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diff --git a/old/67028-0.txt b/old/67028-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a7aed0f..0000000 --- a/old/67028-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2114 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Chambers's Journal of Popular -Literature, Science, and Art, Fifth Series, No. 112, Vol. III, February -20, 1886, 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. 112, Vol. III, February 20, 1886 - -Author: Various
- -Release Date: December 27, 2021 [eBook #67028] - -Language: English
- -Produced by: Susan Skinner, Eric Hutton and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL OF POPULAR -LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH SERIES, NO. 112, VOL. III, FEBRUARY -20, 1886 *** - - - - - -[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. 112.—VOL. III. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 1886. PRICE 1½_d._] - - - - -THE INFLUENCE OF HABIT IN PLANT-LIFE. - - -The old maxim regarding the power of habit is usually and rightly -regarded as exhibiting a thorough application to the regulation of -animal life. Not merely in human affairs is habit allowed to be ‘a -second nature;’ but in lower life as well, the influence of use and -wont is plainly perceptible. A dog or cat equally with a human being is -under the sway of the accustomed. That which may be at first unusual, -soon becomes the normal way of life. Even, as the physiologist can -prove, in a very large part of ordinary human existence, we are the -creatures of habit quite as much as we are the children of impulse. It -is easily provable, for example, that such common acts as are involved -in reading, writing, and speaking, are merely perpetuated habits. At -first, these acquirements present difficulties to the youthful mind. -A slow educative process is demanded, and then, by repetition and -training, the lower centres of the brain acquire the power of doing -the work of higher parts and centres. We fall into the habit, in other -words, of writing and speaking, just as our muscles fall into the way -of guiding our movements. No doubt, a large part of the difficulty is -smoothed away for us by the fact that we inherit the aptitude for the -performance of these common actions. But they fall, nevertheless, into -the category of repeated and inherited habits; and equally with the -newer or fresh ideas and tasks we set ourselves, the actions of common -life may be regarded as merely illustrating the curious and useful -effect of repeated and fixed habit on our organisation. - -Recent researches in the field of plant-life, however, it is -interesting to note, show that habit does not reign paramount in the -animal world alone. The plant-world, it has been well remarked, too -often presents to the ordinary observer the aspect of a sphere of dull -pulseless life, wherein activity is unrepresented, and wherein the -familiar actions of animal existence are unknown. Nothing is farther -from the truth than such an idea. The merest tyro in botany is nowadays -led to study actions in plants which are often indistinguishable -from those of animal life. Instead of the plant-world being a huge -living domain which never evinces a sign of sensation or activity, the -botanist can point to numerous cases in which not only are the signs of -sensibility as fully developed in the plant as in the animal, but in -which also many other phases of animal life are exactly imitated. We -thus know of plants which droop their leaves on the slightest touch, -and exhibit as delicate a sensitiveness as many high animals, and a -much finer degree of sensibility than most low animals. Then, again, -when, with the microscope, we inspect that inner plant-life which is -altogether hidden from the outer world, we see that the tissues of -plants exist in a state of high activity. Currents of protoplasm are -seen to run hither and thither through the plant-cells, and active -movements to pervade the whole organisation of the living organism. -Vital activity is the rule, and inertness the exception, in plant-life; -and the discovery of this fact simply serves to impress anew upon us -the danger and error of that form of argument which would assume the -non-existence of higher traits of life in plants, simply because they -are invisible to the unassisted sight. - -The effects of habit on plant-life are nowhere better seen than in the -curious differences which exist between the food and feeding of certain -plants and the practices of their more familiar plant-neighbours. -The food of an ordinary green plant, as is well known, consists of -inorganic matters. Water, minerals in solution, ammonia, and carbonic -acid gas, constitute the materials from which an ordinary plant derives -its sustenance. It is curious to reflect that all the beauty of flower -and foliage merely represents so much carbonic acid gas, water, and -minerals, fashioned by the wondrous vital powers of the plant into -living tissues. Yet such is undoubtedly the case. Between the food of -animals and green plants, we perceive this great difference—namely, -that whilst the animal demands water, oxygen gas, and minerals—all -three being inorganic materials—it also requires ready-made living -matter to supply the wants of its frame. This ready-made living matter -the animal can only obtain from other animals or from plants; and as -a matter of fact, animals demand and require such materials to feed -upon. In one sense, the plant, then, exhibits higher powers than the -animal, for it is more constructive. It can build up its frame from -non-living matter entirely; whilst the animal, less constructive, -requires a proportion of already living matter in its food. What has -just been said of the food of plants applies to those which possess -green colouring-matter associated with the plant-tissues. This green -colour, so universally diffused throughout the plant kingdom, is called -_chlorophyll_ by the botanist. It exists in the cells of plants in the -form of granules, and is intimately associated with the living matter -or ‘protoplasm’ of the cells. The presence or absence of green colour -in a plant makes all the difference in the world to its habits. The -want of this chlorophyll, in fact, converts the habits of the plant -into that of the animal. - -If we select a plant which possesses no green colour, we may be -prepared for some startling revelations respecting the mode of life -of such a plant. Examples of a total want of chlorophyll are seen in -the _fungi_, that large group of plants which harbours our mushrooms, -toad-stools, and like organisms as its familiar representatives. If we -inquire how the non-green fungus lives, we shall discover, firstly, -that it is like an animal in respect, firstly, of the gas on which it -feeds. The green plant, we saw to feed on carbonic acid gas; but the -fungus, like the animal, inhales oxygen. Furthermore, a still more -remarkable fact must be detailed respecting the difference between -the habit of the green plants and their non-green neighbours. When -an ordinary green plant takes in the carbonic acid gas which it has -obtained from the atmosphere—whither it has come from the lungs of -animals and elsewhere—it performs a remarkable chemical operation. -The green colour enables it, in the presence of light, to decompose -the carbonic acid gas (which consists of carbon and oxygen) into -its elements. The carbon is retained by the plant, and goes to form -the starch and other compounds manufactured by the organism. But -the oxygen, which is not required, at least in any quantity, in the -living operations of the green plant, is allowed to escape back to the -atmosphere, where it becomes useful for animal respiration. Thus, what -the animal exhales (carbonic acid), the green plant inhales; and what -the green plant exhales (oxygen), the animal inhales. We have here a -remarkable cycle of natural operations, which suggests how beautifully -the equilibrium of nature is maintained. It may be added that the want -of light converts even the green plant to somewhat animal habits. In -the dark, the decomposition of carbonic acid is suspended, chlorophyll -alone being insufficient for the analysis. Then, the green plant seems -to inhale oxygen and to emit carbonic acid, like the animal and its -non-green relative; to return, however, to its normal habit with the -returning light. At the same time, the plain difference of habit in -respect of the want of green colour in the fungi and other plants, is -in itself a remarkable fact of plant-life. - -Other differences in habit may also be noted between the plants which -possess green colour and those that want it. We have already alluded -to the fact that green plants feed on inorganic or lifeless matters, -and that they build up these matters into their living tissues. On the -other hand, the habits of the fungi and non-green plants lead them to -resemble animals in that they feed upon organic materials; that is, on -matter which is derived from other plants or animals. As a matter of -fact, most fungi are found growing in places where decaying organic -matters exist. The gardener, in growing edible fungi, supplies them -with such materials in the form of manure. Again, those fungi which -cause skin-diseases in man (for example, ringworm) feed on the tissues -in which they are parasitic, and in so doing absorb organic matter. -The plants which are not green, in this way appear to prefer organic -matters, like animals. In habits, therefore, they present a striking -contrast to their green neighbours. - -The habit of _parasitism_, however, which has just been alluded to -is a powerful means of inaugurating and maintaining change of life -and living in plants. A parasitic being is one which lives in or upon -some other living organism. There are degrees of parasitism, however: -some parasites are mere ‘lodgers,’ so to speak; others both board and -lodge at the expense of their host, and these latter are of course -the more typical parasites of the two. But there are even degrees and -differences to be seen in the behaviour of plant-lodgers and boarders. -For example, mistletoe is a plant of peculiar habits, in respect that -whilst its roots enter the substance of the tree-host to which it is -attached, and drink up so much of the sap that host is elaborating for -its own use, it also can make food-products for itself. For the green -leaves of mistletoe, like the leaves of other plants, take in carbonic -acid gas, and decompose it, as already described, retaining the carbon, -and setting the oxygen free. On the other hand, a parasitic fungus -will not elaborate any food-products for itself; and hence it is, if -anything, a more complete and typical ‘boarder’ even than mistletoe. -The effects of habit in plant-life are here seen in a double sense and -aspect. Not only is it through the exercise of ‘habit’ that a plant -becomes a parasite; but it is a variation in the parasitic and acquired -habit for a parasitic plant to develop its own special ways of feeding. -Habit within habit is thus seen to operate powerfully in bringing about -the existent phases of the life of plants. - -Plants without green colour are, however, not the only members of -the vegetable world in which the habit of feeding like animals has -been inaugurated. Some of the most remarkable chapters in botany -have been recently written on the habits of so-called carnivorous -or insectivorous plants—that is, plants which subsist on insects in -other forms of animal life, and which lay traps designed to capture -their unwary prey. The Common Sundew (_Drosera_) of our bogs and -marshes catches flies and other insects by means of an ingenious -arrangement of sensitive tentacles which beset its leaf, aided by the -gummy secretion of the leaf itself. The Venus’ Flytrap (_Dionæa_) -captures insects by converting its leaf into a closing trap; the alarm -to close being conveyed to the sensitive parts of the plant by the -insect touching one or more of the six sensitive hairs which are seen -on the surface of the leaf. The Side-saddle plants (_Sarracenia_) of -the New World and the Pitcher plants (_Nepenthes_) of the Old World -likewise capture insects. Their leaves form receptacles, in which, as -is well known, flies and other insects are literally drowned. Within -the Sarracenia’s hollow leaf, a honey-secretion is found, together with -a limpid fluid found at the bottom of the pitcher. There seems little -doubt that flies and other insects, attracted by the honey-secretion, -pass into the pitcher, and are then suffocated by the fluid found -below. This much has been proved—namely, that the fluid has an -intoxicating effect on insects, and that, once entrapped, the insects -ultimately perish in the pitchers. It is equally notable that their -retreat is cut off by the presence of pointed hairs, which, on the -_facilis descensus_ principle, and by pointing downwards, allow the -insect easy admittance, but present an array of bayonet-points on its -attempt to escape. In the Nepenthes or Pitcher plants of the Old World, -insects are similarly captured, and are prevented from escaping by -various contrivances, such as a series of incurved hairs or hooks, or -allied apparatus. - -At first sight, there seems a plain reason for classifying together -all these insect-capturing plants, especially when it is discovered -that they utilise the insects they capture for food. Botanists did -not realise till recently that the capture of insects by plants was a -strictly utilitarian and purposive act—namely, that its intent was to -feed and nourish the plant. Once awaking to this truth, much that was -formerly mysterious in the life and ways of these plants became clear. -They captured the insects and fed upon them; in these words were found -the clue to and explanation of a seeming anomaly in plant-life. These -plants might thus be supposed simply to differ from other green plants, -and to resemble the fungi in their preference for an animal dietary, -in part at least. For, with their roots in the soil, and possessing -green leaves, they appear to subsist partly upon the matters on which -ordinary green plants live, and partly upon organic matters, like -mistletoe. But a further study of these curious plants shows that the -whole facts of the case are hardly to be comprised within this somewhat -narrow compass. Habit within habit again appears as the principle which -has wrought out important differences between the various kinds of -insect-eating plants. Taking the case of the Sundew first, we discover -that this plant actually digests its insect-food. From glands with -which the leaf is provided, fluids are poured out which resemble the -gastric juice of our own stomachs in their digestive properties. The -matter of the insect-body is thus absorbed into the substance and -tissues of the plant, just as the substance of our own food passes, -through digestion, to become part and parcel of our own tissues. Of -the Venus’ Flytrap, the same remarks hold good. This plant will digest -fragments of raw beef as readily as its own insect-prey. The closed -leaf is converted into a kind of temporary stomach, within which the -imprisoned insect is killed, digested, and its tissues absorbed, to -nourish the plant. In the Pitcher plants, a similar result happens to -the insect-prey. Digestion and absorption of the nutrient parts of the -prey are the duties performed by the modified leaves. - -The foregoing facts would therefore seem to present a remarkable -uniformity in the life of the plants just mentioned. Similarity of -habits would seem to reign supreme, under variations in the method of -capturing the insect-prey. Turning now to the case of the Side-saddle -plants and their allies, we discover how remarkably the habits of these -plants have come to differ. Investigation has shown that the flies, -which are apparently drowned in the pitchers of Sarracenia in a manner -exactly similar to that in which they fall victims to the artifice of -the Pitcher plants, in reality are subjected to a widely different -action. The Pitcher plant digests its flies, as we have seen; but in -the Side-saddle plants no digestion takes place. What happens in the -latter appears to consist of a simple process of decay. The insects are -allowed to putrefy and decompose amid the watery fluid which drowns -them; and in due time, the pitcher becomes filled with a fluid which -has been compared to ‘liquid manure.’ It is this decomposing solution, -then, which is duly absorbed by the Sarracenia. Rejecting this idea, -there can be no other explanation given of the use of the elaborate -fly-catching ‘pitchers.’ And, moreover, analogy would force us to -conclude that the explanation just given is correct. If fungi feed on -decomposing organic matters, why should not a Sarracenia exhibit like -habits? No reasonable reply can be given save that which sees in the -Sarracenia a curious difference of habit from the apparently similar -Pitcher plants. The latter, in other words, eat their meal fresh; the -Sarracenias, like humanity with its game, eat their meat in a ‘high’ -state. - -The ordinary feeding of plants may, lastly, be cited, by way of showing -how marvellously intricate must be the conditions which operate to -produce differences in habits, sometimes amounting almost to special -likings on the part of vegetable units for one kind of food, and -equally special dislikes to other foods. The farmer knowing the -preference for certain food-elements by certain plants, requires to -‘rotate’ his crops, to avoid injurious exhaustion of his soils. For -instance, buckwheat will not flourish unless potassium is supplied to -it. The chloride of potassium, and next to it the nitrate, are the -minerals preferred by this plant. Still more extraordinary is the -preference exhibited by one of the violet tribe (_Viola calaminaria_), -which will only grow in soils that contain zinc. Here, the effects of -habit are seen in a singularly clear fashion; for there seems every -reason to assume that the partiality for a by no means common element -in soils, has been an acquired, and not an original taste of the plants -which exhibit it. The botanist thus becomes aware of the existence of -a ‘taste,’ or ‘selective power’ as it is termed, in the plant-world, -influencing their food, and, as a matter of logic, affecting also their -structure, functions, and entire existence. It has been found that -the pea and bean tribe (_Leguminosæ_) specially desire lime, amongst -their requirements. Potatoes exhibit a special partiality for potash; -and turnips share this taste. Plants in which the seed assumes a high -importance, as in most of our cereals, on the other hand, demand -phosphoric acid; and certain plants, such as wheat, will withdraw -large quantities of silica or flint from the soil. Iodine is found -characteristically in seaweeds, and the element in question is obtained -from the _kelp_ produced by burning marine plants. - -No better commentary on the life and habits of plants in respect -of their food-tastes can be given than in the words of an eminent -physiologist, who, speaking of the food of the corn-plant, says: -‘Without siliceous (or flinty) earth, that plant cannot acquire -sufficient strength to sustain itself erect, but forms a creeping stem, -feeble and pale; without calcareous earth (or lime), it dies even -before the appearance of the second leaf; without soda and without -potash, it never attains a greater height than between four and five -inches; without phosphorus, though growing straight and regularly -formed, it remains feeble and does not bear fruit; when iron is present -in the soil, it gives that deep green tint so familiar to us and grows -rapidly robust; without manganese, it develops in a stunted manner and -produces few flowers.’ After the revelations of chemistry concerning -the habits and tastes of plants and the bearing of proper food on -their growth, it is not to be wondered at that scientific agriculture -should be regarded as the only solution of many of the present-day -difficulties of the farmer. - - - - -IN ALL SHADES. - - -CHAPTER X. - -For a second, nobody answered a word; this quiet declaration of an -honest self-sacrifice took them all, even Nora, so utterly by surprise. -Then Edward murmured musingly: ‘And it was for this that you gave -up the prospect of living at Cambridge, and composing symphonies in -Trinity gardens!’ - -The mulatto smiled a deprecating smile. ‘Oh,’ he cried timidly, ‘you -mustn’t say that. I didn’t want to make out I was going to do anything -so very grand or so very heroic. Of course, a man _must_ satisfy -himself he’s doing something to justify his existence in the world; -and much as I love music, I hardly feel as though playing the violin -were in itself a sufficient end for a man to live for. Though I must -confess I should very much like to stop in England and be a composer. -I’ve composed one or two little pieces already for the violin, that -have been played with some success at public concerts. Sarasate played -a small thing of mine last winter at a festival in Vienna. But then, -besides, my father and friends live in Trinidad, and I feel that that’s -the place where my work in life is really cut out for me.’ - -‘And your second great passion?’ Marian inquired. ‘You said you had a -second great passion. What is it, I wonder?—Oh, of course, I see—your -profession.’ - -(‘How could she be so stupid!’ Nora thought to herself. ‘What a silly -girl! I’m afraid of my life now, the wretched man’ll try to say -something pretty.’) - -‘O no; not my profession,’ Dr Whitaker answered, smiling. ‘It’s a noble -profession, of course—the noblest and grandest, almost, of all the -professions—assuaging and alleviating human suffering; but one looks -upon it, for all that, rather as a duty than as a passion. Besides, -there’s one thing greater even than the alleviation of human suffering, -greater than art with all its allurements, greater than anything else -that a man can interest himself in—though I know most people don’t -think so—and that’s science—the knowledge of our relations with the -universe, and still more of the universe’s relations with its various -parts.—No, Mrs Hawthorn; my second absorbing passion, next to music, -and higher than music, is one that I’m sure ladies won’t sympathise -with—it’s only botany.’ - -‘Goodness gracious!’ Nora cried, surprised into speech. ‘I thought -botany was nothing but the most dreadfully hard words, all about -nothing on earth that anybody cared for!’ - -The mulatto looked at her open-eyed with a sort of mild astonishment. -‘What?’ he said. ‘All the glorious lilies and cactuses and palms and -orchids of our beautiful Trinidad nothing but hard words that nobody -cares for! All the slender lianas that trail and droop from the huge -buttresses of the wild cotton-trees; all the gorgeous trumpet-creepers -that drape the gnarled branches of the mountain star-apples with -their scarlet blossoms; all the huge cecropias, that rise aloft with -their silvery stems and fan-shaped leaves, towering into the air -like gigantic candelabra; all the graceful tree-ferns and feathery -bamboos and glossy-leaved magnolias and majestic bananas and luxuriant -ginger-worts and clustering arums: all the breadth and depth of -tropical foliage, with the rugged and knotted creepers, festooned in -veritable cables of vivid green, from branch to branch among the dim -mysterious forest shades—stretched in tight cordage like the rigging -yonder from mast to mast, for miles together—oh, Miss Dupuy, is that -nothing? Do you call that nothing, for a man to fix his loving regard -upon? Our own Trinidad is wonderfully rich still in such natural -glories; and it’s the hope of doing a little in my spare hours to -explore and disentomb them, like hidden treasures, that partly urges me -to go back again where manifest destiny calls me to the land I was born -in.’ - -The mulatto is always fluent, even when uneducated; but Dr Whitaker, -learned in all the learning of the schools, and pouring forth his -full heart enthusiastically on the subjects nearest and dearest to -him, spoke with such a ready, easy eloquence, common enough, indeed, -among south Europeans, and among Celtic Scots and Irish as well, but -rare and almost unknown in our colder and more phlegmatic Anglo-Saxon -constitutions—that Nora listened to him, quite taken aback by the flood -of his native rhetoric, and whispered to herself in her own soul: -‘Really, he talks very well after all—for a coloured person!’ - -‘Yes, of course, all those things are very lovely, Dr Whitaker,’ -Marian put in, more for the sake of drawing him out—for he was so -interesting—than because she really wanted to disagree with him upon -the subject. ‘But then, that isn’t botany. I always thought botany was -a mere matter of stamens and petals, and all sorts of other dreadful -technicalities.’ - -‘Stamens and petals!’ the mulatto echoed half contemptuously—‘stamens -and petals! You might as well say art was all a matter of pigments -and perspective, or music all a matter of crotchets and quavers, as -botany all a matter of stamens and petals. Those are only the beggarly -elements: the beautiful pictures, the glorious oratorios, the lovely -flowers, are the real things to which in the end they all minister. -It’s the trees and the plants themselves that interest me, not the mere -lifeless jargon of technical phrases.’ - -They sat there late into the night, discussing things musical and West -Indian and otherwise, without any desire to move away or cut short -the conversation; and Dr Whitaker, his reserve now broken, talked on -to them hour after hour, doing the lion’s share of the conversation, -and delighting them with his transparent easy talk and open-hearted -simplicity. He was frankly egotistical, of course—all persons of -African blood always are; but his egotism, such as it was, took the -pleasing form of an enthusiasm about his own pet ideas and pursuits—a -love of music, a love of flowers, a love of his profession, and a -love of Trinidad. To these favourite notes he recurred fondly again -and again, vigorously defending the violin as an exponent of human -emotion against Edward’s half-insincere expression of preference for -wind instruments; going into raptures to Nora over the wonderful beauty -of their common home; and describing to Marian in vivid language the -grandeur of those marvellous tropical forests whose strange loveliness -she had never yet with her own eyes beheld. - -‘Picture to yourself,’ he said, looking out vaguely beyond the ship -on to the star-lit Atlantic, ‘a great Gothic cathedral or Egyptian -temple—Ely or Karnak, wrought, not in freestone or marble, but in -living trees—with huge cylindrical columns strengthened below by -projecting buttresses, and supporting overhead, a hundred feet on high, -an unbroken canopy of interlacing foliage. Dense—so dense that only -an indistinct glimmer of the sky can be seen here and there through -the great canopy, just as you see Orion’s belt over yonder through the -fringe of clouds upon the gray horizon; and even the intense tropical -sunlight only reaches the ground at long intervals in little broken -patches of subdued paleness. Then there’s the solemn silence, weird and -gloomy, that produces in one an almost painful sense of the vast, the -primeval, the mystical, the infinite. Only the low hum of the insects -in the forest shade, the endless multitudinous whisper of the wind -among the foliage, the faint sound begotten by the tropical growth -itself, breaks the immemorial stillness in our West Indian woodland. -It’s a world in which man seems to be a noisy intruder, and where -he stands awestruck before the intense loveliness of nature, in the -immediate presence of her unceasing forces.’ - -He stopped a moment, not for breath, for it seemed as if he could -pour out language without an effort, in the profound enthusiasm of -youth, but to take his violin once more tenderly from its case and -hold it out, hesitating, before him. ‘Will you let me play you just -one more little piece?’ he asked apologetically. ‘It’s a piece of my -own, into which I’ve tried to put some of the feelings about these -tropical forests that I never could possibly express in words. I call -it “Souvenirs des Lianes.” Will you let me play it to you?—I shan’t be -boring you?—Thank you—thank you.’ - -He stood up before them in the pale light of that summer evening, -tall and erect, violin on breast and bow in hand, and began pouring -forth from his responsive instrument a slow flood of low, plaintive, -mysterious music. It was not difficult to see what had inspired his -brain and hand in that strangely weird and expressive piece. The -profound shade and gloom of the forest, the great roof of overarching -foliage, the flutter of the endless leaves before the breeze, the -confused murmur of the myriad wings and voices of the insects, nay, -even the very stillness and silence itself of which he had spoken, all -seemed to breathe forth deeply and solemnly on his quivering strings. -It was a triumph of art over its own resources. On the organ or the -flute, one would have said beforehand, such effects as these might -indeed be obtained, but surely never, never on the violin. Yet in Dr -Whitaker’s hand that scraping bow seemed capable of expressing even -what he himself had called the sense of the vast, the primeval, and -the infinite. They listened all in hushed silence, and scarcely so -much as dared to breathe while the soft pensive cadences still floated -out solemnly across the calm ocean. And when he had finished, they -sat for a few minutes in perfect silence, rendering the performer -that instinctive homage of mute applause which is so far more really -eloquent than any mere formal and conventional expression of thanks -‘for your charming playing.’ - -As they sat so, each musing quietly over the various emotions aroused -within them by the mulatto’s forest echoes, one of the white gentlemen -in the stern, a young English officer on his way out to join a West -Indian regiment, came up suddenly behind them, clapped his hand -familiarly on Edward’s back, and said in a loud and cheerful tone: -‘Come along, Hawthorn; we’ve had enough of this music now—thank you -very much, Dr Thingummy—let’s all go down to the saloon, I say, and -have a game of nap or a quiet rubber.’ - -Even Nora felt in her heart as though she had suddenly been recalled by -that untimely voice from some higher world to this vulgar, commonplace -little planet of ours, the young officer had broken in so rudely on -her silent reverie. She drew her dainty white lamb’s-wool wrapper -closer around her shoulders with a faint sigh, slipped her hand gently -through Marian’s arm, and moved away, slowly and thoughtfully, toward -the companion-ladder. As she reached the doorway, she turned round, as -if half ashamed of her own graciousness, and said in a low and genuine -voice: ‘Thank you, Dr Whitaker—thank you very much indeed. We’ve so -greatly enjoyed the treat you’ve given us.’ - -The mulatto bowed and said nothing; but instead of retiring to the -saloon with the others, he put his violin case quietly under his arm, -and walking alone to the stern of the vessel, leant upon the gunwale -long and mutely, looking over with all his eyes deep and far into the -silent, heaving, moonlit water. The sound of Nora’s voice thanking him -reverberated long through all the echoing chambers of his memory. - - - - -COLONIAL FARM-PUPILS. - - -It would be a matter of considerable interest if statistics could be -obtained showing the number of parents who at the present time find -themselves under the necessity of answering that much-debated question, -‘What shall I do with my sons?’ The comparatively narrow paths which -lead to fame and prosperity are now so densely crowded by youths of -good breeding and education, that but few parents are able to decide, -without much anxious consideration, which is the best one for their -sons to start life’s journey upon. Some parents choose the learned -professions; others select a commercial career; while not a few decide -upon a colonial life for their sons. The wisdom, or otherwise, of this -last decision we do not here propose to discuss. We accept the plain -fact that many well-bred and carefully nurtured young men annually -leave these shores as emigrants, bound for the British colonies or the -United States. The object of our remarks is to present to the fathers -of these young emigrants what the writer—who has seen much, both of -emigrants and emigration, on both sides of the Atlantic—regards as a -piece of sorely needed advice upon one point of the great question -of emigration, as it affects the sons of English gentlemen and -‘blue-blooded boys’ in general. - -The average British parent is, as a rule, very ignorant of everything -connected with life and labour in the colonies. He is perhaps a fairly -successful man of business, or has risen in his profession; but in -attaining this success, he has probably been so engrossed with his own -occupations, that he has found but little opportunity of turning his -attention to matters concerning him less closely. It is not indeed -to be expected that any one man should be intimately acquainted with -many different subjects. In these days of competition, the division of -knowledge is as necessary as the division of labour; and it is the duty -of those who are practically acquainted with emigration or any other -subject to advise those who are not so well informed. This is what -we now propose to do. We desire that our remarks upon the farm-pupil -system in the British colonies be understood to apply equally to the -Western States of America, which, so far as this article is concerned, -are to all intents and purposes British colonies. - -To the youth who has been brought up in a comfortable English home, -under the care of watchful parents, emigration to any of the colonies -brings a very rude and abrupt change of life. Thenceforth, parental -oversight will be no longer obtainable, and the young emigrant will -have to seek his own living among strangers in a strange land, where -evil influences are generally numerous, where the ordinary mode of -life is often very rough, and where no one need hope for success unless -he is willing and able actually to perform hard manual labour. Under -these circumstances, it naturally appears desirable to most parents -to do all that lies within their power to obtain for their sons some -training to fit them for their future life. This desire has called -into existence the system under which many moderately well-to-do young -emigrants, on first leaving England, agree to pay a premium to some -colonist who is already established on a farm of his own, in order that -they may be taught colonial farming. - -The system is not in any way essentially a bad one; but it is open to -great abuses, and in too many cases leads to fraud. No detailed rules -for the guidance of the parents of young emigrants in this matter can -be laid down. The necessities vary according to the circumstances of -each particular case. But, in a general way, it may be stated that, -when the parents of a youth can afford to pay a premium for his -instruction, and have ascertained that the settler with whom they are -placing their son is in a position faithfully to exercise that amount -of oversight which they desire for him, there cannot be any very great -abuse of the system. At the same time, it must be admitted that there -is seldom any necessity why a premium should be paid. If the young -emigrant be steady and of average push and intelligence, there is -certainly little or nothing to prevent him obtaining all the experience -he requires without paying any premium. Nevertheless, a youth of weak -character, easily led away, and of indolent habits, may of course be -benefited by a certain amount of care and oversight. - -Farming, as practised in the colonies and in the Western States of -America, is of the most elementary kind. A person of limited abilities -may very easily acquire a knowledge of all its details. Moreover, in -these thinly peopled countries, labourers are in great demand. It may -be safely asserted that, in those colonies and in those portions of -the west of America to which emigration is now chiefly directed, any -young man, willing and able to perform ordinary farm-work, will find -little difficulty in obtaining employment, at least during the summer -months, in spite of the large number of men who are almost always in -want of work in large cities. A perfect novice may find it necessary -to work for a time for his board and lodging merely; but after a -while, he will probably find himself in a position to demand at least -sufficient wages, in addition to his board and keep, to maintain -himself respectably. If the young emigrant follows the course thus -suggested, he may not find his path quite so smooth as that of the -young man who has paid his premium; but he will have a better chance of -obtaining practical experience of farming. He will live in his master’s -house, board at his table, and be treated very much as a member of the -family—indeed, the premiumed pupil could hardly be better off; but he -will be compelled to learn in a way which he who pays a premium can -hardly be, and he will actually be paid for gaining the experience he -requires, instead of paying for it! - -The eagerness on the part of colonial farmers to obtain farm-pupils is -capable of a very simple explanation. In most cases, these men know -well enough that there is no real need for the system to be followed; -but if they can succeed in obtaining a pupil, they are hardly to be -blamed for so doing, as it is no slight advantage to themselves. In -the colonies, the harvest usually is plentiful, while the labourers -are few, and labour, consequently, is expensive. Obviously, therefore, -a pupil who will pay to work and who will not be constantly wanting -to leave, is a very great boon to any settler. It should be clearly -recognised that, in most cases, if the pupil works in such a way as -he must do if he is to obtain a useful practical knowledge of his -occupation, his labour alone will amply remunerate the farmer, even -if the latter has to find both board and lodging. Clearly, therefore, -if a substantial premium be added, the advantage to the settler is -considerable. The pupil-system often affords a good deal of amusement -to keen-sighted Americans who are in a position to see its weak points. -Not unfrequently the writer has had said to him on the other side of -the Atlantic: ‘How uncommonly stupid you English people must be to be -willing to pay to work!’ This expression not inaptly sums up the whole -case. - -The abuses to which the system is open are many. In the first place, -an exorbitant sum—sometimes as much as one hundred pounds—is asked. -Considering that the pupil could in most cases obtain the necessary -experience without paying any premium, and that he actually remunerates -the settler by working for him, we consider that, under all ordinary -circumstances, ten pounds paid to the settler is ample. In the next -place, an agent of some kind is necessary to mediate between the -parents of a youth and the colonial settler; and either this agent -or the settler, or both, may be dishonest, and fail to fulfil their -contracts; indeed, the difficulty which a parent would meet with in -attempting to compel a defaulting settler to carry out his agreement, -is a great incentive to fraud. Only a short time ago it was reported -in the daily papers that a number of youths who had paid premiums to -an agent in England to be placed with farmers in California, found, on -their arrival there, that no arrangements whatever had been made for -their reception—in short, that they had been swindled. Similar cases -have been heard of before. At the same time, we do not wish to say that -there are not honest agencies. - -Those who have seen most of the hap-hazard way in which emigration, -not only of the poorer, but also of the better classes, is carried on -from this country, often express amazement at the injudicious acts -which are constantly being committed by ill-advised young emigrants -and their blind though well-meaning parents. The needless paying of -premiums by parents who can ill afford to spare the money is but one -of these indiscretions. Passing over without comment the practice of -shipping ‘ne’er-do-wells’ off to the colonies in the vain hope that -they will do better there than at home, we cannot help remarking that -numbers of promising young men, who are utterly unfitted for the life -of an emigrant, are constantly being sent out, and either they, or the -country to which they are sent, subsequently get blamed for an almost -inevitable failure. Nothing, too, could be more injudicious than the -placing of capital in the hands of inexperienced young emigrants at the -outset of their career. In a large number of cases it is wholly lost; -indeed, it is a common saying in America that but few young Englishmen -commence to make headway in their new home until they have either lost -or spent all they originally brought out with them and have had to -buckle-to in sober earnest. As recommended in a late number (No. 95) of -this _Journal_, those who are intended for a colonial career should go -through a course of school-training especially intended to fit them for -it. - - - - -A GOLDEN ARGOSY. - -_A NOVELETTE._ - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -With the exception of her eyes and her teeth, Miss Wakefield was an -ordinary, nay, almost a benevolent, woman. About sixty years of age, -with a figure perfectly straight and supple, and wearing her own hair, -which was purple black, she might have passed for forty, save for the -innumerable lines and wrinkles on her face. Her eyes were full of a -furtive evil light, and never failed to cast a baleful influence over -the spectator; her teeth were large and white, but gapped here and -there in the front like a saw. Mr Slimm mentally compared her with some -choice assortments of womankind he had encountered in the mines and -kindred places, and they did not suffer in the comparison. - -‘Your business?’ she said coldly. - -‘Madam, you will do me the favour to sit down,’ he replied. ‘What I -have to say will take a considerable time.’ - -‘Thank you,’ she said, with the same frigid air; ‘I prefer to stand.’ -Some subtle instinct told her this visit boded no good, and she knew in -dealing with an adversary what an advantage a standing position gives -one. - -By way of answer, Mr Slimm continued standing also. - -‘Madam,’ he commenced, ‘what I have to say to you concerns the affairs -of the late Mr Morton of Eastwood. He was an old friend of mine. Very -recently, I heard of his death. I am determined to have justice done.’ - -Was it fancy, or did these thin feline lips grow white? He could have -sworn he saw them quiver. Anyway, fancy or not, if the worst came to -the worst, he had a great card to play. - -Mr Slimm continued: ‘He died, as you are aware, after a curious -illness, and rather suddenly at the last. If I am correct, there was no -inquest.’ - -It was not fancy, then! Mr Slimm’s keen eyes detected a sudden shiver -agitate her frame, and his ear caught a quick painful respiration. Why -did no one think of this? he said to himself. - -‘However, for the present we will pass that over. Mr Morton was known -to have been a rich man. All he had was left, I understand, to you?’ - -‘In that, sir, you are perfectly right. Pray, continue.’ - -‘Now, at one time, I understand, poor Morton intended to leave -everything to his niece. Was that so?’ - -Miss Wakefield inclined her head coldly. - -‘And since his death, not the slightest trace of the bulk of the money -has been discovered. Is that not so?’ - -Miss Wakefield inclined her head once more. - -‘Well, we have now discovered where the money is.’ - -‘Discovered where the money is! where _my_ money is!’ the woman cried -with a grating laugh. ‘And I presume you came to bring it to me. After -all this long while, fancy getting my own at last!’ - -‘I suppose you will do something for Mrs Seaton?’ inquired Slimm. - -‘Do something for them—of course I will,’ she laughed hardly. ‘I’ll go -and call on them. I will let them see me ride in my carriage, while -they are begging in the gutter. I will give them a sixpence when they -come to ask alms at my house.—Oh, tell me, are they starving?—are they -starving, I say?’ she gasped in her passionate utterance, clutching the -American by the arm. ‘Are they living on charity? Oh, I hope so—I hope -so, for I hate them—hate them!’ The last words hissed lingeringly and -spitefully through her teeth. - -‘Well, not quite,’ Slimm replied cheerfully. ‘It must be consoling to -your womanly feelings to know they are getting on first-rate—in fact, -they are as happy and comfortable as two people can be.’ - -‘I am sorry for that,’ she said, with a little pant between each word. -‘I hoped they were starving. What right have they to be happy, when I -am so miserable?’ - -‘Really, madam, it is no pleasure to bring you news, you take it so -uncomfortably,’ Slimm replied. ‘These histrionics, I know, are intended -merely to disguise your delicate and tender feelings. Now, we admit -this money belongs to you. What will you stand for the information? -‘Forty thousand pounds is a lot of money.’ - -‘Not one farthing,’ replied the woman—‘not one single farthing. The -money is mine, and mine it shall remain.’ - -‘In that case,’ said Slimm cheerfully, ‘my mission is at an end.—I wish -you a very good-morning.’ - -‘Stop! Do you mean to say you intend to hold the secret unless I agree -to some terms?’ - -‘Your powers of penetration do you credit, madam. That is precisely -what I do mean.’ - -‘And what, pray, is the price placed upon your secret?’ - -‘Half!’ - -‘Half!’ she echoed, with a bitter laugh. ‘You are joking. Twenty -thousand pounds! Oh, you have made a mistake. You should go to a -millionaire, not come to me.’ - -‘Do I understand you to decline?’ - -‘Decline!’ she exclaimed in a fury. ‘Rather than pay that money to -them, I would starve and rot! Rather than pay that, the money shall -remain in its secret hiding-place till it is forgotten!—Do you take me -for an idiot, a drivelling old woman with one foot in the grave? No, -no, no! You do not know Selina Wakefield yet. Twenty thousand pounds. -Ah, ah, ah! The fools, the fools, the miserable fools, to come and ask -me this!’ - -‘Perhaps you will be good enough to name a sum you consider to be -equivalent to the service rendered,’ said the American, totally unmoved -by this torrent of invective. - -‘Now you talk like a man of sense,’ she replied. ‘You are quite -determined, I see, not to part with your secret until you have a -return. Well, let me see. What do you say to a thousand pounds, or, to -stretch a point, fifteen hundred?’ - -‘Appalling generosity!’ replied Slimm, regarding the ceiling in -rapture—‘wasteful extravagance! I cannot accept it. My principals are -so grasping, you know. Now, as a personal favour, and to settle this -little difficulty, could not you add, say, another five pounds?’ - -‘Not another farthing.’ - -‘Then I am afraid our interview is at an end,’ he said regretfully.—‘Now, -look here. My friends are in no need of money, and are a long way from -the state you charitably hoped to find them in. You are getting on -in life, and we can afford to wait. When you are no more—not to put -too fine a point upon it—we shall lay hands on the treasure, and live -happily ever after—yes, madam.’ - -‘What do you want me to do?’ she said sulkily. - -‘Let me put it another way. Suppose we come to an agreement. It is -highly probable that where the money is, a will is concealed. Now, it -is very certain that this will is made in Mrs Seaton’s favour. If we -make an arrangement to divide the spoil, and that turns out to be so, -what a good thing it will be for you! On the other hand, if there is no -will, you still have a handsome sum of money, which without our aid you -can never enjoy; and do not mistake me when I say that aid will never -be accorded without some benefit to the parties I have the honour to -represent.’ - -‘And suppose I refuse?’ - -‘So much the worse for you. Then we have another course open, and one I -decidedly advocate. We will at our own risk recover the money, trusting -to our good fortune to find the will. If not, we will throw the money -in Chancery, and fight you for it on the ground of undue influence and -fraud.’ - -‘Fraud, sir! What do you mean?’ exclaimed the lady, trembling with -indignation and hatred. - -Mr Slimm approached her more closely, and looking sternly into her -eyes, said: ‘Mark me, madam!—the Seatons are not unfriended. I am by -no means a poor man myself, and I will not leave a stone unturned to -unravel this mystery. Do you think I am fool enough to believe that -my old friend hid his money away in this strange manner unless he had -some fear? and if I mistake not, you are the cause of that fear. Had -he intended his wealth for you, he would have left it openly. Nothing -shall be left undone to fathom the matter; and if necessary’—here he -lowered his voice to an impressive whisper—‘the body shall be exhumed. -Do you understand, madam?—exhumed?’ - -The pallor on the woman’s face deepened to a ghastly ashen gray. ‘What -would you have me do?’ she exclaimed faintly. - -‘Come to our terms, and all will be well,’ Slimm said, pursuing the -advantage he had gained; ‘otherwise’—here he paused—‘however, we will -say nothing about that. What I propose is this: that an agreement be -drawn up and entered into upon the terms, that in case no will is found -with the money, the property is divided; and if a will is found leaving -the property to Mrs Seaton, you take five thousand pounds. That is my -final offer.’ - -‘I—I consent,’ she faltered humbly, at the same time longing, in her -passionate madness, to do her antagonist some deadly mischief, as he -stood before her so calmly triumphant. - -‘Very good,’ he said quietly—‘very good. Then I presume our intercourse -is at an end. You will be good enough to be at Mr Carver’s office in -Bedford Row at three o’clock to-morrow afternoon.’ - -‘One moment. Are you in the secret?’ - -‘Madam, I have that felicity. But why?’ - -‘Perhaps now we have come to terms, you may be good enough to tell me -where it is.’ - -‘Curiosity, thy name is woman,’ said Slimm sententiously. ‘I am sorry I -cannot gratify that little wish; but as you will doubtless be present -at the opening ceremony, you will not object to restrain your curiosity -for the present—Good-morning.’ - -Miss Wakefield watched our ambassador’s cab leave the door, and then -threw herself, in the abandonment of her passion, upon the floor. In -the impotence of her rage and despair, she lay there, rolling like a -mad dog, tearing at her long nails with the strong uneven teeth. ‘What -does he know?’ she hissed. ‘What can he know? Beaten, beaten at last!’ - -‘What a woman!’ soliloquised Slimm as he rolled back Londonwards. ‘I -must have a cigar, to get the flavour out of my mouth.’ - -When he arrived at Mr Carver’s, he found Eleanor and her husband -awaiting him with great impatience. - -‘What cheer, my comrade?’ Edgar asked with assumed cheerfulness. - -‘Considering the circumstances of the case and the imminent risk I ran, -you might at least have expressed a desire to weep upon this rugged -bosom,’ Slimm answered reproachfully. ‘I found the evil, like most -evils, not half so bad when it is properly faced.’ - -‘And Miss Wakefield?’ asked Mr Carver anxiously. - -‘Gentle as a sucking-dove—only too anxious to meet our views. In fact, -I so far tamed her that she has made an appointment to come here -to-morrow to settle preliminaries.’ - -‘But what sort of terms did you come to?’ Eleanor asked. - -Slimm briefly related the result of his mission, and its unexpected and -desirable consummation, to the mutual astonishment of his listeners; -indeed, when he came to review the circumstances of the case, he was -somewhat astonished at his own success. - -‘Wonderful!’ exclaimed Mr Carver, gazing with intense admiration at his -enemy. ‘I could not have believed it possible for one man single-handed -to have accomplished so much.—My good friend, do I really understand -that in any case we get half the money; and in one case, all but five -thousand pounds?’ - -‘Precisely; and you get the agreement drawn up, and we will get away -to Eastwood the day after to-morrow. I declare I feel as pleased as a -schoolboy who has found the apple at hide-and-seek. I feel as if I was -getting young again.’ - -‘Then you think it is really settled?’ Edgar asked, with a sigh of -pleasure and relief. - -‘Not the slightest doubt of it,’ said the American promptly. ‘And I -think I may be allowed to observe, that of all the strange things I -ever came across throughout my long and checkered career, this is about -the strangest.’ - -‘It certainly beats anything I ever remember,’ said Mr Carver with a -buoyant air.—‘What do you say, Bates?’ - -‘Well, sir,’ Mr Bates admitted, ‘there certainly are some points about -it one does not generally encounter in the ordinary run of business.’ - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -When the poet, in the pursuit of his fancy, eulogised the stately -homes of England, he must have forgotten or totally ignored a class -of dwelling dearer to my mind than all the marble halls the taste or -vanity of man ever designed. The Duke of Stilton doubtless prefers -his ancestral home, with its towers and turrets, its capacious -stables—which, by-the-bye, seem the first consideration in the -Brobdingnagian erections of the hour; he may wander with an air of -pride through the Raphael hall and the Teniers gallery or the Cuyp -drawing-room. For me, he can have his art treasures, his Carrara -marbles, his priceless Wedgwood, his Dresden. He may enjoy his -drawing-rooms—blue, red, and every colour in the universe. He may dine -in the bosom of his family on every delicacy a _cordon bleu_ can devise -to tickle the palate and stimulate the appetite, with its accompaniment -of rose-patterned silver and dainty china. Let him luxuriate in it all, -if he will. - -I have in my mind’s eye a house far different from His Grace’s, -but which, nevertheless, if not rich in costly bric-à-brac, has an -appearance of harmony and refinement refreshing beyond belief. It is -the house, or, if you will, the villa of Eastwood. Against the main -road is a rugged stone wall, moss-incrusted and lichen-strewn, and -surmounted by dense laurel. Opening the old-fashioned wooden gate, a -broad path leads to the door, which is some forty yards away, at the -side of the house. It is a low, gray stone house, clustered with ivy -and clematis, and climbing roses twisting round the long double row of -windows. In front is the lawn, quite half an acre in extent, and shut -off from a garden by a brick wall, covered with apricot and nectarine. -On the right, leading towards the house, is a sloping bank, all white -and fragrant in spring with violets; and above this bank, approached -by an ancient horse-block, is the old-world garden. It is a large -garden, with broad green paths, sheltered by bowers of apple-trees, -and the borders gay with wall-flowers, mignonette, stocks, pansies, -London-pride, Tom-Thumb, and here and there great bushes of lavender -and old-man. Far down is a walk of filbert trees, where the wily -squirrel makes merry in the harvest-time, and the cherry-trees all -melodious with the song of the blackbird. There is a balmy smell here -of thyme and sage and endive, and the variety of sweet herbs which our -grandmothers were wont to cull in autumn, and suspend in muslin bags -from the kitchen rafters. - -Opening the heavy hall door with the licensed freedom of the novelist, -we find ourselves in the hall, whence we reach the drawing-room. Here -we find our friends, awaiting the arrival of Miss Wakefield. They -have been talking and chatting gaily; but as the time for that lady’s -arrival draws near, conversation becomes flat, and there is an air of -expectation and suppressed excitement about them, which would at once -convince the observer that something important was on hand. - -Mr Carver rose from his seat, and, for about the fiftieth time, walked -to the window and looked out. It was amusing to note his easy air -and debonair appearance, which was palpably assumed to impress the -spectators with the idea that he was by no means anxious. The only -member of the party who really could be said to be at ease was Mr -Bates. He wore his best clothes, and had an air of resigned settled -melancholy, evidently expecting the worst, and prepared to have his cup -of joy—representing in his case his partnership—dashed from his lips at -the last moment. - -Felix was discussing the affair with Edgar in a low voice, and Eleanor -sat white and still, only showing her impatience ever and anon by a -gentle tap upon the floor with her heel. Mr Slimm was whistling softly -in a low key, and industriously engaged in whittling a stick in his -hand. Mr Carver returned from his post of observation and threw himself -back in his chair with an involuntary sigh. Slimm put up his knife. - -‘I vote we begin,’ said Edgar at length. - -‘No, no; it would not do—it really would not do,’ interposed Mr Carver, -seeing the company generally inclined to this view. ‘The lady whom we -await is capable of anything. If we found a will in her absence, she -would not be above saying we put it there.’ - -‘Judging from my limited experience of the lady, I calculate you are -about right, sir,’ said Mr Slimm. ‘No; after so many years’ patience, -it would certainly be unwise to do anything rash now.’ - -‘It is the last few moments which seem so hard,’ Eleanor said. -‘Suppose, after all, we should find nothing!’ - -‘For goodness’ sake, don’t think of such a thing!’ Edgar exclaimed. -‘Fancy, after all this bother and anxiety!’ - -The party lapsed into silence again, and once more Mr Carver strolled -towards the window. It is strange, when one is anxiously waiting for -anything, how slowly time goes. Edgar took his watch out of his pocket -every other minute, like a schoolboy who wears one for the first time. - -‘I think I will walk down the road and see if she is coming,’ Slimm -observed. ‘It would look a little polite, I think.’ - -Edgar murmured something touching love’s young dream, and asked the -American if the fascination was so strong. - -‘Well, no,’ he replied. ‘I don’t deny she is fascinating; but it is not -the sort of glamour that generally thrills the young bosom. One thing -we all agree upon, I think, and that is, that we shall be all extremely -pleased to see the lady.’ - -‘That is a strange thing in itself,’ Edgar replied drily. ‘The damsel -is evidently coy. She is at present, doubtless, struggling with her -emotion. I fancy she does not intend to come.’ - -At this moment there was a sound of wheels, and a coach pulled up at -the gate. After a moment, a tall black figure was seen approaching the -house. A few seconds later, Miss Wakefield entered the room. - - - - -INVESTORS AND THE STOCK EXCHANGE. - -SECOND ARTICLE. - - -In a former article we endeavoured to explain the _modus operandi_ -of Stock Exchange transactions; and our object now is to make a few -remarks upon the rights and duties of investors and members of the -Stock Exchange respectively. As formerly explained, when any business -is transacted on the Stock Exchange, the broker always renders to his -client a contract containing the particulars of the transaction, which -is understood to be carried through in accordance with the rules and -regulations of the Stock Exchange. These rules have been compiled with -the strictest regard to the rights and duties of both parties, and are -altered from time to time as circumstances may require. They are in -complete accordance with the law of the land; and when any question -has arisen in regard to Stock Exchange affairs, the courts of law -have invariably allowed that those rules have been framed on the most -equitable principles. - -When a contract has been rendered, broker and client are equally bound -to fulfil their part of it: the broker, in the case of a purchase, to -deliver to, his client an authentic certificate of the stock, and in -the case of a sale, to pay for the stock on delivery of a properly -executed transfer; the client to pay the consideration-money, &c., -when the stock is purchased for him, and to deliver the transfer duly -executed, with the certificate, when the stock is sold. Many investors, -while looking very sharply after their rights, entirely lose sight of -their duties, and altogether forget that there must be two parties to -every contract. When a man sells stock, he is entitled to a cheque for -the proceeds the moment he hands the executed transfer to his broker, -and no sooner; and when stock is purchased, the broker is entitled to -receive the purchase-money when he delivers the transfer to his client -for signature, and no sooner. Many persons, however, imagine that if -they send their broker a cheque for stock bought a day or two after -the account-day, it will be time enough, being ignorant of the fact -that the latter is obliged by the rules to pay for the stock when it -is delivered to him, either on the account-day or any subsequent day. -Those living at a distance from London should therefore be careful to -let the money be in the hands of their broker on the morning of the -account-day at the very latest; or if they object to pay for stock -before receiving it, should instruct a banker in the City to pay for -the stock, or proportionately for any part, on delivery, so that the -broker may not be out of the money. Of course, brokers are not supposed -to have unlimited balances at their bankers, and it is frequently a -real hardship for them to be obliged to find the money as best they -can. The Stock Exchange rules admit of no delay whatever, and must be -acted up to by the members, without any regard to the negligence or -inattention of the investor. - -When stock payable to bearer is not delivered to the buying-broker on -the account-day, he has the power, on the following day, of ordering -it to be purchased, or ‘bought in’ as it is called, in the market for -immediate delivery, and any loss consequent upon the buying-in must -be paid by the seller. In the case of registered stocks, however, ten -days after the account-day are allowed for delivery. This is only -reasonable, as a deed of transfer frequently requires the signature of -several sellers, or the seller may reside at a distance, and thus delay -cannot be avoided. On the expiry of the time named, the broker can ‘buy -in,’ as in the case of stock to bearer. If the buyer of stock to bearer -does not receive the stock from his broker within a day or two after -the account-day, or registered stock within about ten days after the -account-day, he has a perfect right to know the reason of the delay, -and failing any proper excuse, should give instructions to ‘buy in,’ as -explained above. - -The Committee of the Stock Exchange have always done everything in -their power to insure the strict fulfilment of all bargains entered -into by the members; and if any investor feels aggrieved or thinks he -has been unfairly dealt with, a letter addressed to the Committee will -at once bring the culprit to book. Accounts are settled fortnightly, -about the middle and end of each month; and every member of the House -prepares, or ought to prepare, a balance-sheet, showing exactly how he -stands on these occasions. If a member finds that he is unable to meet -his engagements, he should at once notify the fact to the Committee, -when he will instantly be declared a defaulter. This disagreeable duty -is performed by an official of the Stock Exchange, who, after three -knocks with a hammer, which resound through the House, intimates that -‘Mr —— begs to inform the House that he is unable to comply with his -bargains.’ If, as frequently happens, the defaulter has issued cheques -on the account-day which have been returned by his banker, the formula -is: ‘Mr —— has not complied with his bargains.’ After such declaration, -the defaulting member is precluded from any further dealings with his -fellow-members, and his affairs are placed in the hands of the official -assignee, who proceeds to wind up the estate and distribute whatever -dividend it will realise. The sound of the dreaded ‘hammer’ produces -universal stillness and apprehension, and where a few seconds before -was heard the hum of many voices and the sound of hurrying feet, now -every ear is on the alert to hear the name of the proscribed member. As -soon as the name is announced, it is posted up in a conspicuous part -of the House, exposed to the gaze and subject to the derogatory remarks -of the members for the rest of the day. As may well be imagined, the -fact of having been ‘hammered,’ whatever a man’s future life may be, -casts a dark shadow which cannot be got rid of; and investors may be -quite certain that the members of the Stock Exchange will strain every -nerve to avoid the disgrace. The rules of the House are, however, -inexorable, and the fatal hammer must sound if engagements are not -strictly and promptly met. In no trade, business, or profession does -the punishment follow so quickly upon the offence, and it would be well -if all commercial and financial default were as promptly declared to -the world. - -As will be seen from what we have said, the rights and duties of -investors and members are clearly defined, and both parties have a -right to expect them to be carried out with punctuality. Promptitude is -praiseworthy under all circumstances, but on the Stock Exchange it is -essential for the sake both of members and investors. No slovenliness -or easy slipshod habits of doing business should be permitted on either -side; and investors, while insisting on their rights, should bear in -mind that their contracts with their brokers ought to be carried out -with exactitude on their part, to enable the latter to fulfil their -duties towards their fellow-members. - -One other point we would urge investors to bear in mind, and that is, -that stockbrokers are not prophets. Many investors, especially ladies, -think the reverse. We have frequently heard very hard words indeed used -towards brokers who have been unfortunate enough to advise a purchase -which has turned out badly; but a moment’s thought must demonstrate -the folly of such expressions of feeling. If a broker knows positively -what course the market is to take in any particular stock, he has only -to buy or sell it to the amount required for producing the profit he -desires. Many investors, however, when smarting under losses, are apt -to rush to conclusions which reflection proves to be utterly unjust. -It is true that stockbrokers ought to be better acquainted with stocks -and everything pertaining thereto than the large majority of investors; -but it is absurd to suppose that their views should never be wrong. Let -investors be satisfied with a reasonable rate of interest, never buy -stock without the advice of a stockbroker, never buy what they cannot -pay for, or sell what they are not prepared to deliver, and we are -certain there would be fewer sleepless pillows and more money in the -coffers. - -Speculation, we fear, is inherent in the human constitution, and all -that we can say on the subject is not likely to put a stop to it. It -is natural to the human animal to desire to make money without working -for it, and no doubt such a state of affairs will exist to the end. -But experience teaches. We once heard an old man, who had been a large -speculator in his early days, say that if he had put his money into -consols when he first began to save, and continued doing so, instead of -running after high rates of interest, he would have been a very much -richer man in his old age. In the furious race for riches, we feel -certain that the steady investor has the best of it; and the man who is -not even able to do more than make both ends meet is infinitely happier -than he who spends restless days and sleepless nights in the pursuit -of that sudden wealth, which he, in all probability, goes down to his -grave without acquiring. - - - - -THE ‘LADY GODIVA.’ - -AN AUSTRALIAN STORY. - - -It happened that one summer, a few years ago, I found myself travelling -up the Barwon River, just where it commences to form the boundary -between Queensland and New South Wales. The weather was terribly hot, -and feed for horses scarce, so that I was only too glad to accept the -invitation of a hospitable settler, an old acquaintance in digging days -gone by, to stay and ‘spell’ for a week or two, whilst my horses put -on a little condition in his well-grassed paddocks. The country round -about at that time, even on the river frontages, was very sparsely -settled, and comparatively young people could remember when the -blacks were ‘bad.’ Dingoes, kangaroos, wild-cattle, and ‘brombees’ or -wild-horses, roamed the great scrubs in thousands; and with respect to -broken-in and branded individuals of the two latter species, the laws -of _meum_ and _tuum_ seemed to be very lightly regarded amongst the -pioneers of the border; and for a settler to put in an appearance at -his neighbour’s killing-yard whilst the operation of converting bullock -into beef was going on, was deemed the very height of bad manners, -inexcusable, indeed, unless perhaps in the newest of new-chums, at -least till the hide was off and the brand cut out. - -My friend had only recently taken up ground on the river; but his next -and nearest neighbour, old Tom Dwyer, who resided about five-and-twenty -miles away, was a settler of many years’ standing; and it was from him -that, towards the end of my stay with the Brays, came an invitation to -the wedding festivities of his only daughter, who was to be married to -a young cousin, also a Dwyer, who followed the occupation of a drover. - -As Bray and myself rode along in the cool of the early morning—the -womenkind and children having set out by moonlight the night before in -a spring-cart—he gave me a slight sketch of the people whose hearty -invitation we were accepting. - -‘A rum lot,’ said my old friend—a fine specimen of the bushman-digger -type of Australian-born colonist, hardy, brave, and intelligent, who -had, after many years of a roving, eventful life, at last settled down -to make himself a home in the wilderness—‘a rum lot, these Dwyers. -Not bad neighbours by no means, at least not to me. I speak as I -find; but people do say that they come it rather too strong sometimes -with the squatters’ stock, and that young Jim—him as is goin’ to get -switched—and old Tom his uncle do work the oracle atween ’em. I mind, -not so long ago, young Jim he starts up north somewhere with about a -score head o’ milkers and their calves; and when he comes back again -in about six months, he fetched along with him over three hundred head -o’ cattle! “Increase,” he called ’em—ha, ha! A very smart lad is Jim -Dwyer; but the squatters are getting carefuller now; and I’m afraid, if -he don’t mind, that he’ll find himself in the logs some o’ these fine -days. He’s got a nice bit o’ a place over the river, on the New South -Wales side, has Jim, just in front o’ Fort Dwyer, as they call the old -man’s camp. You could a’most chuck a stone from one house to the other.’ - -So conversing, after about three hours’ steady-riding through open box -forest country, flat and monotonous, we arrived at ‘Fort Dwyer’—or -Dee-wyer, as invariably pronounced thereabouts—a long, low building, -constructed of huge, roughly squared logs of nearly fireproof red -coolabah, or swamp-gum, and situated right on the verge of the steep -clay bank, twenty feet below which glided sullenly along the sluggish -Barwon, then nearly half a ‘banker.’ - -A hearty welcome greeted us; and the inevitable ‘square-face’ of -spirits was at once produced, to which my companion did justice whilst -pledging the health of the company with a brief, ‘Well, here’s luck, -lads!’ For my own part, not daring to tackle the half-pannikinful of -fiery Mackay rum so pressingly offered, with the assurance that it was -‘the finest thing out after a warm ride,’ I paid my respects to an -immense cask of honey-beer which stood under a canopy of green boughs, -thus running some risk of losing caste as a bushman by appropriating -‘the women’s swankey,’ as old Dwyer contemptuously termed it, whilst -insisting on ‘tempering’ my drink with ‘just the least taste in life, -sir,’ of Port Mackay, of about 45 o. p. strength. - -There must have been fully one hundred people assembled; and the -open space just in front of the house was crowded with buggies, -spring-carts, wagonettes, and even drays; but the great centre of -attraction was the stockyard, where Jim Dwyer was breaking-in to the -side-saddle a mare, bought in one of his recent trips ‘up north,’ and -intended as a present for his bride, of whom I caught a glimpse as -she sat on an empty kerosene tin, with her sleeves rolled up, busily -engaged in plucking poultry; a fair type of the bush-maiden, tall and -slender, with good, though sharply cut features, deeply browned by -the sun, laughing dark eyes, perfect teeth—a rare gift amongst young -Australians—and as much at home—so old Bray assured me—on horseback -cutting out ‘scrubbers’ or ‘brombees,’ as was her husband-elect himself. - -The rails of the great stockyard were crowded with tall, -cabbage-tree-hatted, booted and spurred ‘Cornstalks’ and ‘Banana-men’ -(natives of New South Wales and Queensland respectively); and loud -were their cries of admiration, as young Dwyer, on the beautiful and, -to my eyes, nearly thoroughbred black mare, cantered round and round, -whilst flourishing an old riding-skirt about her flanks. - -‘She’ll do, Jim—quiet as a sheep’—‘My word! she’ll carry Annie -flying’—‘What did yer give for her, Jim?’—‘A reg’lar star, an’ no -mistake!’ greeted the young man, as, lightly jumping off, he unbuckled -the girths and put the saddle on the slip-rails. - -Jim Dwyer differed little from the ordinary style of young bush -‘native’—tall, thin, brown, quick-eyed, narrow in the flanks; but with -good breadth of chest, and feet which, from their size and shape, might -have satisfied even that captious critic the Lady Hester Stanhope, -under whose instep ‘a kitten could walk,’ that the Australians of a -future nation would not be as the British, ‘a flat-soled generation, of -whom no great or noble achievement could ever be expected.’ - -I fancied that, as the young fellow came forward to shake hands with -Bray, he looked uneasily and rather suspiciously at me out of the -corner of one of his black eyes. My companion evidently observed it -also, for he said laughingly: ‘What’s the matter, Jim? Only a friend of -mine. Is the mare “on the cross?” And did you think he was a “trap?”’ - -‘None o’ your business, Jack Bray,’ was the surly reply. ‘“Cross” or -“square,” she’s mine till some one comes along who can show a better -right to her, an’ that won’t happen in a hurry.’ - -‘Well, well,’ replied Bray, ‘you needn’t get crusty so confounded -quick. But she’s a pretty thing, sure enough. Let’s go and have a look -at her.’ - -Everybody now crowded round the mare, praising and admiring her. ‘Two -year old, just,’ exclaimed one, looking in her mouth.—‘Rising three, -I say,’ replied another.—‘And a cleanskin, and unbranded!’ ejaculated -Bray, at the same time passing his hand along the mare’s wither. - -‘That’s a disease can soon be cured,’ said Dwyer with a laugh. ‘I’m -agoin’ to clap the J. D. on her now.—Shove her in the botte, boys, -while I go an’ fetch the irons up.’ - -‘That mare’s a thoroughbred, and a race-mare to boot, and she’s “on the -cross” right enough,’ whispered Bray, as we walked back towards the -house. ‘She’s been shook; and though she ain’t fire-branded, there’s a -half-sovereign let in under the skin just below the wither; I felt it -quite plain; and I wouldn’t wonder but there’s a lot more private marks -on her as we can’t see.’ - -‘Do you think, then,’ I asked, ‘that young Dwyer stole her?’ - -‘Likely enough, likely enough,’ was the reply. ‘But if he did, strikes -me as we’ll hear more about the matter yet.’ - -Just at this moment, shouts of, ‘Here’s the parson!’—‘Here’s old Ben!’ -drew our attention to a horseman who was coming along the narrow track -at a slow canter. - -A well-known character throughout the whole of that immense district -was the Rev. Benjamin Back, ‘bush missionary;’ and not less well -known was his old bald-faced horse Jerry. The pair bore a grotesque -resemblance to each other, both being long and ungainly, both thin -and gray, both always ready to eat and drink, and yet always looking -desolate and forlorn. As the Rev. Ben disengaged his long legs from the -stirrups, the irrepressible old Dwyer appeared with the greeting-cup—a -tin pint-pot half full of rum—which swallowing with scarcely a wink, to -the great admiration of the lookers-on, the parson, commending Jerry -to the care of his host, stalked inside, and was soon busy at the -long table, working away at a couple of roast-ducks, a ham, and other -trifles, washed down with copious draughts of hot tea, simply remarking -to ‘Annie,’ that she ‘had better make haste and clean herself, so that -he could put her and Jim through, as he had to go on to Bullarora that -evening to bury a child for the Lacies.’ - -Having at length finished his repast, all hands crowded into the long -room, where before ‘old Ben’ stood bride and bridegroom, the former -neatly dressed in dark merino—her own especial choice, as I was told, -in preference to anything gayer—with here and there a bright-coloured -ribbon, whilst in her luxuriant black hair and in the breast of her -dress were bunches of freshly plucked orange blossoms, that many a -belle of proud Mayfair might have envied. The bridegroom in spotless -white shirt, with handkerchief of crimson silk, confined loosely around -his neck by a massive gold ring, riding-trousers of Bedford cord, kept -up by a broad belt, worked in wools of many colours by his bride, and -shining top-boots and spurs, looked the very beau-idéal of a dashing -stockman, as he bore himself elate and proudly, without a trace of -that bucolic sheepishness so often witnessed in the principal party to -similar contracts. - -The old parson, with the perspiration induced by recent gastronomic -efforts rolling in beads off his bald head, and dropping from the tip -of his nose on to the church-service in his hand, had taken off his -long coat of threadbare rusty black, and stood confessed in shirt of -hue almost akin to that of the long leggings that reached above his -knees. It was meltingly hot; and the thermometer—had there been such -an article—would have registered one hundred and ten or one hundred -and fifteen degrees in the shade at the least. But it was all over at -last. Solemnly ‘old Ben’ had kissed the darkly flushing bride, and -told her to be a good girl to Jim—solemnly the old man had disposed -of another ‘parting cup;’ and then, whilst the womenkind filled his -saddle-bags with cake, chicken, and ham, together with the generous -half of a ‘square-face’—or large square-sided bottle—containing his -favourite summer beverage, old Dwyer, emerging from one of the inner -rooms, produced a piece of well-worn bluish-tinted paper, known and -appreciated in those regions as a ‘bluey,’ at sight of which the -parson’s eye glistened, for seldom was it that he had the fortune to -come across such a liberal douceur as a five-pound note; but as old -Dwyer said: ‘We don’t often have a job like this one for you Ben, old -man. We’re pretty well in just now, an’ I mean you shall remember it. -An’ look here; Jerry’s getting pretty poor now, an’ I know myself he’s -no chicken; so you’d best leave him on the grass with us for the rest -o’ his days, an’ I’ll give you as game a bit o’ horse-flesh as ever -stepped; quiet, too, an’ a good pacer. See! the boys is a-saddlin’ him -up now.’ - -The old preacher’s life was hard, for the most part barren, and little -moistened by kind offers like the present; and his grim and wrinkled -face puckered up and worked curiously as he gratefully accepted the -gift for Jerry’s sake, his constant companion through twelve long years -of travel incessant through the wildest parts of Queensland; and with -a parting injunction to ‘the boys’ to look after the old horse, he, -mounting his new steed, started off on his thirty-mile ride to bury -Lacy’s little child. - -The long tables, at which all hands had intermittently appeased their -hunger throughout the day, on fowls, geese, turkeys, sucking-pig, fish, -&c., were now cleared and removed; a couple of concertinas struck up, -and fifteen or twenty couples were soon dancing with might and main on -the pine-boarded floor. Old men and young, old women and maidens, boys -and girls, all went at it with a will, whirling, stamping, changing and -‘chaining’ till the substantial old house shook again, and fears were -audibly expressed that the whole building would topple over into the -river. - -‘Not to-night, of all nights in the year,’ said old Dwyer; ‘although I -do believe I’ll have to shift afore long. Ye’ll hardly think it—would -ye?—that when I first put up the old shanty, it stood four chain, good, -away from the bank; it was, though, all that; an’ many a sneaking, -greasy black-fellow I’ve seen go slap into the water with a rifle -bullet through his ugly carcass out of that back-winder, though it is -plumb a’most with the river now.’ - -So, louder and louder screamed the concertinas, faster and faster -whirled the panting couples, till nearly midnight, when ‘supper’ was -announced by the sound of a great bullock bell, and out into the calm -night-air trooped the crowd. The tables this time had been set out -on the sward in front of the house, just without the long dark line -of forest which bordered the river, through the tops of whose giant -‘belars’ the full moon shone down on the merry feasters with a subdued -glory; whilst, in a quiet pause, you could hear the rush of the strong -Barwon current, broken, every now and again, by a deep-sounding ‘plop,’ -as some fragment of the ever-receding clayey bank would fall into the -water. Four or five native bears, disturbed by the noise, crawled out -on the limbs of a great coolabar, and with unwinking, beady-black -eyes, gazed on the scene below, expressing their astonishment every -now and again in hoarse mutterings, now low and almost inarticulate, -then ‘thrum, thrumming’ through the bush till it rang again. From a -neighbouring swamp came the shrill scream of the curlew; whilst far -away in the low ranges of Cooyella, could be heard the dismal howl of a -solitary dingo coo-ee-ing to his mates. - -Scarcely had the guests taken their seats and commenced, amidst jokes -and laughter, to attack a fresh and substantial meal, when a furious -barking, from a pack of about fifty dogs, announced the advent of -strangers; and in a minute more, three horsemen, in the uniform of -the Queensland mounted police, rode up to the tables. One, a sergeant -apparently, dismounted, and with his bridle over his arm, strode -forward, commanding every one to keep their seats; for several at -first sight of the ‘traps’ had risen, and apparently thought of -quietly slipping away. This order, however, enforced as it was by the -production of a revolver, together with an evident intention of using -it on any absconder, brought them to their seats again. - -‘What’s all this about?’ exclaimed old Dwyer. ‘We’re all honest people -here, mister, so you can put up your pistol. Tell us civilly what it -is you’re wantin’, an’ we’ll try an’ help you; but don’t come it too -rough. You ought to be ’shamed o’ yourself. Don’t ye see the faymales?’ - -‘Can’t help the females,’ retorted the sergeant sharply. ‘I haven’t -ridden four hundred miles to play polite to a lot of women. I want -a man named James Dwyer; and by the description, yonder’s the man -himself’—pointing at the same time across the table to where sat the -newly-made husband, who had been one of the first to make a move at -sight of the police. - -‘What’s the charge, sargent?’ asked old Dwyer coolly. - -‘Horse-stealing,’ was the reply; ‘and here’s the warrant, signed by the -magistrate in Tambo, for his apprehension.’ - -I was sitting quite close to the object of these inquiries, and at -this moment I heard young Mrs Dwyer, whilst leaning across towards her -husband, whisper something about ‘the river’ and ‘New South Wales;’ -and in another moment, head over heels down the steep bank rolled the -recently created benedict, into the curious and cool nuptial couch of -swiftly flowing, reddish water, which he breasted with ease, making -nearly a straight line for the other bank, distant perhaps a couple of -hundred yards. - -The troopers, drawing their revolvers, dismounted, and running forward, -were about to follow the example set by their superior, who was -taking steady aim at the swimmer, perfectly discernible in the clear -moonlight, when suddenly half-a-dozen pair of soft but muscular arms -encircled the three representatives of law and order, as the women, -screaming like a lot of curlews after a thunderstorm, clasped them in a -tight embrace. - -Young Mrs Dwyer herself tackled the sergeant, crying: ‘What! would you -shoot a man just for a bit of horse-sweating! Leave him go, can’t you. -He’s over the border now in New South Wales, mare and all; and you -can’t touch him, even if you was there.’ - -Just then a yell of triumph from the scrub on the other shore seemed -to vouch for the fact, and was answered by a dozen sympathetic whoops -and shouts from the afore-mentioned ‘Cornstalks’ and ‘Banana-men,’ who -crowded along our side of the river. - -The sergeant struggled to free himself; and his fair antagonist unwound -her arms, saying: ‘Come now, sargent, sit down peaceably and eat your -supper, can’t you! What’s the good of making such a bother over an old -scrubber of a mare!’ - -‘An old scrubber of a mare!’ repeated the sergeant aghast ‘D’ye think -we’d ride this far over a scrubber of a mare? Why, it’s the Lady Godiva -he took; old Stanford’s race-mare, worth five hundred guineas, if -she’s worth a penny. Bother me! if he didn’t take her clean out of the -stable in Tambo, settling-night, after she’d won the big money! But -there, you all know as much about it as I can tell you, that’s plain -to be seen, for I never mentioned a mare; it was your own self, I do -believe; and I’ll have him, if I have to follow him to Melbourne.—Just -got married, has he? Well, I can’t help that; he shouldn’t go stealing -race-mares.—Well, perhaps you didn’t know _all_ about it,’ went on the -sergeant, in reply to the asseverations of the Dwyer family as regarded -their knowledge of the way the young man had become possessed of the -mare. ‘But,’ shaking his head sententiously, ‘I’m much mistaken if most -of this crowd hadn’t a pretty good idea that there was something cross -about her. However,’ he concluded philosophically, ‘it’s no use crying -over spilt milk. I’ll have to ride over to G—— at daylight—that’s -another forty miles—and get an extradition warrant out for him. He -might just as well have come quietly at first, for we’re bound to have -the two of them some time or other.’ - -It was now nearly daylight; and our party set out on their return home, -leaving the troopers comfortably seated at the supper, or rather by -this time, breakfast table; while just below the house, in a bend of -the river, we could see, as we passed along, a group of men busily -engaged in swimming a mob of horses—amongst which was doubtless the -Lady Godiva herself—over to the New South Wales shore, where, on the -bank, plainly to be discerned in the early dawn, stood the tall form of -her lawless owner. - -‘How do you think it will all end?’ I asked Bray. - -‘Oh,’ was the reply, ‘they’ll square it, most likely. I know something -of that Stanford; he’s a bookmaker; and if he gets back the mare and -a cheque for fifty or a hundred pounds, to cover expenses, he’ll not -trouble much after Jim.’ - -‘Yes. But the police?’ I asked. - -‘Easier squared than Stanford,’ answered Bray dogmatically. - -That this ‘squaring’ process was successfully put in force seemed -tolerably certain; for very shortly afterwards I read that at the -autumn meeting of the N. Q. J. C., the Lady Godiva had carried off the -lion’s share of the money; and I also had the pleasure of meeting Mr -and Mrs Dwyer in one of Cobb & Co.’s coaches, bound for the nearest -railway terminus, about three hundred miles distant, thence to spend -a month or so in Sydney; Jim, as his wife informed me, having done -uncommonly well out of a mob of cattle and horses which he had been -travelling for sale through the colonies; so had determined to treat -himself and the ‘missis,’ for the first time in their lives, to a look -at the ‘big smoke.’ - -‘That was a great shine at our wedding, wasn’t it?’ she asked, as the -coachman gathered up the reins preparatory to a fresh start. ‘But’—and -here she tapped her husband on the head with her parasol—‘I look out -now that he don’t go sticking-up to any more Lady Godivas.’ - -‘That’s so,’ laughed Jim. ‘I find, that I have my hands pretty full -with the one I collared the night you were there. I doubt sometimes -I’d done better to have stuck to the other one; and as for temp’—— -Here Jim’s head disappeared suddenly into the interior of the coach; -crack went the long whip; the horses plunged, reared, and went through -the usual performance of attempting to tie themselves up into overhand -knots, then darted off at top-speed on their sixteen-mile stage, soon -disappearing in a cloud of dust along the ‘cleared line.’ - - - - -OCCASIONAL NOTES. - - -ARTILLERY EXPERIMENTS. - -The trials lately carried on at the Bill of Portland, supplement (says -the _Times_) those of Inchkeith in certain respects. At Inchkeith it -was sought to obtain a just idea of the effect of machine-gun and -shrapnel fire on the detachment serving a gun mounted _en barbette_ -in an emplacement of tolerably recent design. Dummies were placed -round the gun in exposed positions, and Her Majesty’s ship _Sultan_, -under very favourable conditions of sea and weather, carried out some -careful practice at various ranges. The results, accurately recorded, -furnish data calculated to serve as a correction to mere conjecture. -At Portland, the objects sought to be attained were two. The merits -of the Moncrieff or ‘disappearing’ principle of mounting guns for -coast-defence have been much discussed, and great advantages have been -claimed for it with every show of reason; but no opportunity had ever -been given to the system to practically demonstrate its defensive -value. It was, therefore, sufficiently desirable that a practical -experiment should be arranged in which ‘service-conditions’ should -be observed as far as possible, so that there might be a something -definite to set against prejudice either in favour of or against the -system. It was proposed, at the same time, to seek to obtain data as to -the accuracy of howitzer-fire from a floating platform.... To sum up -the case with judicial fairness, the Portland experiments fully bear -out all that the champions of the disappearing system have asserted; -while its opponents—if there are any such—must perforce admit that at -least nothing whatever is proved against it. More than this, however, -appears to be indicated by these trials. There seems to be every reason -to believe that all direct fire, whether of heavy or machine guns, -against a disappearing gun when down, is thrown away; that in the short -time during which this gun need be visible, it will require a very -smart gun-captain on board ship merely to lay on it; that the more the -smoke obscures it, the better, provided a position-finder is used; -and finally, that to engage two or three dispersed disappearing guns -would be a heart-breaking task for a ship. Probably the best chance -of disabling guns mounted on this system is snap-shooting from the -six-pounder quick-firing gun, which can be bandied almost as readily as -a rifle. But, on the one hand, it does not necessarily follow that a -hit from the six-pounder would have any effect on the disappearing gun; -and, on the other hand, the latter would be able to get through a good -deal of shooting before the six-pounder was able to come into effective -action. Again, the six-pounder on board ship would presumably be met -by the six-pounder on shore, which would shoot rather more accurately; -while, even as opposed to these wonderfully handy little weapons, the -disappearing system must stand superior to all others. In a turret or -a cupola, more than half the length of the modern long guns must be -always exposed to fire. All considerations, therefore, seem to point -to the disappearing system as the most scientific method ever devised -for protecting shore-guns, and the advantages to be obtained being so -great, it becomes worth while to use every possible effort to bring -the disappearing gun to practical perfection. The main difficulty is -to render the larger guns independently automatic, and at present no -gun larger than the eight-inch—the gun exhibited in the Inventions -Exhibition—has been thus mounted in England. - - -SEA-GOING FISHING LIFEBOAT VESSELS. - -Mr F. Johnson, the honorary managing secretary of the National Refuge -Harbours Society, 17 Parliament Street, London, has made it the one aim -of his life to devise such means as will conduce to diminish the large -total of lives annually reported as having been lost at sea. He is now -interesting himself in bringing to a practical application an invention -of Mr John White, of Cowes, described as a Sea-going Fishing Lifeboat -vessel, a model of which is now on public view at 72 New Bond Street, -London. Broad in the beam, she has a large air-chamber divided into -two compartments at the bow; another—of a smaller size—at the stern; -and one running along on either side. Thus, however much sea she may -‘ship,’ with these air-chambers in use, it is not possible for her to -sink. Except for the roofs of the fore and aft air-chambers, the vessel -has no deck, an arrangement which of course gives her considerable -buoyancy. The roofs of the side air-chambers are curved off, so that -any water which might wash over one bulwark would pass across the -vessel and wash out over the other. As a matter of fact, however, it -is confidently believed that, even in a high sea, the vessel will -be too buoyant to ship much water. It has naturally occurred to the -inventor that in fine weather the fore air-chamber might be utilised -as a cabin; he has therefore arranged that it may be unsealed and -access obtained to it by means of a hatchway. It will be fitted up with -cooking apparatus and beds, the latter articles also filling the rôle -of life-buoys. - -Those who interest themselves in this invention propose that -vessels of the kind shall be launched around our coasts, equipped -with fishing-gear, and manned with smacksmen, so that they may be -‘self-supporting;’ while their primary object will be to afford -succour during stormy weather to any craft in distress. Thus, it is -felt that the Fishing Lifeboat vessels might ride in the different -fishing fleets, the smacks of which, being frequently far away from -any harbour of refuge, are often disabled or utterly wrecked during -a storm. Then, too, the vessels might fish in the neighbourhood of -dangerous reefs and shoals, where their presence would be especially -valuable. We believe that two or three years ago a fishing-smack was -constructed very much on the lines indicated, and that, after effecting -some rescues in the neighbourhood of the Goodwin Sands, she herself -was wrecked, owing to her having been improperly laden with stone. Mr -White has agreed to build Sea-going Fishing Lifeboat vessels of forty -tons—a size which is considered most suitable—at a cost each of five -hundred pounds. It is felt that a fair start might be made with twenty -vessels, to be placed at different points around our coasts. Thus ten -thousand pounds is required; and a public fund has been opened, and -part of the money already subscribed. Those who desire to contribute -should communicate with Mr Johnson, all cheques being crossed National -Provincial Bank. - - -SOME FACTS ABOUT MONTE CARLO. - -The Report, says a contemporary, of the International Committee in -Nice upon the disgraceful gambling hell of Monte Carlo, which has -just been issued, is to be made the ground of a collective diplomatic -action against the protector of that institution, Prince Charles III. -of Monaco. This important pamphlet gives a documentary catalogue of -all the suicides which have taken place in Monte Carlo from 1877 to -1885. The total number of persons who have destroyed themselves in -consequence of their losses at his Princely Highness’s gambling-tables -is eighteen hundred and twenty—that is to say, there have been nearly -as many suicides as the Prince has subjects. The catalogue is very -complete, giving the name, the home, the age, and the date of death of -each suicide, and a collection of the letters in which the wretched -victims have commented upon their self-destruction. Nearly all of them -curse the hour in which their eyes first set sight upon Monte Carlo. It -is agreeable to learn from the table of nationality that the English -and Americans have supplied the smallest number of victims. A tenth -of the number are Germans and Austrians; but the largest contingent -by far has been provided by France, Italy, and Russia. The appalling -census was instituted by the Italian Consul-general in Nice, who found -ready support from patriotic citizens of other lands. The callous -brutality of the Monaco ‘government,’ if so honourable a name may be -given to this organised gambling Company, is shown in the treatment -of the suicides after their death. Scarcely one of them, except where -friends have appeared in time to claim the body, has received a decent -burial. After the poor wretch has lost all that he had, his corpse has -been hurriedly hidden in the poor quarter of the burial-ground without -funeral rites or mourners. - - * * * * * - -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. 112, VOL. III, FEBRUARY -20, 1886 *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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