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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular
-Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 23, Vol. I, June 7,
-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. 23, Vol. I, June 7, 1884
-
-Editor: Various
-
-Release Date: July 7, 2021 [eBook #65785]
-
-Language: English
-
-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. 23, VOL. I, JUNE 7,
-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. 23.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, JUNE 7, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._]
-
-
-
-
-THE NEWSMONGER.
-
-
-He is nothing if not omniscient; and, like Othello, his occupation’s
-gone if he be not the first to spread the news and carry the fiery
-cross of scandal to the front. For the Newsmonger does not care to
-carry good news so much as bad; the latter having a dash of spice in
-it, wanting to the former—as red pepper titillates the palate more
-than does either honey or sugar. The Newsmonger knows everything, and
-foresees as much as he knows. When A’s sudden bankruptcy takes the
-world in general by surprise, he, on the contrary, is not the least
-astonished. He knew it weeks ago. He can put in black and white the
-exact sum for which he has failed—for all that the books are still
-in the safe, and the accountant has not begun to score up the items;
-and he knows who is the largest creditor, who the most implacable,
-and what is the bad debt which has caused all the mischief. He takes
-care, however, not to state plainly all these things. He only says he
-knows; and people are found to believe him. When Mrs B runs off with
-Mr C, and thus exposes the hollowness of the domestic happiness of the
-B’s, which was considered so complete; he knew all about that, too,
-long before it happened. Indeed, he had warned C that he was going too
-far, and that harm would come of it, Mrs B being but a feather-head
-at the best; and he had even thrown out friendly hints to B, advising
-him to be a little more strict in his guard and watchful in his care.
-But no man is so deaf as he who will not hear, nor so blind as he who
-will not see; and B was bent on his own destruction, and would not be
-enlightened. Whom the gods would destroy, they first madden; and what
-is the use of hammering your head against a stone wall? Again, when
-Edwin and Angelina come to an abrupt rupture, and the engagement which
-promised so well and looked so satisfactory all round, is broken off
-in a hurry, to the open-mouthed amazement of society—though the cause
-remains a profound mystery to all the rest, Our Newsmonger winks
-knowingly when he gives you the story, and tells you that he is in the
-confidence of both parties, and understands the whole thing from end to
-end. How should he not, when he has been consulted from the beginning,
-and himself advised the rupture as the only thing left to be done?
-Whatever happens, he has been at the back of it; and no event takes
-place of which he has not been cognisant or ever it was made manifest
-to the crass public. This must needs be, seeing that he is the general
-adviser of the whole world, and taken into every one’s confidence, from
-the laying of the egg to the strutting forth of the full-plumaged fowl.
-
-It is the same thing with political matters. To hear him, you would say
-Our Newsmonger had a telephonic communication with all the courts in
-Europe; and that he and the secret things of the future lay together
-on the knees of the gods. He has the insight of Tiresias, and the
-prophetic vision of Cassandra. Russia cannot make a spring of which
-he had not seen the secret silent combining. France cannot pass a law
-which is not the logical outcome of the position he explained not so
-long ago. That insurrection at the back of unpronounceable mountains
-among tribes of whom no one but a few nomadic experts know, or the
-existence, or the aims, or the wrongs—did he not foretell it?—that
-tightening of the Bismarckian gag—did he not foretell that too? No
-one remembers that he did foretell any one of these things; but if he
-says so? As it is impossible to doubt the word of a man who is also
-a gentleman, and whom you ask to dinner four times in the year, we
-must take Our Newsmonger at his own showing, and assume that we have
-been deaf, not that he was—mistaken. When Major Corkscrew, however,
-twits him with that drop made in Panslavonic Unifieds, of which Our
-Newsmonger was a rather large holder, and asks him, why, knowing the
-turn things were sure to take, he did not go in for the fall, and
-sell out while stock was steady?—he puts on a grave air and says he
-thinks confidential communications ought to be sacred, and that it
-would be highly dishonourable on his part were he to use his private
-information for his own private gain. Whereupon Major Corkscrew rubs up
-his three hairs and a quarter, and whistles, in that low way he has.
-‘Only give _me_ the chance, that’s all!’ he says, swelling out his
-chest. ‘If I knew a quarter as much as you say you do, my good friend,
-I would be a rich man before the year was out. Hang me else!’
-
-And after all, it was strange, was it not? that, knowing of this
-coming insurrection at the back of the unpronounceable mountains, Our
-Newsmonger should have gone in for a rise, when Panslavonic Unifieds
-were so sure to come down with a rattling run, as soon as the first gun
-was fired by the obscure tribes aforesaid? Those who like it can accept
-the explanation as gospel truth and sure; but a healthy scepticism
-is not a bad state of mind for the more wary to cultivate, and the
-doctrine of infallibility is not so fashionable as it used to be.
-
-On all the undiscovered mysteries of history and the undisclosed
-secrets of literature, Our Newsmonger has opinions as decided as on
-other things. Sometimes he follows one authority out of many—as when he
-supports himself on the dictum of Voltaire, and maintains that the Man
-in the Iron Mask was the twin-brother of Louis XIV., and that all other
-hypotheses do not hold water. And sometimes he asserts, but forgets
-to prove—as when he ascribes the _Letters of Junius_ to Lord George
-Sackville, and scouts the reasoning of experts which gives them to Sir
-Philip Francis. In modern times, he knows all the ‘ghosts,’ and spots
-all the Anons. He does not give their names, because that would be
-dishonourable, you know, as he has been told by the people themselves
-in confidence, and he must not betray his trust. He would give them
-if he chose; but he must not; and you must be content with this vague
-flash of a dim light before your eyes. If you are not, you will have
-nothing better; for Our Newsmonger is above all a man of honour where
-undiscovered secrets are concerned. When they are made public, then he
-can say that he knew them all along—thus betraying no one.
-
-This reticence in large matters where no one would be hurt by free
-speech, unfortunately does not influence Our Newsmonger in those small
-things of private life which do a great deal of harm and cause much
-personal pain when blurted abroad. It would not signify more than the
-buzz of a fly on the window-pane if the unknown inhabitants of an
-obscure village in the west of England were told the name of the person
-who wrote _Democracy_, for instance; or that of the Russian woman of
-high rank who played ‘La Dame aux Camellias’ in a mask; if they had
-the true key to one of Daudet’s novels, or could dot the i’s of all
-the ‘Queer Stories’ in _Truth_. No one would be substantially the
-wiser for knowing that the hero of the midnight escapade recorded in
-the one was the Duke of Sandwich or the Prince of Borrioboolagha. Nor
-would it be of the least consequence to any one whatever, inhabiting
-the pretty district of Pedlington-in-the-Mud, if the name of the young
-gentleman who fell among thieves when he went to the Jews, and had
-to pay eighty per cent. for a loan which included bad champagne and
-worse pictures, were George Silliman or Harry Prettyman. But things
-are different when it is said of Mrs Smith—the wife of the rector
-who rules over things spiritual, and directs things temporal too, in
-Pedlington-in-the-Mud—that she dyes her hair and corks her eyebrows;
-of Miss Lucy, the daughter of the Squire, that she paints her face and
-flirts with the footman; and of Major Corkscrew, that he tipples—and
-his housekeeper knows it. Such things as these carried from house to
-house as so many black beetles to infest the kitchen—so many moths
-to eat into the ermine—do an incalculable amount of damage. But Our
-Newsmonger, who would not sell a hundred pounds-worth of stock on
-information received, nor tell the name of Louis Napoleon’s private
-counsellor, has no scruple in letting fly all these dingy little
-sparrows to peck at the golden grain of local repute, and to do
-irremediable harm to all concerned.
-
-There is nothing that does not pass through the alembic of the
-Newsmonger. He knows the exact spot in the house where each man keeps
-his skeleton, and he can pitch the precise note struck when the bones
-rattle in the wind and the poor possessor turns pale at the sound. Mrs
-Screwer starves her servants; but then Mr Screwer gambles, and the
-family funds are always in a state of fluctuation which makes things
-too uncertain to be counted on. Mrs Towhead scolds her household till
-she maddens the maids and dazes the men, so that they do not know which
-end stands uppermost. But then Mr Towhead sends the poor woman mad
-herself by his open goings-on with that little minx round the corner.
-And if Mrs Towhead takes it out in a general conflagration, is it to be
-wondered at, seeing the provocation she has? The Spendthrifts are out
-at elbows, and no one can get paid, for all they gave that magnificent
-ball last week on the coming of age of young Hopeful, who inherits
-more debts than rents, and has more holes in his purse than coin to
-stop them with. Miss Hangonhand is taken to Paris for the chance of
-a husband, those in London proving shy and the supply not equalling
-the demand; and Dr Leech’s bill was exorbitant, and a lawsuit was
-threatened if he would not abate just one half. And then that Mr Fieri
-Facias—have you not heard that he has been dealing with his clients’
-securities, and that if matters were looked into he would be now
-standing in the dock of the Old Bailey? I assure you they say so; and
-for my part I always believe that where there is much smoke there must
-be some fire! The Bank, too, is shaky; and you who are a shareholder,
-and you who are a depositor, had both better get out of it without a
-day’s delay.
-
-All these things, and more, Our Newsmonger will say with a glib tongue
-and a light heart; and whether what he says has a grain of truth, or is
-pure unmixed and unmitigated falsehood, troubles him no more than if
-the wind blows from the south-west or the south-south-west with a point
-to spare. He can retail a bit of gossip which will make his visit pass
-easily and keep the conversation from lagging; and which also will put
-him into the position of one who knows, and thus place him on rising
-ground while his friends are only in the shallows. And what matters it
-if, for this miserable little gain, he obscures a reputation, breaks a
-heart, destroys a life? He has had his pleasure, which was to appear
-wiser than the rest; and if others have to pay the bill, the loss is
-theirs, not his!
-
-A Newsmonger of this kind is the very pest of the neighbourhood where
-he may have pitched his tent. A fox with silent feet and cruel flair
-prowling about the henroost where the nestling chickens lie—a viewless
-wind laden with poison-germs, and bringing death wherever it blows—a
-lurking snake, hidden in the long grass and discovered only when it has
-stung—these and any other similes that can be gathered, expressive of
-silent secret wrong-doing to innocent things, may be taken as the signs
-of the Newsmonger in small places where propinquity places reputations
-at the mercy of all who choose to attack them. From such, may the good
-grace of fortune and the honest tongues of the sturdy and the upright
-deliver us!—for if all the evil that is said of men were tracked to
-its source, that source would be found to lie, not in fact, but in
-the fertile imagination of the Newsmonger. After all, we know nothing
-better than each other. And as we have to live in human communion, it
-is as well to live in peace and harmony, and in seeing the best, and
-not the worst. The Newsmonger thinks differently. But then those who
-are wise discard him as a nuisance and a mischief-maker; and their way
-in life is all the more peaceful in consequence.
-
-
-
-
-BY MEAD AND STREAM.
-
-BY CHARLES GIBBON.
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXI.—THE CONJURER.
-
-Mr Beecham returned.
-
-‘The young people are crowding in now; and Mrs Joy and the
-schoolmistress with some of their friends are trying to place them
-comfortably, so that the smallest may have the front benches. Come
-along and help them.’
-
-The long narrow hall was already well filled, the faces of the children
-shining with the combined effect of recent scrubbing and excitement.
-Some of the youngest faces wore a half-frightened expression, for
-the only magician they knew about was the wicked one in the story of
-Aladdin, and they did not know what the magician they were to see
-to-night might do to them. But others had seen this conjurer performing
-on the village green in open daylight on fair-days, and were able to
-reassure the timid ones, whilst regaling them in loud whispers with
-exaggerated accounts of the wonderful things he had done.
-
-In the background were parents, on whose heavy and usually
-expressionless faces a degree of curiosity was indicated by open
-mouths and eyes staring at the still unoccupied platform on which the
-performance was to take place. Along the side, near the front, was a
-row of chairs occupied by Mrs Joy and her friends, who were presently
-joined by Mr Beecham and Wrentham, and later by Dr Joy. One of Mr
-Beecham’s ideas was not to overawe the children by the presence of too
-many of the ‘gentry;’ consequently, he only invited those who were to
-help him in making his young guests comfortable.
-
-The whispering ceased suddenly on the appearance of the conjurer.
-
-Wrentham leaned carelessly back on his chair, so that Mrs Joy’s bonnet
-hid his face from Mr Tuppit.
-
-The latter looked quite smart in his well-brushed black frock-coat, his
-white collar, his lavender-coloured tie, secured in a large brass ring
-with a glass diamond in the centre, which glistened in the lamp-light
-and at once attracted the children’s eyes. The professor of wonders had
-a long solemn face, and black hair brushed close to his head, where it
-stuck as if pasted on with oil. His voice had a pleasant ring, and he
-began by merrily informing his audience that he intended to explain
-to them how all his tricks were done. Every boy and girl who watched
-him attentively would be able—with a little practice, of course—to
-do everything he did. This was delightful information, and secured
-immediate attention. But it was a little dashed by the intimation
-that they would first have to learn how to spell the mystic word
-‘Abracadabra.’ However, he would teach them how to do that too; and he
-pinned on the wall a scroll bearing the word in large red letters. This
-was a clever dodge to divert too quick eyes from his sleight of hand.
-
-Then, chattering all the time, he began his tricks. Pennies were
-transformed into half-crowns and back to the poorer metal, much to the
-regret of the grinning yokels—one of them denounced it as ‘a mortal
-shame;’ handkerchiefs were torn into shreds and returned to their
-owners neatly folded and uninjured; a pigeon was placed under a cap,
-and when the cap was lifted there was a glass of water in its stead;
-cards seemed to obey the conjurer like living things—and so on through
-the usual range of legerdemain.
-
-The great feat of the evening was the last. Mr Tuppit advancing with
-a polite bow—an excessively polite bow—begged Mr Wrentham to be so
-good as to trust him for a few minutes with his hat, which should
-be returned uninjured. Wrentham stared at the man, as if privately
-confounding his impudence, and complied with the request. Another
-polite bow and a smile, and the conjurer returned to his rostrum. The
-glossy hat was placed on the table: flour, water, raisins, and all the
-ingredients for a plum-pudding were poured into it amidst the laughter
-and excited exclamations of the youngsters, who could scarcely retain
-their seats. The whole was stirred with the magic rod, then covered
-with a cloth, and when that was removed, there arose a column of steam
-as from a caldron. A waiter brought a huge plate, and the conjurer
-tumbled out on it a piping hot plum-pudding from the hat. The wonder
-was not over yet. The pudding was quickly cut into hunks, and two
-waiters were employed to serve it to the astounded audience. But how
-that pudding came to suffice for the supply of all those young folk and
-their parents was a mystery which only the conjurer, Mr Beecham, and
-the hotel cook could properly explain.
-
-The hat was restored to its owner in perfect condition. Wrentham said
-‘Thank you,’ and again stared at the man, who again bowed politely, and
-retired after saying good-night to the children, whose cheers were not
-stifled even by mouthfuls of plum-pudding.
-
-‘There is another of my sources of happiness,’ said Mr Beecham as
-Wrentham was going away; ‘doing something to make others happy.’
-
-Wrentham had not gained the particular information he had been seeking
-as to Beecham’s antecedents, but he had learned several things.
-
-‘Bob is becoming troublesome. I must arrange with him either to sail in
-the same boat or not to run foul of me in this way.’
-
-His report to Mr Hadleigh was brief and decisive. ‘I can make nothing
-of Beecham except that he is a harmless, good-natured chap, who likes
-to spend his money in standing treat to all the youngsters in the
-parish. There is no sham about his philanthropy either: never a bit
-of fuss. Take last night, for instance. Nobody knew anything about
-it barring those who were invited. I can’t make him out; but Miss
-Heathcote may be able to help you. He corresponds with her.’
-
-‘Corresponds with her?’
-
-‘Yes; I saw a letter addressed to her on his desk. They seem to be
-great chums, too, as I hear—and he is not too old to be a lover.’
-
-‘That is curious,’ said Mr Hadleigh thoughtfully, but not heeding the
-jest with which Wrentham concluded his remarks.
-
-
-CHAPTER XXXII.—THE ENTHUSIAST.
-
-Philip was a little bothered by what Madge had told him. In honest
-dealing he was unable to comprehend how man or woman could have any
-knowledge or design which might not be communicated to the person who
-was nearest in affection to him or her. He took for granted that he
-must stand nearest in affection to Madge. If the knowledge or design
-was not intended to hurt anybody, why should there be any mystery about
-it? The more light that shone upon one’s work, the better it would be
-done. Those who by choice worked in the dark must be trying to deceive
-somebody—maybe themselves. He had as little liking for mysteries as
-Aunt Hessy herself, because he could not see the use of them.
-
-Had he consulted his brother Coutts on this subject, he would have
-learned from that City philosopher that the business of every man was
-to cheat—well, if the sound was more pleasing, overreach—every other
-man. Only a fool would make plain to others what he was going to do
-and how he meant to do it—and the fool paid the penalty of his folly
-by going promptly to the wall. He would have learned that in the race
-for Fortune there are many runners who want to be first to reach the
-winning-post. Therefore, it behoved every racer to keep the qualities
-of his horse dark, and to keep his fellows ignorant of the turns on the
-course where he purposed to put on an extra spurt and outwit them.
-
-‘A clever lie,’ Coutts would have said with his cynical smile, ‘often
-saves much trouble, and wins the game. Most of the losers grin and
-bear, and whilst congratulating the winner, laugh at the “truthful
-James” who grumbles that he has lost because he did not understand or
-could not submit to the recognised rules of the course.’
-
-‘But how can a lie be necessary?’ Philip would have asked—‘how can it
-be useful unless you mean to cheat?’
-
-That was his great stumbling-block: he could not understand the use of
-a lie, any more than he could understand a captain in a fog running his
-vessel straight ahead without regard to compass or charts.
-
-Coutts would regard him pityingly, and answer with the calmness of one
-whose principles are founded upon established law:
-
-‘Why I tell a lie is because I wish to gain an advantage over somebody.
-If gaining this advantage be cheating, then I must cheat, because
-everybody else is doing the same thing; or I must submit to be cheated.
-However, in the City it is vulgar to talk about cheating and lies in
-connection with respectable business transactions. When we profit by
-the ignorance of others, we call it rules of trade, custom, and may
-occasionally go so far as to speak of sharp practice; but so long as a
-man keeps on the right side of the law, we never use such rude language
-as you do. When he gets to the wrong side of the law, however—that is,
-when he is found out—we are down upon him as heavily as you like. You
-had better not meddle with business, Philip, for you will be fleeced as
-easily as a sick sheep.’
-
-Philip turned away in disgust from the ethics of selfishness as
-expounded by his brother, and refused to believe that the primary rule
-for success in business was to do the best for yourself no matter what
-others lose, or that any enterprise of moment had ever been carried to
-a successful issue under the guidance of such a theory. People might
-hold their tongues when silence meant no harm to any one and possible
-good to somebody. That was right, and that was what Madge was doing.
-
-So, after the first sensation of bother—for it was not displeasure or
-suspicion of any kind: only a mixed feeling of regret and astonishment
-that there could be, even for a brief period, a thought which they
-might not both possess—he proceeded with the work in hand. She gave
-him what is most precious to the enthusiast, sympathy and faith in his
-visions.
-
-‘People of experience,’ he told her, ‘say that I am aiming at an
-ideal condition of men, which is pretty as an ideal, and absolutely
-impracticable until human nature has so altered that all men are
-honest. Besides, they say, I am really striving after community of
-interest, which has been tried before and failed. Robert Owen tried
-it long ago—Hawthorne and his friends tried it—and failed. I answer,
-that although my object is the same as theirs, my way of reaching it
-is different. It is certainly community of interest that I seek to
-establish, but under this condition—that the most industrious and most
-gifted shall take their proper places and reap their due reward. Every
-man is to stand upon his own merits: if fortune be his aim, let him win
-it by hard work of hand and brain. The man who works hardest will get
-most, and he who works least will get least. I think that is perfectly
-simple, and easily understood by any man or woman who is willing to
-work. There are to be no drones, as I have said, to hamper the progress
-of the workers.’
-
-Madge could see it all, and the scheme was a noble one in her eyes,
-which ought to be workable—if they could only get rid of the drones.
-But that ‘if’ introduced Philip to his troubles.
-
-The question as to the price of the land Philip desired to purchase had
-been settled with amazing promptitude after he had, in the rough but
-emphatic phrase, ‘put his foot down.’ Wrentham came to him with looks
-of triumph and the exclamation, ‘See the conquering hero comes.’ He was
-under the impression that he had done a good stroke of business.
-
-‘I treated the greedy beggars to what I call the don’t-care-a-brass-farthing
-style. I was only an agent, and my principal said take it or leave
-it. I didn’t care which way they decided, at the same time I had a
-conviction that they were throwing away a good offer—cash down. We
-had some fencing—I wish you had been there—and at last they agreed to
-accept a sum which is only two hundred beyond what you offered, so I
-closed the bargain.’
-
-The difference was not of much consequence; but for a moment Philip
-thought it strange that Wrentham had been able to conclude the bargain
-so easily after what he had told him. The thought, however, passed from
-his mind immediately.
-
-Now came the business of starting the work. Here Caleb Kersey proved
-useful, not only in organising the labourers but in dealing with the
-mechanics. The difficulty was much the same with the skilled and
-unskilled workers—namely, to enable them to understand that it was
-better and honester to employer and employed to be paid for the work
-done than for the time spent over it. Prospective profit did not count
-for anything in the minds of most of the men; and the ‘honesty’ that
-was in the system was regarded as only another word for extra profit to
-the employer.
-
-‘Gammon!’ was the general remark; ‘you don’t take us in with that
-chaff. We get so much an hour, and we mean to have it.’
-
-In spite of this, however, Philip, aided by Caleb, collected a band of
-workmen sufficient for his purpose. For a time all went well. There
-were grumblings occasionally; but most of the men began in a short
-time to comprehend how they could improve their own position by the
-amount of work produced. But these presently found themselves hampered
-and scoffed at by those whose chief object was to ‘put in time.’ That
-was the grievance of the real workers: the grievance of the master,
-which was not found out until too late, was that the highest market
-price for the best materials was paid for the worst. The groans became
-more numerous, and their outcries louder, as their pay decreased
-in accordance with their own decrease of production. But they said
-they had ‘put in time,’ and ought to be paid accordingly. They were
-completely satisfied with this argument, which proved to themselves
-beyond question that they were being injured by the man who pretended
-to be their friend.
-
-Next the unions spoke, and all the men who belonged to them were
-withdrawn. Those who remained were picketed and boycotted until Philip
-took what was considered by his friends another mad step.
-
-‘Look here, lads, you who are willing to stand by me—you shall have
-your home in the works, and before long we shall have help enough. I am
-sorry that we should have had this breakdown; but I expected something
-of the sort; and when I started this scheme of mutual labour for mutual
-profit—I ought to say the system of individual work—I was prepared
-to encounter much misunderstanding, but I was inspired by the hope
-that in the end I should find real help amongst the real workers. I
-am convinced that there are plenty of men willing to work if they can
-find it. Now, why should we not work together? The principle is a very
-simple one, and easily understood. You want to get as much as you can.
-So do I. But in getting it, let us try to deserve it by really earning
-it. I am trying to earn my share of the profit that ought to come from
-the capital that I hold in trust. At the same time, I will not allow
-any man to share with me who says he cannot produce, but must be paid
-for the time he spends inside our gates.’
-
-He was striving to bridge that troublous sea which lies between capital
-and labour; and the great pillars of his bridge were to be productive
-labour on the one side and honest buyers on the other. The men
-applauded these sentiments, satisfied that nothing was wanting except
-the honest buyers.
-
-‘The real capital of the world is Brains,’ he said; ‘and to carry out
-the work which they devise, the labourer of all degrees is as necessary
-as the man with money.’
-
-‘Hear, hear!’ cried a grim-visaged fellow who was leaving Philip’s
-service; ‘and, consequently, the labourer ought to have share and share
-alike in the profits with the money-man.’
-
-‘Undoubtedly; and he should, likewise, take his share in the losses,’
-was Philip’s reply; and he endeavoured to explain his projected scheme
-of the regulation of wages by results.
-
-But this was not easy to understand. So long as he talked of sharing
-profits, the thing was clear enough; but when it came to be a question
-of also sharing losses, the majority could not see it. Philip was
-impatient of their stubborn refusal to believe in what was so plain and
-simple to him—that when a man was paid for what he produced he would be
-the gainer or loser according to the degree of his industry.
-
-However, Philip persevered eagerly with his scheme, and in his
-character of honest buyer of labour he met with many surprises.
-
-Work was scamped: he detected it, and dismissed the scampers. They went
-to join the clamorous crowd of incompetent or lazy workmen who cry that
-they only want work, but do not add to the cry that they want it on
-their own terms.
-
-The few real workers who remained became disheartened because they
-were so few, and some of them were frightened by vicious crowds
-outside. They had wives and families dependent on them; but they
-must obey the inexorable majority, although in doing so they would
-have to accept charity or starvation. They accepted the charity, and
-clamoured more loudly than ever against the tyranny of capital which
-left them no other alternative. They loafed about public-houses, drank
-beer, discussed their grievances, whilst their wives went out charing
-or washing. And they called themselves over their pewter pots the
-ill-used, down-trodden people of England!
-
-‘I wish you could get rid of all that sham,’ Philip said, irritated at
-last with himself as much as with the men. ‘So long as you are mean
-enough to live upon the earnings of your wives, and what you can borrow
-or obtain from charity, and thus supported, refuse to work unless the
-terms and the nature of your work be exactly what you choose to accept,
-you will never have the right to call yourselves honest sellers of
-labour. I want you to understand me. I say that if a man wants work, he
-should be ready to take up any job that is offered him, whether it is
-in his line or not. The nature of the work is of no consequence so long
-as a man can do it, for all work is honourable. What is of consequence
-is that a man should be independent of the parish and the earnings of
-his wife. I say, here is work; come and do it: you shall not only have
-payment for what you do, but a share in whatever extra profit it may
-produce.’
-
-That speech settled the whole affair so far as the men were concerned.
-All, except some half-dozen, left him, and filled their haunts with
-outcries against the new monopolist who wanted them actually to produce
-so much work for so much pay. Meanwhile, they got on comfortably enough
-with the earnings of their wives and the parish loaves.
-
-‘God forbid that we should call such creatures workmen!’ cried Philip
-in his desperation; ‘but the country is crowded with them—a disgrace
-as much to legislation as to human nature. Let us see how we can do
-without them.’
-
-He could have done without them if he had been allowed a fair chance.
-But in the first place, there was Wrentham’s frankly declared objection
-that the scheme was all nonsense, and could never succeed until all men
-ceased to be greedy or lazy. And then there was the hardest blow of all
-to Philip in the sudden change which came over Caleb Kersey.
-
-Caleb had entered upon the work with an enthusiasm as strong as that of
-Philip himself, although not so openly expressed. There was a glow of
-hopefulness and happiness on his honest brown face when Philip first
-laid the plans before him. Here was the Utopia of which he had vaguely
-dreamed: here was the chance for poor men to take their place in the
-social sphere according to their capacities and without regard to the
-conditions under which they started. Here was the chance for every man
-to have his fair share of the world’s wealth.
-
-‘I hadn’t the means to work it out as you have, sir, but my notion has
-always been something of the kind that you have got into ship-shape
-form. I’ll try to help you.’
-
-And he kept his word. There was no more earnest worker on Shield’s Land
-(that was the name Philip had given to the estate he purchased) than
-Caleb. Example, advice, and suggestions of the practical advantage each
-man would secure if he faithfully followed out the rules Philip had
-laid down, were given by him to all his fellow-workmen.
-
-Suddenly the enthusiasm disappeared. The light seemed to fade from his
-eyes; and Caleb, who had been the sustaining force of the workers,
-became dull and listless.
-
-About Wrentham’s opposition there was a degree of lightness; as if one
-should say, ‘Just as you please, sir; I don’t believe in it, but I am
-entirely at your command,’ which did not affect personal intercourse.
-With Caleb it was the reverse, because he felt more deeply. Wrentham
-could be at his ease because he regarded the whole affair as a matter
-of business out of which he was to make some money. Caleb thought only
-of the possibilities the scheme suggested of the future of the workman.
-
-Philip had given up all hope of persuading Wrentham to believe in his
-theories; but he could not give up Caleb. So he resolved to speak to
-him.
-
-‘What is wrong, Kersey? You have not lost heart because those fellows
-have left us?’
-
-‘No, not because of that’ (hesitatingly and slowly); ‘but they were not
-so much to blame in leaving us as you may think, sir.’
-
-‘What do you mean?’
-
-‘Well, they did not understand you; and when they saw things coming in
-in the raw state at higher prices than could be got for them when made
-up, they didn’t see where the profit you spoke of was to come from.’
-
-‘Oh——!’ murmured Philip, curiosity aroused, and the note passing
-through the stages of surprise and perplexity to suspicion. ‘Why have
-you not told me about this before?’
-
-‘It weren’t my place, sir; Mr Wrentham has charge of these things.’
-
-A pause, during which Philip tried a paper-knife on the desk as if it
-were a rapier. Then: ‘All right; I’ll see about that. But you have not
-answered me as to yourself. You are sulking for some reason. You say it
-is not the loss of the men which has put you out of sorts; I know it is
-nothing connected with me, or you would tell me. Then what is it?’
-
-There was no answer; but Caleb bowed his head and moved as if he wished
-to go.
-
-‘You have not heard anything about Pansy?’ said Philip suddenly, moved
-by a good-natured desire to discover the cause of the man’s depression,
-in the hope that he might be able to relieve it.
-
-There was a lurch of the broad shoulders, and Caleb’s dark eyes flashed
-like two bull’s-eye lanterns on his master. ‘No—have you?’
-
-The question was an awkward one for Philip, remembering what he had
-thought about the attentions of his brother to the gardener’s daughter.
-He was immediately relieved from his unpleasant position by Caleb
-himself. ‘No—I won’t ask you that, sir; it ’ud be hard lines for you to
-have to speak about’——
-
-The rest was a mumble, and Caleb again moved towards the door. Philip
-called him back. ‘I won’t pretend not to know what you mean, Kersey,’
-he said kindly; ‘but if you listen to what is said by envious wenches
-or spiteful lads, you are a confounded fool. Trust her, man; trust her.
-That is the way to be worthy of a worthy woman.’
-
-‘And the way to be fooled by an unworthy one,’ said Wrentham, who
-came in as the last sentence was being uttered. Then seeing Philip’s
-frown and Caleb’s scowl, he added apologetically: ‘I beg your pardon.
-I thought and hope you were speaking generally, not of any one in
-particular.’
-
-‘Come to my chambers this afternoon, Kersey; I want to speak to you.’
-
-Caleb gave one of his awkward nods and left the office.
-
-
-
-
-STAINED GLASS AS AN ACCESSORY TO DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE.
-
-
-In a former paper (September 1879) we briefly reviewed the growth and
-progress of the art of glass-staining and painting, and described
-the various processes necessary to its prosecution, and practised at
-the present day; and, after tracing its career in its application to
-the purposes of ecclesiastical decoration, hinted at its capability
-of adaptation to ornamental requirements beyond those pertaining to
-the embellishment of the sacred edifice. We propose in the present
-paper to deal more exhaustively with this branch of an art, and to
-endeavour to point out, as succinctly as possible, the more prominent
-and obvious cases where its introduction would be desirable in secular
-ornamentation.
-
-Public buildings of course demand the first attention; and in a country
-like our own, owing its prosperity to its commercial enterprise,
-its political organisation, and its unequalled system of municipal
-government, we have witnessed in the course of the last few years the
-commencement, progress, and completion of costly and magnificently
-adorned buildings. Upon these noble buildings have been lavished the
-utmost resources of decorative art; and latterly, stained glass has
-formed an important element in the general scheme of decoration, and
-it is to its adaptation to this class of domestic architecture that we
-would first draw attention.
-
-One of the first, as it is one of the most natural, motives prompting
-the enrichment of the ornamental accessories of a building, is
-discovered in a desire to see perpetuated the memory of its founder or
-founders. The most natural expression of this feeling is, of course,
-the desire to permanently retain a record of their features and
-personal characteristics in the shape of a pictorial representation.
-This desire at first sight seems to be susceptible of immediate
-gratification by a portrait, either on canvas or in marble; but further
-consideration will tend towards the conviction that the use of these
-media is not altogether free from objection. Little, perhaps, can be
-said against the statue in itself; but the elaborate and gorgeous
-decoration of our more sumptuous buildings is likely to be unpleasantly
-marred by the marble pallor of sculpture; and after all, dignified
-and stately as are many of our statuesque memorials, they convey
-little more than an idealised impression of the features of the person
-commemorated.
-
-The employment of oil portraiture is also open to certain objections.
-It must be remembered that modern decoration means a great deal more
-than a mere picking out in gold and colour of the salient lines of a
-cornice, or the stencilled powdering of a conventional pattern over the
-area of a wall or a ceiling; it has advanced far beyond the province
-of the builder and house-painter, and demands no inconsiderable
-proportion of the genius of the artist. If the decoration of a room or
-hall is designed to constitute in itself a complete work of art, its
-effect may be grievously injured by the injudicious introduction of
-a heavy gold frame, and colours, which while admirably accomplishing
-the purpose of the artist, may in a great measure interfere with the
-surrounding harmony of colour. We have, then, no other place left but
-the window, and the problem seems to be in a fair way towards solution.
-The perfection to which the painting of glass has attained leaves no
-room for doubt as to the fidelity of the likeness; but apart from this
-fact, a far more extensive recognition of the virtues or services
-of the subject of the memorial is to be obtained by various devices
-and emblems, appropriate to the character and life of the person
-honoured, which could hardly with propriety be introduced into an oil
-picture. One example, recently erected, may serve to more clearly
-demonstrate our meaning. The lately erected town-hall of Lerwick
-has been enriched by two windows illustrative of persons and scenes
-connected with some of the primitive traditions of Orkney. In one
-window, divided by a central mullion into twin-lights, is represented
-the figure of Archbishop Eystein, one of the earliest of Orcadian
-prelates, clad in his archiepiscopal vestments; while a panel beneath
-the figure illustrates his consecration of King Magnus. Side by side
-with the figure of the archbishop stands Bishop William, the founder
-of the venerable cathedral of Kirkwall, the formal ceremony itself
-being depicted in the panel below. The corresponding window displays
-the gigantic form of the Norse warrior Harald Haarfager, with his
-landing in Zetland shown in the lower panel; and Jarl Rognvald, whose
-investiture as Earl of Orkney, 870 A.D., is represented in the panel
-beneath. In the ‘tracery’ above the two windows are shown respectively
-the Orcadian and Norwegian coats-of-arms. Now, a combination of
-such historical and traditional interest could hardly be otherwise
-so successfully treated, while the glowing colours and fine design
-materially add to the effect of the neighbouring beauties of the
-structure.
-
-There is another consideration not without importance in connection
-with the establishment of a complete scheme of internal decoration.
-Light is one of the most important essentials in a building where exact
-and extensive business is transacted, and the presence of large and
-frequent windows is a necessity. But how painfully is the harmony and
-continuity of the ornament interrupted by the constant recurrence of
-these patches of white light. The eye, in following the progress of
-the decorative design, grows weary of the constant loss and recapture
-of its thread; and that which would otherwise have pleased and charmed
-by its beauty as a whole, only perplexes and tires by its division
-into parts. Here, then, is called into requisition the art of the
-glass-stainer; without any vital diminution of light, the scheme
-of colour is no longer disturbed, a perfect chromatic harmony is
-established, and the window serves a double purpose, by admitting the
-necessary illumination from without, and enhancing the beauty of the
-building within.
-
-The foregoing remarks naturally have reference to all public buildings
-of more or less importance, though we have instanced the town-hall as
-a representative building, associated with the more imposing class of
-secular edifices.
-
-There is an institution and building, without the existence of which
-the writing on subjects of beauty and art would be a serious waste of
-time—namely, the school; and here the introduction of stained glass
-may be found of beneficial effect. It is not to be denied that when
-the watchful eye of the master relaxes its vigilance, the youthful
-eye will wander too, and the direction of nearly every eye will be
-towards the window; and principals of schools and their subordinates
-are fully aware of the fact. They are also aware of the attractions or
-distractions presented by the tempting spectacle of green trees and
-spreading meadows in summer; or falling snow and ice-bound stream in
-winter, or even at all times the freedom of the open street; so, to
-remove the cause of temptation, the glass is made opaque by painting
-it over with a dull white mixture which effectually conceals the
-dangerous landscape. But by the introduction of cathedral glass, of
-the simplest patterns and pleasing tints, the unsightly whitewashed
-panes would be replaced by panels of unblemished glass more or less
-ornamental, perfectly effectual in their primary purpose, and at the
-same time affording some relief to the eyes from the monotony of the
-barren school walls. Tinted glass leaded in various geometric or
-flowing patterns might be made most useful as an excellent substitute
-for drawing copies of the elementary stage; the rudiments of freehand
-drawing could all be acquired from the glazed patterns; while, under
-competent hands, it could afford most valuable assistance in the
-teaching of the laws of the harmony and artistic contrasting of
-colours. The trifling initial expense would be speedily saved, as there
-would be no wear and tear of copies; there could be no _measuring_,
-most disastrous to the student; the copy would be always clean; the
-colour would be refreshing to the eye; and much labour would be saved
-to the teacher, as he could demonstrate his teaching to the whole class
-at once.
-
-Passing from the consideration of public requirements to those of the
-private home, the increasing cultivation and appreciation of the fine
-arts, and their application to domestic necessities, are sufficient
-encouragement for the advancing of the claims of stained glass to hold
-a place in the general scheme of internal decoration. Of course, with
-such diversity as necessarily exists in the comparative size and extent
-of family abodes, from the lordliest mansion, standing in the midst of
-its own far-stretching grounds, to the more humble dwelling, forming
-a unit among the many that go to constitute a street, or terrace, or
-‘gardens,’ it would be impossible to lay down any precise suggestions
-for their ornamentation; but it may be possible to offer a few general
-and broadly elastic ideas, capable of being expanded or contracted
-according to the means and wants of all.
-
-The more pretentious of the mansions of the nobility and gentry are
-pretty sure to boast of at least one fine, large, and imposing window,
-affording ample scope for artistic design, and, whether in the family
-tracing its pedigree for centuries, or the _nouveau riche_ who began
-life with a struggle, heraldry and its concomitants seem to be held,
-more or less, in equal reverence. It needs little apology, therefore,
-for suggesting the blazonry of shield, helmet, crest, mantling, motto,
-supporters, and other resources of the gentle science, as affording
-a most appropriate exercise of the glass-stainer’s skill. Making
-use, as heraldry does almost exclusively, of the five most prominent
-colours, as well as white and gold, it is admirably adapted for its
-reproduction in stained glass, whose exquisite and transparent tints
-are seen to fine effect in heraldic compositions. The matter of expense
-is of course an important consideration; but the treatment of heraldic
-design can be almost endlessly modified or elaborated; so that, while
-within easy reach of the only moderately affluent, it may, on the other
-hand, be raised to such a height of gorgeous enrichment as to form no
-unworthy element in the decoration of a palace.
-
-Nor is a large and finely proportioned window an absolute necessity.
-At Rydal Hall, Westmoreland, the seat of the family of Le Fleming, a
-window, the heraldic blazoning of which was designed by the present
-writer, consisted merely of nine upright oblong square panels, each
-about two feet high by eighteen inches wide, arranged three, three, and
-three; and separated by mullions and transoms. But this unpromising
-rigidity of construction was not only overcome, but made subservient to
-the general design, in the following manner: the arms of the Le Fleming
-family, in a shield of nine quarterings, occupied the centre panel; the
-quarterings (all divisions of a shield above two, no matter how many in
-number, are called quarters) being those respectively of Le Fleming, of
-course in the place of honour, the dexter chief; and of eight ancestral
-and collateral branches of the family; and each of these quarterings,
-thus brought together in one shield to form the perfect ‘achievement of
-arms’ of the present representative, was displayed separately on single
-shields occupying the eight surrounding panels.
-
-One of the principal documents in the muniment rooms of the great is
-the genealogical tree, duly set forth on musty parchment, in itself a
-guarantee of its own antiquity. How admirably could this be executed
-in glass! The tree, very conventionally designed, trained over the
-whole surface of the window; the quaintly hung shields depending from
-its branches at intervals; the whole forming an interesting study for
-antiquary and genealogist.
-
-But in less ambitious dwellings, stained glass under various forms may
-be introduced with picturesque advantage. It will be acknowledged that
-very often, while the front of a house may look on a well-kept garden,
-or form part of the side of a spacious and beautiful square or public
-garden, the back may very likely look out on equally spacious but not
-equally beautiful or savoury mews. We know it may be contended that
-most back-rooms are bedrooms, and only used at night. This is true
-enough. But in nine cases out of ten, in houses of this class, there is
-a staircase window on the first landing, which, as a rule, looks out on
-the back, and is continually calling the attention of those passing up
-or down the stairs to the interesting spectacle of an equine toilet,
-or some similarly delectable operation. In this case, a window, though
-consisting of only two or three tints of rolled cathedral glass, and
-leaded in geometric or ornamentally flowing lines, would completely
-shut out the offensive prospect, while in no way interfering with
-the necessary lighting of the stair, nor the opening or shutting
-of the window-frame; and the expense would be scarcely if any more
-than glazing the sashes with plate-glass, which, moreover, to look
-commonly decent, requires infinitely more frequent cleaning than the
-other. This, of course, is almost the simplest form of treatment; but,
-according to the length of purse of the householder, the window may
-be more or less ornate in its design. The owner’s arms, or monogram;
-floral painted devices, heads, or figures representing the four
-seasons, field-sports, fables, nursery rhymes, and numberless kindred
-subjects, are all most appropriate for delineation, and can be obtained
-at far less cost than a doubtful ‘old master,’ or piece of Brummagem
-bric-à-brac. A very pretty effect is obtained at night by filling the
-sides of a hall-lamp, or any large conspicuous lamp, with painted glass
-of design according to the owner’s fancy; the old-fashioned clumsy
-window-blinds are now frequently superseded by leaded glass screens,
-more or less ornamental in their details; and a great objection to the
-use of stationary firescreens hitherto—that while they screen, they
-also hide the fire, is removed by the use of screens of glass, leaded
-and painted according to the taste and purse of the buyer.
-
-A great and most important consideration in the adoption of stained
-glass is the great variety of design of which it is susceptible, its
-range of artistic production being so extensive and pecuniarily elastic
-as to bring it, in one form or another, within the reach of almost any
-one occupying a house; while for cleanliness, durability, and pleasing
-effect, whether in the comfortable dwelling of the thriving tradesman,
-or adorning the noblest monuments of private munificence or national
-philanthropy, it cannot fail to charm the eye by its intrinsic beauty;
-while from the artist’s practised hand, the jewels of design shed their
-lustre on the illuminated walls.
-
-
-
-
-SILAS MONK.
-
-A TALE OF LONDON OLD CITY.
-
-
-IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I.
-
-One evening—a pitch-dark evening in autumn—a girl stood at one of the
-doors in a row of old houses in the neighbourhood of Crutched Friars,
-watching. It was difficult to see many yards up or down the street,
-for it was only lighted by three widely-separated gas-lamps. Under one
-of these lamps, at a corner of the street, there presently appeared
-a little old man. He came along slowly, but with a jerky step like a
-trot; his head was bent and his shoulders raised; and he seemed to be
-rubbing his hands together cheerfully and hugging himself from time to
-time, as though his thoughts were of a congratulatory nature.
-
-‘Why, grandfather,’ said the girl, descending into the street as soon
-as she caught sight of this figure—‘why, grandfather, how late you are!’
-
-The old man came jogging on, still in his jerky manner, though faster,
-at the sound of her voice. ‘Ay, ay!’ said he, shaking out his words,
-‘ay, Rachel, my dear. Always late. Don’t you take any notice of that.
-It has been so for years—fifty years; ay, more than fifty.’
-
-‘Fifty years, grandfather, is a long time,’ remarked the girl as they
-passed in at the doorway together, her arms placed protectingly around
-him—‘a very long time.’
-
-‘Ay, Rachel; so it is, my dear,’ continued the old man—‘so it is.’
-
-They entered a small front-room on the ground-floor. An oil-lamp was
-burning on the mantel-shelf; it threw a dim light upon bare and dingy
-walls, upon an old deal table, two wooden seats without backs, and a
-well-worn leathern armchair near the fire. Towards this chair the girl
-now led the old man as one might lead a child. Then she began to lay
-the cloth for the evening meal. She was a pretty, homely-looking girl
-of about eighteen; perhaps a little too pale; and with eyes, though
-large and lustrous, somewhat sad and weary for one so young. But as she
-busied herself about the room preparing the supper, her eyes gradually
-brightened; and her face, growing more animated, gained colour, as
-though to match the better with her red lips.
-
-The old man, crouching in his armchair before the fire, took no notice
-of the girl. His look had become deeply thoughtful, and he seemed to be
-gaining a year in age with every minute that was passing. The wrinkles
-increased, and covered his face like the intersecting lines in cobwebs;
-the white eyebrows drooped thick as a fringe, and meeting over the
-brow, seemed to be helping to hide some secret, vaguely expressed in
-the small gray eyes. His head was bald, except at the sides, where
-scanty locks of snowy white hair hung about his neck. His long lean
-fingers were occasionally spread out upon his knees, though sometimes
-the hands grew restless when an incoherent word escaped his lips. The
-workings of the mind indeed were expressed in the nervously shaped
-figure as much as in the face. There were moments when the fingers
-clawed and clutched perplexedly; then there came into the eyes a look
-of avarice, and the whole form would seem busily engaged in solving
-mysterious problems. There was something almost repellent in the
-workings of the mind and body of this strange old man.
-
-‘Come, grandfather!’ cried the girl, when the meal was presently
-spread. ‘The supper is ready now; and I hope,’ she added, assisting him
-to a place at the table—‘I hope you have a better appetite than usual.’
-She spoke in a cheerful tone, though looking doubtfully the while at
-what she had spread on the board. There was a small piece of cheese,
-part of a loaf, and a stone pitcher filled with water—nothing more.
-
-The old man eyed the food keenly. ‘No, Rachel, no,’ said he; ‘not much
-appetite, my dear.’
-
-The girl sighed, and took her place opposite to the old man. ‘I wish,’
-said she, ‘that I could provide something more tempting. You must be
-almost famished, after all these hours of work. But’——
-
-‘Eh?’
-
-‘But we cannot afford it. Can we?’
-
-‘No, my dear, no,’ said the old man, very shaky in voice; ‘we can
-hardly afford what we have.’
-
-Rachel cut her grandfather a slice of bread.
-
-‘Too much, my dear!’ cried he, with a wave of his hand—‘too much! I’ve
-no appetite at all.’
-
-The girl divided the bread, a painful look passing over her face. The
-old man, although there was a ravenous glance in his eyes strangely
-contradictory to his words, began to eat his bread slowly.
-
-Presently the girl, as though expressing her thought impulsively,
-cried: ‘Grandfather! why are we so poor?’
-
-The old man, who was munching his crust, and staring abstractedly at
-the morsel of cheese, looked up with bewilderment at Rachel.
-
-‘I cannot understand why,’ she continued, forcing out the words—‘why we
-are so very, very poor! I cannot understand why such a wealthy House as
-Armytage and Company, where you have been a clerk for more than fifty
-years, should pay you such a small salary.’
-
-‘Small, Rachel?’ asked her grandfather. ‘Fifteen shillings a week,
-small?’
-
-‘Well, it does seem so to me,’ the girl replied in a modest tone.
-
-The old man rubbed his knees nervously and bent his head, and deep
-furrows gathered on his brow. ‘Small, eh? Fifteen shillings a week,
-small? Why, Rachel, you talk as though you knew nothing of this
-hard-working world. How many clerks are there in this old city who
-would go down on their knees and thank Armytage and Company for fifteen
-shillings a week!’
-
-‘Many—very many,’ said the girl sorrowfully. ‘I know that too well.
-But, grandfather, not one like you—not one who has served a great House
-for more than fifty years.’ She placed her hand upon the long lean hand
-of her grandfather. ‘No,’ she continued; ‘not so long as you have.
-And,’ she added, ‘surely not so faithfully? The House of Armytage and
-Company—I have often heard you say—place every confidence in you as
-their head-cashier. Thousands and thousands of pounds in the course of
-the year pass through your hands: piles of bank-notes, bags and bags of
-bright sovereigns, have been paid by you into the bank’——
-
-‘Ay, ay!’ cried the old man, looking straight before him, as though at
-a vision—‘ay, ay! Bright sovereigns—bags and bags of them—bags and bags
-of bright sovereigns!—ah! how they shine!’ While speaking, he rose from
-his seat, rubbing his hands slowly together and hugging himself, as he
-had done on his way through the dark street. He began to pace the room,
-still staring at the vision, and muttering: ‘Ay, ay! how they shine!’
-
-Rachel, watching him with a wondering expression, said in a low
-voice, as if speaking aloud her thoughts rather than addressing her
-grandfather: ‘What a blessing, if only some of those shining sovereigns
-were ours!’
-
-The old man stopped suddenly, staggering as though he had received a
-blow, and looked fixedly at the girl. ‘What can have put that idea into
-your head?’
-
-Rachel hung her pretty head as she replied: ‘I want them, grandfather,
-for you! I want to see you placed at your ease.’
-
-The old man was silent. His eyes remained for a moment bent upon the
-girl’s face; then he sat down before the fire, and gradually seemed to
-fall back into his thoughtful mood, his face wrinkling more deeply, and
-the nervous movements of his hands answering to the constant plodding
-of his brain.
-
-Rachel now rose from her seat to clear the table, moving silently
-about the room. When she had finished, she seated herself at her
-grandfather’s feet, upon the threadbare patch of carpet before the
-hearth, and raising her eyes to his face, she said: ‘You are not angry
-with me, grandfather, for speaking my mind?’
-
-The old man placed his hand tenderly upon the girl’s head. ‘No, my
-child—no. There is nothing in your words to make me angry. But you
-know little of the world. You think that we are poor. You do not know,
-Rachel, what poverty is. Does,’ he added, with a sudden glance at the
-girl’s face—‘does starvation threaten us?’
-
-‘Why, no, grandfather.’
-
-‘Is there any danger,’ he demanded, ‘that we shall be turned out of our
-old home?’
-
-‘None, grandfather, that I know of.’
-
-‘Then, my dear, do not let us say that we are poor. It sounds as though
-we were in sight of the workhouse; and that, you know,’ he concluded,
-‘that is not true: no, no—not true.’
-
-These words seemed to pacify the girl; and the two remained silent for
-a while. Rachel retained her place at the old man’s feet, her head
-drooping on his knee, his hand laid protectingly around her shoulder.
-
-‘You are tired, Rachel,’ said the old man presently, noticing that her
-eyes were half-closed with sleep. ‘Go, my dear, get to bed. I shall
-find my way to my room soon. Don’t mind me.’
-
-‘Shall you stay up, grandfather?’ asked Rachel, looking at him with
-surprise.
-
-‘A little while, Rachel—a little while.’
-
-The girl lingered, and looked reluctantly around the room. ‘Are you
-sure you would not like me to stay with you?’
-
-‘Quite sure, my dear.—Good-night.’
-
-The girl kissed her grandfather. Deep affection was expressed in her
-whole demeanour as she bent over him to say good-night. Then she placed
-a very ancient-looking candlestick on the table and left the room.
-
-When she was gone, a striking change came over the old man—his face
-became more animated; he was younger in look and manner. Presently, he
-rose from his seat with surprising ease for one so old. He stood for a
-moment in the middle of the room, leaning forward and listening, with
-keenness and cunning expressed in his eyes. There was not a sound. The
-street outside, little frequented even during daylight, was silent.
-The old man lit the candle, blew out the lamp, and went up the old
-staircase noiselessly. On one side of the landing above there were two
-rooms—the first the bedchamber of the grandfather, the second that of
-the girl. Reaching the landing, he entered his room and closed the door
-very cautiously, and always listening.
-
-The room was grotesquely furnished. In one corner was a large bed, with
-four black, bare, oaken posts, with spikes, nearly touching the low
-ceiling. The bed-coverings were neat and clean; and beside the bed was
-a strip of carpet. But here all appearance of comfort began and ended.
-The contrast gave to the rest of the room a dreary aspect: the sombre
-walls, the patched-up window-panes, the uneven floor, suggested nothing
-beyond abject poverty and decay.
-
-Still in a listening attitude, and frequently glancing keenly about,
-as though the fear of being taken by surprise amounted almost to
-terror, the old man placed the candle on the drawers, and taking a
-bunch of keys from his pocket, unlocked a cupboard in the wall and took
-out sundry articles. Firstly, a thick long overcoat, into which he
-disappeared, leaving only his head visible; secondly, a large fur-cap,
-which he drew down to his eyebrows and over his ears; thirdly, he
-brought forth a dark-lantern; this he carefully trimmed, lighted, and
-closed. These strange proceedings completed, he threw the bedclothes,
-with evident intention, into some disorder, put out the candle, and
-left the room. For a moment he stood on the landing, listening at his
-grand-daughter’s half-open door. It was dark within her room, and a
-soft regular breathing, as from one who sleeps, fell upon the old
-man’s ear. Apparently satisfied, he nodded his head slowly; and then
-he began to descend the dark staircase. Step by step he crept down,
-casting at intervals a trembling ray of light before him from the
-lantern which he held in his shaky hand. When he reached the passage,
-he opened the front-door and went into the night, closing the portal
-without a sound. As he had come, when his grand-daughter stood waiting
-for him on the doorstep, so he went, hugging himself, and moving with
-a jerky trot along the silent, lonely way, under the dim lamps fixed
-in the walls over his head. So he went, like a mysterious, restless
-shadow. Where? The old city clocks are striking midnight; they awaken
-echoes in tranquil courts and alleys; their droning tones die out, and
-break forth again upon the night, as though demanding in their deep
-monotonous voices—‘Where?’
-
- * * * * *
-
-When Rachel arose at an early hour on the following morning, her pretty
-face expressed no surprise when she found that her grandfather was up
-and away without awakening her. The same thing had occurred so often
-in her young life, that although she felt regret at not seeing him at
-the breakfast-table, she took for granted that the important affairs
-of the great firm of Armytage and Company had called him away to the
-counting-house; so she made herself as happy and contented as might
-be under the circumstances. She lit the fire, breakfasted, and then
-busied herself about the old house until towards noon, when she sat
-down by the window in the sitting-room with her work, looking out upon
-the dismal row. A dismal place, even upon a bright autumn morning.
-The row faced a plot of waste ground. On this plot there had once
-stood, in all probability, a row of houses similar to the row in which
-Rachel and her grandfather lived; but nothing now remained except the
-foundations of houses, filled with rubbish of every description in the
-midst of broken bricks. In the centre of the place there was planted a
-wooden beam with a crossbar, like a gibbet, from which was suspended a
-lantern, broken and covered with dust. Whether this lantern had ever
-been lighted, may be doubtful; but that some one had placed it there
-with the intention of warning people who had some regard for their
-shins against trespassing after dark, and had afterwards forgotten to
-light it, is the probable explanation of the matter. Be this as it may,
-Rachel sat regarding this scarecrow-looking lamp dreamily, as she had
-often done, without being conscious that it was there, with the piles
-of dark houses in the background, when the figure and, more especially,
-the handsome face of a young man on the opposite side of the street,
-somehow got in front of the lantern and blotted it out.
-
-As Rachel’s eyes met the eyes of the young man, a smile of recognition
-crossed the girl’s face. She threw open the window. ‘Good-morning, Mr
-Tiltcroft.’
-
-To which the young man answered, as he stepped across the road:
-‘Good-morning, Miss Rachel.’
-
-‘Have you come from the counting-house?’
-
-‘Yes; I’m on my “rounds,” you know, as usual,’ replied the young man;
-‘and happening by mere accident to be passing this way on matters of
-business for Armytage and Company, I thought it would scarcely be
-polite to go by the house of Silas Monk without inquiring after the
-health of Miss Monk, his grand-daughter.’
-
-‘You are very kind. Won’t you come in?’
-
-The young man willingly assented. The girl opened the front-door, and
-they went in together, and sat down side by side near the fire.
-
-‘You have always been such a kind friend to my grandfather and to me,
-Walter,’ said the girl, ‘that although it may seem strange to you that
-I should put the question I am going to ask, still I am sure you will
-believe I have a good reason for doing so. Tell me, if you can, why
-it is that my grandfather, who has served the House of Armytage and
-Company so many years—so many, many years,’ she repeated with emphasis,
-‘and so faithfully too, should receive so paltry a salary? Can you
-explain it?’
-
-The young man looked up with some surprise expressed in his frank eyes.
-‘Paltry, Rachel?’ asked he. ‘I call it princely!’
-
-A look of disappointment, even of regret, came into the girl’s face.
-‘That is what grandfather says. He talks as though he thought it
-princely too. He always reminds me, when I mention the subject, that
-there are hundreds of poor clerks in this old city of London who would
-be only too glad if they could make sure of a like remuneration.’
-
-‘So _I_ should think,’ cried the young man, laughing. ‘Why, Rachel, if
-I had a salary half as large as your grandfather, I’d ask you to marry
-me to-morrow!’
-
-‘Be serious, please.’
-
-‘So I am serious! What astonishes me is, that Silas Monk, with the fine
-salary—in my opinion, very fine salary—which he draws from Armytage
-and Company, should live in a back street like this. It’s downright
-incomprehensible!’
-
-‘What can you mean?’ The girl uttered the words in a hurried voice, as
-though a sudden thought had crossed her mind. She placed her hand upon
-Walter’s arm and said: ‘Don’t speak!’
-
-What troubled her was the discovery that her grandfather had deceived
-her. There was no truth in what he had led her to believe about their
-intense poverty. They were perhaps rich, and had been for years, while
-she had remained in ignorance of the fact. What was his object in
-concealing this from her? She could not doubt that it was a good one.
-He knew the world and all the horrors of poverty; how often he had
-spoken of that! He wished to leave her in a position of independence;
-and doubtless he had the intention of telling her this secret as an
-agreeable surprise.
-
-‘Walter,’ said she, looking up into the youth’s face after this pause,
-‘you must think me strangely discontented to speak as I have just done
-of Armytage and Company. I value my grandfather’s services to the firm
-perhaps far too high. But he was a clerk in the House before the oldest
-living partner was born. No salary, not even the offer of a share in
-the business, would seem to me more than he merits.’
-
-‘Exactly what we all say in the office,’ replied Walter. ‘But then, you
-know, five hundred a year is not so bad. I shall think myself lucky if
-I ever get within two hundred of it—I shall indeed.’
-
-Could she be dreaming? Five hundred pounds a year! Ever since her
-earliest childhood, she had implicitly believed that fifteen shillings
-a week was the amount her grandfather earned—not a farthing more.
-
-Rachel rose from her seat and went to the window. Her perplexity was
-too great to allow her, without betraying it, to utter a word. Yet
-she wished to speak; she wanted to question Walter in a hundred ways.
-There were perhaps other mysteries—at least so she began to think—which
-he might assist her to solve. Calming herself as best she could, she
-turned to him, and said: ‘Can you stay a moment longer? There is
-something I should like to know about my grandfather.’
-
-‘There are many things, Rachel, that I should like to know,’ said the
-young man, laughing. ‘Many things that most of us at the office would
-like to know about the dear, eccentric, old fellow!—Well, Rachel, what
-is it?’
-
-The girl, hesitating a moment, replied: ‘One thing puzzles me
-greatly—why is grandfather kept so very late every evening at the
-office?’
-
-Walter Tiltcroft looked round quickly. ‘What do you call late, Rachel?’
-
-‘Ten o’clock, eleven, sometimes midnight.’
-
-‘No one remains after six.’
-
-‘No one?’ asked the girl—‘not even grandfather?’
-
-‘That,’ replied the young man, ‘no one knows. He is always the last. He
-locks up the place. He is First Lord of the Treasury. He looks after
-the cash: he stays to see that all is safe in the strong-room. That has
-been his office for years. He is, some of them think, getting too old
-for the post. But that’s a matter for the partners to settle. He is
-still hale and hearty. There is, therefore, no reason why he should be
-superseded—at least, none that I can see.’
-
-‘But surely, Walter, the mere matter of locking up the strong-room
-cannot occupy grandfather from six o’clock until even ten, much, less
-until midnight.’
-
-‘That’s the mystery,’ said the young man thoughtfully.
-
-Rachel clasped her hands and turned her pale face towards Walter. ‘What
-you tell me, makes me very anxious,’ said she. ‘Indeed, I know not why,
-but I begin to be seriously alarmed. What can all this mean?’
-
-‘What, indeed? That’s the mystery,’ repeated the young man, in a still
-more meditative tone.
-
-‘Then again, Walter, I cannot understand why grandfather leaves home
-for the counting-house, as he tells me, at five o’clock in the morning.
-Can that be necessary?’
-
-‘Oh, no, no! The hours are from nine till six,’ cried Walter. ‘But at
-what hour Silas Monk arrives, no one knows, or ever did know. We always
-find him seated at his desk in the morning when we come, just as we
-leave him there when we go in the evening.—Do you know, Rachel,’ added
-Walter, ‘if I was ignorant of the fact that he had his home and this
-little housekeeper, I should be disposed to agree with the fellows at
-the office who declare Silas Monk haunts the counting-house all night
-long.’
-
-Rachel started. These words, uttered by the young man half in jest,
-brought thoughts into the girl’s head which had never entered there
-before.
-
-‘Good-bye, Rachel,’ said Walter. ‘Armytage and Company will be
-wondering what has become of me.’
-
-The lovers went together to the front-door, where Walter hastily took
-his leave. He looked back, however, more than once, as he went down the
-street, and saw Rachel standing on the doorstep watching him. So, when
-he reached the corner, he waved his hand to her, and then plunged into
-the busy thoroughfare.
-
-
-
-
-SEALS AND SEAL-HUNTING IN SHETLAND.
-
-BY A SHETLANDER.
-
-
-IN TWO PARTS.—PART I.
-
-There are but two species of seal permanently resident on our
-coasts—the Common Seal (_Phoca vitulina_) and the Great Seal (_Phoca
-barbata_). The Greenland seal has occasionally been seen in Shetland,
-and even shot; but these were only stragglers, not improbably floated
-far southward on small icebergs or floes of ice from the Arctic
-regions. The two species named, the common and the great seal, are
-very much alike in appearance, and not easily distinguished by a
-casual observer; but a Shetlander who has frequent, if not constant,
-opportunities of seeing them, is never at a loss to recognise them.
-In many respects, especially in their habits, they are distinguished
-by well-marked characteristics. The common seal is called in
-Shetland _Tang-fish_—that is, shore or bay seal; and the great
-seal is vernacularly the _Haff-fish_, or ocean seal. The male and
-female of both species are distinguished by the prefix ‘Bull’ and
-‘She’—_Bull-fish_, _She-fish_.
-
-The common seal is gregarious, and appears to be polygamous. In herds
-of from ten to a hundred they frequent the small uninhabited islands,
-holms, and skerries, where the tideways are strong, but the ocean
-swell not great; and they do not seem to stray far from such favourite
-haunts, resting for several hours each day from the commencement of the
-ebb-tide on small outlying rocks, or stony beaches on the lee-side of
-the little islets, but almost always in such a position as to command a
-pretty extensive view, in case of surprise. Their food consists chiefly
-of piltocks and sillocks—vernacular for the young of the saithe or
-of the coal-fish—small cod, flounders, and crustacea. In June, they
-bring forth their young, never more than one at a birth, and in the
-same season, on the low flat rocks close to the sea, and immediately
-lead them to the water, where they seem at once perfectly at home,
-disporting themselves amongst the waves with ease and grace equal to
-their seniors. For some time previous to this, the sexes separate into
-different herds; and during the two succeeding months in which they
-suckle their young, the females affect a somewhat solitary life. After
-that, they again become indiscriminately gregarious. The adult common
-seal sometimes attains the size of six feet, measured from the point of
-the nose to the end of the tail. It is obviously a mistake to measure
-to the end of the hind flippers, as is sometimes done. The males
-are considerably larger than the females, but I have never seen one
-exceeding six feet.
-
-On the other hand, the haff-fish grows sometimes to eight or nine
-feet, and such venerable ocean patriarchs will weigh from six to seven
-hundredweight. This species is much less numerous than the tang-fish.
-They appear to be monogamous, and are not gregarious, being commonly
-met with in pairs. They frequent the wildest and most exposed of the
-outlying rocks and skerries along the coast where there is free and
-immediate access to the ocean, and are very seldom seen in the bays
-or amongst the islands, which are the haunts of their less robust
-congeners. They seem to luxuriate in the roughest sea, and delight
-to sport in the broken water and foam at the foot of steep rocks and
-precipices when the waves are dashing against them. They bring forth
-their young in caves, open to the sea—called in Shetland _hellyers_.
-These hellyers are natural tunnels in the lofty precipices, running
-or winding inwards, sometimes two hundred yards, into darkness, and
-generally terminating in a stony or pebbly beach. Some of these
-hellyers can be entered by a small boat, but only when the sea is
-perfectly smooth; others are too narrow for such a mode of access; and
-the openings to others are entirely under water.
-
-It is in these wild and for the most part safe retreats that the
-female haff-fish, about the end of September or beginning of October,
-brings forth her young; and here she nurses it for about six weeks,
-all the time carefully and affectionately attended by her lord and
-master. Not till the baby haff-fish is nearly two months old does it
-take to the water. If thrown in at an earlier age, it is as awkward
-as a pup or kitten in similar circumstances, and does not seem to
-have the power of diving. In these respects, the two species differ
-markedly. Nor is the haff-fish so often seen basking on the rocks; and
-when he does take a rest on shore, he does not appear to mind what is
-the state of the tide or wind. But probably his usual and favourite
-resting and sleeping place is his hellyer, where he will feel secure
-from intrusion. His principal food is cod, ling, saithe, halibut, and
-conger-eel. Both species are exceedingly voracious, but can endure a
-very long abstinence. A tame one we once had never tasted food for
-three weeks before he died. They always feed in the water, never on
-land, tearing large pieces off their fishy prey, and swallowing it
-without almost any mastication. They do not migrate, but remain in the
-vicinity of their breeding-places throughout the year. Formerly, seals’
-flesh used to be eaten by the natives of Shetland, but not now. I have
-eaten a part of a seal’s heart, and found it by no means unpalatable.
-It was offered to me as a special delicacy by an old gentleman who
-could not have been induced to taste a crab or lobster. By-the-bye, why
-is it Shetlanders won’t eat these delicious crustacea? I once put the
-question to an old fisherman, and his reply was: ‘They’re unkirsn—they
-eat the human,’ meaning the dead bodies of sailors and fishermen.
-(Unkirsn is the vernacular for unclean, in the sense of being unfit for
-food.)
-
-I believe seals’ flesh is still sometimes salted and eaten by the
-Faroese and Icelanders; but if one may judge from the very strong
-coal-tarry smell of the carcass, it cannot be particularly savoury.
-It is different, however, with whale-flesh, that of the bottlenose at
-least. Shetlanders don’t eat it; but the Faroese do, and esteem it
-highly. I remember, many years ago, being in Thorshavn shortly after a
-shoal of about twelve hundred bottlenoses had been driven ashore, and
-the houses of the little town were all covered with long festoons of
-whale-flesh hung up to dry and harden in the sun. The natives call it
-_grind_, and regard it as excellent, palatable, and nutritious food. I
-ate some of it. It looked and tasted very much like good coarse-grained
-beef, and had no unpleasant, fishy, or blubbery flavour.
-
-Seal-hunting is splendid sport—superior, I confidently affirm, to
-every other species of sport in this country at least, not excepting
-deer-stalking and fox-hunting. The game is a noble animal, large,
-powerful, exceedingly sagacious, intensely keen of sight and hearing,
-suspicious, shy, and wary. You have to seek him amid the wildest and
-grandest scenery, where you will sometimes encounter danger of various
-kinds. To be a successful seal-hunter you must be acquainted with the
-habits of the animal. You must be cool and cautious, yet prompt and
-fertile in expedients, a good stalker, a good boatman, and a good
-cragsman; and you must be at once a quick and a steady shot. It is not
-enough to strike a seal; you must shoot him with a bullet through the
-brain, and thus kill him instantly, or you will in all probability
-never see him again. He may be lying basking on a rock within forty
-yards of you; you may put a bullet through his body; he plunges into
-the sea and disappears. But a seal’s head is not a large object at any
-considerable distance; and if he is swimming, you have probably only
-a part of his head in view. If you are in a boat, your stance is more
-or less unsteady, however smooth the sea may be. Then, however close
-he may be to you, it is needless to fire, if, as is usually the case,
-he is looking at you; for he is quite as expert as most of the diving
-sea-birds in ‘diving on the fire,’ or rather throwing his head to a
-side with a sudden spring and splash. Further, if you kill him in the
-water, the chances are at least equal that he instantly sinks, fathoms
-deep, amongst great rocks covered with seaweed, where dredging is out
-of the question; and other expedients that may be tried, equally, in
-nine cases out of ten, fail. At other times, however, a seal shot in
-the water will float like a buoy. It is not very clear why one seal
-should float and another sink. It is certainly not referable to the
-condition of the animal. Fat seals sink as readily as lean ones; and
-lean seals float as readily as fat ones. Probably they float or sink
-according as their lungs are or are not inflated with air at the moment
-they receive their death-wound.
-
-Besides a thoroughly trustworthy weapon, the seal-hunter requires
-to provide himself with a ‘waterglass,’ a ‘clam,’ and a stout rod
-twelve to twenty feet long, with a ling-hook firmly lashed to the
-end of it, making a sort of gaff. These are for use in the event of
-a seal sinking. The waterglass is simply a box or tub with a pane
-of glass for its bottom. Placed on the surface of the water, it
-obviates the disturbing effect of the ripple. Looking through it with
-a great-coat or piece of cloth thrown over the head after the manner
-of photographers, you can see down as far as sixty feet if the water
-is pretty clear; and even to a hundred feet or thereby if it is very
-clear. The ‘clam’ is an enormous species of forceps, with jaws of from
-two to three feet width when open. Two stout lines are attached—one for
-lowering the clam with open jaws; the other for closing the blades over
-a dead seal that, by help of the waterglass, has been discovered lying
-at the bottom, and hauling him to the surface. Many a seal is secured
-in this way, which, but for these simple appliances, would inevitably
-be lost. The long-handled gaff is used for raising a seal that may have
-sunk in very shallow water where the rod can reach him, and sometimes
-is found very useful when he is just beginning to sink, if you have
-shot him from your boat. For a few seconds after being shot, he usually
-floats. Instantly, you pull up to him, but find him sinking slowly—only
-as yet, however, a foot or two beneath the surface. You at once and
-easily gaff him, and then he is safe enough.
-
-The largest haff-fish I ever shot I lost from not having a seal-gaff
-in the boat. I was not seal-hunting, but shooting sea-fowl along the
-lofty precipices on the east side of Burrafirth, in the island of Unst.
-Suddenly a big haff-fish bobbed up close to the boat, but instantly
-disappeared with a tremendous splash. Seals are very inquisitive
-animals; and as he had not had time to gratify his curiosity, I thought
-it very likely he might show face again. We always carried two or three
-bullets in our pocket, to be prepared for such chances. One of these
-I quickly wrapped round in paper and rammed home above the shot, with
-which my fowling-piece—a long, single-barrelled American duck-gun—was
-charged. Again selkie broke the surface of the water, this time at a
-more respectful distance, but still within easy range. After taking a
-good look at the boat, and at me doubtless, who just then covered him
-with the sights, he turned fairly round and gave a contemptuous sniff
-of his nose skywards, preparatory to making off. Fatal and unusual
-hardihood; it cost him his life, for just then I pulled the trigger,
-and sent the bullet through his head. I was in the bows of the boat.
-‘Pull men, pull hard!’ I shouted. As we came up to him, I saw he was
-beginning to sink. A rod there was in the boat, but it had no hook at
-the end. I seized it, and stretching forward, got it under him, and
-raised him close to the surface. I tried to keep him up, but he slipped
-and slipped several times, and at last sank. I could have secured
-him easily enough, had there been a hook on the end of the rod. The
-water was very deep, and not clear; and although I spent that evening
-and the next day searching for him with the usual appliances, I was
-unsuccessful. All these conditions, contingencies, and uncertainties
-make the sport of seal-hunting surpassingly exciting and captivating.
-
-
-
-
-OVER-EDUCATING CHILDREN.
-
-
-A singular question has arisen within the last few months in reference
-to the education of young children in our public and National Schools,
-and that is the somewhat startling query: Is not the present system of
-‘cramming’ very young children not only inexpedient, but dangerous to
-brain and life, in trying to force too much ‘book-learning’ into small
-minds ill fitted for its reception? Many thoughtful people have of
-late given much attention to this interesting question; but the whole
-subject has at last been forced upon the notice of the public in a
-manner as tragic as it was unexpected. Two young children have lately
-suffered miserable deaths in consequence of overwork, in other words,
-over-education. One of these children, in the delirium of brain-fever,
-continually cried out, with every expression of pain and distress:
-‘I can’t do it—I can’t do it!’ alluding, of course, to the difficult
-sum or long lesson which had been given her; and so the poor little
-overtaxed brain gave way, fever set in, and death speedily put an end
-to her sufferings.
-
-Now this is very sad, and surely need not, and ought not, to be even
-possible. To put a higher and better class of education than was
-meted out to our forefathers within the reach of all, is one of the
-grandest systems of the present enlightened age—a system to which
-no sane person could possibly object. But even this blessing may be
-overdone, through the indiscreet zeal of teachers, until it becomes
-a curse, instead of what it really ought to be, a blessing. The body
-of man, acted on by the unerring laws of Nature, plainly rebels
-against all overdosing, whether it be in food, drink, exercise, heat
-or cold, and clearly indicates a limit—‘Thus far, and no farther.’ So
-it is with the brain. Children are not all constituted alike, and it
-is certain that all should not be treated in the same manner in the
-training either of their bodies or their minds. One boy will develop
-great muscular strength, and distinguish himself in athletic games
-and gymnasium practice. But will it be pretended because A and B can
-do this to their advantage, that C and D, who do _not_ possess the
-physical requisites, should also be compelled to go through the same
-course? What must be the consequence? An utter breakdown. So is it with
-the mental organisation; a point which seems to be the last thing that
-many teachers take the trouble to study, or even to think of. All the
-children who attend the school—to use a homely but truthful saying—must
-be ‘tarred with the same brush,’ no matter what their capacity or
-ability. The weak sensitive mind, lacking both ready intelligence and
-quick perception, is to be ‘crammed’ and overdosed with learning for
-the reception of which it is unfitted; whilst no allowance is made for
-want of ability. And all this in obedience to the Revised Code of the
-Education Department, the principles of which have been denounced as
-not seldom producing more evil than good, and serving only to degrade
-the higher aims of true education. The consequences of this system,
-when it is overdone, are that the mind gives way, and brain-fever and
-death are the painful results. As far as the public have heard as yet,
-only two deaths of children have been recorded as having been produced
-by over-pressure of the brain in schools; but it is not improbable that
-if two have occurred in this way, that these are by no means all. It
-is also possible that a child may sicken and die from this overwork
-without its parents at all suspecting the real cause.
-
-The question is now fairly before the public; and a large and
-influential meeting was held on the 27th of March last in Exeter Hall,
-under the presidency of the Earl of Shaftesbury, ‘to protest against
-the existing over-pressure in elementary schools.’ The most remarkable
-resolution was moved by Dr Forbes Winslow, a gentleman who, from his
-great professional experience, was well able to give a fair opinion on
-a question of brain-work and brain-pressure. This resolution was to
-the effect: ‘That, in the opinion of this meeting, a serious amount of
-over-pressure, injurious to the health and education of the people,
-exists in the public elementary schools of the country, and demands
-the continued and serious attention of Her Majesty’s government.’ The
-resolution then goes on to condemn the Revised Code, adding, that
-‘if the recent changes even alleviate, they will not remove, this
-over-pressure.’
-
-Other resolutions passed at this meeting also referred to the
-excessive brain-pressure exercised in schools, and deprecated the
-Code generally, especially the inelastic conditions under which the
-Education grant is administered, the excessive demands of the Code
-itself, and the defects of inspection. The system of ‘classification’
-was also severely condemned by one speaker, who added these remarkable
-words: ‘Ingenious cruelty could not have provided a more ruinous
-system than that of payment by results. All the children were ground
-upon the same grindstone, without reference to their capacity; and
-accordingly as they were ground up or ground down to the very same
-level, so was the percentage of public money handed over.’ It was also
-insisted that teachers should classify according to ability, and not
-merely according to age; a wise and salutary suggestion, which, if
-carried out, would undoubtedly save much useless over brain-work, for
-it would follow that, where a child was found to be of a low order of
-intellect, cramming and over-pressure would be futile, and therefore
-not attempted, as being simply loss of time. But where children are
-placed according to age only in one particular class, it follows that
-all constituting that class—dull or bright—are to be crammed exactly
-alike, whether they can bear it or not, and the consequence must be
-that whilst the intelligent advance rapidly, the stupid break down
-entirely. Such a system, added to the principle of payment by results,
-can be productive of nothing but disaster.
-
-The question has recently been before both Houses of Parliament; but
-Mr Stanley Leighton unfortunately lost his motion by a majority of
-forty-nine. His motion was to the effect, that children under seven
-should not be presented for examination—that greater liberty should be
-given to teachers to classify according to abilities and acquirements,
-and not age only—and that a large share of the grant should depend on
-attendance, and a smaller upon individual examinations. Mr Leighton
-concluded by saying that ‘the existing over-pressure was killing not
-only children, but teachers as well.’
-
-As this important subject has at length been fairly ventilated, it will
-probably not be allowed to drop until something has been attempted to
-modify and re-arrange much that now exists in the objectionable Revised
-Code. Nothing, however, will accomplish this much-desired result but
-agitation and pressure in the right quarters, and public opinion must
-make itself both heard and felt.
-
-
-
-
-GAS COOKING-STOVES.
-
-BY AN ANALYTICAL CHEMIST.
-
-
-A short time ago, it was feared that the electric light would quickly
-and entirely supersede gas as an illuminating agent; and whether it
-eventually did so or not, there was no doubt that in the future it
-would prove a formidable rival. Those who were most interested in
-gas, foreseeing the inevitable change, whilst improving the positions
-they occupied so prominently and so long, sought new fields for the
-application of gas, in which they might hold their own, and probably
-more than their own, against the conquering rival. The application of
-gas to cooking purposes was one of the results, and, as experience has
-since proved, was a very useful and beneficial one. The writer has
-had a gas cooking-stove for some time in his possession, and offers,
-therefore, for the benefit of others the results of personal experience.
-
-The gas-flame used in gas cooking-stoves differs essentially from the
-ordinary gas-flame used for lighting purposes. It is necessary to bear
-this in mind, for some persons object to gas-cooking because they are
-only acquainted with gas in the form used for illumination, in which
-it is capable of giving off so much soot and other objectionable
-products of combustion. In the gas cooking-flame the combustion is
-more perfect, and consequently the temperature is very much higher, so
-that by this simple change an extraordinary saving of gas is effected,
-while the objectionable products before mentioned are almost entirely
-eliminated. To effect this change, all that is necessary is to mix the
-gas with a sufficient quantity of air before it reaches the flame, and
-to subdivide the flame itself. This mixture of gas and air has been
-for a long period in use for heating purposes in the laboratory of the
-chemist under the form of the Bunsen burner, and also in the blowpipe,
-and is almost indispensable to him.
-
-The advantages which gas possesses over coal and peat for cooking
-purposes may be summed up as follow: (1) It is always ready, and can be
-turned on and off in a moment; (2) It is very clean, deposits no soot
-if properly lighted; (3) The heat can be regulated to the requirements
-of the occasion; (4) It requires no attention; (5) It is cheap and
-economical; (6) It preserves the flavour of meat; and (7) It saves time
-and labour.
-
-Any person who considers the amount of labour and time expended in
-connection with ordinary fires—the comparative difficulty of lighting
-them—the frequent attention necessary to maintain them, and the waste
-of fuel when not in use—the amount of soot they discharge about the
-compartment, and deposit, more particularly in open stoves, on the
-utensils used in cooking—the absence of any means by which the heat
-can be properly regulated—cannot fail to be convinced that coal for
-cooking purposes has a great rival in gas. That gas is economical
-cannot for a moment be disputed, even when the question of labour
-is not included. Of course the comparison will vary in different
-localities; but wherever the price of gas is in proportion to the price
-of coal—that is to say, wherever no exceptionally high price is charged
-for the cost of manufacturing gas—the cost of cooking by the latter
-will compare favourably with that of coal. A few figures taken from
-actual trial will make this clear. A ton of Wallsend coals in London
-costs twenty-six shillings, and will feed a small kitchen stove for two
-months; making the charge thirteen shillings a month. To this must be
-added one shilling a month for firewood, which costs in London three
-shillings and sixpence per hundred bundles. This amounts to fourteen
-shillings a month. The cost of gas for doing the same amount of cooking
-amounts, at three shillings per thousand cubic feet, to, say, fourpence
-a day, or ten shillings a month; to which eightpence a month for
-rent of gas-stove has to be added. This amounts to ten shillings and
-eightpence; making the saving per month upwards of three shillings.
-Where stoves can be had for hire from the Gas Companies—and they
-can now be had from most Companies—hiring is cheaper than purchase.
-Moreover, the Company keep them in repair without extra cost.
-
-The advantages of gas are felt chiefly in summer, when coal-fires are
-not only not required for heating purposes, but when kept lighted all
-day, are positively objectionable; and to the workers in the kitchen
-almost intolerable. The atmosphere of a kitchen where gas is used at
-this season contrasts strongly in temperature with that of one in which
-coal is burned. When coal-fires are kept up only for the preparation of
-each meal, the cost of relighting is somewhat considerable.
-
-There are many objections offered to the use of gas for cooking. It
-is very commonly said that an offensive smell is imparted to the
-victuals cooked by gas—that gas is really more costly in the end—and
-that the statements made by gas and gas-stove manufacturers in respect
-to working cost are lower than can be obtained in practice. If the
-stove be a good one, the victuals are generally better cooked than
-by the ordinary method; there is no objectionable smell, and no
-objectionable taste. The flavour of meat roasted or baked in a good
-stove is superior, because it can be done quickly, and is not allowed
-to toughen, as frequently happens before a low kitchen fire. That gas
-is not more costly than coals is proved by the figures given above.
-
-We will conclude by saying a few words about stoves. It should be seen
-that means are provided for supplying a sufficient quantity of air for
-admixture with the gas before it reaches the flame. The air is admitted
-through a number of holes or slits opening into the tube through which
-the gas passes, and in rushing forward under pressure the gas draws the
-air with it into the flame. To realise a maximum amount of heat out
-of a given quantity of gas, it is necessary to add to it a definite
-proportion of air. When the gas rushes rapidly towards the flame, a
-greater quantity of air is drawn in through the orifices provided for
-that purpose than when the gas passes more slowly. This to a certain
-extent regulates the supply of air; but it sometimes happens that too
-much or too little air is admitted. A small quantity of gas passing
-through the pipe cannot exercise the force necessary to create a
-partial vacuum into which the air would be drawn, and as a consequence,
-the heat derived from the flame is far below what might be expected—in
-short, it ceases wholly or partially to be a blue flame, and becomes
-a luminous and comparatively cold, or perhaps a smoky one. The other
-provision is made for the proper control of the supply of air; and
-since an excess is the lesser of the two evils, it is wiser to adopt
-the precaution of having holes or slits in the pipe large enough to
-admit a sufficient quantity of air. The larger the oven or roaster, the
-more convenient it will be. This oven should be provided with movable
-‘grids’ or trays, and should have one metal tray for the reflection of
-heat, by which the tops of pies, &c., may be browned; and also with
-a ventilator, to allow the gases to escape. A gas-stove with a small
-oven, or with one divided into a number of parts without the means of
-being enlarged, will be found very inconvenient if it is required to
-roast a large joint.
-
-
-
-
-A BUTTERFLY IN THE CITY.
-
-
- Fair creature of a few short sunny hours,
- Sweet guileless fay,
- Whence flittest thou, from what bright world of flowers,
- This summer day?
-
- What quiet Eden of melodious song,
- What wild retreat,
- Desertest thou for this impatient throng,
- This crowded street?
-
- Why didst thou quit thy comrades of the grove
- And meadows green?
- What Fate untoward urges thee to rove
- Through this strange scene?
-
- Have nectared roses lost their power to gain
- Thy fond caress?
- Do woodbine blooms, with lofty scorn, disdain
- Thy loveliness?
-
- Oh, hie thee to the fragrant country air
- And liberty!
- The city is the home of toil and care—
- No place for thee!
-
- EDWIN C. SMALES.
-
- * * * * *
-
-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 357: boycoted to boycotted—“picketed and boycotted”.]
-
-*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR
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