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diff --git a/old/65795-h/65795-h.htm b/old/65795-h/65795-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index c60bed3..0000000 --- a/old/65795-h/65795-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3127 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - Chambers’s Journal, by Various—A Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -.ph3{ - text-align: center; - font-size: large; - font-weight: bold; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } -hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%;} - - -.header {text-align: center; margin-top: 0;} -.header p {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} -.header .floatl {float: left;} -.header .floatr {float: right;} -.header .floatc {padding-top: .5em;} - -@media handheld -{ -.header {text-align: center; margin-top: 0;} -.header p {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} -.header .floatl {float: left;} -.header .floatr {float: right;} -.header .floatc {padding-top: .5em;} -} - - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; -} /* page numbers */ - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -/* Images */ - -img { - max-width: 100%; - height: auto; -} -img.w100 {width: 100%;} - - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -/* Poetry */ -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} -.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} -/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry in browsers */ - .poetry {display: inline-block;} -.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} -.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} -/* large inline blocks don't split well on paged devices */ -@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } -.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block;} - -/* Poetry indents */ -.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} -.poetry .indent10 {text-indent: 2em;} -.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} -.poetry .indent6 {text-indent: 0em;} - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 24, Vol. I, June 14, 1884, by Various</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 24, Vol. I, June 14, 1884</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Various</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 8, 2021 [eBook #65795]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 24, VOL. I, JUNE 14, 1884 ***</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">{369}</span></p> - -<h1>CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL<br /> -OF<br /> -POPULAR<br /> -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.</h1> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<p class='center'> - -<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> - -<a href="#ST_MARGUERITE_AND_ST_HONORAT">ST MARGUERITE AND ST HONORÂT.</a><br /> -<a href="#BY_MEAD_AND_STREAM">BY MEAD AND STREAM.</a><br /> -<a href="#CURIOSITIES_OF_THE_MICROPHONE">CURIOSITIES OF THE MICROPHONE.</a><br /> -<a href="#SILAS_MONK">SILAS MONK.</a><br /> -<a href="#FAMILIAR_SKETCHES_OF_ENGLISH_LAW">FAMILIAR SKETCHES OF ENGLISH LAW.</a><br /> -<a href="#IN_A_FURNITURE_SALEROOM">IN A FURNITURE SALEROOM.</a><br /> -<a href="#SURGICAL_SCRAPS">SURGICAL SCRAPS.</a><br /> -<a href="#IN_THE_RHINE_WOODS">IN THE RHINE WOODS.</a><br /> - -<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> - -</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter w100" id="header" style="max-width: 43.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/header.jpg" alt="Chambers’s Journal of Popular Literature, Science, -and Art. Fifth Series. Established by William and Robert Chambers, 1832. Conducted by R. Chambers (Secundus)." /> -</div> - - -<hr class="full" /> -<div class="center"> -<div class="header"> -<p class="floatl"><span class="smcap">No. 24.—Vol. I.</span></p> -<p class="floatr"><span class="smcap">Price</span> 1½<em>d.</em></p> -<p class="floatc">SATURDAY, JUNE 14, 1884.</p> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="full" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ST_MARGUERITE_AND_ST_HONORAT">ST MARGUERITE AND ST HONORÂT.</h2> -</div> -<p class="ph3">THE HOLY ISLES OF THE MEDITERRANEAN.</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">A melancholy</span> interest is lent just now to the -name of St Marguerite by the fact that the last -public act of the lamented Duke of Albany was -to sign a petition protesting against the sale of -that island. The thrilling tale of ‘the man with -the iron mask,’ which used to be a favourite in -school-books, has since our childish days enveloped -the little island for us in a halo of mystery and -awe. St Marguerite and its companion island -of St Honorât lie, like twin gems of ocean, in -the Golfe de Frejus, and form a romantic point -in the seaward view from Cannes; and among all -the excursions which can be made from that -delightful centre, none is more charming than -a sail to the islands. Tradition tells us that they -were first colonised by a noble young knight -from the land of the Gauls, who in the early -ages of Christianity embraced its tenets, and -with a chosen band of friends, sought a retreat -from the sinful world in this distant islet. He -had one sister, the fair Marguerite, who loved -him as her very life, and who was so inconsolable -for his loss, that she followed him to his retreat -in the southern sea. As Honorât and his brother-ascetics -had vowed themselves to solitude, he -could not allow his sister to take up her abode -with him; but in compliance with her urgent -desires, found a home for her in the neighbouring -island, now known by her name of Marguerite. -Yet this was only granted on the condition that -he should never see her but when the almond -tree should blossom. The time of waiting was -very dreary to the lonely Marguerite, and with -sighings and tears she assailed all the saints, till -the almond tree miraculously blossomed once a -month, and her poor heart was made glad by the -sight of her beloved brother!</p> - -<p>A little coasting-steamer plies daily between -Cannes and the islands; and passengers land at -a little pier near the fortress, which is built on -steep cliffs at the eastern extremity of the island. -Like the old castles of Edinburgh and Stirling, -it is in itself no very imposing building, and -owes its strength and its romantic air solely to -the rocky cliffs on which it is perched, and to -the interesting associations which cluster around -it.</p> - -<p>It was a lovely day in April, like one of our -most delicious midsummer days, that we went -with some French friends to visit the islands. The -water of the Mediterranean is so limpid that we -could look down through fathoms of it to the -sand and see the shells and seaweed. It is of -such a true sapphire blue, that surely Tennyson -must have had memories of it and not of the -gray North Sea when he spoke of the</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Shining, sapphire spangled marriage ring of the land.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The view of the coast, looking backwards, as the -boat nears St Marguerite, is splendid: Cannes -basking in the sweet sunshine, lying in a white -semicircle around the bay, and climbing up the -hills behind, with the gray olive groves making -a silvery haze to tone down the brilliant colours. -In the distance, the dazzling white peaks of the -Maritime Alps form a noble background; while -the picture is bounded on the west by the sierra-like -range of the Esterel Hills, painted against the -skyline in vivid blues and purples. Landing at -the little stone pier, we went up the causewayed -road to the fort, which, with its whitewashed -walls and red-tiled roof, is built around a wide -stone court. Here we found the guide waiting, -an old <i>cantinière</i>, very ugly, but proportionately -loud and eloquent—a very different being from -the pretty <i>vivandière</i> of comic operas. She carried -us along a narrow passage to the dungeon -where the unhappy ‘Masque de fer’ spent fourteen -long years of hopeless confinement. It is closed -by double doors of iron; the walls are of great -thickness; and four rows of grating protect the -little window. From this cell the prisoner was -sometimes permitted egress to walk along the -narrow corridor, at the end of which is a niche -in the wall, which in his time held a sacred -image. The ‘Masque de fer’ was never seen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">{370}</span> -without his iron veil, even by the governor of the -prison; it was so curiously fitted as to permit -of his eating with ease. He was treated with all -the deference due to a royal personage; all the -dishes and appurtenances of his table were of -silver; the governor waited on him personally; -but one day the prisoner succeeded in eluding -his vigilance so far as to write an appeal for -help on a silver plate and throw it over the precipice -on which this part of the fortress stands. -As the well-known story tells, a fisherman found -it, and brought it at once to the governor, who -turned pale and trembled on reading what was -scratched thereon. ‘Can you read, my friend?’ -he said. ‘No,’ answered the fisherman. ‘Thank -God for that, for you should have paid for your -knowledge with your life!’ He dismissed him -with the gift of a gold-piece, and the caution -to preserve a prudent silence as to what had -passed.</p> - -<p>When the governor communicated the attempt -to headquarters in Paris, orders came for the -prisoner to be removed to the Bastile. After -some years of close confinement, he died there, -and was buried in his mask; and the governor -of the Bastile, who knew the secret of his august -prisoner’s name, died without divulging it. And -thus ended the tale in the old school-books: ‘The -identity of the “Masque de fer” must remain for -ever a mystery.’ But it was no mystery to our -old <i>vivandière</i>, or indeed to any of the French -people who were listening to the story of his -woes; for, in surprise at our ignorance, they -all exclaimed: ‘Don’t you know that he was the -<i>frère aîné</i> [elder brother] of Louis XIV.?’ He -was considered too weak in mind to govern -France, and was therefore always kept in seclusion, -till an attempt which was made to bring -him forward was the cause of his being condemned -to the life-long prison and the iron -mask.</p> - -<p>A very queer old gilded seat like an old Roman -curule chair is shown in the chapel as that used -by the ‘Masque de fer.’</p> - -<p>To this fortress, also, Marshal Bazaine was sent -as a prisoner, after what the French call his -‘betrayal of Metz.’ The places where he and -his family—who were permitted to follow him -to the island—used to sit in the tiny chapel were -pointed out to us; also the terrace-walk where -he was allowed to promenade, unguarded, in the -evenings; and the rock down which he escaped, -by means of a rope-ladder, to the little boat which -his wife had arranged to be in waiting below. -Of course, it is said that Macmahon connived at -his escape, not wishing his old comrade to be -tried by a court-martial, which he knew would -inevitably condemn him. He sent him to a sham -imprisonment in this pleasant island, till the first -wild wrath of the people of France against him -had cooled down. A Frenchman told us that he -now lives at ease in Spain, having saved his -fortune from the wreck, but <i>tout déshonoré</i> in the -eyes of France!</p> - -<p>From St Marguerite we crossed in less than -half an hour to the smaller island of St Honorât, -now the property of the Cistercian order of monks. -The shore is fringed with the beautiful stone-pines -which are so conspicuous on the Riviera -and in some parts of Italy. The first object -which strikes one on landing is a large new -archway, made probably as the gateway for a -future avenue; behind it, at some distance, lie -the church and monastery. On a promontory -at the western end of the island stands an old -ruined monastery of the thirteenth century. It -is very like the style of architecture of some of -the old castles in Scotland. There is a fine -triforium in it with Gothic arches. In the -refectory we saw on a raised platform at the -side the arch for the lectern, from which it -was the duty of a monk to read to his brethren -while at their meals. The view from the tower -is magnificent: the deep blue sea stretches to the -southern horizon; the snowy line of the Alpes -Maritimes bounds the northern; on the right, -the white waves break in feathery foam on the -Cap d’Antibes; while the purple Esterels, with -the jagged summit of Mont Vinaigrier, lie to the -left; and Cannes, with its picturesque old town -on the hill of Mont Chevalier, and its modern -wings spreading far and wide, fills up the middle -distance. Since the young St Honorât sought a -retreat here from the world in the fifth century, -this island has been usually held by monks, -although it was often ravaged by the Saracens. -The ruins of the oldest monastery are within the -present cloisters. At a little booth outside the -monastic walls we found an English monk, who -was deputed to sell photographs of the island and -the ruins, and to make himself agreeable to the -visitors. He told us that he had been in the -Grande Chartreuse, near Grenoble; but as his -health was not strong enough to bear the keen -air on those rocky heights, he had been sent to -spend the winter in this convent of the sunny -south. In his youth he had been stationed in -Edinburgh, and was much interested in speaking -of it and hearing of the changes which had taken -place there.</p> - -<p>During the past century, St Honorât’s isle has -passed through strange phases. First of all, a -Parisian <i>comédienne</i> bought it, meaning to build -a summer villa there; then tiring of it, she sold -it to a Protestant clergyman. When it came -again into the market, the Cistercians bought it, -built the new monastery, and settled a congregation -of their order in it. The Cistercian rule is -not so severe as that of the Trappists, but still, -they are not allowed to speak except during the -hours of recreation and on Sunday. The lay -brother who showed us round told us he had a -dispensation to speak, as he was told off to the -post of cicerone for that day. He said it was a -very happy life, as tranquil and blessed as in -Paradise; and truly his face beamed with heavenly -light and peace. One of our company was a -gentleman from Grenoble, who came in the hope -of seeing a young friend who had lately joined -the order. He hoped even to get some of us -invited to the ‘parloir’ to speak with him. Alas! -the young monk would not even see his old -friend, but sent him a tender greeting, and thanks -for his kindness in coming. The English ‘father’ -said he did this of his own accord, fearing to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">{371}</span> -disturbed by old associations from his hardly -won tranquillity. However that might be, we -had to bid adieu to St Honorât without seeing -the young recluse.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak x-ebookmaker-important" id="BY_MEAD_AND_STREAM">BY MEAD AND STREAM.</h2> -</div> - - -<h3>CHAPTER XXXIII.—HER PROBLEM.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Madge</span> in her own room; but it was evening -and almost quite dark, so that it was not at all -like the pretty chamber which it appeared to be -in the bright sunshine of an autumn morning. -Can there be any sympathy between the atmosphere -and our feelings? There must be. A -bright day helps us to meet sorrow bravely; a -dull, dark day makes sorrow our master: we -bow our heads and groan because nature seems -to have entered into a conspiracy against us. The -strong will may fling aside this atmospherical -depression, but the effort is needed: whereas -when the sun shines, even the weak can lift their -heads and say without faltering: ‘Let me know -the worst.’</p> - -<p>Madge held in her hand a letter—the same -which Wrentham had seen on Beecham’s desk, -and of which he made due report to Mr Hadleigh. -She knew well where to find the matches and -candle, and yet she stood in that deep gloom -looking at the window, as if she were interested -in the invisible prospect on which it opened.</p> - -<p>It is not instinct, but a telegraphic association -of ideas which makes us hesitate to open particular -letters. That was her case. And yet, if -her face could have been seen in that gloom, no -sign of fear would have been found upon it; only -a wistful sadness—the expression of one who -feels that some revelation of the inevitable is -near.</p> - -<p>After the pause, she quietly lit the candle, and, -without drawing down the blind, seated herself by -the window. Then, as methodically as if it had -been only one of Uncle Dick’s business letters, -she cut the envelope and spread the paper on -her lap. She was very pale just then, for there -was no message from Beecham; only this -inclosure of an old letter, which seemed to have -been much handled, and of which the writing had -become indistinct.</p> - -<p>There were only a few lines on the paper. She -looked at the name at the foot of them, and raised -it to her lips, reverently.</p> - -<p>‘Poor mother!’ was her sigh, and she laid the -letter gently on her lap again, whilst she looked -dreamily into the gloom outside.</p> - -<p>Should she read it? He had left her to answer -that question for herself. Yes; she would read, -for there were so few words, that there could be -no breach of faith in scanning them. Moreover, -the letter had been sent to her for that purpose -by the man who had received it, and who, therefore, -had the right to submit it to her.</p> - -<p>There was no need to raise any great question -of conscience in the matter; the words were so -simple that they might have been written by a -mother to a child. No passion, no forced -sentiment, no ‘make-believe’ of any kind. Only -this pathetic cry:</p> - -<p>‘Dear Austin, do not go away. I am filled -with fear by what thou hast said to me about -the vessel. I know it is wrong, since God is with -us everywhere, and I am ashamed of this weakness. -But thou art so dear, and—— I pray -thee, Austin, do not go away.’</p> - -<p>Then followed in the middle of the page the -simple name:</p> - -<p>‘<span class="smcap">Lucy.</span>’</p> - -<p>This was what she might have written to -Philip, and had not. It was all so simple and -so like her own experience, with the difference -that the lover had not gone away. Few daughters -are allowed to know the history of their mothers’ -love affairs, and there are fewer still who, when -they hear them, can regard them as anything -more than commonplace sketches of life, which -they pass aside as they turn over the leaves of a -portfolio.</p> - -<p>But to Madge!——</p> - -<p>What did all this mean? That, with the best -intentions, she was entering into a conspiracy -against the man she loved, and her mother was -invoked as the inspiration of the conspiracy!</p> - -<p>Sitting there, the candle flickering in the -strange draughts which came from nowhere, the -gloom outside growing quite black, and the -shadows in the little room growing huge and -threatening, Madge was trying to read the riddle -of her very awkward position.</p> - -<p>A sharp knock at the door, one of those knocks -which impudent and inconsiderate females give -when they have no particular message to convey, -and resent the necessity of carrying it.</p> - -<p>‘A man in the oak parlour wants to see you, -if you ben’t too busy.’</p> - -<p>Madge passed her fingers over the aching head. -She could not guess who the man might be, but -presumed that he was one of Uncle Dick’s -customers.</p> - -<p>She found Mr Beecham in the oak parlour. -This was the first time he had been under -the roof of Willowmere. He and Madge were -conscious of the singularity of the meeting-place.</p> - -<p>‘I trust, Miss Heathcote, you are not annoyed -with me for coming here,’ he said softly. ‘I did -not mean to do so; but it occurred to me, after -despatching that letter, you might require a few -words of explanation. At first, my intention was -to say nothing; but on consideration, it seemed -to me unfair to leave you without help in -answering the disagreeable questions which the -situation suggests.’</p> - -<p>Madge still had the letter in her hand; the -tears were still in her eyes. She tried to wipe -them away, but still they would force their -presence on the lids. That was the real Madge—tender, -considerate to others beyond measure.</p> - -<p>‘Oh, if’——</p> - -<p>Here the superficial Madge claimed supremacy, -and took the management of the whole interview -in hand. Calm almost to coldness, clear in speech -and vision almost to the degree of severity, she -spoke:</p> - -<p>‘I have considered all that you have said to -me, and I do not like the position in which you -have placed me. I gave you my word that I -should be silent, believing that no harm could -follow, and believing that my mother would have -wished me to obey you. You have satisfied me -by this letter that I have not done wrong so far. -Take it back.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">{372}</span></p> - -<p>She folded the letter, carefully replaced it in -the envelope, and gave it to him.</p> - -<p>‘Thank you,’ he said, with the shadow of -that sad smile which had so often crossed his -face.</p> - -<p>‘You cannot tell how much that letter has -affected me. You cannot know what thoughts -and impulses it has aroused. But you can believe -that in my mother’s blunder I read my own fate.... -I know you are my friend: be the friend -of those I love. Help <i>him</i>, for he needs help very -much.’</p> - -<p>Mr Beecham had quietly taken the letter and -placed it in a small pocket-case, to which it -seemed to belong.</p> - -<p>‘I feared you would not understand me, and -the desire to save you from uneasiness has brought -me here. You have promised to be silent: I -again beg you to keep that promise for a little -while.’</p> - -<p>She bowed her head, but did not speak.</p> - -<p>‘In doing so,’ he added, anxious to reassure -her, ‘you have my pledge that no harm will come -to any one who does not seek it.’</p> - -<p>‘You cannot think,’ she said coldly, and yet -with a touch of bitterness that she seemed unable -to repress—‘you cannot think any one purposely -seeks harm! It came to you and to my mother.’</p> - -<p>For an instant he was silent. He was thinking -that no harm would have come to them if both -had been faithful.</p> - -<p>‘That is a hard hit, and not easily answered,’ -he said quietly. ‘Let me say, then, that even if -there had been no other motive to influence me, -I should be his friend on your account. But I -am your friend above and before all. For your -sake alone I came back to England. For your -sake I am acting as I am doing, strange as it -may seem. If he is honest and faithful to -you’——</p> - -<p>‘There is no doubt of that,’ she interrupted, her -face brightening with confidence.</p> - -<p>Beecham inclined his head, as if in worship. -He smiled at her unhesitating assertion of faith, -but the smile was one of respect and admiration -touched with a shade of regret. What might his -life have been if he had found a mate like her! -The man she loved might prove false, and all the -world might call him false: she would still -believe him to be true.</p> - -<p>‘A man finds such faith rarely,’ he said in his -gentlest tone; ‘I hope he will prove worthy of -it. But let him take his own way for the present; -and should trouble come to him, I shall do my -best to help him out of it.’</p> - -<p>She made a quick movement, as if she would -have clasped his hands in thankfulness, but checked -herself.</p> - -<p>‘Then I am content.’</p> - -<p>‘I am glad you can say so, for it shows you have -some confidence in me, and every proof of kindly -thought towards me helps me.’</p> - -<p>He stopped, and seemed to be smiling at the -weakness which had made his voice a little husky. -Looking back, and realising in this girl an old -dream, she had grown so dear to him, that he knew -if she had persisted, his wisest judgment would -have yielded to her wish.</p> - -<p>She wondered: why was this man so gentle and -yet so cruel, as it seemed, in his doubts of -Philip?</p> - -<p>‘Let me take your hand,’ he resumed. ‘Thanks. -Have you any notion how much it cost me to -allow this piece of paper’ (he touched the pocket -in which her mother’s letter lay) ‘to be out of my -possession even for a few hours? Only you could -have won that from me. It was the last token -of ... well, we shall say, of her caring about -me that came direct from her own hand. She -was deceived. We cannot help that, you know—accidents -will happen, and so on’ (like a brave -man, he was smiling at his own pain). ‘The -message came to me too late. I think—no, I am -sure, that if she had said this to me with her own -lips, there would have been no parting ... and -everything would have been so different to -us!’</p> - -<p>Madge withdrew one hand from his and timidly -placed it on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>‘I am sorry for your past, and should be glad if -it were in my power to help you to a happy -future.’</p> - -<p>His disengaged hand was placed upon her head -lightly, as if he were giving her a paternal -blessing.</p> - -<p>‘The only way in which you can help me, my -child, is by finding a happy future for yourself. -I am anxious about that—selfishly anxious, for -it seems that my life can gain its real goal only by -making you happy, since I missed the chance of -making your mother so. I know that she was -not happy; and my career, which has been one of -strange good fortune, as men reckon fortune by -the money you make, has been one of misery. -Do you not think that droll?’</p> - -<p>‘You are not like other men, I think; others -would have forgotten the past, and forgiven.’</p> - -<p>She was thinking of Philip’s wish that his -father should be reconciled to Austin Shield.</p> - -<p>‘I can forgive,’ he said softly; ‘I cannot forget.—Now, -let us look at the position quietly as it is. -The only thing which has given me an interest -in life is the hope that I may be useful to you. -When my sorrow came upon me, it seemed as if -the whole world had gone wrong.’ (That was -spoken with a kind of bitter sense of the humorous -side of his sorrow.) ‘Doctors would have called it -indigestion. You see, however, it does not matter -much to the patient whether it is merely indigestion -or organic disease, so long as he suffers from -the pangs of whatever it may be. Well, I did not -die, and the doctor is entitled to his credit. I -live, eat my dinner, and am in fair health. But -there is a difference: life lost its flavour when the -blunder was made. When your mother believed -the false report which reached her, the man who -loved her was murdered.’</p> - -<p>‘She could not act otherwise than she did,’ said -Madge bravely in defence.</p> - -<p>‘She should have trusted to me,’ he retorted, -shaking his head sadly. ‘But that is unkind, and -I do not mean to say one word of her that could -be called unkind. She would forgive it.’</p> - -<p>‘How she must have suffered!’ murmured Madge, -her hand passing absently over the aching brow.</p> - -<p>‘Ay, she must have suffered as I did—poor lass, -poor lass!’</p> - -<p>He turned abruptly to the hearth, as if he had -become suddenly conscious of the ordinary duties -of life, and aware that the fire required attention.</p> - -<p>‘I want you to try to understand me,’ he said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">{373}</span> -as he stirred the embers, and the oak-log on the -top of the coal started a bright flame.</p> - -<p>‘I wish to understand you—but that is not easy,’ -she replied.</p> - -<p>He did not look round; he answered as if the -subject were one of the most commonplace kind; -but there was a certain emphasis in his tone as -he seemed to take up her sentence and continue -it.</p> - -<p>‘Because you stand on the sunny side of life, -and know nothing of its shadows. Pity that they -will force themselves upon you soon enough.’</p> - -<p>‘If you see them coming, why not give me -warning?’</p> - -<p>He turned round suddenly, his hands clasped -behind him so tightly that he seemed to be striving -to subdue the outcry of some physical -pain.</p> - -<p>‘It is not warning that I wish to give you, but -protection,’ he said, and there was a harshness in -his voice quite unusual to him.</p> - -<p>The change of tone was so remarkable, that she -drew back. There were in it bitterness, hatred, -and almost something that was like malignity.</p> - -<p>‘You must know it all—then judge for yourself,’ -he said at length.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CURIOSITIES_OF_THE_MICROPHONE">CURIOSITIES OF THE MICROPHONE.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> would be interesting to learn all the particulars -relating to the birth of some great invention; to -know the inventor’s frame of mind at the time -the pregnant idea occurred to him, and the influences -under which he lived and laboured. This -is usually an unwritten chapter of biography; -but sometimes we can learn a little about these -things. It is not always necessity, or the need -of help, that is the mother of invention. In -the case of the microphone, it was the need -of occupation. Professor Hughes was confined -to his chamber by an attack of cold, and to -beguile the tedium of the time, he began to -experiment with the telephone. This was in -the early winter of 1877; and at that time the -transmitting and receiving parts of the Bell -telephone system were identical. The result was -that the received speech was very feeble; and -Professor Hughes began to try whether he could -not dispense with the transmitting telephone, and -make the wire of the circuit speak of itself. -Some experiments of Sir William Thomson had -shown that the electric resistance of a wire varied -when the wire was strained; and Professor -Hughes thought that if he could get the vibrations -of the voice to strain a wire, so as to vary -its resistance in proportion to the vibrations, he -might be able to make the wire itself act as a -transmitter. He therefore connected a battery -and telephone together by means of a fine wire, -and pulled on a part of the wire in order to strain -it, at the same time listening in the telephone. -But he heard no sound at all until he strained the -wire so much that it gave way. At the instant -of rupture he heard a peculiar grating sound in -the telephone; and on placing the broken ends -of the wire in delicate contact, he found that the -slightest agitation of the ends in contact produced -a distinct noise in the instrument.</p> - -<p>This experiment, then, was the germ of the -microphone. For the metal ends of the wire in -contact, he substituted carbon points, and obtained -a much more sensitive arrangement. When one -of the carbon pencils was lightly <i>pressed</i> against -the other in a stable position, he found that the -joint was sensitive to the slightest jar, and could -transmit the voice when spoken to direct. Pursuing -his researches further, he found that a loose -and somewhat crazy metal structure, such as a -pile of gold-chain or a framework of French nails, -acted in a similar way, though not so powerfully -as carbon. This material was found so sensitive, -that a fly walking on the board supporting the -microphone could be distinctly heard in the telephone, -and each tap of its trunk upon the wood -was said by one observer to resemble the ‘tramp -of an elephant.’</p> - -<p>The marvels of the microphone were published -to the world in the early summer of the next -year; and many useful applications followed. -The most obvious was its use as a telephone -transmitter; and as Professor Hughes had made -a public gift of his invention, a great many telephone -transmitters were based upon it. Edison, -who had invented a carbon transmitter which -bore some resemblance to the microphone, laid -claim to having anticipated the invention; but -the merit of the discovery remains with Professor -Hughes.</p> - -<p>It is through the help of the microphone that -telephony has become so practical and so extensively -adopted. The Blake transmitter, the Ader, -and many others by which music and speech are -now conveyed so many miles, are all varieties of -the carbon microphone. In some churches, microphone -transmitters are now applied to the pulpit, -so that the sermon can be transmitted by telephone -to invalid members who cannot leave home. -At the Electrical Exhibitions of Paris, Vienna, -and the Crystal Palace, the music of an entire -opera was transmitted from the stage by wire -to other buildings where great numbers of -persons sat and listened to it. The transport -of music and other sounds in no way directly -connected with the wire, is frequently effected -by what is termed induction or leading-in. -Over and over again, persons listening into -telephones for the purpose of hearing what -a friend is saying, have heard the strains of -this music—aside, communicated by induction -from some neighbouring line to theirs. Not long -ago, a telegraph clerk in Chicago was listening -in a telephone early one morning, and to his -surprise heard the croaking of frogs and the -whistling of birds. The explanation of the -phenomenon is, that a loose joint in the telephone -wire where it passed through a wood, -acted as a microphone, and transmitted the woodland -chorus to his ears. Messages in process of -transmission are sometimes drowned by the -rumbling noise of street-traffic induced by the -wire.</p> - -<p>The microphone is not only useful as a transmitter -of sounds, but also as a relay of sounds -received on a telephone. Professors Houston and -Thomson of America were perhaps the first to -construct a telephonic relay. They mounted a -carbon microphone on the vibrating plate of a -telephone in such a way that the vibrations of -the plate due to the received speech would react -on the microphone, and be transmitted in this -way over another line to another receiving telephone -at a distance. Thus the speech would be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">{374}</span> -relayed, just as a telegraph message is relayed, -when it is weak, and sent further on its way. -Curiously enough, the microphone acts as a relay -to itself, if placed on the same table with the -telephone with which it is in circuit. The jar of -placing the microphone on the table causes the -telephone to emit a sound; this sound in turn is -transmitted by the microphone to the telephone, -which again repeats it. The microphone re-transmits -it as before, the telephone utters it, and -so the process of repetition goes on <i>ad infinitum</i>.</p> - -<p>Since the microphone can, as it were, magnify -small sounds, and in this respect has some resemblance -to the microscope, which magnifies minute -objects, it might be thought that it would prove -useful for deaf persons. But though the microphone -enables a person with good ears to hear -mechanical vibrations which otherwise would be -inaudible, the sounds that are heard are not -in themselves very loud, and hence a dull aural -nerve might fail to appreciate them. M. Bert, -the well-known French physicist, constructed a -microphone for deaf persons; but its success was -doubtful. Professor Hughes, however, has succeeded -in making deaf persons hear the ticking -of a watch by means of the microphone. In this -case the telephone was placed against the bones -in the head, and the vibrations communicated in -this way to the aural nerve. The ‘audiphone,’ -a curved plate held between the teeth, and -vibrated by the sound-waves, also acts in this -way; and it is probable that we hear ourselves -speak not through our ears, but through the -bones of the head as set in vibration by the -voice.</p> - -<p>Its power of interpreting small sounds has -caused the microphone to be applied to many -other purposes. Professor Rossi, for example, -uses it to detect the earth-tremors preceding earthquakes -and volcanic eruptions. It has been -employed in Austria to detect the trickling of -underground water; and its use has also been -suggested for hearing the signal-taps of entombed -miners and the noise of approaching torpedo boats. -It is not, however, quite possible to realise all -that has been claimed for it. Thus the <i>Danbury -News</i> jestingly remarks that ‘with a microphone -a farmer can hear a potato-bug coming down the -road a quarter of a mile away, and can go out -with an axe and head it off.’</p> - -<p>In 1876, a year before the microphone was -invented, a writer named Antoinette Brown -Blackwell foretold the use of such an apparatus. -‘It remains,’ she said, ‘to invent some instrument -which can so retard the too rapid vibrations of -molecules as to bring them within the time adapted -to human ears; then we might comfortably hear -plant movements carrying on the many processes -of growth, <i>and possibly we might catch the crystal -music of atoms</i> vibrating in unison with the sunbeam.’ -Without calling in question the writer’s -theory, which does not apply to the microphone, -we may mention that Professor Chandler Roberts -attached a microphone to a thin porous septum, -and on allowing hydrogen gas to diffuse through -the latter, he heard a rushing sound, as of a wind, -which became silent when the rapid diffusion -ceased. The jar of the atoms on the pores of the -septum was probably the source of this molecular -sound. Again, Professor Graham Bell has found -a metal microphone joint sensitive to the impact -of a beam of intermittent light; and it is highly -probable that a microphone with selenium contacts -would be still more sensitive to the sound -of light falling upon it.</p> - -<p>In medicine, the microphone has been usefully -applied to enable a physician to read the pulse -better and auscultate the heart.</p> - -<p>Numerous experiments have been made recently -with the microphone by Messrs Stroh, Bidwell, -and others. Not long after the original invention -of the apparatus, Professor Blyth found that the -microphone would act as a receiver as well as a -transmitter of sounds in an electric circuit. Thus, -with two boxes of coke cinders (hard carbon) -connected together through a wire and battery, -Professor Blyth found that if words were spoken -into one of the boxes, he could faintly hear them -by listening in the other. Mr Bidwell has constructed -a receiving microphone, composed of a -pile of carbon cylinders resting on a mica diaphragm, -and this gives out distinct effects when -a strong battery is employed. On speaking to -the transmitting microphone in circuit, the words -can be distinctly heard in the receiving one.</p> - -<p>By the use of the microscope, Mr Stroh has -observed that the carbon points of the microphone -which were supposed to be in contact, are -not really so during the action of the instrument, -but are separated by a minute distance. It would -appear, then, that there is a repulsion between -the points, and this repulsion accounts for the -action of the microphone as a receiver. Metal -microphones are also reversible in their action, -and give out feeble sounds when used as receivers. -The probability is that the contacts vibrate rapidly -on each other, either in direct or very close contact, -against a certain repulsive action of the -current, which operates like a cushion or re-acting -spring.</p> - -<p>Metal microphones are in some respects more -interesting theoretically than those of carbon. -For example, one has been constructed of two -different metals, zinc and iron, which when heated -by the flame of a spirit-lamp generates its own -current by thermo-electric action. Iron is one -of the most useful metals for forming microphones; -and one of iron-wire gauze has been -found to act with singular clearness when inclosed -in a high vacuum, such as that given by an -incandescent electric lamp.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="SILAS_MONK">SILAS MONK.</h2> -</div> -<p class="ph3">A TALE OF LONDON OLD CITY.</p> - - -<h3 title="CHAPTER II.">IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER II.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">That</span> day in the city seemed to Walter as if -it would never end. This mystery about Silas -Monk was now a matter to him of real interest. -Hitherto, the eccentricities of the old man -had given him little or no concern; for it had -been so long the custom among the clerks to -crack their jokes about ‘Silas,’ that nothing which -he might do, however queer, could appear otherwise -than perfectly consistent with his character. -For so many years had Silas Monk been a clerk -in the House, that his columns of pounds, shillings, -and pence could be traced in the oldest ledgers,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">{375}</span> -it was said, even when books more than a -hundred years old were examined. There was -no record extant which satisfactorily settled the -date of his engagement as a clerk by Armytage -and Company. The oldest partners and the oldest -clerks, with this one exception of Silas, were dead -and buried many years ago.</p> - -<p>It was a very old-looking place, this ancient -counting-house; it seemed older even than the -firm of Armytage, which had seen two centuries. -There were railings in front, broken in places, -but still presenting some iron spikes among them, -standing up with an air of protection before the -windows, like sentinels on guard. The stone -steps leading up to the entrance were worn by -the tread of busy men who had in their time -hurried in and out in their race for wealth, and -who were now doubtless lying in some old city -churchyard hard by.</p> - -<p>Walter Tiltcroft having at last finished his -‘rounds,’ as he called his various errands, came -back to the old counting-house. The clerks’ office -was on the ground-floor. It was a dark and -dusty room, with men of various ages seated at -long desks, all deeply engaged, with pens in hand -and heads bent low, over the business of the firm. -No one looked up when Walter entered; every -one went on working, as though each individual -clerk was a wheel in the great machine which -had been going for nearly two hundred years.</p> - -<p>Within an inner room, smaller, darker, and -more dusty, was seated alone at his desk Silas -Monk. The old clerk had several large ledgers -before him; he was turning over the leaves with -energy, and making entries in these books with a -rapidity which seemed surprising in one who had -an appearance of such great age. With his white -hair falling on his shoulders, his long lean -trembling fingers playing among the fluttering -pages, and his keen eyes darting among the -columns of pounds, shillings, and pence, he -seemed, even by daylight, like an embodied spirit -appointed by the dead partners and clerks of -Armytage and Company to audit the accounts of -that old mercantile House in Crutched Friars. -So at least thought Walter Tiltcroft as he sat at -his own desk watching Silas Monk, and revolving -in his mind how he could best solve the mystery -which surrounded Rachel’s grandfather.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was growing dusk when the old city clocks -in the church towers began to strike six, and the -clerks in the office of Armytage and Company -began to show signs of dispersing. Silas Monk -alone remained at his post. Wishing to say a -few words to the old man before taking his leave, -Walter Tiltcroft lingered behind; and when the -last clerk had gone, he went to the door of the -‘strong-room,’ as Silas Monk’s office was called, -and said in his usual cheerful tone: ‘Good-night, -Mr Monk. You’ll see, I suppose, that everything -is safe and sound, as usual? Won’t you?’</p> - -<p>‘Ay, ay! safe and sound, Walter.—Good-night.’</p> - -<p>But the young man lingered with his eyes -curiously fixed on Silas. ‘The evenings are -getting short,’ continued he. ‘Can you see to -work by this light?’</p> - -<p>‘Why, no—not well,’ Silas owned, with his -eyes raised towards the window; ‘and what -makes it still more difficult is that scaffolding the -workmen have put up outside—that’s what makes -it so dark. Ay, ay!’ he added, ‘they’re repairing -the old walls. Dear me, dear me!’</p> - -<p>The old walls outside, which surrounded a -courtyard, were black with dust and age, and -they had also in many parts a tumble-down aspect, -which appeared to plainly indicate that repairs -were needed badly. Upon the scaffolding, some -half-dozen labourers were gathering together their -tools and preparing to go home, as the clerks had -done already. Silas was lighting an oil-lamp. -‘Give me a hand, Walter,’ said he, ‘to close these -shutters and put up the iron bar.’</p> - -<p>‘All right, Mr Monk,’ said the young man, -unfolding the old-fashioned shutters in the walls -and clasping the iron bar across them with a -loud clink. ‘All right and tight!—Shall you -remain long at the office?’ he added, moving -towards the door.</p> - -<p>‘Not long; half an hour, perhaps—not more.’</p> - -<p>Still the young man lingered. ‘Mr Monk,’ -said he, walking a step back into the strong-room, -‘I saw your grand-daughter Miss Rachel this -morning.’</p> - -<p>Silas, who had reseated himself at his desk -before the large ledgers, looked round keenly at -Walter, with the light from the shaded lamp -thrown upon his wrinkled face. ‘You see my -grand-daughter Rachel pretty often; don’t you, -Walter?’</p> - -<p>‘Pretty often, Mr Monk, I confess.’</p> - -<p>Silas shook his long thin forefinger at the -young man. ‘Walter,’ cried he, ‘that’s not -business!’</p> - -<p>‘No; that’s true. But you see, Mr Monk, it’s -not much out of my way. And,’ he added, -‘besides, I thought you would like to know that -she’s well. You’re so busy here, that perhaps -you don’t see so much of her as you would like, -and so I thought that news of her at any time -would be welcome.’</p> - -<p>‘So it is, Walter!’ said the old man, his voice -trembling slightly as he spoke—‘so it is. She’s -a good girl, and I love her dearly. But you don’t -pass that way, Walter, simply to bring me a -word about my grand-daughter. You’re not -going to try and make me believe that, surely?’</p> - -<p>‘Not entirely, Mr Monk,’ said the young man, -smiling. ‘I won’t deny that it’s a very great -pleasure to me to see Rachel at any time; indeed, -no one could admire her more than I do.’</p> - -<p>The old man held out his hand. ‘Come, come! -That’s more candid, my boy,’ said he, as Walter -took the hand in his and pressed it affectionately. -‘So you admire Rachel, do you?’</p> - -<p>‘Mr Monk,’ said the young clerk, ‘I more than -admire her—I love her!’</p> - -<p>The deep lines in Silas Monk’s face grew deeper -at these words. ‘Well, well,’ said the old man -presently, with a heavy sigh; ‘it was to be. -Better now, perhaps, than later—better now. -But you won’t take her from me yet, Walter—not -yet?’</p> - -<p>‘Why, no, Mr Monk; I’d no thought of taking -her away from you.’</p> - -<p>‘That’s right!’ cried Silas—‘that’s right! -You’re a good lad. Take care of her, Walter; -take care of her when I am dead.’ As Silas -pronounced the last word, the sound of footsteps, -which seemed strangely near, changed the expression -on his face. ‘What’s that?’ asked he in a -tone of alarm.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">{376}</span></p> - -<p>Walter listened. ‘Some one on the scaffolding -above your window.’</p> - -<p>‘If it’s a workman,’ said the old man, ‘he’s -rather late. Will you see that every one has -left the premises; and then shut the front-door -as you go out?’</p> - -<p>‘I’ll not forget.—Good-night!’</p> - -<p>It was just sufficiently light in the passage -for Walter to find his way about the old house. -Having promised Silas Monk to make sure that -every one had left the premises, he ran up the -dark oaken staircase to ascertain whether the -partners, who occupied the floor above the office, -had gone. He found the doors to their rooms -locked. The young man threw a glance around -him, and then descended the way he had come, -walking out into the court, behind the clerks’ -offices, where the scaffolding was erected. It was -not a large court, and on every side were high -brick walls. The scaffolding reached from the -ground almost to the eaves.</p> - -<p>‘Any one there?’ Walter shouted.</p> - -<p>Not a sound came back except a muttering -echo of his own voice.</p> - -<p>Walter Tiltcroft then turned to leave the house. -But at this moment his conversation with Rachel -occurred to him, and he thought that he might -do something to clear up the mystery of her -grandfather’s frequent absence from home at all -hours of the night. ‘Why not,’ thought Walter, -‘watch the old man’s movements? Some clue -might be found to the strange affair.’ He formed -his plan of action without further delay. No -moment could have been more opportune. He -closed the front-door with a slam which shook -the old house; then he crept back along the -passage softly, and, seating himself in a dark -corner on the staircase, watched for the figure -of Silas Monk.</p> - -<p>The first thing he heard, very shortly after he -had taken up his position, was a step in the -passage leading from the courtyard. He sprang -up with a quick beating heart, and reached the -foot of the stairs just in time to confront a tall, -powerful man dressed like a mason, and carrying -in his hand a large basket of tools.</p> - -<p>‘Why, Joe Grimrood,’ said Walter, ‘is that -you?’</p> - -<p>The man, who had a hangdog, defiant air, -answered gruffly, as he scratched a mangy-looking -skin-cap, pulled down to his eyebrows: ‘That’s -me, sir; asking your pardon.’</p> - -<p>‘Are you the last, Joe?’</p> - -<p>‘There ain’t no more men on the scaffold, if -that’s what you mean.’</p> - -<p>Walter nodded. ‘Didn’t you hear me call?’ -he asked.</p> - -<p>‘Not me. When?’</p> - -<p>‘Not five minutes ago.’</p> - -<p>‘How could I? I was among the chimneys.’</p> - -<p>‘Repairing the roof, Joe?’</p> - -<p>‘Fixing the tiles,’ was the reply.</p> - -<p>Having thus accounted for his tardiness, Joe -Grimrood again scratched his cap, in his manner -of saluting, and moved along the hall, in the -semi-darkness, towards the front-door. ‘I wish -you a very good-night,’ said the man, as Walter -accompanied him to the entrance—‘a very good-night, -sir; asking your pardon.’</p> - -<p>Walter Tiltcroft closed the door, when the -workman had gone out, with as little noise as -possible; for he feared that if any sound reached -Silas Monk in the strong-room, his suspicions -might be aroused, and the chance of solving this -mystery might be lost.</p> - -<p>Again retiring to his retreat upon the staircase, -Walter waited and watched; but nothing -happened. The twilight faded; the night became -so dark that the lad could not see his hand -before him. The hours appeared long; at endless -intervals he heard the city clocks striking in the -dead silence. He filled up the time with thoughts -containing a hundred conjectures. What could -Silas Monk be doing all this while? A dozen -times Walter descended to the door of the office -to listen; but never a sound! A dozen times -his fingers touched the handle to turn it; yet -each time he drew back, fearing to destroy the -object he had seriously in view—the solution of -this strange affair.</p> - -<p>Ten o’clock had struck, and the young clerk -was growing weary of waiting for the clocks to -strike eleven. He began to imagine that something -must have happened to Silas Monk. Had -he fallen asleep? Was he dead, or—what?</p> - -<p>Presently, the notion entered his brain that -perhaps a grain of reassurance might be had by -regarding the window of the strong-room from the -courtyard. Possibly, thought he, a ray of light -might find its way there through the shutters. -He stepped out silently, but with eagerness. -When he reached the yard, there, sure enough, -was a streak of light piercing through a small -aperture. Walter was drawn towards it irresistibly. -He mounted the scaffolding by the -ladder at his feet, and crept along the boarding -on his hands; for the darkness, except within -the limits of this ray of light, was intense. He -reached at length the spot immediately above -the window. The ray of light fell below the -scaffold, slanting to the ground. Grasping the -board, upon which he lay full length, he bent -his head until his eye was almost on a level -with the hole in the shutter. To his surprise, -the interior of the strong-room was distinctly -revealed. But what he saw surprised him still -more. Silas Monk was seated there at his -desk, under the shaded lamp. But he was -no longer examining the ledgers; these books -were thrown aside; and, in their place, before -his greedy eyes, was to be seen a heap of bright -sovereigns.</p> - -<p>The change which had taken place in the face -of Silas Monk since the young man had left him, -was startling; and the manner in which he -appeared to be feasting his eyes upon the coins -was repulsive. He handled the sovereigns with -his lean fingers caressingly; he counted them -over and over again; then he arranged them in -piles on one side, and began to empty other bags -in their place. His look suggested a ravenous -madman; his attitude resembled that of a beast -of prey.</p> - -<p>Walter was so fascinated by this unexpected -scene in the strong-room, that he found it impossible, -for some minutes, to remove his gaze. -The mystery about Silas Monk had been solved. -Rachel’s grandfather was a wretched miser!</p> - -<p>Walter descended from the scaffolding, and -went out quietly into Crutched Friars. His -lodgings were in the Minories, hard by. But -he could not have slept had he gone home<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">{377}</span> -without passing under Rachel’s window. He -hurried along through the dark and silent streets. -What he had witnessed, haunted him; he could -not banish the scene of the old man and his -bright sovereigns. When he entered the street, -and was approaching Silas Monk’s house, he was -astonished, though not displeased, to see Rachel -standing on the door-step.</p> - -<p>‘Why, Walter,’ cried she, ‘is that you? I -thought it was grandfather.’</p> - -<p>‘I wish, Rachel, for your sake that it was. But -I’m afraid, late as it is, that he won’t be back -quite yet.’</p> - -<p>The girl placed her hand quickly on Walter’s -hand and looked up appealingly. ‘Has anything -happened? You have a troubled face. Don’t -hide it from me, if anything has happened to -grandfather.’</p> - -<p>The young man hastened to reassure her. -‘Nothing has happened. Silas Monk is at the -office still. I have just come away, Rachel. I left -him there deeply occupied.’</p> - -<p>The girl threw a quick glance into Walter’s face. -‘Then grandfather does work for Armytage and -Company after six o’clock?’</p> - -<p>‘I doubt that, Rachel, very much.’</p> - -<p>‘Then why does he stay so late at Crutched -Friars?’</p> - -<p>‘To dabble in a little business of his own.’</p> - -<p>‘What business is that, Walter?’</p> - -<p>‘Well, something in the bullion line of business, -to judge from appearances.’</p> - -<p>‘Explain yourself, Walter! I am puzzled.’</p> - -<p>‘I’m afraid I can’t; I’m puzzled too,’ said the -young man. ‘This bullion business,’ he added -thoughtfully, ‘is a strange affair.’</p> - -<p>Rachel clasped her hands with an impatient -gesture. ‘Walter, tell me what you have seen!’</p> - -<p>‘I’ve seen,’ said the young man reluctantly—‘I’ve -seen, through a hole in the shutter, an old -man at a desk, under the light of a shaded lamp, -seated over handfuls of gold. The desk was Silas -Monk’s, in the counting-house of Armytage and -Company. But the face of the man was not the -face of your grandfather; or if it was his, it was -greatly changed.’</p> - -<p>‘In what way changed, Walter?’</p> - -<p>‘It was a face expressing dreadful greed. It -was the face of a miser, Rachel—nothing less!’</p> - -<p>The girl, standing under the dim street-lamp -above the doorway, looked with wondering eyes -into Walter’s face. ‘Does not all the money at -the counting-house belong to the firm?’</p> - -<p>‘So I have always thought, Rachel.’</p> - -<p>‘Then grandfather was balancing the cash?’</p> - -<p>‘Not the hard cash of Armytage and Company. -That is taken every day, before the closing hour, -to the bank.’</p> - -<p>Looking still into the young man’s face, the girl -said: ‘Then the money must be his own.’</p> - -<p>‘He certainly seemed to eye it, Rachel, as if -every sovereign belonged to him.’</p> - -<p>The girl became pensive. ‘He must be rich,’ -said she.</p> - -<p>‘Very rich, if all those sovereigns are his.’</p> - -<p>‘And he loves gold more than he loves his -grand-daughter!’ Rachel complained, in a tone of -deep disappointment, while tears started into her -eyes.</p> - -<p>Not being able to deny that there appeared -some truth in the girl’s words, Walter could -answer nothing. He remained silent and thoughtful. -Suddenly the clocks of the old city began -striking midnight.</p> - -<p>‘Your grandfather will soon be coming now, -Rachel,’ said the young man, ‘so I had better be -off. It would never do to let him find me here -at this late hour.’ Taking leave of the girl -tenderly, he quickly disappeared into the darkness.</p> - -<p>Rachel re-entered the house, and threw herself -into the old armchair, stricken with surprise and -grief at what she had learned. Since she was a -child, she had been taught to believe that she -was struggling, beside her grandfather, against -poverty. She had been happy in the thought -that, although they were needy, nothing divided -their affections. She believed that her grandfather -was slaving day and night for their sake—slaving -to keep the old house over their heads. -But what was he slaving for, after all? For gold, -it was true; but for gold which he hoarded up -in secret places, hiding all from her, as though it -were, like a crime, something of a nature to be -shunned.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the clocks are striking the small-hours. -But Silas Monk does not come home. -The candle on the table beside Rachel burns low. -The girl grows alarmed, and listens for the footsteps -of her old grandfather. She goes out and -looks about into the dark night. No one is to -be seen, no one is to be heard. Four o’clock—five. -Still no footsteps—not even a shadow of -the man.</p> - -<p>The dawn begins to break in a clear gray light -above the sombre houses; the roar of traffic in -the streets hard by falls upon the girl’s ear. -Another busy day has commenced in the old city. -‘Is it possible,’ thinks Rachel, ‘that her grandfather -can still be at his desk, counting and recounting -his gold?’</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="FAMILIAR_SKETCHES_OF_ENGLISH_LAW">FAMILIAR SKETCHES OF ENGLISH LAW.</h2> -</div> -<p class="ph3">BY AN EXPERIENCED PRACTITIONER.</p> - - -<h3>II. PARENT AND CHILD.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Children</span> may be divided into two classes—legitimate -and illegitimate; and the liability of -a father in respect of his children is widely -different in the case of the latter class from the -ordinary duty and responsibility of a parent. -In order to clear the ground, we will first dispose -of the illegitimate class; and throughout this -paper it must be understood that the words parent -and child, when used without any qualifying -terms, refer to those between whom that mutual -relationship lawfully subsists.</p> - -<p>An illegitimate child, or bastard, is one who -is born without its parents having been lawfully -married; and in England, a bastard born is -illegitimate to the end of his or her life; but in -Scotland, such child may be rendered legitimate -by the subsequent marriage of its parents, provided -that at the date of its birth and of their -marriage they were both free to marry. The -father of an illegitimate child has no right to its -custody; but he may be compelled to contribute -to its support by means of an affiliation order. -A bastard cannot inherit either real or personal -estate from either of its parents, nor from any -other person; neither can any person inherit from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">{378}</span> -a bachelor or spinster who is illegitimate. If, -however, such a person marries, the husband or -wife and children have the same legal rights as -if the stain of illegitimacy had not existed.</p> - -<p>A legitimate child—with the exception noted -above—is the offspring of parents who were lawfully -married before the time of its birth. A -posthumous child, if born in due time after the -husband’s death, is legitimate.</p> - -<p>The father has <i>primâ facie</i> a right to the -custody of his children while under the age of -sixteen years; after that age, if they are able to -maintain themselves, they may be emancipated -from his control. But a mother can apply to -the court for an order that she may have the -exclusive care of her children while they are -respectively under seven years of age; and after -that age, for leave of access to them at reasonable -times, in cases where husband and wife do not -live together. In case of the divorce of the -parents, the court will give directions as to the -custody of the children of the marriage, taking -into consideration the offence against morality of -the guilty parent, but also what is best for the -children’s education and upbringing and prospects -in life.</p> - -<p>A parent is bound to maintain and educate his -children according to his station; and if the father -should neglect his duty in this respect, the mother—if -living with her husband—may, as his agent, -order what is necessary, and he would be responsible -for the expense thus incurred, which must -be strictly limited to what is reasonably necessary. -If a child should become chargeable upon the -poor-rates, both father and grandfather are responsible -for repayment of the cost incurred; the -former primarily, and the latter secondarily, in -case of the absence or inability of the father. -In like manner, a child may be compelled to -repay to the poor-rates authorities the cost of maintenance -of his parents, if he have the means of -doing so.</p> - -<p>A child while under the age of twenty-one -years cannot enter into a binding contract, even -with the consent and concurrence of its parent, -except for special purposes. One of these purposes -is the acquisition of knowledge which will -enable the child to earn its livelihood when it -arrives at maturity. Thus apprentices and articled -clerks may be bound in such a manner as to render -it compulsory for them to serve until they respectively -attain the age of twenty-one years; but -the binding cannot be extended beyond that age. -As soon as an apprentice attains his majority, -he may elect to vacate his indenture, and be free -from any further compulsory service. This is -founded upon the well-known principle, that a -minor can only be compelled to perform contracts -entered into on his behalf during his minority; -and that when he attains the age of twenty-one -years, he is free to enter into contracts on his own -behalf, which stand upon an entirely different -footing, and are entirely inconsistent with the -former contract. It may also be mentioned here -that a minor, when he becomes of age, is free to -elect whether he will perform any other contracts -which he may have entered into during his -minority. If any such contract be beneficial, -he may allow it to stand; and if it be otherwise, -he may cancel it; but the other party, if of full -age, will be bound by his contract.</p> - -<p>In this connection we may notice the Infants -Relief Act, 1874. Although primarily aimed at -the protection of ‘infants’ from the consequences -of their own imprudence, this statute, the operation -of which extends to the whole of the United -Kingdom, has been found very useful in relieving -children against a cruel but not uncommon kind -of pressure by impecunious parents, who in many -cases induced their children to encumber their -expectant property in order to assist them (the -parents) when in difficulties. The manner was -this: The son would while under age sign a -promise to execute a valid charge, which would -accordingly be executed the day after he attained -his majority; and though the first promise was -worthless, the deed was binding. But it was -enacted that all contracts entered into by ‘infants’ -for the repayment of money lent or to be lent, -and all accounts stated with ‘infants,’ should be -not merely voidable, but absolutely void; and -further, the ratification when of full age of any -such promise should be void also, and the ratified -promise should be incapable of being enforced.</p> - -<p>A parent may lawfully maintain an action on -behalf of his child, whether such child be an -infant or of full age, without being liable to be -prosecuted for the offence of maintenance or -champerty. In like manner, a child if of full -age may maintain an action on behalf of his -parent, even though he may have no personal -interest in the subject-matter of the action.</p> - -<p>A parent may also protect his child, or a child -protect his parent, from violence or assault, in -such circumstances as would expose a stranger -to the charge of officiously intermeddling with -strife which did not concern him.</p> - -<p>The power of an Englishman to dispose of his -property by will being absolute, the consideration -of a parent’s will as affecting his children need -not detain us long. The principal peculiarity is -this: In case of the death of a child or grandchild -of a testator in the lifetime of the latter, -leaving lawful issue, any devise or bequest in -the will in favour of the deceased child or grandchild -will take effect in favour of his issue in -the same manner as if he had survived the testator -and died immediately afterwards. In similar -circumstances, a gift in favour of any other person -who died in the testator’s lifetime would lapse, -that is to say, it would altogether fail to take -effect.</p> - -<p>But in Scotland, the power of a father to dispose -of his property by will is much more restricted, -being confined to what is called the ‘dead man’s’ -part—namely, so much as remains after setting -aside one-third of the personal property or movable -goods for the widow; and one-third for the -children of the testator. Or if there be no widow, -then the share of the children is one-half, which -is divisible among them equally. The rights of -either widow or child may be renounced by an -antenuptial marriage contract, or for some equivalent -provision given in such a contract, or by will; -and a child of full age may by deed discharge his -claim for <i>legitim</i>, as the children’s share of the -succession is called.</p> - -<p>In case of intestacy, the eldest son is by the -common law his father’s heir-at-law, subject to -his mother’s dower, if not barred or discharged. -But in some localities, special customs exist, -such as Borough English—prevalent at Maldon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">{379}</span> -in Essex and elsewhere, by virtue of which -the youngest son is the heir—and Gavelkind, -which affects most of the land in Kent, where -all the sons inherit in equal shares. Returning -to the common-law rule, where there are both -sons and daughters, the eldest son inherits to -the exclusion of his younger brothers, and his -sisters whether elder or younger. But if the -intestate had no son, but several daughters, they -would take as co-parceners in equal undivided -shares. It will be understood that heirs and -co-heiresses take freehold houses and land; but -that leaseholds are personal property, and like -money and goods, stocks and shares, are distributable, -subject as hereinafter mentioned, among the -widow (if any) and relatives of the deceased. -Copyhold property is real estate, and the descent -is in each case regulated by the custom of the -manor of which the property is holden; Borough -English and Gavelkind being much more common -as affecting copyhold than freehold estates, though -even in the case of copyholds the common-law -rule is by far the most general.</p> - -<p>The personal property of an intestate is the -primary fund for payment of funeral and other -expenses, costs of administration, and debts. When -these have been paid, the widow (if any) is -entitled to one-third of what is left; and the -other two-thirds are divisible among the children. -If there be no widow, the children take all, the -collateral relatives having no claim. If any of -the testator’s children have died before him, leaving -issue, such issue take in equal shares the -portion which their parent would have taken -if living.</p> - -<p>In England, the heir-at-law who takes his -father’s freehold estates is not thereby deprived -of his share, or any portion of his share, of the -personalty. But in Scotland, the heir must -bring into account or collate the value of what -he has received in that capacity, before he can -claim any part of the movables.</p> - -<p>If a son or daughter be possessed of real and -personal estate, and die unmarried, or widowed -without children, and without making a will, -leaving a surviving father, he would take the -real estate as heir-at-law, and the personal estate -as sole next of kin. If he were dead, the mother -would take a share of the personal estate with -the surviving brothers and sisters, and the eldest -brother would inherit the real estate as heir-at-law. -If the mother were living, but no brothers -or sisters, nephews or nieces, she would have the -personal estate, but could not inherit the real -estate so long as any heir could be found on the -paternal side. The children of deceased brothers -and sisters take equally amongst them the share -of personal estate which their deceased parent -would have taken if living.</p> - -<p>The law of Scotland is not so favourable to the -father and mother of intestates. The father does -not succeed to real or heritable estate if there be -a brother or sister, and in the same event his -right is limited to that of one-half the movable -estate. When the father has predeceased, and -the mother survives, she takes one-third of the -movable succession, and the rest goes to brothers -and sisters or other next of kin.</p> - -<p>Having thus considered the rights, duties, and -liabilities of parents with respect to the persons, -the necessities, and the property of their children, -and the corresponding rights and obligations of -children with regard to their parents, we must -offer a few remarks on the authority of parents -over their children, and the extent to which that -authority may be delegated to others.</p> - -<p>A parent may control the actions of his children -so long as they remain under his roof, and may -insist upon his regulations being observed and -his commands obeyed. While they are of tender -years, he may inflict any reasonable punishment -for disobedience or other offence, either by personal -chastisement or otherwise; but he must -not torture them, nor endanger their lives or -health. He may also instruct his children himself; -or he may send them to school; in the -latter case, delegating to the schoolmaster so much -as may be necessary of his power to restrain and -correct the children so intrusted to his care. -Since compulsory education became law, he <i>must</i> -use reasonable means to get them educated. If -a child should prove incorrigible, the parent may -apply to the justices of the peace to send him -or her to an Industrial School; which they have -power to do on being satisfied by evidence upon -oath that the child is altogether beyond the -power of its parent to manage or control; and -an order may be made upon the parent to pay -the expense of the child’s maintenance and education -in such school, if his means are sufficient to -enable him to do so.</p> - -<p>The liabilities imposed by marriage differ to -some extent from the responsibilities of actual -parentage. Thus, a man may be compelled to -repay the expense incurred by the maintenance -of his own father, but not of his wife’s father, -in the workhouse. And though a married man -is bound to keep his wife’s children, born before -his marriage with her, until they are sixteen -years of age respectively, if his wife live so -long; yet, if she were to die while any of -them were under that age, his responsibility -would immediately cease. And if any of them -were to become chargeable upon the poor-rates -when more than sixteen years old, the stepfather -could not be required to contribute towards the -expense of their maintenance, even though their -mother should be still living.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IN_A_FURNITURE_SALEROOM">IN A FURNITURE SALEROOM.</h2> -</div> -<p class="ph3">A DAY-DREAM.</p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">I just</span> missed by a neck, as they say in steeplechasing -dialect—though on second thoughts I -think it must have been liker a full horse-length—my -lot being cast among second-hand furniture. -I believe I was of too philosophic a nature to -make a practical auctioneer and furniture-broker -of. At least, such was something like the opinion -held by my employer—the old gentleman was a -bit of a wag—who told my father, when the latter -went to see why this knight of the hammer had -dispensed with his son’s services, that my mind, -like the late lamented Prince of Denmark’s, was -of too speculative a character ever to ‘mak’ saut to -my kail’ at his profession, and advised him to -bring me ‘out for a minister.’ I need not say -that this advice was, for divers reasons, never -acted upon.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">{380}</span></p> - -<p>I suppose it must have been my twelve-months’ -sojourn in this old worthy’s service which gives -me to this day a certain meditative interest in -brokers’ shops and old furniture salerooms. I -am not at any time much of a stroller about the -streets and gazer into shop-windows; but next -to looking into the windows of book or print and -picture shops, I have a weakness for sauntering -into musty old salerooms, and staring idly at the -miscellaneous articles of second-hand furniture -huddled within their walls, and moralising on -the mutability of human hopes and possessions. -A spick-and-span new furniture and upholstery -establishment has no more fascination for me than -a black-and-white undertaker’s. But out of the -bustle of the street and the broiling heat of the -mid-day sun—which is my favourite time of indulgence—and -in the dusty and shadowy corners, -festooned with cobwebs, of a broker’s shop or -old furniture saleroom, I forget how the time -goes, as I join over again the sundered human -relationships to the pieces of furniture at which -I stand staring in half-reverie. I fancy it must -have been this same dreamy tendency which, -peeping forth in my boyish career, led my shrewd -master to forecast my future with so much -certainty to my parent. I care not about purchasing -any of the articles that so absorb me. -It is not the barren desire of possession which -makes me haunt these dusty salerooms. When -the place becomes crowded with people, and the -auctioneer mounts his little pulpit, I gather -my wandered wits together and ‘silently steal -away.’</p> - -<p>I say I love to linger among the cobwebs and -amid the silence of old furniture salerooms—as -fruitful a source of meditation to me as loitering -among tombs ever was to Harvey. That venerable -eight-day clock standing against the wall, -behind those slim walnut chairs and couch done -up in the bright green repp, its mahogany almost -as black as your Sunday hat with age, turns on -my thinking faculty just as the ‘auld Scots’ -sangs’ moves my guidwife Peggy to tears. I -think of all the pairs of eyes that have gazed -up at the hands and figures on its olive-tinted -face, and wonder how many of them have taken -their last look of earth. My imagination transports -it to some well-to-do Scottish cottage home, where -I see, held up in fond arms, the marvelling -youngsters, in striped cotton pinafores, with their -wide-open eyes staring at the representatives of -the four quarters of the globe, painted in bright -dazzling colours on each corner of the dial-plate. -Perhaps some of those same youngsters, to whose -inquiring and wondering minds the pictures were -an every-day exercise, are settled down, old men -and women now, in one of these distant quarters -of the globe, say America, and are sitting at this -very moment in their log-hut in the backwoods, -their minds’ eyes reverting to the familiar face -of that old clock tick-ticking away in their -childhood’s home.</p> - -<p>Over against where it stood in that same old -home, between the room door and the end of the -white scoured wooden dresser with its well-filled -delf rack, I picture to myself the wasted face of -a sick woman pillowed up in bed. What weary -nights she has listened to its tick-tack, and counted -the slow hours as they struck, waiting for the -dawn! I know that her head aches no longer, -and that she sleeps sound enough now, with the -summer breeze stirring the green grass on her -grave.</p> - -<p>Turning away from the venerable time-keeper, -my eye falls on an old-fashioned low-set chest -of drawers, with dingy folding brass handles, -and little bits of the veneer chipped off here -and there, and the ivory awanting in some of -the keyholes. Where are now, I ask myself, -the ashes of those bright household fires, which -have winked in the shining depths of their -mahogany in the darkening gloaming, before -the blinds were drawn and the candles lit? -What secrets and treasures have not these same -drawers been the repositories of! I see a pensive -female form, in striped shortgown and drugget -petticoat, stop while she is sweeping the kitchen -floor, and, with palpitating heart, pull out the -centre small top drawer to take another look at -the golden curl, wrapped in a precious letter, in -the corner beside two or three well-worn toys. -That bruised heart will throb no more with joy -or pain; neither will her tears fall any more -like scalding lead on the blurred parchment, -as she lifts the bright curl to her lips before -wrapping it away out of sight again—till, mayhap, -the next day, when the old yearning returns, and -she must needs go and unfold her treasure, the -sight of which brings the little chubby face—over -which the curl used to hang—once more before -her brimming eyes.</p> - -<p>The little bookcase, with the diamond-shaped -panes, on the top of the chest of drawers is an -object to me of even nobler regard than the -drawers themselves. My venerable uncle, who -was an author too, had just such a little bookcase -on the top of his drawers, about three-fourths -filled with sombre-looking volumes. I -remember I never looked up at it as a boy, -and beheld the dim dusty books, like gray -ghosts, sitting erect, or leaning against one -another in the twilight shelves, but I associated -it in my fancy with the inside of his own -gray head. Already I see the titles on the -backs of some of these children of dead brains -looming out of the empty gloom through the -diamond-shaped panes; and I can recognise many -of my own favourites among them. The binding -is more faded and worn on the backs of some -than others, as if they had been more often in -the hand and more dear to the heart of the reader. -I am almost tempted to stretch forth my hand -and renew their acquaintance. One in particular, -in faded green-and-gold binding, looking out from -amongst a motley company of fiction, <i>The House -with the Seven Gables</i>, I have a covetous eye -upon.</p> - -<p>How I should like to revisit the shadowy -chambers of that old puritan mansion, especially<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">{381}</span> -that low-studded oak-panelled room with the -portrait of the stern old Colonel looking down -from the wall; and feel the smell of its decaying -timbers, ‘oozy’ with the memories of whole generations -of Pyncheons; to see poor perplexed old -Hepzibah in the midst of her first day’s shopkeeping, -with her wreck of a resurrected brother -to care and provide for; and watch—not without -reverence, even though we are constrained sometimes -to laugh—the miraculously minute workings -of her crazed old heart fighting—a kind of comic -pathos, as well as rarest heroism in her mimic -battling—those troublesome spectres of gentility -which she has inherited with her Pyncheon -blood.</p> - -<p>Alas for this most bewitching of romancers! -Well might his friend Longfellow exclaim of -him:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Ah! who shall lift that wand of magic power,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And the lost clue regain?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The unfinished window in Aladdin’s tower</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Unfinished must remain!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Sitting on the shelf beneath <i>The House with the -Seven Gables</i> is the king of all the magicians—the -enchanter’s name printed in tarnished gold letters -on a faded square of scarlet morocco on its calf -back—‘Shakspeare.’</p> - -<p>On this hot July forenoon, with dusty smelling -streets, when the united heart of our mighty -Babylon is panting for the water-brooks, wouldn’t -it be a treat just to step into the forest of Arden? -You don’t require to change your clothes, or -bolt a hurried luncheon, or run to catch a train, -or take your place on the crowded deck of a -snorting greasy steamboat under a vertical sun; -but simply to open out the volume at that most -delightful of all comedies, <i>As You Like It</i>, and -at once fling yourself down ‘under the shade of -melancholy boughs,’ and ‘lose and neglect the -creeping hours of time’ listening to the moralising -of a Jaques</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent10">As he lay along</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>or to an encounter of his wits with the sage fooleries -of a Touchstone; or the love-sick ravings of an -Orlando; or the nimble pleasantries and caustic -humours of a Rosalind.</p> - -<p>But, to speak the truth, I don’t know whether -I should not prefer at this moment—to a lounge in -the forest of Arden—a meditative ramble and chat -with the Wanderer in Wordsworth’s <i>Excursion</i>, -which I spy leaning against my old friend <i>The -Vicar of Wakefield</i>, there, on the other side of -Shakspeare. How pleasant it would be, after -toiling across the bare wide common, baked with -the scorching heat, to join that venerable philosopher -and retired packman just where the author -himself meets him by appointment, reposing his -limbs on the cottage bench beside the roofless hut -of poor Margaret!</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">His eyes as if in drowsiness half shut,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The shadow of the breezy elms above</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Dappling his face.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But the unceremonious porter is apparently -unwilling to gratify me so far, having, in his -preparations for the sale, pushed a tall half-tester -bedstead right in front of my view of the chest -of drawers and bookcase.</p> - -<p>This alteration has brought to light an old -armchair among a crowd of odd window-poles -and bed-bottoms, a kind of bewilderment and -shyness in its wrinkled features, as if it hardly -felt at home in this nineteenth-century saleroom, -rubbing shoulders, so to speak, with pompous -old sideboards, and gouty old sofas and stuff-bottomed -chairs, and wishing it were back to -the earthen cottage floor again. From its -shape and the colour of its wood, it looks more -than a hundred years old. My Aunt S——, who -was a paralytic, had just such a chair, which -she sat in for ten years before she died. It -had belonged to her mother’s mother; and she -took great pride in averring that Burns—who, -her own mother told her, was a crony of her -father’s—had many a time sat in it. I think I -see herself sitting in it at this moment, with her -great black piercing eyes, and hear her clever -critical tongue wagging as of old.</p> - -<p>This ancient armchair, stuffed away amid the -dust and lumber of the saleroom, touches my feelings -more nearly than any other object joined -together with hands. Its low, firm, but narrow -seat, its solid curved arms, its straight sloping -back with three spars in the centre, recall the -tottering gait of silvery-haired grandfathers in -knee-breeches and ‘rig-an’-fur’ stockings, and hale -old grandmothers with white bordered ‘mutches’ -or caps on their heads, and tartan napkins about -their stooping shoulders; and old-fashioned Scotch -kitchens with eight-day clocks, and wooden dressers, -and clean-clayed roomy fireplaces with big-bellied -pots hanging from the links on the ‘swee’ or -crane.</p> - -<p>But what household god is this which is the -subject of whispering criticism behind me? -Turning round, I observe two women, evidently -intending purchasers from their remarks, and -not idle dreamers like myself, moving away -from a large chest to inspect some dishes they -have suddenly caught sight of on a side-table -at the further end of the room. This chest -I have seen before, especially about the term-time, -mounted on the footboard of a cab beside -the driver, while its ‘sonsie’ proprietress—unaccustomed -as she is to ride in carriages—sits -on the edge of the cushioned seat inside, -staring apologetically at the foot-passengers on -the pavement. It is the same kind of thing -thrifty housewives in the country used to keep -their blankets in, before the trunks and tin boxes -came so much into vogue. It is painted an oak -colour, though to my mind it resembles more -a musty gingerbread; and it has a black line -forming a square on each of its plain panels. -Instinctively I lift the lid and peep in. Its -white wood is covered with a wall-paper pattern -of moss-roses. It has a ‘shuttle’ too, with a little -drawer underneath; the same as was in the -chest I had when a bachelor. I used to keep -all my valuables in that little drawer, such as -love-letters. How those epistles accumulated! I -remember I had to press them down before the -drawer would shut, when I happened to be -refreshing my memory with some of their pleasant -sentiments. Peg’s portrait used to lie here in -a corner of this same charmed sepulchre. If I -were to tell my young readers how often I made -an excuse to go into my chest for something or -other, and never withdrew my head without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">{382}</span> -taking a peep at Peg’s face, they would no doubt -call me spooney, though they know quite well -they do the same thing themselves.</p> - -<p>The bustling old porter, who kept hovering in -my vicinity—a kind of astonished interest looking -out of his not unkindly gray eyes—here cut short -my amorous reminiscences by shutting down -the lid of the chest, and, apparently with a view -to economise space—for odd customers were -beginning to drop in—lifting a cradle on to the -top of it. The cradle is one of the old-fashioned -wooden sort, with good solid rockers, which used -to be seen in the houses of plain folks in my -young days, and was usually of some antiquity, -being considered an heirloom, and descending -from parent to eldest son. I remember another -cradle just like this one, in our old home. It -was painted a bluish-green colour inside, and a -loud mahogany colour outside, interspersed with -numberless artificial black knots, more like figures -in the hangings, or wall-paper, than the grains -of wood. That cradle had rocked no end of -generations of my progenitors; and when baby -visitors gave over showing their chubby little -red pudding faces at our house, my sister and -I used to play at ‘shop’ and ‘church’ in it on -wet days. On these occasions, though I allowed -her—as I no doubt thought became her good-for-nothing -sex—the full management of the shop, -yet I always insisted on being the clergyman, -turning the cradle on its end, and preaching from -under its hood, which served as a canopy.</p> - -<p>That oldest and ever newest tragedy which -we must all, some time or other, be witnesses -of, or chief performers in, has been enacted in -this hollow little bed ere now. I see the worn -and anxious mother seated on a stool bending -over the little sufferer in the cradle. She has -not had her clothes off for nearly a week, but -she will not be persuaded to lie down. She -could never forgive herself if those glazed little -windows, so set-like now in their deep sockets, -under the ashy pale brow, were to be darkened -for ever, and she not see the final darkening. -She wets continually the livid and senseless little -lips, and sighs as if her heart would burst, as -she watches, in her own words, ‘the sair, sair -liftin’ o’ the wee breist, an’ the cauld, cauld -dew on the little face!’ The struggle will not -last long now, and the mother’s pent-up feelings -will ere long get relief.</p> - -<p>Whether desirous of diverting my thoughts -from this harrowing scene, or merely thinking -it a pity that I should be exercising my mind -over a lot of lifeless old sticks, the porter, with -a delicacy of insight that I would hardly have -credited him with, has brought two pictures, and -without a word has put them up against the -backs of two mahogany chairs in front of me. -If that porter had been my friend the biggest half -of his natural lifetime—which, judging from the -furrows on his lean face and the whiteness of -his scant locks, was already anything but a short -one—he could not have selected two works of -art more pat to my taste or my present mood; -and I inwardly blessed him for his thoughtful -trouble, though I had a vague suspicion that -there might be a gentle touch of irony in his -ministrations.</p> - -<p>The largest picture, ‘Crossing the Sands,’ is -a gloaming or twilight subject, somewhere, I -fancy, on the Ayrshire coast. Its features are -as familiar to me as the streets and houses in -my native town. It brings to mind the days of -my childhood, when the old folks used to hire a -garret at the seaside for a few brief—for us -youngsters all too brief—days in the summer; and -the lonely walks and talks of later years, when -the sun had gone down, and the newly awakened -winds blew all the stronger and fresher in our -faces for their afternoon’s slumber, and our voices -mingled with the rhythmic murmur of the waves -as they broke at our feet.</p> - -<p>The artist, I suppose, has named his picture -from the dim outline of a horse and cart, with -two figures sitting in it, crossing the darkening -sands. The tide is far out, and has left long -zigzag shallow pools of water lying in the uneven -places on the sands, into which the swift vanishing -day, through a break in the dark saffron -clouds, is casting wistful looks. The same pale -reflection is glimmering faintly along the wave-broken -verge of the distant sea; while the denser -flood, where it stretches out to meet the gray skyline, -wears something of a sad melancholy in its -cold blue depth. In comfortable contrast with -this lonesomeness, sitting among the deepening -shadows on a dark clump of moorland, or bent, -on the left-hand corner of the picture, is the -dreamiest little hut, with the rarest blue smoke -rising out of its crazy chimney, and floating like -a spirit among the dark grays and purples sleeping -on the hillsides.</p> - -<p>The smaller upright picture is a street in Dieppe—the -time, evening, from the green tinge in the -blue of the sky, and the roseate hue of the low-lying -clouds. It is just such an old French street -as one would delight in strolling through at that -poetic hour, to feast one’s eyes on the bewitching -mixture of sunlight and shadow, reclining -side by side, or locked in loving embrace among -the sombre reds, and rich browns, and warm -ochres on the quaint roofs and gables and walls; -and to note the leisurely figures of the picturesque -women in white caps, blue shortgowns, and red -petticoats, chatting in the mellow sunlight at the -street corner, or moving along in the shadow -under the eaves of the overhanging gables; or -the slow cart in the middle of the street, its -wheels resting on that streak of sunshine slanting -from the old gable at the corner; or the decrepit -vegetable-woman at her stand on the opposite -side of that gutter, the fresh green colour of her -vegetables—all the fresher and greener against -the daub or two of bright red—wafting one’s -thoughts away to cottage gardens and pleasant -orchards.</p> - -<p>But I must not tarry any longer in this old -French street, or, indeed, in this musty old saleroom, -which has thrown off its pensive and -meditative humour, and taken on a brisk, practical, -and business-like air. Already the auctioneer -and his spruce clerk have arrived, and the faces -of the knots of people scattered up and down -the floor are looking with expectancy towards the -little pulpit. It is no longer a place for an -idle dreamer like myself, and so I saunter out -to the street. The sudden transition from the -shadow of the saleroom to the bright white sunshine -on the bustling city thoroughfare, together -with the sight of the refreshing water-cart, with -a group of barelegged, merry children prancing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">{383}</span> -in its cooling spray, instantly dispel my illusions; -and in another moment I am as completely in the -midst of the living present as I was before in the -dead past.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="SURGICAL_SCRAPS">SURGICAL SCRAPS.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is a curious instrument in the <i>armamentarium</i> -of the surgeon called a probang, employed -for removing foreign bodies which have become -fixed in the esophagus or gullet. It consists of -a flexible stem, at one end of which is an arrangement -of catgut fibres, and at the other end a -small handle. By moving the handle slightly, -these threads of catgut—which are stretched all -round and parallel to the stem at its lower end—can -be bent outwards in a radiating manner, -which gives the instrument the appearance of a -chimney-sweep’s broom in miniature. When a -person is so unfortunate as to get a piece of bone -stuck in his throat beyond the reach of the -surgeon’s hand, the probang is sometimes found -very useful. It can be passed down the gullet, -in a closed condition, beyond the obstruction, then -opened somewhat like an umbrella, and drawn -upwards, carrying with it—if all goes well—the -foreign body. The passing of such an instrument -is far from being pleasant to the patient; but if -it be done with ordinary care and judgment, it -will not be attended with any harm. Every one -who has known the misery attendant upon getting -a good-sized piece of bone impacted in the food-passage, -will understand that when the operation -has proved successful, the patient is likely to -consider the pleasure of seeing the offending -fragment caught in the meshes of the probang -cheaply purchased by the discomfort attendant -upon the passage of the instrument.</p> - -<p>Another instrument employed for passing down -the esophagus is used for a different purpose. -When the gullet has been severely burned internally—as, -for instance, from the accidental -swallowing of corrosive acids—after the ulcer -produced has healed, there is a great tendency -to contraction in the scar, and consequent stricture -of the esophagus. This may threaten life, by -tending to close the passage altogether. To -prevent this, instruments called bougies are passed -through the constriction from time to time. These -bougies are simply firm, smooth, slightly flexible -rods with rounded ends, and are various in size -as regards their diameters. An instance of the -passing of these instruments being turned to -account in a very curious way, occurred some years -ago in one of the London hospitals. A patient -was suffering from stricture of the esophagus, -brought about in the manner above described; -and the tendency to contraction was in this -case so great, that it was only by the frequent -passing of instruments that it could be prevented -from becoming to the last degree dangerous. -Now, it was impossible that the man could remain -in the hospital permanently; it was therefore -decided to teach him to pass the instrument for -himself. He proved capable of this, after a certain -amount of instruction; and it then occurred to -some one about the hospital that the daily -performance of this operation might be made the -means by which the man could earn a livelihood. -Accordingly, the patient was advised to get a -bougie made as much as possible to resemble -a sword. This he did; and for a long time -afterwards was to be seen about the streets of -London making money by what looked like the -swallowing of a sword. In his case there was -really ‘no deception’ as regards the passing of -a long instrument down towards his stomach -was concerned, the only deception being that the -instrument was not the weapon it represented. -His daily street performance thus served him in -two ways—it supplied him with food, and also -kept open the passage by which that food could -be conveyed to his ‘inner man.’</p> - -<p>The contraction about which we have spoken -as taking place in scars formed after burns of the -gullet, and which is so dangerous there, also occurs -in burns on the surface of the body, and often -leads to a good deal of deformity. Burns, indeed, -are a great source of trouble to the surgeon in -many ways. For instance, if a burn is very -extensive, there may be great difficulty in getting -a cicatrice to form over the whole of it. Cicatrisation -only begins in the immediate neighbourhood -of living epidermis, and therefore a burn or -ulcer must heal from the circumference to the -centre. But the further that the cicatricial tissue -extends from the margin of the burn, the more -slowly and the more imperfectly is it formed; -and indeed it may fail altogether to reach the -centre. This difficulty has often been met by a -small operation called skin-grafting. A piece of -sound skin about the size of a split pea is pinched -up—say, on the outside of the arm—and the -epidermis snipped off with a pair of curved -scissors, the scissors just going deep enough to cut -slightly into the second layer of the skin and -draw a little blood. A special kind of scissors -has been invented for the purpose, that will only -take up just the right amount of skin, so that the -operation is thus made even simpler still; and -if it is skilfully performed, it causes only very -trifling pain. The little fragment of skin thus -separated is then placed gently, with its raw -surface downwards, on the unhealed surface of -the burn. The same thing is repeated again and -again, till there are many grafts, if the burn is -a large one. Isinglass plaster, or some other -similar material, is employed to keep the grafts -in position and preserve them from injury. In -about four days they should have taken root, and -then the covering can be removed. There is now -a number of foci from which cicatrisation can -start; for, as before said, it will begin from where -there is an epidermal covering, and thence alone. -After a time, a number of little islands of scar -tissue may be seen, which go on increasing until -at length they coalesce with one another, and -also join that extending from the margin of the -burn. This is what happens if all goes well; but, -unfortunately, there is a very great tendency for -a cicatrice formed from grafts to break down and -disappear, so that the result is not by any means -always so satisfactory as it at first promises -to be.</p> - -<p>Another trouble with burns is the great pain -which they invariably cause; and numberless are -the applications which have been recommended -for its relief. The great essential in all such -applications is that they should completely -exclude the air; for the very slightest irritation to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">{384}</span> -the surface of a burn will give rise to the most -excruciating pain. To prevent irritation and to -keep the parts at rest is indeed one of the surest -ways of relieving pain, not only in the case of -burns, but in the treatment of other forms of -injury, and also in many kinds of disease. An -instance of this is found in the method adopted -to relieve the pain in certain joint diseases. -Those who have visited the Children’s Hospital -in Ormond Street, or indeed any other hospital -for children, may remember having noticed that -at the foot of many of the beds there was fixed -a pulley, over which ran a cord with a weight -attached to the end of it. This cord, it may -further have been noticed, was fixed at the other -end to a kind of stirrup which depended from -the patient’s foot. Thus the weight—which consisted -of a tin canister partly filled with shot—had -the effect of keeping the child’s leg on the -stretch continuously. In fact, the little patient -looked very much as though he was lying on a -kind of rack; and if the visitor could have heard -the surgeon order more shot to be poured into the -canister, saying that he thought the patient was -able to bear more weight, the command would -have sounded very like that of a torturer, rather -than that of one whose object it was to relieve -pain. But the truth is that this rack is a very -humane one indeed. It is the rack of modern -times, as distinguished from that of past ages; it -is the rack of the surgeon, and not that of the -inquisitor. The cases in which this apparatus is -used are almost always instances of disease of the -hip or knee joint. The object of this arrangement -of pulley and weight is, by making traction on -the foot and leg, to keep the lower of the bones, -which go to form the diseased joint, away from -the upper, and so avoid the excruciating pain -caused by the carious or ulcerated surfaces -touching one another.</p> - -<p>The benefit in such cases of having a weight -drawing on the leg is most marked at night, -when the patient wishes to get to sleep. With -a good heavy weight, many a patient may -sleep comfortably, who would otherwise be in a -most pitiable condition through the long watches -of the night. The position of such a person -without any weight attached would be this. -Knowing from past experience what too often -followed on his dropping off to sleep, he would -endeavour to keep himself from doing so. This, -however, would of course be impossible for long, -and at last the heavy eyelids would droop, the -ward with its long rows of beds would grow -dimmer and dimmer, the breathing of the neighbouring -sleepers would sound fainter and yet -more faint, until sight and hearing failed him, -and his long watching ended in sleep. But now -that he was no longer on his guard to keep his -limb in a state of perfect rest, the irritation of -the diseased part would give rise to spasmodic -contraction of the neighbouring muscles. This -contraction of the muscles would bring the lower -bone of the joint, with more or less violence, -against the upper; the two highly sensitive -ulcerated surfaces would touch, and with a shriek -of agony, the child would awake, quivering in -every limb. And then, as the pain gradually -grew less, again the same terrible drowsiness -would begin to oppress him; and after another -long spell of watching, he would fall asleep once -more, to be once more awakened in the same -horrible manner as before. But with a sufficient -weight attached, the patient may go to sleep -confident of comparative ease; for the weight is -too much for the spasmodic action of the muscles -to overcome, and the bony surfaces therefore -remain separated. And not only does the -surgeon’s rack thus save the patient from a -terrible amount of pain, but, by allowing him to -get good rest of a night, it must increase enormously -the probability of ultimate recovery.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IN_THE_RHINE_WOODS">IN THE RHINE WOODS.</h2> -</div> -<p class="ph3">CUCKOO! CUCKOO!</p> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent6"><span class="smcap">I hear</span> it again!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">An echo of youth from its far sunny shore;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Through the dim distant years it resoundeth once more.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">How mingled the feelings that rise with the strain—</div> - <div class="verse indent6">The joy and the pain!</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent6">I hear it, but not</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In the home of my childhood, the glorious and grand,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">’Mid the wild woody glens of my own native land.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ah! dear to me still is each far distant spot,</div> - <div class="verse indent6">And present in thought.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent6">I see them to-day!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The glory of Spring-time on valley and hill,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That struck to my heart with a rapturous thrill,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And friends in the sunshine of life’s early ray,</div> - <div class="verse indent6">Young, happy, and gay.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent6">All vanished and gone!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Could I see it indeed as in spirit I see,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The home of my youth would be joyless to me;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Like a bird’s empty nest when the tenant has flown,</div> - <div class="verse indent6">Deserted and lone.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent6">Soft, softly it rings!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">O shades of the buried Past, slumber in peace!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">O heart, bid thy sad, tender memories cease!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And welcome the Present, with all that it brings</div> - <div class="verse indent6">Of beautiful things.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent6">How often in youth</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I have dreamed of this land of the oak and the vine,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">This green, lovely land on the banks of the Rhine,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With longing prophetic, that one day in sooth</div> - <div class="verse indent6">The dream should be truth.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent6">Now gladly I rest</div> - <div class="verse indent0">’Mid its scenes of enchantment with those that I love;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Warm hearts are around me, blue skies are above;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And though distant are some of the dearest and best,</div> - <div class="verse indent6">I am thankful, and blest.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent6">The years as they roll</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Rob the cheek of its glow and the eyes of their light,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And much we have cherished is lost to the sight;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But one thing remains that they cannot control—</div> - <div class="verse indent6">The youth of the Soul.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right">I. 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