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diff --git a/old/66800-0.txt b/old/66800-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6ba4ed0..0000000 --- a/old/66800-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2134 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, -Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 9, Vol. I, March 1, 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. 9, Vol. I, March 1, 1884 - -Author: Various - -Release Date: November 23, 2021 [eBook #66800] - -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. 9, VOL. I, MARCH 1, -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. 9.—VOL. I. SATURDAY, MARCH 1, 1884. PRICE 1½_d._] - - - - -BIRDS OF SPRING. - -BY RICHARD JEFFERIES, AUTHOR OF THE ‘GAMEKEEPER AT HOME,’ ETC. - - -The birds of spring come as imperceptibly as the leaves. One by one the -buds open on hawthorn and willow, till all at once the hedges appear -green, and so the birds steal quietly into the bushes and trees, till -by-and-by a chorus fills the wood, and each warm shower is welcomed -with varied song. To many, the majority of spring-birds are really -unknown; the cuckoo, the nightingale, and the swallow, are all with -which they are acquainted, and these three make the summer. The loud -cuckoo cannot be overlooked by any one passing even a short time in -the fields; the nightingale is so familiar in verse that every one -tries to hear it; and the swallows enter the towns and twitter at the -chimney-top. But these are really only the principal representatives of -the crowd of birds that flock to our hedges in the early summer; and -perhaps it would be accurate to say that no other area of equal extent, -either in Europe or elsewhere, receives so many feathered visitors. -The English climate is the established subject of abuse, yet it is the -climate most preferred and sought by the birds, who have the choice of -immense continents. - -Nothing that I have ever read of, or seen, or that I expect to see, -equals the beauty and the delight of a summer spent in our woods and -meadows. Green leaves and grass, and sunshine, blue skies, and sweet -brooks—there is nothing to approach it; it is no wonder the birds are -tempted to us. The food they find is so abundant, that after all their -efforts, little apparent diminution can be noticed; to this fertile -and lovely country, therefore, they hasten every year. It might be -said that the spring-birds begin to come to us in the autumn, as early -as October, when hedge-sparrows and golden-crested wrens, larks, -blackbirds, and thrushes, and many others, float over on the gales from -the coasts of Norway. Their numbers, especially of the smaller birds, -such as larks, are immense, and their line of flight so extended that -it strikes our shores for a distance of two hundred miles. The vastness -of these numbers, indeed, makes me question whether they all come from -Scandinavia. That is their route; Norway seems to be the last land they -see before crossing; but I think it possible that their original homes -may have been farther still. Though many go back in the spring, many -individuals remain here, and rejoice in the plenty of the hedgerows. -As all roads of old time led to Rome, so do bird-routes lead to these -islands. Some of these birds appear to pair in November, and so have -settled their courtship long before the crocuses of St Valentine. Much -difference is apparent in the dates recorded of the arrivals in spring; -they vary year by year, and now one and now another bird presents -itself first, so that I shall not in these notes attempt to arrange -them in strict order. - -One of the first noticeable in southern fields is the common wagtail. -When his shrill note is heard echoing against the walls of the -outhouses as he rises from the ground, the carters and ploughmen know -that there will not be much more frost. If icicles hang from the -thatched eaves, they will not long hang, but melt before the softer -wind. The bitter part of winter is over. The wagtail is a house-bird, -making the houses or cattle-pens its centre, and remaining about them -for months. There is not a farmhouse in the south of England without -its summer pair of wagtails, not more than one pair as a rule, for they -are not gregarious till winter; but considering that every farmhouse -has its pair, their numbers must be really large. - -Where wheatears frequent, their return is very marked; they appear -suddenly in the gardens and open places, and cannot be overlooked. -Swallows return one by one at first, and we get used to them by -degrees. The wheatears seem to drop out of the night, and to be -showered down on the ground in the morning. A white bar on the tail -renders them conspicuous, for at that time much of the surface of the -earth is bare and dark. Naturally birds of the wildest and most open -country, they yet show no dread, but approach the houses closely. They -are local in their habits, or perhaps follow a broad but well-defined -route of migration; so that while common in one place, they are rare -in others. In two localities with which I am familiar, and know every -path, I never saw a wheatear. I heard of them occasionally as passing -over, but they were not birds of the district. In Sussex, on the -contrary, the wheatear is as regularly seen as the blackbird; and in -the spring and summer you cannot go a walk without finding them. They -change their ground three times: first on arrival, they feed in the -gardens and arable fields; next, they go up on the hills; lastly, they -return to the coast, and frequent the extreme edge of the cliffs and -the land by the shore. Every bird has its different manner; I do not -know how else to express it. Now, the wheatears move in numbers, and -yet not in concert; in spring, perhaps twenty may be counted in sight -at once on the ground, feeding together and yet quite separate; just -opposite in manner to starlings, who feed side by side and rise and -fly as one. Every wheatear feeds by himself, a space between him and -his neighbour, dotted about, and yet they obviously have a certain -amount of mutual understanding; they recognise that they belong to the -same family, but maintain their individuality. On the hills in their -breeding season they act in the same way; each pair has a wide piece -of turf, sometimes many acres. But if you see one pair, it is certain -that other pairs are in the neighbourhood. In their breeding-grounds -they will not permit a man to approach so near as when they arrive, -or as when the nesting is over. At the time of their arrival, any one -can walk up within a short distance; so again in autumn. During the -nesting-time the wheatear perches on a molehill, or a large flint, or -any slight elevation above the open surface of the downs, and allows no -one to come closer than fifty yards. - -The hedge-sparrows, that creep about the bushes of the hedgerow as mice -creep about the banks, are early in spring joined by the whitethroats, -almost the first hedgebirds to return. The thicker the undergrowth -of nettles and wild parsley, rushes and rough grasses, the more the -whitethroat likes the spot. Amongst this tangled mass he lives and -feeds, slipping about under the brambles and ferns as rapidly as if -the way was clear. Loudest of all, the chiff-chaff sings in the ash -woods, bare and leafless, while yet the sharp winds rush between the -poles, rattling them together, and bringing down the dead twigs to the -earth. The violets are difficult to find, few and scattered; but his -clear note rings in the hushes of the eastern breeze, encouraging the -flowers. It is very pleasant indeed to hear him; one’s hands are dry -and the skin rough with the east wind; the trunks of the trees look -dry, and the lichens have shrivelled on the bark; the brook looks dark; -gray dust rises and drifts, and the gray clouds hurry over; but the -chiff-chaff sings, and it is certainly spring. The first green leaves -which the elder put forth in January have been burned up by frost, and -the woodbine, which looked as if it would soon be entirely green then, -has been checked, and remains a promise only. The chiff-chaff tells the -buds of the coming April rains and the sweet soft intervals of warm -sun. He is a sure forerunner. He defies the bitter wind; his little -heart is as true as steel. He is one of the birds in which I feel a -personal interest, as if I could converse with him. The willow-wren, -his friend, comes later, and has a gentler, plaintive song. - -Meadow-pipits are not migrants in the sense that the swallows are; but -they move about and so change their localities, that when they come -back they have much of the interest of a spring-bird. They rise from -the ground and sing in the air like larks, but not at such a height, -nor is the song so beautiful. These, too, are early birds. They often -frequent very exposed places, as the side of a hill where the air is -keen, and where one would not expect to meet with so lively a little -creature. The pond has not yet any of the growths that will presently -render its margin green; the willow-herbs are still low, the aquatic -grasses have not become strong, and the osiers are without leaf. If -examined closely, evidences of growth would be found everywhere around -it; but as yet the surface is open, and it looks cold. Along the brook -the shoals are visible, as the flags have not risen from the stems -which were cut down in the autumn. In the sedges, however, the first -young shoots are thrusting up, and the reeds have started, slender -green stalks tipped with the first leaves. At the verge of the water, a -thick green plant of marsh-marigold has one or two great golden flowers -open. This is the appearance of his home when the sedge-reedling -returns to it. Sometimes he may be seen flitting across the pond, or -perched for a moment on an exposed branch; but he quickly returns to -the dry sedges or the bushes, or climbs in and out the willow-stoles. -It is too bare and open for him at the pond, or even by the brook-side. -So much does he love concealment, that although to be near the water -is his habit, for a while he prefers to keep back among the bushes. As -the reeds and reed canary-grass come up and form a cover—as the sedges -grow green and advance to the edge of the water—as the sword-flags lift -up and expand, opening from a centre, the sedge-reedling issues from -the bushes and enters these vigorous growths, on which he perches, and -about which he climbs as if they were trees. In the pleasant mornings, -when the sun grows warm about eleven o’clock, he calls and sings with -scarcely a cessation, and is answered by his companions up and down -the stream. He does but just interrupt his search for food to sing; -he stays a moment, calls, and immediately resumes his prying into -every crevice of the branches and stoles. The thrush often sits on a -bough and sings for a length of time, apart from his food, and without -thinking of it, absorbed in his song, and full of the sweetness of the -day. These restless sedge-reedlings cannot pause; their little feet -are for ever at work, climbing about the willow-stoles where the wands -spring from the trunk; they never reflect, they are always engaged. -This restlessness is to them a great pleasure; they are filled with -the life which the sun gives, and express it in every motion; they -are so joyful, they cannot be still. Step into the osier bed amongst -them gently; they will chirp—a note like a sparrow’s—just in front, -and only recede a yard at a time, as you push through the tall grass, -flags, and underwood. Stand where you can see the brook, not too near, -but so as to see it through a fringe of sedges and willows. The pink -lychnis or ragged robin grows among the grasses; the iris flowers -higher on the shore. The water-vole comes swimming past on his way -to nibble the green weeds in the stream round about the great branch -which fell two winters since and remains in the water. Aquatic plants -take root in its shelter. There, too, a moorhen goes, sometimes diving -under the bough. A blackbird flies up to drink or bathe, never at the -grassy edge, but always choosing a spot where he can get at the stream -free from obstruction. The sound of many birds singing comes from the -hedge across the meadow; it mingles with the rush of the water through -a drawn hatch—finches and linnets, thrush and chiff-chaff, wren and -whitethroat, and others farther away, whose louder notes only, reach. -The singing is so mixed and interwoven, and is made of so many notes, -it seems as if it were the leaves singing, the countless leaves, as if -they had voices. - -A brightly coloured bird, the redstart, appears suddenly in spring, -like a flower that has bloomed before the bud was noticed. Red is his -chief colour, and as he rushes out from his perch to take an insect -on the wing, he looks like a red streak. These birds sometimes nest -near farmhouses in the rickyards, sometimes by copses, and sometimes -in the deepest and most secluded coombes or glens, the farthest places -from habitation; so that they cannot be said to have any preference, -as so many birds have, for a particular kind of locality; but they -return year by year to the places they have chosen. The return of the -corncrake or landrail is quickly recognised by the noise he makes in -the grass; he is the noisiest of all the spring-birds. The return of -the goatsucker is hardly noticed at first. This is not at all a rare, -but rather a local bird, well known in many places, but in others -unnoticed, except by those who feel a special interest. A bird must be -common and plentiful before people generally observe it, so that there -are many of the labouring class who have never seen the goatsucker, -or would say so, if you asked them. Few observe the migration of the -turtle-doves, perhaps confusing them with the wood-pigeons, which -stay in the fields all the winter. By the time the sap is well up in -the oaks, all the birds have arrived, and the tremulous cooing of the -turtle-dove is heard by those engaged in barking the felled trees. -The sap rises slowly in the oaks, moving gradually through the minute -interstices or capillary tubes of this close-grained wood; the softer -timber trees are full of it long before the oak; and when the oak is -putting forth its leaves, it is high spring. Doves stay so much at -this time in the great hawthorns of the hedgerows and at the edge of -the copses, that they are seldom noticed, though comparatively large -birds. They are easily seen by any who wish; the coo-coo tells where -they are; and in walking gently to find them, many other lesser birds -will be observed. A wryneck may be caught sight of on a bough overhead; -a black-headed bunting, in the hedge where there is a wet ditch and -rushes; a blackcap, in the birches; and the ‘zee-zee-zee’ of the -tree-pipit by the oaks just through the narrow copse. - -This is the most pleasant and the best way to observe—to have an -object, when so many things will be seen that would have been -passed unnoticed. To steal softly along the hedgerow, keeping out -of sight as much as possible, pausing now and then to listen as the -coo-coo is approached; and then, when near enough to see the doves, -to remain quiet behind a tree, is the surest way to see everything -else. The thrush will not move from her nest if passed so quietly; -the chaffinch’s lichen-made nest will be caught sight of against the -elm-trunk—it would escape notice otherwise; the whitethroat may be -watched in the nettles almost underneath; a rabbit will sit on his -haunches and look at you from among the bare green stalks of brake -rising; mice will rustle under the ground-ivy’s purple flowers; a mole -perhaps may be seen, for at this time they often leave their burrows -and run along the surface; and indeed so numerous are the sights and -sounds and interesting things, that you will soon be conscious of the -fact, that while you watch one, two or three more are escaping you. It -would be the same with any other search as well as the dove; I choose -the dove because by then all the other creatures are come and are busy, -and because it is a fairly large bird with a distinctive note, and -consequently a good guide. - -But these are not all the spring-birds: there are the whinchats, -fly-catchers, sandpipers, ring-ousels, and others that are occasional -or rare. There is not a corner of the fields, woods, streams, or hills, -which does not receive a new inhabitant; the sandpiper comes to the -open sandy margins of the pool; the fly-catcher, to the old post by the -garden; the whinchat, to the furze; the tree-pipit, to the oaks, where -their boughs overhang meadow or cornfield; the sedge-reedling, to the -osiers; the dove, to the thick hedgerows; the wheatear, to the hills; -and I see I have overlooked the butcher-bird or shrike, as indeed in -writing of these things one is certain to overlook something, so wide -is the subject. Many of the spring-birds do not sing on their first -arrival, but stay a little while; by that time, others are here. Grass -blade comes up by grass blade till the meadows are freshly green; leaf -comes forth by leaf till the trees are covered; and like the leaves, -the birds gently take their places, till the hedges are imperceptibly -filled. - - - - -BY MEAD AND STREAM. - -BY CHARLES GIBBON. - - -CHAPTER XIV.—IN HARVEST-TIME. - -Meanwhile the harvest-work on the lands of Ringsford Manor was -progressing rapidly—to the surprise of the neighbours, who had heard -that Mr Hadleigh could not obtain hands, owing to his craze about the -beer question. He did not obtain much sympathy in the district in this -attempted social revolution. It was known that he was not a teetotaler -himself; and most of the proprietors and farmers and all the labourers -took Caleb Kersey’s view, that apart from the question whether beer -was good or bad for them, this autocratic refusal of it to those who -preferred to have it was an interference with the liberty of the -subject. As he passed through the market-place, a band of labourers had -shouted in chorus the old rhyme: ‘Darn his eyes, whoever tries, to rob -a poor man of his beer.’ - -But in spite of this determined opposition, here was a strong troop -of men and women clearing the ground so fast that it looked as if the -Ringsford cutting and ingathering would be completed as soon as that of -any other farm. And the beer was not allowed on the field. - -This was wonderful: but a greater wonder still was the fact that the -hands who had been so swiftly brought together were working under Caleb -Kersey himself—Caleb, the peasants’ champion, the temperance defender -of every man’s right to get drunk if he liked! There were mutterings -of discontent amongst his followers: there were whispers that he had -been heavily bribed to desert their cause; and those who had previously -deserted him, shook their heavy heads, declaring that they ‘knowed what -was a-coming.’ - -‘It ain’t fair on him—he ain’t acting square by me,’ Jacob Cone, the -Ringsford bailiff, had been heard to say in the _Cherry Tree_ taproom. -‘He comes and he takes my place, and does whatever master wants, when I -was a-trying to get master to let folk have their own way, as they’ve -been allays ’customed to.’ - -That was Jacob’s first and last grumble; for Caleb, hearing of it, took -him to every one of the hands, and each made the same statement: - -‘We can do without the beer. We gave it up because we choose to, and -not because we’re forced to.’ - -For the rest, Caleb contented himself with saying simply: ‘I ain’t -working for Mr Hadleigh, and I wasn’t hired by him.’ - -‘Daresay he contracted with some un?’ - -A nod would be the response to his inquisitive friend; and Caleb -would proceed with his work as earnestly as if his life depended upon -accomplishing a given task within the day. His example inspired the -younger men with some spirit of emulation, and the women, old and -young, with admiration. The old stagers bluntly told him at the close -of the first day that they could not keep pace with him, and did not -mean to try. - -‘Do the best you can, lads, and you’ll satisfy me,’ was all he said. - -The whispers as to his treason to the cause of the ‘Union,’ which -floated about, and of which he was perfectly conscious, had no other -effect upon him than to make him labour with increased zeal. But he -smarted inwardly; for, like all popular leaders, he felt keenly the -signs of waning favour amongst his followers—felt them the more keenly -because he had so often, to his own serious detriment, proved his -integrity, and knew that he was faithful as ever to the cause he had -espoused. - -It is doubtful if he would have been able to hold up so stoutly against -the swelling tide of unpopularity, if there had not been a compensating -influence upon him, strengthening his arm, although it did not always -keep his head cool, or his pulse steady. - -Every morning, when the white mist was rising from the hollows, and -the trees appeared through it like shadows of themselves, whilst the -long grass through which he tramped to the field sparkled and glowed -around him, as the sun cleared the atmosphere, his way took him by the -gardener’s cottage. Every evening, when the harvest-moon was rising -slowly over the tree-tops, his way homeward took him again by the -cottage. He frequently caught a glimpse of Pansy, and generally had an -opportunity of exchanging greetings with her. - -‘A fine morning,’ he would say; and he was under the impression that -he spoke with a smile, but always looked as solemn as if he were at a -funeral. - -‘Yes, a fine morning,’ she would say with a real smile, and a tint on -her cheeks as if they reflected the radiance of the sun. - -Then he would stand as if he had something more to say; but first he -had to look up at the sky; next strain his eyes over the rolling-ground -in the direction of the Forest, as if much depended upon his noting -the development of the trees through the mist; and again up at the -chimney-top, to observe which way the wind was blowing. The result of -all this observation being: - -‘We’ll have a rare drying wind to-day.’ - -Then she, in a modified way, would go through the same pantomime and -answer pleasantly; ‘Yes, I think you will.’ - -And he would pass on, leaving that great ‘something’ he wanted to -say still unspoken. Yet Caleb was reputed to be a man possessed of a -special gift of speech. He showed no lack of it in the presence of any -one save Pansy. - -‘I wonder what gars him come round this way ilka mornin’ and night,’ -said Sam Culver one day to his daughter, looking at her suspiciously. -‘He’d be far sooner hame if he gaed round by the wood, like other folk.’ - -‘I cannot tell, father,’ she answered, her gypsy cheeks aglow: ‘maybe -he has to go up to the House for something.’ - -Sam shook his head thoughtfully: he did not relish the idea which had -entered it. - -‘Kersey is a decent enough lad; but he is wildish in his notions of -things, and a’ the farmers round about are feared to trust him with ony -work. That’s no the right way to get through the world, my lass, and I -wouldna like to see you with sic a man.’ - -Pansy was a little startled by this plain way of suggesting why -Caleb chose to take the longest route to his work; and she proceeded -hurriedly to clear away the breakfast dishes. That evening, Caleb did -not see her as he passed the cottage. - -Whatever Sam Culver’s opinion of Caleb Kersey might have been, it -underwent considerable modification, if not an entire change, as he -watched him work and the harvest rapidly drawing to a close under his -care. At anyrate, one evening, as Caleb was exchanging that stereotyped -greeting with Pansy, and was about to pass on, her father came up and -asked him in to supper. - -‘It’s just a plate o’ porridge and milk, you ken; but you’re welcome, -if yer not ower proud to sup it. Mony’s the great man has sought -naething better.’ - -A little shyness on Caleb’s part was quickly overcome. He entered the -cottage, and was presently seated at the same table with Pansy. He was -amply compensated for all that he had suffered on account of yielding -to Madge’s request that he should take the Ringsford harvest in hand. - -The gardener, since he had settled in the south, had, like many of his -countrymen, considerably loosened the Puritanical stays which he had -been accustomed to wear in the north. Indeed, it was said that he had -been discovered in the greenhouse on a Sabbath, when he ought to have -been in church. He still, however, felt the influence of old habits, -and so he said grace in this fashion: - -‘Fa’ tae, fa’ tae, and thank the Lord for a guid supper.’ - -When the meal was finished, Sam took his guest out to see a new -geranium which he was cultivating; and then he revealed to him a fancy -which he had been cultivating as largely as his geranium. - -‘I was thinking, Kersey, that you have been getting on bravely with the -harvest. Noo, if you could just manage to cut the last stook on the day -of Mr Philip’s dinner, it would be a real surprise to the folk at the -house, and a grand feather in your cap.’ - -‘I think it can be done,’ said Caleb quietly. - -And it was done. On the evening fixed for the festival, the last sheaf -of the Ringsford grain was placed on the lawn in front of the Manor. -Whilst the guests were arriving, Madge had been told by Sam Culver that -this was to be done; so she went out with Uncle Dick and Mr Hadleigh to -congratulate Caleb on the good harvest he had gathered in, and to thank -him on her own part for having undertaken the task. - -‘It’s the best job you have ever done, Caleb,’ cried Uncle Dick, giving -him a hearty slap on the shoulder. ‘Stick to this kind of thing, my -lad, and leave speechifying to them that cannot do any better.’ - -‘I am always ready to work,’ replied Caleb, avoiding the second part of -his well-wisher’s speech. - -‘I offer you my sincere thanks, Kersey,’ said Mr Hadleigh in his -reserved way; ‘and it would please me to hear of anything I could do -for you.’ - -‘I am obliged to you.’ - -This ungraciously, but with a slight movement of the head, which might -be called half a nod. - -‘You can bear it in mind. Had I known that you would be finished -to-day, I should have arranged for our harvest-home gathering to take -place this evening. I am sure that would have gratified Miss Heathcote -and my son.’ - -Another half-nod, and Caleb moved away. - -The gong sounded. Mr Hadleigh gave his arm to Madge, and led her -towards the house. - -As they entered the hall, they were met by the butler. - -‘Do you know where Mr Philip is, sir?’ asked the man nervously. ‘Dinner -is quite ready, and he is not in the house; and nobody has seen him -since he started for town this morning.’ - -The butler’s anxiety was equally divided between the danger of having -the dinner spoiled and the question as to what had become of Philip. - -‘Have you sent to his room?’ - -‘I have been there myself, sir. His things are all lying ready for him; -but he is nowhere about.’ - -Mr Hadleigh frowned. - -‘This is very annoying. I told him he should not go to town to-day. He -has missed his train, I suppose. Give him a quarter of an hour, Terry, -and then serve dinner.... Excuse me, Miss Heathcote, one moment.’ - -He beckoned to a footman, who followed him into a small sideroom. - -‘Send Cone to the station,’ he said in a low voice; ‘and bid him -inquire if there has been an accident on the line.’ - - -CHAPTER XV.—THE BANQUET WAITS. - -The explanation that Philip, having important business in town, had no -doubt been detained so long as to have missed his train, satisfied all -the guests except one. She, however, maintained as calm a demeanour -as Mr Hadleigh himself; and he regarded her at times with a curiously -thoughtful expression. - -‘How brave she is,’ was his thought. ‘Can she have misgivings and he so -firm?’ - -Madge had misgivings; for Philip had told her that he had only to put -his seal on the despatch-box containing the important papers he was -to carry with him to Uncle Shield, and that he expected to return -early enough to call at Willowmere before going home. This, she had -suggested, would be waste of time, for she would be busy with her -elaborate toilet, and unable to see him. They both enjoyed the fun -of the idea that she should be so long engaged in dressing for this -important occasion as to leave no time to see him. - -‘Well, I shall see Uncle Dick at anyrate, and of course he will be -a first-rate substitute. Indeed, now I think of it, he would be far -more interesting than a coquettish young person whose mind is wholly -absorbed in the arrangement of her bows and laces. He would tell me -all about the spread of the foot-and-mouth disease, and that would be -useful information at anyrate. Eh?’ - -They parted, laughing, and thus it was only a half-promise that he -should call. She was not surprised, therefore, when he did not appear. - -When, however, the hour of dinner at the Manor arrived and he had -not yet returned, she felt that vague anxiety which is almost more -difficult to hide in the presence of others than the pain of some -definite calamity. She knew quite well that if he had only missed a -train, he would have telegraphed. But no one looking at her would have -suspected that her mind was disturbed by the least unhappy thought. - -Miss Hadleigh only said: ‘That careless boy! To be late on such an -occasion as this when he knows that papa is always put out when -anybody is late’—and went on doing her best to remember her duty as -a hostess by not giving all her attention to ‘Alfred.’ Miss Caroline -only whispered in reply: ‘He is so stupid.’ As for Miss Bertha, she -was so busily engaged in conversation with one of her brother Coutts’s -friends, that she was unconscious of any disarrangement of the -evening’s programme. - -So the party in the drawing-room buzzed like a hive of contented bees -on a warm summer day, and no one showed the slightest symptom of being -aware that the hour appointed for dinner had passed. - -The vicar, Paul Havens, was a hale, sunny-faced man of about fifty -years, with bushy iron-gray hair and whiskers, and square muscular -frame. He was one of those men whose strong, kindly nature reflects -itself upon all who come in contact with him, and inspires them too -with a sense of strength. His genial presence was like fresh air in -the mansion or the peasant’s cot. He was no ‘sporting parson;’ but he -chatted with Crawshay with as much interest as if he were, about the -prospects of sport on the stubble this season, and how the pheasants -were likely to turn out when their time came. Then, as Dr Guy came up, -the vicar turned to little Mrs Joy in time to relieve her from utter -distraction at the cynical jokes and compliments of Coutts Hadleigh. -The latter delighted in bewildering this good lady, whose wits were not -particularly quick, although, with her husband, Dr Edwin Joy, she was -an enthusiastic social reformer. - -‘My husband and I believe,’ she would say, with her little head bending -slightly to one side, ‘that want of thrift is at the bottom of all -the poverty and misery of the working-classes in town and country. -Now we endeavour to inculcate that great fact on all who come under -our influence; and Dr Joy, as my father’s partner, you know, has many -opportunities for speaking a word in season. And we always speak it! -Thrift, thrift, thrift, is our text; and I assure you we have succeeded -in making _some_ improvements in our district.’ - -And they did preach from this text with untiring enthusiasm; they -diligently perused every book and pamphlet published on the subject, -and their own affairs were continually in a hopeless muddle. They could -always see exactly what other people ought to do under any given -circumstances, and were always ready with the best advice; but they -were like children in dealing with the most ordinary difficulties of -their own lives. They were a good-natured couple, however, thoroughly -sincere and well meaning, so that these little idiosyncrasies amused -their friends, and did no harm to the working-people on whose behalf -they were specially exercised. - -Mrs Joy’s father, Dr Guy, smiled grimly at the profound wisdom they -displayed in other people’s business, and the folly which invariably -cropped up whenever they had anything to do for themselves. At the -beginning of every year, they made a serious calculation of the least -amount their income was likely to be for the coming twelve months, and -resolved to live within it; they even determined to lay aside some -portion to meet contingencies. At the end of every year, they were -amazed to find how far they had exceeded their calculated expenditure, -and spent days in wondering how it could be. - -‘Edwin, I cannot understand it,’ Mrs Joy would exclaim helplessly. - -‘Neither can I,’ he would answer with a puzzled look at the figures -before him. Then, brightening up, he would say: ‘We must try again, my -dear.’ - -‘Yes, we must try again, dear,’ she would say, also brightening up, and -comforted by visions of the surplus which the mighty thrift would give -them next time. - -Then they would make another serious calculation of ways and means, -and with light hearts, go on just as before, studying and preaching -the doctrines which, by some inscrutable twist in their natures, -they were unable to practise. They were so like children playing at -housekeeping, that although Dr Guy had to bear the consequences of -their mismanagement, he could not be angry with them long at a time. -Besides, he had consolation in two facts: first, that Fanny was his -only child, and would inherit everything he possessed; and second, that -Edwin Joy was really a clever surgeon, successful in his practice, -and much liked by his patients, notwithstanding his stupidity in -money matters. Indeed, the greater part of the practice rested on his -shoulders now, and nothing delighted him more than to be up to the eyes -in work. - -Dr Guy belonged to the old school of country practitioners, and was as -much interested in agriculture as in physic. He had a small farm, in -the management of which he found agreeable occupation. So he took the -first opportunity of getting Crawshay into a corner to discuss the best -means of stamping out the rapidly spreading foot-and-mouth disease and -the advantages of ensilage. - -Madge and Mrs Crawshay looking on, were well pleased to see that for -once Uncle Dick did not regret coming to Ringsford. But although Madge -found time to think of this, and to give intelligent attention to any -one who addressed her, she glanced often at the door expectantly. - -At length the door opened, the butler entered, spoke a few words to his -master, and then withdrew. Mr Hadleigh immediately advanced to Madge. - -‘I am glad to tell you, Philip has returned,’ he said in a quiet voice. - -A flush of pleasure on her calm face expressed her gratitude for this -good news. - -‘Then he was only detained—nothing has happened?’ - -‘I presume that nothing particular has happened; but we shall learn -presently from himself. His message to me was only to desire that we -should proceed to dinner at once, and allow him to join us in the -dining-room. So you must permit Coutts to take you down.’ - - - - -CALLS BEFORE THE CURTAIN. - - -It has often been said that an actor exists upon the breath of -applause; and to a certain extent this is literally as well as -figuratively true; for during a long period of his early career he is -fated to undergo many hardships, and frequently finds himself playing -week after week for one of those unscrupulous ‘managers’ who can -hardly be got to pay their company their salaries, while revelling -in all possible comfort themselves. Indeed, a long chapter might be -written upon the sorrows incident to ‘the profession;’ but this would -be entirely beside our present purpose. Suffice it to remark, as an -introduction to our immediate theme, that no histrion ever yet trod the -boards who was unmindful of the public recognition of his talents; and -so soon as an opportunity offers in which to distinguish himself, and -his efforts are rewarded with a round of applause, from that moment -will he devote himself the more assiduously to his calling, by reason -of the enviable stimulus so received. - -It has been placed upon record how Fanny Horton, a once celebrated -actress, won her first applause in a somewhat singular manner. During -her performance in a particular scene, she was loudly hissed, when, -advancing to the footlights, she asked: ‘Which do you dislike—my -playing or my person?’ ‘The playing, the playing!’ was the answer from -all parts of the house. ‘Well,’ she returned, ‘that consoles me; for my -playing may be bettered, but my person I cannot alter!’ The audience -were so struck with the ingenuity of this retort, that they immediately -applauded as loudly as they had the moment before condemned her; and -from that night she improved in her acting, and soon became a favourite -with the public. - -It will scarcely be denied that applause is not only welcome, but -necessary to the actor; and even so great an artiste as Mrs Siddons -was susceptible to the force of this truth, though not so much in its -regard to professional adulation, as for personal convenience. ‘It -encourages,’ she was wont to say; ‘and better still, it gives time -for breath!’ On this account, as well as for other obvious reasons, -the managers of the Parisian theatres have organised a regular system -of hired applause, termed the _claque_; and this not only saves the -audience the trouble of applauding, but it is frequently the means -of influencing the success of a new production, while it affords -the actors engaged an opportunity of purchasing a too frequently -questionable notoriety by a monetary arrangement with the _claque_, or -at anyrate with the head of that department who grandiloquently styles -himself ‘the contractor for success.’ - -But it must not by any means be imagined that the _claque_ is a -modern institution. From the time of the ancient drama downwards, -the approbation of the spectators has always been eagerly courted by -the performers, and hired persons to applaud their acting regularly -attended the representations. Both the Greeks and the Romans made use -of the device. It has been well attested that Nero, the Roman emperor, -who at all times took an active part in the theatrical representations -of his day, enforced applause at the point of the sword; and Suetonius -tells us that one day when Nero sang the fable of _Atis and the -Bacchantes_, he deputed Burrhus and Seneca to incite the audience to -applaud. On one occasion, while the emperor was on the stage, singing -to his own accompaniment on the lyre, an earthquake shook the imperial -city; yet not one among that enormous assemblage dared so much as -attempt to flee from the danger, or leave his seat, fearing the summary -wrath of the tyrant, whose will held them so powerfully in bondage. At -another time, a poor woman fell asleep during the performance, and on -one of Nero’s soldiers descrying her situation, she narrowly escaped -with her life. - -But the Romans could not give Nero the honour of a call before the -curtain, for the simple reason that drop-curtains were not then in use. -Indeed, the introduction of stage-curtains belongs to a comparatively -late period. In the reign of Elizabeth, we find that the theatres—or -playhouses, as they were termed—were of the most primitive kind. For -the most part the performances were conducted on a rude platform in -the London inn yards; while the few regular stationary playhouses were -little better furnished in the way of proper dramatic accessories. -The use of scenery is, of course, nowhere to be traced, and the only -semblance to a proscenium consisted of a pair of tapestry curtains, -which were drawn aside by cords when the performance began. The same -arrangement has also been found in all examples of the early Spanish, -Portuguese, and other continental theatres. - -Among the earliest permanent English playhouses were ‘The Theatre’ -and ‘The Fortune,’ neither of which, however, possessed a proper -drop-curtain. But ‘The Red Bull,’ another old theatre, had a -drop-curtain; and when, in the year 1633, that playhouse was -demolished, rebuilt, and enlarged, it was decorated in a manner almost -in advance of the time, the management particularly priding itself -upon ‘a stage-curtain of pure Naples silk.’ It was not until the year -1656 that the first attempt of Sir William Davenant to establish the -lyric drama in England brought with it the use of regular painted -scenery on our stage. As an introductory venture, and fully aware that -the performance of everything of a dramatic tendency had long been -prohibited throughout the country, he announced a miscellaneous kind of -entertainment, consisting of ‘music and declamation,’ which was duly -held at Rutland House in Charterhouse Yard, on the 23d of May. Thus -far encouraged, he immediately followed with the first genuine opera, -entitled _The Siege of Rhodes_, employing a libretto, music, costumes, -and five elaborate scenes. Further representations of opera were always -signalised by the use of scenery, and the example was naturally soon -followed by the drama, so soon as the altered condition of the times -had sufficiently permitted its revival. In place of a drop-curtain -of tapestry, silk, or other material, a painted scene also came into -fashion, on which was generally shown some incident in the opera -about to be enacted. The painted crimson curtain used in _The Siege -of Rhodes_ had upon it also a representation of the arms and military -trophies of the several nations which took part in this memorable siege. - -Still, for all that, the green curtain retained its position in all -permanent theatres—and even in the puppet-shows, so popular in their -day—nor was it until quite recently that the more fashionable houses -thought proper to dispense with it altogether. - -Touching upon stage-curtains of our own time, it will scarcely be -necessary to dilate upon the peculiarly constructed proscenium of the -present Haymarket Theatre, London, which is nothing more or less than -an elaborate picture in its gilt frame. The curtain of course forms the -picture, and no orchestra-pew being visible, the frame or proscenium -is continued on the lower side without interruption. The footlights -are not discovered until the rising of the curtain, and the ‘calls’ -are necessarily responded to on the stage itself, for which purpose -the curtain is again drawn up. Perhaps the most interesting curtain -of the ordinary character is that now in use at New Sadler’s Wells -Theatre, which conveys to the eye a very perfect idea of that famous -‘musick-house’ on the banks of the New River in ‘merrie Islington,’ as -it appeared rather more than a hundred years ago. - -Mr Henry Irving in his established dramatic home at the Lyceum Theatre -has always preferred to take his ‘calls’ on the stage itself; indeed, -he never appears in front of the curtain except on the night of the -opening or the termination of his season, which is always looked -forward to in London as an event. The production of _Romeo and Juliet_ -afforded him an agreeable opportunity, however, of making a new -departure in his manner of responding to the congratulations of his -patrons—the living ‘Prologue’ opening the tragedy by stepping forward -from between a pair of truly magnificent curtains of yellow plush, -when, having recited his lines, the withdrawal of these curtains -unveiled the first scene representing ‘the public place’ at Verona. Mr -Irving, further, took occasion at the close of each act of leading Miss -Ellen Terry before the footlights in the same manner, thus obviating -the necessity of raising the curtain proper before these calls could be -replied to. - -So much for theatrical curtains in general. We will now go on to -narrate several notable incidents connected with ‘Calls before the -Curtain.’ - -When David Garrick made his re-appearance at Drury Lane, after an -absence of two years during a provincial tour, the theatre was packed -from floor to ceiling, and the audience were quite beside themselves -with enthusiasm. The play was announced to be _Much Ado About Nothing_; -but, as the actor expected, he had first to show himself in front of -the curtain. He had prepared an address to the audience, which he -delivered previous to beginning the play. When he came upon the stage, -he was welcomed with three loud plaudits, each finishing with a huzza. - -When R. W. Elliston was manager of the ‘Royal Circus,’ to which he -gave the present name of the ‘Surrey Theatre,’ he was one night called -before the curtain under rather exceptional circumstances. On that -occasion, an actor named Carles, who had long been a popular favourite -at that house, was absent, having unfortunately been arrested for debt -while on his way to the theatre, and another actor, possibly not very -much his inferior in regard to talent, had to be substituted. The -performance, however, had not long commenced, when the audience missed -their favourite, and called loudly for ‘Carles!’ Carles not appearing, -the uproar became general; and as soon as the curtain had fallen upon -the first act, the manager was summoned. Elliston duly appeared and -asked, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, what is your pleasure?’ But to all that -he said they cried only ‘Carles!’ Not yet aware of their intentions, he -exclaimed: ‘One at a time, if you please;’ and singling out a puny yet -over-energetic malcontent in the pit, he begged pardon of the audience, -saying: ‘Let me hear what _this_ gentleman has to say.’ Then addressing -the man: ‘Now, sir, I’ll attend to you _first_, if the rest of the -gentlemen will allow me.’ - -The man, as might be imagined, was not a little taken aback at this -remark; yet he managed to say: ‘Carles’ name is in the bill, and where -is he?’ At this, Elliston assumed a grave air, and folding his arms, -addressed the people as follows: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, with your -leave I will say a few words. I admit that Mr Carles’ name _is_ in -the bill; I do not wish to deny it; but’—here he assumed a decidedly -tragic tone—‘but are you to be reminded of the many accidents that may -intervene between the issuing of that bill and the evening’s fulfilment -of its promise? Is it requisite to remind the enlightened and thinking -portion of the public here assembled that the chances and changes of -human life are dependent upon circumstances, and not upon ourselves?’ - -Here all shouted: ‘Ay, ay; bravo!’ - -The manager, pointing to the man in the pit, went on: ‘And you, sir, -who are so loud in your demand for Mr Carles, cannot _you_ also -imagine that his absence may be occasioned by some sore distress, -some occurrence not within human foresight to anticipate or divert? -Cannot you picture to yourself the possibility of Mr Carles at this -moment lying upon a sick—nay, perhaps a dying bed, surrounded by his -weeping children and his agonised wife’ [Mr Carles was a bachelor!], -‘whose very bread depends upon the existence of an affectionate devoted -husband and father, and who _may_ be deprived of his exertions and -support for ever? Is it so _very_ difficult to imagine a scene like -this taking place at the very moment when you are calling for him so -imperiously to appear before you, selfishly desirous of your present -amusement and unmindful of his probable danger!’ Great and general -applause. - -Inwardly, Mr Elliston felt struck at the success of his diplomacy, -especially as at this point the audience turned against the man who had -spoken, and joined their voices in cries of ‘Turn him out!’ to which -sentence the manager found it best to lend countenance; and having -given his permission, the unlucky ‘pitite’ was summarily ejected from -the theatre, and in a little while the performance was continued in -perfect order. - -Calls for the author after the first representation of a new play are, -of course, frequent, the more especially when the work has given entire -satisfaction. In some instances, the audience summon that individual -to appear for no other purpose than to hiss him for the unskilfulness -of his performance; in which case, the author will most probably -retaliate with a speech wherein mention of ‘an organised opposition’ -comes uppermost. Speaking of the former, some curious examples might -be noted. An author frequently announces, through the medium of the -manager, that he has betaken himself abroad, or, say, to Scotland, -fearing the result of his piece, whereas he may be quietly looking on -at the back of the pit, or has concealed himself behind the curtains -of a private box. In another case, the successful author will attempt -to make a speech, while bowing his acknowledgments, and signally fail, -retiring considerably more abashed than triumphant. But the crowning -episode to be narrated in this connection occurred some years ago at -one of the Dublin theatres, when one of the tragedies of Sophocles was -put on the stage. At the close of the performance, the ‘gods’ loudly -called for the author; whereupon the manager explained that as the -author had been dead more than two thousand years, he could not very -well appear. Nothing disconcerted, a very small gallery-boy called out: -‘Then let’s have his mummy!’ - -Dramatic, including operatic, artistes taking their benefits are almost -invariably honoured with a call before the curtain. On such occasions, -too, they may fairly be entitled to considerable latitude in various -ways, as, for instance, in their own selection of the programme for -that evening. Notwithstanding this, they should not suffer themselves -to infringe the ordinary regulations of the establishment. Not very -long ago, a star _prima donna_ of the very first magnitude, when taking -her benefit at the Imperial Opera, St Petersburg, found herself called -before the curtain more than twenty consecutive times. In the end -she occupied the centre of the stage, and addressed her enthusiastic -patrons a few words in the Russian language, then offered to show -her gratitude for their favours by singing them a song in their own -tongue. This was received with rapturous applause; but judge of her -surprise when, after retiring from the stage, the management fined her -two thousand francs for addressing the audience without permission! -The proceeds of her benefit were thus considerably reduced; and her -experience was only in one degree removed from that of the French -pantomimist and dancer, as related by Charles Kemble. This individual -was in the habit of taking a benefit at regular intervals, but always -with a loss. One night, however, he came before the curtain with a -beaming countenance, and after a polite bow, he acknowledged his thanks -in these terms: ‘Dear public, moche oblige; very good benefice; only -lose half a crown dis time. _I come again!_’ - -At an American theatre, an actor once took his benefit, and selected -as the play for the occasion, _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_. The company being -small, he found it necessary not only to subject several of the -incidental characters to being doubled—that is, one actor to sustain -two different characters in the same piece, rapidly changing his -costume from one to the other as occasion requires—but he also accepted -a double himself. His was that of Sambo with St Clair. St Clair -appears in one act, and Sambo in the next. Having won considerable -honours as the first individual, the actor, directly the curtain had -descended, hurried away to his dressing-room to prepare in all haste -his toilet and costume for Sambo. His face and hands had of course to -be blacked; and in the midst of this operation of applying the burnt -cork, the prompter entered his room to announce that the audience were -uproarious for him to appear before the curtain. ‘But I can’t,’ he -exclaimed; ‘it is impossible; I’m just making up for Sambo!’ Nothing, -however, would satisfy his patrons short of responding to his call; so -boisterously demanded, that, without his compliance, the performance -could not possibly proceed. At length our hero made his appearance. -But the audience were scarcely prepared to receive him in his altered -person, and, failing to recognise the metamorphosed St Clair in the -half-made-up Sambo, they shouted: ‘Go away! Who sent for you?’ - -Floral offerings are, of course, pleasantly associated with artistes’ -benefits, and long may they so continue. The Emperor Nero, it is -said, always provided the Roman spectators with the thousand-and-one -bouquets which were thrown at his feet when he occupied the stage. But -bouquets _voluntarily_ offered are worthy to be prized very highly. -Not very long ago, Mr Edward Terry, when taking his leave of an Irish -audience, was honoured with the reception of a beautiful floral wreath, -which must have been infinitely more acceptable than that wreath -of _immortelles_ which some insulting ruffian cast at the feet of -Mademoiselle Favart, at a French theatre, a few years ago, in order -to indicate that her age had placed her beyond the power of playing -youthful parts. Had she been composed of the same metal as was the -actor in the following example, she would have enjoyed the opportunity -presented of paying the wretch back in his own coin. The story may be -accepted as true. - -At the close of his own benefit performance, a certain favourite -comedian was called before the curtain at a theatre in Vienna. In the -midst of a shower of bouquets, some insulting individual threw a bunch -of vegetables on the stage. Very complacently the _bénéficier_, having -marked from what portion of the house it had proceeded, picked up the -article, and said: ‘We have here an interesting collection of carrots -and turnips. From my slight knowledge of natural history, I believe -this to be the proper food for asses; I therefore return it to its -owner, for who knows in these hard times he may be in want of such a -meal in the morning!’ With these words, he threw the object whence it -came; and the individual being discovered, was immediately expelled -from the theatre amid mingled hisses and applause. - - - - -THE MINER’S PARTNER. - - -IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER I. - -There was a good deal of excitement in the mining camps at and near -Flume City, which, as every mining reader knows, was prominent among -the gold-diggings, and gold-washings also, of Colorado twenty years -ago. A meeting of miners was being held at the largest building in -the city—a wooden shed, which called itself a restaurant, at which -there were assembled some forty or fifty men, rough-looking, roughly -clad, and armed with revolver and knife, although no intention existed -of using such weapons at this gathering. The assembly, indeed, had -been called together with an object calculated to promote union and -comradeship—to assist in maintaining individual rights and to support -the law generally. - -There was a president, of course, and his discourse, if not polished, -was much to the point. ‘I reckon,’ he said, after the meeting had -lasted perhaps an hour, and several speeches had been made, with a good -deal of shouting in the way of approval—‘I reckon that the citizens who -have spoken are about right. We have got some traitors among us, and -that’s where the worst comes in. It wasn’t by chance that any outside -loafer knew just when to steal the washings at the Long Placer last -night, or that Scotch Ned was sent away when the stamp-mill was broken. -We know who broke the mill—it was Bill Dobell. But who told him to come -in then? And who could have known that the Kentucky boys at the Long -Placer had got the best washings they had seen this year? Who could -have known that but one among us?’ - -The president said much more to this effect; but the remainder of his -speech, with the various orations which followed, need not be given, as -we have shown what was the nature of the excitement which had called -the miners into solemn conclave. - -The language used was odd and quaint enough; to many it would have -sounded absurd in its phraseology; but no fault could have been found -with the matter. That was direct and shrewd, and evinced a strong -determination to put down the mischief which was making itself felt. - -At the conclusion of a pithy harangue, in which the speaker urged -vigorous and brief proceedings against any one detected in such -unpardonable conduct, or reasonably suspected of complicity in -the crime—for robbing the troughs in a mining country is looked -upon as worse than murder, and is considered to be quite as bad as -horse-stealing—a voice exclaimed: ‘You air right, colonel!’ - -Every one started at the sound, and looked in the direction of the -speaker, who, having recently joined the meeting, with several others, -stood near the door. A dozen men whispered to their next neighbours: -‘Why, it is Rube Steele!’ And significant glances were exchanged. - -‘I thought the other day there was Injuns lying around to thieve,’ -continued the man; ‘so, when’—— - -‘You told us so, Rube,’ interrupted the president; ‘and the Kentucky -boys from the Long Placer came into committee on the subject; and their -troughs were robbed while they were gone. You know _that_, I estimate?’ - -A murmur as of approval of the president’s language ran through the -meeting. Rube noted this, but it did not disturb him. A peculiarly -sinister glance which he threw around him was perhaps natural to his -not greatly attractive features. - -‘Yes; I expect I know that; and I expect that I know the tale about -the Injuns was a fraud,’ returned Rube. Something like a sarcastically -approving laugh ran through the meeting at these words; but the speaker -continued, without appearing to notice it: ‘That stranger from San -Francisco was the man who brought the news. You believed him; so did I.’ - -‘We believed you, Rube; you said the man was reliable,’ again -interrupted the president. - -‘That is so,’ replied Rube. ‘He brought messages from leading Frisco -citizens, men known to me, and so I believed him. But I tell you he is -no good; and he has gone off with nigh upon three thousand dollars in -gold-dust which I trusted to him. He brought me an order from Ben, my -pardner, to say he was to have the dust; and though I did not like the -idea, I parted with it. And on coming into camp and asking Ben about -it, I find he never gave any order at all. And it is my belief that -this is the man who robbed the washings at the Kentucky boys’ placer.’ - -‘And where is Ben?’ began the president, who would probably have said -more, but that a man burst hastily into the saloon as the question was -asked, and shouted in answer: ‘Here! Here is Reuben Steele’s pardner. -Who wants him?’ - -‘We want you to hear what has been said,’ returned the president, ‘and -to give us your opinion about Californy Jones—the stranger who was -introduced by your pardner, but who, Rube now says, is the man who -robbed the placer, and has robbed him of three thousand dollars.’ - -‘I can’t say anything about the placer; maybe Rube knows more about -that than I do,’ replied the new-comer. ‘But the man has gone off with -three thousand dollars; that’s a sure fact; and as Rube gave him the -dust, it’s a sure fact too, he knows more about that than I do.’ - -‘I know no more than yourself,’ retorted Rube. ‘The man produced an -order from you. I could not tell that it was a forgery, and you have -always considered yourself as the boss of our outfit.’ - -‘Wal, gentlemen, and Mr President,’ continued Ben, ‘I can tell you -we have got murderers among us. Yes, gentlemen, that is so—real -cold-blooded murderers, that will lie in wait for honest, law-abiding -citizens and shoot them from behind rocks.’ - -A louder murmur ran through the assembly here; and the president asked -Ben his meaning. - -‘My meaning is this,’ continued Ben. ‘You know I am clearing out, and -shall leave the camp in a day or two, so that we are realising all our -property, and this gold-dust was a part of what I am going East with. -So, I kinder felt like riled at losing it; and when my pardner told me, -as cool as maybe, that he concluded this stranger had vamoosed with my -dust’—— - -‘And mine!’ interjected Rube. - -‘Wal, let every man speak of his own business,’ returned Ben, who was -evidently in anything but a good temper. ‘I say he had cleared out -with mine, anyhow; and I was riled, I tell you. But at that minute, I -saw, crossing the Mule Back Ridge, two men on horseback. The Ridge is -distant a good piece; but I could swear one was that stranger. “Send -some of the boys on,” said I to Rube. “I shall go through the cañon, so -shall meet them. They must cross there, if they don’t mean to go into -the mountains.” And I was sure they did not want the mountain road. So -I sot off. But I was waited for. There are as bad men left in the camp -as have gone out of it; and at the very entrance of the cañon, when -them horsemen must have been a good two miles away, some desperadoes -fired at me from behind a rock. There was more than one shot fired -at the same time, I know; and—see here, Mr President!—they took good -aim.’ As he said this, he threw off his long outer coat, and handed it -to the president, who, after a momentary examination, held it up, and -exhibited an unmistakable bullet-hole in the skirt. - -‘That was near—that is a fact!’ exclaimed the president. ‘And what did -you do then?’ - -‘I turned back,’ said Ben. ‘It was of no use my pushing on alone, with -the rocks lined with murderers, with men who expected me, and were in -league with Californy Jones.’ - -‘And where was Rube?’ asked the president. - -‘I was at the head of a bunch of boys of the right sort, seven or eight -of them, that I had looked up in the camp. They are here now: Long Sim, -Missouri Rob, Major Dimey and friend, with some others, all first-class -citizens.’ - -An assenting exclamation from each of those he named confirmed the -speaker. - -‘I could not do more than that,’ continued Rube. ‘And when I found my -pardner on the return-track, it was no use my proceeding. I came back -to the city, and then right away to this here convention.’ - -‘I could have raised twice the force in a quarter of the time he took!’ -cried Ben, intercepting some remark which it was evident the president -was about to make. ‘And why I did not come straight here was because -there was something in my tent I thought I had best look after. I had -left my tent in the care of a friend; but you don’t know what may -happen, with such loafers and scoundrels hanging around.’ - -‘Wal, fellow-citizens,’ said the president, ‘this convention didn’t -assemble, I reckon, to hear the rights of any difference between two -pardners; and it ain’t our business nohow. We are here to discuss the -existence of thieves and scallawags amongst us, and to decide upon the -beet means of clearing them out—that is all.’ - -Thus recalled to business, the assembly resumed its former discussion, -and the quarrel between the partners was not again openly referred -to; but it coloured all that was said, and many remarks upon it were -made in the body of the meeting. It was clear that public feeling was -much against Rube Steele, although a few of those present were his -partisans; but these latter appeared to consist only of the ‘bunch’ -of citizens he had referred to, and were not altogether free from -suspicion themselves. - -The gathering separated without having come to any formal resolve, -beyond appointing a few of their members to act in committee and to -decide what steps should be taken; but as it was notorious that each of -the chosen ones was a leader among the Regulators, as they were once -called—or the Vigilantes, to use their now familiar Spanish name—there -was probably more significance in their appointment than at first -appeared. - -For that night at anyrate no fresh outrages were apprehended; the -thieves, whoever they were, possessed information too prompt and too -certain to allow them to venture on a renewal of their attempts during -the excitement and watchfulness which would prevail for a time in the -vicinity of Flume City. - -In its neighbourhood, few persons were abroad after nightfall; it was -dangerous, indeed, for any one to approach a tent without making his -presence loudly known; a shot would probably be the first intimation -that he was trespassing on dangerous ground; while a few of the miners -possessed large and savage dogs, which would be loosed on hearing -a footstep near the tent. So those who had business which led them -abroad, were careful to confine themselves to the main street of Flume -City, if such a title could fitly be applied to the straggling avenue -which ran from end to end of the place. But spite of these drawbacks, a -few persons were moving in the environs of the city, and even at a good -distance beyond its boundaries, dark though the night was, and only -relieved from utter gloom by the starlight, for moon there was none. - -One man who was going towards the town, stopped suddenly, as his quick -ear caught the sound of an approaching footstep, and with the caution -of one accustomed to frontier-life, drew himself up by the side of one -of the very few trees which remained in the vicinity of Flume City, so -that in the obscurity it was almost impossible for any passing eye to -detect him. The next instant a single man hurried by, passing between -the first comer and the starry sky, so that his figure was visible -with tolerable distinctness to the concealed watcher. This second man -did not look to the right or left—it would have been almost impossible -for him to detect the spy, had he done so—but went quickly on in a -direction which seemed to surprise the hidden observer. - -‘What can he want there?’ exclaimed the latter, stepping from his -hiding-place, when the other had fairly gone past. ‘There ain’t no -shanties nor no living soul in that direction. It was surely Rube -Steele; and without he has gone crazy, I can’t fix anyhow why he should -be going towards the cañon after nightfall. I will see where he _is_ -going; and if he has turned crazy, I may help him; and if not, I shall -find out what he wants in the mountain pass. - -He was moving carefully but quickly in the direction the other had -taken, while he was muttering these disinterested sentiments; and -although he could only see the figure he followed, at intervals, when -the man climbed a ledge and stood for an instant in relief against -the sky, yet there was no difficulty in the pursuit. He could hear -his steps as they disturbed the loose stones which strewed the way, -and knew besides, that in the wild spot which they had reached, there -was no means of turning to the right or left, so that he could not -easily miss the chase. Presently the tread of the foremost man became -slower, and the pursuer, as a matter of course, moved at a slower rate -also—slower and slower still, until the former stopped, or only moved -about the same spot of ground. - -‘What on airth is he going to do?’ muttered the other man. ‘It’s so -dark—for he is right under the shadow of Big Loaf Rock—that he can’t -see to dig, nor hunt after any buried—— Wal! that means something!’ -This exclamation was caused by a low whistle which Rube Steele—if -indeed it were that person—suddenly gave. This was repeated, and -then answered from a distance. ‘I feel like seeing the end of this,’ -continued the spy; ‘and I mean to.’ - -Acting upon this determination, he crawled carefully forward, for he -was too near to venture upon standing upright; and moreover, as the -answering whistle had proved that others were in the neighbourhood, -he was compelled to be on his guard against discovery from other -quarters. His quick ear soon caught the sound of an approaching tread, -and directly after, he heard words spoken. The spy’s curiosity was -now raised tenfold, especially as one of the two men who were now, as -he well knew, close to him, struck a match to light his pipe, and the -momentary flash showed him both figures in a brief glimpse. They were -unluckily placed with their backs towards him, so that he could not -see their features. He now felt confident that the first one was Rube -Steele, and that the second was not entirely unknown to him, but more -than this he could not tell. - -This was terribly tantalising; and after the brief illumination of the -match, a more impenetrable darkness seemed to have settled upon the -pass and the rocks around; so, at all hazards, he resolved to get still -nearer. He was perhaps a little unguarded in his eagerness, and made -some slight noise, and it is certain that he had not calculated all the -hazards which might environ him, for a low fierce growl showed that a -dog was with the men, and the spy shuddered with horror as he heard the -sound. - -‘Did you hear anything?’ said a harsh voice. ‘The dog would not have -growled like that, unless some one was hanging around.’ - -‘Nonsense!’ returned the other; and the voice was certainly the voice -of Rube Steele. ‘He heard a jack-rabbit, perhaps, or scented a polecat. -I reckon there ain’t a soul within a league of this cañon to-night. The -miners are all at Flume City, and the Indians have left the district -for more than a week past.’ - -‘You may be right,’ returned the first speaker. ‘But the dog is uneasy, -and I never knew him give them signs for game or venison; no, nor for -Injun neither. I should have said there was a white man near. But we -air a little too much in the line of the main pass to show a light, -which we must do. Come behind this rock.—Good dog!—mind ’em!’ These -last words were of course addressed to the dog, which had continued to -growl at intervals while his master was speaking, although the unseen -watcher had lain as still as death. The animal was apparently soothed -by being thus noticed, and probably followed the men, whose footsteps -could be heard as they removed to the proposed cover behind the Big -Loaf Rock. - -The spy had no inclination to follow them to learn more, but crawled -carefully and noiselessly over the ground until he was at a safe -distance from the pass; so far, indeed, that he judged that even the -acute ears and scent of the dog could not detect him when he rose, and -hurried in the direction of the city as fast as his legs could carry -him. - -On the outskirts, he knocked at the door of a shanty, a log-built hut -with earthen floor, such as the Mexican peasantry, and even their -betters, often reside in; and in answer to a gruff challenge from -within—for the inmates were in bed, or stretched on such pallets as -served for beds—he returned an answer which seemed to satisfy the -questioner, for after a little more gruff grumbling, the door was -opened, and he was admitted. - -In answer to his inquiry, the gruff voice said: ‘No; nary drop of -anything but water; ye kin have that. Your voice sounds all of a -tremble, Absalom; and if ye don’t get shot over the cards or drown -yourself, I guess ye won’t last long as a miner, anyhow.’ - -Absalom, as he was called, hesitated for a moment, as though about to -say something in his defence, but eventually decided on making no reply -to this rather unpleasant speech, and threw himself down on a buffalo -skin which the other man pushed towards him. No further conversation -took place, and the shanty was as dark and silent as were the remainder -of the scattered dwellings on the outskirts of Flume City. - - - - -CURIOSITIES OF THE ELECTRIC LIGHT. - - -The first curiosity of the electric light was of course its discovery -in 1802 by Humphry Davy, then an assistant-lecturer at the Royal -Institution. With one of the new batteries which Volta had invented -two years before, Davy was surprised to get a brilliant white light -when the poles of the battery were joined through two pieces of carbon. -Later on, his astonishment was increased when he found how intensely -hot was this ‘arch’ of carbon light—the hottest known artificial -source. ‘Platinum,’ he wrote, ‘was melted as readily as is wax in the -flame of a common candle; quartz, the sapphire, magnesia, lime, all -entered into fusion.’ Even the diamond swells out into a black mass -in the electric arc, and carbon itself has been known to soften. Dr -Siemens, as is well known, utilised this fervent heat to fuse metals -in a crucible. With the arc from a dynamo capable of giving a light -of five thousand candles, he fused fifteen pounds of broken files in -as many minutes. Indeed, the temperature of the arc ranges from two -thousand to five thousand degrees Centigrade. Another curiosity of -the arc is that it can be shown in water or other liquids without -quenching. Liquids have a diffusive action on the light; and a globule -of fused oxide of iron between platinum wires conveying the current, -produces a very fine golden light. The fused plaster of Paris between -the carbons of the Jablochkoff candle also forms a brilliant source of -light in the arc; as does the marble separator which answers the same -purpose in the _lampe soleil_. Indeed, this white-hot marble, rendered -luminous by the arc, gives out a mellow radiance so closely resembling -sunshine as to give the lamp its name. Such a light is very suitable -for illuminating picture-galleries. - -Electric light is also produced by sending a discharge through vacuum -tubes like those of Geissler; and the varied colours thus produced -are exceedingly pretty. Phosphorescent substances, too, such as the -sulphide of barium, or the platino-barium cyanide, become highly -luminous when inclosed in a tube and traversed by the electric current. - -Besides the voltaic arc, we have now, however, another kind of electric -light—namely, the incandescence which is produced by sending the -current through a very slender filament of platinum wire or carbon -fibre inclosed in a glass bulb exhausted of air. Such are the lamps -of Swan, Edison, and others. These lamps have also their curious -features. The temperature of the filament is of course much lower than -the temperature of the arc. It is only about eighteen hundred degrees -Centigrade, for if it were higher, the delicate filament would be -dissipated into vapour which would condense like smoke on the cool -glass. With a platinum filament, the metal would ‘silver’ the interior -of the bulb. Curiously enough, when the copper ‘electrodes’ or wires -conveying the current inside the bulb to the filament of an Edison lamp -are accidentally dissipated by excess of current, the carbon thread -seems to shelter the glass from the copper shower, for Dr J. Fleming -has observed that there is always a blank line on the glass opposite -the filament, while all the rest is coated with a film of copper. When -the carbon itself is dissipated, this blank line is not seen, and -the whole interior of the bulb appears to be smoked. According to Dr -Fleming, this means that the molecules of copper move in straight lines -in the vacuum. - -During the ordinary action of one of these lamps there is believed to -be a kind of molecular bombardment between the two sides of the carbon -filament, which is usually bent into a loop. This battery of atoms in -time disintegrates the filament near its junction with the wires where -it is severest, and a patent has recently been taken out by Mr Brush, -the well-known inventor, for the insertion of a mica screen between the -legs of the filament to shield them from the pellets. - -The spectrum of the voltaic arc consists of the continuous ribbon -spectrum of the white-hot solid carbons, and certain bright lines -due to the glowing vapours of the arc. The light is rich in the -blue or actinic rays so productive of chemical action, and hence it -is, perhaps, that Dr Siemens found it so effective in forcing fruit -and flowers by night in lieu of the sun. It helps the development of -chlorophyl; and perhaps the electricity itself has also something to -do with assisting growth, apart from the light, for several French -experimenters have found that electrified soil and air seem to foster -plants better than unelectrified. It is remarkable, too, that young -bamboo shoots grow very rapidly after the thunderstorms which usher in -the Indian monsoons. - -The power of the arc-light is something unrivalled by any other light, -whether of limelight or magnesium. At the famous Crystal Palace -Electrical Exhibition, an arc reputed to be one hundred and fifty -thousand candles in power was lighted every evening. The carbons -were stout copper-plated bars nearly two and a half inches thick. -This intensity of illumination renders the arc eminently adapted for -lighthouses and search-lights. Hence it is that the French government -have decided to light forty of their coast lighthouses by electricity, -and that most of our warships and military trains are now equipped -with electric lamps for searching purposes. We read that the fleet at -Alexandria explored the Egyptian forts by night with powerful arcs; and -that the French Admiral at Madagascar struck terror into the breasts of -the simple Hovas by a similar display. - -For scouring the sea in search of torpedo-boats by night, or icebergs -and other ships during a fog, the value of the arc-light cannot be -too highly estimated. The screw-steamer _Faraday_, while engaged some -time ago in laying a new Atlantic cable, would have run right into an -iceberg in a Newfoundland fog, but for the electric beam projected -from her bows into the misty air ahead. Fog, however, has a peculiarly -strong quenching power over the arc-light, owing to the preference it -has for absorbing all the blue rays, and to the comparative poverty of -the orange colour. Hence it is that electric arc-lamps look so white -and dim in a dense fog. A single gas-jet can be seen about as far as a -two-thousand-candle arc-lamp. This is because the gas-jet is rich in -those red rays which penetrate a fog without being absorbed; whereas it -is poor in the blue rays which are quenched. For this reason, also, the -incandescence lamp is preferable to the arc for a misty atmosphere. - -The incandescence lamp can also burn under water, and owing to its -pretty shape, its pure light, its cleanliness, and independence of -everything except wires to bring the current to it, is highly suitable -for decorative purposes. It particularly lends itself to ornamental -devices of a floral order; and a great variety of chandeliers and -brackets have now been designed representing various plants with leaves -of brass or filagree, and flowers composed of tinted crystal cups -containing the lamps. Fruit is also simulated by lamps of coloured -glass. For example, at a Drury Lane Christmas pantomime, both holly and -mistletoe berries were imitated by incandescence lamps of crimson and -opal glass. Artificial lemon-trees, with fruit consisting of yellow -lamps, also make a pretty dining-table ornament. So do vases of roses -with incandescence lamps hid in them, an ornament devised by Mr J. -W. Swan for his residence at Bromley. Aquaria, too, can be lighted -internally by incandescence bulbs, and it would be very pretty to see -the lamps lying beside growing sea-anemones, whose expansion might seem -the more lovely under the stimulus of their rays. - -A Christmas-tree looks very pretty when lighted by a hundred -incandescence lamps; the first attempted being in all probability that -in the Swedish section of the Electrical Exhibition held in Paris -two years ago. At the Vienna Electrical Exhibition there are, while -we write, some novel effects of electric illumination; for instance, -there is a hall lighted entirely from the ceiling by electricity. The -ceiling is painted a deep blue to represent the sky, and studded with -innumerable stars in the shape of incandescence lamps. This reminds -us of the allegorical sun produced in the window of Mr Mayal, the -well-known photographer, by means of the same illuminant. - -From its cool brightness and safety from fire, the incandescence -light is very well adapted for theatres, and there are now several -opera-houses and theatres lighted by it. The Savoy Theatre, London; the -Princess’s Theatre, Manchester; the Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh, &c., -are all lit by incandescence lamps owing to its brilliance as compared -with gas. Some change was necessary in the making-up of the actors -and actresses, and the painting of the scenes; but at the New Grand -Theatre, Islington, the changes have been avoided by the use of yellow -glass bulbs which soften the light. At the Electrical Exhibition, -Vienna, there is a model theatre with numerous scenic effects never -before attempted by gas; and moonlight, sunrise, sunset, twilight, -and night are all imitated with great fidelity. In the drama of _Love -and Money_ at the Adelphi Theatre, a flood of daylight bursting in -upon some entombed miners through a hole cut in the coal by a rescuing -party was very well imitated by a beam of ‘arc’ light. The practice -of wearing tiny star lamps on the hair or dress has also come more -into fashion. Probably the first use of it was by the fairies in the -comic opera of _Iolanthe_ at the Savoy Theatre. Each fairy carried a -small accumulator on her back half concealed by her wings, and this -gave electricity to a miniature Swan lamp mounted on her forehead. -Ladies are sometimes to be seen with miniature lamps attached to their -dresses, and lighted by a touch of their fingers upon a small key hid -in their belts. One might have glowworm or firefly ornaments at this -rate. The ‘death’s-head’ pin worn by gentlemen in Paris a year or two -ago was a similar application of the electric current. On touching a -key to complete the electric circuit of a small pocket battery, the -eyes of the death’s-head in the wearer’s breast began to shine like -sparks of fire. - -The use of the electric light for sporting purposes has had some -curious developments. Polo, cricket, base ball, skating, and so on, -have all been played by night. At the Montreal Ice Carnival last -winter, the huge ice palace was illuminated both out and in with -thousands of electric lights, and skating, curling, snow-shoeing, and -toboganning went on by night as well as day. - -Gnats are fascinated by a powerful electric lamp, and dance about it as -they do in a beam of evening sunshine. Light has an attraction for many -animals besides insects. Flying-fish spring out of the sea when sailors -hang a lantern by the ship’s side; and in California now it is the -custom to submerge a cluster of Edison lamps from the bows of a boat -with a net expanded below. When the fish gather round the light the net -is closed on them, and after being hauled out of the water they are put -into water-tanks, and sent alive on special cars by overland rail to -New York and the Eastern States. The French _chasseur_ also makes a bag -sometimes by employing an electric light to attract his feathered game; -pigeons especially being lured by it. - -Owing to its power, the arc-light is very well suited for signalling -purposes; and hence it is now used with the heliograph to signal the -approach of cyclones between the British island of Mauritius and -Reunion in the Indian Ocean. It has also been proposed to signal by -transparent balloons lit by incandescence lamps. The balloon is raised -to a good height by a rope which also carries the wires conveying the -current to the lamps; and flashes according to an understood code of -signals are made by working a key to interrupt the current, as in the -act of telegraphing. - -Diving operations under the sea are greatly facilitated by the electric -light; and a trial was recently made of a powerful lamp at Marseilles -in lighting up the hull of a sunken ship. The amber hunters of the -Baltic are also using the light for seeking the fossil gum on the -sea-bed, instead of waiting until the waves cast it on the shore. -Sea-water is remarkably clear, and the rocks of the seashore are often -beautifully covered with weeds and shells. It is no wonder, then, that -a submarine balloon has been devised by one Signor Toselli at Nice, -for going under water to examine them. This observatory holds eight -people, and has a glass bottom and an electric light for illuminating -the sea-caves. - -The electric light is not free from danger; but, from not being -explosive, it is far from being as fatal in its effects as gas. There -have been several deaths from electric shock caused by the very -powerful currents of the Brush and Jablochkoff machines. For instance, -a man was killed instantly on board the late Czar’s yacht _Livadia_ -when crossing the Bay of Biscay. He had accidentally grasped the bare -connections of one of the electric lamps and received the current -through his breast. Others have been killed by touching bare wires -conveying the current; a man in Kansas City, United States, met his -death quite recently in repairing some electric light wires without -knowing that the current flowed in them. Carelessness of some kind -was the source of these misfortunes; but the use of such very deadly -currents is to be deprecated. When the electromotive force of an -electric current exceeds five hundred volts it becomes dangerous, and -hence it is that the Board of Trade prohibits the use of more powerful -currents for general lighting. The use of overhead wires, sometimes -uninsulated and never wholly insulated, such as obtains in some parts -of the United States, ought also to be eschewed, and underground -cables, safe out of harm’s way, employed instead. With cables buried -in the earth, we should not have a repetition of the curious incident -which recently happened at the Luray Cavern in Virginia, where -lightning ran into the cave along the electric light conductors and -destroyed some of the finest stalactites. - -The plan of having tall masts with a cluster of very powerful lights -reflected from the height by mirrors is a very good one, since it -obviates the distribution of wires and lamps. By imitating the sun, in -this way a Californian town is entirely lighted from one or two masts; -and it is satisfactory to know that the system is being tried at South -Kensington. - -The dynamos of electric machines have been known to explode, or rather -burst from the centrifugal force due to the rapid revolution of the -armature. An accident of this kind recently caused great alarm in a New -York theatre. Sparks from the red-hot carbons of arc-lamps, or between -wire and wire of the conductors, have also led to many small fires; -but none of any great consequence. A spark is so feeble a source of -heat that, unlike the spilling of an oil-lamp, it does not produce a -powerful fire, provided the materials it falls among are not highly -inflammable. On the whole, the danger of fire with electric lighting, -especially incandescence lighting, has probably been exaggerated. The -incandescence lamp itself is very safe, since if one be enveloped in -light dry muslin and broken, the muslin is not burnt. In fact, the rush -of air caused by the broken vacuum entirely dissipates the red-hot -filament. - -From its injurious aspects we turn now to its beneficial qualities. -The arc-light by its brilliance is not good for the eyesight when -looked at direct, but there is probably nothing harmful in the light -itself, unless it should be the excess of violet rays. It is a cool -light; and hot lights, by drying the natural humours of the eye, are -the most prejudicial to the sight. The incandescence light which -is free from excess of violet rays is also a cool light; and as it -neither pollutes nor burns the air of a chamber, it is the best light -for a student. Small reading-lamps, fitted with movable arms carrying -incandescent bulbs, are now manufactured for this purpose. Even with -the incandescence lamp, however, it is advisable not to look at the -brilliant filament. - -Surgeons and dentists find these little incandescence lamps of great -service in examining the teeth and mouth. Some are made no larger than -a pea. Others are fitted into silver probes (cooled by circulating -water) for insertion into the stomach to illuminate its coats, or -enable a physician to diagnose other internal organs. Dr Payne, of -Newcastle-on-Tyne, recently made an examination of the liver by -inserting one of these endoscopes into it through an incision made in -the abdomen. M. Trouvé has also fitted a small lamp to a belt which -goes round the physician’s forehead, thereby enabling him to direct the -light to where he is looking. Another experimenter has so applied the -light that he has been able to photograph the vocal chords while in -the act of singing; and a third has illuminated the whole interior of -a living fish, so that all the main physiological operations could be -witnessed by a class of students. Such services as these could not be -rendered by any other known illuminator. - - - - -HUSH-MONEY. - - -Out of the countless variety of evil-doers who thrive upon the -misfortunes of their fellow-creatures, and are enabled to gain a means -of livelihood by the folly and timidity of their dupes, one class above -all others seem to conduct their depredations with much success, on -account of the defenceless position of the unhappy individuals upon -whom they prey. We allude to those who make it their business to levy -what is termed ‘hush-money.’ - -There are innumerable miscreants who thrive upon the possession of some -discreditable secret or family skeleton, which throws a desolating -blight over many a life, to all appearance surrounded by every comfort -and luxury wealth can command. Scoundrels of this description, secure -in the helplessness of their victims, pursue with impunity their -merciless system of extortion, being well aware that the terror of -exposure is so great, that silence will be purchased at any price. -If persons who are threatened by ruffians of this kind with exposure -of some private matter, were once and for all to refuse to pay one -penny for the silence of these extortioners, how much misery would -be avoided! Each instalment of hush-money only serves to whet the -appetites of these social harpies. It is infinitely preferable to face -boldly at first the worst, no matter of how serious a nature, than -to supply blackmail for the purchase of what can never be security. -The majority of malefactors are cowards at heart, although a craven -nature is in such cases concealed often by bluster and braggadocio. It -therefore becomes all the more important at once to withstand their -infamous importunities. - -The ordinary observer, while reading in some sensational novel the evil -deeds and extortion perpetrated by the class of knaves who subsist -on hush-money, would be inclined to attribute them to romance. It -is, however, well known to those who have had experience in criminal -matters, that the novelist’s fertile imagination pales before stern -reality. Innocent persons have been threatened with an accusation of -some infamous crime, and at the same time money has been demanded as -the price of silence. The dread caused by even an accusation of such a -nature has often, unfortunately, induced persons so situated to accede -to extortionate demands. There are plenty of _mauvais sujets_ hovering -about society who make it their business to become intimate with the -private history of those upon whose infirmities they intend to trade. -Not many years since, a notable instance of this occurred. A gentleman -in a high social position was ruthlessly assailed and socially ruined -by a miscreant, who traded upon the possession of some information of -a dubious nature reflecting discredit upon his wife. For a lengthened -period this gentleman had paid considerable sums of money for the -silence of his persecutor; at last, however, driven to desperation by -continual and increased demands for hush-money, he preferred rather to -face a public trial than continue longer subject to such tyranny and -extortion. - -The following apt illustration of blackmailing, which came under the -writer’s personal cognisance, will show the rascality in vogue amongst -these wretches. A wealthy merchant was for some years completely in -the power of a thorough-paced scoundrel who had previously been in his -employ. This knave became acquainted with a delicate family matter, -which, if disclosed, could but entail shame and misery upon his late -employer. He threatened to make this information public unless well -paid for his silence. This gentleman, although surrounded by every -luxury, was in truth a thoroughly miserable man. Living in a constant -state of fear lest his family skeleton should be revealed in all its -hideousness, he continued from time to time to supply his tormentor -with large sums of money. The continual mental strain caused his health -to give way, until at last he wisely determined to consult his legal -adviser upon what was the bane of his life. Prompt steps were then -taken, which for ever freed him from further extortion. These things -daily happen, and yet, unfortunately, frequently remain unpunished. - -What can be more terrible than to exist in constant fear of pending -ruin—entirely at the mercy of some miscreant, who by one word -can destroy a hitherto stainless reputation! It is a true saying -that ‘there is a skeleton in every house,’ and if discovered by -any designing knave, may be transformed into a sword of Damocles. -Confidential servants and discharged valets often wring large sums from -their former employers by means of extortionate demands combined with -threats of disclosing certain family matters calculated to bring shame -upon their late masters’ or mistresses’ good name. - -The payment of any illicit demand as a price of secrecy rarely, if -ever, permanently obtains the object in view, the donor being more or -less in constant fear lest a disclosure should take place. This usually -transpires sooner or later, when the torturer has abstracted the -uttermost penny from his victim. No greater delusion can possibly exist -than that ‘hush-money’ will secure durable secrecy. - -Happily, however, the legislature, having in view the nefarious -practices of such criminals, has provided a most potent remedy against -this class of robbers, which remedy cannot be too generally known. -The Act of Parliament 24 and 25 Vict. s. 49, enacts, _That whosoever -shall accuse or threaten any person with a view to extort money or -valuable security, shall be guilty of felony, and be liable at the -discretion of the court to be kept in penal servitude for life, or for -any term not less than five years_. All demands for hush-money met at -the outset by firm and unyielding refusal, is the best and only course -to adopt. In the majority of instances, a villain would at once be -completely checkmated; and even should he venture to extremities, the -law is powerful enough to put an end to his shameful trade. Anything -is better than to live in constant terror of exposure, and to be -remorselessly plundered by such a vampire. We often hear of strange -suicides, the reason for which is wholly incomprehensible. It is by -no means surprising that, at times, persons wanting in resolution, -are made desperate by a system of exquisite mental torture, when -unmercifully applied by these extortioners. Innumerable unhappy persons -are unquestionably thus tormented, like Prometheus on his rock. Such -anguish, although unseen, is far greater than physical suffering, as -all mental tribulation is more severe than mere bodily pain. - -If any one who is assailed by a miscreant in quest of ‘hush-money’ were -at once to place the matter in the hands of some respectable solicitor, -a course of misery would be avoided, as any attempt to extort money -through threats or otherwise comes clearly within the provisions of the -Act above mentioned; and criminal proceedings will be found the most -effectual means for exterminating so great a social pest. - - - - -DONALD—A PONY. - - - Are thy tired feet on this rough earth yet walking, - Thou patient silent one; - Maybe, with humble cart, and poor wares hawking, - Thy life-course nearly run? - - Be thankful that thou dost not e’er remember - One radiant summer day; - That dreams of June come not in _thy_ December, - When skies are cold and gray! - - He rode on thee along the sunny highway, - To meet me where I stood - Out from the village, in a soft green by-way— - Our young hearts were in flood. - - He saw me—swift as thought from off thee leaping, - He led thee by one hand; - And with the other clasped me, sweetly keeping - Me under Love’s command. - - Ah! then began a walk through Eden’s glory— - We wandered slowly on; - While I, deep blushing, saw and read the story - That through his blue eyes shone. - - We sat, and let thee browse—came some light laughter - To ease our brimming hearts, - That could not tell their too full joy; till—after— - When pierced by parting’s darts. - - The hour flew on—ah me! ’twas our last meeting - Ere he would cross the sea; - And when again we two should offer greeting, - I was his bride to be. - - So we clung close, each costly moment counting, - Wild with our vain self-pity!— - The hour was o’er—then slowly on thee mounting, - He rode back to the city. - - O Donald! Yesterday, to Wemyss Bay going, - I passed that very spot; - I saw thee browse, whilst our swift tears were flowing— - (I have not yet forgot). - - He sailed across the sea; but came not hither - For me, his bride, again; - And Hope and Joy fled far—I know not whither, - But left me Love and Pain. - - My lonely days are dull and cold and common, - And thine mayhap are done; - But—a _new_ day dawns for man and woman - After this setting sun. - - K. T. - - * * * * * - -Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, -and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. - - * * * * * - -_All Rights Reserved._ - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 9, VOL. 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