p> - -<p>‘Good-afternoon, Mr Beecham. Do you think -it will rain?’</p> - -<p>He lifted his head, and bowed to Madge and -Philip as they were about to pass over the stile. -He looked up at the sky.</p> - -<p>‘I am afraid it will rain; but you will be -home before it begins, I think.’</p> - -<p>Philip gave her his hand; she mounted the -three foot-worn wooden steps and descended on -the meadow side.</p> - -<p>‘I hope you will always have a strong hand -to help you over the stiles, Miss Heathcote,’ he -said, smiling; but there seemed to be as much -of earnest as of jest in his meaning.</p> - -<p>‘I believe she may fairly count upon that, Mr -Beecham,’ answered Philip.</p> - -<p>‘The pity is, we so seldom find what we count -upon,’ said Mr Beecham, shaking his head.</p> - -<p>‘Then we must make the best of what we do -find,’ replied Philip cheerfully, ‘and scramble over -somehow without a helping hand.’</p> - -<p>The two passed on at a smart pace up the -meadow, Mr Beecham looking after them with -a dream in his eyes.</p> - -<p>Overhead, on this afternoon, was a sky gloomy -and threatening; but on the horizon were rivers -of pale golden light, giving hope and courage to -the weary ones who were like to faint by the -wayside. Suddenly a white light relieved the -gloom immediately above, and the golden rivers -were lashed with dark promontories; but still, -the farthest point was light. Again suddenly a -white glory burst through the gloom, dazzling -the eyes and breaking the clouds into fantastic -shapes, which fled from it like the witches of evil -fleeing before the majestic genii of good. Another -change, and all gradually toned down into the -soft repose of a calm evening, bearing the promise -of a pleasant day to follow.</p> - -<p>‘I have lived alone too much,’ muttered Mr -Beecham with a long-drawn breath, which is the -only approach to a sigh ventured upon by a man -past middle age; ‘and my own morbid broodings -make me superstitious, showing me symbols in -everything. I hope this one may turn out well, -however.’</p> - -<p>Philip and Madge had disappeared by this -time, and Mr Beecham walked slowly on to the -village.</p> - -<p>When the young people reached the homestead, -Madge announced that Philip had come to tell -them something very important, which he had -refused to reveal until they should be in the -house.</p> - -<p>Aunt Hessy glanced uneasily from one to the -other; but seeing no sign of disturbance on either -face, her uneasiness passed away. She concluded -that it was some jest with which Philip had been -teasing Madge.</p> - -<p>‘I have seen Mr Shield again to-day,’ he -began, ‘and I have received new instructions -from him.’</p> - -<p>‘He is not going to send you off to Griqualand, -after all?’ queried Madge quickly.</p> - -<p>‘O no; but maybe you would prefer that -he should order me off there, rather than tell -me to take chambers in town.’</p> - -<p>‘Chambers in town! What can that be for?’</p> - -<p>‘Well, he was as short and bustling as ever; -he never seems to have time to discuss anything. -“That’s what I want,” he says; “if you -don’t like it, write, and tell me why.” All he -said about it was that he desired me to feel -independent.’</p> - -<p>The uneasy expression reappeared on Aunt -Hessy’s face.</p> - -<p>‘Have you consented to make this change?’ she -asked quietly.</p> - -<p>‘I could see no objection; and in several ways -the arrangement will be convenient. I made it -clear that it was not in any way to be considered -as a step towards separating me from my family. -He said I could please myself as regarded my -family—he had nothing to do with that.... Do -you not like it, Madge?’</p> - -<p>The clear eyes looked wistfully in his face. -‘No, Philip; I do not like it. But perhaps Mr -Shield is right; and it may be as well that you -should have the experience of being away from -us for a time at least.’</p> - -<p>‘Living away from you! Why I shall be here -as often as ever!’</p> - -<p>She said nothing; and Aunt Hessy put the -apparently irrelevant question:</p> - -<p>‘Have you seen Mr Beecham to-day, Madge?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">{230}</span></p> - -<p>‘We saw him by the stile at the foot of the -meadow as we passed.’</p> - -<p>Aunt Hessy, with evident disappointment, -abandoned the droll fancy which had for a time -possessed her mind.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="SOME_QUEER_DISHES">SOME QUEER DISHES.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">If</span>, in England, a man was pushed to discover -a new animal food, it would, I think, be a long -time before he hit upon bats as at all likely to -furnish him with a desirable addition to his table, -even if their diminutive size did not place an -insuperable obstacle in the way of their being so -utilised. But in many of the South Sea Islands -where the flying-fox—a species of bat, fifteen inches -or so across the wings—is common, it is used -as food by the natives, and its flesh is by no means -to be despised even by epicures. This animal, -frugivorous in his tastes as a rule, does not for -all that turn up his nose at a plump moth or -a succulent beetle when they chance to come -in his way; but he usually confines himself to -fruit—ripe bananas of the best quality and plenty -of them being about his mark; and dreadful -havoc he and his friends would make in the -banana gardens, if the natives—well aware of -his habits—did not hasten to bind quantities of -dead leaves round the ripening fruit, and so -preserve it from his attacks. It would seem -absurd to a stranger to the country to be informed -that such an insignificant animal as a bat could -seriously threaten the fruit-harvest in countries -where it is so abundant; but he would change -his opinion when informed that the flying-foxes -often settle in hundreds in any likely plantation; -and as they always destroy very much more than -they consume, the loss and inconvenience they -cause to the natives may be properly estimated.</p> - -<p>The bat in question is not so strictly nocturnal -in his habits as his English brother; and although -he usually sallies out at sunset, yet I have often -noticed them sailing about in broad daylight, -provided the weather was dull and overcast; the -flight is even and regular, very like that of a -rook, and not in the least resembling the extremely -erratic mode of progression affected by our native -species. If in their manner of flying—a few -steady flaps and then a long sail—they remind -one of the rook, they also resemble our old friend -in their habit of assembling together at bedtime, -when they all retire to roost on the same grove -of trees, and hang head downwards with their -wings wrapped round their bodies, looking like -a collection of large cobwebs.</p> - -<p>It must not, however, be supposed that the -meeting and subsequent proceedings take place -in silence; the contrary is the case; and an -immense amount of chattering is carried on for -a considerable time, when no doubt all the affairs -of the day are duly discussed, as well as other -matters amatory and otherwise. In the old -heathen times, the rookeries were strongly tabooed -by the priests; and even to the present day, the -natives, more especially the old men, have an -evident aversion to interfere with the sacred trees, -a feeling which does not in the least prevent them -from killing all the bats they can in other places.</p> - -<p>The natives prepare them for food by first -cutting off the wings and then passing the body -through the fire, to remove the fur, and with -it the strong foxy smell with which it is impregnated. -It is then carefully scraped, split -open, and afterwards grilled on the coals spitchcock -fashion, when it is ready for consumption; -and is capital eating, having a rich gamy flavour -something between a hare and a woodcock.</p> - -<p>I was so much encouraged by the success of -my first essay at bat-eating, that I afterwards -had a pie made of several I had shot, and from -my previous experience, rather looked forward -to a good dinner; but when the pastry was cut -open, I was grievously disappointed by finding -that the fetid odour peculiar to the live animal -had survived the cooking—from being unable to -escape from the pastry—rendering it utterly uneatable, -and so for the future contented myself with -bat <i>au naturel</i>—that is, native fashion.</p> - -<p>The above-mentioned animal is very common in -Australia, and is quite as great a nuisance among -the orchards there as he is in the islands; but -it will be some considerable time, I fancy, before -our colonial brothers utilise him in the kitchen.</p> - -<p>I don’t suppose that many people—at least -English people, who are tolerably prejudiced in -their way—have ever voluntarily gone in for a -cuttle-fish or octopus diet, as they are horribly -weird, uncanny animals to look at; and few, I -opine, would feel inclined to make a ‘square -meal’ off the shiny creatures, at least until -other more prepossessing kinds of food remained -to be tried. Nevertheless, throughout the whole -of the Pacific, including Japan, all the different -varieties of cuttle and octopus are regarded as a -<i>bonne bouche</i> of peculiar excellence; and both in -its capture and preparation, the natives display -considerable ingenuity. I remember once, when -sailing in the tropics, seeing one morning the -deck of our little schooner nearly covered with -that very elegant little cuttle-fish called the -‘flying-squid.’ The sea had been very rough -during the night, and I could never properly -ascertain whether the squid had come on board -of their own accord, attracted by the light—as -the men affirmed—or had been left there by a -heavy sea we had shipped just before daylight. -Anyway, our cook, a smart Maltese, at once set -to work to collect them, and then, much to the -disgust of the sailors, who are the most prejudiced -of mortals, he forthwith proceeded to cook them -for the cabin table, and sent us down dishes of -squid both curried and fried that were much -approved of by all who partook of them; and -proved a delightful change after the long course -of ‘salt junk’ and tinned soup and bouillie that -the slow sailing of our little craft had obliged us -to adopt.</p> - -<p>These fish were about six inches long, had -large brilliant eyes of a set expression, and were -furnished with a pair of flippers or wings. They -also—unlike any other kind of fish that I am -acquainted with—rejoice in a couple of tails, -in lieu of the orthodox number. The body, -almost transparent, was of a delicate olive brown. -Altogether, they were pretty little things, and -tasted even better than they looked.</p> - -<p>I am now about to introduce my readers to a -dish of octopus prepared <i>secundum artem</i> by a -South Sea native. The octopus is by no means, -without proper apparatus, an easy animal to -lay hold of; on the contrary, it demands all the -cunning of the most experienced South Sea fisherman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">{231}</span> -to wile him from his haunts in the coral -and to secure a good number for a feast.</p> - -<p>But here is my Tongese friend Fakatene, just -about to launch his <i>hamatefna</i>, or fishing-canoe; -and we cannot do better than accompany him on -his trip, and lend a hand in catching the fish we -are to partake of. But first, just notice how -ingeniously his tiny vessel is constructed out of -timber of the bread-fruit tree. This tree does -not, so far south—we are in about twenty-three -degrees five minutes south—attain to any great -size, and the timber, therefore, is proportionately -small and scarce, which accounts for the small -size of the pieces used. The hull, you notice, is -pretty well in one piece, except that queer-shaped -bit so artfully let in near the bows, and so close-fitting -all round that even a penknife could not -be introduced between the seams; and were it -not for the difference in the grain of the wood, -the ingenious patch would never be detected. -The top sides are formed of several small planks -neatly sewn on to the hull with sinnet, and -joined in the same manner to one another; and -yet, with all this patching, she exceeds in beauty, -in the grace of her lines, and in her extreme -buoyancy in the water, the finest four-oar ever -turned out by Searle in his most palmy days.</p> - -<p>Fakatene is pleased with our admiration of his -highly prized canoe, and takes some pains to -explain that she was moulded on the lines of the -bonito, one of the swiftest of fishes. Not such -a bad idea that, we consider, for a poor native; -but one that we intellectual white men are much -too proud, not to say too conceited, to follow; -so we go in for all kinds of scientific curves -and angles, with the result that our builders are -constantly producing craft that will neither pull -nor sail, and that would have been a disgrace -to Noah himself, or even to prehistoric man.—But -to return to our canoe. She is provided -with an outrigger called a ‘thama,’ to prevent -capsizing; with a carved-wood bailer, in case we -ship a sea or make any water from the working -of the seams; also with a long three-pronged -fish-spear, a few lines, a bamboo of fresh water; -and last, but not least, with the inevitable fire-stick, -or smouldering twist of tapa cloth, to -furnish a light for our friend’s <i>seluka</i> (cigarette). -Off at last; and Fakatene, who poled swiftly over -the shallow part of the reef, has taken to his -paddle, and coasting along the island for some -distance, we soon come to a favourable spot for -our purpose; so we drop anchor—a large stone—and -business commences.</p> - -<p>The octopus dwells in holes in the reef, keeping -only a portion of his body exposed, so that, -while he can look out for his prey, he can at the -same time quickly withdraw within his hole, -directly his dread enemy the shark appears, who -is always foraging about the reefs in search of -adventurous cuttles.</p> - -<p>Now, I must tell you that the octopus, although -partial enough to crabs, is particularly fond of -the inhabitant of the spotted cowrie or ear-shell, -so common in our shops; and so Fakatene, well -aware of this fact, has prepared a cunning bait, -artfully constructed of a number of small plates -of the shell fastened together in such a manner -that while similar in appearance to the real thing, -yet, being much heavier, and not containing any -air, sinks at once, which a real shell would not -do. Our friend now lowers his line, with the -shell-bait attached, until it touches the bottom, -and then raising it a few inches off the ground, -jerks it gently up and down. Presently, a pull -on the line shows that the fish has taken the -bait; more jerking on the part of the native; -which the octopus replies to by at once throwing -out a fresh arm. The jerking still continues; until -the fish, dreading the escape of his prey, lets go -his hold of the rocks, and wraps the whole of -his body round the shell; when the native, perceiving -that his line is no longer fast to the -ground, gently hauls up the line, and finally -deposits an immense octopus in the bottom of -the canoe. Our new friend no sooner finds -himself caught, than he lets go the deceptive -bait, and with his great goggle eyes staring hard -at nothing in particular, sprawls about in the -most awkward fashion, at the same time giving -vent to a species of grunt, until at last he finally -retires into the darkest corner he can find, and -collapses into a lump of grayish-looking jelly, -about a third part of his apparent size when -in motion.</p> - -<p>Having by the same means secured several -more fish, we return to land, when the canoe is -duly housed, and Fakatene disposes of the octopi -by turning them inside out and hanging them -up to dry in the sun, having first carefully saved -all the sepia left in the fish, as this is esteemed -a great luxury, and an indispensable ingredient -in preparing the sauce.</p> - -<p>When the cuttle is to be cooked, it is first of -all carefully cleaned and scraped, when all the -outer skin, including the hideous-looking suckers, -comes off. The fish is then cut in pieces, and -having been tied up in a banana-leaf, is baked -in an oven for a considerable time in conjunction -with cocoa-nut milk and a certain proportion of -the inky-hued sepia above mentioned, and which, -as is well known, is made use of by the fish when -alive to obscure the water when escaping from -the pursuit of its enemies. It takes some time -to cook octopus properly, as it is naturally tough -and stringy; but when well prepared, it is one -of the most delicate and luscious dishes I ever -tasted; and, singular to say, the cooking converts -the tripy, stringy-looking substance into a solid -meaty food, bearing a curious resemblance to -lobster both in taste and colour, only rather -firmer in texture; a most unlooked-for occurrence -in such dissimilar articles.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_WITNESS_FOR_THE_DEFENCE">A WITNESS FOR THE DEFENCE.</h2> -</div> - -<h3 title="CHAPTER II.">IN THREE CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER II.</h3> - - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> I got back to town, the sessions were only -a week off; so the first thing I did was to call -on the solicitor in charge of my murder case, in -order to learn from him how it stood, and to take -it off his hands. The magistrate, of course, had -sent the prisoner for trial. When I came to read -the depositions, the case against him seemed perfectly -simple, and as conclusive as circumstantial -evidence could make it. The crime had not -occurred so long ago but that a diligent search -had unearthed several witnesses. The servant-girl, -who had now become the wife of a dairyman -in the immediate neighbourhood, was -found. She proved the bad conduct of young<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">{232}</span> -Harden, and the ill-will which gradually grew -up between him and her former mistress. She -also spoke to his ejectment from the house on -the day of the murder, and to his threats at -the street-door. She swore to the knife, which -had been in the possession of the police ever -since, as having belonged to the prisoner. -There were other witnesses to the same facts; -and the landlord, my client, and several others, -proved the flourishing of the identical knife and -the ominous words in the public-house. To complete -the chain, the man who had instructed me -proved the finding of the knife in the room where -the murder was committed; and two or three -witnesses remembered being by his side and seeing -him stoop down and pick it up. These, with the -final facts of his sudden disappearance and changes -of name, appeared both to me and to my friend -to be capable of being spun into a rope quite -strong enough to swing John Harden out of the -world.</p> - -<p>‘But,’ said my solicitor-friend, ‘the queerest -thing of all is that no one is going to appear for -the prisoner.’</p> - -<p>‘No one to appear for him?’</p> - -<p>‘No one. Young Elkin holds a watching brief -on behalf of the prisoner’s master, and that is -all. He said Harden had been in Mr Slocum’s—that’s -his master—service for over seven years, -behaving extremely well all the time. He was -invaluable to his old master, who is something -of an invalid. He had turned religious, and -was disgusted at his former wicked life.’</p> - -<p>‘But I suppose he has money—or, at anyrate, -if Slocum is so fond of him, why doesn’t he pay -for the defence?’</p> - -<p>‘Why, it seems that his notion of religion -forbids Harden to avail himself of worldly arts. -Slocum is only too anxious to retain some one; -but Harden won’t have it, and no one can persuade -him. Says he is in the hands of a Higher -Power, and it shall be given him what he -shall speak, and all the rest of it. He wanted -to make a speech to the magistrate; but Slocum, -by Elkin’s advice, did manage to induce him to -hold his tongue for the present, and say he would -reserve his defence. Of course they hope he will -come to his senses before the trial. But I don’t -know how that will be. I never saw such an -obstinate pig. Only gave in to his master about -not speaking because the poor man began to -whimper in court!’</p> - -<p>The main part of my work had been done -for me, and it only remained to bespeak copies -of the depositions, see the witnesses, and make -sure that they intended to say at the Old Bailey -substantially the same things as they had said at -the police court—a most necessary precaution, the -imagination being so vivid in people of this class -that they are very likely to amplify their tale if -possible—and prepare the brief for the prosecuting -counsel. This done, I had but to let things take -their course.</p> - -<p>When the day of the trial came, I was betimes -in my place at the Central Criminal Court, having -various other cases in hand there. The prisoners, -as is customary, were first put up and arraigned—that -is, had the substance of their several indictments -read over to them—and were called on to -plead ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty.’ These disposed of, -the case for John Harden was called, and I looked -at him with some curiosity. No sooner had I -done so than I knew that his was a face upon -which at some time or other I had looked before, -and of which I had taken note. It is a useful -peculiarity of mine that I never forget a face to -which I have once paid any attention, and I -can generally recollect the place and circumstances -under which I last saw it. But here -the latter part of my powers failed me. I knew -the face well, but could not imagine when and -where I had beheld it. I even knew that I had -seen the man bare-headed, and that he was not -then, as now, bald on the crown. The thing -worried me not a little. In the meanwhile, John -Harden was being put up to take his trial for the -murder of Agatha Harden.</p> - -<p>‘I, m’lud, appear to prosecute in this case,’ -said my counsel, starting up and down again -like the blade of a knife.</p> - -<p>‘Does nobody appear for the prisoner?’ asked -the judge.</p> - -<p>‘I understand, m’lud, that the prisoner is not -represented,’ said counsel, appearing and disappearing -as before.</p> - -<p>‘My lord,’ said an agitated voice from the -body of the court, ‘I have used all possible -efforts’——</p> - -<p>‘Si-lence!’ proclaimed the usher.</p> - -<p>‘Who is that?’ inquired the judge, looking -over his spectacles.</p> - -<p>‘My lord, I am this foolish fellow’s master; and -I am perfectly convinced’——</p> - -<p>‘I cannot hear you, sir. If the prisoner wishes -to have counsel assigned to him for his defence, -I will name a gentleman, and will take care that -the prisoner shall have due opportunity for his -instruction; and if you desire to give evidence -on his behalf, you can do so.—Prisoner, is it your -wish that counsel be assigned to you for your -defence?’</p> - -<p>Harden had been standing with his head -slightly bent, and his clasped hands resting on -the rail of the dock. He now looked up at -the judge, and replied in a grave and impassive -voice: ‘My lord, I wish no help but the help of -God. I am in His hands, and I am an innocent -man. If He sees good to deliver me, He will do -so. Who am I, that I should interfere with His -work?’</p> - -<p>‘You appear to me,’ said the judge gently, -‘to be under an unfortunate delusion. You say -rightly that you are in God’s hands; but that -should not hinder you from using such instruments -for your deliverance as he offers you. Once -more I will ask, do you now desire to be represented -by counsel?’</p> - -<p>‘I do not, my lord.’</p> - -<p>‘So be it.—Now, Mr Clincher.’</p> - -<p>Rising once more, counsel for the prosecution -proceeded to open his case. It was clear and -straightforward, put concisely and tellingly, and -embraced the facts which the reader already -knows. He then called his witnesses; and as -each after each left the box, it was easy to see -from the faces of the jury that things were likely -to go hard with the prisoner. Always, in answer -to the inquiry, ‘Do you wish to put any questions -to this witness?’ Harden replied: ‘No, my lord. -He has said the truth, for all I know.’</p> - -<p>So smoothly did the trial run its course, that -only one incident called for remark. This was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">{233}</span> -when my client got into the box; and so -indecently eager did he appear to be to procure -the conviction of the prisoner, that he twice called -down upon himself a severe rebuke from the -judge, for persistently volunteering irrelevant -statements to Harden’s prejudice. And when -counsel at length said, ‘That, m’lud, is my -case,’ and sat down, but little doubt remained -as to the prisoner’s fate. I still sat with my -gaze fascinated by the set face in the dock, trying—trying -to remember when and where I had last -looked upon it.</p> - -<p>‘Do you propose, prisoner, to call any witnesses?’ -asked the judge.</p> - -<p>‘Only my master, my lord—Mr Slocum. He’ll -speak for me, and he’ll say, I know, that I’m not -the man to kill any living thing.’</p> - -<p>‘Very well.—And now, before calling him, do -you desire to address the jury?’</p> - -<p>The interest of the case, which, except for that -interest which is inseparable from a trial for -murder, had slightly flagged, revived now that -a human being was virtually at grips with death. -For what had just passed meant that there was -no defence or attempt at a defence, that the jury -must convict, and that the man must die, without -hope of mercy for so cowardly and ungrateful a -murderer. There was not a sound in the court. -It was late in the afternoon, and the winter sun -was setting. Its rays lit up the crimson hangings, -the scarlet robes of the judge, the intent faces, -all looking one way, the drooping head and white -composed countenance of the prisoner—the man -standing up there in full health and strength, -and whose life was going down with the sun.</p> - -<p>‘I have but a few words to say, my lord and -gentlemen. I didn’t do it. I was bad enough, -and maybe cruel enough in those days, to do it; -but I didn’t. I was so drunk and so mad, my -lord and gentlemen, that I might have done it -if it had happened earlier in the day, unknown -almost to myself, and be standing here rightly -enough. But I <i>know</i> I couldn’t have done it, and -why? Because I was miles away at the time. -My poor aunt, as I’ve heard from what has been -said, must have been killed between a quarter to -and a quarter past eight in the evening. Well, -at eight o’clock I was at least five miles off. If -I’d done it directly the girl went out of the -house—as she says, at a quarter to eight—it isn’t -according to reason that I could have broke open -the cupboard, took the money, and got five miles -off in a quarter of an hour.’ He stopped, and -drew the cuff of his coat across his forehead.</p> - -<p>Where <i>had</i> I seen him before? Where and -when had I seen him do that very action?</p> - -<p>‘O gentlemen, I couldn’t have done it! I -couldn’t, bad as I was! I know, now, how bad -that must have been—the mercy of God has been -upon me since those days—but bad as I was, I -owed her too much, and knew it, to have hurt -her in any way. Won’t you believe me? I tell -you I was miles away at the time—miles away. -Who can tell us you’re saying true? you will ask. -No one, I suppose. Not a soul was near me -that I knew, to come here and speak the truth -for me this day. But I know the same God that -saved Daniel can save me from a sorry end, if -it is His will to do it—if not, His will be done! -I’m keeping you too long, only saying the same -over and over again. I’ll just tell you how it -was, and I’ve done, and you must do as duty -bids you.’</p> - -<p>Another pause. The silence of death, or rather -of a deathbed. The faces in the distance of the -darkened court shimmered through the gloom, -like those of spectres waiting to welcome a coming -shade. Then the gas-light burst forth, and all -sprang into sudden distinctness, and there was a -general half-stir as of relief.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, isn’t there one here that can speak for me? -Is there any one who remembers the great gas-main -explosion in —— Street that year?’</p> - -<p>There was again a stir, and a more decided one. -Clearly there were many in court who remembered -it. I did, for one. And remembering it, -I seemed as one in a tunnel, who sees the glimmer -from the distant opening, but can distinguish no -feature of the landscape beyond.</p> - -<p>‘I was there—that night. It was the night of -the day I was turned out of doors—the night of -the murder. How I came to be there, so far -from my aunt’s neighbourhood, I don’t know, -but I found myself working hard, helping to lift -the stones and timber of the house-fronts that -were blown in, and getting the poor crushed -people out. I worked a long time, till I was like -to drop; and a policeman clapped me on the back -and gave me a word of praise and a drink of beer -out of a can. I wonder where that policeman is -now, and if he’d remember?’</p> - -<p>He did not respond, wherever he might be. -No one to help—no friendly plank to bridge over -the yawning grave. What was it, this that I was -trying so hard to recall?</p> - -<p>‘I wandered off after that into the by-streets. -I knew those parts well. I had had a comrade -who used to live there, and many a wicked and -foolish prank we’d played thereabouts. The -beer I had just drunk on an empty stomach -had muddled me again a bit, but I was quite -sober enough to know every step of the way I -went, and remember it now. I turned up -Hoadley Street, and then to the left along Blewitt -Street; and just when my aunt must have been -struggling with the wretch that took her life, -whoever it was, I heard a clock strike eight. I -did, gentlemen, and I suppose I never thought of -it since; but now I remember it as clear as day. -I was standing at the time at the corner of -Hauraki Street.’</p> - -<p>It all came back to me in a moment! I heard -the patter of the rain on the cab-roof—I saw the -gleam of the infrequent lights on the wet flags—I -listened to the objurgations of the cabman at -the obstructing dray—I took note of the reflection -in the mirror, the queer street-name which would -not rhyme so as to make sense. The strokes of -the clock striking eight were in my ears. I saw -the lamp at the corner, and the man underneath -looking up at it—the man with the short broad -face, the sharp chin, the long thin mouth turned -down at the corners, and the blank in the front -teeth—the innocent man I was hounding to -his death—the prisoner at the bar!</p> - -<p>As I sprang to my feet, down with a crash -went my bag full of papers, my hat and umbrella, -so that even the impassive judge gave a start, -and the usher, waking up, once more proclaimed -‘Si-lence!’ with shocked and injured inflection. -Heedless of the majesty of the law, I beckoned -to my counsel, and as he leaned over to me in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">{234}</span> -surprise, I whispered earnestly in his ear. I -never saw the human face express more entire -astonishment. However, seeing that I was unmistakably -in earnest, he merely nodded and rose -to his feet.</p> - -<p>‘Your lordship will pardon me,’ he said, ‘for -interfering at this stage between the prisoner and -the jury; but I am instructed to make a communication -which I feel sure will be as astounding -to your lordship and the jury as it is to -myself. I think I may say that it is the most -surprising and unprecedented thing which ever -occurred in a court of justice. My lord, the solicitor -who instructs me to prosecute tenders himself as -a witness for the defence!’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="OUR_HEALTH">OUR HEALTH.</h2> -</div> -<p class="ph3">BY DR ANDREW WILSON, F.R.S.E.</p> - - -<h3>II. FOOD AND HEALTH.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">From</span> the point of view of the political economist, -the idle man has no right to participate in the -food-supply of the active worker. Whatever may -be the correctness and force of the arguments -which the economist may use by way of proving -that the non-worker and non-producer has no -right to participate in the ordinary nutritive -supply of his fellows, the physiological standpoint -assumes another and different aspect. The -idle man grows hungry and thirsty with the -regularity of the man who works. He demands -food and drink as does his energetic companion; -and the plea that idleness can need no food-support, -may be met in a singularly happy and -forcible fashion by a plain scientific consideration. -In the first instance, the idle man might, by an -appeal to science, show, that whilst he apparently -spent life without exertion, his bodily functions -really represented in their ordinary working an -immense amount of labour. Sleeping or waking, -that bodily pumping-engine the heart does not -fail to discharge its work, in the circulation of -the blood. The rise and fall of the chest in -the sleeping man remind us that it is not -death but his ‘twin-brother sleep,’ that we are -observing. If we make a calculation respecting -the work which the heart of a man, idle -or active, performs in twenty-four hours, we -may discover that it represents an amount of -labour equal to one hundred and twenty foot-tons. -That is to say, if we could gather all the force -expended by the heart during its work of -twenty-four hours into one huge lift, such force -would be equal to that required to raise one -hundred and twenty tons-weight one foot high. -Similarly, the work of the muscles of breathing -in twenty-four hours, represents a force equal to -that required to lift twenty-one tons one foot -high. These are only two examples out of many, -which the ordinary work and labour of mere -vegetative existence, without taking into consideration -any work performed—in the popular -sense of the term—involves.</p> - -<p>We thus discover that, apart altogether from -the every-day labour of life, in which brain and -muscles engage, an immense amount of work is -performed in the mere act of keeping ourselves -alive. Nowhere in nature is work performed -without proportionate waste, or wear and tear -of the machine that works. This dictum holds -quite as true of the human body as of the steam-engine. -And as the engine or other machine -requires to be supplied with the conditions necessary -for the production of force, so the living -body similarly demands a supply of material -from which its energy (or the power of doing -work) can be derived. As the engine obtains the -necessary conditions from the fuel and water it -consumes, so the living body derives its energy -from the food upon which it subsists. Food -in this light is therefore merely matter taken -from the outside world, and from which our -bodies derive the substances required for the -repair of the waste which the continual work of -life entails. In the young, food serves a double -purpose—it supplies material for growth, and it -also affords substance from which the supply of -force is derived. In the adult, whilst no doubt, -to a certain extent, the food supplies actual loss -of substance, it is more especially devoted to the -performance of work, and of maintaining that -equilibrium or balance between work and repair, -which, as we have seen, constitutes health.</p> - -<p>Viewed in this light, the first important rule -for food-taking is founded on the plain fact, that -in the food we must find the substances necessary -for the repair of our bodies, and for the -production of the energy through which work -is performed. Food-substances in this light -fall into two well-marked classes—namely, into -<i>Nitrogenous</i> and <i>Non-nitrogenous</i> substances. Another -classification of foods divides them into -<i>organic</i> and <i>inorganic</i>, the former being derived -from animals and plants—that is, from living -beings—while the latter are derived from the world -of non-living matter. Thus, animal and plant substances -represent organic foods; while water and -minerals, both of which are absolutely essential -for the support of the body, represent inorganic -food materials. It would appear that from -living matter alone, do we obtain the materials -for generating force. The inorganic water and -minerals, however, appear to be absolutely necessary -for the chemical alterations and changes -which are continually taking place within the -body.</p> - -<p>Adopting the classification of foods into the -<i>Nitrogenous</i> and <i>Non-nitrogenous</i> groups, we discover -examples of the first class in such substances -as <i>albumen</i>, seen familiarly in white of -egg and other substances; <i>gluten</i>, found in flour; -<i>gelatin</i>, obtained from hoofs and horns; <i>legumin</i>, -obtained from certain vegetables; <i>casein</i>, found -in milk; and allied chemical substances. These -substances possess a remarkable similarity or uniformity -of composition. It would appear that -in the process of digestion they are reduced to -a nearly similar state, and on this account they -can replace one another to a certain extent in the -dietaries of mankind.</p> - -<p>The nitrogenous foods have often been popularly -termed ‘flesh-formers,’ and doubtless this name is -well merited. For, as the result of experiment, -it would seem that the chief duty performed by -the nitrogenous parts of our food is that of -building up and repairing the tissues of the -body. They also produce heat, through being -chemically changed in the blood, and thus aid -in the production of force or energy. But it -would also appear tolerably certain, that in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">{235}</span> -complex fashion the nitrogenous parts of our -bodies assist or regulate in a very exact manner -the oxidation or chemical combustion of the -tissues.</p> - -<p>It should be noted that nitrogenous foods -are composed chemically of the four elements, -carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen; the -presence of the last element giving the characteristic -name and chemical features to the group. -Most of these foods in addition contain small proportions -of sulphur and phosphorus.</p> - -<p>An interesting advance in our knowledge of -the part played by nitrogenous foods in the work -of the body was made, when an idea of Liebig -was overthrown by later experimentation. Liebig -supposed that the nitrogenous foods required first -to be actually converted into tissue—that is, into -bodily substance—before their energy or work-producing -power could be liberated. In this view, -muscular force, through which we move, was -believed to be dependent on the changes, destructive -or otherwise, which take place in the muscles. -The substance called <i>urea</i>, chiefly given off as a -waste product by the kidneys and chemically -representing nitrogenous waste, was in Liebig’s -view regarded as representing the results of muscular -force which had been exerted. But two -scientists, Fick and Wislicenus of Zurich, proved, -by a laborious series of personal experiments in -mountain ascents, that a non-nitrogenous diet will -maintain the body for a short time during the -performance of severe work, no great increase in -the amount of urea given off being noticed. -The work in question was proved to have been -performed on the carbon and hydrogen of the -food consumed. These experiments have led to -the now accepted view, that a muscle, instead of -losing substance during work and thus wasting, -in reality consumes nitrogen, and grows. The -exhaustion of the muscle is dependent not so -much on chemical waste, as on the accumulation -within it of the waste products of other foods. -The muscle, in other words, is merely the agent -whereby so much energy, derived from the food, -is converted into actual and applied force. Did -muscle really waste, as Liebig supposed, the heart’s -substance would be entirely consumed by its -work of one week!</p> - -<p>Such being the functions and nature of nitrogenous -foods, we may now glance at the non-nitrogenous -division. Four groups of foods are -included in this latter class—namely (1) Starches -and sugars, or ‘amyloids’ as they are often termed; -(2) fats and oils; (3) minerals; (4) water. The -<i>starches and sugars</i> include not merely starch -and sugar, as ordinarily known, but various gums, -and certain acids, such as lactic and acetic acids. -Starch, as in bread, is a most important food. -These foods appear to go directly to maintain -animal heat, and to give energy, or the power -of doing work, to the animal frame. The heat-producing -powers of starches and sugars are -certainly inferior to those of the fats and oils. -But starches and sugars can be converted into -fat within the system; and hence persons who -suffer from a tendency to obesity are warned to -exclude these foods from their dietaries. Starches -and sugars likewise appear to assist in some -measure the digestion of nitrogenous foods. That -<i>fats and oils</i> are heat-producing foods is a fact -taught us by the common experience of mankind -that northern nations consume the greatest proportion -of fat. The heat-producing powers of -fat have been set down at two and a half times -as great as those of starch and sugar; and there -is no doubt that, in addition to assisting in the -conversion of food into body substances, the fatty -parts of our food also assist in the work of -removing waste matters from the body. Fat, in -addition, being chemically burned in the blood, -gives rise to the force which we exert in ordinary -muscular work.</p> - -<p>The <i>mineral</i> parts of our food play an important -part in the maintenance of the frame. We thus -require iron for the blood, phosphorus for the -brain and nerves, and lime for the bones; whilst -a variety of other minerals is likewise found in -the blood and other fluids of the frame. The -uses of the mineral constituents of our body are -still a matter of speculation. Small as may -be the quantity of certain minerals required -for the support of the body, serious health-derangement -may result when we are deprived of -these substances. Thus, scurvy appears to be -a disease associated with the want of the mineral -potash in the blood; and the cure of this disease -is therefore accomplished when we supply to -the blood those mineral elements which have -previously been deficient. Common salt, or -chloride of sodium, as it is chemically termed, -although not entering into the composition of -the body, appears to form an important part of -all the secretions; and there can be little doubt -that this mineral aids the formation and chemical -integrity of the gastric juice of the stomach.</p> - -<p><i>Water</i> forms the last item in the list of non-nitrogenous -foods. Of all foods, perhaps, water -is the most important, seeing that it is a substance -which, in the absence of all other nourishment, -can sustain life for a period numbering -many days. Thus, whilst a man dies in from -six to seven days when deprived of solid food -and water, life may be prolonged to as many as -sixty days on water alone. The high importance -of water as a food is abundantly proved, -when we discover that it constitutes about -two-thirds of the weight of the body; that it -enters into the composition of the brain to the -extent of eighty per cent.; that the blood consists -of nearly eighty per cent. of water; and -that even bone contains ten per cent. of this -fluid. Entering thus into the composition of -every fluid and tissue of the body, and being -perpetually given off from lungs, skin, and -kidneys in the ordinary work of life, there -is little wonder that water assumes the first -place amongst foods. Regarding the uses of -water as a food, we see that it dissolves and -conveys other foods throughout the system; that -it assists in removing waste products; and that -it also takes a share in regulating the temperature -of the body through its evaporation on the -skin.</p> - -<p>Having thus considered the chemistry of foods, -we may now pass to discuss the natural rules -which science describes for the health-regulation -of life in the matter of diet. A primary rule -for food-taking is that which shows that, for the -due support of the body, we require a combination -of nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous foods. -This fact is proved by the consideration that -milk, ‘nature’s own food,’ on which the human<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">{236}</span> -being grows rapidly in early life, is a compound -of both classes of foods. So also, in an -egg, from which is formed an animal body, -we find a combination of the two classes. Death -results if we attempt to feed on either class -alone; and as the body consists of both classes of -substances, the justification for the combination of -foods is complete. Man can obtain the required -combination of nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous -foods from animals alone, from vegetables alone, -or from animals and vegetables combined. The -water, of course, which is an absolutely essential -feature of all dietaries, is regarded as an additional -item. In regulating the dietary of mankind, it -is found that the food of nations is determined -largely, or completely, by their situation on the -earth’s surface. Thus, the northern nations are -largely animal feeders; whilst the southern peoples -of the world are to a great extent vegetarians. -Individual experience and taste produce amongst -the units of a nation special proclivities in the -way of diet. But we can readily see that mankind, -with that elasticity of constitution and -power to avail themselves of their surroundings, -can adapt themselves to their environments, -and become animal feeders, vegetable feeders, or -subsist on a mixed dietary at will. This is the -true solution of the vegetarian controversy. It -is climate and race which determine the food of -a nation. It is individual intelligence, liking, -and constitution which determine variations and -departures from the dietaries of the race.</p> - -<p>The relations between food and work naturally -present themselves as topics of the highest importance. -In determining the standard of health, it -is clear that from our food alone, we can obtain -the energy or power of work required for the -discharge of the duties of life. An interesting -point therefore arises regarding the differences -which are entailed by varying conditions and -amounts of labour. Dr Letheby tells us that an -adult man in <i>idleness</i> requires, to obtain from -his food for the support of his body, 2.67 ounces -of nitrogenous matter and 19.16 ounces of non-nitrogenous -matter per day. If the individual is -to participate in <i>ordinary labour</i>, the amount of -nitrogenous matter obtained from his food must be -increased to 4.56 ounces, while the non-nitrogenous -must be represented by 29.24 ounces. In the -case, lastly, of <i>active labour</i> the amount of food -required must be increased to 5.81 ounces of -nitrogenous, and 34.97 ounces of non-nitrogenous -matter.</p> - -<p>Dalton gives the following as the quantity of -food, per day, required for the healthy man, taking -free exercise in the open air: meat, sixteen ounces; -bread, nineteen ounces; fat or butter, three and a -half ounces; water, fifty-two fluid ounces. It -ought to be borne in mind that these amounts -of food represent the diet for a whole day compressed, -so to speak, into a convenient and -readily understood form. Another calculation, -setting down the daily amount of food required -by an adult, at nitrogenous matter three hundred -grains, and carbon at four thousand grains, shows -that these amounts would be obtained from -eighteen ounces of bread; one ounce of butter; -four ounces of milk; two ounces of bacon; eight -ounces of potatoes; six ounces of cabbage; three -and a half ounces of cheese; one ounce of sugar; -three-quarters of an ounce of salt; and water -(alone, and in beverages) sixty-six and a quarter -ounces—a total of no less than six pounds fourteen -and a quarter ounces. Summing up the question -of the amounts of food required by a healthy adult -daily, and <i>excluding water in all forms as a matter -of separate calculation</i>, it may be said that four -and a half ounces of pure nitrogenous matter -would be required in addition to three ounces -of fatty food, fourteen ounces of starch or sugar, -and one ounce of mineral matter. An ordinary -adult consuming in twenty-four hours, food items -equal to those contained in one pound of meat -and two pounds of bread, may be regarded as -consuming food of sufficient amount for ordinary -work. When the work is increased, the diet must -naturally be increased likewise. We find that -persons in active employment require about a -fifth part more nitrogenous food, and about twice -the quantity of fat consumed by those engaged -in light work; the sugars and starches remaining -the same.</p> - -<p>An interesting practical calculation has been -made regarding the amounts of different foods -required to perform a given and fixed piece of -work. Taking the work performed by the -German observers already named, as a standard, -namely, that of raising a man’s weight (one hundred -and forty pounds) ten thousand feet high, -it has been found that the amounts and cost of -various foods required for the performance of -this work is as follows: Bread, 2.345 pounds, cost -3½d.; oatmeal, 1.281 pounds, cost 3½d.; potatoes, -5.068 pounds, cost 5¼d.; beef-fat, 0.555 pounds, cost -5¼d.; cheese, 1.156 pounds, cost 11½d.; butter, 0.693 -pounds, cost 1s. 0½d.; lean beef, 3.532 pounds, cost 3s. 6½d.; -pale ale, nine bottles, cost 4s. 6d.</p> - -<p>The proportion of the different food-elements -in an ordinary dietary has been set down as -follows: nitrogenous matter one, fats six, starches -and sugars three; and these proportions appear -to be represented with singular exactness in the -ordinary dietaries which experience has recommended -to mankind. Excess of food in the -matter of nitrogenous elements tends to induce -diseases of an inflammatory and gouty nature, and -likewise leads to fatty degeneration of the tissues. -When, on the other hand, there exists lack of -nitrogenous substances, the individual experiences -weakness, want of muscular power, and general -prostration. The healthy mean is that in which -the proportions of nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous -food are maintained as above indicated.</p> - -<p>In the construction of dietaries, a few practical -hints remain for notice. Thus, as regards sex, the -dietaries of women are usually, in the case of the -working-classes, estimated at one-tenth less than -those of the opposite sex. Age has an important -influence in determining the amount and quality -of food. The growing body consumes more food, -relatively to work and weight, than the adult, -inasmuch as it requires material for new tissue. -An infant under eight or nine months should -receive no starch whatever in its dietary, because -it is unable to digest that substance. Health is -naturally a condition in which the question of -foods assumes a high importance, and various -dietaries, as is well known, are adapted for the -cure of disease. The relation of food to work -has already been alluded to, and statistics detailed; -but it may be added that the brain-worker<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">{237}</span> -requires his food in a more readily digestible -form, and also in smaller bulk and in more -concentrated shape, than the muscle-worker or -ordinary labourer. What has been said concerning -foods will tend to show how wide is the field -which the subject of nutrition occupies. It may -only here be added, that the education of the -individual in health laws and in the science of -foods and food-taking, forms the only sure basis -for the intelligent regulation of that all-important -work—the nourishment and due support of the -frame in relation to the work we perform and to -every circumstance of life.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_COMMON-SENSE_OF_SUPERSTITIONS">THE COMMON-SENSE OF SUPERSTITIONS.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Out</span> of a medley of magpies, May cats, broken -looking-glasses, crickets, village cures, lucky days, -and tumbles up-stairs, there dawns a hint towards -the solving of a very puzzling problem. The -problem is, not why these things are called lucky -or unlucky, but how it is that multitudes grow -up in every generation to believe the same absurdities, -and that still in this world of common-sense -such items of uncommon nonsense keep -their character for ‘coming true.’ How is this, -and where do the secret links exist between the -sense and the nonsense? If any one takes the -trouble to gather together about a hundred rustic -superstitions and old beliefs of quackery, the -reason of the character for ‘coming true’—that -is, the reason of the traditional hold upon the -people—will presently begin to be plainly written -across the whole medley, dawning by degrees, -just as writing in acid might dawn upon an -apparently blank missive held to the heat.</p> - -<p>Most superstitions are signs of ill-luck. This -in itself is a tell-tale fact. Unlucky omens are -so numerous, that no believer could escape them -for long; and in all likelihood he observes not -only the unlucky signs, but his ill-luck following. -The truth is, that the magpie on his path had no -connection with his loss of money; and on his -wedding-day, his bride’s unlucky glance in the -looking-glass after she was fully arrayed, had -nothing to do with her discontent as a wife; nor -need the servant who broke the looking-glass -have cried, looking forward to seven years of -ill-luck. In all three cases, as all the neighbours -knew, the ill-luck came. But it came because -of the prepossessed frame of mind that observed -and discounted these signs. The superstitious -character lacks those practical and courageous -qualities which wrest luck from fortune and make -the best of life. The omens of ill-luck have come -to the fortunate as often; but they were never -noticed, because they who were cheerily fighting -the battle had better use for their time. At -this moment, the present writer knows of no -household more radiantly prosperous than one -in which the largest looking-glass was broken a -few days after a move to their newly-built home; -and no marriage more replete with happiness than -a Saturday marriage, though proverbially Saturday’s -marriage ‘has no luck at all.’ Of course, -neither the prosperous household nor the well-matched -pair were of that languid and timid mind -that takes nervous note of superstitions.</p> - -<p>But, it may be objected, there are signs of good -luck too, though not so many. Certainly; and -there is no truth better known than that courage -commands success, and such courage in exceptional -cases may come from a very trivial encouragement. -There is a country superstition that if a -man sets off running and runs round in a circle, -when he hears the cuckoo for the first time, he -will never be out of work till spring comes -again. But the man who valued steady work -would exert himself in a more sensible direction -than unproductive circle-running, and be safe -from idle days. Again, if a tumble up-stairs is -lucky, the predisposition to luck is in the person -who will be active and quick enough to run up -the staircase. Another good omen, the turning -of a garment inside out in dressing, though it -seems to tell of the slovenliness that will not -succeed, has probably an origin that indicated -something better; it is a country saying, and -it might well refer to the hurry and awkwardness -of rising without artificial light before day—a -habit likely to help the farmer’s household to good -fortune. Or as proof of the real nature of many -good signs which time has perverted into superstitions, -can we doubt that the crickets which -chirp round the hearth for luck were first noticed -there because crickets, as a rule, only come to a -warm and cosy fireside—the kind of hearth that -marks a happy cottage home?</p> - -<p>A simple grain of common-sense like this -must have been the origin of many senseless -observances. It was necessary to guard ladders -from being knocked down, so superstition began -to warn the passers-by: if the children went -under the ladder, they would not grow; if girls -went, they would have no chance of being married -within the year; and if a man passed under, he -would be hanged—in memory of the criminal’s -ladder under the gibbet.</p> - -<p>To take another original grain of common-sense. -Warnings against carelessness assumed the form -of omens. To spill the salt was unfortunate; -or in some country places, to spill new milk; -or in parts of Southern Europe, to spill the oil. -Leonardo da Vinci painted spilt salt near Judas -in his famous ‘Last Supper.’ It is one of the -most widespread of ill omens, though in different -places there are shades of difference; for instance, -in Holland it betokens a shipwreck.</p> - -<p>Beside the superstitious disposition being what -we may call an unlucky disposition, and beside -the germ of encouragement that makes its own -success out of some ‘good signs,’ and the atom of -original prudence that still exists in some so-called -bad omens, there are two other reasons why -superstitions still keep hold of the people by a -reputation for ‘coming true.’ These two reasons -cover a great deal of ground in our theory of -explanation. The first is the vague character of -forecasts. For instance, we all know the rhymes -about the luck of birthdays, which country-people -of different shires repeat rather variously. One -Scottish version is:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Monday’s bairn is fair of face;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Tuesday’s bairn is full of grace;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Wednesday’s bairn is a child of woe;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thursday’s bairn has far to go;</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">{238}</span> - <div class="verse indent0">Friday’s bairn is loving and giving;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Saturday’s bairn works hard for a living;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But the bairn that is born on the Sabbath day,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is lively and bonnie, and wise and gay.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Contrast with this the English version:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Born of a Monday, fair in face;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Born of a Tuesday, full of God’s grace;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Born of a Wednesday, merry and glad;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Born of a Thursday, sour and sad;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Born of a Friday, godly given;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Born of a Saturday, work for your living;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Born of a Sunday, never shall we want—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">So there ends the week, and there’s an end on’t.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Any superstitious rustic who, from the page of -the cottage Bible, dug out the deep secret of the -day of his birth, would easily find the rhyme -true of himself for any day of the week. Any -country girl would trust it was true, if she -was born on a Monday. And who that came -on a Tuesday would confess himself graceless? -But about Wednesday’s bairn there seems to be -a difference of opinion among the prophets: -one rhyme predicts ‘a child of woe;’ the other -says, ‘merry and glad;’ while a third, well -known in Devonshire, says, ‘sour and grum;’ -and thereby, from self-contradiction, the old -rhyme goes down like a house of cards. But -all the rhymsters are agreed that Saturday’s -child works hard for his living—as no doubt -the children of every other day of the week work -too, in the sphere of labouring country-life in -which these old sayings are known. And as -variable as this forecast there are many others; -for every firm believer in superstition has a secret -satisfaction in proving it true; and which of us -is there that could not read our life as the interpretation -of any forecast, since we all can look -at the bright or the dark side, having known alike -the good and the evil days?</p> - -<p>The other reason for the reputation for truth -is, that, for credulous folk, unlucky omens are -too terrible to be put to the test. If they -were freely tried, they would be detected as a -mental tyranny, a popular fraud; and in a few -generations would be remembered by the rustic -classes, only as the learned now remember the -foolish excitement of their forefathers in science, -seeking the Elixir of Life and the Philosopher’s -Stone. If dinner-parties of thirteen were to -become the fashion, we should not see, as we -often see now, the cautious arrangements of -Christmas invitations, or even the timid compromise -of bringing in a side-table to accommodate -the thirteenth. But which of the credulous -would dare to test these things? It reminds the -writer of a doubt—still unsolved—whether the -taste of parsley would cause a parrot to drop -down dead. Parsley as a parrot-poison was heard -of in childhood, not as a superstition, but as a -physical fact. What if it were true? The <i>if</i> was -too terrible. We had visions of our feathered -gray ‘Prince Charlie’ seizing the green stuff in -his hooked beak, and rolling off the perch in -mortal agonies. So we disbelieved, but coward-like -avoided the chance, just as all the world -avoids thirteen at table.</p> - -<p>As to superstitious cures, some of them contain -slight elements of medicinal value; but most -depend upon that influence upon the nerves -which is well known to be capable of giving -energy for a time and allaying pain. Some of -the old cures were decidedly disagreeable and -troublesome. The native of Devonshire who -wanted to get rid of a wart was solemnly enjoined -to steal a piece of meat, and after rubbing the -wart with it, throw it over his left shoulder over -a wall. The Hertfordshire villager, when afflicted -with ague, might be cured if he would go to -Berkhampstead, where oak-trees grew at the cross-roads; -and after pegging himself by a lock of -hair to the trunk of one of these trees, he was -to give a vigorous jump, and rid himself at once -of the ague and the tuft of hair. The loss of the -hair was so painful, and the loss of the ague so -doubtful, that the Berkhampstead folks many -years ago ceased to go to ‘the cross-oaks.’ The -ague, the toothache, and dog-bites were the -subject of many charms. In the former two -maladies, a nervous impression might go far to -cure; and in the last, a charm against hydrophobia -would protect the simple believer from -the great peril that is in a brooding fear of -madness. The ludicrous cures were a legion in -themselves. It seems heartlessly unkind to give -a poor dog the measles; but many an old nurse -took a lock of hair from the nape of the sick -child’s neck, made a sort of sandwich of it between -bread-and-butter, and watched at the door to -transfer, or fancy she had transferred, the measles -to a stray dog—probably a stray dog, because -only an ill-fed animal would take her bread. -Equally unkind was it to strive to give our dumb -friend the whooping-cough; but by the same -process, with a bunch of hair and a piece of -meat, the nurse could be guilty of that absurdity -as well.</p> - -<p>Have any of our readers ever encountered -a toad with the whooping-cough? The Cheshire -toads ought to be sometimes found crowing and -whooping and in need of change of air; for -the superstitious Cheshire woman whose child -has the cough, knows that she has only to -poke a toad’s head into her child’s mouth to -transfer the whooping-cough to the toad. Query, -Is the disease also transferred—and in that case, -what are the alarming results—when the victim -of whooping-cough gets rid of it by being passed -nine times under and over a donkey? The cure -for rickets is to pass the child under and over -the donkey nine-times-nine turns. This was -actually done in London as late as 1845; when -a man and a woman, solemnly counting, passed -the unfortunate child under and over the unsuspecting -moke eighty-one times, in the midst of an -admiring crowd. If there was one pass more -or less, the charm would fail—a broad enough -hint of the excuses that could be made when -such cures as these were sought in vain. The -eighty-one turns must have confused the counters’ -arithmetic, as no doubt the child had personal -objections, and lifted its voice aloud; and sore -must have been the trial even to the patience -of a donkey.</p> - -<p>So, to sum up, we would suggest that superstitions -keep their false character for truth, firstly, -because those who observe them therein prove -their own leaning towards ill-luck; secondly, -because forecasts are vague, and interpretations -can be traced somehow in the chances of life; -thirdly, because the penalty of ill omens is so -dreaded, that the credulous shrink from putting -them to the test; fourthly, because there are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">{239}</span> -nervous cures, and love-charms, and dreams, in -which anxious consciousness points right—the -wish being father to the thought; fifthly, victims -of superstition are secretly pleased when (by -chance) an unlucky omen comes true, and have -a satisfaction even in relating their misfortunes; -while, since no one tells of the cases -that do <i>not</i> come true, every chance fulfilment -is a new rivet in the chain that ought long ago -to have fallen to pieces.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="NOXIOUS_MANUFACTURES">NOXIOUS MANUFACTURES.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is just now a most wholesome activity -in regard to the national health, and the public -are peculiarly interested in the various details -of our sanitary machinery. Of this, by no -means the least important department is that -instituted under the Alkali Works Regulation -Act, 1881, or, in other words, the inspection of -noxious works and factories. In connection with -the pollution of rivers, this is an old grievance; -but too little has hitherto been done to realise or -to remedy the evil in its general effects upon the -public health. So greatly, too, have works prejudicial -to health increased of late years, that -their inspection has been decided upon none too -soon. Probably, it will never be known how -far the death-rate has been influenced by this -cause. It is, however, one of the unavoidable -penalties of civilisation that we should live under -unwholesome conditions of life.</p> - -<p>A multitude of influences injurious to health -spring into active existence with the development -of commerce and the growth of luxury. -Most of these are evident enough. All the -elements, indeed, are equally guilty. The earth, -air, fire, and water, are allied against civilised -humanity; and modern science is constantly -bringing to light disagreeable facts in this connection. -We have long lived in the comfortable -belief that Mother Earth was the great purifier. -The reverse is, it seems, nearer the truth. Years -after the germs of infection have been consigned -to the ground, they have been disinterred, and -found to be not a whit diminished in virulence. -Archæologists should, we are told, beware of -handling newly found relics, lest, perchance, they -should contract some archaic disease. Even -mummies, it appears, in spite of their venerable -respectability, are objects of legitimate suspicion! -Fire, too, has a dreary catalogue of sins to answer -for. It not only robs us of much of the oxygen, -of which those of us who live in the towns have -so scanty a supply, but it gives us in exchange -unconsumed carbon in quantities which fill the -air with smut. In smoke alone it furnishes us -with food for reflection—and digestion—and -probably will continue to do so for some time to -come.</p> - -<p>Again, water is the most insidious enemy of -all. The most indispensable of the elements—and -we are reminded of our obligations to it -pretty frequently—it is credited with doing the -greatest harm. In league with unnatural substances, -it has developed such an affinity for -noxious matter that it appears that nothing short -of boiling can possibly enable us to drink it with -any security. To most people, cold boiled water -will not seem a very attractive beverage, but it -has the advantage of being in many ways a safe -one.</p> - -<p>The air, too, is anything but true to the trust -committed to her charge. We have long confidingly -believed in her good-will. Our sewers, -drains, and chimneys discharge their pestilent -exhalations into the air; but instead of carrying -these away into space, she receives them only to -bestow them upon us again.</p> - -<p>The outlook is indeed gloomy, and unless we -make some progress in sanitary science, it is not -a little difficult to see how we are to continue to -support the burden of civilised existence.</p> - -<p>In this connection, it is reassuring to know that -something is being done to lessen these ominously -numerous artificial dangers. The works which -come within the scope of the Alkali, &c. Works -Act, 1881, are very injurious to life. The manufacture -of alkalies, acids, chemical manures, salt, -and cement, alike involve processes prejudicial -to health. More than one thousand of these were -visited by the inspectors, appointed in pursuance -of the above Act, during the year 1882; and it is -interesting to know that some intelligent means -are being devised whereby the offensive character -of these manufactures may be diminished. To -take a single cause of mischief. The manufacture -of alkalies and acids has long been conducted in -such a way that the proportion of noxious matter -which was allowed to escape into the chimney, -or atmosphere, often reached from twenty to -forty grains per cubic foot of air, twenty being a -not uncommon amount. The maximum amount -which might be allowed to escape with impunity -has been estimated at four grains per cubic foot; -and it is a very important feature of the Act -that it has been instrumental in reducing this -very considerably. In the alkali works proper -the escape has been brought down to two grains, -while in some cases it is under one. The -sulphuric acid works alone are now conspicuous -for their failings in this important respect, the -average escape in those examined during the -year being 5.5. Again, chemical manure-works -have long been a pregnant source of annoyance -to the inhabitants of the neighbourhood in which -these are carried on.</p> - -<p>It is, curiously enough, the smaller establishments -of the kind which are the most harmful. -The larger works have long employed the most -complete processes, because the escape of effluvia -would otherwise have been so great, that it -would have speedily aroused hostile action on the -part of the public. The imposition of preventive -measures in the case of the smaller works—in -many of which no precautions whatever have -hitherto been adopted—is attended with some -difficulty, since it involves an expenditure which -would in some cases be almost prohibitive. It -appears, indeed, that no maximum of escape can -be fixed in works of this kind, and all that remains -to be done is to render it compulsory that processes -should be adopted for washing out such gases -as are soluble, and for burning those which are -more susceptible to such a method of treatment. -Since such pernicious agents as fluorine compounds -escape during the action of sulphuric acid upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">{240}</span> -phosphates, the question is one of some urgency. -Again, another cause of complaint is the escape -of sulphuretted hydrogen during the process of -making sulphate of ammonia. In the larger gas-liquor-works -the gas is burned, and converted -into sulphuric acid in lead chambers; while in -others it is passed through oxide of iron; and both -these methods are perfectly satisfactory when -properly carried out. Again, the discharge of -sulphurous or muriatic gases evolved in extracting -salt from brine is an evil which has remained -unremedied almost down to the present time. -Not the least curious feature of this question, too, -is the fact that many of the products of distillation -are so valuable that it is more than mere neglect -to throw them away in the form of noxious gases. -It is unnecessary to describe here the state of the -salt districts. They might serve as a type of the -abomination of desolation. The combined effect -of the gases and the soot, which pours forth in -prodigious volumes and from the chimneys of -nearly a hundred salt-works in Cheshire alone, -is most deplorable.</p> - -<p>The only possible conclusion from this Report -is that we are still far behindhand in these -matters. We have, for instance, long continued -to burn coal on the same principle, and are -very slow to believe in any of the new methods -which have been and are continually being -introduced. Yet not only is black smoke very -much more injurious to animal and vegetable -life than when it has been rendered colourless -by burning, but it is peculiarly wasteful. It -has long been known that many valuable commodities -could be obtained from coal; and but -too little progress has hitherto been made in this -direction. It is, then, all the more interesting -to know that in some works in the north of -England the gases from the blast furnaces have -been cooled and washed, and ammoniacal salts -obtained in such quantities as to make the process -economical; while by the ‘Young and Beilby’ -process it is contended that not only can the fuel -be consumed for nothing, but that there will be -several shillings a ton profit.</p> - -<p>So far as manufactures are concerned, there -certainly seems to be no valid reason why the -rule that they must consume their own smoke -should not be much more freely enforced. In -the case of the alkali trades, which have long been -in a very bad state, it is, of course, an unfortunate -time to suggest the necessity for the outlay of -more capital in improved works. But the exigencies -of the public health are paramount, and -needlessly offensive processes cannot be tolerated -much longer. Such a case as that reported from -Widnes, where waste heaps of offensive matter, -consisting chiefly of sulphur and lime, are allowed -to accumulate, although the sulphur could be -extracted at a profit, and so prevented from -poisoning the streams for miles around, is certainly -difficult to explain. The drainage from these -heaps alone is estimated as carrying away twelve -tons or seventy pounds-worth of sulphur a day. -But perhaps as soon as some satisfactory system -for eliminating the sulphur has been hit upon, -this will be remedied. We have certainly much -yet to learn in sanitary science. The old theories -are one by one being exploded, and it will no -longer do for us to poison the air we breathe, -under the pleasing impression that its purifying -properties are inexhaustible. Civilisation has -made such strides that she has succeeded in overturning -the equilibrium of nature. The equilibrium -must be restored.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="TRIMMING_THE_FEET_OF_ELEPHANTS">TRIMMING THE FEET OF ELEPHANTS.</h2> -</div> - - -<p>The feet of elephants kept for show purposes are -trimmed two or three times a year. The sole of -an elephant’s foot is heavily covered with a thick -horny substance of material similar to the three -toe-nails on each foot; and as it grows thicker -and thicker, it tends to contract and crack, often -laming the animal. Barnum the American showman -recently subjected his elephants to the -trimming process at one of the towns where he -was exhibiting. With a knife about two feet -long, great pieces of horn, six inches by four, and -a quarter of an inch thick, were shaved off. -Often pieces of glass, wire, nails, and other things -are found imbedded in the foot, which have been -picked up during street parades. Sometimes -these irritating morsels work up into the leg and -produce a festering sore. A large nail was found -imbedded in the foot of one of the elephants, -which had to be extracted with a pair of pincers, -and the wound syringed with warm water. -During the operation, the huge creature appeared -to suffer great pain, but seemed to know that -it would afterwards obtain relief, and therefore -bore it patiently, and trumpeted its pleasure at -the close. Three times around an elephant’s -front-hoof is said to be his exact height.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="SONNETS_OF_PRAISE">SONNETS OF PRAISE.</h2> -</div> - - -<h3>THE VALES.</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The nestling vales lie sheltered from rough winds,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As little babes in tender keeping grow,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Some narrow gorge each flowery limit binds;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thus we from childish eyes hide elder woe.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The vales are thick with corn, with plenty shine;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thus should the children smile in sunny glee,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For One hath blessed them with a love divine,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The untried pilgrims of life’s stormy sea.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Though rough winds cannot enter, gentle rain</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Refreshes the green vale, till springs arise,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Their source the snow-clad hills; so age should gain,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">By gentle teaching childhood’s eager eyes.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Rain fills the pools, the thirsty vale is blest;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thus should the children thrive, by love caressed.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - - -<h3>THE MOUNTAINS.</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The lofty mountains with their snowy crests,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">God’s ensigns, praise their Lord throughout the land;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Their heights, which few can reach, in human breasts</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Inspiring awe, yet quake beneath His hand.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oft ’twixt their summits and the lower earth,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The wreathing cloud-mists roll, alone they dwell</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As sight-dimmed age. Our cries of pain or mirth</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Molest them not; thus age with deadening spell</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Benumbs our ears, yet near each lonely peak</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sing mountain birds, sunbeams each summit crown.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">From highest heaven thus God’s saints may seek</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Refuge in thoughts divine, though long years drown</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Earth’s sounds; on mountain crest reposed the Ark,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Our home above shines clear, as earth grows dark.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right">M. P.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center">Printed and Published by <span class="smcap">W. & R. Chambers</span>, 47 Paternoster -Row, <span class="smcap">London</span>, and 339 High Street, <span class="smcap">Edinburgh</span>.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="center"><i>All Rights Reserved.</i></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p>[Transcriber’s note—the following changes have been made to this text.</p> - -<p>Page 236: missing word “pounds” inserted—“3.532 pounds”.]</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 15, VOL. 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