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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature,
-Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 36, Vol. I, September 6, 1884, by
-Various
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art,
- Fifth Series, No. 36, Vol. I, September 6, 1884
-
-Author: Various
-
-Release Date: August 30, 2021 [eBook #66175]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-Produced by: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed
- Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
- produced from images generously made available by The Internet
- Archive)
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR
-LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 36, VOL. I, SEPTEMBER 6,
-1884 ***
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration:
-
-CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL
-
-OF
-
-POPULAR
-
-LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART
-
-Fifth Series
-
-ESTABLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, 1832
-
-CONDUCTED BY R. CHAMBERS (SECUNDUS)
-
-NO. 36.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._]
-
-
-
-
-‘GRAND DAY.’
-
-
-To the majority of people, the surroundings of the legal profession,
-to say nothing of the law itself, are subjects fraught with no
-inconsiderable amount of the mysterious. For instance, what a variety
-of conceptions have been formed by the uninitiated with respect to
-one ceremony alone connected with the ‘upper branch’ of the legal
-profession; we mean that known as ‘Call to the Bar.’ The very
-expression itself has often proved a puzzle to the lay outsider, and
-perhaps not unnaturally, because there can be no doubt that it is
-one of those out-of-the-way phrases the signification of which sets
-anything like mere conjecture on that point at defiance. There is a
-hazy notion abroad that ‘Call to the Bar’ involves proceedings of a
-somewhat imposing character, especially as there is just a smack of the
-grandiloquent about the term. Accordingly, it may be disappointing to
-many persons to learn that, in the first place, there is no ‘calling’
-at all connected with the ceremony, except the calling over the names
-of the gentlemen who present themselves for admission to the profession
-known as the Bar. And in the next place, it may be a little surprising
-to learn that there is no semblance even of a ‘bar’ of any description
-employed in the performance of the ceremony alluded to.
-
-Again, people appear to have a somewhat indistinct notion about legal
-festivities, the traditional fun of a circuit mess, the precise share
-which ‘eating dinners’ has in qualifying a student for the Bar, and
-so forth. Often, too, they wonder how it is that men addicted to such
-grave pursuits as those followed by the working members of the Bar, are
-so much given to mirth and jollity and costly festivity. The answer to
-this is that, just in proportion to the mental tension superinduced
-by the demands of their calling, is the recoil of their minds in an
-exactly opposite direction after that tension.
-
-Well, then, assuming that barristers are not only a learned and
-laborious but also at suitable times a convivial body of men, we will
-endeavour to describe the proceedings in the Hall of an Inn of Court
-on the evening of a day when barristerial conviviality is supposed to
-reach its culminating point—namely, on what is termed ‘Grand Day.’
-
-We may observe that during each of the four legal terms or sittings
-there is one Grand Day, but the Grand Day of Trinity Term is the
-grandest of them all, and is accordingly styled ‘Great Grand Day.’
-Also, that these days are observed in each of the four Inns of
-Court—namely, the Inner and Middle Temple, Lincoln’s Inn, and Gray’s
-Inn. For present purposes, however, we shall suppose our Grand Day to
-be in Trinity Term, and at an Inn which we shall for certain proper
-reasons call Mansfield’s Inn.
-
- * * * * *
-
-It is a glorious summer evening, and as we approach our noble old
-Hall, we soon perceive that something ‘out of the common’ is going on.
-There is the crimson cloth laid down for the noble and distinguished
-guests who are always invited on these occasions; and near the entrance
-there is a little knot of spectators of all kinds, from the elderly
-respectable gentleman down to the shoeless ‘arab’ from the streets.
-The carriages are beginning to arrive; and the sooner we are inside
-the Hall the better. But there is something to be done before we get
-thither. We must first enter one of the anterooms. Here there is a
-great crush owing to the invariable preliminary to every dinner in
-Hall—the ‘robing,’ as it is called; for benchers, barristers, and
-students all dine in gowns. There are two men now busily engaged
-at this work of robing, selecting from a great black mountain of
-gown-stuff the attire suited to each member. On they go, asking all
-the time the question, ‘Barrister or student, sir?’ of those with
-whom they are unacquainted, until the last man is served. But who is
-that portly looking personage, wearing a gorgeous scarlet gown, who
-ever and anon appears on the scene and gives directions? Nonsense!
-Did you say the head-porter? Certainly; and he is so called, after
-the _lucus a non lucendo_ fashion, because he is never employed to
-carry anything except perhaps letters and messages. In like manner the
-women called ‘laundresses’ who attend to the chambers in the Inns of
-Court, are so termed because they never wash anything at all, which in
-some instances is but too painfully true. But the ‘head-porter’ _is_
-carrying something this evening, in the shape of an enormous baton with
-a silver knob big enough to produce five pounds-worth of shillings.
-Then there is another important-looking gentleman, of graver and more
-anxious demeanour, wearing a black gown, who seems to be the life and
-soul of the preparations generally, and who moves about with such
-alacrity as to suggest an approach to the ubiquitous. This individual
-is the head-butler, and of course his position is one of serious
-responsibility, especially on the present occasion.
-
-Being now robed, we enter the Hall. What a babel of tongues is here
-also! ‘Have you got a mess?’ is the question asked by friend of friend.
-(An Inn of Court mess consists of four persons, the first of whom
-is called the ‘Captain.’) ‘Come and join our mess,’ says another.
-‘I have a capital place up here,’ shouts a joyous young student.
-‘Oh, but you’ll be turned down,’ replies his friend, with a slightly
-consequential air; and we see that the latter, by his sleeved and
-otherwise more flowing robe, is a barrister, although as juvenile as
-his hopeful friend; hence the tone of importance.
-
-‘We sit by seniority on Grand Day,’ our learned young friend goes on to
-state, and languidly falls into a seat.
-
-‘When were you called, sir?’ says a voice to the languid but
-consequential one. The voice proceeds from a form which might easily be
-that of the other’s father, if not grandfather; but the question is put
-_pro formâ_.
-
-‘Hilary ’78’ is the answer.
-
-‘Then I fear I must trouble you to move, for I was called in Hilary
-’58, ha, ha, ha!’ in which the students previously corrected heartily
-join.
-
-‘Oh, all right,’ with a slight _soupçon_ of deference; and away go the
-youngsters; while the man called to the Bar in 1858 will very likely
-have to make way for another called in ’48, and so on, until the whole
-are duly and severally located.
-
-There is an unquestionable aspect of distinction about the place this
-evening. The old Hall itself, in the centre of which is displayed the
-costly plate of Mansfield’s Inn, seems to smile in the sunshine of the
-summer evening. Yet, as the light softly steals in through the stained
-glass forming the armorial bearings of distinguished members of the Inn
-long since passed away, we seem to feel a sort of melancholy, in spite
-of all the gaiety around, from the consideration—which _will_ force
-itself upon the mind—that the paths of law, like glory, ‘lead but to
-the grave.’
-
-Then, again, the timeworn and grim-looking escutcheons of the old
-‘readers,’ which crowd the wainscoted walls, seem to be less grim than
-usual. At the same time, it is impossible not to heave one little
-sigh, as we look up and see in front of us the name and arms, say, of
-Gulielmus Jones, Armiger, Cons. Domi. Regis, Lector Auct. 1745 (William
-Jones, Esquire, Counsel of our Lord the King, Autumn Reader, &c.), and
-wonder how much that learned gentleman enjoyed his Grand Days in the
-period of comparative antiquity mentioned on his escutcheon.
-
-Our business, however, is strictly with the present; and as one of the
-features of Grand Day dinner is that the _mauvais quart d’heure_ is a
-very long _quart_ indeed, we shall be able to look round before dinner
-and see what is going on.
-
-It requires no very great expenditure of speculative power to
-comprehend the nature of the present assembly, numerous though it is.
-Each member of it will readily and with tolerable accuracy tell us who
-and what he is, as mathematicians say, by mere inspection on our part.
-The fact is, we are really face to face with a world as veritable and
-as varied as that outside, only compressed into a smaller compass.
-
-Here are to be seen old, worn, sombre-looking men, some of them bending
-under the weight of years, and actually wearing the identical gowns—now
-musty and faded, like themselves—which had adorned their persons when
-first assumed in the heyday of early manhood, health, high spirits,
-and bright hopes. Among these old faces there are some that are genial
-and easy-looking; yet, beyond a doubt, we are in close proximity to
-many of those individuals who help to constitute that numerous and
-inevitable host with which society abounds—the disappointed in life. We
-see clearly that upon many of these patriarchal personages, the fickle
-goddess has persistently frowned from their youth up, and that they
-have borne those frowns with a bad grace and a rebellious spirit.
-
-Hither, also, have come those who began their career under the benign
-and auspicious influences of wealth and powerful friends; yet many
-of these are now a long way behind in the race—have, in fact, been
-outrun by those who never possessed a tithe of their advantages.
-Such men form a very melancholy group; and we gladly pass from them
-to another class of visitors. These are they whose lives have been
-a steady, manful conflict with hard times and hard lines, but who,
-uninspired by that devouring ambition already alluded to, have not
-experienced the disheartening and chilling disappointment which has
-preyed upon some of the others. These men, however, have seen many of
-their early hopes and aspirations crushed; but they have borne the
-grievance with patience and cheerfulness. They may have had a better
-right to expect success than some of those who had been more sanguine;
-but they have not sneered at small successes because they could not
-achieve grander ones, and have not been ashamed to settle down as
-plodders. They are most of them gentlemen in all senses of the word;
-men of whom universities had once been proud, and who had also honoured
-universities; men who, if unknown to the world at large, have yet
-enlightened it; men whose bright intellects have perhaps elucidated
-for the benefit of the world the mysteries of science, thrown light
-upon its art, literature, and laws; and who, without having headed
-subscription lists or contributed to so-called charities, have yet
-been genuine benefactors to their species. But with all this, they are
-nevertheless men who, destitute of the practical art of ‘getting on in
-the world,’ have not made money. They have never condescended to ‘boo’
-or toady, in order to do so, and thus they must be content to shuffle
-along the byroads of life as best they can, after their own fashion.
-
-Intermingled with such members of the Inn as we have just mentioned are
-their opposites—those who are regarded as having been successful in the
-race of life. How portly and well got-up they are; how bland are the
-smiles which light up their jolly, comfortable-looking countenances,
-whereon exist none of those lines so painfully conspicuous elsewhere.
-There is no lack of geniality here; and you are certain that these
-gentlemen possess happy, if not indeed hilarious temperaments, the
-buoyancy of which is never endangered by the intrusion of any such
-‘pale cast of thought’ as wears away the existence of those others whom
-we have referred to.
-
-This species of ‘successful’ barristers, fortunate though they may
-be, and risen men, too, in one sense, must yet not be confounded with
-that other set of men who make up the real _bonâ fide_ rising and
-risen ones. These latter are grand fellows, and constitute the most
-interesting group of the evening. In some respects they are like those
-others we have spoken of, who have had to fight; but unlike them, they
-have possessed and exercised the gifts of energy, tact, perseverance,
-a wider acquaintance with human nature; and they have also possessed
-the inestimable gifts of good physique and the capacity for unmitigated
-labour. Like the other successful ones, they have risen; but unlike
-them, they have achieved honours which appertain more closely to their
-profession. They are the men from whose ranks our judicial strength
-is recruited; men who in time may become statesmen too, and leave
-distinguished names behind them. They are, in short, gifted honourable
-men, whose promotion is a delight to their friends and a benefit to the
-community, because the promotion of such is always well deserved.
-
-Observable also in the present assembly are several of what may be
-termed the purely ornamental limbs of the law, who are to be found in
-the Inns of Court, and elsewhere. This class comprises country squires,
-gentlemen at large generally, and so forth, who, although entitled to
-the designation of ‘barrister-at-law,’ make no pretensions—at anyrate,
-here—to any depth of legal learning. Yet, likely enough, many of
-them are administrators of the law as county magistrates. However,
-great lawyers are not always the best hands at discharging the often
-rough-and-ready duties of ‘justices out of sessions;’ and whatever may
-be the ability of our friends now in Hall, one thing concerning them is
-clear, that they are to-night amongst the jolliest of the jolly. Look
-at them greeting old friends, dodging about the Hall, replenishing here
-and there their stock of legal _on dits_ and anecdotes for retailing to
-admiring audiences elsewhere, discussing the affairs of the Inn and of
-the nation generally!
-
-Lastly, there are the youngsters, ranging from the shy students only
-recently ‘of’ the Inn, to the youthful barristers who have just assumed
-the wig and gown. Some of the latter are engaged in detailing to eager
-and ambitious listeners the glories surrounding the first brief, while
-all are brimful of mirth and hopefulness. To such, the business of
-Grand Day appears tame in comparison with the high and substantial
-honours which they all firmly believe to be in store for them in
-the future. Ah! the future; that alluring period, so surpassingly
-enchanting to us all in the days of youth!
-
-Such is the assembly before us at Mansfield’s Inn on Grand Day of this
-Trinity Term.
-
-‘Dinner!’ shouts the head-porter, who stands at the door with his
-great silver-headed baton in hand. We now see the use of this badge
-of office; for immediately after enunciating the above welcome word,
-he brings his baton heavily on to the floor three times. Then slowly
-advancing up the Hall, we see that he is a sort of vanguard, or rather
-_avant-courier_, of a host which is gradually following him, gentlemen
-who walk two and two in procession, almost with funereal precision and
-solemnity. As they proceed, the previous loud hum of conversation is
-considerably lulled, and everybody is standing at his place. These are
-the Benchers of the Inn and their guests. The proper designation of
-the former is ‘Masters of the Bench’ of the Inn to which they belong.
-Each is called ‘Master’ So-and-so; and the chief of their body is the
-Treasurer of the Inn, who holds office for one year. The guests are
-invariably persons of well-known position in the Army and Navy, the
-Church, Politics, Law, Science, Literature, and Art. Sometimes royal
-personages honour the Inns with their company on Grand Day; and it is
-well known that several members of the royal family are _members_ of
-certain Inns. The Prince of Wales is a Bencher of the Middle Temple,
-and dined there on Grand Day of Trinity Term 1874, when an unusually
-brilliant gathering appeared. The Prince on that occasion delivered a
-humorous and genial speech, in which he reminded his learned friends of
-the circumstance of Chancellor Sir Christopher Hatton opening a ball
-in that very place with Queen Elizabeth. On the recent occasion of the
-Prince again dining there, no speeches were delivered in Hall.
-
-The procession moves on; and as many of the various guests are
-recognised, the hum of conversation recommences. The Benchers wear
-silk gowns; and now we are actually brushed by a K.G., whose blue
-ribbon is unquestionably a _distingué_ addition to evening dress;
-or by a G.C.B., whose red ribbon is so extremely becoming as to
-set some of the youngsters speculating which they would rather be,
-a Knight of the Garter or a Grand Cross of the Bath. Here we are,
-then, with peers, right honourables, generals, judges, orators,
-poets, painters, humorists, and so forth, around us; but, alas, in
-the midst of so much grandeur, we are troubled by a prosaic monitor
-whose demands are becoming imperative. In other words, we are getting
-hungry. Well, we have not much longer to wait. ‘Rap, rap, rap!’ goes
-the head-porter—this time with an auctioneer’s hammer on one of the
-tables. Immediately dead silence ensues, and then ‘grace’ is read by
-the Preacher of the Inn.
-
-Now we fall to. There is soup, fish, joint, poultry, pastry, beer,
-champagne, and one bottle of any other wine for each mess; and all for
-half-a-crown! However, we know the Inn is rolling in wealth, and we
-feel no compunction as to assisting in the heartiest way to carry on
-the work of consumption going on in all directions.
-
-Presently comes the rapping of Mr Head-porter again, who now proclaims
-‘Silence!’ and having secured this, there comes another request to the
-assembly: ‘Gentlemen, charge your glasses, and drink to the health of
-Her Majesty the Queen.’ The Treasurer then rises and says: ‘Gentlemen,
-“The Queen;”’ whereupon a great and enthusiastic shout of ‘The Queen!’
-bursts forth. There is no more conservative body of men than the Bar of
-England, nor has the Crown more staunch or more devoted supporters than
-the gentlemen of the Long Robe. At the same time, no body of men in
-this country has ever more firmly withstood any attempt to extend the
-royal prerogative to the injury of the subject. The toast, ‘The health
-of the Queen,’ is always drunk at these Bar gatherings with an amount
-of fervour which betokens strong attachment to the constitution; and on
-this particular occasion, the intensity and unanimity of the response
-forcibly reminds one of the discharge of a sixty-eight-pounder!
-
-As a rule, there is no speechifying in Hall, and there is none this
-evening. The practice is for the Benchers to take dessert in one of
-their reception-rooms, called ‘The Parliament Chamber.’ There, all
-the speeches are made, and the speakers are refreshed by the choicest
-products of the vineyard which money and good judgment can procure. Who
-would not be a Bencher?
-
-And now, so far as the ordinary portion of the assembly is concerned,
-dinner is over. Grace again is said; and the Benchers, with their
-guests, retire in the order in which they entered. But now there is
-not altogether that grave air of solemnity about the procession which
-distinguished it at its entrance; indeed, everybody looks and feels all
-the better for the good things which have been partaken of. Neither the
-distinguished guests nor those of the Benchers who are popular with
-the Inn are allowed to depart without a friendly cheer; and if some
-personage happens to be very popular indeed, his name is shouted out in
-a fashion often bordering on the obstreperous.
-
-The last two members of the retiring procession have now passed through
-the door of the Hall, and away go also the majority of those who have
-been dining. A few of the ‘Ancients’ or senior barristers are left
-behind, to finish their wine and their chat; but by twelve o’clock the
-Hall itself and its purlieus are once more deserted and silent.
-
-
-
-
-BY MEAD AND STREAM.
-
-BY CHARLES GIBBON.
-
-
-CHAPTER XLV.—HIGH PRESSURE.
-
-Madge reached home in the darkness, and opened the outer door so
-quietly that she got up to her own room without being observed by
-any of the inmates. Hat and cloak were off in a minute, and flung
-carelessly anywhere—thus marking how completely her mind was distracted
-from ordinary affairs; for, as a rule, she was careful in putting
-things away.
-
-Then!—she did not fling herself on the bed, and give way to an
-overwhelming sense of despair, in the manner of heroines of romance.
-She sat down; clasped hands lying on her lap, and stared into the
-darkness of the room, which was luminous to her hot, dry eyes, and
-wondered what it was all about.
-
-Her engagement with Philip was broken off, and _he_ wished it to be
-so! Now, how could that be? Was it not all some disagreeable fantastic
-dream, from which she would presently awaken, and find him by her side?
-They would laugh at the folly of it all, and be sorry that such ideas
-could occur to them even in dreams. And that horrible, silent drive
-to the station; the silent clasp of hands as the train started; no
-word spoken by either since, in her pain and confusion, she had said
-‘Good-bye,’ and he had echoed it—all that was a nightmare. She would
-shake it off, rouse up, and see the bright day dawning.
-
-But she could not shake it off so easily. He had said that she was to
-consider herself free from all bond to him. He wished it—there was the
-sting—and they had parted. It was a different kind of parting from the
-one she had prepared herself to pass through with composure. Was it a
-distorted shadow of her mother’s fate that had fallen upon her?
-
-At this she started, and bravely struggled with the nightmare which had
-weighed upon her from the moment the fatal word ‘Good-bye’ had escaped
-her lips. They were not parted—absurd to think that possible. She took
-blame to herself; she had been hasty, and had not made sufficient
-allowance for his worried state. Perhaps she had been quickened to
-anger by his apparent want of faith because she would not reveal what
-she had promised to be silent about for his sake. She, too, felt
-distracted at the moment; and want of faith in those we love is the
-cruelest blow to the distracted mind.
-
-Ay, she should have been more forbearing—much more forbearing,
-considering how worried he was. And she could see that haggard face now
-with the great dazed eyes of a man who is looking straight at Ruin,
-feeling its fingers round his throat choking him.... Poor Philip. She
-had been unkind to him; but it should be all put right in the morning.
-She would tell Aunt Hessy and Uncle Dick, and they would force him away
-from that dreadful work which was killing him, and——
-
-And here what threatened to be a violent fit of hysteria ended in a
-brief interval of unconsciousness.
-
-The door opened, light streamed into the room, and Aunt Hessy, lamp in
-hand, entered. Madge had slipped down to the floor, and long, sobbing
-sighs were relieving the overpent emotions of her heart.
-
-‘Thou art here, child, and in such a plight!’
-
-The good dame did not waste more words in useless exclamations of
-amazement and sorrow, but raised her niece to the chair and, without
-calling for any assistance, applied those simple restoratives which a
-careful country housewife has always at command for emergencies. The
-effect of these was greatly aided by the sturdy efforts made by the
-patient herself to control the weakness to which she had for a space
-succumbed.
-
-‘I’ll be better in a minute or two, aunt,’ were the first words she
-managed to say; ‘don’t fret about me.’
-
-‘I shall fret much, child, if thou dost not continue to fret less
-thyself.’
-
-‘I’ll try.... But there is such sore news. Philip says he is ruined,
-and that he must—he must ... because it is Uncle Dick’s wish ... he
-must’——
-
-She was unable to finish the sentence.
-
-‘Say nothing more until I give thee leave to speak,’ said Aunt Hessy
-with gentle firmness; but the tone was one which Madge knew was never
-heard save when the dame was most determined to be obeyed. ‘We have
-heard much since thou hast been away; and we have been in fright about
-thee, as it grew late. But though thou wert with friends, I knew that
-home was dear to thee, whether thou wast glad or sad. So I came up
-here, and found thee.’
-
-‘But the ruin is not what I mind: it is his saying that we are to part.’
-
-To her surprise, Aunt Hessy did not immediately lift her voice in
-comforting assurance of the impossibility of such a calamity. She only
-raised her hand, as if to remind her that silence had been enjoined.
-Seeing that this was not enough, or moved by compassion for the
-distress which shone through Madge’s amazement, she said:
-
-‘We shall see about that, by-and-by.’
-
-But Madge could not be so easily satisfied; for something in her aunt’s
-manner suggested that there might be truth in Philip’s assertion of
-the view her guardians would take of the position. He had said they
-would hold it as contrary to common-sense that a man who had been
-disinherited by his father and ruined by speculation should keep a girl
-bound to wait for him till he had retrieved his fortune, or to marry
-him and share—or rather increase his poverty. That was a cruel kind of
-practical reason which she could neither understand nor appreciate. If
-they really intended to insist upon such a monstrous interpretation of
-the engagement she had entered into with Philip, then she must try to
-explain how differently she regarded it. The moment of misfortune was
-the moment in which she ought to step forward and say: ‘Philip, I am
-ready to help you with all my strength—with all my love.’
-
-Only Philip had the right to say: ‘No; you shall not do this.’
-
-And there the poor heart sank again, for he had in effect said this: he
-had told her that he _wished_ the bond to be cancelled. That was a very
-bitter memory, even when she made allowance for his conviction that her
-guardians expected him in honour bound to make such a declaration. Now,
-however, she recognised self-sacrifice in his act; and feeling sure
-that it was love for her which prompted it, took comfort.
-
-Her first idea, then, was to find out what her guardians were to do,
-and she was about to rise, with the intention of asking her aunt to go
-with her to the oak parlour, when she was interrupted.
-
-There was first a banging of doors below; next there was a deep voice
-from the middle of the staircase:
-
-‘I say, missus, art up there?’
-
-Before any answer could be given, Uncle Dick presented himself with as
-near an approach to a frown as his broad honest face was capable of
-forming.
-
-‘So you are here, Madge. Thought as much. I told the missus you could
-take care of yourself; but a rare fuss you have been making among
-us, running about here, there, and anyhow, when you know the day for
-Smithfield is nigh, and ever so many things to do that you ought to do
-for me. I say that ain’t like you, and I’m not pleased.’
-
-While Crawshay was venting this bit of ill-humour, he stood in the
-doorway, and as Madge had risen, the lamp was below the level of her
-face, so that he could not see how ill she looked.
-
-‘I hope I have not forgotten anything,’ she said hastily; ‘you remember
-the first papers were filled up by—by Philip.’
-
-‘They’re right enough; but here’s a letter from the secretary you
-didn’t even open.’
-
-‘It must have come after I went away.’
-
-‘Like enough, like enough,’ he went on irritably, although the dame had
-now grasped his arm, and was endeavouring to stop him. ‘Away early and
-back late—that’s the shortest cut into a mess I know of.—Where have you
-been?’
-
-It was evident that the unopened letter of the Smithfield secretary had
-less to do with his ill-humour than he was trying to make believe. The
-question with which he closed his grumble suggested the real cause of
-vexation.
-
-‘Quiet thyself, Dick,’ his wife interposed. ‘Madge is not well
-to-night, and it makes her worse to find thee angry.’
-
-‘Could a man help being angry?’ he said, becoming more angry because of
-his attention being called to the fact that he was so, as is the wont
-of quick tempers. ‘Have you told her about them blessed letters?’
-
-‘I have told her that we received them: to-morrow, we can tell her what
-they are about.’
-
-‘I would rather know at once, aunt,’ said Madge calmly, as she advanced
-to Crawshay, and only a slight tremor of the voice betrayed her
-agitation. ‘They concern Philip; and I should not be able to sleep if
-anything was kept back from me. He is in cruel trouble, Uncle Dick, and
-he says you want me to break off from him, and that has upset me a
-little, although I know that you would not ask me to do such a thing,
-when he is in misfortune.’
-
-‘Dick Crawshay never left a friend in a ditch yet, and he had no
-business to say that of me,’ blurted out the yeoman indignantly. Then,
-checking himself, he added: ‘But there’s sense in it too. Maybe he
-wants to break off himself; and I shouldn’t wonder, either, if he has
-heard what that fellow Wrentham says about your goings-on with Beecham.’
-
-‘Goings-on with Mr Beecham!’
-
-‘Ay, that’s it.... Come now, lass, tell truth and shame the devil—was
-it Beecham you went off in such haste to see to-day?’
-
-‘I went to see Mr Shield, and saw Mr Beecham at the same time.’
-
-‘Then it is true, mother—you see she owns to it,’ said Uncle Dick, his
-passion again rising. ‘And you’ve been writing to Beecham and meeting
-him underhand.’
-
-‘Not underhand, uncle,’ she exclaimed, drawing back in surprise and
-pain. The word ‘underhand’ assumed the significance of a revelation
-to her; but even now she did not see clearly the extent of the
-misconceptions to which her conduct was liable, if criticised by
-unfriendly eyes.
-
-‘You say it ain’t underhand! I say it’s mortal like it. You never said
-a word about Beecham this morning, though you must have known that you
-were going to see him.... Come now, did you not?’
-
-He added the question in a softer tone, as if hoping for a negative
-answer. But Madge evaded a direct reply.
-
-‘What is in the letters to make you so vexed with me?’ she asked.
-
-‘What’s in them?—Why, Shield says that Philip has been a fool, allowing
-himself to be cheated on all sides, and that there’s nothing for him
-but the Bankrupt Court. That’s a fine thing for a man to come to with
-such a fortune in such a short time. But I might have known it would
-end in this way—it’s the same thing always with them that set up for
-improving on the ways of Providence.’
-
-Uncle Dick was in his excitement oblivious of the fact, that whilst he
-had cast some doubt on the success of Philip’s project, he had approved
-the spirit of it. Madge did not observe the inconsistency; she was
-so much astonished by what appeared to be the harsh language of Mr
-Shield, notwithstanding the assurances he had given to her. But she was
-presently set at rest on this point by Aunt Hessy.
-
-‘Thou art forgetting, Dick, that Shield says he’ll see what can be done
-to put Philip right again.’
-
-Madge was relieved; for in spite of its improbability, the thought had
-flashed upon her, that Austin Shield might have been deceiving her as
-to his ultimate purpose regarding Philip.
-
-‘That may be,’ continued Uncle Dick in a tone of general discontent;
-‘like enough, he’ll spend more money on the lad, if so be as that
-Beecham hasn’t got something against it; and blame me if ever I trust
-a man more, if Beecham be a knave.—Now you can settle all that, Madge.
-Seems you know more about him than any of us. Tell us what you know.’
-
-There was no way of evading this request, or rather command; and yet
-she could not comply with it immediately. She had been told that Philip
-would be safe if she kept her promise.
-
-‘What, will you not speak?’ thundered Uncle Dick, after he had waited a
-few seconds. ‘You know that Beecham has to do with Shield, and will say
-nought!’
-
-‘There is nothing wrong about him,’ she pleaded.
-
-‘Does Philip know you are in league with this stranger, and maybe
-helping to ruin him?’
-
-‘I have not told Philip, but’——
-
-‘I don’t want your buts—honest folk don’t need them. That scamp
-Wrentham is right; and it’s a bad business for Philip, and for you,
-and for all of us. Think on it, and when you do, you’ll be sorry for
-yourself.’
-
-He wheeled about, and went downstairs with loud angry steps.
-
-There was a long silence in the room; and then Madge turned with
-pleading eyes to the dame.
-
-‘He is very angry with me, aunt,’ she faltered.
-
-‘I am sorry that I cannot say he is wrong, child,’ was the gentle, but
-reproachful answer.
-
-
-
-
-THE COMMERCIAL PRODUCTS OF THE WHALE.
-
-
-Whales are more numerous than is usually supposed—that is to say, there
-is a greater variety of these giants of the deep than the two or three
-which are known to commerce; such animals being abundant in all seas,
-so far as they have been explored. It is not, however, our intention
-to enter into the natural history of these cetaceans farther than may
-be necessary to understand their commercial value. Nor do we intend to
-dwell on the dangers which are incidental to the pursuit of the whale,
-of which it would not be difficult to compile a melancholy catalogue.
-Terrible shipwrecks, vessels ‘crunched’ by the power of the ice without
-a moment’s warning, others run into and destroyed by the animal itself;
-pitiful boat-voyages, so prolonged as to cause deaths from hunger and
-thirst; ships ingulfed amid the roar of the tempest, and crews never
-heard of since the day they sailed—these are among the incidents which
-have from its beginning marked the progress of the whale-fishery; the
-mortality connected with which has often attracted attention, not only
-in the icy regions of the arctic seas, but also in those of the Pacific
-Ocean, in which, all the year round, men pursue the sperm-whale with
-unceasing activity, at a risk to life and limb only faintly realised by
-landsmen.
-
-It is ‘for gold the merchant ploughs the main;’ and there are persons
-who say that the risks encountered by whale-ships are not greater than
-those common to most branches of the mercantile marine. ‘And if it
-pays,’ say the advocates of whaling, ‘why not carry on the enterprise?’
-But no matter what defence may be offered, whale-fishing has always
-been much of a lottery, in which the few have drawn prizes, whilst the
-many have had to be content with the blanks.
-
-The fortunes of ‘whaling’ are exceedingly varied: one ship may capture
-ten or twelve fish;[1] some vessels occasionally come home ‘clean;’
-while others may each secure from two to half a dozen. We have before
-us several records of the financial results of whale-fishing, in which
-the profits and losses among Pacific whalers exhibit some striking
-differences. One ship, for instance, places at her credit during her
-voyage one hundred and thirty-two thousand dollars; but to the owners
-of the fleet of whalers fishing from New Bedford, United States, in
-1858, there accrued a loss of more than a million dollars. Again, a
-Scottish whale-ship from Peterhead, in Aberdeenshire, was one season
-fortunate enough to capture forty-four whales, the largest number
-ever ‘fished’ by one vessel. The value of the cargo in oil and bone
-considerably exceeded ten thousand pounds sterling. One of the largest
-cargoes ever landed was brought home by the steamer _Arctic_ of Dundee,
-commanded by Captain Adams, one of the ablest arctic navigators. It
-consisted of the produce of thirty-seven whales, which, besides oil,
-included almost eighteen tons of whalebone.
-
-The only whales of commerce were at one time the great sperm-whale
-of southern latitudes, and ‘the right’ or Greenland whale, both
-of which are animals of gigantic size and great power, the latter
-being undoubtedly the larger. No British vessels take part in the
-sperm-fishery, their operations being confined to the arctic regions.
-Dundee is now the chief whaling port, sending out annually sixteen
-ships to Greenland. The Greenland whale, which our British whalemen
-endure such dangers to procure, seldom exceeds sixty feet in length,
-and is about half that number in circumference. An average-sized
-specimen will weigh some seventy tons or more, and forms a mass of
-matter equal to about two hundred fat oxen. One individual caught
-by a Scotch whaler was seventy-two feet in length, with a girth
-of forty-five feet, the total weight being reckoned at upwards of
-one hundred tons. The chief product of the sperm and ‘the right’
-whale—their oil—is of course common to both animals, and is obtained by
-boiling their fat, or ‘blubber’ as the substance is technically called.
-
-It is somewhat curious that in both of these whales the head is
-the portion, size being considered, which is the most valuable. In
-the sperm-whale, ‘the case,’ situated in the head, is filled with
-a substance which is known as spermaceti, and brings a high price.
-One of these giants of the deep will sometimes yield a ton of this
-valuable substance, which is found, when the whale is killed, as an
-oily fluid, that when prepared, gradually concretes into a granulated
-mass. In the Greenland whale the great prize is ‘the bone’ with which
-its head is furnished, and which at the present time is quoted as
-being of the enormous value of two thousand two hundred and fifty
-pounds per ton! The price in America is even higher, the last sales
-in that country bringing two thousand five hundred pounds. It is only
-the Greenland fish which yield this valuable commodity. The whale of
-the Pacific is furnished with teeth; but ‘the right’ whale has in
-lieu thereof a series of plates, or laminæ, on the upper jaw, which
-are in reality the whalebone of commerce. The uses to which ‘bone’ is
-applied vary according to the demands of fashion, so that within the
-last hundred years the price has fluctuated exceedingly, and has been
-quoted from almost a nominal price per ton up to the sum mentioned.
-At one period, we are told in an American account of the fishery, the
-rates for whalebone were so low that few whalemen would bring any of
-it home, their space being of much greater value when packed with oil.
-Threepence a pound-weight was at one time all that could be obtained
-for it; now the price of bone is twenty shillings per pound-weight. It
-may be explained that the yield of bone is as eight or ten pounds to
-each barrel of oil. A vessel which brings home one hundred tuns of oil
-will, in all probability, have on board six tons of whalebone.
-
-There is a special product of the sperm-whale which is of greater
-value than either spermaceti or whalebone; it is known as ambergris.
-For a series of years there raged a hot controversy as to what this
-valuable substance really was, the most extraordinary opinions being
-offered regarding its origin, composition, and uses. One statement,
-dated so far back as 1762, says that ambergris issues from a tree,
-which manages to shoot its roots into the water, seeking the warmth
-therefrom in order to deposit therein the fat gum of which it is the
-source. ‘When that fat gum is shot into the sea, it is so tough that it
-is not easily broken from the root unless by the strength of its own
-weight. If you plant such trees where the stream sets to the shore,
-then the stream will cast it up to great advantage.’ Another authority,
-Dr Thomas Brown, in a work published in 1686, shows that an idea then
-entertained was, that ambergris was only found in such whales as had
-come upon the substance floating in the sea and swallowed it. In course
-of time it was found that this precious commodity was generated in the
-whale itself. An American doctor residing in Boston made it public in
-1724, that some Nantucket whalemen, in cutting up a spermaceti whale,
-had found about twenty pounds of the valuable substance, which, they
-said, was contained in a cyst or bag without either outlet or inlet. As
-a matter of fact, ambergris, which is an important drug, is a morbid
-secretion in the intestines of the sperm-whale. Captain Coffin, in a
-statement he made at the bar of the House of Commons, said that he had
-lately brought home three hundred and sixty-two ounces of that costly
-substance, which he had found in a sperm-whale captured off the coast
-of New Guinea. At the time of Coffin’s examination, ambergris was of
-the value of twenty-five shillings an ounce. The Pacific whalers search
-keenly for this commodity, and large finds of it sometimes bring them a
-rich reward.
-
-Formerly, it was the oil which rendered the whaling voyages
-remunerative, and made or marred the fortune of the venture, but the
-case is now altered, owing to the enormous prices realised for bone.
-The head of the sperm-whale is equal to about a third of its whole
-size, and ‘the case’ yields spermaceti, which commands a high price;
-but in the case of the Greenland whale, as we have shown, only a
-comparatively small weight of whalebone is contained in the mouths
-of each of them; but small as it is, the quantity tends to swell the
-account and increase the dividends. Whaling ventures are usually made
-by Companies, and nearly everybody engaged in the hazardous work has
-a share in the venture—the men being partially paid by a share of the
-oil-money. Whalers earn their wages hardly. The work—not to speak of
-the dangers incurred—is always carried on at a high-pressure rate,
-and is anything but agreeable. The pursuit and capture of a whale
-are usually very exciting, some of these animals being difficult to
-kill, even when the boats, after a long chase, come within such a
-distance of them as admits of striking with the harpoon. Many are
-the adventures which take place on the occasions of whale-killing;
-though most of the animals attacked finally succumb. Then begins the
-labour of securing the prize, and converting the products which it
-yields into matter bearing a commercial value. The dead whale must be
-brought either close to the ship, or the ship must be brought close
-to the whale, which, in the icy waters of the high arctic latitudes,
-involves a great deal of fatigue, the animal being sometimes killed at
-a considerable distance from the ship. On some occasions a day will
-elapse before it can be known that the whale will without doubt become
-the prey of those who have found it, and several boats may require to
-take part in the process of killing. As many as four boats may at one
-time be ‘fast,’ as it is called, to the same animal—in other words,
-they have all succeeded in planting their harpoons in the whale. But
-the harpoon, even when shot from a gun into the fish, does not kill
-it; the putting of the animal to death is accomplished by means of
-what are called ‘lances,’ instruments which are used after the animal
-has been harpooned. After that process has been successfully achieved,
-the labour of capture, which may have taken from two to ten hours to
-accomplish, is over. Instances are known where boats have been ‘fast’
-for upwards of fifty hours before the whale was finally despatched.
-
-The whale is usually dragged to the ship by the boats engaged in its
-capture. Holes are cut in its tail, and ropes being then attached,
-the laborious process of towing the gigantic carcass commences. Once
-alongside of the ship, the work of flensing, or cutting-up of the
-whale, is speedily in operation, all engaged being in a state of
-ferment, and eager for further work of the same sort. The crew may be
-likened to those animals which, having tasted blood, long for more.
-The operation of removing the bone from the head of the whale is
-first entered upon; this is superintended by an officer known as the
-‘spectioneer,’ and who is responsible for this part of the process.
-After the bone has been carefully dealt with, the blubber is cut
-off the body in long strips, which are hauled on board by means of
-a block-and-tackle. It is first cut into large squares, in which
-condition it is allowed to remain till the salt water drains out of
-it, a few hours, or even a day or two, being allowed, according to the
-work on hand. The skin is then peeled off, and the mass of fatty matter
-is further dealt with by being chopped into little pieces, which are
-stowed away in barrels or tanks, to be brought home to the boileries,
-in order to be, as we may say, distilled into a commercial product.
-When the fish has yielded up its valuable products, the flensed carcass
-is cut adrift. Sometimes the ponderous jawbones are preserved; when
-that is the case, they are cut out of the head and lifted on board.
-The strips of blubber vary in thickness from ten to sixteen inches, or
-even more, according to the size and fatness of the fish. In general,
-it averages twelve inches all over the body, the thickest portion being
-at the neck, where twenty-two inches of blubber are sometimes found.
-The yield of oil is of course in proportion to the size and condition
-of the animal, and will run from five to twenty tuns. A whale caught
-many years ago by the crew of the _Princess Charlotte_ of Dundee
-yielded thirty-two tuns of oil. An examination of some old records
-of the fishery shows fifteen hundred tuns of oil to the one hundred
-and thirty-five fish of the Aberdeen fleet of eleven vessels; twelve
-hundred and forty-three tuns to the Peterhead fleet of eleven ships
-(three vessels had been lost), which captured eighty-eight whales and
-three thousand seals.
-
-In sperm-whale fishing, the process of flensing and disposing of the
-carcass is much the same as in the Davis Straits’ fishery. When the
-body has been stripped of the blubber, it is thrown loose, and is
-permitted to float away, to become the prey of sharks and sea-birds
-which are usually in attendance. In the process of dissecting the great
-whale of the southern seas, the head is usually the last portion dealt
-with. It is cut off and kept afloat till required, being carefully
-secured to the vessel. The valuable contents of ‘the case’ are brought
-on board by means of buckets, and are very carefully preserved, being
-known as ‘head-matter.’ A large whale of the Pacific seas will yield
-from seventy to ninety, or even on occasion a hundred barrels of oil.
-Sperm oil is more valuable than train oil, the produce of the Greenland
-fish. In a trade circular, we find as we write, ‘crude sperm’ quoted at
-sixty-four pounds ten shillings per tun, the other sort being set down
-as ranging from twenty-seven to thirty-two pounds. But the prices are
-ever varying according to supply and demand. Spermaceti is offered at
-about a shilling per pound-weight.
-
-The ships which go whale-fishing from Scotland to the arctic regions
-make an annual voyage, which lasts from five to nine months; but
-sperm-whalers often remain at sea for a period of three years. They
-boil out their oil as they cruise about in search of their prey; or
-when blubber has so accumulated as to warrant the action, the ship will
-put in at some convenient island, where the process of melting the fat
-can be conveniently carried on.
-
-We have no statistics of the number of vessels or men at present
-engaged in the southern fishery; but the exciting nature of the
-work being attractive to many persons, crews are never wanting when
-ships are being fitted out to hunt the sperm-whale. At one period in
-Great Britain, ‘whaling’ was an enterprise of great moment, and was
-encouraged by government, which awarded bounty-money to ships engaged
-in that particular enterprise. In the earlier years of the present
-century over one hundred and fifty British ships were engaged in the
-industry of whale-fishing; by 1828, the number had, however, fallen to
-eighty-nine vessels, forty-nine of these being fitted out at Scottish
-ports. In that season, eleven hundred and ninety-seven fish were
-killed, the produce being thirteen thousand nine hundred and sixty-six
-tuns of oil, and eight hundred and two tons of whalebone. Dundee, as
-already mentioned, and Peterhead are the principal centres of the
-British whaling industry, the number of vessels employed by the two
-ports being between twenty and thirty; but for many years past, some
-of these ships also make a voyage in the way of seal-fishing, which
-sometimes proves a profitable venture. The total value of the seal and
-whale fisheries so far as the Dundee fleet was concerned amounted last
-year to £108,563; in 1882 it was £110,200; while in 1881 it reached
-£130,900.
-
-No recent statistics of an authentic kind of the seal-fishery have been
-issued other than those contained in the newspapers; but from figures
-before us relating to a period from 1849 to 1859, we find that over
-one million seals were killed within that time by Scottish sealers
-alone; and the success of individual crews in the killing of these
-animals, it may be said, comes occasionally within the realms of the
-marvellous. The oil obtained from the seals is as valuable as that got
-from the arctic whales, whilst their skins are also of some commercial
-importance. It was a happy circumstance that just as whale-fishing
-began to fall off, gas as an illuminant became common; and although
-train and sperm oils are still used in various manufactories, and
-especially in jute-mills, the mineral oils which have been found in
-such quantity have doubtless served many of the purposes for which
-whale-oil was at one time in constant demand.
-
-
-FOOTNOTES:
-
-[1] The whale suckles her young, and is therefore a mammal, and not,
-strictly speaking, a fish. It is, however, so called by all sailors.
-
-
-
-
-MR PUDSTER’S RETURN.
-
-
-IN TWO CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I.
-
-Mr Solomon Pudster and Mr Gideon Maggleby were bosom friends; nor
-could they well be otherwise. They were both born on the 29th of May
-1815, in Gower Street, Bloomsbury; Solomon entering upon the world’s
-stage at an early hour in the morning at No. 69, and Gideon first
-seeing the light about mid-day at No. 96. At the age of ten, the
-boys were sent to Westminster School; at the age of seventeen, they
-became fellow-clerks in the great West India warehouse of Ruggleton,
-Matta, & Co.; and at the age of four-and-twenty they went into
-partnership as sugar-merchants in Mincing Lane. At that period they
-were bachelors; and being already sincerely attached one to the
-other, they decided to live together in a pleasant little house in the
-then fashionable neighbourhood of Fitzroy Square. For years they were
-almost inseparable. Day after day they breakfasted and dined together
-at home, and worked and lunched together in the City; and but for the
-fact that the firm purchased a large sugar estate in Demerara, Solomon
-Pudster and Gideon Maggleby would probably have never been parted for
-more than a few hours at a time until death decreed a dissolution of
-their partnership. The sugar estate, unfortunately, required a great
-deal of looking after; and at regular intervals of two years, one of
-the partners was obliged to cross the Atlantic and to remain absent
-from his friend for five or six months. Solomon and Gideon alternately
-undertook these troublesome expeditions, and braved the heat and
-mosquitoes of the tropics; and meantime the firm of Pudster and
-Maggleby prospered exceedingly; and no shadow of a cloud came between
-the devoted friends—the former of whom, on account of his being a few
-hours the older, was declared senior partner in the firm.
-
-But in the year 1865 an important event happened. Mr Pudster and Mr
-Maggleby ran down by train one evening to see the fireworks at the
-Crystal Palace; and on their return journey they found themselves
-in a compartment the only other occupant of which was a remarkably
-buxom and cheery-looking widow of about forty years of age. The two
-gentlemen, with their accustomed gallantry, entered into conversation
-with her. They discovered that she and they had several friends in
-common, and that she was, in fact, a certain Mrs Bunter, whose many
-domestic virtues and abounding good-nature had often been spoken of in
-their hearing. They were charmed with her; they begged, as if with one
-accord, to be permitted to call upon her at her house in Chelsea; and
-when, after putting her into a cab at Victoria Station, they started
-off to walk home, they simultaneously exclaimed with enthusiasm: ‘What
-a splendid woman!’
-
-‘Ah, Gideon!’ ejaculated Mr Pudster sentimentally, a few moments later.
-
-‘Ah, Solomon!’ responded Mr Maggleby with equal passion.
-
-‘If only we had such an angel at home to welcome us!’ continued the
-senior partner.
-
-‘Just what I was thinking,’ assented Mr Maggleby, who thereupon looked
-up at the moon and sighed profoundly.
-
-‘No other woman ever affected us in this way, Gideon,’ said Mr Pudster;
-‘and here we are at fifty’——
-
-‘Fifty last May, Solomon.’
-
-‘Well, we ought to know better!’ exclaimed Mr Pudster with honest
-warmth.
-
-‘So we ought, Solomon.’
-
-‘But upon my word and honour, Gideon, Mrs Bunter’s a magnificent
-specimen of her sex.’
-
-‘She is, Solomon; and I don’t think we can conscientiously deny that
-we are in love with her.’
-
-‘We are,’ said Mr Pudster with much humility.
-
-Having thus ingenuously confessed their passion, the two gentlemen
-walked on in silence; and it was not until they were near home that
-they again spoke.
-
-‘I suppose that it will be necessary as a matter of formal business,’
-suggested Mr Pudster diffidently, ‘for us to call upon Mrs Bunter and
-apprise her of the state of our feelings. We mean, of course, to follow
-the matter up?’
-
-‘Certainly, certainly,’ agreed Mr Maggleby; ‘we mean to follow the
-matter up.’
-
-‘Perhaps the firm had better write to her and prepare her mind,’
-proposed the senior partner, with kindly forethought.
-
-‘The firm had better write to-morrow, Solomon; but, Solomon, it occurs
-to me that the firm cannot marry Mrs Bunter. You or I must be the happy
-man; and then, Solomon, we shall have to separate.’
-
-‘Never!’ ejaculated Mr Pudster, who stopped and seized his friend by
-the hand—‘never! You shall marry Mrs Bunter, and we will all live
-together.’
-
-‘Solomon, this magnanimity!’ murmured Mr Maggleby, who had tears in
-his eyes. ‘No; I will not accept such a sacrifice. You, as the senior
-partner, shall marry Mrs Bunter; and, with her permission, I will
-stay with you. The firm shall write to prepare her mind. Business is
-business. The firm shall write to-night; and I myself will take the
-letter to the post.’
-
-Half an hour later, Mr Maggleby handed to Mr Pudster a letter, of which
-the following is a copy:
-
- 14 MINCING LANE, CITY,
- _August 4, 1865._
-
- _To_ MRS FERDINAND BUNTER,
- _Matador Villa, Chelsea._
-
- MADAM—Our Mr Pudster will do himself the honour of calling
- upon you to-morrow between twelve and one, in order to lay
- before you a project which is very intimately connected with
- the comfort and well-being of the undersigned. We beg you,
- therefore, to regard any proposition that may be made to you by
- our Mr P., as made to you on behalf of the firm and with its
- full authority.—We remain, madam, most devotedly yours,
-
- PUDSTER and MAGGLEBY.
-
-‘How will that do?’ asked Mr Maggleby with conscious pride.
-
-‘Excellently well, Gideon,’ said Mr Pudster. ‘But don’t you think that
-“most devotedly yours” sounds rather too distant? What do you say to
-“yours admiringly,” or “yours to distraction?”’
-
-‘“Yours to distraction” sounds best, I think,’ replied Mr Maggleby
-after considerable reflection. ‘I will put that in, and re-copy the
-letter, Solomon.’
-
-‘We are about to take an important step in life,’ said Mr Pudster
-seriously. ‘Are you sure, Gideon, that we are not acting too hastily?’
-
-‘Mr Pudster!’ exclaimed Mr Maggleby warmly, ‘we may trust these sacred
-promptings of our finer feelings. We have lived too long alone. The
-firm needs the chaste and softening influence of woman. And who in this
-wide world is more fitted to grace our board than Mrs Bunter?’
-
-‘So be it, then,’ assented the senior partner.
-
-Mr Maggleby re-copied the letter, signed it with the firm’s usual
-signature, and carried it to the nearest letter-box. When he returned,
-he found his friend waiting to go to bed, and trying to keep himself
-awake by studying the marriage service.
-
-On the following forenoon, Mr Pudster, with the scrupulous punctuality
-that is characteristic of City men, called at Matador Villa, Chelsea,
-and was at once shown into the presence of Mrs Bunter, who was waiting
-to receive him. ‘I am quite at a loss to understand why you have done
-me the honour of coming to see me to-day,’ said the widow. ‘From your
-letter, I judge that you have some business proposal to make to me.
-Unfortunately, Mr Pudster, I am not prepared to speculate in sugar. I
-am not well off. But, perhaps, I am under a misapprehension. The letter
-contains an expression which I do not understand.’
-
-‘It is true,’ replied the senior partner, ‘that we _have_ some hope of
-persuading you to speculate a little in sugar; and there is no reason
-why your want of capital should prevent your joining us.’
-
-‘I quite fail to grasp your meaning,’ said Mrs Bunter.
-
-‘Well, I am not very good at explanations,’ said Mr Pudster; ‘but I
-will explain the situation as well as I can. You see, Mrs Bunter, Mr
-Maggleby my partner, and myself, are bachelors and live together. We
-find it dull. We long for the civilising influences of woman’s society.
-We are, in fact, tired of single-blessedness. The firm is at present
-worth a clear five thousand a year. It will support a third partner, we
-think; and so we propose, Mrs Bunter, that you should join it, and come
-and take care of us in a friendly way.’
-
-Mrs Bunter looked rather uncomfortable, and was silent for a few
-moments. ‘You are very good,’ she said at last; ‘but although I am not
-well off, I had not thought of going out as a housekeeper. The late Mr
-Bunter left me enough for my little needs.’
-
-‘I hope so indeed, madam. But we don’t ask you to come to us as a
-housekeeper simply. Marriage is what we offer you, Mrs Bunter. In the
-name of Pudster and Maggleby, I have the honour of proposing for your
-hand.’
-
-‘Mercy!’ exclaimed Mrs Bunter in some agitation. ‘Surely you would not
-have me marry the firm?’
-
-‘I put it in that way,’ said Mr Pudster, ‘because Maggleby and I are
-practically one and the same. But I will be accurate. The proposition
-is, Mrs Bunter, that you should become the wife of—ahem!—the senior
-partner; and that Gideon Maggleby should live with us in his old
-sociable way. Excuse my blunt way of expressing myself, Mrs Bunter.’
-
-‘Then you, Mr Pudster, are the senior partner!’ said Mrs Bunter, with a
-very agreeable smile. ‘I am very much flattered, I assure you; but your
-proposal requires consideration.’
-
-‘No doubt,’ assented Mr Pudster. ‘The firm is willing to wait for your
-reply. In matters of business we are never in a hurry.—When may we look
-for your answer?’
-
-‘Well, you shall have a note by to-morrow morning’s post,’ replied Mrs
-Bunter. ‘I may say,’ she added, ‘that I have heard a great deal of your
-firm, Mr Pudster; and that I am conscious that it does me great honour
-by thus offering me a partnership in it.’
-
-‘Indeed, madam, the honour is ours!’ said Mr Pudster, bowing as he
-retired.
-
-No sooner had he departed than the widow burst into a long and merry
-fit of laughter. Her first impulse was to write and refuse the
-ridiculous offer; but as the day wore on, she thought better of the
-affair; and in the evening, after dinner, she sat down quite seriously,
-and wrote a letter as follows:
-
- MATADOR VILLA, CHELSEA,
- _August 5, 1865._
-
- _To_ MESSRS PUDSTER and MAGGLEBY,
- _14 Mincing Lane, City._
-
- GENTLEMEN—I have decided to accept the very flattering offer
- which was laid before me to-day on your behalf by your Mr
- Pudster. If he will call, I shall have much pleasure in
- arranging preliminaries with him.—I remain, gentlemen, very
- faithfully yours,
-
- MARIA BUNTER.
-
-‘I must fall in with their humour, I suppose,’ she reflected. ‘And
-really, Mr Pudster is a very nice man, and almost handsome; and I’m
-sure that I shall do no harm by marrying him. Besides, it is quite true
-that they must want some one to look after them. If they go on living
-by themselves, they will grow crusty and bearish.’ And Mrs Bunter sent
-her maid out to post the letter.
-
-Three weeks later, the widow became Mrs Pudster; Mr Maggleby, of
-course, officiating as best-man at the wedding, and being the first
-to salute the bride in the vestry after the ceremony. Thenceforward,
-for a whole year, the three members of the firm lived together in
-complete harmony; and the pleasant history of their existence was
-only interrupted by Mr Pudster’s enforced departure for Demerara in
-September 1866. Mr Maggleby, it is true, offered to go instead of
-him; but Mr Pudster would not hear of it; and Mr Maggleby was obliged
-to confess that business was business, and that it was certainly
-Mr Pudster’s turn to brave the mosquitoes. And so, after confiding
-his wife to the care of his friend, Mr Pudster departed. During his
-absence, all went well; and in March 1867 he returned to England. But
-this time the heat had been too much for poor Mr Pudster. His wife
-noticed that he was looking unwell. Maggleby, with sorrow, perceived
-the same. Pudster laughed. Nevertheless, he soon took to his bed; and
-after a long and painful illness, died.
-
-The grief of Mrs Pudster and Mr Maggleby was terrible to witness.
-Mrs Pudster talked of retiring from the world; and Gideon Maggleby
-disconsolately declared that he had no longer anything left to live
-for. No one, therefore, will be much surprised to hear that towards the
-end of March 1868, Mr Gideon Maggleby led Mrs Solomon Pudster to the
-altar.
-
-‘Solomon will bless our union,’ Mr Maggleby had said, when he proposed.
-
-‘Ah, dear sainted Solomon!’ Mrs Pudster had exclaimed as she fell
-weeping upon Mr Maggleby’s breast.
-
-
-
-
-SUDDEN RUIN.
-
-
-In a former paper (April 19, 1884), instances were cited of fortunes
-suddenly made, not by inheritance or industry, but by what people
-are pleased to call luck. Cases of sudden ruin are less frequent,
-for, generally speaking, the wreck of a man’s fortune is like that of
-a ship: some rock is touched; water flows in; frantic attempts are
-made to lighten the vessel or to steer it into port; and finally, the
-foundering is slow. The striking upon a rock, however, is commonly with
-fortunes, as with ships, a sudden accident. It may be the result of
-careless or incapable steering; or it may be caused by a combination
-of adverse tides and winds, which no human skill can stem, and which
-hurry on the ship helplessly to destruction, inevitable, though it is
-not always foreseen. The rock, in whatever way it may be reached, is
-the determining cause of ruin; and when we speak of a man having been
-suddenly ruined, we mean that the calamity which brought him to poverty
-by degrees more or less rapid, occurred at a time and in a manner which
-took himself and his friends by surprise.
-
-We are happily exempt in this country from those overwhelming disasters
-occasioned by political convulsions. Those who witnessed the flight of
-French ladies and gentlemen from their country upon the downfall of the
-Second Empire heard tales of misfortune not easily to be forgotten.
-Senators and prefects who, in July 1870, were living in luxury and
-power, drawing large salaries, and secure of the future, were towards
-the middle of September huddling in lodging-houses of towns on the
-English south coast; and along with them were bankers who had been
-obliged to suspend payment, and manufacturers and landowners of the
-eastern provinces who had fled from the tide of invasion, after seeing
-their factories or fields burnt, ravaged, and overrun by the enemy.
-
-In most of these cases, ruin had been sudden and irremediable, so much
-so, as to appal sympathising British minds. And yet vicissitudes quite
-as pitiable had been witnessed in London a few years before—that is,
-on the Black Friday of May 1866, when, within a single day, hundreds
-of fortunes were wrecked in the City. For the most part, the people
-who were ruined on this awful Friday had had no warning of the fate
-impending over them; and this must needs be so whenever banks or
-financial companies fail. The credit of these establishments is like a
-piece of glass, which must remain undamaged, or there is an end to its
-value. For self-preservation, banks and companies feel bound to conceal
-their difficulties till these are past mending; and thus it generally
-happens that whenever a House suspends payment, almost all its
-customers are utterly unprepared. What this means, we all know, if not
-from personal experience, at least from misfortunes which have fallen
-upon persons of our acquaintance. Our country neighbour who lived in
-such grand style, returns from town one evening with a haggard face.
-A few days later it is announced that his house is to let; there is
-a sale; a notice among the bankruptcies in the _Gazette_; the family
-quietly leave their home; and from that time, only intimate friends
-know for certain what has become of them. Perhaps, years afterwards,
-somebody who knew the neighbour in great wealth, finds him eking out
-a penurious existence in the suburbs of some large city. Among the
-hundreds of acres of cheap houses which form the outskirts of London,
-the people ‘who have seen better days’ are an unnumbered multitude.
-Every suburban clergyman and doctor knows some, and generally too many
-of them; every bachelor in quest of furnished lodgings is pretty sure
-to stumble upon several people in this plight. Auctioneers and brokers,
-however, know them best of all, for it is they who play the chief part
-in the closing act of the drama of Ruin, when the last waifs of former
-wealth—the pieces of good old furniture, the pictures, china, books,
-and other such long-treasured valuables, have to be sold off to buy
-necessaries.
-
-One of the most frequent and deplorable agents of sudden ruin is
-the dishonest partner. No business can be managed without mutual
-confidence between those who conduct it; and though, when we hear
-that a commercial man has brought himself within reach of the law,
-we are inclined to doubt if his partner can have been unaware of his
-malpractices, yet it must be obvious that the dishonesty of one partner
-too often arises from the unsuspicious simplicity of the other. There
-are even instances in which no amount of sagacity will save a man from
-the enterprises of a roguish partner. The following is a very common
-case: A and B being partners, A dies, and his son succeeds to his share
-of the business. So long as A was alive, the speculative tendencies of
-B were kept in check; but young A has not the same experience as his
-father; he has learned to respect B; he looks to him for guidance; and
-if B has made up his mind to extend the business of the firm by new
-methods, now that he is head-partner, the junior partner will generally
-be a mere tool in his hands. If young A be more fond of pleasure than
-business, he will of course be even less than a tool—a mere cipher; and
-B will be left to manage matters as he pleases, until he succeeds in
-his schemes, and proposes to buy A out of the business; or fails, and
-brings A to poverty and disgrace. It is a cruel thing that if B has
-absconded, A will have to bear the entire brunt of creditors’ wrath,
-and perhaps be criminally punished for his innocence. But partners have
-learned this lesson so often, that it is almost a wonder how any sane
-man can assume responsibilities without ascertaining the nature and
-extent of them. It is certainly not for the public interest that the
-sudden ruin of an honest partner should be pleaded in extenuation for
-his ignorance or carelessness.
-
-Let us take some other causes of sudden ruin. We may set aside the
-destruction of property by fire or flood, as offering examples too
-many and obvious; nor does the sudden ruin of spendthrifts by cards
-or betting call for notice. But the ruin which comes to a man through
-sudden loss of character in his trade or profession is always most
-lamentable, especially when the offence perpetrated was unintentional,
-and did not appear to call for so heavy a punishment. The chemist
-who asked to be discharged from serving on the jury in ‘Bardell _v._
-Pickwick’ on the ground that his assistant would be selling arsenic to
-the customers, expressed an alarm in which there was nothing jocular at
-all. We know of a chemist whose assistant committed this very mistake
-of supplying arsenic for some other drug, and three children were
-poisoned in consequence. The chemist was totally ruined. A coroner’s
-jury having brought in a verdict of manslaughter against him, he took
-his trial at the assizes, and was acquitted. But doctors ceased to
-recommend him; the public avoided his shop; his appointment as local
-postmaster was taken from him, and in a short time he became bankrupt.
-Poisoning by inadvertence has been the ruin of many a chemist, and of
-not a few country doctors who supply their own medicines.
-
-But we remember an instance of a young doctor destroying his career by
-means just the contrary of this—that is, by suspecting that poison had
-been administered, when such was not the case. One of his patients, a
-lady, who seemed to have nothing worse than a cold, died very suddenly.
-The doctor had reason to believe that this lady and her husband had
-been living on bad terms, so he not only refused to certify as to
-the causes of death, but openly hinted his suspicions that there had
-been foul-play. At the inquest, however, it was proved that the lady
-had died from heart-disease; and the reports about her having been
-on bad terms with her husband were shown to have proceeded from the
-malicious tattle of a busybody. As a result of this affair, the doctor
-lost almost all his patients. It was thought that he had not behaved
-with discretion; and his ruin was consummated by an action for slander
-brought against him by the widower, whom he had too hastily accused of
-poisoning.
-
-This action for slander reminds us of another case of ruin which had
-some comical features, and was in fact related to us in a very humorous
-way by a French journalist. The gentleman in question had accepted the
-editorship of a small daily newspaper published in a Belgian city. His
-salary was to be twenty pounds a month, with free board and lodging
-in the house of his employer, a notary, who owned the newspaper. Our
-friend discharged his duties to everybody’s satisfaction for about five
-years, when a bustling young journalist of the locality became intimate
-with the notary, and pointed out to him that he—the bustling one—could
-edit the paper quite as well as our friend, and for half the money.
-Our friend had just applied for an increase of salary; so the notary,
-with unreflecting parsimony, resolved to dispense with his services,
-and installed the bustling young man in his chair. But not more than
-a fortnight afterwards, the Bustling One, either from negligence, or
-because he had some private grudge to pay off, inserted a libellous
-paragraph against a banker in the town. An action was instituted. The
-proprietor of the paper was sentenced to pay a large sum by way of
-damages, with all the costs of the trial, and the advertisement of the
-judgment—filling about two columns of small print—in twenty newspapers
-of France and Belgium. This heavy fine, the numberless worries
-attendant upon the action for libel, and the loss of professional
-status which accrued to the lawyer from the whole thing, proved the
-death of the newspaper. As our friend remarked: ‘I think the notary
-would have found it cheaper to raise my salary.’
-
-It may happen, however, that to make inopportune demands for an
-increase of salary will ruin not him who refuses, but him who asks.
-A case starts to our recollection of a man who had an excellent
-appointment in the City. He was drawing one thousand pounds a year for
-work which required some talent, but was pretty easy and pleasant;
-moreover, he was on the fair way to better things. But he was too
-impatient. His employers bore with him for a while, and in fact raised
-his salary four times within three years, for they fully appreciated
-his services. A day came, however, when they had to tell him plainly
-that his demands were unreasonable; upon which he stood on his dignity
-and resigned. He quite expected that he would instantly find in the
-City another situation as good as that which he had left; but he was
-not able to get an appointment at so much as half of his former salary.
-Everywhere his presumption in asking for twelve hundred pounds a year
-was laughed at; and he soon had to acknowledge to himself that in
-the former situation which he had so foolishly thrown up he had been
-most generously overpaid. Deeply mortified, too proud to return to
-his old employers, who would have been willing to take him back, the
-misguided man became a City loafer; he tried to set up in business for
-himself without sufficient capital, and, after a series of luckless
-speculations, took to drinking, and was no more heard of. This story
-points a moral, which ambitious young men do not always sufficiently
-lay to heart—namely, that to resign a good berth before making sure of
-a better is to run the risk of being left out in the cold. It is by no
-means a recommendation to a man out of place to have formerly received
-a high salary and to have served under first-rate employers. All the
-persons to whom he applies will naturally conclude that he must have
-left his good appointment for unavowable reasons; and even the best
-certificates of character from his old masters will not serve to dispel
-this notion. We knew an unwise young man, who, leaving a good place out
-of pure caprice, was earnestly advised by his employer to think twice
-of what he was doing. ‘You will find it a positive disadvantage to have
-served in our House,’ said his employer; ‘for we are known to be just
-masters, and nobody will believe that you left us of your own accord.’
-The young man would not heed the warning; and the upshot was that he
-had to emigrate, having failed in all his endeavours to get another
-situation.
-
-The ruin which is produced by business competition does not come
-within the scope of this paper. Everybody must sympathise with the
-snug old-fashioned inn which is suddenly brought to nought by the big
-Railway Hotel, and with the petty tradesmen who are impoverished
-by the establishment in their midst of some colossal ‘universal
-provider;’ but these are unavoidable incidents in the battle of life.
-An interesting class of sufferers remains to be specified in persons
-who own house-property, and find the value of their houses suddenly
-depreciated by causes beyond their control. Let a sensational murder
-be committed in a respectable street, and the rents of the houses in
-that street will probably fall twenty-five per cent.; while the house
-in which the deed was done will in all likelihood remain untenanted for
-years. A murder, the perpetrator of which escaped detection, naturally
-marks a house with almost indelible disrepute; people do not like to
-inhabit such a place; and the landlord is often reduced to giving up
-the house at a mere nominal rent to be the abode of some charity. An
-epidemic, again, will play havoc with the value of houses, by getting a
-whole locality noted as unhealthy; and this it may be said is the fault
-of the landlords; but it is not always so. We were acquainted with a
-gentleman who became possessed by inheritance of a row of houses, as
-to the antecedents of which he knew nothing. Soon after he had got
-this property, typhoid fever broke out in one of the houses and spread
-down the row. The drains were examined, and found in good order; but
-under one of the houses was discovered a vast cesspool, caused by the
-drains of two large houses which had formerly stood near the site.
-The emptying of this pool, the building of new foundations to several
-of the houses, the laying down of new water-pipes, &c., proved a very
-costly piece of work, and brought little profit when it was finished;
-for the row of houses had got a bad name, and years elapsed before the
-landlord could find good tenants for them even at much reduced rents.
-This was really a hard case; and the harder because the landlord, being
-a high-principled man, felt bound to pay substantial indemnities to
-those who had suffered through the bad condition of his property.
-
-
-
-
-BACK FROM ‘ELDORADO.’
-
-
-It was a scorching afternoon in October, when, with much clatter and
-racket, cracking of long whips, and a volley of eccentric profanity
-from the Dutch conductor and his sable satellites, the mule-train of
-that eminent Cape patriot Adrian de Vos scrambled headlong, as it were,
-out of the market-place of Kimberley in ‘the land of diamonds,’ jolted
-and swung through the ‘city of iron dust-bins,’ finally disappearing in
-a cloud of dust adown the Dutoitspan Road.
-
-I may state that I was awaiting the arrival of the ‘veldt express’
-at the little oasis in the desert, dear to all acquainted with the
-‘Eldorado’ of the Cape Colony, by the name of Alexandersfontein.
-Distant only a few miles from the hot fever-stricken ‘camp,’ it is
-blessed with a spacious hotel and—luxury of luxuries—a veritable
-open-air swimming-bath, together with a meandering brook, which
-gladdens the eye of the parched, home-sick, and, most likely,
-disappointed searcher after diamondiferous wealth. I had spent the most
-part of the day with an Irish surgeon stationed there, who had been
-doing his best to persuade me to travel to Cape Town in the orthodox
-manner, by stage-coach, and not by the ‘heavy goods,’ as it is termed;
-but during the last year or so I had roughed it too much to care for
-a little additional hardship, and I wanted to complete the tale of my
-experiences in South Africa by personal contact with those unfortunates
-who from time to time abandoning their last dream of success, cast down
-and forsaken, broken in health, wealth, and estate, set forth gloomily
-on the journey back from Eldorado.
-
-We were not altogether without amusement at Alexandersfontein, for, in
-addition to the attractions of the swimming-bath, there was the mild
-excitement of vaccinating ‘niggers,’ brought in at intervals by an
-Africander scout, the smallpox scare being at the time at its height,
-and my friend a government officer. Nevertheless, I confess I was
-glad when a pillar of dust, rising up from the arid road far away to
-the deep-blue sky overhead, announced that the mule-train was fairly
-_en route_ for us. I am glad now that it was dark when they arrived,
-because, if I had seen the accommodation provided by that philanthropic
-conveyer of broken hearts and shattered fortunes to the coast, I think
-it very likely that I might have declined to obey the order shouted at
-me through the still, sub-tropical night, to ‘get aboard.’ As it was,
-clutching my rifle with one hand, and grasping a leathern portmanteau,
-destined for a pillow, in the other, I struggled upward over the
-disselboom, thrust my head underneath a flapping canvas covering
-stretched over the whole length and breadth of the wagon, and receiving
-a friendly but rather violent impetus from my friend the surgeon,
-shot forward into the midst of a conglomeration of human forms, tin
-cases, deal boxes, ropes, and sacking. I was welcomed with anathemas,
-apparently proceeding from the internal economy of a ‘mealy’ bag in
-the corner. I could hear my Irish friend shouting a last adieu, which
-mingled strangely with the vociferations of the half-caste driver to
-his mules; and then, as the whole machine lurched heavily but rapidly
-forward, I collapsed against the corner of a huge tin case, slid thence
-into a hollow caused by the merchandise, and thus cramped up in a hole
-about two feet in width, prepared to pass the night. A dismal lantern,
-swinging and jolting overhead, threw a sickly gleam around; the keen
-wind of the karroo whistled past as we pushed onward in the darkness,
-and forward into the wilderness, leaving behind us the land of untold
-riches, the wonderful camp with its mines assessed at millions, its
-busy streets, its citizens with but one aim, the greed of gold—and
-its quiet burial-place, where hundreds of brave young Englishmen lie,
-wrapped in that deep sleep to which no dreams of avarice may come.
-
-Our route lay over wide-stretching plains of fine sand, studded with
-stunted thorn; flanked on either side by lone mountain ranges, whose
-lofty heads assume fantastic shape of cone, table-land, or pyramid;
-here and there a miserable watercourse threading its way to the
-babbling Modder or stately Orange River. A solitary, silent land, where
-the glad song of birds is unheard, but the ever-watchful vulture
-circles overhead; where the sweet scent of flowers is unknown, but the
-gaunt mimosa stretches out its bare branches, and seems to plead with
-the brazen skies for a cloud of moisture. Far distant from each other
-are the white, flat-roofed Boer farmhouses; while midway to the railway
-centre of Beaufort West lies the quaint Dutch village of Hopetown with
-its ‘nightmare’ church; and farther on, Victoria, nestling at the foot
-of a great brown hill.
-
-Monotonous? Well, truly I tired of the all-pervading sand, of the glare
-of the fierce sun, of the jolting and bumping of the springless wagon;
-but there was the abiding excitement of the commissariat question, the
-occasional sight of a flock of wild ostriches, the rough incidents of
-the nightly outspan, and, as the cumbrous machine rolled onward over
-the starlit plain, the exchange of confidences, or the singing of songs
-to the accompaniment of a wheezy accordion, which one of the party—a
-miserable little Israelite from Houndsditch—had provided.
-
-I think the most remarkable amongst the ‘voyagers’ was a tall gaunt
-man, whose snow-white beard and sunken cheeks bore evidence to the fact
-that time had not dealt gently with him. He reminded me irresistibly
-of King Lear; and when camping for the night, he crouched over his
-solitary pannikin with his hands stretched out, to prevent any disaster
-to the blazing structure of sticks and ‘peat,’ his white locks blowing
-in the wind, and his keen, hard, glittering eye eagerly watching for
-the right moment at which to insert his pinch of hoarded tea, he
-presented a mournful embodiment of hopeless failure. He was a lonely,
-morose man; defeat and disaster had occurred to him so often, that he
-sought for no sympathy, and expressed no hopes for the future. When the
-lighter spirits in this storm-beaten company were essaying to laugh
-at dull care, and even making jests at the bitterness of the divers
-fates which had overtaken them, he would sit apart with folded arms,
-now and again muttering to himself, and once surprising me with an apt
-quotation from a Latin author in the original. I am afraid we were
-all inclined to laugh at him for his queer ways and solitary habits;
-but I never did so after one night, when I found him, some distance
-from our camp, kneeling on the bare sands, his arms tossed aloft to
-the stars, that shone like lamps in the dark-blue dome of the midnight
-sky, and his lips babbling incoherently of the wife and children, home
-and kindred, he had left long, long ago, never to see again in this
-world, in his thirst for the gold which had lured him from continent to
-continent.
-
-We had another victim of the gold-mania with us in the person of a
-bald-headed Irish bookbinder. Of all the gentle enthusiasts I have
-ever met, he was the most extraordinary. He had just returned from
-a particularly disastrous prospecting trip to the newly discovered
-gold-field euphoniously termed ‘the Demon’s Kantoor;’ and previous to
-that, he had made equally unsatisfactory migrations into Swazieland,
-the Delagoa Bay, and other regions, returning from each of them ragged,
-penniless, but happy, to recruit his finances with a spell of work at
-his trade in the towns, whilst devising some fresh scheme of martyrdom
-for the cause of the glittering metal that had bewitched him. He was
-a devout Protestant, and would gravely rebuke any who gave way to the
-very common colonial vice of hard swearing; and during our halts by the
-wayside, generally stole away to any available shade, and taking forth
-from the bosom of his ragged red shirt a book of devotion, would read
-therein, heedless of the shouts and laughter of the drivers and the
-screams of the mules; though, to be sure, I have reason to believe that
-the precious volume contained a good deal about ‘the gold of Ophir’ and
-‘the land of Midian.’ He admitted, with a genial smile, that he had
-dug a grave for the fruits of six months’ self-denying labour amid the
-hillocks and boulders of the Demon’s Kantoor; but he hoped by about a
-year’s industry in Cape Town to realise sufficient to enable him to
-penetrate into the Kalahari Desert, where, if he escaped the poisoned
-arrow of the Bushman, or the slow death from starvation or thirst, he
-was perfectly certain of finding nuggets of wondrous size, and ‘rotten
-reef’ worth fabulous amounts. Indeed, so happy was he at the prospect
-of his good fortune, that in the fullness of his heart, he sought to
-raise the spirits of a dark, melancholy young man, by offering to share
-it with him. But the latter only shook his head and buried his face
-in his hands, being engaged just then in a retrospect of his fallen
-fortunes, from which nothing but an occasional fit of assumed reckless
-levity could rouse him. Poor fellow! He was leaving every farthing
-he had in the world—the remnant of a noble patrimony—in a worthless
-diamond mine in the vicinity of Kimberley; and he was haunted with the
-memory of a golden-haired wife and two blue-eyed children on whom the
-‘camp-fever’ had laid its deadly hand.
-
-As for the light-hearted actor, who, by some strange mischance, had
-found himself left on ‘the Fields’ with the theatre closed and the
-company gone, and had just raised enough by the sale of his wardrobe to
-‘catch a storm,’ as he expressed it, to waft him to Cape Town—he could
-not understand what despair or earnestness meant. His delight was to
-astonish the Kaffirs and half-breeds, as they crouched around the fires
-at night, with extravagant selections from the transpontine drama. He
-would make their eyes roll and their teeth chatter by holding converse,
-in sepulchral tones, with the incorporeal air, and then set them all
-grinning with glee at some fanciful imitation of domestic animals.
-He was never tired of telling stories of his wanderings, and joined
-heartily in the laughter at some ludicrous blunder which had for the
-nonce involved him in ruin. I am afraid he was not very particular as
-to his method of getting out of scrapes, for he related with great glee
-how, being deserted by a manager in Japan, he and a brother _artist_
-got up an acrobatic performance for the benefit of the natives. As
-neither of them knew anything about the business, the grumbling was
-excessive; and the climax was reached when, having attained to some
-‘spread-eagle’ position on the framework they had erected on the
-stage, and being quite unable to get down gracefully, he let go, and
-fell with a crash. ‘We then,’ he said, ‘announced an interval of
-ten minutes, secured the receipts from the innocent heathen at the
-“Pay-here” box, and—fled the city!’ He had gone to the Diamond Fields,
-because he had been told he could make ‘kegs of dollars’ there; and he
-trusted in chance or good fortune to convey him to Australia.
-
-Despite the coarse food and its coarser preparation, the nights spent
-upon the ground beneath the wagons, the awful shaking over the mountain
-tracks, the dust, the thirst, the intolerable heat, there are many
-pleasant recollections of that memorable excursion. But when I see
-the young, the hearty, the strong, setting off, in the pride of their
-manhood, in search of that prize which flattering Hope assures them
-waits in distant lands for enterprise and courage to secure, I wonder
-how many will escape the dangers of ‘flood and field,’ to undertake,
-broken in spirit, bankrupt in health and wealth, the journey back from
-Eldorado.
-
-
-
-
-STEEL.
-
-
-Steel, we are frequently and emphatically reminded, is the material of
-the future. Passing from assertions respecting the time to come, let
-us concern ourselves with the present and the past of the material,
-and inquire why and wherefore steel should be held up so prominently
-as destined to make its mark in the future. Every age has stamped for
-its own not only a certain style of architecture or a peculiar class
-of construction, but it has also impressed into its service different
-materials, by means of which it has carried out those designs to which
-it has given birth. As formerly wood gave place to iron, so now, slowly
-yet surely, is the use of iron waning before the enhanced advantages
-accruing from steel in large constructive works. As ductile as iron,
-and possessed in a superior degree of tenacity, more uniform and
-compact, it is not a matter of surprise that steel should have largely
-usurped the position formerly occupied by iron in the engineering and
-constructive world, or that engineers and architects should gladly
-avail themselves of such a material in their designs, more especially
-when they desire to combine the maximum of strength and security
-with the minimum of weight and mass. So slight is the difference in
-appearance between rolled iron and rolled steel, that the casual
-observer will be unable to distinguish between the two substances. A
-certain amount of experience and skill is requisite before the eye
-becomes sufficiently educated to appreciate the appearance presented by
-each material. Nor should we omit to notice a method both simple and
-expeditious by which all doubts may be set at rest. A drop of diluted
-nitric acid placed on a piece of steel will at once separate the carbon
-in the steel, producing a black stain on its surface. On iron, no such
-effect will result.
-
-The extensive works for manufacturing steel in England, Wales,
-Scotland, and on the continent, amply testify to the growth and vigour
-of the industry; and if further proof is wanted, it is supplied by
-the fact of the conversion of their plant by existing ironworks, to
-enable them to turn out steel. Such steps—though frequently producing
-financial distress, happy if only temporary—show the direction in which
-the commerce of the present day is moving.
-
-That steel should so speedily overcome the initial difficulties
-incident to the introduction of every new material, adduces important
-evidence in its favour. In shipbuilding, for example, the inconvenience
-and delay occasioned by employing steel side by side with iron
-presented a formidable barrier to its use, the alternate demand
-for iron and steel built vessels causing no small confusion in the
-yards. The gradual and, before long, probable abandonment of iron in
-this class of constructions, is rapidly enabling shipbuilders to lay
-themselves out for steel, and steel only. We should not omit to notice
-the employment of steel plates, one-sixteenth of an inch in thickness,
-for the ‘skin’ of torpedo launches, a use to which the lightness and
-tenacity of such plates eminently adapt them.
-
-The effective and systematic manner in which it is now customary in
-large works to test all steel previous to its despatch, has aided in
-no small degree to remove the feeling of doubt and uncertainty which
-was attached to the material on its introduction. There hung around
-steel an insecurity and a novelty, which, until dissipated, caused a
-feeling of distrust that might have proved fatal to its extended use,
-had not precautions been taken by its manufacturers to demonstrate the
-consistency and reliability of the article they sought to bring into
-the market. For the purpose of making these tests, a special machine is
-provided, usually driven by steam. A strip from the plate to be tested
-is placed in ‘jaws’ at each end; the machine is then set in motion, the
-strain on the test-piece being gradually increased until its ultimate
-tensile strength is reached, and it breaks—a travelling pointer
-indicating the pressure exerted by the machine on the steel test-piece
-at the moment of fracture. Thus the ultimate tensile strength per
-square inch and also the elasticity of the plate under manipulation are
-ascertained.
-
-In order to check these and similar tests, one or more inspectors are
-stationed at the manufacturers’ works by the government, the company,
-or the engineer in whose designs the steel is to be employed. The
-Admiralty employ a number of men to watch the tests of all the steel
-destined for the royal dockyards; a similar class of inspectors perform
-a like task, under Lloyd’s rules, for the private yards and the vessels
-of our merchant service; whilst every engineer under whose directions
-steel is being made places his assistants—their number varying with
-the importance and extent of the work—to see that these tests are
-faithfully carried out, that they duly fulfil the conditions he has
-laid down, and to report to him the quality, quantity, and progress of
-the material under their charge.
-
-Accurate records are made of every test to which the steel has
-been subjected, and the results of the behaviour of the material
-are carefully noted. Hence, should any event occur to call special
-attention to any particular bar, its history can be traced from the
-very first to the moment it took up its position in the finished
-structure for which it was destined.
-
-So rigid and well checked a system of testing cannot fail to command
-the favour of all engaged in the design of vessels, roofs, or bridges,
-and to inspire the general public with confidence in and reliance
-on this comparatively young member of the material world, daily
-increasingly impressed into its service, and tending to promote the
-general well-being and comfort of the civilised world.
-
-
-
-
-THE STRAY BLOSSOM.
-
-
- Under a ruined abbey wall,
- Whose fallen stones, with moss o’ergrown,
- About the smooth fresh turf were strown,
- And piled around the roots—and tall,
- Green-ivied trunks, and branching arms
- Of beeches, sheltering from the storms,
- Within its empty, roofless hall—
- There, in a broken sill, I spied
- A little blossom, purple-eyed.
-
- I took it thence, and carried far
- The plant into a greenhouse, where
- I tended it, with blossoms rare,
- Until it brightened, like a star
- Delivered from a passing cloud,
- That hides it ’neath a silver shroud,
- Yet fails its loveliness to mar;
- Until it ceased to be a wild
- And common thing—and then I smiled.
-
- It grew, and thrived; new buds put forth,
- And more, and more, and still became
- More fruitful, till, no more the same
- Meek, lowly child of the far north,
- It reared its lordly stem on high,
- Climbing towards the distant sky,
- As though it deemed its greater worth
- Deserved a higher place, and kept
- Still reaching onwards—then I wept.
-
- I wept, because I thought the weed
- Showed strange ingratitude to me,
- And had forgot how lovingly
- I nourished it when in its need.
- And then the flower bent down its head,
- Touched me caressingly, and said:
- ‘Think not that I forget thy deed,
- The tender care and constant thought
- That in my life this change have wrought.
-
- ‘Now to the far-off skies I climb,
- Because I fain would show thee, there
- Is something higher than the care
- Of a mere plant, to fill the time
- God giveth thee. How, then, my love
- For thee more truly can I prove
- Than by thus pointing to a clime
- Where Hope’s fulfilment thou shalt find,
- And earthly love to heaven’s, bind?’
-
- * * * * *
-
- So, from a tiny seedling, grows
- Sweet Friendship’s root from year to year,
- Nourished alike by smile and tear,
- By sun and storm, and winter snows
- Of jealousy and blind mistrust;
- Through which the deathless plant shall thrust
- Its growing flower, until it blows
- At last, within that land on high
- Where virtues bloom eternally.
-
- F. E. S.
-
- * * * * *
-
-Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON,
-and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.
-
- * * * * *
-
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