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-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73319 ***

-

-

-

-

-

-[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. 138.—VOL. III.      SATURDAY, AUGUST 21, 1886.      PRICE 1½_d._]

-

-

-

-

-HOLIDAYS IN CAMP.

-

-ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.

-

-

-In the United States, even in the coolest, most northerly portion,

-the summers are long and hot; the July days are scorching and the

-nights are suffocating in the crowded cities and larger towns; with

-August comes a little change, but then come the exhausting ‘dog-days,’

-when, though the mercury will not run so high in the thermometer, the

-atmosphere is as unpleasant as if it were still July.

-

-Those who can afford it—and many who cannot do so, but fancy they must

-do as their wealthy neighbours do—begin in June to flit to seaside,

-mountain, or Springs hotel, where they pay as high a rent for a tiny

-room as would give them a whole house in town. Here the ladies and

-children stay for such a time as suits them, or as suits papa’s purse.

-If the hotel chosen is within a reasonable distance of the men’s places

-of business, they will flock there on Saturday night, and hasten away

-early on Monday morning. At some resorts, certain trains or boats have

-the local name, for the season, of ‘husbands’ train’ or boat, as the

-case may be. The maidens who have no lover to look for at this time

-are on the alert to see what ‘new men’ Messrs So-and-so will bring

-with them this Saturday; for there is an appalling dearth of eligible

-men—eligible, if only as escorts or partners at tennis or cotillon at

-most of these summer resorts. Between Monday and Saturday the ladies

-amuse themselves with fancy-work, gossip, reading of light novels,

-fault-finding with the meals, or with the noise other people’s children

-make, and flirting with the men who, taking their own holiday, are

-remaining at the hotel for a week or two. Then, too, there is usually,

-in so mixed an assembly as must necessarily be found at even the most

-select hotel, at least one person who has something queer, perhaps

-no worse than simply great eccentricity, about her, and so furnishes

-material to her fellow-boarders for endless speculation and gossip.

-

-Hotel-life is so distasteful to many and so expensive, that there

-has of late arisen another way of summering—camping-out; but not

-necessarily tenting, though some prefer that. All over the northern

-portion of the land there are springing up like mushrooms roughly-built

-cottages, which are only better than a tent in that they are

-water-tight, have hard floors, and are not apt to be blown down at the

-first stiff gale. These cottages are often unpainted, or but slightly

-so, and have two rooms, small, down-stairs, and one large or two

-small rooms above; if the latter, the partition is rarely more than

-six feet high. When the campers are a mixed party, not simply father,

-mother, and children, the young men sleep down in the living-room,

-and the up-stairs beds are curtained off by curtains or screens. The

-cottage is always erected near water of some sort, old ocean having

-the preference, and a pinewood on the edge of a pond or lake is also

-popular. I remember one such spot, in Maine, where some friends of mine

-passed a very delightful vacation; it was a pine-grove not many miles

-from the city of Augusta, on the very edge of one of those hundreds of

-fresh-water lakelets which dot Maine so thickly. The owner of the land

-had erected five of these simple houses, and rented them to persons

-of the highest respectability, one being a High School teacher, one a

-Universalist minister, one an editor, and so on. The rental was very

-moderate—at the rate of a dollar a day for those who only wished to

-remain one or two weeks; but at a very much less figure if they took

-a cottage for the two summer months. This price included the use of

-all the ice they needed for the preservation of their food, and a

-rowboat which would hold eight persons. The campers brought their own

-furniture; and it is really surprising how few things one actually

-needs to live in comfort for a month. The pond which bears the Indian

-name—more easy to pronounce than to write—of Cobbasacontee, is well

-stocked with fish, and is dotted all over with pretty little islands,

-which are capital places to land and build a fire to cook the fish

-you have just caught. If you have taken the precaution to bring with

-you a coffee-pot as well as your frying-pan, and some coffee, sugar,

-condensed milk, pepper, salt, and buttered bread, you can soon have a

-meal fit for a king—a hungry king.

-

-How well I remember one such excursion I made two years ago! There were

-five in the party, none very young, and none at all in love with any

-one present. We two ladies were afraid to trust ourselves in the tiny

-sailboat which made part of our fleet of two, so we and my friend’s

-nephew started off in the rowboat. Hardly had we got well out, however,

-when the sailor of the party found that his sail was not fitted to

-the boat it was in; and nothing would suit the men but that sails

-and oars must change places while passengers sat still; and in spite

-of our unspoken qualms and our glances of mistrust slily exchanged

-with one another, we had to go under full sail after all. And how

-the wind did justify its title of ‘fickle as a woman,’ that morning!

-For a few moments we would scud over the water in a rather alarming

-style, considering that our skiff was capable of holding only about

-six persons; then, after having dipped our gunwale quite as often as I

-liked, the breeze would vanish, the sail would hang limp and lifeless,

-and we were becalmed. The other boat was soon far ahead; and while

-we were yet within sight of our camp, the occupants had reached our

-destination, and were hauling in the fish with most provoking rapidity.

-During one of our spasmodic, rapid skims down the pond, we disturbed

-a mother-loon. Laughing at us in the strange, weird manner peculiar

-to that sort of water-fowl, she swam down the shore, trying to allure

-us to chase her, and not believe that there was a nest full of little

-loons, less hardy than the young one which was paddling along beside

-her, among those long sedges from which she had started out with such

-haste as our boat drew near them. For as much as a quarter of mile

-she lured us—so _she_ put it—away from her home, answering us when

-we tried to imitate her tones. Did you ever hear a loon laugh in the

-dusk stillness of a warm summer night? It has a queer, eerie sound—a

-lonesome, unhappy sound. After much tacking and drifting, we came at

-last to a little island where two of my friend’s city neighbours, a

-minister and a learned judge, were camping in a tiny cottage, set in a

-most lovely spot, a tangle of underbrush and blackberry vines growing

-up to the very doorway. Little brown squirrels—so tame that at our

-approach they ran _down_ the trees to see what we were doing in their

-domain—sprang about from tree to tree, or scampered over the soft

-grass, quite aware that no one would harm _them_ while fishes were

-so plenty; birds twittered and sung; Eden could not have been more

-peaceful. There are scores of such islands to be hired or bought for a

-mere song.

-

-Did you ever inspect a house kept by the average man? I have heard that

-men when camping are rarely in the habit of washing dishes any oftener

-than they can help; and since I saw the little kitchen attached to that

-cottage, I am sure some men, some learned men, don’t worry over such

-trifles as greasy pans or grimy tins! The judge and his comrade had

-gone out for a day’s fishing; we had met them on our way down, and

-they cordially bade us make ourselves perfectly at home in their abode.

-We did so. They sent us a message, a few days later, that they wished

-the ladies would visit their house again. I know they hardly recognised

-their own cups and saucers when they went to get supper that night!

-

-The furnishing of most of these cottages is very primitive.

-Comfortable beds are a _sine quâ non_ to those who are accustomed to

-hair-mattresses and pliant springs, and one can sleep sweetly and

-restfully on a bed of dry clean hay. It is not much trouble to carry

-empty ticks, and dry grass or, still better, pine-needles can be had

-for the gathering. Blankets and thick quilts must be on hand, for, no

-matter what the days are, it is sure to be chilly the moment the sun

-is well out of sight. A cot-bed is also necessary—for friends who, in

-town, cannot find time to visit one, will gladly travel fifty miles

-to camp a day or two with their cronies who have a cottage—not only

-for use at night, but to be converted into a lounge in the daytime;

-and of course there will be hammocks to sling under the trees or on

-the piazza. There is always a farmer near who will gladly sell—at city

-prices—butter, eggs, and milk; and as most of these lakes are well

-stocked with fish, black bass, pickerel, trout, or perch—or if the camp

-is on the seashore, there are mackerel, lobsters, clams, and greedy,

-open-mouthed sculpin, which can devour more bait without being hooked

-than any ten other fish, but which make a fairly good chowder when

-enough are caught—no one needs suffer from hunger.

-

-Several pretty groves on the Kennebec and Penobscot rivers are utilised

-for camp-meetings. Here, for a week, usually in the latter part of

-August—when the farmers are done haying—or the beginning of September,

-religious services are held morning, noon, and night, popular preachers

-or exhorters being invited to take part. The grounds immediately around

-the spot where the services are held are generally owned by a stock

-Company, and the regulations for the preservation of good order are

-very strict, and rigidly enforced: lights must be out at a given hour;

-unseemly mirth or secular music is not tolerated on Sunday; the sale

-of intoxicating liquors is not permitted at any time, nor the use of

-them in private tents or cottages, if it can be detected by the patrol

-force always on hand. These rules are absolutely necessary to prevent

-the freedom of camp-life from degenerating into license; for many young

-folks go to camp-meeting who care very little for the religious part of

-the affair.

-

-The Methodists have the largest number of camp-grounds; but other

-denominations are more or less fond of them. I once visited a

-Spiritualist camp-ground on one of these Maine rivers; and a damper,

-more ghostly spot could not well be imagined; everything and everybody

-looked mouldy, and one might, without much stretch of the imagination,

-expect to see a materialised spirit pop up anywhere. I understand,

-however, that there were never any ‘manifestations’ at camp; it was

-only held for the dissemination of their peculiar faith.

-

-A party of about a dozen boys and four or five men have gone for the

-past six years to a little island in a New Hampshire lake not far from

-Lake Winnipisaukee, which is a favourite summer resort on account of

-its beautiful scenery, to pass the months of July and August. Their

-temporary dwelling is very primitive, not much more than a roof and

-three walls, for they intend to spend all their time in the open air.

-Every Sunday afternoon these boys have held religious services; they

-have a small parlour organ, and form a choir themselves. They intend

-this year, if possible, to have their choir properly vested, for

-_their_ service is according to the Book of Common Prayer. There is not

-a church of any sort within a long distance, for this portion of the

-State is rather thinly settled. It is of New Hampshire that residents

-of other States say that the farmers there have to sharpen the noses

-of the sheep, in order that they may crop the grass between the rocks,

-as New Hampshire is all rocks. The natives attend the boys’ service

-as a treat, though, as the church is not very well known there, they

-are not quite sure that they approve of the ceremonial. The service is

-not always lay, however; several distinguished clergy and one or two

-bishops have visited this little camp and have preached for them. One

-of the boys told me that during these six years there had been but one

-Sunday when it rained so hard that they had to hold service in their

-hut. Doubtless, some day there will be a permanent chapel there.

-

-And oh, what good times the little ones have at these camps! No fine

-clothes to be kept clean; no attractive but forbidden alley children to

-be avoided; no danger of being run over; no cross dogs to fear; and no

-venturing out in the water without the knowledge of mamma or nurse, for

-here no one is too busy to have one eye on the little mischiefs; but as

-much paddling about on the brink of the lake or ocean as would delight

-any small heart. And then, too, for mamma’s side of the question: no

-candy-shops to draw the pennies out of her pocket, or the tears from

-disappointed eyes; no coaxing ‘Can’t we go play with So-and-so?’ no

-scarlet fever or measles to be caught from some neighbour’s progeny;

-no evil influences to be feared for the older boys and girls; and no

-parties to be made for or attended by the children.

-

-Mother Nature is a great restorer, and a few days of uninterrupted

-intercourse with her do more to renew the wasted health or relaxed

-energies, than as many weeks of dress and gaiety at a fashionable

-resort; and so sensible people are becoming more and more convinced.

-

-

-

-

-IN ALL SHADES.

-

-

-CHAPTER XLI.

-

-Before the yelling mob could close again round Harry Noel’s fallen

-body, with their wild onslaught of upraised cutlasses, more dangerous

-to one another in the thick press than to the prostrate Englishman or

-to poor fainting and unconscious Nora, another hasty clatter of horse’s

-hoofs burst upon them from behind, up the hilly pathway, and a loud,

-clear, commanding voice called out in resonant tones that overtopped

-and stilled for a moment the tumultuous murmur of negro shrieks: ‘In

-the Queen’s name—in the Queen’s name, hold; disperse there!’

-

-That familiar adjuration acted like magic on the fierce and half-naked

-throng of ignorant and superstitious plantation negroes. It was indeed

-to them a mighty word to conjure with, that loud challenge in the name

-of the great distant Queen, whose reality seemed as far away from them

-and as utterly removed from their little sphere as heaven itself. They

-dropped their cutlasses instantly, for a brief moment of doubt and

-hesitation; a few voices still shouted fiercely, ‘Kill him—kill him!’

-and then a unanimous cry arose among all the surging mass of wild and

-scowling black humanity: ‘Mr Hawtorn, Mr Hawtorn! Him come in Missis

-Queen name, so gib us warnin’. Now us gwine to get justice. Mr Hawtorn,

-Mr Hawtorn!’

-

-But while the creole-born plantation hands thus welcomed eagerly what

-they looked upon, in their simplicity, as the Queen’s direct mouthpiece

-and representative, Louis Delgado, his face distorted with rage, and

-his arms plying his cutlass desperately, frowned and gnashed his

-teeth more fiercely than ever with rage and disappointment; for his

-wild African passion was now fully aroused, and like the tiger that

-has once tasted blood, he would not be balked of the final vengeful

-delight of hacking his helpless victim slowly to pieces in a long-drawn

-torture. ‘Missis Queen!’ he cried contemptuously, turning round and

-brandishing his cutlass with savage joy once more before the eyes of

-his half-sobered companions—‘Missis Queen, him say dar! Ha, ha, what

-him say dat for? What de Queen to me, I want you tell me? I doan’t care

-for Queen, or judge, or magistrate, or nuffin! I gwine to kill all de

-white men togedder, in all Trinidad, de Lard helpin’ me!’

-

-As he spoke, Edward Hawthorn jumped hastily from his saddle, and

-advanced with long strides towards the fiercely gesticulating and

-mumbling African. The plantation negroes, cowed and tamed for the

-moment by Edward’s bold and resolute presence, and overawed by the

-great name of that mysterious, unknown, half-mythical Queen Victoria,

-beyond the vast illimitable ocean, fell back sullenly to right and

-left, and made a little lane through the middle of the crowd for the

-Queen’s representative to mount the staircase. Edward strode up,

-without casting a single glance on either side, to where Delgado stood

-savagely beside Harry Noel’s fallen body, and put his right hand with

-an air of indisputable authority upon the frantic African’s uplifted

-arm. Delgado tried to shake him off suddenly with a quick, adroit,

-convulsive movement; but Edward’s grip was tight and vice-like, and

-he held the black arm powerless in his grasp, as he spoke aloud a few

-words in some unknown language, which sounded to the group of wondering

-negroes like utter gibberish—or perhaps some strange spell with which

-the representative of Queen Victoria knew how to conjure by some still

-more potent and terrible obeah than even Delgado’s.

-

-But Louis Delgado alone knew that the words were Arabic, and that

-Edward Hawthorn grasped his arm: ‘In the name of Allah, the All-wise,

-the most Powerful!’

-

-At the sound of that mighty spell, a powerful one, indeed, to the

-fierce, old, half-christianised Mohammedan, Delgado’s arm dropped

-powerless to his trembling side, and he fell back, gnashing his teeth

-like a bulldog balked of a fight, into the general mass of plantation

-negroes. There he stood, dazed and stunned apparently, leaning up

-sulkily against the piazza post, but speaking not a word to either

-party for good or for evil.

-

-The lull was but for a minute; and Edward Hawthorn saw at once that

-if he was to gain any permanent advantage by the momentary change

-of feeling in the fickle negro mob, he must keep their attention

-distracted for a while, till their savage passions had time to cool a

-little, and the effect of this unwonted orgy of fire and bloodshed had

-passed away before the influence of sober reflection. A negro crowd is

-like a single creature of impulse—swayed to and fro a hundred times

-more easily than even a European mob by every momentary passing wave of

-anger or of feeling.

-

-‘Take up Mr Noel and Miss Dupuy,’ he said aside in his cool commanding

-tone to the Orange Grove servants:—‘Mr Noel isn’t dead—I see him

-breathing yet—and lay them on a bed and look after them, while I speak

-to these angry people.’ Then he turned, mastering himself with an

-effort for that terrible crisis, and taking a chair from the piazza,

-he mounted it quickly, and began to speak in a loud voice, unbroken by

-a single tremor of fear, like one addressing a public meeting, to the

-great sea of wondering, upturned black faces, lighted up from behind in

-lurid gleams by the red glare of the still blazing cane-houses.

-

-‘My friends,’ he said, holding his hand before him, palm outward, in a

-mute appeal for silence and a fair hearing, ‘listen to me for a moment.

-I want to speak to you; I want to help you to what you yourselves are

-blindly seeking. I am here to-night as Queen Victoria’s delegate and

-representative. Queen Victoria has your welfare and interest at heart;

-and she has sent me out to this island to do equal justice between

-black man and white man, and to see that no one oppresses another by

-force or fraud, by lawlessness or cunning. As you all know, I am in

-part a man of your own blood; and Queen Victoria, in sending me out

-to judge between you, and in appointing so many of your own race to

-posts of honour here in Trinidad, has shown her wish to favour no one

-particular class or colour to the detriment or humiliation of the

-others. But in doing as I see you have done to-night—in burning down

-factories, in attacking houses, in killing or trying to kill your own

-employers, and helpless women, and men who have done no crime against

-you except trying to protect your victims from your cruel vengeance—in

-doing this, my friends, you have not done wisely. That is not the way

-to get what you want from Queen Victoria.—What is it you want? Tell me

-that. That is the first thing. If it is anything reasonable, the Queen

-will grant it. What do you want from Queen Victoria?’

-

-With one voice the whole crowd of lurid upturned black faces answered

-loudly and earnestly: ‘Justice, justice!’

-

-Edward paused a moment, with rhetorical skill, and looked down at

-the mob of shouting lips with a face half of sternness and half of

-benevolence. ‘My friends,’ he said again, ‘you shall have justice. You

-haven’t always had it in the past—that I know and regret; but you

-shall have it, trust me, henceforth in the future. Listen to me. I know

-you have often suffered injustice. Your rights have not been always

-respected, and your feelings have many times been ruthlessly trampled

-upon. Nobody sympathises with you more fully than I do. But just

-because I sympathise with you so greatly, I feel it my duty to warn you

-most earnestly against acting any longer as you have been acting this

-evening. I am your friend—you know I am your friend. From me, I trust,

-you have never had anything less than equal justice.’

-

-‘Dat’s true—dat’s true!’ rang in a murmuring wave of assent from the

-eager listening crowd of negroes.

-

-‘Well,’ Edward went on, lowering his tone to more persuasive accents,

-‘be advised by me, then, and if you want to get what you ask from Queen

-Victoria, do as I tell you. Disperse to-night quietly and separately.

-Don’t go off in a body together and talk with one another excitedly

-around your watch-fires about your wrongs and your grievances. Burn

-no more factories and cane-houses. Attack no more helpless men and

-innocent women. Think no more of your rights for the present. But go

-each man to his own hut, and wait to see what Queen Victoria will do

-for you.—If you continue foolishly to burn and riot, shall I tell you

-in plain words what will happen to you? The governor will be obliged to

-bring out the soldiers and the volunteers against you; they will call

-upon you, as I call upon you now, in the Queen’s name, to lay down your

-pistols and your guns and your cutlasses; and if you don’t lay them

-down at once, they will fire upon you, and disperse you easily. Don’t

-be deceived. Don’t believe that because you are more numerous—because

-there are so many more of you than of the white men—you could conquer

-them and kill them by main force, if it ever came to open fighting.

-The soldiers, with their regular drill and their good arms and their

-constant training, could shoot you all down with the greatest ease,

-in spite of your numbers and your pistols and your cutlasses. I don’t

-say this to frighten you or to threaten you; I say it as your friend,

-because I don’t want you foolishly to expose yourselves to such a

-terrible butchery and slaughter.’

-

-A murmur went through the crowd once more, and they looked dubiously

-and inquiringly toward Louis Delgado. But the African gave no sign and

-made no answer; he merely stood sullenly still by the post against

-which he was leaning; so Edward hastened to reassure the undecided mob

-of listening negroes by turning quickly to the other side of the moot

-question.

-

-‘Now, listen again,’ he said, ‘for what I’m going to say to you now

-is very important. If you will disperse, and go each to his own home,

-without any further trouble or riot, I will undertake, myself, to go

-to England on purpose for you, and tell Queen Victoria herself about

-all your troubles. I will tell her that you haven’t always been justly

-treated, and I’ll try to get new and better laws made in future for

-you, under which you may secure more justice than you sometimes get

-under present arrangements. Do you understand me? If you go home at

-once, I promise to go across the sea and speak to Queen Victoria

-herself on your behalf, over in England.’

-

-The view of British constitutional procedure implied in Edward

-Hawthorn’s words was not perhaps strictly accurate; but his negro

-hearers would hardly have felt so much impressed if he had offered to

-lay their grievances boldly at the foot of that impersonal entity,

-the Colonial Office; while the idea that they were to have a direct

-spokesman, partly of their own blood, with the Queen herself, flattered

-their simple African susceptibilities and helped to cool their savage

-anger. Like children as they are, they began to smile and show their

-great white teeth in infantile satisfaction, as pleasantly as though

-they had never dreamt ten minutes earlier of hacking Harry Noel’s body

-fiercely into little pieces; and more than one voice cried out in

-hearty tones: ‘Hoorrah for Mr Hawtorn! Him de black man fren’. Gib him

-a cheer, boys! Him gwine to ’peak for us to Queen Victoria!’

-

-‘Then promise me faithfully,’ Edward said, holding out his hand once

-more before him, ‘that you’ll all go home this very minute and settle

-down quietly in your own houses.’

-

-‘We promise, sah,’ a dozen voices answered eagerly.

-

-Edward Hawthorn turned anxiously for a moment to Louis Delgado. ‘My

-brother,’ he said to him rapidly in Arabic, ‘this is your doing. You

-must help me now to quiet the people you have first so fiercely and

-so foolishly excited. Assist me in dispersing them, and I will try to

-lighten for you the punishment which will surely be inflicted upon you

-as ringleader, when this is all over.’

-

-But Delgado, propped in a stony attitude against the great wooden post

-of the piazza, answered still never a word. He stood there to all

-appearance in stolid and sullen indifference to all that was passing so

-vividly around him, with his white and bloodshot eyes staring vacantly

-into the blank darkness that stretched in front of him, behind the

-flickering light of the now collapsed and burnt-out cane-houses.

-

-Edward touched him lightly on his bare arm. To his utter horror and

-amazement, though not cold, it was soft and corpse-like, as in the

-first hour of death, before rigidity and chilliness have begun to set

-in. He looked up into the bloodshot eyes. Their staring balls seemed

-already glazed and vacuous, utterly vacant of the fierce flashing

-light that had gleamed from the pupils so awfully and savagely but ten

-minutes before, as he brandished his cutlass with frantic yells above

-Harry Noel’s fallen body. Two of the plantation negroes, attracted

-by Edward’s evident recoil of horror, came forward with curiosity,

-flinging down their cutlasses, and touched the soft cheeks, not with

-the reverent touch which a white man feels always due to the sacredness

-of death, but harshly and rudely, as one might any day touch a

-senseless piece of stone or timber.

-

-Edward looked at them with a pallid face of mute inquiry. The youngest

-of the two negroes drew back for a second, overtaken apparently by a

-superstitious fear, and murmured low in an awe-struck voice: ‘Him dead,

-sah, dead—stone dead. Dead dis ten minute, since ever you begin to

-’peak to de people, sah.’

-

-He was indeed. His suppressed rage at the partial failure of his

-deeply cherished scheme of vengeance on the hated white men, coming

-so close upon his paroxysm of triumph over the senseless bodies of

-Mr Dupuy and Harry Noel, had brought about a sudden fit of cardiac

-apoplexy. The old African’s savage heart had burst outright with

-conflicting emotions. Leaning back upon the pillar for support, as he

-felt the blood failing within him, he had died suddenly and unobserved

-without a word or a cry, and had stood there still, as men will often

-stand under similar circumstances, propped up against the supporting

-pillar, in the exact attitude in which death had first overtaken him.

-In the very crisis of his victory and his defeat, he had been called

-away suddenly to answer for his conduct before a higher tribunal than

-the one with which Edward Hawthorn had so gently and forbearingly

-threatened him.

-

-The effect of this sudden catastrophe upon the impressionable minds of

-the excited negroes was indeed immediate and overwhelming. Lifting up

-their voices in loud wails and keening, as at their midnight wakes,

-they cried tremulously one after another: ‘De Lard is against us—de

-Lard is against us! Ebbery man to your tents, O Israel! De Lard hab

-killed Delgado—hab killed Delgado—hab smitten him down, for de murder

-him committed!’ To their unquestioning antique faith, it was the

-visible judgment of heaven against their insurrection, the blood of

-Theodore Dupuy and Harry Noel crying out for vengeance from the floor

-of the piazza, like the blood of righteous Abel long before, crying out

-for vengeance from the soil of Eden.

-

-More than one of them believed in his heart, too, that the mysterious

-words in the unknown language which Edward Hawthorn had muttered over

-the old African were the spell that had brought down upon him before

-their very eyes the unseen bolt of the invisible powers. Whether it

-were obeah, or whether it were imprecation and solemn prayer to the God

-of heaven, they thought within themselves, in their dim, inarticulate,

-unspoken fashion, that ‘Mr Hawtorn word bring down de judgment dat very

-minute on Louis Delgado.’

-

-In an incredibly short space of time, the great crowd of black faces

-had melted away as quickly as it came, and Edward Hawthorn was left

-alone in the piazza, with none but the terrified servants of the Orange

-Grove household to help him in his task or to listen to his orders. All

-that night long, across the dark gorge and the black mango grove, they

-could hear the terrified voices of the negroes in their huts singing

-hymns, and crying aloud in strange prayers to God in heaven that the

-guilt of this murder might not be visited upon their heads, as it had

-been visited before their very eyes that night on Louis Delgado. To the

-negro mind, the verdict of fate is the verdict of heaven.

-

-‘Take up his body, too, and lay it down on the sofa,’ Edward said to

-Uncle ’Zekiel, still beside himself with terror at the manifold horrors

-of this tragical evening.

-

-‘I doan’t can dare, sah,’ Uncle ’Zekiel answered tremulously—‘I doan’t

-can dare lay me hand upon de corpse, I tellin’ you, sah. De finger ob

-de Lard has smite Delgado. I doan’t dare to lift an’ carry him.’

-

-‘One of you boys, then, come and help me,’ Edward cried, holding up the

-corpse with one hand to keep it from falling.

-

-But not one of them dared move a single step nearer to the terrible

-awe-inspiring object.

-

-At last, finding that no help was forthcoming on any hand, Edward

-lifted up the ghastly burden all by himself in his own arms, and laid

-it down reverently and gently on the piazza sofa. ‘It is better so,’ he

-murmured to himself slowly and pitifully. ‘There will be no more blood

-on either side shed at anyrate for this awful evening’s sorry business.’

-

-And then at length he had leisure to turn back into the house itself

-and make inquiries after Mr Dupuy and Harry and Nora.

-

-

-

-

-WILD-BEES AND BEE-HUNTING.

-

-

-There are, it is said, no fewer than twenty-seven genera, and one

-hundred and seventy-seven species of bees, natives of Great Britain.

-But one only of all these, the _Apis millifica_, or common honey-bee,

-has been domesticated. Attempts have been made with others, especially

-with the _bombus_, or humble-bee, but without any adequate success.

-

-The frequent mention of honey in the Old Testament from the patriarchal

-ages downward, and the description of Palestine as ‘a land flowing

-with milk and honey,’ may well have raised the question whether the

-honey was obtained from bees in a wild condition or in a state of

-domestication. The weight of evidence is in favour of the former. In

-the somewhat wandering life, as ‘strangers and pilgrims,’ which many of

-the patriarchs led, bee-culture would have been very inconvenient, if

-not impossible; and as honey was to be had in rich abundance simply for

-the seeking, there would be little inducement to undertake unnecessary

-cares and labours in the domestication of the native variety. There is

-no question, however, as to the possibility of inducing wild bees to

-accept domestication. In Cashmere and the north of India, the natives

-have a simple and ready method of doing this: in building their houses,

-they leave cavities in one of the walls having a sunny aspect, with

-a small hole like that of a modern hive opening outwards. The inner

-side of the wall is fitted with a frame of wood with a door attached.

-A swarm of bees in search of a new home—or perhaps the pioneers who

-are sent, a day or two before the actual swarming, to seek out a

-dwelling-place—would be attracted by such an ‘open door,’ and the

-family, or army, ten, twenty, or thirty thousand strong, would at once

-take possession. The vacant space would soon be filled by the busy

-workers; and the inmates of the house, having access to the store by

-means of the open door, could move a comb or two at pleasure, without

-distressing the bees, simply using the precaution of blowing in as much

-smoke at the back as would cause the bees to fly out at the front.

-English travellers report having seen the operation performed, and

-the bees quietly return when the work was done. The plan has been

-recommended for use in this country. It is at least practicable, if

-not necessary. In dwelling-houses there might be risks, which would

-not apply to farm-buildings and erections around a country house. But

-if man has not utilised this plan, the bees themselves have acted upon

-it. An instance of two within the writer’s own knowledge may not be

-uninteresting.

-

-I was the tenant of Rose Cottage, Brenchley, Kent, from 1853 to 1862.

-The house—which has been considerably altered since—was well adapted

-for such a purpose. The upper parts of the walls were formed, as is

-common in that part of the county, externally of tiles on a framework

-of wood, and internally of lath and plaster. In the cavities there

-would be ample space for large stores of comb and honey. A swarm

-of bees took possession of a portion of the front wall, having a

-south-south-eastern aspect, entering their abode through a crevice

-between the tiles just over one of the chamber windows. They held

-possession for several years, and still held their own when I left

-the cottage. As they never swarmed, it is almost certain there must

-have been a large collection of honey; but for some reason or other,

-chiefly, no doubt, on account of the difficulty of taking the honey

-without injuring the house and exposing the whole family to the attacks

-of the bees, I profited in no way by their busy labours.

-

-Less than ten years ago, when making a call at the old farmhouse,

-Penrhos, Lyonshall, Herefordshire, my attention was directed to a

-colony of bees which had made a settlement in the upper part of one

-of the walls of the house. I suggested the removal of a portion of

-the inner wall, and predicted a large ‘find.’ After some time, this

-advice was acted on; but the farmer adopted a plan which I should have

-strongly deprecated—the plan of destroying with brimstone the entire

-bee community. The store of honey was so great that every available

-keeler and pan in the house was filled to the extent of nearly two

-hundredweight.

-

-Two other instances may be cited, as reported in the _West Surrey

-Times_. One is that of an extraordinary ‘take’ of honey from the walls

-of the _Hautboy and Fiddle Inn_, Ockham, Surrey. The outer walls of

-the house are about three feet in thickness, and at the very top of

-the third story a colony of bees had established themselves, holding

-undisturbed possession for a number of years. At length the innkeeper

-determined to find out their whereabouts. After a diligent search

-under the roof, a piece of comb was found. Descending to one of the

-upper bedrooms, chisel and hammer went to work, and a square of about

-two feet was opened in the front wall; here a large mass of comb was

-discovered; and after fumigating the bees, about one hundred and twenty

-pounds of honey were secured. Another and still more extraordinary

-‘take’ of honey was secured at Winter’s Hall, Bramley, Surrey, the seat

-of Mr George Barrett. Some bees had long held possession of a space

-between the ceiling of the coachhouse and the granary: on effecting an

-entrance, about three hundredweight of honey was secured.

-

-In some countries the honey-bee still roams at will and uncontrolled;

-this is notably the case in the western parts of the United States

-and Canada. The discovery of their natural hives for the purpose of

-securing the honey is the calling of a class of persons known as

-bee-hunters. A writer of considerable repute thus speaks on this

-subject: ‘The beautiful forests in which we were encamped abounded

-in bee-trees; that is to say, trees in the decayed trunks of which

-wild-bees had established their hives. It is surprising in what

-countless swarms the bees have overspread the Far West within but a

-moderate number of years. The Indians consider them the harbinger

-of the white man, as the buffalo is of the red man, and say that in

-proportion as the bee advances, the Indian and the buffalo retire. We

-are always accustomed to associate the hum of the beehive with the

-farmhouse and the flower-garden, and to consider those industrious

-little animals as connected with the busy haunts of men; and I am told

-that the wild-bee is seldom to be met with at any great distance from

-the frontier. They have been the heralds of civilisation, steadily

-preceding it, as it advanced from the Atlantic borders; and some of

-the ancient (early) settlers of the West pretend to give the very year

-when the honey-bee first crossed the Mississippi. The Indians, with

-surprise, found the mouldering trees of their forests suddenly teeming

-with ambrosial sweets; and nothing, I am told, can exceed the greedy

-relish with which they banquet for the first time upon the unbought

-luxury of the wilderness. At present, the honey-bee swarms in myriads

-in the noble groves and forests that skirt and intersect the prairies

-and extend along the alluvial bottoms of the rivers. It seems to me as

-if these beautiful regions answer literally to the description of the

-land of promise, “a land flowing with milk and honey;” for the rich

-pasturage of the prairies is calculated to sustain herds of cattle as

-countless as the sands upon the seashore; while the flowers with which

-they are enamelled render them a very paradise for the nectar-seeking

-bee.’

-

-A bee-hunt must be a very exciting adventure, and, as most people

-would think, attended with considerable risk; but the ingenuity of

-the settlers, and especially of the bee-hunters, who make a living

-of the business, is equal to the occasion. Let us, for the sake of

-greater brevity, suppose a case, which is, however, little other than

-a narrative of simple facts. A party sets out in quest of a bee-tree—a

-tree in the cavity of which a colony of bees have established

-themselves. The party is headed by a veteran bee-hunter, a tall lank

-fellow, with his homespun dress hanging loosely about him, and a hat

-which might be taken for a beeskep. A man similarly attired attends

-him, with a long rifle on his shoulder. The rest of the party, six in

-number, are armed with axes and rifles. Thus accoutred, they are ready

-for any sport, or even more serious business. Reaching an open glade

-on the skirts of the forest, the party halts, and the leader advances

-to a low bush, on which he places a piece of honeycomb. This is a

-lure for the bees. In a very short time several are humming about it

-and diving into the cells. Laden with honey, they rise into the air

-and dart off in a straight line with almost the velocity of a bullet.

-The hunters watch attentively the course they take, and set off in the

-same direction, still watching the course of the bees. In this way the

-tree where the bees have made their home is reached. But it will often

-happen, as may be suspected, that the bees will elude the sight of the

-most vigilant hunter, and the party may wander about without succeeding

-in finding any treasure. Another method is then adopted: a few bees

-are caught and placed in a small box with a glass top, having at the

-bottom a small piece of honeycomb. When they have satisfied themselves

-with honey, two or three are allowed to escape, the hunters taking

-care to observe the direction of their flight and to follow them as

-rapidly as possible. When these bees are lost sight of, two or three

-others are set free and their course followed, and so on until the

-identical tree has been reached. It sometimes happens that one set of

-bees take an opposite course to their predecessors. The hunter knows

-by this that he has passed the tree, or otherwise missed his mark, and

-he retraces his steps and follows the lead of the unerring bees. The

-sight of the bee is so strong and keen that it can descry its home at

-an immense distance. It is a well-ascertained fact that if a bee be

-caught on a flower at any given distance south of its home, and then

-be taken in a close box an equal distance north of it, the little

-creature, when set free, after flying in a circle for a moment, will

-take a straight course to its identical tree. Therefore, the hunter who

-has intelligence, patience, and perseverance on his side is sure to be

-successful in the end.

-

-It not unfrequently happens that when in the immediate neighbourhood of

-the tree, the hunter may not be able to distinguish the particular one

-he is searching for from the rest, as the entrance to the bee-castle

-is commonly many feet above the ground. He is not then at the end of

-his resources. A small fire is kindled, and upon a piece of stone or

-other suitable material made hot, some honeycomb is placed; the smell

-will at once induce the whole colony of bees to come down from their

-citadel, when the hunters proceed with their axes to bring down the

-tree. A vigorous writer thus describes the proceedings, when the party

-of hunters had traced the honey-laden bees to their hive in the hollow

-trunk of a blasted oak, into which, after buzzing about for a time,

-they entered at a hole about sixty feet from the ground: ‘Two of the

-bee-hunters now plied their axes vigorously at the foot of the tree,

-to level it with the ground. The mere spectators and amateurs in the

-meantime drew off to a cautious distance, to be out of the way of the

-falling of the tree and the vengeance of its inmates. The jarring

-blows of the axe seemed to have no effect in alarming or agitating

-this most industrious community; they continued to ply at their usual

-occupations; some arriving full-freighted into port, others sallying

-forth on new expeditions, like so many merchantmen in a money-making

-metropolis, little suspicious of impending bankruptcy and downfall.

-Even a loud crack, which announced the disrupture of the trunk, failed

-to divert their attention from the intense pursuit of gain. At length,

-down came the tree with a tremendous crash, bursting open from end to

-end, and displaying all the hoarded treasures of the commonwealth.

-One of the hunters immediately ran up with a wisp of lighted hay,

-as a defence against the bees. The latter, however, made no attack,

-and sought no revenge; they seemed stupefied by the catastrophe and

-unsuspicious of its cause, remaining crawling and buzzing about the

-ruins, without offering us any molestation.’

-

-When the tree had been brought down, the whole party fell to with

-spoon and hunting-knife to scoop out the combs with which the hollow

-trunk was stored. A single tree has been known to yield from one

-hundredweight to one and a half hundredweight.

-

-‘Some of the combs were old and of a deep brown colour; others were

-beautifully white, and the honey in their cells was almost limpid.

-Such of the combs as were entire were placed in camp kettles, to be

-conveyed to the encampment; those which had been broken by the fall

-were devoured on the spot. Every stark bee-hunter was to be seen with a

-rich morsel in his hand, dripping about his fingers, and disappearing

-as rapidly as a cream tart before the holiday appetite of a schoolboy.’

-

-Not in America alone, but in Africa also, the wild-bee is an object

-of pursuit by the natives. Even the Hottentots show considerable

-shrewdness in obtaining the wild-honey. The author of an _Expedition

-into the Interior of Africa_ thus describes an operation of this kind:

-‘One of the Hottentots observed a number of bees entering a hole in the

-ground which had formerly belonged to some animal of the weasel kind.

-As he made signs for us to come to him, we turned that way, fearing he

-had met with some accident.’ It was the home of a recent swarm. ‘When

-the people began to unearth the bees, I did not expect that we should

-escape being severely stung; but they knew so well how to manage an

-affair of this kind, that they robbed the poor bees with the greatest

-ease and safety. Before they commenced digging, a fire was made near

-the hole, and constantly supplied with damp fuel, to produce a cloud of

-smoke. In this the workmen were completely enveloped, so that the bees

-returning from the field were prevented approaching, and those which

-flew out of the nest were driven by it to a distance.’

-

-The same writer mentions another incident, even more interesting.

-‘Whilst I was engaged in the chase one day on foot with a Namaqua

-attendant, he picked up a small stone; he looked at it earnestly, then

-over the plain, and threw it down again. I asked what it was. He said

-there was the mark of a bee on it. Taking it up, I also saw on it a

-small pointed drop of wax, which had fallen from the bee in its flight.

-The Namaqua noticed the direction the point of the drop indicated, and

-walking on, he picked up another stone, also with a drop of wax on it,

-and so on at considerable intervals, till, getting behind a crag, he

-looked up, and bees were seen flying across the sky and in and out of

-a cleft in the face of the rock. Here, of course, was the honey he was

-in pursuit of. A dry bush was selected, a fire was made, the cliff

-ascended, and the nest robbed in the smoke.’

-

-An amusing anecdote is related in _Feminine Monarchy_, an old book

-printed in 1609, and given by a Russian ambassador to Rome as ‘written

-out of experience by Charles Butler.’ A man was out in the woods

-searching for honey. Climbing a large hollow tree, he discovered an

-immense ‘find’ of the luscious produce. By some means however, he

-missed his footing, and slipped into the hollow, sinking up to his

-breast in honey. He struggled to get out, but without avail. He called

-and shouted, but alike in vain. He was far from human habitation,

-and help there was none, for no one heard his cries. At length, when

-he had begun to despair of deliverance, he was extricated in a most

-remarkable and unexpected way. Strange to say, another honey-hunter

-came to the same tree in the person of a large bear, which, smelling

-the honey, the scent of which had been diffused by the efforts of the

-imprisoned man, mounted the tree and began to lower himself, hind-part

-first, into the hollow. The hunter, rightly concluding that the worst

-could be but death, which he was certain of if he remained where he

-was, clasped the bear around the loins with both hands, at the same

-time shouting with all his strength. The bear, what with the handling

-and the shouting, was very seriously frightened, and made speed to get

-out of his fix. The man held fast, and the bear pulled until, with his

-immense strength, he drew the man fairly out of his strange prison. The

-bear being released, made the best of his way off, more frightened than

-hurt, leaving the man, as the story quaintly says, ‘in joyful fear.’

-

-We conclude this paper with a story of another kind, a version of

-which was given some years ago in a contemporary; but the French

-bishop was turned into an English prelate, and the bee-keeping curé

-into an Anglican clergyman, the story being otherwise greatly changed.

-The said French bishop, while paying a visit to his clergy, was much

-distressed by the extreme poverty which met him everywhere. Reaching

-the house of a certain curate who lived in the midst of very poor

-parishioners, where he expected to witness even greater destitution,

-he was astonished to find that everything about the house wore an

-appearance of comfort and plenty. Greatly surprised by what he saw, the

-bishop asked: ‘How is this, my friend? You are the first pastor I have

-seen having a cheerful face and a plentiful board. Have you any income

-independent of your cure?’

-

-‘Yes,’ said the curé, ‘I have. My household would otherwise starve

-on the pittance I receive from my poor people. If you will walk into

-the garden, I will show you the stock which yields me such excellent

-interest.’

-

-On going into the garden, the bishop saw a long range of beehives.

-

-‘There,’ said the curé—‘there is the bank from which I draw an annual

-dividend; and it is one that never stops payment.’

-

-The fact was that his honey supplied the place of sugar, leaving him a

-considerable quantity for sale, in addition to other household uses.

-Then, of the washings of the comb and refuse honey he manufactured a

-very palatable wine; while the wax went far to pay his shoemaker’s

-bill.

-

-Ever afterwards, it is said, when any of the clergy complained to the

-bishop of poverty, he would tell the story of the bee-keeping curé,

-following up his anecdote with the advice: ‘Keep bees—keep bees!’

-

-

-

-

-A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.

-

-

-CHAPTER III.—A GRAVE ACCUSATION.

-

-Thus valiant, the Major entered the library at the appointed time. He

-was, however, taken aback on finding that it was not only the gentlemen

-he had to confront, but also two of the ladies—Mrs Joseph and Mrs John.

-Nellie had positively refused to be present. He had not bargained

-for an examination in the presence of the ladies, for he could not

-say before them what he must say in order to exculpate himself. He

-felt that he was being very unfairly treated. But he was thankful for

-small mercies. They might have had Miss Euphemia in to witness his

-humiliation—for humiliation it must be to confess his stupidity in

-despatching the letters in the wrong envelopes.

-

-The Squire was seated at his writing-table, and assumed something of

-his magisterial air (he was a J.P.) as he requested the Major to take a

-chair. The three letters were on the desk before him; and he proceeded

-to read them carefully, whilst profound silence prevailed. Mrs Joseph

-darted angry glances alternately at her husband and the culprit.

-Mrs John looked more serious than usual, but still showed symptoms

-of an inclination to titter. John Elliott stood in the shadow of a

-large bookcase; Maynard near the window which opened to the terrace,

-impatiently twirling his moustache and at intervals glancing fiercely

-towards the Major, who, in his indignation at the whole proceeding,

-returned the glance in a like spirit.

-

-The Squire cleared his throat with a raucous cough. ‘You have placed

-me in a most painful position, Major,’ he began with an evident desire

-to be friendly, which was checked by the frown of his wife. ‘I am as

-tolerant as anybody of a joke. You know that well enough, Dawkins; but

-I can’t stand such a hoax as you have played upon us in sending these

-letters here.’

-

-The Major rose; he felt so much injured, that he was calm. ‘My dear

-friend Elliott’——

-

-‘Oh, confound it—there’s the beginning of the plaguy things,’

-ejaculated the Squire.

-

-‘Allow me to explain. I intended no hoax. These letters were written

-with an earnest desire to avert misunderstanding. Unfortunately, in my

-agitation and haste, I blundered.’

-

-‘Not a hoax—not a joke!’ bellowed the Squire, rising to his feet and

-thrusting the letters into a drawer of the table. ‘Do you mean to say,

-then, that I suspected my wife of anything?’

-

-‘No.’

-

-‘Do you mean to say that a word could be spoken about me in association

-with any one which could or should cause Nellie—Miss Carroll—to be

-displeased with me?’ broke in Maynard threateningly.

-

-‘No.’

-

-‘Do you mean to say that I am in any way involved with another lady?’

-snapped Elliott of Arrowby.

-

-‘No.’

-

-‘Stop a minute,’ interposed Mrs John, in her light-hearted way, coming

-to the rescue of Major Dawkins, and turning to her husband. ‘The Major

-did not say you were involved, John; he only warned me not to mind any

-nonsense I might hear about you. Give our friend time to explain.’

-

-‘I am grateful for your intercession, madam,’ said the Major stiffly.

-‘If your husband has read the letter which, as I have told you, fell

-into Mrs Joseph’s hands by mischance, he knows precisely how the matter

-stands, and I request _him_ to explain, or to speak to me in private.’

-

-‘I have read the letter, of course,’ was the peevish response of John

-Elliott; ‘and it does not suggest anything for me to explain, or why

-you should require a private interview with me.’

-

-The Major had the opportunity to avenge himself on the instant by

-stating before them all why he had written the letters. But Mrs John

-was evidently quite ignorant of her husband’s suspicions; why should

-he pain her by revealing them? The outcome of the revelation would be

-an inevitable rupture between the man and wife. Nellie Carroll had not

-heard John Elliott’s scandal about Maynard: why should he, for his

-own convenience, stir the stagnant pool and increase the distress he

-had already unintentionally caused? No; he would not do that. He had

-blundered, and must pay the penalty.

-

-‘Since Mr John Elliott declines to say anything or to grant me a

-private interview,’ said the Major firmly, ‘the affair must end here.

-I withdraw everything that is written in these unlucky letters, and

-request you to give them back to me, so that they may be at once

-destroyed.’

-

-‘That won’t do,’ rejoined the Squire gruffly; ‘if you won’t make the

-thing clear to us, it has gone too far to end here. I shall place the

-letters in the hands of my solicitor to-morrow morning, and leave him

-to arrange with you.’

-

-‘In that case, you will provoke a family scandal which will cause you

-all much vexation, and cannot possibly do good to anybody.’

-

-‘It will at least teach _some_ person a serious lesson,’ observed Mrs

-Joseph sternly.

-

-‘O madam, the lesson has been learned already,’ answered the Major

-bitterly.—‘But since you, Squire, are not satisfied that I am

-sufficiently punished for my mistake by the loss of your friendship,

-but also mean to take legal proceedings, I must summon a friend from

-town who will convince you that the trouble did not originate with me.’

-

-‘So be it, Major Dawkins; and as things stand, I shall expect your

-visit to Todhurst to terminate to-morrow,’ said the Squire, getting the

-inhospitable words out with much difficulty.

-

-‘It would terminate this instant, were it not that I still desire to

-serve you and your family. So much you will acknowledge to-morrow, and

-then my presence will no longer disturb you.’

-

-There was a degree of dignity in the Major’s retreat which impressed

-everybody except the hot-headed lover, Maynard, who muttered between

-his teeth: ‘If this were not my friend’s house, I would horsewhip the

-little beggar.’ As he could not enjoy that luxury, he occupied his

-talents in seeking a reconciliation with Nellie, and unluckily, but

-naturally, besought the aid of Mrs John. His conversations with her

-in the drawing-room and on the lawn again irritated the suspicious

-husband, who, instead of speaking out frankly, endeavoured to hide the

-bitter thoughts which were passing through his mind, and became more

-abstracted and more disagreeable than ever.

-

-Mrs Joseph perversely held to her opinion that the guest had

-‘something’ to say which she ought to know.

-

-‘But you don’t mean to say, Kitty,’ the Squire expostulated, ‘that if

-I had any fault to find with you I should not speak it straight out to

-yourself, instead of blabbing it to other folk? Past experience ought

-to make you sure that when I am not pleased, you will hear about it

-soon enough.’

-

-‘I know that perfectly well—there is no lack of fault-finding on your

-part to myself; and how am I to tell what you have been saying about me

-to others?’ retorted Mrs Joseph, whose temper being once roused, as has

-been stated, was not easily allayed.

-

-‘Nonsense, Kitty—you don’t believe that I would speak about you to

-outsiders.—Come, now; drop this humbug, for you know it is humbug; and,

-’pon my honour, I think we have been too hard on poor Dawkins.’

-

-‘Before deciding on that point, I shall wait to hear what this friend

-he is summoning from London has to say to-morrow.’

-

-‘I take his word for it, that there was a mistake.’

-

-‘Then he should not make such a mistake, and having made it, ought to

-suffer the consequences.’

-

-‘But, my dear, don’t you see that he is taking the consequences?—and

-infernally unpleasant ones they are. I tell you there is nothing in

-it; and if he had only said it was all a joke, I should have been

-satisfied.’

-

-‘But he said it was not a joke, and told you that if you prosecuted

-him, it would result in a grave family scandal. How can you answer

-that?’

-

-‘I can’t, and he wouldn’t; so we must wait for the person who will.’

-

-There was a kind of armed truce declared in this way between the

-husband and wife—she feeling guiltily conscious that she was somehow

-making a mountain of a molehill; and he feeling perfectly sure of it.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-The Major went straight to his room, resolved that he would hold no

-intercourse with the family until Mrs John’s brother, Matt Willis,

-arrived. Had there been a train that evening to town, he would have

-taken it and brought his friend down; and if there had been a hotel

-in the village, he would have left the house forthwith. But there was

-no train and there was no hotel—not even a beershop, for the country

-folk thereabout mostly brewed their own ale. There was, however, a post

-and telegraph office in the village, and Hollis was despatched with a

-message for Willis, entreating him, for his sister’s sake, to come down

-by the first train on the following morning. That done, he endeavoured

-to compose himself and to take a calm survey of his position. He had

-upset everybody, and most of all himself, by his good-natured anxiety

-to save others from the consequences of their own folly. The thing

-ought to have resulted in a laugh and a shake-hands all round; but

-instead of that, it threatened to become a serious affair for the

-law-courts to deal with; and the Major had no means to enable him to

-indulge in the luxury of a lawsuit.

-

-What was he to do? Nothing but what he had determined upon—to get

-Willis to speak out, since John Elliott would not. There was of course

-the possibility that Willis would refuse, as it was his intense

-repugnance to interfering with family squabbles which had prompted him

-to call for the Major’s assistance as mediator between his sister and

-her husband.

-

-Major Dawkins felt indignant with John Elliott for shrinking from

-speaking the few words which would have put everything right. But the

-truth flashed upon him—perhaps the man was so blinded by his jealousy,

-that he really did not understand what was required of him, when asked

-to explain the position. Although the Major could only surmise that

-this was the case, the surmise was correct; but the true reason why

-John Elliott did not understand him was that he had no idea of his

-conversation with Willis having been repeated to any one. If that were

-so, the Major felt that it was his duty to prevent the threatened

-publicity by every means in his power. Apart from his consideration

-for the feelings of Mrs John and Nellie, there was his own plight to

-be taken into account. Publicity would expose him to ridicule, if not

-contempt, and would inevitably put an end to all hope of winning the

-hand of Miss Euphemia Panton. He resolved to see the Squire the moment

-dinner was over, and make another effort to get him to understand the

-real state of the unfortunate business.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-Servants have a special instinct for discovering the ill-luck of the

-family they serve, and invariably they accept it in a distorted form.

-Then they sympathise with the master and mistress, or rejoice in their

-fallen state, according to the perquisites which have been allowed

-them or withheld from them. Hollis having heard that his master was

-in disgrace with the family they had come to visit, felt that his own

-dignity was at stake; therefore, in the housekeeper’s room and in the

-butler’s pantry he valiantly defended the honour of his chief. He was

-a little crest-fallen when he found that his master was not to join

-the family at dinner, for this circumstance appeared to confirm the

-gossip of the servants’ hall that the Major had been guilty of some

-grave offence, the nature of which was too dreadful to be mentioned.

-Hollis was equal to the occasion, and by taking the position as one

-of great injustice to his master, succeeded, by cautious suggestions

-of forthcoming revelations, in impressing the housekeeper and butler

-with the idea that they would reap a large reward in the future by

-careful attention to the Major’s present needs. The diplomacy of Hollis

-was used as much on his own account as on that of his master; for he

-managed to secure command of the dishes which were most favoured

-by the Major—and himself, as well as a sufficient supply of Clos de

-Vougeot and Heidsieck.

-

-The Major was scarcely sufficiently appreciative of the attentions of

-his servant in catering for him so far as the eatables were concerned;

-and he sadly disappointed Hollis by taking a larger share of the wine

-than that gentleman had expected. For this loss, however, he contrived

-to compensate himself when he got downstairs again. Major Dawkins was

-too eager for the moment when he should be able to speak freely to the

-Squire to find any delight in eating; and although he took the wine,

-it was without any of the relish with which he usually partook of rare

-vintages. When Hollis had cleared the table, he rose immediately,

-disregarding his digestion, and paced the room. He knew that the dinner

-would be a more lugubrious affair than the luncheon had been, and he

-endeavoured to calculate exactly when it would be over.

-

-The time having arrived, he opened his door, which was nearly opposite

-that of the library. To the latter he advanced quickly, knowing that

-the Squire frequently went thither after dinner to examine letters or

-to take a nap. He heard some one moving in the room, and tapped at the

-door. There was no answer. He tapped again, and still receiving no

-answer, boldly turned the handle and entered. There was no one visible.

-He was puzzled, for there had been unmistakable sounds of some one

-moving about and also of the shutting of a drawer. The window which

-opened on the terrace was slightly ajar, and possibly the Squire,

-suspecting who was his visitor, had stepped out in order to avoid him.

-That was both unfriendly and unjust.

-

-The Major was angry, for he could not conceive any reason for being

-avoided in this manner. He looked out: no one was visible on the

-terrace. Then a sudden temptation seized him. He knew exactly in which

-drawer the Squire had placed those abominable letters. They were his

-own—why should he not take possession of them and destroy them? In

-this way the whole miserable business would be ended. Of course, he

-could not deny having written such letters as would be described, but

-they would not be forthcoming; and if it should come to the worst, his

-explanation of the circumstances under which they had been written

-would be listened to with the more patience and consideration.

-

-The temptation was too much for him. For the sake of the family as

-well as for his own sake, those letters must be destroyed. He went to

-the drawer, pulled it open, and there before him lay the letters. He

-snatched them out and thrust them into the breast-pocket of his coat,

-with the intention of burning them when he reached his own room; but at

-that moment his wrists were tightly grasped and he heard the click of

-handcuffs fastened upon them. He was helpless and speechless. He stood

-staring at the smiling face of a broad-shouldered fellow who wore the

-costume of a gamekeeper.

-

-‘Got you at last,’ said this gentleman quite pleasantly. ‘You have

-given me no end of trouble; but, there, I respect you all the more.

-Only, you have been coming it rather strong, and I am surprised that

-you didn’t take a rest, seeing that you’ve had the valuables out of

-half-a-dozen mansions in the county.’

-

-‘What do you mean?’ shouted the Major furiously.

-

-‘Nothing particular,’ replied the complacent gentleman, ‘unless you

-count it particular that I should want you to come along with me. I

-am a constable, and I have been looking out for you for some weeks

-past. So, you had better make no fuss about the matter, but come along

-quietly. It’ll be all the better for yourself.’

-

-‘You confounded fool!’ ejaculated the Major indignantly, ‘do you take

-_me_ for a burglar? I am a guest in this house—I am Major Dawkins.’

-

-‘Alias Captain Jack, alias ’Arry Smith.’

-

-‘Call the family—they will identify me,’ the Major almost shrieked,

-whilst he endeavoured to free himself from his handcuffs.

-

-‘Oh, I’ll call the family,’ answered the detective, as he lifted up a

-jemmy which was lying beside the Squire’s desk. ‘I suppose you don’t

-know what this little tool means, and I suppose you don’t know anything

-about this drawer which has been forced open with it?’

-

-‘You scoundrel, to suspect me of such’——

-

-‘There now; don’t say anything to commit yourself; I’ll call the

-family.’

-

-Thereupon, the detective rang the bell.

-

-The summons was answered by Parker the butler, who was somewhat

-astonished to find a stranger in the library with the Major. The

-latter’s face—purple with rage—and wild gesticulations, with his

-fettered hands, presented a spectacle so astounding that Parker could

-scarcely believe his eyes rested on a guest of the house.

-

-‘Tell your master to come here and release me from this ruffian, who

-takes me—me, Major Dawkins—for a burglar!’

-

-The detective smiled placidly as he addressed the butler: ‘Yes, if

-you please, inform Mr Elliott that he is wanted here on particular

-business.’

-

-

-

-

-ENGLISH COUNSEL AND SOLICITORS.

-

-BY A BARRISTER.

-

-

-Some time ago, an agitation sprang up in favour of the amalgamation of

-the two legal professions in England, and the conduct thereafter of

-litigious business on lines more or less nearly approximating to the

-American system. The movement emanated, no doubt, from the town branch

-of the profession; for it is no secret that many solicitors are anxious

-to distinguish themselves in court by pleading their clients’ causes,

-in place of retaining counsel to do so for them. But, in the face of

-more burning questions, the agitation gradually died away.

-

-It now seems not unlikely to be revived, as it is certain that sooner

-or later it must be. And an _ex cathedrâ_ utterance given by that

-eminently practical judge, Mr Justice Stephen, a short time ago, will

-tend to hasten the course of events in this matter. A case for trial

-before that judge was duly called on, when it was found that the

-plaintiff was unrepresented, his counsel being at the time engaged in

-another court. The plaintiff being unwilling, or at least unprepared,

-to conduct his own case—notwithstanding the growing tendency in favour

-of personally conducted cases—the judge was asked to allow the case

-to stand over, which he did, but not without giving a hint as to the

-possibility of future ‘reform.’ ‘If,’ said his lordship, ‘such an

-incident occurs often, it will become necessary to do away with the

-separation between solicitors and barristers.’ Just so. This is the

-way the question is regarded from the judicial point of view. When

-the judge is put to inconvenience, he speaks out; and if he is at all

-often put to inconvenience, he will act also. But inasmuch as, in most

-actions, each party is represented by more than one counsel—certainly

-no ‘distinguished’ or fashionable counsel will accept a brief without

-a junior—such inconvenience to a judge is of comparatively unfrequent

-occurrence; so that, although one of its members may occasionally

-be found to _speak_ in favour of amalgamation, little or no active

-assistance can be expected from the judicial body.

-

-But how does the question affect other interests? Solicitors, as we

-have hinted, are in favour of amalgamation. It can hardly do them

-much harm, but must in many cases add to their professional incomes,

-which is of course all that, as a body, they want. Barristers are more

-opposed to it, but, we think, without much reason. A few, doubtless,

-will suffer; but the state of the advocate’s profession as a whole can

-hardly be worse than it is at present. There are barristers, it may

-be said, who earn fifteen or twenty thousand pounds a year; but they

-are not many—infinitely fewer in number than those who earn nothing at

-all—and they are probably well above the reach of competition, partly

-by reason of their known and exceptional ability, and partly because

-they have been placed by fashion on a pedestal which is too firm to

-crumble away, at least during their brief span of life. But the few who

-make such incomes may be compared to the large landowners whom Mr Henry

-George and his friends would rob to enrich (?) those who have no land.

-If all the incomes made at the Bar were added together, and their sum

-divided amongst all the barristers, each would have but a pittance, so

-overstocked is the profession. Hence, regarding barristers as forming a

-small community, and giving due consideration to the greatest happiness

-of the greatest number principle, it is pretty obvious that the Bar has

-really little to lose by the bringing about of amalgamation.

-

-Now from the point of view of the public. It is clear that this largest

-interest must benefit by amalgamation. It would promote economy—an

-extremely great gain. It would practically mean the abolition of that

-middle-man who is so obnoxious to economists, so hurtful to the proper

-expression of delicate points, and so wasteful of time. It matters not

-to the public, as long as it is placed in direct communication with

-its counsel, whether that counsel be a solicitor or a barrister; but

-it is of great and increasing importance to the vast body of litigants

-that personal relations should be established between client and

-advocate; and this is what must sooner or later come to pass. Other

-advantages of the amalgamated system have been before urged here and

-elsewhere; they need not be again specified in detail. Technically,

-the probable effect of the system would be the immediate entering into

-partnership of counsel and solicitors; which would mean nothing to the

-general public except the nearer approach of counsel and the vastly

-increased possibility of personal interview with him. Solicitors, in

-fact, would for all practical purposes become barristers’ confidential

-clerks; they would do all the work they do now for settlement by their

-partner counsel; they would receive clients in chambers while their

-partners were engaged in court, and in the event of an unusual press

-of court-work, would conduct the minor cases through their trials.

-The aggregate advantages of such a reform are so obvious, that minor

-interests should not be considered in bringing it about; and we

-are therefore inclined to express a hope that Mr Justice Stephen’s

-criticism of the existing state of affairs may prove to be prophetic of

-the near future.

-

-

-

-

-LADY FREDERICK’S DIAMONDS.

-

-

-I, Arnold Blake, have had a queer up-and-down, checkered sort of

-life, and until I was nearing my fortieth year, was most persistently

-down in my luck. First, it was in Mexico that I tried my fortune, and

-failed. Then, tempted by an enthusiastic friend, I went to Genoa and

-set up there in partnership with him as a merchant. The life was a very

-healthy and happy one, but not what any one could call profitable,

-from a pecuniary point of view—in fact, quite the reverse. After a

-few years, finding it impossible, with both ends stretched to the

-uttermost, to make them meet, we gave that up; and I moved on to Nice,

-where I had two or three substantial friends. There, things took a turn

-for the better, and I gradually formed a niche for myself, in time

-becoming quite an authority in my own small circle. Then, acting on

-good advice, I started a branch bank in connection with a well-known

-one in London. This answered fairly well; I had just as much work as

-I cared to do, was able to pay my expenses, and had even begun to lay

-by a little hoard against the proverbial ‘rainy-day.’ Nice was a gay,

-bright town to live in, and I constantly met old friends, and made many

-pleasant new ones, who were passing through to the South, or spending

-two or three months there, or at Monte Carlo, for the fascinating

-pleasure of either losing their own money, or making a tidy little

-fortune out of somebody else’s pocket.

-

-One afternoon, I was sitting in my small counting-house, writing

-for the English mail, when the door opened, and in came an old

-acquaintance, Sir Frederick O’Connor, with a parcel in his hand. ‘How

-d’ye do, Blake?’ said he cheerily. ‘I’ve come to you to get me out of

-a difficulty. These are my wife’s jewels. Why she has brought them

-with her, family diamonds and all, passes my understanding. I call it

-insane! Fact is I don’t relish the idea of waking up some fine morning

-to find my throat cut! I want to know if you will be so good as to keep

-them in your safe while we are here. Whenever Lady O’Connor wishes to

-dazzle her friends with them, I can easily come round and ask you for

-what she wants.’

-

-Naturally, I willingly consented to find a corner for the jewels; and

-after I had taken an inventory of them, Sir Frederick himself placed

-them in an inner compartment, and I locked the door. I little thought

-what a dance those confounded diamonds should lead me!

-

-A few days after this, at a large garden-party I met Lady O’Connor,

-young, pretty, and happy-looking. She shook hands cordially, expressed

-pleasure at meeting again, and asked if I thought the season would be

-a gay one. ‘By-the-by,’ she said, ‘it is very kind of you, Mr Blake,

-to take care of my valuables. Sir Frederick was quite in despair

-about them, until a happy thought suggested you as their protector.

-I am going to trouble you for some of them to-morrow. Fred will call

-for them; and do not be surprised if you see him bristling with

-bowie-knives and revolvers, for he has a fixed idea that the Nice

-ruffian has a keener nose for other people’s property than any other

-ruffian in the world.’

-

-I answered that her lovely jewels were worthy of an escort armed to the

-teeth, and that I was very glad indeed to be of use to Sir Frederick

-and herself in any way.

-

-The morning after this garden-party—it must have been about half-past

-four or five—my sleepy senses were completely scattered by my door

-being thrown violently open, and Roscoe, my combined valet and

-commissionaire, a quiet and respectful treasure, landing beside me as

-if shot out of a catapult. I knew at once that something very dreadful

-must have happened. Roscoe’s face of horror and despair would have made

-a valuable study for an artist.

-

-‘Get up, sir, at once, and come down to the office. The safe has

-been broken open, and cleaned out, sir, quite empty!’ gasped Roscoe

-breathlessly, pale with excitement.

-

-I cannot recollect what followed during the few minutes in which I

-hurriedly dressed, and Roscoe is far too considerate to have ever

-reminded me of that short scene. The first thing I _do_ remember is,

-finding myself in my office, clothed in a sketchy and uncomfortable

-manner, the victim of one of the most audacious burglaries that

-had taken place in Nice for a very long time. I stood gazing at my

-ransacked safe and rummaged drawers, and at the floor, strewn with

-papers, among which, here and there, I noticed a few gold pieces, which

-seemed as if the robbers had been interrupted or startled in some way

-or other. I was afraid to move from the spot on which I stood until the

-detective, whom I had sent Roscoe off in a _fiacre_ to fetch, should

-arrive, lest I might unwittingly destroy some small but important piece

-of evidence, which his experienced eyes would discover at a glance.

-In a very short time he appeared, and after a friendly word or two,

-commenced his investigations. He carefully examined the safe, the

-window, and the door. Nothing seemed to escape him. He took voluminous

-notes; measured a footmark which he discovered on the floor; but the

-footmark on further inquiry was found to be his own, which rather put

-him out.

-

-I told him of the jewels which had been placed in my care so lately.

-

-‘Your man informed me, monsieur, as we came, that you had diamonds of

-great value in your iron safe.’

-

-A clammy dew broke out suddenly on my forehead, as I remembered that

-Lady O’Connor was counting on appearing in those same jewels at the

-prefecture ball that night.

-

-‘On the strength of what your servant told me, monsieur,’ continued the

-detective, ‘I have already telegraphed to Marseilles, Genoa, and Turin,

-and have directed some of my most trustworthy men to be on the alert at

-the railway station and the port. I will send and let monsieur know the

-moment we get any trace of the stolen property.’

-

-I made out a careful list of all I had lost, gave it to the detective,

-and then returned to my rooms to dress in a rather less superficial

-manner. The awful business of breaking the loss of the jewels to

-Sir Frederick and Lady O’Connor was now staring me in the face, and

-as I walked to their hotel I became a prey to the most paralysing

-nervousness I hope it will ever be my lot to endure. I was shown into

-a charming sitting-room, facing the sea, and though I did not look

-at anything round me, except the two people I had come to see, I

-remembered afterwards every detail of the scene.

-

-They were at breakfast. The refreshing, sun-warmed morning air breathed

-softly in through the open window, scented by the mignonette, which

-grew thickly in boxes on the balcony outside. Lady O’Connor looked very

-graceful and pretty in a long loose gown of some soft Indian silk,

-trimmed with lace. Sir Frederick, also in comfortable unconventional

-garments, was reading aloud a letter, over which they were both

-laughing merrily as I was announced. They welcomed me warmly, looking

-as if early and unexpected visitors were quite a common occurrence,

-and between them, carried on the usual preliminary chit-chat about the

-lovely weather, the delight of being able to breakfast with the window

-open in the month of November, the view, &c., as long as the servant

-remained in the room, while I stood looking from one to the other,

-solemnly bowing my head in silent answer to their cheerful remarks. It

-is not necessary to relate what passed; suffice it to say that both

-Sir Frederick and Lady O’Connor possessed an unusual share of kindness

-of heart and of sympathy with other people’s misfortunes, and they

-endeavoured to make my unpleasant position as easy for me as possible.

-

-Then followed a week of restless activity. I haunted the police bureau;

-if I was not there two or three times a day myself, I sent Roscoe to

-find out for me if any telegrams had arrived on the all-important

-subject, any clue been found to throw the smallest light upon it.

-

-One lovely afternoon, I was walking down the Promenade des Anglais in

-anything but a cheerful frame of mind, indeed I do not think I ever

-felt so utterly depressed before. Nothing whatever had been heard of

-the missing jewels; and during a long consultation that morning with

-Aigunez the detective, he had told me that he firmly believed that

-the robbery was the work of one man, and that the jewels were still

-in Nice. I had been calling at one of the pretty villas beyond the

-Var, and was now making my way down the side of the Promenade next

-the houses, to the _Hôtel de la Mediterranée_, to talk over Aigunez’s

-last suggestion with Sir Frederick O’Connor. As I was passing the high

-solid walls of the now quite unused cemetery, I noticed that the door

-was ajar; and expecting to find there old Baroni the care-taker, whom

-I knew, I pushed open the door and entered. Nobody was there: all was

-silent and solitary. Here and there were untidy heaps of rubbish;

-tangled, overgrown bushes; and propped against the walls were two

-or three gravestones that had covered graves from which the remains

-had been removed to some family vault elsewhere. I could not help

-wondering how much Baroni received for the amount of care and labour

-he bestowed on the old English burial-ground. When my eyes, which were

-uncommonly sharp ones, had become accustomed to the dark shadows thrown

-by the walls, and the brilliant glare where the shadow-line ended, I

-noticed that a gravestone lying in rather a retired spot appeared,

-by the fresh-looking footmarks round it, to have been lately moved.

-I do not think that this circumstance would have roused my curiosity

-in the then preoccupied state of my mind, had it not been that close

-beside it a large branch of a neighbouring tree had been bent down

-and fastened firmly to the ground by means of a stone. This arrested

-my attention, it was so evidently intended to mark the spot. Exerting

-all my strength, I pushed the heavy stone sufficiently to one side to

-enable me to see that it concealed a small pit, recently dug, by the

-look of the mould round it. It was empty! I managed to replace the

-gravestone, and left the cemetery, carefully closing the door behind

-me, and glancing round to see if my actions had been observed.

-

-I hurried on to the hotel, wondering and conjecturing as to the

-possible meaning of the curious little mystery I had just discovered.

-That small oblong pit, for what purpose could it have been prepared?

-My first idea was that a murder had been or was about to be committed,

-and in this way it was intended to get rid of the victim’s body; but

-the hole was certainly not large enough for a grown person. Was it

-possible that it was to be the unblessed, unadorned tomb of some little

-one, done to death by pitiless earthly guardians, who found its frail

-helpless life a burden to them? That was too hideous a fancy. Suddenly,

-the thought struck me that it might be a hiding-place for property! By

-Jove, the diamonds!

-

-At that moment I reached the _Mediterranée_, and going up the broad

-stairs three at a time in my excitement, I knocked at the door of the

-O’Connors’ sitting-room. Sir Frederick was alone, smoking, with the

-last number of the _World_ in his hand.

-

-‘I felt sure that you would come in this afternoon,’ he said, as he

-pushed his cigar case towards me, ‘so I put off going to the club.—What

-is the latest intelligence?’

-

-I first told him of Aigunez’s opinion, that the jewels were still in

-Nice, an opinion which had now gained for me a double significance.

-Then I unfolded my own budget, and told him of all I had seen in the

-old cemetery which had been closed for so many years.

-

-This put Sir Frederick into the wildest spirits. ‘We’ve got them now,

-Blake!’ he exclaimed, ‘and no mistake about it. They’ve run themselves

-into a nice trap. Of _course_, these are the rascals we’re after.—What

-do you say?—Don’t set my heart upon it, in case of disappointment.

-Nonsense! my dear fellow. Don’t you see they cannot get rid of diamonds

-like those in a hurry; and not being able to leave the town puts them

-in a regular fix? It is very dangerous for them to keep such valuable

-things about them, and now, they flatter themselves that they have

-found an uncommonly safe hiding-place. Why, Fate must have led you by

-the very nose to that door this afternoon!’

-

-I laughed. ‘It is as well for us, perhaps, that I did not feel her

-fingers, or things might have turned out differently. We had better

-settle our plan of action for to-night, as it won’t do to let this

-chance slip. How fortunate there is no moon. It will be as black as

-Erebus inside those high walls.’

-

-‘Our best plan,’ said Sir Frederick, ‘is, I think, to hide ourselves

-there as soon as it is dark. We may have a long time to wait; but then,

-again, we may not, and we are much less likely to be observed if we

-slip in early in the evening.’

-

-‘Then I will call for you, Sir Frederick, as soon as it is dark

-enough,’ I answered. ‘And allow me to suggest that we do not take

-Aigunez into our confidence, for it will be a triumph indeed to cut out

-the far-famed French detective in his own line of business.’

-

-I left the hotel with a lighter heart than I had carried about with

-me for some time. Though I had cautioned Sir Frederick not to be too

-sanguine, I was myself convinced that we should have the diamonds in

-our possession before morning. I went back to my rooms, wrote some

-letters, dined, and then tried to quiet my excited mind by pacing up

-and down the sitting-room, smoking my usual post-prandial cigar, till

-I thought it was sufficiently dark to venture forth. The church clocks

-were striking ten as I arrived at the _Mediterranée Hôtel_, and I found

-Sir Frederick performing the same restless quarter-deck constitutional

-on the pavement outside.

-

-‘So glad you’ve come, Blake; I’m anxious to be off now.—What is that in

-your hand?’

-

-‘A small lantern,’ I answered. ‘We shall find it useful.’

-

-‘Got a revolver?’ inquired Sir Frederick in a solemn whisper.

-

-‘No,’ said I, in an equally sepulchral voice; ‘fists are my weapons.’

-

-‘Pooh!’ returned he. ‘Of what use are English fists when you have an

-Italian knife in your ribs?—Here we are!’

-

-The door was exactly as I had left it. There was not a sign of anybody

-near us, so we went quickly through, closing it again behind us. We,

-stood for a minute silent and still, until our eyes had become more

-accustomed to the intense darkness round us; then we groped our way,

-with two or three stumbles against tombstones and over mounds of earth,

-to the spot where I fancied the marked stone must be, and in a few

-seconds I discovered it without doubt, by falling over it. As I was

-collecting myself and my scattered senses together again, after this

-sudden and unpleasant downfall, I heard close beside me a volley of

-muttered execrations from Sir Frederick, who declared, in an agitated

-whisper, that he was sure he had caught a ghost or something very like

-it. At the risk of discovery, I opened the lantern, and for one second

-threw the light on the object he held in his hands. It was an unusually

-large bat, which, disturbed by our intrusion on its own domain, must

-have flown or dropped on to Sir Frederick from the tree under which he

-was standing. He quickly shook it off; and without further adventure

-we concealed ourselves in some thick bushes near the grave. It would

-have required the eyes of a lynx to discover us, hidden as we were

-in the midst of a mass of evergreens, overgrown with a network of

-tangled creepers, and the high black wall behind. There we waited,

-keenly watchful. Not a leaf stirred. A perfectly dead silence lay

-over everything, as if the fairy of the Sleeping Beauty story of our

-childhood held nature bound under her spell. A mouldy, damp, earthy

-vapour rose from the ground at my feet, and seemed to weigh me down as

-if it were something solid.

-

-The clock of Notre-Dame struck eleven. Another long weary hour went

-slowly by, and then the clock struck midnight. I believe I had sunk

-into a sort of doze, when every faculty was suddenly roused by hearing

-a soft movement at the door, which was very gently opened. There was

-a pause, as if the new-comers were listening; the door was shut, and

-a lantern shed its narrow streak of light over the graves at their

-feet. One, two, three dark forms, two of whom carried between them what

-seemed to be a box. Sir Frederick gently nudged me—of course _that_

-contained the jewels. They came quietly to the side of the mysterious

-tombstone, and, setting their burden down on another one close by, they

-set to work, and quickly moved it to one side. I then discovered, to my

-surprise, that the one that held the lantern was a woman. Their faces

-were deep in shadow; I did not once get a glimpse of their features.

-All their movements were quiet and free from haste; they evidently

-had not the smallest notion that discovery was possible. The two men

-carefully laid the box in the hole prepared for it, covered it with

-mould, and, after replacing the stone stretched themselves, and held

-the lantern aloft, the better to survey their handiwork. It seemed very

-satisfactory to their female companion, for I distinctly heard her

-breathe a sigh of unmistakable relief. They left the place as quietly

-as they had come to it, not having, as far as we knew, spoken a word to

-each other the whole time.

-

-It was our turn now. As soon as we were quite sure that we again

-had this dismal solitude to ourselves, we emerged from our damp

-hiding-place and shook ourselves into shape, for naturally we both felt

-very stiff and numb after our long weird vigil. I opened my lantern,

-and we began eagerly to undo the work we had just seen so neatly

-accomplished. It did not take long to remove the stone and scatter the

-thin layer of mould. In a few minutes we had the box—a boy’s oblong

-deal play-box, clamped with iron—lying on a tombstone before us.

-

-‘Open it, Blake,’ said Sir Frederick.

-

-‘Locked,’ I answered as I shook the lid.

-

-‘Take my knife,’ continued the baronet, as he drew from his pocket one

-of the formidable weapons at which his wife had laughed.

-

-It was a common lock, and easily forced. As I threw back the lid, Sir

-Frederick held up the lantern. ‘Take them out, Blake, and see if they

-are all there; it will be a wonderful thing if none are missing.—What

-on earth is that?’

-

-‘It looks to me like a dog-collar,’ I answered, as I shook out a black

-Cashmere shawl in which was wrapped a silver curb chain with a small

-silver bell attached to it.

-

-‘Stolen from somebody else,’ cried Sir Frederick. ‘Get on with the

-rest.’

-

-‘This beats everything,’ said I, and drew forth a small pale-blue

-garment fashioned like a horse’s body-cloth, with a monogram in gold

-thread at one side. ‘It is a dog’s coat.—And what the deuce is this?’

-

-‘A dog!’ we exclaimed simultaneously.

-

-Carefully folded in a piece of soft linen lay the body of a small silky

-white, long-haired terrier—to judge by all its surroundings, a lady’s

-cherished pet. For a few seconds, disgust and disappointment kept us

-silent; then Sir Frederick broke out into a series of execrations more

-amusing than effective.

-

-We had been befooled by our own enthusiasm as amateur detectives, and

-at first were angry, but by-and-by came to see the situation in its

-more grotesque aspect. After giving vent to our feelings in a burst

-of suppressed laughter, we put the little pet back into his play-box

-coffin, being careful to see that everything was just as we had found

-it; and quickly shovelling the mould and pushing the tombstone over it,

-we crept out of the old cemetery. Our feelings were very different from

-those with which we had entered it. We were greatly cheered, however,

-on reaching the hotel to find a line from Aigunez, which had come

-during Sir Frederick’s absence; ‘I am on the right track.’

-

-We heard no more for two days, when the detective reappeared with

-a captive, a valet whom Sir Frederick had dismissed before leaving

-England, who, knowing the great value of the jewels which Lady O’Connor

-was taking with her, had thought it worth his while to follow them, and

-being a clever hand at that sort of work, had succeeded as we have seen.

-

-

-

-

-OCCASIONAL NOTES.

-

-

-THE WEST AUSTRALIAN GOLD-FIELDS.

-

-For some years, the government of Western Australia has offered

-a reward of five thousand pounds for the discovery of a payable

-gold-field within three hundred miles of a declared port. From recent

-news from Perth, it would almost appear that a profitable gold-field

-has at last been discovered. We learn that Messrs Malet and M‘Ewen, who

-were sent by the government to explore the Kimberley District, in the

-extreme north of the colony, have returned, after an expedition which

-nearly proved disastrous to the explorers. They lost their horses;

-and having consumed all their provisions, only escaped starvation by

-coming unexpectedly to a settler’s hut, where they obtained assistance.

-The party arrived barefooted, their boots having fallen to pieces

-on the tramp of one hundred miles. Mr M‘Ewen nearly succumbed to the

-hardships of the journey. A quantity of the new gold has already

-found its way to England. According to advices from Derby, the port

-of the country—named after the present Lord Derby, and situated at

-the head of King’s Sound—large numbers of people, who were totally

-unfitted for the work, were starting for the Kimberley gold-fields. As

-the roads are rough, and provisions scarce and dear, with an absence

-of water, it goes without saying that no one need venture in search

-of wealth without being supplied with plenty of money and an ample

-supply of provisions. The country is described as closely resembling

-the Peak Down District in Queensland. The gold is much scattered, but

-the gullies are numerous. It is expected that so soon as the alluvial

-gold is worked out, productive reefs will be laid bare. The Kimberley

-District, contrary to what many have supposed, is a country about four

-and a half times the size of Scotland, with splendid rivers, and with

-millions of acres of pastoral and agricultural land. The climate has

-been commended by Captain Grey and other explorers as one of the finest

-and healthiest in the tropics. Last year, the population numbered only

-about one hundred white men; the blacks, who are not numerous, are

-tractable. Sheep, cattle, and horses thrive well, so that, whether or

-not the gold-fields fulfil the expectations of those who seek their

-fortune at the gold-fields, there is a fine country to develop. Derby,

-the capital of this district, at the mouth of the Fitzroy River,

-consisted lately of but a few huts and tents, and is the station of a

-government resident. Should the ‘rush’ to the gold-fields continue,

-doubtless all this will soon be changed.

-

-

-ROYAL VETERINARY COLLEGE.

-

-The horse fills so large a place in human affairs, that a few words

-descriptive of an institution devoted to its welfare must interest

-more or less every one. The Royal Veterinary College—situated in Great

-College Street, Camden Town, London, N.W.—discharges the twofold

-function of a hospital and a school; that is to say, it is there the

-sick or maimed horse—or for the matter of that, the sick or maimed

-sheep, ox, dog, &c.—is taken to be doctored; and it is there the young

-man goes for the education and diploma which are to qualify him for

-the vocation of a veterinary surgeon. The scope of the present series

-of papers, however, only justifies our considering the institution in

-its curative capacity. Horse-owners, then, come, in relation to the

-College, under two heads—subscribers and non-subscribers. If elected by

-the Governing Body, or General Purposes Committee, a person becomes a

-yearly subscriber by paying two guineas per annum; or a life subscriber

-either by paying twenty guineas in one sum, or sixteen guineas

-after making the annual payment for not less than two consecutive

-years—certain exceptional conditions applying to firms and companies.

-The privileges of a subscriber are—(1) To have the gratuitous opinion

-of the professors as to the treatment to be applied to any animal of

-his brought for the purpose to the College, but which he may desire to

-retain in his own keeping. (2) To have admitted into the infirmary,

-for medical and surgical treatment, any number of his own horses and

-other animals for which there may be room, at a charge only for their

-‘keep.’ (3) To have in the course of any year five horses, his actually

-or prospective property, examined gratuitously as to soundness, either

-before or after purchase; and to have any further number examined at

-a fee of ten shillings and sixpence per head. (4) To be supplied with

-medicines for animals at a fixed charge. (5) To have, at a fixed rate,

-a chemical analysis made by the Professor of Chemistry at the College

-of any water, provender, oilcake, or other feeding-matter, and of the

-viscera of any animal suspected of being poisoned. (6) In cases of

-extensive or serious outbreaks of disease, to have an investigation

-made into its nature and causes, on payment of the fixed charges. And

-(7) To have a post-mortem examination of any animal, or parts of an

-animal, sent to the College, and receive an opinion of the probable

-cause of death, on payment of a fixed charge. As regards outsiders or

-non-subscribers, the treatment and examination of their animals by the

-staff of the College are subject to a higher tariff of charges. Another

-disability under which they labour is that their animals may not be

-received into the infirmary for treatment. ‘Accidents’ and other urgent

-cases are received into the institution at all times of the day and

-night, special vehicles being kept at hand for their transportation.

-

-A singular by-law of the College is the following: ‘Credit will be

-given for all animals which may die in the infirmary according to

-the amount received for the carcase; but all diseased parts shall be

-considered to be the property of the College.’ Such ‘diseased parts’

-are useful vehicles in the dissecting-room for conveying knowledge to

-the minds of the students.

-

-

-

-

-A SONG OF REST.

-

-

-    O weary Hands! that, all the day,

-      Were set to labour hard and long,

-    Now softly fall the shadows gray,

-      The bells are rung for evensong.

-    An hour ago, the golden sun

-      Sank slowly down into the west;

-    Poor, weary Hands, your toil is done;

-      ’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!

-

-    O weary Feet! that many a mile

-      Have trudged along a stony way,

-    At last ye reach the trysting stile;

-      No longer fear to go astray.

-    The gently bending, rustling trees

-      Rock the young birds within the nest,

-    And softly sings the quiet breeze:

-      ‘’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!’

-

-    O weary Eyes! from which the tears

-      Fell many a time like thunder-rain—

-    O weary Heart! that through the years

-      Beat with such bitter, restless pain,

-    To-night forget the stormy strife,

-      And know, what Heaven shall send is best;

-    Lay down the tangled web of life;

-      ’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!

-

-            FLORENCE TYLEE.

-

-       *       *       *       *       *

-

-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 73319 ***

+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73319 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+[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. 138.—VOL. III.      SATURDAY, AUGUST 21, 1886.      PRICE 1½_d._]
+
+
+
+
+HOLIDAYS IN CAMP.
+
+ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.
+
+
+In the United States, even in the coolest, most northerly portion,
+the summers are long and hot; the July days are scorching and the
+nights are suffocating in the crowded cities and larger towns; with
+August comes a little change, but then come the exhausting ‘dog-days,’
+when, though the mercury will not run so high in the thermometer, the
+atmosphere is as unpleasant as if it were still July.
+
+Those who can afford it—and many who cannot do so, but fancy they must
+do as their wealthy neighbours do—begin in June to flit to seaside,
+mountain, or Springs hotel, where they pay as high a rent for a tiny
+room as would give them a whole house in town. Here the ladies and
+children stay for such a time as suits them, or as suits papa’s purse.
+If the hotel chosen is within a reasonable distance of the men’s places
+of business, they will flock there on Saturday night, and hasten away
+early on Monday morning. At some resorts, certain trains or boats have
+the local name, for the season, of ‘husbands’ train’ or boat, as the
+case may be. The maidens who have no lover to look for at this time
+are on the alert to see what ‘new men’ Messrs So-and-so will bring
+with them this Saturday; for there is an appalling dearth of eligible
+men—eligible, if only as escorts or partners at tennis or cotillon at
+most of these summer resorts. Between Monday and Saturday the ladies
+amuse themselves with fancy-work, gossip, reading of light novels,
+fault-finding with the meals, or with the noise other people’s children
+make, and flirting with the men who, taking their own holiday, are
+remaining at the hotel for a week or two. Then, too, there is usually,
+in so mixed an assembly as must necessarily be found at even the most
+select hotel, at least one person who has something queer, perhaps
+no worse than simply great eccentricity, about her, and so furnishes
+material to her fellow-boarders for endless speculation and gossip.
+
+Hotel-life is so distasteful to many and so expensive, that there
+has of late arisen another way of summering—camping-out; but not
+necessarily tenting, though some prefer that. All over the northern
+portion of the land there are springing up like mushrooms roughly-built
+cottages, which are only better than a tent in that they are
+water-tight, have hard floors, and are not apt to be blown down at the
+first stiff gale. These cottages are often unpainted, or but slightly
+so, and have two rooms, small, down-stairs, and one large or two
+small rooms above; if the latter, the partition is rarely more than
+six feet high. When the campers are a mixed party, not simply father,
+mother, and children, the young men sleep down in the living-room,
+and the up-stairs beds are curtained off by curtains or screens. The
+cottage is always erected near water of some sort, old ocean having
+the preference, and a pinewood on the edge of a pond or lake is also
+popular. I remember one such spot, in Maine, where some friends of mine
+passed a very delightful vacation; it was a pine-grove not many miles
+from the city of Augusta, on the very edge of one of those hundreds of
+fresh-water lakelets which dot Maine so thickly. The owner of the land
+had erected five of these simple houses, and rented them to persons
+of the highest respectability, one being a High School teacher, one a
+Universalist minister, one an editor, and so on. The rental was very
+moderate—at the rate of a dollar a day for those who only wished to
+remain one or two weeks; but at a very much less figure if they took
+a cottage for the two summer months. This price included the use of
+all the ice they needed for the preservation of their food, and a
+rowboat which would hold eight persons. The campers brought their own
+furniture; and it is really surprising how few things one actually
+needs to live in comfort for a month. The pond which bears the Indian
+name—more easy to pronounce than to write—of Cobbasacontee, is well
+stocked with fish, and is dotted all over with pretty little islands,
+which are capital places to land and build a fire to cook the fish
+you have just caught. If you have taken the precaution to bring with
+you a coffee-pot as well as your frying-pan, and some coffee, sugar,
+condensed milk, pepper, salt, and buttered bread, you can soon have a
+meal fit for a king—a hungry king.
+
+How well I remember one such excursion I made two years ago! There were
+five in the party, none very young, and none at all in love with any
+one present. We two ladies were afraid to trust ourselves in the tiny
+sailboat which made part of our fleet of two, so we and my friend’s
+nephew started off in the rowboat. Hardly had we got well out, however,
+when the sailor of the party found that his sail was not fitted to
+the boat it was in; and nothing would suit the men but that sails
+and oars must change places while passengers sat still; and in spite
+of our unspoken qualms and our glances of mistrust slily exchanged
+with one another, we had to go under full sail after all. And how
+the wind did justify its title of ‘fickle as a woman,’ that morning!
+For a few moments we would scud over the water in a rather alarming
+style, considering that our skiff was capable of holding only about
+six persons; then, after having dipped our gunwale quite as often as I
+liked, the breeze would vanish, the sail would hang limp and lifeless,
+and we were becalmed. The other boat was soon far ahead; and while
+we were yet within sight of our camp, the occupants had reached our
+destination, and were hauling in the fish with most provoking rapidity.
+During one of our spasmodic, rapid skims down the pond, we disturbed
+a mother-loon. Laughing at us in the strange, weird manner peculiar
+to that sort of water-fowl, she swam down the shore, trying to allure
+us to chase her, and not believe that there was a nest full of little
+loons, less hardy than the young one which was paddling along beside
+her, among those long sedges from which she had started out with such
+haste as our boat drew near them. For as much as a quarter of mile
+she lured us—so _she_ put it—away from her home, answering us when
+we tried to imitate her tones. Did you ever hear a loon laugh in the
+dusk stillness of a warm summer night? It has a queer, eerie sound—a
+lonesome, unhappy sound. After much tacking and drifting, we came at
+last to a little island where two of my friend’s city neighbours, a
+minister and a learned judge, were camping in a tiny cottage, set in a
+most lovely spot, a tangle of underbrush and blackberry vines growing
+up to the very doorway. Little brown squirrels—so tame that at our
+approach they ran _down_ the trees to see what we were doing in their
+domain—sprang about from tree to tree, or scampered over the soft
+grass, quite aware that no one would harm _them_ while fishes were
+so plenty; birds twittered and sung; Eden could not have been more
+peaceful. There are scores of such islands to be hired or bought for a
+mere song.
+
+Did you ever inspect a house kept by the average man? I have heard that
+men when camping are rarely in the habit of washing dishes any oftener
+than they can help; and since I saw the little kitchen attached to that
+cottage, I am sure some men, some learned men, don’t worry over such
+trifles as greasy pans or grimy tins! The judge and his comrade had
+gone out for a day’s fishing; we had met them on our way down, and
+they cordially bade us make ourselves perfectly at home in their abode.
+We did so. They sent us a message, a few days later, that they wished
+the ladies would visit their house again. I know they hardly recognised
+their own cups and saucers when they went to get supper that night!
+
+The furnishing of most of these cottages is very primitive.
+Comfortable beds are a _sine quâ non_ to those who are accustomed to
+hair-mattresses and pliant springs, and one can sleep sweetly and
+restfully on a bed of dry clean hay. It is not much trouble to carry
+empty ticks, and dry grass or, still better, pine-needles can be had
+for the gathering. Blankets and thick quilts must be on hand, for, no
+matter what the days are, it is sure to be chilly the moment the sun
+is well out of sight. A cot-bed is also necessary—for friends who, in
+town, cannot find time to visit one, will gladly travel fifty miles
+to camp a day or two with their cronies who have a cottage—not only
+for use at night, but to be converted into a lounge in the daytime;
+and of course there will be hammocks to sling under the trees or on
+the piazza. There is always a farmer near who will gladly sell—at city
+prices—butter, eggs, and milk; and as most of these lakes are well
+stocked with fish, black bass, pickerel, trout, or perch—or if the camp
+is on the seashore, there are mackerel, lobsters, clams, and greedy,
+open-mouthed sculpin, which can devour more bait without being hooked
+than any ten other fish, but which make a fairly good chowder when
+enough are caught—no one needs suffer from hunger.
+
+Several pretty groves on the Kennebec and Penobscot rivers are utilised
+for camp-meetings. Here, for a week, usually in the latter part of
+August—when the farmers are done haying—or the beginning of September,
+religious services are held morning, noon, and night, popular preachers
+or exhorters being invited to take part. The grounds immediately around
+the spot where the services are held are generally owned by a stock
+Company, and the regulations for the preservation of good order are
+very strict, and rigidly enforced: lights must be out at a given hour;
+unseemly mirth or secular music is not tolerated on Sunday; the sale
+of intoxicating liquors is not permitted at any time, nor the use of
+them in private tents or cottages, if it can be detected by the patrol
+force always on hand. These rules are absolutely necessary to prevent
+the freedom of camp-life from degenerating into license; for many young
+folks go to camp-meeting who care very little for the religious part of
+the affair.
+
+The Methodists have the largest number of camp-grounds; but other
+denominations are more or less fond of them. I once visited a
+Spiritualist camp-ground on one of these Maine rivers; and a damper,
+more ghostly spot could not well be imagined; everything and everybody
+looked mouldy, and one might, without much stretch of the imagination,
+expect to see a materialised spirit pop up anywhere. I understand,
+however, that there were never any ‘manifestations’ at camp; it was
+only held for the dissemination of their peculiar faith.
+
+A party of about a dozen boys and four or five men have gone for the
+past six years to a little island in a New Hampshire lake not far from
+Lake Winnipisaukee, which is a favourite summer resort on account of
+its beautiful scenery, to pass the months of July and August. Their
+temporary dwelling is very primitive, not much more than a roof and
+three walls, for they intend to spend all their time in the open air.
+Every Sunday afternoon these boys have held religious services; they
+have a small parlour organ, and form a choir themselves. They intend
+this year, if possible, to have their choir properly vested, for
+_their_ service is according to the Book of Common Prayer. There is not
+a church of any sort within a long distance, for this portion of the
+State is rather thinly settled. It is of New Hampshire that residents
+of other States say that the farmers there have to sharpen the noses
+of the sheep, in order that they may crop the grass between the rocks,
+as New Hampshire is all rocks. The natives attend the boys’ service
+as a treat, though, as the church is not very well known there, they
+are not quite sure that they approve of the ceremonial. The service is
+not always lay, however; several distinguished clergy and one or two
+bishops have visited this little camp and have preached for them. One
+of the boys told me that during these six years there had been but one
+Sunday when it rained so hard that they had to hold service in their
+hut. Doubtless, some day there will be a permanent chapel there.
+
+And oh, what good times the little ones have at these camps! No fine
+clothes to be kept clean; no attractive but forbidden alley children to
+be avoided; no danger of being run over; no cross dogs to fear; and no
+venturing out in the water without the knowledge of mamma or nurse, for
+here no one is too busy to have one eye on the little mischiefs; but as
+much paddling about on the brink of the lake or ocean as would delight
+any small heart. And then, too, for mamma’s side of the question: no
+candy-shops to draw the pennies out of her pocket, or the tears from
+disappointed eyes; no coaxing ‘Can’t we go play with So-and-so?’ no
+scarlet fever or measles to be caught from some neighbour’s progeny;
+no evil influences to be feared for the older boys and girls; and no
+parties to be made for or attended by the children.
+
+Mother Nature is a great restorer, and a few days of uninterrupted
+intercourse with her do more to renew the wasted health or relaxed
+energies, than as many weeks of dress and gaiety at a fashionable
+resort; and so sensible people are becoming more and more convinced.
+
+
+
+
+IN ALL SHADES.
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+Before the yelling mob could close again round Harry Noel’s fallen
+body, with their wild onslaught of upraised cutlasses, more dangerous
+to one another in the thick press than to the prostrate Englishman or
+to poor fainting and unconscious Nora, another hasty clatter of horse’s
+hoofs burst upon them from behind, up the hilly pathway, and a loud,
+clear, commanding voice called out in resonant tones that overtopped
+and stilled for a moment the tumultuous murmur of negro shrieks: ‘In
+the Queen’s name—in the Queen’s name, hold; disperse there!’
+
+That familiar adjuration acted like magic on the fierce and half-naked
+throng of ignorant and superstitious plantation negroes. It was indeed
+to them a mighty word to conjure with, that loud challenge in the name
+of the great distant Queen, whose reality seemed as far away from them
+and as utterly removed from their little sphere as heaven itself. They
+dropped their cutlasses instantly, for a brief moment of doubt and
+hesitation; a few voices still shouted fiercely, ‘Kill him—kill him!’
+and then a unanimous cry arose among all the surging mass of wild and
+scowling black humanity: ‘Mr Hawtorn, Mr Hawtorn! Him come in Missis
+Queen name, so gib us warnin’. Now us gwine to get justice. Mr Hawtorn,
+Mr Hawtorn!’
+
+But while the creole-born plantation hands thus welcomed eagerly what
+they looked upon, in their simplicity, as the Queen’s direct mouthpiece
+and representative, Louis Delgado, his face distorted with rage, and
+his arms plying his cutlass desperately, frowned and gnashed his
+teeth more fiercely than ever with rage and disappointment; for his
+wild African passion was now fully aroused, and like the tiger that
+has once tasted blood, he would not be balked of the final vengeful
+delight of hacking his helpless victim slowly to pieces in a long-drawn
+torture. ‘Missis Queen!’ he cried contemptuously, turning round and
+brandishing his cutlass with savage joy once more before the eyes of
+his half-sobered companions—‘Missis Queen, him say dar! Ha, ha, what
+him say dat for? What de Queen to me, I want you tell me? I doan’t care
+for Queen, or judge, or magistrate, or nuffin! I gwine to kill all de
+white men togedder, in all Trinidad, de Lard helpin’ me!’
+
+As he spoke, Edward Hawthorn jumped hastily from his saddle, and
+advanced with long strides towards the fiercely gesticulating and
+mumbling African. The plantation negroes, cowed and tamed for the
+moment by Edward’s bold and resolute presence, and overawed by the
+great name of that mysterious, unknown, half-mythical Queen Victoria,
+beyond the vast illimitable ocean, fell back sullenly to right and
+left, and made a little lane through the middle of the crowd for the
+Queen’s representative to mount the staircase. Edward strode up,
+without casting a single glance on either side, to where Delgado stood
+savagely beside Harry Noel’s fallen body, and put his right hand with
+an air of indisputable authority upon the frantic African’s uplifted
+arm. Delgado tried to shake him off suddenly with a quick, adroit,
+convulsive movement; but Edward’s grip was tight and vice-like, and
+he held the black arm powerless in his grasp, as he spoke aloud a few
+words in some unknown language, which sounded to the group of wondering
+negroes like utter gibberish—or perhaps some strange spell with which
+the representative of Queen Victoria knew how to conjure by some still
+more potent and terrible obeah than even Delgado’s.
+
+But Louis Delgado alone knew that the words were Arabic, and that
+Edward Hawthorn grasped his arm: ‘In the name of Allah, the All-wise,
+the most Powerful!’
+
+At the sound of that mighty spell, a powerful one, indeed, to the
+fierce, old, half-christianised Mohammedan, Delgado’s arm dropped
+powerless to his trembling side, and he fell back, gnashing his teeth
+like a bulldog balked of a fight, into the general mass of plantation
+negroes. There he stood, dazed and stunned apparently, leaning up
+sulkily against the piazza post, but speaking not a word to either
+party for good or for evil.
+
+The lull was but for a minute; and Edward Hawthorn saw at once that
+if he was to gain any permanent advantage by the momentary change
+of feeling in the fickle negro mob, he must keep their attention
+distracted for a while, till their savage passions had time to cool a
+little, and the effect of this unwonted orgy of fire and bloodshed had
+passed away before the influence of sober reflection. A negro crowd is
+like a single creature of impulse—swayed to and fro a hundred times
+more easily than even a European mob by every momentary passing wave of
+anger or of feeling.
+
+‘Take up Mr Noel and Miss Dupuy,’ he said aside in his cool commanding
+tone to the Orange Grove servants:—‘Mr Noel isn’t dead—I see him
+breathing yet—and lay them on a bed and look after them, while I speak
+to these angry people.’ Then he turned, mastering himself with an
+effort for that terrible crisis, and taking a chair from the piazza,
+he mounted it quickly, and began to speak in a loud voice, unbroken by
+a single tremor of fear, like one addressing a public meeting, to the
+great sea of wondering, upturned black faces, lighted up from behind in
+lurid gleams by the red glare of the still blazing cane-houses.
+
+‘My friends,’ he said, holding his hand before him, palm outward, in a
+mute appeal for silence and a fair hearing, ‘listen to me for a moment.
+I want to speak to you; I want to help you to what you yourselves are
+blindly seeking. I am here to-night as Queen Victoria’s delegate and
+representative. Queen Victoria has your welfare and interest at heart;
+and she has sent me out to this island to do equal justice between
+black man and white man, and to see that no one oppresses another by
+force or fraud, by lawlessness or cunning. As you all know, I am in
+part a man of your own blood; and Queen Victoria, in sending me out
+to judge between you, and in appointing so many of your own race to
+posts of honour here in Trinidad, has shown her wish to favour no one
+particular class or colour to the detriment or humiliation of the
+others. But in doing as I see you have done to-night—in burning down
+factories, in attacking houses, in killing or trying to kill your own
+employers, and helpless women, and men who have done no crime against
+you except trying to protect your victims from your cruel vengeance—in
+doing this, my friends, you have not done wisely. That is not the way
+to get what you want from Queen Victoria.—What is it you want? Tell me
+that. That is the first thing. If it is anything reasonable, the Queen
+will grant it. What do you want from Queen Victoria?’
+
+With one voice the whole crowd of lurid upturned black faces answered
+loudly and earnestly: ‘Justice, justice!’
+
+Edward paused a moment, with rhetorical skill, and looked down at
+the mob of shouting lips with a face half of sternness and half of
+benevolence. ‘My friends,’ he said again, ‘you shall have justice. You
+haven’t always had it in the past—that I know and regret; but you
+shall have it, trust me, henceforth in the future. Listen to me. I know
+you have often suffered injustice. Your rights have not been always
+respected, and your feelings have many times been ruthlessly trampled
+upon. Nobody sympathises with you more fully than I do. But just
+because I sympathise with you so greatly, I feel it my duty to warn you
+most earnestly against acting any longer as you have been acting this
+evening. I am your friend—you know I am your friend. From me, I trust,
+you have never had anything less than equal justice.’
+
+‘Dat’s true—dat’s true!’ rang in a murmuring wave of assent from the
+eager listening crowd of negroes.
+
+‘Well,’ Edward went on, lowering his tone to more persuasive accents,
+‘be advised by me, then, and if you want to get what you ask from Queen
+Victoria, do as I tell you. Disperse to-night quietly and separately.
+Don’t go off in a body together and talk with one another excitedly
+around your watch-fires about your wrongs and your grievances. Burn
+no more factories and cane-houses. Attack no more helpless men and
+innocent women. Think no more of your rights for the present. But go
+each man to his own hut, and wait to see what Queen Victoria will do
+for you.—If you continue foolishly to burn and riot, shall I tell you
+in plain words what will happen to you? The governor will be obliged to
+bring out the soldiers and the volunteers against you; they will call
+upon you, as I call upon you now, in the Queen’s name, to lay down your
+pistols and your guns and your cutlasses; and if you don’t lay them
+down at once, they will fire upon you, and disperse you easily. Don’t
+be deceived. Don’t believe that because you are more numerous—because
+there are so many more of you than of the white men—you could conquer
+them and kill them by main force, if it ever came to open fighting.
+The soldiers, with their regular drill and their good arms and their
+constant training, could shoot you all down with the greatest ease,
+in spite of your numbers and your pistols and your cutlasses. I don’t
+say this to frighten you or to threaten you; I say it as your friend,
+because I don’t want you foolishly to expose yourselves to such a
+terrible butchery and slaughter.’
+
+A murmur went through the crowd once more, and they looked dubiously
+and inquiringly toward Louis Delgado. But the African gave no sign and
+made no answer; he merely stood sullenly still by the post against
+which he was leaning; so Edward hastened to reassure the undecided mob
+of listening negroes by turning quickly to the other side of the moot
+question.
+
+‘Now, listen again,’ he said, ‘for what I’m going to say to you now
+is very important. If you will disperse, and go each to his own home,
+without any further trouble or riot, I will undertake, myself, to go
+to England on purpose for you, and tell Queen Victoria herself about
+all your troubles. I will tell her that you haven’t always been justly
+treated, and I’ll try to get new and better laws made in future for
+you, under which you may secure more justice than you sometimes get
+under present arrangements. Do you understand me? If you go home at
+once, I promise to go across the sea and speak to Queen Victoria
+herself on your behalf, over in England.’
+
+The view of British constitutional procedure implied in Edward
+Hawthorn’s words was not perhaps strictly accurate; but his negro
+hearers would hardly have felt so much impressed if he had offered to
+lay their grievances boldly at the foot of that impersonal entity,
+the Colonial Office; while the idea that they were to have a direct
+spokesman, partly of their own blood, with the Queen herself, flattered
+their simple African susceptibilities and helped to cool their savage
+anger. Like children as they are, they began to smile and show their
+great white teeth in infantile satisfaction, as pleasantly as though
+they had never dreamt ten minutes earlier of hacking Harry Noel’s body
+fiercely into little pieces; and more than one voice cried out in
+hearty tones: ‘Hoorrah for Mr Hawtorn! Him de black man fren’. Gib him
+a cheer, boys! Him gwine to ’peak for us to Queen Victoria!’
+
+‘Then promise me faithfully,’ Edward said, holding out his hand once
+more before him, ‘that you’ll all go home this very minute and settle
+down quietly in your own houses.’
+
+‘We promise, sah,’ a dozen voices answered eagerly.
+
+Edward Hawthorn turned anxiously for a moment to Louis Delgado. ‘My
+brother,’ he said to him rapidly in Arabic, ‘this is your doing. You
+must help me now to quiet the people you have first so fiercely and
+so foolishly excited. Assist me in dispersing them, and I will try to
+lighten for you the punishment which will surely be inflicted upon you
+as ringleader, when this is all over.’
+
+But Delgado, propped in a stony attitude against the great wooden post
+of the piazza, answered still never a word. He stood there to all
+appearance in stolid and sullen indifference to all that was passing so
+vividly around him, with his white and bloodshot eyes staring vacantly
+into the blank darkness that stretched in front of him, behind the
+flickering light of the now collapsed and burnt-out cane-houses.
+
+Edward touched him lightly on his bare arm. To his utter horror and
+amazement, though not cold, it was soft and corpse-like, as in the
+first hour of death, before rigidity and chilliness have begun to set
+in. He looked up into the bloodshot eyes. Their staring balls seemed
+already glazed and vacuous, utterly vacant of the fierce flashing
+light that had gleamed from the pupils so awfully and savagely but ten
+minutes before, as he brandished his cutlass with frantic yells above
+Harry Noel’s fallen body. Two of the plantation negroes, attracted
+by Edward’s evident recoil of horror, came forward with curiosity,
+flinging down their cutlasses, and touched the soft cheeks, not with
+the reverent touch which a white man feels always due to the sacredness
+of death, but harshly and rudely, as one might any day touch a
+senseless piece of stone or timber.
+
+Edward looked at them with a pallid face of mute inquiry. The youngest
+of the two negroes drew back for a second, overtaken apparently by a
+superstitious fear, and murmured low in an awe-struck voice: ‘Him dead,
+sah, dead—stone dead. Dead dis ten minute, since ever you begin to
+’peak to de people, sah.’
+
+He was indeed. His suppressed rage at the partial failure of his
+deeply cherished scheme of vengeance on the hated white men, coming
+so close upon his paroxysm of triumph over the senseless bodies of
+Mr Dupuy and Harry Noel, had brought about a sudden fit of cardiac
+apoplexy. The old African’s savage heart had burst outright with
+conflicting emotions. Leaning back upon the pillar for support, as he
+felt the blood failing within him, he had died suddenly and unobserved
+without a word or a cry, and had stood there still, as men will often
+stand under similar circumstances, propped up against the supporting
+pillar, in the exact attitude in which death had first overtaken him.
+In the very crisis of his victory and his defeat, he had been called
+away suddenly to answer for his conduct before a higher tribunal than
+the one with which Edward Hawthorn had so gently and forbearingly
+threatened him.
+
+The effect of this sudden catastrophe upon the impressionable minds of
+the excited negroes was indeed immediate and overwhelming. Lifting up
+their voices in loud wails and keening, as at their midnight wakes,
+they cried tremulously one after another: ‘De Lard is against us—de
+Lard is against us! Ebbery man to your tents, O Israel! De Lard hab
+killed Delgado—hab killed Delgado—hab smitten him down, for de murder
+him committed!’ To their unquestioning antique faith, it was the
+visible judgment of heaven against their insurrection, the blood of
+Theodore Dupuy and Harry Noel crying out for vengeance from the floor
+of the piazza, like the blood of righteous Abel long before, crying out
+for vengeance from the soil of Eden.
+
+More than one of them believed in his heart, too, that the mysterious
+words in the unknown language which Edward Hawthorn had muttered over
+the old African were the spell that had brought down upon him before
+their very eyes the unseen bolt of the invisible powers. Whether it
+were obeah, or whether it were imprecation and solemn prayer to the God
+of heaven, they thought within themselves, in their dim, inarticulate,
+unspoken fashion, that ‘Mr Hawtorn word bring down de judgment dat very
+minute on Louis Delgado.’
+
+In an incredibly short space of time, the great crowd of black faces
+had melted away as quickly as it came, and Edward Hawthorn was left
+alone in the piazza, with none but the terrified servants of the Orange
+Grove household to help him in his task or to listen to his orders. All
+that night long, across the dark gorge and the black mango grove, they
+could hear the terrified voices of the negroes in their huts singing
+hymns, and crying aloud in strange prayers to God in heaven that the
+guilt of this murder might not be visited upon their heads, as it had
+been visited before their very eyes that night on Louis Delgado. To the
+negro mind, the verdict of fate is the verdict of heaven.
+
+‘Take up his body, too, and lay it down on the sofa,’ Edward said to
+Uncle ’Zekiel, still beside himself with terror at the manifold horrors
+of this tragical evening.
+
+‘I doan’t can dare, sah,’ Uncle ’Zekiel answered tremulously—‘I doan’t
+can dare lay me hand upon de corpse, I tellin’ you, sah. De finger ob
+de Lard has smite Delgado. I doan’t dare to lift an’ carry him.’
+
+‘One of you boys, then, come and help me,’ Edward cried, holding up the
+corpse with one hand to keep it from falling.
+
+But not one of them dared move a single step nearer to the terrible
+awe-inspiring object.
+
+At last, finding that no help was forthcoming on any hand, Edward
+lifted up the ghastly burden all by himself in his own arms, and laid
+it down reverently and gently on the piazza sofa. ‘It is better so,’ he
+murmured to himself slowly and pitifully. ‘There will be no more blood
+on either side shed at anyrate for this awful evening’s sorry business.’
+
+And then at length he had leisure to turn back into the house itself
+and make inquiries after Mr Dupuy and Harry and Nora.
+
+
+
+
+WILD-BEES AND BEE-HUNTING.
+
+
+There are, it is said, no fewer than twenty-seven genera, and one
+hundred and seventy-seven species of bees, natives of Great Britain.
+But one only of all these, the _Apis millifica_, or common honey-bee,
+has been domesticated. Attempts have been made with others, especially
+with the _bombus_, or humble-bee, but without any adequate success.
+
+The frequent mention of honey in the Old Testament from the patriarchal
+ages downward, and the description of Palestine as ‘a land flowing
+with milk and honey,’ may well have raised the question whether the
+honey was obtained from bees in a wild condition or in a state of
+domestication. The weight of evidence is in favour of the former. In
+the somewhat wandering life, as ‘strangers and pilgrims,’ which many of
+the patriarchs led, bee-culture would have been very inconvenient, if
+not impossible; and as honey was to be had in rich abundance simply for
+the seeking, there would be little inducement to undertake unnecessary
+cares and labours in the domestication of the native variety. There is
+no question, however, as to the possibility of inducing wild bees to
+accept domestication. In Cashmere and the north of India, the natives
+have a simple and ready method of doing this: in building their houses,
+they leave cavities in one of the walls having a sunny aspect, with
+a small hole like that of a modern hive opening outwards. The inner
+side of the wall is fitted with a frame of wood with a door attached.
+A swarm of bees in search of a new home—or perhaps the pioneers who
+are sent, a day or two before the actual swarming, to seek out a
+dwelling-place—would be attracted by such an ‘open door,’ and the
+family, or army, ten, twenty, or thirty thousand strong, would at once
+take possession. The vacant space would soon be filled by the busy
+workers; and the inmates of the house, having access to the store by
+means of the open door, could move a comb or two at pleasure, without
+distressing the bees, simply using the precaution of blowing in as much
+smoke at the back as would cause the bees to fly out at the front.
+English travellers report having seen the operation performed, and
+the bees quietly return when the work was done. The plan has been
+recommended for use in this country. It is at least practicable, if
+not necessary. In dwelling-houses there might be risks, which would
+not apply to farm-buildings and erections around a country house. But
+if man has not utilised this plan, the bees themselves have acted upon
+it. An instance of two within the writer’s own knowledge may not be
+uninteresting.
+
+I was the tenant of Rose Cottage, Brenchley, Kent, from 1853 to 1862.
+The house—which has been considerably altered since—was well adapted
+for such a purpose. The upper parts of the walls were formed, as is
+common in that part of the county, externally of tiles on a framework
+of wood, and internally of lath and plaster. In the cavities there
+would be ample space for large stores of comb and honey. A swarm
+of bees took possession of a portion of the front wall, having a
+south-south-eastern aspect, entering their abode through a crevice
+between the tiles just over one of the chamber windows. They held
+possession for several years, and still held their own when I left
+the cottage. As they never swarmed, it is almost certain there must
+have been a large collection of honey; but for some reason or other,
+chiefly, no doubt, on account of the difficulty of taking the honey
+without injuring the house and exposing the whole family to the attacks
+of the bees, I profited in no way by their busy labours.
+
+Less than ten years ago, when making a call at the old farmhouse,
+Penrhos, Lyonshall, Herefordshire, my attention was directed to a
+colony of bees which had made a settlement in the upper part of one
+of the walls of the house. I suggested the removal of a portion of
+the inner wall, and predicted a large ‘find.’ After some time, this
+advice was acted on; but the farmer adopted a plan which I should have
+strongly deprecated—the plan of destroying with brimstone the entire
+bee community. The store of honey was so great that every available
+keeler and pan in the house was filled to the extent of nearly two
+hundredweight.
+
+Two other instances may be cited, as reported in the _West Surrey
+Times_. One is that of an extraordinary ‘take’ of honey from the walls
+of the _Hautboy and Fiddle Inn_, Ockham, Surrey. The outer walls of
+the house are about three feet in thickness, and at the very top of
+the third story a colony of bees had established themselves, holding
+undisturbed possession for a number of years. At length the innkeeper
+determined to find out their whereabouts. After a diligent search
+under the roof, a piece of comb was found. Descending to one of the
+upper bedrooms, chisel and hammer went to work, and a square of about
+two feet was opened in the front wall; here a large mass of comb was
+discovered; and after fumigating the bees, about one hundred and twenty
+pounds of honey were secured. Another and still more extraordinary
+‘take’ of honey was secured at Winter’s Hall, Bramley, Surrey, the seat
+of Mr George Barrett. Some bees had long held possession of a space
+between the ceiling of the coachhouse and the granary: on effecting an
+entrance, about three hundredweight of honey was secured.
+
+In some countries the honey-bee still roams at will and uncontrolled;
+this is notably the case in the western parts of the United States
+and Canada. The discovery of their natural hives for the purpose of
+securing the honey is the calling of a class of persons known as
+bee-hunters. A writer of considerable repute thus speaks on this
+subject: ‘The beautiful forests in which we were encamped abounded
+in bee-trees; that is to say, trees in the decayed trunks of which
+wild-bees had established their hives. It is surprising in what
+countless swarms the bees have overspread the Far West within but a
+moderate number of years. The Indians consider them the harbinger
+of the white man, as the buffalo is of the red man, and say that in
+proportion as the bee advances, the Indian and the buffalo retire. We
+are always accustomed to associate the hum of the beehive with the
+farmhouse and the flower-garden, and to consider those industrious
+little animals as connected with the busy haunts of men; and I am told
+that the wild-bee is seldom to be met with at any great distance from
+the frontier. They have been the heralds of civilisation, steadily
+preceding it, as it advanced from the Atlantic borders; and some of
+the ancient (early) settlers of the West pretend to give the very year
+when the honey-bee first crossed the Mississippi. The Indians, with
+surprise, found the mouldering trees of their forests suddenly teeming
+with ambrosial sweets; and nothing, I am told, can exceed the greedy
+relish with which they banquet for the first time upon the unbought
+luxury of the wilderness. At present, the honey-bee swarms in myriads
+in the noble groves and forests that skirt and intersect the prairies
+and extend along the alluvial bottoms of the rivers. It seems to me as
+if these beautiful regions answer literally to the description of the
+land of promise, “a land flowing with milk and honey;” for the rich
+pasturage of the prairies is calculated to sustain herds of cattle as
+countless as the sands upon the seashore; while the flowers with which
+they are enamelled render them a very paradise for the nectar-seeking
+bee.’
+
+A bee-hunt must be a very exciting adventure, and, as most people
+would think, attended with considerable risk; but the ingenuity of
+the settlers, and especially of the bee-hunters, who make a living
+of the business, is equal to the occasion. Let us, for the sake of
+greater brevity, suppose a case, which is, however, little other than
+a narrative of simple facts. A party sets out in quest of a bee-tree—a
+tree in the cavity of which a colony of bees have established
+themselves. The party is headed by a veteran bee-hunter, a tall lank
+fellow, with his homespun dress hanging loosely about him, and a hat
+which might be taken for a beeskep. A man similarly attired attends
+him, with a long rifle on his shoulder. The rest of the party, six in
+number, are armed with axes and rifles. Thus accoutred, they are ready
+for any sport, or even more serious business. Reaching an open glade
+on the skirts of the forest, the party halts, and the leader advances
+to a low bush, on which he places a piece of honeycomb. This is a
+lure for the bees. In a very short time several are humming about it
+and diving into the cells. Laden with honey, they rise into the air
+and dart off in a straight line with almost the velocity of a bullet.
+The hunters watch attentively the course they take, and set off in the
+same direction, still watching the course of the bees. In this way the
+tree where the bees have made their home is reached. But it will often
+happen, as may be suspected, that the bees will elude the sight of the
+most vigilant hunter, and the party may wander about without succeeding
+in finding any treasure. Another method is then adopted: a few bees
+are caught and placed in a small box with a glass top, having at the
+bottom a small piece of honeycomb. When they have satisfied themselves
+with honey, two or three are allowed to escape, the hunters taking
+care to observe the direction of their flight and to follow them as
+rapidly as possible. When these bees are lost sight of, two or three
+others are set free and their course followed, and so on until the
+identical tree has been reached. It sometimes happens that one set of
+bees take an opposite course to their predecessors. The hunter knows
+by this that he has passed the tree, or otherwise missed his mark, and
+he retraces his steps and follows the lead of the unerring bees. The
+sight of the bee is so strong and keen that it can descry its home at
+an immense distance. It is a well-ascertained fact that if a bee be
+caught on a flower at any given distance south of its home, and then
+be taken in a close box an equal distance north of it, the little
+creature, when set free, after flying in a circle for a moment, will
+take a straight course to its identical tree. Therefore, the hunter who
+has intelligence, patience, and perseverance on his side is sure to be
+successful in the end.
+
+It not unfrequently happens that when in the immediate neighbourhood of
+the tree, the hunter may not be able to distinguish the particular one
+he is searching for from the rest, as the entrance to the bee-castle
+is commonly many feet above the ground. He is not then at the end of
+his resources. A small fire is kindled, and upon a piece of stone or
+other suitable material made hot, some honeycomb is placed; the smell
+will at once induce the whole colony of bees to come down from their
+citadel, when the hunters proceed with their axes to bring down the
+tree. A vigorous writer thus describes the proceedings, when the party
+of hunters had traced the honey-laden bees to their hive in the hollow
+trunk of a blasted oak, into which, after buzzing about for a time,
+they entered at a hole about sixty feet from the ground: ‘Two of the
+bee-hunters now plied their axes vigorously at the foot of the tree,
+to level it with the ground. The mere spectators and amateurs in the
+meantime drew off to a cautious distance, to be out of the way of the
+falling of the tree and the vengeance of its inmates. The jarring
+blows of the axe seemed to have no effect in alarming or agitating
+this most industrious community; they continued to ply at their usual
+occupations; some arriving full-freighted into port, others sallying
+forth on new expeditions, like so many merchantmen in a money-making
+metropolis, little suspicious of impending bankruptcy and downfall.
+Even a loud crack, which announced the disrupture of the trunk, failed
+to divert their attention from the intense pursuit of gain. At length,
+down came the tree with a tremendous crash, bursting open from end to
+end, and displaying all the hoarded treasures of the commonwealth.
+One of the hunters immediately ran up with a wisp of lighted hay,
+as a defence against the bees. The latter, however, made no attack,
+and sought no revenge; they seemed stupefied by the catastrophe and
+unsuspicious of its cause, remaining crawling and buzzing about the
+ruins, without offering us any molestation.’
+
+When the tree had been brought down, the whole party fell to with
+spoon and hunting-knife to scoop out the combs with which the hollow
+trunk was stored. A single tree has been known to yield from one
+hundredweight to one and a half hundredweight.
+
+‘Some of the combs were old and of a deep brown colour; others were
+beautifully white, and the honey in their cells was almost limpid.
+Such of the combs as were entire were placed in camp kettles, to be
+conveyed to the encampment; those which had been broken by the fall
+were devoured on the spot. Every stark bee-hunter was to be seen with a
+rich morsel in his hand, dripping about his fingers, and disappearing
+as rapidly as a cream tart before the holiday appetite of a schoolboy.’
+
+Not in America alone, but in Africa also, the wild-bee is an object
+of pursuit by the natives. Even the Hottentots show considerable
+shrewdness in obtaining the wild-honey. The author of an _Expedition
+into the Interior of Africa_ thus describes an operation of this kind:
+‘One of the Hottentots observed a number of bees entering a hole in the
+ground which had formerly belonged to some animal of the weasel kind.
+As he made signs for us to come to him, we turned that way, fearing he
+had met with some accident.’ It was the home of a recent swarm. ‘When
+the people began to unearth the bees, I did not expect that we should
+escape being severely stung; but they knew so well how to manage an
+affair of this kind, that they robbed the poor bees with the greatest
+ease and safety. Before they commenced digging, a fire was made near
+the hole, and constantly supplied with damp fuel, to produce a cloud of
+smoke. In this the workmen were completely enveloped, so that the bees
+returning from the field were prevented approaching, and those which
+flew out of the nest were driven by it to a distance.’
+
+The same writer mentions another incident, even more interesting.
+‘Whilst I was engaged in the chase one day on foot with a Namaqua
+attendant, he picked up a small stone; he looked at it earnestly, then
+over the plain, and threw it down again. I asked what it was. He said
+there was the mark of a bee on it. Taking it up, I also saw on it a
+small pointed drop of wax, which had fallen from the bee in its flight.
+The Namaqua noticed the direction the point of the drop indicated, and
+walking on, he picked up another stone, also with a drop of wax on it,
+and so on at considerable intervals, till, getting behind a crag, he
+looked up, and bees were seen flying across the sky and in and out of
+a cleft in the face of the rock. Here, of course, was the honey he was
+in pursuit of. A dry bush was selected, a fire was made, the cliff
+ascended, and the nest robbed in the smoke.’
+
+An amusing anecdote is related in _Feminine Monarchy_, an old book
+printed in 1609, and given by a Russian ambassador to Rome as ‘written
+out of experience by Charles Butler.’ A man was out in the woods
+searching for honey. Climbing a large hollow tree, he discovered an
+immense ‘find’ of the luscious produce. By some means however, he
+missed his footing, and slipped into the hollow, sinking up to his
+breast in honey. He struggled to get out, but without avail. He called
+and shouted, but alike in vain. He was far from human habitation,
+and help there was none, for no one heard his cries. At length, when
+he had begun to despair of deliverance, he was extricated in a most
+remarkable and unexpected way. Strange to say, another honey-hunter
+came to the same tree in the person of a large bear, which, smelling
+the honey, the scent of which had been diffused by the efforts of the
+imprisoned man, mounted the tree and began to lower himself, hind-part
+first, into the hollow. The hunter, rightly concluding that the worst
+could be but death, which he was certain of if he remained where he
+was, clasped the bear around the loins with both hands, at the same
+time shouting with all his strength. The bear, what with the handling
+and the shouting, was very seriously frightened, and made speed to get
+out of his fix. The man held fast, and the bear pulled until, with his
+immense strength, he drew the man fairly out of his strange prison. The
+bear being released, made the best of his way off, more frightened than
+hurt, leaving the man, as the story quaintly says, ‘in joyful fear.’
+
+We conclude this paper with a story of another kind, a version of
+which was given some years ago in a contemporary; but the French
+bishop was turned into an English prelate, and the bee-keeping curé
+into an Anglican clergyman, the story being otherwise greatly changed.
+The said French bishop, while paying a visit to his clergy, was much
+distressed by the extreme poverty which met him everywhere. Reaching
+the house of a certain curate who lived in the midst of very poor
+parishioners, where he expected to witness even greater destitution,
+he was astonished to find that everything about the house wore an
+appearance of comfort and plenty. Greatly surprised by what he saw, the
+bishop asked: ‘How is this, my friend? You are the first pastor I have
+seen having a cheerful face and a plentiful board. Have you any income
+independent of your cure?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said the curé, ‘I have. My household would otherwise starve
+on the pittance I receive from my poor people. If you will walk into
+the garden, I will show you the stock which yields me such excellent
+interest.’
+
+On going into the garden, the bishop saw a long range of beehives.
+
+‘There,’ said the curé—‘there is the bank from which I draw an annual
+dividend; and it is one that never stops payment.’
+
+The fact was that his honey supplied the place of sugar, leaving him a
+considerable quantity for sale, in addition to other household uses.
+Then, of the washings of the comb and refuse honey he manufactured a
+very palatable wine; while the wax went far to pay his shoemaker’s
+bill.
+
+Ever afterwards, it is said, when any of the clergy complained to the
+bishop of poverty, he would tell the story of the bee-keeping curé,
+following up his anecdote with the advice: ‘Keep bees—keep bees!’
+
+
+
+
+A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.—A GRAVE ACCUSATION.
+
+Thus valiant, the Major entered the library at the appointed time. He
+was, however, taken aback on finding that it was not only the gentlemen
+he had to confront, but also two of the ladies—Mrs Joseph and Mrs John.
+Nellie had positively refused to be present. He had not bargained
+for an examination in the presence of the ladies, for he could not
+say before them what he must say in order to exculpate himself. He
+felt that he was being very unfairly treated. But he was thankful for
+small mercies. They might have had Miss Euphemia in to witness his
+humiliation—for humiliation it must be to confess his stupidity in
+despatching the letters in the wrong envelopes.
+
+The Squire was seated at his writing-table, and assumed something of
+his magisterial air (he was a J.P.) as he requested the Major to take a
+chair. The three letters were on the desk before him; and he proceeded
+to read them carefully, whilst profound silence prevailed. Mrs Joseph
+darted angry glances alternately at her husband and the culprit.
+Mrs John looked more serious than usual, but still showed symptoms
+of an inclination to titter. John Elliott stood in the shadow of a
+large bookcase; Maynard near the window which opened to the terrace,
+impatiently twirling his moustache and at intervals glancing fiercely
+towards the Major, who, in his indignation at the whole proceeding,
+returned the glance in a like spirit.
+
+The Squire cleared his throat with a raucous cough. ‘You have placed
+me in a most painful position, Major,’ he began with an evident desire
+to be friendly, which was checked by the frown of his wife. ‘I am as
+tolerant as anybody of a joke. You know that well enough, Dawkins; but
+I can’t stand such a hoax as you have played upon us in sending these
+letters here.’
+
+The Major rose; he felt so much injured, that he was calm. ‘My dear
+friend Elliott’——
+
+‘Oh, confound it—there’s the beginning of the plaguy things,’
+ejaculated the Squire.
+
+‘Allow me to explain. I intended no hoax. These letters were written
+with an earnest desire to avert misunderstanding. Unfortunately, in my
+agitation and haste, I blundered.’
+
+‘Not a hoax—not a joke!’ bellowed the Squire, rising to his feet and
+thrusting the letters into a drawer of the table. ‘Do you mean to say,
+then, that I suspected my wife of anything?’
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Do you mean to say that a word could be spoken about me in association
+with any one which could or should cause Nellie—Miss Carroll—to be
+displeased with me?’ broke in Maynard threateningly.
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Do you mean to say that I am in any way involved with another lady?’
+snapped Elliott of Arrowby.
+
+‘No.’
+
+‘Stop a minute,’ interposed Mrs John, in her light-hearted way, coming
+to the rescue of Major Dawkins, and turning to her husband. ‘The Major
+did not say you were involved, John; he only warned me not to mind any
+nonsense I might hear about you. Give our friend time to explain.’
+
+‘I am grateful for your intercession, madam,’ said the Major stiffly.
+‘If your husband has read the letter which, as I have told you, fell
+into Mrs Joseph’s hands by mischance, he knows precisely how the matter
+stands, and I request _him_ to explain, or to speak to me in private.’
+
+‘I have read the letter, of course,’ was the peevish response of John
+Elliott; ‘and it does not suggest anything for me to explain, or why
+you should require a private interview with me.’
+
+The Major had the opportunity to avenge himself on the instant by
+stating before them all why he had written the letters. But Mrs John
+was evidently quite ignorant of her husband’s suspicions; why should
+he pain her by revealing them? The outcome of the revelation would be
+an inevitable rupture between the man and wife. Nellie Carroll had not
+heard John Elliott’s scandal about Maynard: why should he, for his
+own convenience, stir the stagnant pool and increase the distress he
+had already unintentionally caused? No; he would not do that. He had
+blundered, and must pay the penalty.
+
+‘Since Mr John Elliott declines to say anything or to grant me a
+private interview,’ said the Major firmly, ‘the affair must end here.
+I withdraw everything that is written in these unlucky letters, and
+request you to give them back to me, so that they may be at once
+destroyed.’
+
+‘That won’t do,’ rejoined the Squire gruffly; ‘if you won’t make the
+thing clear to us, it has gone too far to end here. I shall place the
+letters in the hands of my solicitor to-morrow morning, and leave him
+to arrange with you.’
+
+‘In that case, you will provoke a family scandal which will cause you
+all much vexation, and cannot possibly do good to anybody.’
+
+‘It will at least teach _some_ person a serious lesson,’ observed Mrs
+Joseph sternly.
+
+‘O madam, the lesson has been learned already,’ answered the Major
+bitterly.—‘But since you, Squire, are not satisfied that I am
+sufficiently punished for my mistake by the loss of your friendship,
+but also mean to take legal proceedings, I must summon a friend from
+town who will convince you that the trouble did not originate with me.’
+
+‘So be it, Major Dawkins; and as things stand, I shall expect your
+visit to Todhurst to terminate to-morrow,’ said the Squire, getting the
+inhospitable words out with much difficulty.
+
+‘It would terminate this instant, were it not that I still desire to
+serve you and your family. So much you will acknowledge to-morrow, and
+then my presence will no longer disturb you.’
+
+There was a degree of dignity in the Major’s retreat which impressed
+everybody except the hot-headed lover, Maynard, who muttered between
+his teeth: ‘If this were not my friend’s house, I would horsewhip the
+little beggar.’ As he could not enjoy that luxury, he occupied his
+talents in seeking a reconciliation with Nellie, and unluckily, but
+naturally, besought the aid of Mrs John. His conversations with her
+in the drawing-room and on the lawn again irritated the suspicious
+husband, who, instead of speaking out frankly, endeavoured to hide the
+bitter thoughts which were passing through his mind, and became more
+abstracted and more disagreeable than ever.
+
+Mrs Joseph perversely held to her opinion that the guest had
+‘something’ to say which she ought to know.
+
+‘But you don’t mean to say, Kitty,’ the Squire expostulated, ‘that if
+I had any fault to find with you I should not speak it straight out to
+yourself, instead of blabbing it to other folk? Past experience ought
+to make you sure that when I am not pleased, you will hear about it
+soon enough.’
+
+‘I know that perfectly well—there is no lack of fault-finding on your
+part to myself; and how am I to tell what you have been saying about me
+to others?’ retorted Mrs Joseph, whose temper being once roused, as has
+been stated, was not easily allayed.
+
+‘Nonsense, Kitty—you don’t believe that I would speak about you to
+outsiders.—Come, now; drop this humbug, for you know it is humbug; and,
+’pon my honour, I think we have been too hard on poor Dawkins.’
+
+‘Before deciding on that point, I shall wait to hear what this friend
+he is summoning from London has to say to-morrow.’
+
+‘I take his word for it, that there was a mistake.’
+
+‘Then he should not make such a mistake, and having made it, ought to
+suffer the consequences.’
+
+‘But, my dear, don’t you see that he is taking the consequences?—and
+infernally unpleasant ones they are. I tell you there is nothing in
+it; and if he had only said it was all a joke, I should have been
+satisfied.’
+
+‘But he said it was not a joke, and told you that if you prosecuted
+him, it would result in a grave family scandal. How can you answer
+that?’
+
+‘I can’t, and he wouldn’t; so we must wait for the person who will.’
+
+There was a kind of armed truce declared in this way between the
+husband and wife—she feeling guiltily conscious that she was somehow
+making a mountain of a molehill; and he feeling perfectly sure of it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Major went straight to his room, resolved that he would hold no
+intercourse with the family until Mrs John’s brother, Matt Willis,
+arrived. Had there been a train that evening to town, he would have
+taken it and brought his friend down; and if there had been a hotel
+in the village, he would have left the house forthwith. But there was
+no train and there was no hotel—not even a beershop, for the country
+folk thereabout mostly brewed their own ale. There was, however, a post
+and telegraph office in the village, and Hollis was despatched with a
+message for Willis, entreating him, for his sister’s sake, to come down
+by the first train on the following morning. That done, he endeavoured
+to compose himself and to take a calm survey of his position. He had
+upset everybody, and most of all himself, by his good-natured anxiety
+to save others from the consequences of their own folly. The thing
+ought to have resulted in a laugh and a shake-hands all round; but
+instead of that, it threatened to become a serious affair for the
+law-courts to deal with; and the Major had no means to enable him to
+indulge in the luxury of a lawsuit.
+
+What was he to do? Nothing but what he had determined upon—to get
+Willis to speak out, since John Elliott would not. There was of course
+the possibility that Willis would refuse, as it was his intense
+repugnance to interfering with family squabbles which had prompted him
+to call for the Major’s assistance as mediator between his sister and
+her husband.
+
+Major Dawkins felt indignant with John Elliott for shrinking from
+speaking the few words which would have put everything right. But the
+truth flashed upon him—perhaps the man was so blinded by his jealousy,
+that he really did not understand what was required of him, when asked
+to explain the position. Although the Major could only surmise that
+this was the case, the surmise was correct; but the true reason why
+John Elliott did not understand him was that he had no idea of his
+conversation with Willis having been repeated to any one. If that were
+so, the Major felt that it was his duty to prevent the threatened
+publicity by every means in his power. Apart from his consideration
+for the feelings of Mrs John and Nellie, there was his own plight to
+be taken into account. Publicity would expose him to ridicule, if not
+contempt, and would inevitably put an end to all hope of winning the
+hand of Miss Euphemia Panton. He resolved to see the Squire the moment
+dinner was over, and make another effort to get him to understand the
+real state of the unfortunate business.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Servants have a special instinct for discovering the ill-luck of the
+family they serve, and invariably they accept it in a distorted form.
+Then they sympathise with the master and mistress, or rejoice in their
+fallen state, according to the perquisites which have been allowed
+them or withheld from them. Hollis having heard that his master was
+in disgrace with the family they had come to visit, felt that his own
+dignity was at stake; therefore, in the housekeeper’s room and in the
+butler’s pantry he valiantly defended the honour of his chief. He was
+a little crest-fallen when he found that his master was not to join
+the family at dinner, for this circumstance appeared to confirm the
+gossip of the servants’ hall that the Major had been guilty of some
+grave offence, the nature of which was too dreadful to be mentioned.
+Hollis was equal to the occasion, and by taking the position as one
+of great injustice to his master, succeeded, by cautious suggestions
+of forthcoming revelations, in impressing the housekeeper and butler
+with the idea that they would reap a large reward in the future by
+careful attention to the Major’s present needs. The diplomacy of Hollis
+was used as much on his own account as on that of his master; for he
+managed to secure command of the dishes which were most favoured
+by the Major—and himself, as well as a sufficient supply of Clos de
+Vougeot and Heidsieck.
+
+The Major was scarcely sufficiently appreciative of the attentions of
+his servant in catering for him so far as the eatables were concerned;
+and he sadly disappointed Hollis by taking a larger share of the wine
+than that gentleman had expected. For this loss, however, he contrived
+to compensate himself when he got downstairs again. Major Dawkins was
+too eager for the moment when he should be able to speak freely to the
+Squire to find any delight in eating; and although he took the wine,
+it was without any of the relish with which he usually partook of rare
+vintages. When Hollis had cleared the table, he rose immediately,
+disregarding his digestion, and paced the room. He knew that the dinner
+would be a more lugubrious affair than the luncheon had been, and he
+endeavoured to calculate exactly when it would be over.
+
+The time having arrived, he opened his door, which was nearly opposite
+that of the library. To the latter he advanced quickly, knowing that
+the Squire frequently went thither after dinner to examine letters or
+to take a nap. He heard some one moving in the room, and tapped at the
+door. There was no answer. He tapped again, and still receiving no
+answer, boldly turned the handle and entered. There was no one visible.
+He was puzzled, for there had been unmistakable sounds of some one
+moving about and also of the shutting of a drawer. The window which
+opened on the terrace was slightly ajar, and possibly the Squire,
+suspecting who was his visitor, had stepped out in order to avoid him.
+That was both unfriendly and unjust.
+
+The Major was angry, for he could not conceive any reason for being
+avoided in this manner. He looked out: no one was visible on the
+terrace. Then a sudden temptation seized him. He knew exactly in which
+drawer the Squire had placed those abominable letters. They were his
+own—why should he not take possession of them and destroy them? In
+this way the whole miserable business would be ended. Of course, he
+could not deny having written such letters as would be described, but
+they would not be forthcoming; and if it should come to the worst, his
+explanation of the circumstances under which they had been written
+would be listened to with the more patience and consideration.
+
+The temptation was too much for him. For the sake of the family as
+well as for his own sake, those letters must be destroyed. He went to
+the drawer, pulled it open, and there before him lay the letters. He
+snatched them out and thrust them into the breast-pocket of his coat,
+with the intention of burning them when he reached his own room; but at
+that moment his wrists were tightly grasped and he heard the click of
+handcuffs fastened upon them. He was helpless and speechless. He stood
+staring at the smiling face of a broad-shouldered fellow who wore the
+costume of a gamekeeper.
+
+‘Got you at last,’ said this gentleman quite pleasantly. ‘You have
+given me no end of trouble; but, there, I respect you all the more.
+Only, you have been coming it rather strong, and I am surprised that
+you didn’t take a rest, seeing that you’ve had the valuables out of
+half-a-dozen mansions in the county.’
+
+‘What do you mean?’ shouted the Major furiously.
+
+‘Nothing particular,’ replied the complacent gentleman, ‘unless you
+count it particular that I should want you to come along with me. I
+am a constable, and I have been looking out for you for some weeks
+past. So, you had better make no fuss about the matter, but come along
+quietly. It’ll be all the better for yourself.’
+
+‘You confounded fool!’ ejaculated the Major indignantly, ‘do you take
+_me_ for a burglar? I am a guest in this house—I am Major Dawkins.’
+
+‘Alias Captain Jack, alias ’Arry Smith.’
+
+‘Call the family—they will identify me,’ the Major almost shrieked,
+whilst he endeavoured to free himself from his handcuffs.
+
+‘Oh, I’ll call the family,’ answered the detective, as he lifted up a
+jemmy which was lying beside the Squire’s desk. ‘I suppose you don’t
+know what this little tool means, and I suppose you don’t know anything
+about this drawer which has been forced open with it?’
+
+‘You scoundrel, to suspect me of such’——
+
+‘There now; don’t say anything to commit yourself; I’ll call the
+family.’
+
+Thereupon, the detective rang the bell.
+
+The summons was answered by Parker the butler, who was somewhat
+astonished to find a stranger in the library with the Major. The
+latter’s face—purple with rage—and wild gesticulations, with his
+fettered hands, presented a spectacle so astounding that Parker could
+scarcely believe his eyes rested on a guest of the house.
+
+‘Tell your master to come here and release me from this ruffian, who
+takes me—me, Major Dawkins—for a burglar!’
+
+The detective smiled placidly as he addressed the butler: ‘Yes, if
+you please, inform Mr Elliott that he is wanted here on particular
+business.’
+
+
+
+
+ENGLISH COUNSEL AND SOLICITORS.
+
+BY A BARRISTER.
+
+
+Some time ago, an agitation sprang up in favour of the amalgamation of
+the two legal professions in England, and the conduct thereafter of
+litigious business on lines more or less nearly approximating to the
+American system. The movement emanated, no doubt, from the town branch
+of the profession; for it is no secret that many solicitors are anxious
+to distinguish themselves in court by pleading their clients’ causes,
+in place of retaining counsel to do so for them. But, in the face of
+more burning questions, the agitation gradually died away.
+
+It now seems not unlikely to be revived, as it is certain that sooner
+or later it must be. And an _ex cathedrâ_ utterance given by that
+eminently practical judge, Mr Justice Stephen, a short time ago, will
+tend to hasten the course of events in this matter. A case for trial
+before that judge was duly called on, when it was found that the
+plaintiff was unrepresented, his counsel being at the time engaged in
+another court. The plaintiff being unwilling, or at least unprepared,
+to conduct his own case—notwithstanding the growing tendency in favour
+of personally conducted cases—the judge was asked to allow the case
+to stand over, which he did, but not without giving a hint as to the
+possibility of future ‘reform.’ ‘If,’ said his lordship, ‘such an
+incident occurs often, it will become necessary to do away with the
+separation between solicitors and barristers.’ Just so. This is the
+way the question is regarded from the judicial point of view. When
+the judge is put to inconvenience, he speaks out; and if he is at all
+often put to inconvenience, he will act also. But inasmuch as, in most
+actions, each party is represented by more than one counsel—certainly
+no ‘distinguished’ or fashionable counsel will accept a brief without
+a junior—such inconvenience to a judge is of comparatively unfrequent
+occurrence; so that, although one of its members may occasionally
+be found to _speak_ in favour of amalgamation, little or no active
+assistance can be expected from the judicial body.
+
+But how does the question affect other interests? Solicitors, as we
+have hinted, are in favour of amalgamation. It can hardly do them
+much harm, but must in many cases add to their professional incomes,
+which is of course all that, as a body, they want. Barristers are more
+opposed to it, but, we think, without much reason. A few, doubtless,
+will suffer; but the state of the advocate’s profession as a whole can
+hardly be worse than it is at present. There are barristers, it may
+be said, who earn fifteen or twenty thousand pounds a year; but they
+are not many—infinitely fewer in number than those who earn nothing at
+all—and they are probably well above the reach of competition, partly
+by reason of their known and exceptional ability, and partly because
+they have been placed by fashion on a pedestal which is too firm to
+crumble away, at least during their brief span of life. But the few who
+make such incomes may be compared to the large landowners whom Mr Henry
+George and his friends would rob to enrich (?) those who have no land.
+If all the incomes made at the Bar were added together, and their sum
+divided amongst all the barristers, each would have but a pittance, so
+overstocked is the profession. Hence, regarding barristers as forming a
+small community, and giving due consideration to the greatest happiness
+of the greatest number principle, it is pretty obvious that the Bar has
+really little to lose by the bringing about of amalgamation.
+
+Now from the point of view of the public. It is clear that this largest
+interest must benefit by amalgamation. It would promote economy—an
+extremely great gain. It would practically mean the abolition of that
+middle-man who is so obnoxious to economists, so hurtful to the proper
+expression of delicate points, and so wasteful of time. It matters not
+to the public, as long as it is placed in direct communication with
+its counsel, whether that counsel be a solicitor or a barrister; but
+it is of great and increasing importance to the vast body of litigants
+that personal relations should be established between client and
+advocate; and this is what must sooner or later come to pass. Other
+advantages of the amalgamated system have been before urged here and
+elsewhere; they need not be again specified in detail. Technically,
+the probable effect of the system would be the immediate entering into
+partnership of counsel and solicitors; which would mean nothing to the
+general public except the nearer approach of counsel and the vastly
+increased possibility of personal interview with him. Solicitors, in
+fact, would for all practical purposes become barristers’ confidential
+clerks; they would do all the work they do now for settlement by their
+partner counsel; they would receive clients in chambers while their
+partners were engaged in court, and in the event of an unusual press
+of court-work, would conduct the minor cases through their trials.
+The aggregate advantages of such a reform are so obvious, that minor
+interests should not be considered in bringing it about; and we
+are therefore inclined to express a hope that Mr Justice Stephen’s
+criticism of the existing state of affairs may prove to be prophetic of
+the near future.
+
+
+
+
+LADY FREDERICK’S DIAMONDS.
+
+
+I, Arnold Blake, have had a queer up-and-down, checkered sort of
+life, and until I was nearing my fortieth year, was most persistently
+down in my luck. First, it was in Mexico that I tried my fortune, and
+failed. Then, tempted by an enthusiastic friend, I went to Genoa and
+set up there in partnership with him as a merchant. The life was a very
+healthy and happy one, but not what any one could call profitable,
+from a pecuniary point of view—in fact, quite the reverse. After a
+few years, finding it impossible, with both ends stretched to the
+uttermost, to make them meet, we gave that up; and I moved on to Nice,
+where I had two or three substantial friends. There, things took a turn
+for the better, and I gradually formed a niche for myself, in time
+becoming quite an authority in my own small circle. Then, acting on
+good advice, I started a branch bank in connection with a well-known
+one in London. This answered fairly well; I had just as much work as
+I cared to do, was able to pay my expenses, and had even begun to lay
+by a little hoard against the proverbial ‘rainy-day.’ Nice was a gay,
+bright town to live in, and I constantly met old friends, and made many
+pleasant new ones, who were passing through to the South, or spending
+two or three months there, or at Monte Carlo, for the fascinating
+pleasure of either losing their own money, or making a tidy little
+fortune out of somebody else’s pocket.
+
+One afternoon, I was sitting in my small counting-house, writing
+for the English mail, when the door opened, and in came an old
+acquaintance, Sir Frederick O’Connor, with a parcel in his hand. ‘How
+d’ye do, Blake?’ said he cheerily. ‘I’ve come to you to get me out of
+a difficulty. These are my wife’s jewels. Why she has brought them
+with her, family diamonds and all, passes my understanding. I call it
+insane! Fact is I don’t relish the idea of waking up some fine morning
+to find my throat cut! I want to know if you will be so good as to keep
+them in your safe while we are here. Whenever Lady O’Connor wishes to
+dazzle her friends with them, I can easily come round and ask you for
+what she wants.’
+
+Naturally, I willingly consented to find a corner for the jewels; and
+after I had taken an inventory of them, Sir Frederick himself placed
+them in an inner compartment, and I locked the door. I little thought
+what a dance those confounded diamonds should lead me!
+
+A few days after this, at a large garden-party I met Lady O’Connor,
+young, pretty, and happy-looking. She shook hands cordially, expressed
+pleasure at meeting again, and asked if I thought the season would be
+a gay one. ‘By-the-by,’ she said, ‘it is very kind of you, Mr Blake,
+to take care of my valuables. Sir Frederick was quite in despair
+about them, until a happy thought suggested you as their protector.
+I am going to trouble you for some of them to-morrow. Fred will call
+for them; and do not be surprised if you see him bristling with
+bowie-knives and revolvers, for he has a fixed idea that the Nice
+ruffian has a keener nose for other people’s property than any other
+ruffian in the world.’
+
+I answered that her lovely jewels were worthy of an escort armed to the
+teeth, and that I was very glad indeed to be of use to Sir Frederick
+and herself in any way.
+
+The morning after this garden-party—it must have been about half-past
+four or five—my sleepy senses were completely scattered by my door
+being thrown violently open, and Roscoe, my combined valet and
+commissionaire, a quiet and respectful treasure, landing beside me as
+if shot out of a catapult. I knew at once that something very dreadful
+must have happened. Roscoe’s face of horror and despair would have made
+a valuable study for an artist.
+
+‘Get up, sir, at once, and come down to the office. The safe has
+been broken open, and cleaned out, sir, quite empty!’ gasped Roscoe
+breathlessly, pale with excitement.
+
+I cannot recollect what followed during the few minutes in which I
+hurriedly dressed, and Roscoe is far too considerate to have ever
+reminded me of that short scene. The first thing I _do_ remember is,
+finding myself in my office, clothed in a sketchy and uncomfortable
+manner, the victim of one of the most audacious burglaries that
+had taken place in Nice for a very long time. I stood gazing at my
+ransacked safe and rummaged drawers, and at the floor, strewn with
+papers, among which, here and there, I noticed a few gold pieces, which
+seemed as if the robbers had been interrupted or startled in some way
+or other. I was afraid to move from the spot on which I stood until the
+detective, whom I had sent Roscoe off in a _fiacre_ to fetch, should
+arrive, lest I might unwittingly destroy some small but important piece
+of evidence, which his experienced eyes would discover at a glance.
+In a very short time he appeared, and after a friendly word or two,
+commenced his investigations. He carefully examined the safe, the
+window, and the door. Nothing seemed to escape him. He took voluminous
+notes; measured a footmark which he discovered on the floor; but the
+footmark on further inquiry was found to be his own, which rather put
+him out.
+
+I told him of the jewels which had been placed in my care so lately.
+
+‘Your man informed me, monsieur, as we came, that you had diamonds of
+great value in your iron safe.’
+
+A clammy dew broke out suddenly on my forehead, as I remembered that
+Lady O’Connor was counting on appearing in those same jewels at the
+prefecture ball that night.
+
+‘On the strength of what your servant told me, monsieur,’ continued the
+detective, ‘I have already telegraphed to Marseilles, Genoa, and Turin,
+and have directed some of my most trustworthy men to be on the alert at
+the railway station and the port. I will send and let monsieur know the
+moment we get any trace of the stolen property.’
+
+I made out a careful list of all I had lost, gave it to the detective,
+and then returned to my rooms to dress in a rather less superficial
+manner. The awful business of breaking the loss of the jewels to
+Sir Frederick and Lady O’Connor was now staring me in the face, and
+as I walked to their hotel I became a prey to the most paralysing
+nervousness I hope it will ever be my lot to endure. I was shown into
+a charming sitting-room, facing the sea, and though I did not look
+at anything round me, except the two people I had come to see, I
+remembered afterwards every detail of the scene.
+
+They were at breakfast. The refreshing, sun-warmed morning air breathed
+softly in through the open window, scented by the mignonette, which
+grew thickly in boxes on the balcony outside. Lady O’Connor looked very
+graceful and pretty in a long loose gown of some soft Indian silk,
+trimmed with lace. Sir Frederick, also in comfortable unconventional
+garments, was reading aloud a letter, over which they were both
+laughing merrily as I was announced. They welcomed me warmly, looking
+as if early and unexpected visitors were quite a common occurrence,
+and between them, carried on the usual preliminary chit-chat about the
+lovely weather, the delight of being able to breakfast with the window
+open in the month of November, the view, &c., as long as the servant
+remained in the room, while I stood looking from one to the other,
+solemnly bowing my head in silent answer to their cheerful remarks. It
+is not necessary to relate what passed; suffice it to say that both
+Sir Frederick and Lady O’Connor possessed an unusual share of kindness
+of heart and of sympathy with other people’s misfortunes, and they
+endeavoured to make my unpleasant position as easy for me as possible.
+
+Then followed a week of restless activity. I haunted the police bureau;
+if I was not there two or three times a day myself, I sent Roscoe to
+find out for me if any telegrams had arrived on the all-important
+subject, any clue been found to throw the smallest light upon it.
+
+One lovely afternoon, I was walking down the Promenade des Anglais in
+anything but a cheerful frame of mind, indeed I do not think I ever
+felt so utterly depressed before. Nothing whatever had been heard of
+the missing jewels; and during a long consultation that morning with
+Aigunez the detective, he had told me that he firmly believed that
+the robbery was the work of one man, and that the jewels were still
+in Nice. I had been calling at one of the pretty villas beyond the
+Var, and was now making my way down the side of the Promenade next
+the houses, to the _Hôtel de la Mediterranée_, to talk over Aigunez’s
+last suggestion with Sir Frederick O’Connor. As I was passing the high
+solid walls of the now quite unused cemetery, I noticed that the door
+was ajar; and expecting to find there old Baroni the care-taker, whom
+I knew, I pushed open the door and entered. Nobody was there: all was
+silent and solitary. Here and there were untidy heaps of rubbish;
+tangled, overgrown bushes; and propped against the walls were two
+or three gravestones that had covered graves from which the remains
+had been removed to some family vault elsewhere. I could not help
+wondering how much Baroni received for the amount of care and labour
+he bestowed on the old English burial-ground. When my eyes, which were
+uncommonly sharp ones, had become accustomed to the dark shadows thrown
+by the walls, and the brilliant glare where the shadow-line ended, I
+noticed that a gravestone lying in rather a retired spot appeared,
+by the fresh-looking footmarks round it, to have been lately moved.
+I do not think that this circumstance would have roused my curiosity
+in the then preoccupied state of my mind, had it not been that close
+beside it a large branch of a neighbouring tree had been bent down
+and fastened firmly to the ground by means of a stone. This arrested
+my attention, it was so evidently intended to mark the spot. Exerting
+all my strength, I pushed the heavy stone sufficiently to one side to
+enable me to see that it concealed a small pit, recently dug, by the
+look of the mould round it. It was empty! I managed to replace the
+gravestone, and left the cemetery, carefully closing the door behind
+me, and glancing round to see if my actions had been observed.
+
+I hurried on to the hotel, wondering and conjecturing as to the
+possible meaning of the curious little mystery I had just discovered.
+That small oblong pit, for what purpose could it have been prepared?
+My first idea was that a murder had been or was about to be committed,
+and in this way it was intended to get rid of the victim’s body; but
+the hole was certainly not large enough for a grown person. Was it
+possible that it was to be the unblessed, unadorned tomb of some little
+one, done to death by pitiless earthly guardians, who found its frail
+helpless life a burden to them? That was too hideous a fancy. Suddenly,
+the thought struck me that it might be a hiding-place for property! By
+Jove, the diamonds!
+
+At that moment I reached the _Mediterranée_, and going up the broad
+stairs three at a time in my excitement, I knocked at the door of the
+O’Connors’ sitting-room. Sir Frederick was alone, smoking, with the
+last number of the _World_ in his hand.
+
+‘I felt sure that you would come in this afternoon,’ he said, as he
+pushed his cigar case towards me, ‘so I put off going to the club.—What
+is the latest intelligence?’
+
+I first told him of Aigunez’s opinion, that the jewels were still in
+Nice, an opinion which had now gained for me a double significance.
+Then I unfolded my own budget, and told him of all I had seen in the
+old cemetery which had been closed for so many years.
+
+This put Sir Frederick into the wildest spirits. ‘We’ve got them now,
+Blake!’ he exclaimed, ‘and no mistake about it. They’ve run themselves
+into a nice trap. Of _course_, these are the rascals we’re after.—What
+do you say?—Don’t set my heart upon it, in case of disappointment.
+Nonsense! my dear fellow. Don’t you see they cannot get rid of diamonds
+like those in a hurry; and not being able to leave the town puts them
+in a regular fix? It is very dangerous for them to keep such valuable
+things about them, and now, they flatter themselves that they have
+found an uncommonly safe hiding-place. Why, Fate must have led you by
+the very nose to that door this afternoon!’
+
+I laughed. ‘It is as well for us, perhaps, that I did not feel her
+fingers, or things might have turned out differently. We had better
+settle our plan of action for to-night, as it won’t do to let this
+chance slip. How fortunate there is no moon. It will be as black as
+Erebus inside those high walls.’
+
+‘Our best plan,’ said Sir Frederick, ‘is, I think, to hide ourselves
+there as soon as it is dark. We may have a long time to wait; but then,
+again, we may not, and we are much less likely to be observed if we
+slip in early in the evening.’
+
+‘Then I will call for you, Sir Frederick, as soon as it is dark
+enough,’ I answered. ‘And allow me to suggest that we do not take
+Aigunez into our confidence, for it will be a triumph indeed to cut out
+the far-famed French detective in his own line of business.’
+
+I left the hotel with a lighter heart than I had carried about with
+me for some time. Though I had cautioned Sir Frederick not to be too
+sanguine, I was myself convinced that we should have the diamonds in
+our possession before morning. I went back to my rooms, wrote some
+letters, dined, and then tried to quiet my excited mind by pacing up
+and down the sitting-room, smoking my usual post-prandial cigar, till
+I thought it was sufficiently dark to venture forth. The church clocks
+were striking ten as I arrived at the _Mediterranée Hôtel_, and I found
+Sir Frederick performing the same restless quarter-deck constitutional
+on the pavement outside.
+
+‘So glad you’ve come, Blake; I’m anxious to be off now.—What is that in
+your hand?’
+
+‘A small lantern,’ I answered. ‘We shall find it useful.’
+
+‘Got a revolver?’ inquired Sir Frederick in a solemn whisper.
+
+‘No,’ said I, in an equally sepulchral voice; ‘fists are my weapons.’
+
+‘Pooh!’ returned he. ‘Of what use are English fists when you have an
+Italian knife in your ribs?—Here we are!’
+
+The door was exactly as I had left it. There was not a sign of anybody
+near us, so we went quickly through, closing it again behind us. We,
+stood for a minute silent and still, until our eyes had become more
+accustomed to the intense darkness round us; then we groped our way,
+with two or three stumbles against tombstones and over mounds of earth,
+to the spot where I fancied the marked stone must be, and in a few
+seconds I discovered it without doubt, by falling over it. As I was
+collecting myself and my scattered senses together again, after this
+sudden and unpleasant downfall, I heard close beside me a volley of
+muttered execrations from Sir Frederick, who declared, in an agitated
+whisper, that he was sure he had caught a ghost or something very like
+it. At the risk of discovery, I opened the lantern, and for one second
+threw the light on the object he held in his hands. It was an unusually
+large bat, which, disturbed by our intrusion on its own domain, must
+have flown or dropped on to Sir Frederick from the tree under which he
+was standing. He quickly shook it off; and without further adventure
+we concealed ourselves in some thick bushes near the grave. It would
+have required the eyes of a lynx to discover us, hidden as we were
+in the midst of a mass of evergreens, overgrown with a network of
+tangled creepers, and the high black wall behind. There we waited,
+keenly watchful. Not a leaf stirred. A perfectly dead silence lay
+over everything, as if the fairy of the Sleeping Beauty story of our
+childhood held nature bound under her spell. A mouldy, damp, earthy
+vapour rose from the ground at my feet, and seemed to weigh me down as
+if it were something solid.
+
+The clock of Notre-Dame struck eleven. Another long weary hour went
+slowly by, and then the clock struck midnight. I believe I had sunk
+into a sort of doze, when every faculty was suddenly roused by hearing
+a soft movement at the door, which was very gently opened. There was
+a pause, as if the new-comers were listening; the door was shut, and
+a lantern shed its narrow streak of light over the graves at their
+feet. One, two, three dark forms, two of whom carried between them what
+seemed to be a box. Sir Frederick gently nudged me—of course _that_
+contained the jewels. They came quietly to the side of the mysterious
+tombstone, and, setting their burden down on another one close by, they
+set to work, and quickly moved it to one side. I then discovered, to my
+surprise, that the one that held the lantern was a woman. Their faces
+were deep in shadow; I did not once get a glimpse of their features.
+All their movements were quiet and free from haste; they evidently
+had not the smallest notion that discovery was possible. The two men
+carefully laid the box in the hole prepared for it, covered it with
+mould, and, after replacing the stone stretched themselves, and held
+the lantern aloft, the better to survey their handiwork. It seemed very
+satisfactory to their female companion, for I distinctly heard her
+breathe a sigh of unmistakable relief. They left the place as quietly
+as they had come to it, not having, as far as we knew, spoken a word to
+each other the whole time.
+
+It was our turn now. As soon as we were quite sure that we again
+had this dismal solitude to ourselves, we emerged from our damp
+hiding-place and shook ourselves into shape, for naturally we both felt
+very stiff and numb after our long weird vigil. I opened my lantern,
+and we began eagerly to undo the work we had just seen so neatly
+accomplished. It did not take long to remove the stone and scatter the
+thin layer of mould. In a few minutes we had the box—a boy’s oblong
+deal play-box, clamped with iron—lying on a tombstone before us.
+
+‘Open it, Blake,’ said Sir Frederick.
+
+‘Locked,’ I answered as I shook the lid.
+
+‘Take my knife,’ continued the baronet, as he drew from his pocket one
+of the formidable weapons at which his wife had laughed.
+
+It was a common lock, and easily forced. As I threw back the lid, Sir
+Frederick held up the lantern. ‘Take them out, Blake, and see if they
+are all there; it will be a wonderful thing if none are missing.—What
+on earth is that?’
+
+‘It looks to me like a dog-collar,’ I answered, as I shook out a black
+Cashmere shawl in which was wrapped a silver curb chain with a small
+silver bell attached to it.
+
+‘Stolen from somebody else,’ cried Sir Frederick. ‘Get on with the
+rest.’
+
+‘This beats everything,’ said I, and drew forth a small pale-blue
+garment fashioned like a horse’s body-cloth, with a monogram in gold
+thread at one side. ‘It is a dog’s coat.—And what the deuce is this?’
+
+‘A dog!’ we exclaimed simultaneously.
+
+Carefully folded in a piece of soft linen lay the body of a small silky
+white, long-haired terrier—to judge by all its surroundings, a lady’s
+cherished pet. For a few seconds, disgust and disappointment kept us
+silent; then Sir Frederick broke out into a series of execrations more
+amusing than effective.
+
+We had been befooled by our own enthusiasm as amateur detectives, and
+at first were angry, but by-and-by came to see the situation in its
+more grotesque aspect. After giving vent to our feelings in a burst
+of suppressed laughter, we put the little pet back into his play-box
+coffin, being careful to see that everything was just as we had found
+it; and quickly shovelling the mould and pushing the tombstone over it,
+we crept out of the old cemetery. Our feelings were very different from
+those with which we had entered it. We were greatly cheered, however,
+on reaching the hotel to find a line from Aigunez, which had come
+during Sir Frederick’s absence; ‘I am on the right track.’
+
+We heard no more for two days, when the detective reappeared with
+a captive, a valet whom Sir Frederick had dismissed before leaving
+England, who, knowing the great value of the jewels which Lady O’Connor
+was taking with her, had thought it worth his while to follow them, and
+being a clever hand at that sort of work, had succeeded as we have seen.
+
+
+
+
+OCCASIONAL NOTES.
+
+
+THE WEST AUSTRALIAN GOLD-FIELDS.
+
+For some years, the government of Western Australia has offered
+a reward of five thousand pounds for the discovery of a payable
+gold-field within three hundred miles of a declared port. From recent
+news from Perth, it would almost appear that a profitable gold-field
+has at last been discovered. We learn that Messrs Malet and M‘Ewen, who
+were sent by the government to explore the Kimberley District, in the
+extreme north of the colony, have returned, after an expedition which
+nearly proved disastrous to the explorers. They lost their horses;
+and having consumed all their provisions, only escaped starvation by
+coming unexpectedly to a settler’s hut, where they obtained assistance.
+The party arrived barefooted, their boots having fallen to pieces
+on the tramp of one hundred miles. Mr M‘Ewen nearly succumbed to the
+hardships of the journey. A quantity of the new gold has already
+found its way to England. According to advices from Derby, the port
+of the country—named after the present Lord Derby, and situated at
+the head of King’s Sound—large numbers of people, who were totally
+unfitted for the work, were starting for the Kimberley gold-fields. As
+the roads are rough, and provisions scarce and dear, with an absence
+of water, it goes without saying that no one need venture in search
+of wealth without being supplied with plenty of money and an ample
+supply of provisions. The country is described as closely resembling
+the Peak Down District in Queensland. The gold is much scattered, but
+the gullies are numerous. It is expected that so soon as the alluvial
+gold is worked out, productive reefs will be laid bare. The Kimberley
+District, contrary to what many have supposed, is a country about four
+and a half times the size of Scotland, with splendid rivers, and with
+millions of acres of pastoral and agricultural land. The climate has
+been commended by Captain Grey and other explorers as one of the finest
+and healthiest in the tropics. Last year, the population numbered only
+about one hundred white men; the blacks, who are not numerous, are
+tractable. Sheep, cattle, and horses thrive well, so that, whether or
+not the gold-fields fulfil the expectations of those who seek their
+fortune at the gold-fields, there is a fine country to develop. Derby,
+the capital of this district, at the mouth of the Fitzroy River,
+consisted lately of but a few huts and tents, and is the station of a
+government resident. Should the ‘rush’ to the gold-fields continue,
+doubtless all this will soon be changed.
+
+
+ROYAL VETERINARY COLLEGE.
+
+The horse fills so large a place in human affairs, that a few words
+descriptive of an institution devoted to its welfare must interest
+more or less every one. The Royal Veterinary College—situated in Great
+College Street, Camden Town, London, N.W.—discharges the twofold
+function of a hospital and a school; that is to say, it is there the
+sick or maimed horse—or for the matter of that, the sick or maimed
+sheep, ox, dog, &c.—is taken to be doctored; and it is there the young
+man goes for the education and diploma which are to qualify him for
+the vocation of a veterinary surgeon. The scope of the present series
+of papers, however, only justifies our considering the institution in
+its curative capacity. Horse-owners, then, come, in relation to the
+College, under two heads—subscribers and non-subscribers. If elected by
+the Governing Body, or General Purposes Committee, a person becomes a
+yearly subscriber by paying two guineas per annum; or a life subscriber
+either by paying twenty guineas in one sum, or sixteen guineas
+after making the annual payment for not less than two consecutive
+years—certain exceptional conditions applying to firms and companies.
+The privileges of a subscriber are—(1) To have the gratuitous opinion
+of the professors as to the treatment to be applied to any animal of
+his brought for the purpose to the College, but which he may desire to
+retain in his own keeping. (2) To have admitted into the infirmary,
+for medical and surgical treatment, any number of his own horses and
+other animals for which there may be room, at a charge only for their
+‘keep.’ (3) To have in the course of any year five horses, his actually
+or prospective property, examined gratuitously as to soundness, either
+before or after purchase; and to have any further number examined at
+a fee of ten shillings and sixpence per head. (4) To be supplied with
+medicines for animals at a fixed charge. (5) To have, at a fixed rate,
+a chemical analysis made by the Professor of Chemistry at the College
+of any water, provender, oilcake, or other feeding-matter, and of the
+viscera of any animal suspected of being poisoned. (6) In cases of
+extensive or serious outbreaks of disease, to have an investigation
+made into its nature and causes, on payment of the fixed charges. And
+(7) To have a post-mortem examination of any animal, or parts of an
+animal, sent to the College, and receive an opinion of the probable
+cause of death, on payment of a fixed charge. As regards outsiders or
+non-subscribers, the treatment and examination of their animals by the
+staff of the College are subject to a higher tariff of charges. Another
+disability under which they labour is that their animals may not be
+received into the infirmary for treatment. ‘Accidents’ and other urgent
+cases are received into the institution at all times of the day and
+night, special vehicles being kept at hand for their transportation.
+
+A singular by-law of the College is the following: ‘Credit will be
+given for all animals which may die in the infirmary according to
+the amount received for the carcase; but all diseased parts shall be
+considered to be the property of the College.’ Such ‘diseased parts’
+are useful vehicles in the dissecting-room for conveying knowledge to
+the minds of the students.
+
+
+
+
+A SONG OF REST.
+
+
+    O weary Hands! that, all the day,
+      Were set to labour hard and long,
+    Now softly fall the shadows gray,
+      The bells are rung for evensong.
+    An hour ago, the golden sun
+      Sank slowly down into the west;
+    Poor, weary Hands, your toil is done;
+      ’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!
+
+    O weary Feet! that many a mile
+      Have trudged along a stony way,
+    At last ye reach the trysting stile;
+      No longer fear to go astray.
+    The gently bending, rustling trees
+      Rock the young birds within the nest,
+    And softly sings the quiet breeze:
+      ‘’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!’
+
+    O weary Eyes! from which the tears
+      Fell many a time like thunder-rain—
+    O weary Heart! that through the years
+      Beat with such bitter, restless pain,
+    To-night forget the stormy strife,
+      And know, what Heaven shall send is best;
+    Lay down the tangled web of life;
+      ’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!
+
+            FLORENCE TYLEE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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 73319 ***
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-<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73319 ***</div>

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_529">{529}</span></p>

-

-

-<h1>CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL<br>

-OF<br>

-POPULAR<br>

-LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.</h1>

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2>

-</div>

-

-<p class="center">

-

-<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. -->

-

-<a href="#HOLIDAYS_IN_CAMP">HOLIDAYS IN CAMP.</a><br>

-<a href="#IN_ALL_SHADES">IN ALL SHADES.</a><br>

-<a href="#WILD-BEES_AND_BEE-HUNTING">WILD-BEES AND BEE-HUNTING.</a><br>

-<a href="#A_FRIEND_OF_THE_FAMILY">A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.</a><br>

-<a href="#ENGLISH_COUNSEL_AND_SOLICITORS">ENGLISH COUNSEL AND SOLICITORS.</a><br>

-<a href="#LADY_FREDERICKS_DIAMONDS">LADY FREDERICK’S DIAMONDS.</a><br>

-<a href="#OCCASIONAL_NOTES">OCCASIONAL NOTES.</a><br>

-<a href="#A_SONG_OF_REST">A SONG OF REST.</a><br>

-

-<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. -->

-

-</p>

-

-

-<hr class="full">

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<div class="figcenter" id="header" style="max-width: 37.5em;">

-  <img class="w100" src="images/header.jpg"  alt="Chambers’s Journal of Popular Literature, Science,

-and Art. Fifth Series. Established by William and Robert Chambers, 1832. Conducted by R. Chambers (Secundus).">

-</div>

-

-<hr class="full">

-<div class="center">

-<div class="header">

-<p class="floatl"><span class="smcap">No. 138.—Vol. III.</span></p>

-<p class="floatr"><span class="smcap">Price</span> 1½<em>d.</em></p>

-<p class="floatc">SATURDAY, AUGUST 21, 1886.</p>

-</div></div></div>

-

-<hr class="full">

-

-

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="HOLIDAYS_IN_CAMP">HOLIDAYS IN CAMP.</h2>

-</div>

-<p class="ph3">ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the United States, even in the coolest, most

-northerly portion, the summers are long and

-hot; the July days are scorching and the nights

-are suffocating in the crowded cities and larger

-towns; with August comes a little change, but

-then come the exhausting ‘dog-days,’ when, though

-the mercury will not run so high in the thermometer,

-the atmosphere is as unpleasant as if

-it were still July.</p>

-

-<p>Those who can afford it—and many who cannot

-do so, but fancy they must do as their wealthy

-neighbours do—begin in June to flit to seaside,

-mountain, or Springs hotel, where they pay as

-high a rent for a tiny room as would give them

-a whole house in town. Here the ladies and

-children stay for such a time as suits them, or as

-suits papa’s purse. If the hotel chosen is within

-a reasonable distance of the men’s places of business,

-they will flock there on Saturday night, and

-hasten away early on Monday morning. At some

-resorts, certain trains or boats have the local

-name, for the season, of ‘husbands’ train’ or

-boat, as the case may be. The maidens who have

-no lover to look for at this time are on the

-alert to see what ‘new men’ Messrs So-and-so

-will bring with them this Saturday; for there

-is an appalling dearth of eligible men—eligible,

-if only as escorts or partners at tennis or cotillon

-at most of these summer resorts. Between Monday

-and Saturday the ladies amuse themselves with

-fancy-work, gossip, reading of light novels, fault-finding

-with the meals, or with the noise other

-people’s children make, and flirting with the men

-who, taking their own holiday, are remaining at

-the hotel for a week or two. Then, too, there is

-usually, in so mixed an assembly as must necessarily

-be found at even the most select hotel, at

-least one person who has something queer, perhaps

-no worse than simply great eccentricity,

-about her, and so furnishes material to her fellow-boarders

-for endless speculation and gossip.</p>

-

-<p>Hotel-life is so distasteful to many and so expensive,

-that there has of late arisen another way

-of summering—camping-out; but not necessarily

-tenting, though some prefer that. All over the

-northern portion of the land there are springing

-up like mushrooms roughly-built cottages, which

-are only better than a tent in that they are water-tight,

-have hard floors, and are not apt to be

-blown down at the first stiff gale. These cottages

-are often unpainted, or but slightly so, and have

-two rooms, small, down-stairs, and one large or

-two small rooms above; if the latter, the partition

-is rarely more than six feet high. When the

-campers are a mixed party, not simply father,

-mother, and children, the young men sleep down

-in the living-room, and the up-stairs beds are

-curtained off by curtains or screens. The cottage

-is always erected near water of some sort, old

-ocean having the preference, and a pinewood on

-the edge of a pond or lake is also popular. I

-remember one such spot, in Maine, where some

-friends of mine passed a very delightful vacation;

-it was a pine-grove not many miles from the city

-of Augusta, on the very edge of one of those hundreds

-of fresh-water lakelets which dot Maine so

-thickly. The owner of the land had erected five

-of these simple houses, and rented them to persons

-of the highest respectability, one being a

-High School teacher, one a Universalist minister,

-one an editor, and so on. The rental was very

-moderate—at the rate of a dollar a day for those

-who only wished to remain one or two weeks;

-but at a very much less figure if they took a

-cottage for the two summer months. This price

-included the use of all the ice they needed for

-the preservation of their food, and a rowboat

-which would hold eight persons. The campers

-brought their own furniture; and it is really

-surprising how few things one actually needs to

-live in comfort for a month. The pond which

-bears the Indian name—more easy to pronounce

-than to write—of Cobbasacontee, is well stocked

-with fish, and is dotted all over with pretty little

-islands, which are capital places to land and build

-a fire to cook the fish you have just caught. If<span class="pagenum" id="Page_530">{530}</span>

-you have taken the precaution to bring with you

-a coffee-pot as well as your frying-pan, and some

-coffee, sugar, condensed milk, pepper, salt, and

-buttered bread, you can soon have a meal fit for

-a king—a hungry king.</p>

-

-<p>How well I remember one such excursion I

-made two years ago! There were five in the

-party, none very young, and none at all in love

-with any one present. We two ladies were afraid

-to trust ourselves in the tiny sailboat which

-made part of our fleet of two, so we and my

-friend’s nephew started off in the rowboat.

-Hardly had we got well out, however, when the

-sailor of the party found that his sail was not

-fitted to the boat it was in; and nothing would

-suit the men but that sails and oars must change

-places while passengers sat still; and in spite

-of our unspoken qualms and our glances of

-mistrust slily exchanged with one another, we

-had to go under full sail after all. And how the

-wind did justify its title of ‘fickle as a woman,’

-that morning! For a few moments we would

-scud over the water in a rather alarming style,

-considering that our skiff was capable of holding

-only about six persons; then, after having dipped

-our gunwale quite as often as I liked, the breeze

-would vanish, the sail would hang limp and

-lifeless, and we were becalmed. The other boat

-was soon far ahead; and while we were yet

-within sight of our camp, the occupants had

-reached our destination, and were hauling in

-the fish with most provoking rapidity. During

-one of our spasmodic, rapid skims down the

-pond, we disturbed a mother-loon. Laughing

-at us in the strange, weird manner peculiar to

-that sort of water-fowl, she swam down the

-shore, trying to allure us to chase her, and not

-believe that there was a nest full of little loons,

-less hardy than the young one which was paddling

-along beside her, among those long sedges from

-which she had started out with such haste as

-our boat drew near them. For as much as a

-quarter of mile she lured us—so <i>she</i> put it—away

-from her home, answering us when we

-tried to imitate her tones. Did you ever hear

-a loon laugh in the dusk stillness of a warm

-summer night? It has a queer, eerie sound—a

-lonesome, unhappy sound. After much tacking

-and drifting, we came at last to a little island

-where two of my friend’s city neighbours, a

-minister and a learned judge, were camping in

-a tiny cottage, set in a most lovely spot, a

-tangle of underbrush and blackberry vines growing

-up to the very doorway. Little brown squirrels—so

-tame that at our approach they ran <i>down</i>

-the trees to see what we were doing in their

-domain—sprang about from tree to tree, or scampered

-over the soft grass, quite aware that no

-one would harm <i>them</i> while fishes were so

-plenty; birds twittered and sung; Eden could

-not have been more peaceful. There are scores of

-such islands to be hired or bought for a mere song.</p>

-

-<p>Did you ever inspect a house kept by the

-average man? I have heard that men when

-camping are rarely in the habit of washing dishes

-any oftener than they can help; and since I

-saw the little kitchen attached to that cottage,

-I am sure some men, some learned men, don’t

-worry over such trifles as greasy pans or grimy

-tins! The judge and his comrade had gone

-out for a day’s fishing; we had met them on

-our way down, and they cordially bade us

-make ourselves perfectly at home in their abode.

-We did so. They sent us a message, a few

-days later, that they wished the ladies would

-visit their house again. I know they hardly

-recognised their own cups and saucers when

-they went to get supper that night!</p>

-

-<p>The furnishing of most of these cottages is

-very primitive. Comfortable beds are a <i>sine quâ

-non</i> to those who are accustomed to hair-mattresses

-and pliant springs, and one can sleep sweetly and

-restfully on a bed of dry clean hay. It is not

-much trouble to carry empty ticks, and dry grass

-or, still better, pine-needles can be had for the

-gathering. Blankets and thick quilts must be

-on hand, for, no matter what the days are, it

-is sure to be chilly the moment the sun is

-well out of sight. A cot-bed is also necessary—for

-friends who, in town, cannot find time

-to visit one, will gladly travel fifty miles to

-camp a day or two with their cronies who have

-a cottage—not only for use at night, but to be

-converted into a lounge in the daytime; and

-of course there will be hammocks to sling under

-the trees or on the piazza. There is always a

-farmer near who will gladly sell—at city prices—butter,

-eggs, and milk; and as most of these

-lakes are well stocked with fish, black bass,

-pickerel, trout, or perch—or if the camp is on

-the seashore, there are mackerel, lobsters, clams,

-and greedy, open-mouthed sculpin, which can

-devour more bait without being hooked than any

-ten other fish, but which make a fairly good

-chowder when enough are caught—no one needs

-suffer from hunger.</p>

-

-<p>Several pretty groves on the Kennebec and

-Penobscot rivers are utilised for camp-meetings.

-Here, for a week, usually in the latter part of

-August—when the farmers are done haying—or

-the beginning of September, religious services

-are held morning, noon, and night, popular

-preachers or exhorters being invited to take part.

-The grounds immediately around the spot where

-the services are held are generally owned by a

-stock Company, and the regulations for the preservation

-of good order are very strict, and rigidly

-enforced: lights must be out at a given hour;

-unseemly mirth or secular music is not tolerated

-on Sunday; the sale of intoxicating liquors

-is not permitted at any time, nor the use of

-them in private tents or cottages, if it can be

-detected by the patrol force always on hand.

-These rules are absolutely necessary to prevent

-the freedom of camp-life from degenerating into

-license; for many young folks go to camp-meeting

-who care very little for the religious part of the

-affair.</p>

-

-<p>The Methodists have the largest number of

-camp-grounds; but other denominations are more

-or less fond of them. I once visited a Spiritualist

-camp-ground on one of these Maine rivers; and

-a damper, more ghostly spot could not well be

-imagined; everything and everybody looked

-mouldy, and one might, without much stretch

-of the imagination, expect to see a materialised

-spirit pop up anywhere. I understand, however,

-that there were never any ‘manifestations’ at

-camp; it was only held for the dissemination

-of their peculiar faith.</p>

-

-<p>A party of about a dozen boys and four or

-five men have gone for the past six years to a little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_531">{531}</span>

-island in a New Hampshire lake not far from

-Lake Winnipisaukee, which is a favourite summer

-resort on account of its beautiful scenery, to

-pass the months of July and August. Their

-temporary dwelling is very primitive, not much

-more than a roof and three walls, for they intend

-to spend all their time in the open air. Every

-Sunday afternoon these boys have held religious

-services; they have a small parlour organ, and

-form a choir themselves. They intend this year,

-if possible, to have their choir properly vested, for

-<i>their</i> service is according to the Book of Common

-Prayer. There is not a church of any sort within

-a long distance, for this portion of the State is

-rather thinly settled. It is of New Hampshire

-that residents of other States say that the farmers

-there have to sharpen the noses of the sheep, in

-order that they may crop the grass between the

-rocks, as New Hampshire is all rocks. The

-natives attend the boys’ service as a treat, though,

-as the church is not very well known there,

-they are not quite sure that they approve of the

-ceremonial. The service is not always lay, however;

-several distinguished clergy and one or two

-bishops have visited this little camp and have

-preached for them. One of the boys told me

-that during these six years there had been but

-one Sunday when it rained so hard that they

-had to hold service in their hut. Doubtless,

-some day there will be a permanent chapel there.</p>

-

-<p>And oh, what good times the little ones have

-at these camps! No fine clothes to be kept

-clean; no attractive but forbidden alley children

-to be avoided; no danger of being run over;

-no cross dogs to fear; and no venturing out

-in the water without the knowledge of mamma

-or nurse, for here no one is too busy to have

-one eye on the little mischiefs; but as much

-paddling about on the brink of the lake or

-ocean as would delight any small heart. And

-then, too, for mamma’s side of the question:

-no candy-shops to draw the pennies out of her

-pocket, or the tears from disappointed eyes; no

-coaxing ‘Can’t we go play with So-and-so?’ no

-scarlet fever or measles to be caught from some

-neighbour’s progeny; no evil influences to be

-feared for the older boys and girls; and no

-parties to be made for or attended by the children.</p>

-

-<p>Mother Nature is a great restorer, and a few

-days of uninterrupted intercourse with her do

-more to renew the wasted health or relaxed energies,

-than as many weeks of dress and gaiety

-at a fashionable resort; and so sensible people

-are becoming more and more convinced.</p>

-

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="IN_ALL_SHADES">IN ALL SHADES.</h2>

-</div>

-

-

-<h3>CHAPTER XLI.</h3>

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> the yelling mob could close again round

-Harry Noel’s fallen body, with their wild

-onslaught of upraised cutlasses, more dangerous

-to one another in the thick press than to the

-prostrate Englishman or to poor fainting and

-unconscious Nora, another hasty clatter of horse’s

-hoofs burst upon them from behind, up the hilly

-pathway, and a loud, clear, commanding voice

-called out in resonant tones that overtopped and

-stilled for a moment the tumultuous murmur of

-negro shrieks: ‘In the Queen’s name—in the

-Queen’s name, hold; disperse there!’</p>

-

-<p>That familiar adjuration acted like magic on

-the fierce and half-naked throng of ignorant and

-superstitious plantation negroes. It was indeed

-to them a mighty word to conjure with, that

-loud challenge in the name of the great distant

-Queen, whose reality seemed as far away from

-them and as utterly removed from their little

-sphere as heaven itself. They dropped their

-cutlasses instantly, for a brief moment of doubt

-and hesitation; a few voices still shouted fiercely,

-‘Kill him—kill him!’ and then a unanimous

-cry arose among all the surging mass of wild

-and scowling black humanity: ‘Mr Hawtorn,

-Mr Hawtorn! Him come in Missis Queen name,

-so gib us warnin’. Now us gwine to get justice.

-Mr Hawtorn, Mr Hawtorn!’</p>

-

-<p>But while the creole-born plantation hands

-thus welcomed eagerly what they looked upon,

-in their simplicity, as the Queen’s direct mouthpiece

-and representative, Louis Delgado, his face

-distorted with rage, and his arms plying his

-cutlass desperately, frowned and gnashed his

-teeth more fiercely than ever with rage and disappointment;

-for his wild African passion was

-now fully aroused, and like the tiger that has

-once tasted blood, he would not be balked of

-the final vengeful delight of hacking his helpless

-victim slowly to pieces in a long-drawn

-torture. ‘Missis Queen!’ he cried contemptuously,

-turning round and brandishing his cutlass

-with savage joy once more before the eyes of

-his half-sobered companions—‘Missis Queen, him

-say dar! Ha, ha, what him say dat for? What

-de Queen to me, I want you tell me? I doan’t

-care for Queen, or judge, or magistrate, or nuffin!

-I gwine to kill all de white men togedder, in all

-Trinidad, de Lard helpin’ me!’</p>

-

-<p>As he spoke, Edward Hawthorn jumped hastily

-from his saddle, and advanced with long strides

-towards the fiercely gesticulating and mumbling

-African. The plantation negroes, cowed and

-tamed for the moment by Edward’s bold and

-resolute presence, and overawed by the great name

-of that mysterious, unknown, half-mythical Queen

-Victoria, beyond the vast illimitable ocean, fell

-back sullenly to right and left, and made a little

-lane through the middle of the crowd for the

-Queen’s representative to mount the staircase.

-Edward strode up, without casting a single glance

-on either side, to where Delgado stood savagely

-beside Harry Noel’s fallen body, and put his

-right hand with an air of indisputable authority

-upon the frantic African’s uplifted arm. Delgado

-tried to shake him off suddenly with a quick,

-adroit, convulsive movement; but Edward’s grip

-was tight and vice-like, and he held the black

-arm powerless in his grasp, as he spoke aloud

-a few words in some unknown language, which

-sounded to the group of wondering negroes like

-utter gibberish—or perhaps some strange spell

-with which the representative of Queen Victoria

-knew how to conjure by some still more potent

-and terrible obeah than even Delgado’s.</p>

-

-<p>But Louis Delgado alone knew that the words

-were Arabic, and that Edward Hawthorn grasped

-his arm: ‘In the name of Allah, the All-wise,

-the most Powerful!’</p>

-

-<p>At the sound of that mighty spell, a powerful

-one, indeed, to the fierce, old, half-christianised

-Mohammedan, Delgado’s arm dropped powerless

-to his trembling side, and he fell back,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_532">{532}</span>

-gnashing his teeth like a bulldog balked of a

-fight, into the general mass of plantation negroes.

-There he stood, dazed and stunned apparently,

-leaning up sulkily against the piazza post, but

-speaking not a word to either party for good or

-for evil.</p>

-

-<p>The lull was but for a minute; and Edward

-Hawthorn saw at once that if he was to gain

-any permanent advantage by the momentary

-change of feeling in the fickle negro mob, he

-must keep their attention distracted for a while,

-till their savage passions had time to cool a little,

-and the effect of this unwonted orgy of fire and

-bloodshed had passed away before the influence

-of sober reflection. A negro crowd is like a

-single creature of impulse—swayed to and fro a

-hundred times more easily than even a European

-mob by every momentary passing wave of anger

-or of feeling.</p>

-

-<p>‘Take up Mr Noel and Miss Dupuy,’ he said

-aside in his cool commanding tone to the Orange

-Grove servants:—‘Mr Noel isn’t dead—I see

-him breathing yet—and lay them on a bed and

-look after them, while I speak to these angry

-people.’ Then he turned, mastering himself with

-an effort for that terrible crisis, and taking a

-chair from the piazza, he mounted it quickly,

-and began to speak in a loud voice, unbroken

-by a single tremor of fear, like one addressing

-a public meeting, to the great sea of wondering,

-upturned black faces, lighted up from behind in

-lurid gleams by the red glare of the still blazing

-cane-houses.</p>

-

-<p>‘My friends,’ he said, holding his hand before

-him, palm outward, in a mute appeal for silence

-and a fair hearing, ‘listen to me for a moment.

-I want to speak to you; I want to help you to

-what you yourselves are blindly seeking. I am

-here to-night as Queen Victoria’s delegate and

-representative. Queen Victoria has your welfare

-and interest at heart; and she has sent me out

-to this island to do equal justice between black

-man and white man, and to see that no one

-oppresses another by force or fraud, by lawlessness

-or cunning. As you all know, I am in part

-a man of your own blood; and Queen Victoria,

-in sending me out to judge between you, and

-in appointing so many of your own race to posts

-of honour here in Trinidad, has shown her wish

-to favour no one particular class or colour to the

-detriment or humiliation of the others. But in

-doing as I see you have done to-night—in burning

-down factories, in attacking houses, in killing or

-trying to kill your own employers, and helpless

-women, and men who have done no crime against

-you except trying to protect your victims from

-your cruel vengeance—in doing this, my friends,

-you have not done wisely. That is not the way

-to get what you want from Queen Victoria.—What

-is it you want? Tell me that. That is

-the first thing. If it is anything reasonable, the

-Queen will grant it. What do you want from

-Queen Victoria?’</p>

-

-<p>With one voice the whole crowd of lurid upturned

-black faces answered loudly and earnestly:

-‘Justice, justice!’</p>

-

-<p>Edward paused a moment, with rhetorical skill,

-and looked down at the mob of shouting lips

-with a face half of sternness and half of benevolence.

-‘My friends,’ he said again, ‘you shall

-have justice. You haven’t always had it in the

-past—that I know and regret; but you shall

-have it, trust me, henceforth in the future.

-Listen to me. I know you have often suffered

-injustice. Your rights have not been always

-respected, and your feelings have many times

-been ruthlessly trampled upon. Nobody sympathises

-with you more fully than I do. But

-just because I sympathise with you so greatly,

-I feel it my duty to warn you most earnestly

-against acting any longer as you have been acting

-this evening. I am your friend—you know I

-am your friend. From me, I trust, you have

-never had anything less than equal justice.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Dat’s true—dat’s true!’ rang in a murmuring

-wave of assent from the eager listening crowd

-of negroes.</p>

-

-<p>‘Well,’ Edward went on, lowering his tone to

-more persuasive accents, ‘be advised by me, then,

-and if you want to get what you ask from Queen

-Victoria, do as I tell you. Disperse to-night

-quietly and separately. Don’t go off in a body

-together and talk with one another excitedly

-around your watch-fires about your wrongs and

-your grievances. Burn no more factories and

-cane-houses. Attack no more helpless men and

-innocent women. Think no more of your rights

-for the present. But go each man to his own

-hut, and wait to see what Queen Victoria will

-do for you.—If you continue foolishly to burn

-and riot, shall I tell you in plain words what

-will happen to you? The governor will be

-obliged to bring out the soldiers and the volunteers

-against you; they will call upon you, as

-I call upon you now, in the Queen’s name, to

-lay down your pistols and your guns and your

-cutlasses; and if you don’t lay them down at

-once, they will fire upon you, and disperse you

-easily. Don’t be deceived. Don’t believe that

-because you are more numerous—because there

-are so many more of you than of the white men—you

-could conquer them and kill them by

-main force, if it ever came to open fighting. The

-soldiers, with their regular drill and their good

-arms and their constant training, could shoot

-you all down with the greatest ease, in spite

-of your numbers and your pistols and your

-cutlasses. I don’t say this to frighten you or

-to threaten you; I say it as your friend, because

-I don’t want you foolishly to expose yourselves

-to such a terrible butchery and slaughter.’</p>

-

-<p>A murmur went through the crowd once more,

-and they looked dubiously and inquiringly toward

-Louis Delgado. But the African gave no sign

-and made no answer; he merely stood sullenly

-still by the post against which he was leaning;

-so Edward hastened to reassure the undecided

-mob of listening negroes by turning quickly to

-the other side of the moot question.</p>

-

-<p>‘Now, listen again,’ he said, ‘for what I’m

-going to say to you now is very important. If

-you will disperse, and go each to his own

-home, without any further trouble or riot, I

-will undertake, myself, to go to England on

-purpose for you, and tell Queen Victoria herself

-about all your troubles. I will tell her that you

-haven’t always been justly treated, and I’ll try

-to get new and better laws made in future for

-you, under which you may secure more justice

-than you sometimes get under present arrangements.

-Do you understand me? If you go home

-at once, I promise to go across the sea and speak<span class="pagenum" id="Page_533">{533}</span>

-to Queen Victoria herself on your behalf, over

-in England.’</p>

-

-<p>The view of British constitutional procedure

-implied in Edward Hawthorn’s words was not

-perhaps strictly accurate; but his negro hearers

-would hardly have felt so much impressed if he

-had offered to lay their grievances boldly at the

-foot of that impersonal entity, the Colonial Office;

-while the idea that they were to have a direct

-spokesman, partly of their own blood, with the

-Queen herself, flattered their simple African susceptibilities

-and helped to cool their savage anger.

-Like children as they are, they began to smile

-and show their great white teeth in infantile

-satisfaction, as pleasantly as though they had

-never dreamt ten minutes earlier of hacking

-Harry Noel’s body fiercely into little pieces; and

-more than one voice cried out in hearty tones:

-‘Hoorrah for Mr Hawtorn! Him de black man

-fren’. Gib him a cheer, boys! Him gwine to

-’peak for us to Queen Victoria!’</p>

-

-<p>‘Then promise me faithfully,’ Edward said,

-holding out his hand once more before him, ‘that

-you’ll all go home this very minute and settle

-down quietly in your own houses.’</p>

-

-<p>‘We promise, sah,’ a dozen voices answered

-eagerly.</p>

-

-<p>Edward Hawthorn turned anxiously for a

-moment to Louis Delgado. ‘My brother,’ he

-said to him rapidly in Arabic, ‘this is your doing.

-You must help me now to quiet the people you

-have first so fiercely and so foolishly excited.

-Assist me in dispersing them, and I will try to

-lighten for you the punishment which will surely

-be inflicted upon you as ringleader, when this is

-all over.’</p>

-

-<p>But Delgado, propped in a stony attitude

-against the great wooden post of the piazza,

-answered still never a word. He stood there

-to all appearance in stolid and sullen indifference

-to all that was passing so vividly around

-him, with his white and bloodshot eyes staring

-vacantly into the blank darkness that stretched

-in front of him, behind the flickering light of

-the now collapsed and burnt-out cane-houses.</p>

-

-<p>Edward touched him lightly on his bare arm.

-To his utter horror and amazement, though not

-cold, it was soft and corpse-like, as in the first

-hour of death, before rigidity and chilliness have

-begun to set in. He looked up into the bloodshot

-eyes. Their staring balls seemed already

-glazed and vacuous, utterly vacant of the fierce

-flashing light that had gleamed from the pupils

-so awfully and savagely but ten minutes before,

-as he brandished his cutlass with frantic yells

-above Harry Noel’s fallen body. Two of the

-plantation negroes, attracted by Edward’s evident

-recoil of horror, came forward with curiosity,

-flinging down their cutlasses, and touched the

-soft cheeks, not with the reverent touch which

-a white man feels always due to the sacredness

-of death, but harshly and rudely, as one might

-any day touch a senseless piece of stone or timber.</p>

-

-<p>Edward looked at them with a pallid face of

-mute inquiry. The youngest of the two negroes

-drew back for a second, overtaken apparently

-by a superstitious fear, and murmured low in

-an awe-struck voice: ‘Him dead, sah, dead—stone

-dead. Dead dis ten minute, since ever

-you begin to ’peak to de people, sah.’</p>

-

-<p>He was indeed. His suppressed rage at the

-partial failure of his deeply cherished scheme

-of vengeance on the hated white men, coming

-so close upon his paroxysm of triumph over

-the senseless bodies of Mr Dupuy and Harry

-Noel, had brought about a sudden fit of cardiac

-apoplexy. The old African’s savage heart had

-burst outright with conflicting emotions. Leaning

-back upon the pillar for support, as he felt

-the blood failing within him, he had died suddenly

-and unobserved without a word or a cry,

-and had stood there still, as men will often

-stand under similar circumstances, propped up

-against the supporting pillar, in the exact attitude

-in which death had first overtaken him.

-In the very crisis of his victory and his defeat,

-he had been called away suddenly to answer

-for his conduct before a higher tribunal than

-the one with which Edward Hawthorn had so

-gently and forbearingly threatened him.</p>

-

-<p>The effect of this sudden catastrophe upon the

-impressionable minds of the excited negroes was

-indeed immediate and overwhelming. Lifting up

-their voices in loud wails and keening, as at

-their midnight wakes, they cried tremulously

-one after another: ‘De Lard is against us—de

-Lard is against us! Ebbery man to your tents,

-O Israel! De Lard hab killed Delgado—hab

-killed Delgado—hab smitten him down, for de

-murder him committed!’ To their unquestioning

-antique faith, it was the visible judgment

-of heaven against their insurrection, the blood

-of Theodore Dupuy and Harry Noel crying out

-for vengeance from the floor of the piazza, like

-the blood of righteous Abel long before, crying

-out for vengeance from the soil of Eden.</p>

-

-<p>More than one of them believed in his heart,

-too, that the mysterious words in the unknown

-language which Edward Hawthorn had muttered

-over the old African were the spell that had

-brought down upon him before their very eyes

-the unseen bolt of the invisible powers. Whether

-it were obeah, or whether it were imprecation

-and solemn prayer to the God of heaven, they

-thought within themselves, in their dim, inarticulate,

-unspoken fashion, that ‘Mr Hawtorn word

-bring down de judgment dat very minute on Louis

-Delgado.’</p>

-

-<p>In an incredibly short space of time, the great

-crowd of black faces had melted away as quickly

-as it came, and Edward Hawthorn was left alone

-in the piazza, with none but the terrified servants

-of the Orange Grove household to help him in

-his task or to listen to his orders. All that night

-long, across the dark gorge and the black mango

-grove, they could hear the terrified voices of

-the negroes in their huts singing hymns, and

-crying aloud in strange prayers to God in heaven

-that the guilt of this murder might not be

-visited upon their heads, as it had been visited

-before their very eyes that night on Louis

-Delgado. To the negro mind, the verdict of

-fate is the verdict of heaven.</p>

-

-<p>‘Take up his body, too, and lay it down on

-the sofa,’ Edward said to Uncle ’Zekiel, still

-beside himself with terror at the manifold horrors

-of this tragical evening.</p>

-

-<p>‘I doan’t can dare, sah,’ Uncle ’Zekiel answered

-tremulously—‘I doan’t can dare lay me hand

-upon de corpse, I tellin’ you, sah. De finger

-ob de Lard has smite Delgado. I doan’t dare

-to lift an’ carry him.’</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_534">{534}</span></p>

-

-<p>‘One of you boys, then, come and help me,’

-Edward cried, holding up the corpse with one

-hand to keep it from falling.</p>

-

-<p>But not one of them dared move a single step

-nearer to the terrible awe-inspiring object.</p>

-

-<p>At last, finding that no help was forthcoming

-on any hand, Edward lifted up the ghastly

-burden all by himself in his own arms, and

-laid it down reverently and gently on the piazza

-sofa. ‘It is better so,’ he murmured to himself

-slowly and pitifully. ‘There will be no

-more blood on either side shed at anyrate for

-this awful evening’s sorry business.’</p>

-

-<p>And then at length he had leisure to turn

-back into the house itself and make inquiries

-after Mr Dupuy and Harry and Nora.</p>

-

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="WILD-BEES_AND_BEE-HUNTING">WILD-BEES AND BEE-HUNTING.</h2>

-</div>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">There</span> are, it is said, no fewer than twenty-seven

-genera, and one hundred and seventy-seven

-species of bees, natives of Great Britain. But

-one only of all these, the <i>Apis millifica</i>, or

-common honey-bee, has been domesticated.

-Attempts have been made with others, especially

-with the <i>bombus</i>, or humble-bee, but without

-any adequate success.</p>

-

-<p>The frequent mention of honey in the Old

-Testament from the patriarchal ages downward,

-and the description of Palestine as ‘a land flowing

-with milk and honey,’ may well have raised

-the question whether the honey was obtained

-from bees in a wild condition or in a state of

-domestication. The weight of evidence is in

-favour of the former. In the somewhat wandering

-life, as ‘strangers and pilgrims,’ which many

-of the patriarchs led, bee-culture would have

-been very inconvenient, if not impossible; and

-as honey was to be had in rich abundance simply

-for the seeking, there would be little inducement

-to undertake unnecessary cares and labours in

-the domestication of the native variety. There

-is no question, however, as to the possibility of

-inducing wild bees to accept domestication. In

-Cashmere and the north of India, the natives

-have a simple and ready method of doing this:

-in building their houses, they leave cavities in

-one of the walls having a sunny aspect, with a

-small hole like that of a modern hive opening

-outwards. The inner side of the wall is fitted

-with a frame of wood with a door attached. A

-swarm of bees in search of a new home—or

-perhaps the pioneers who are sent, a day or two

-before the actual swarming, to seek out a dwelling-place—would

-be attracted by such an ‘open

-door,’ and the family, or army, ten, twenty, or

-thirty thousand strong, would at once take

-possession. The vacant space would soon be

-filled by the busy workers; and the inmates of

-the house, having access to the store by means

-of the open door, could move a comb or two

-at pleasure, without distressing the bees, simply

-using the precaution of blowing in as much

-smoke at the back as would cause the bees to

-fly out at the front. English travellers report

-having seen the operation performed, and the

-bees quietly return when the work was done.

-The plan has been recommended for use in this

-country. It is at least practicable, if not necessary.

-In dwelling-houses there might be risks, which

-would not apply to farm-buildings and erections

-around a country house. But if man has not

-utilised this plan, the bees themselves have acted

-upon it. An instance of two within the writer’s

-own knowledge may not be uninteresting.</p>

-

-<p>I was the tenant of Rose Cottage, Brenchley,

-Kent, from 1853 to 1862. The house—which

-has been considerably altered since—was well

-adapted for such a purpose. The upper parts of

-the walls were formed, as is common in that

-part of the county, externally of tiles on a framework

-of wood, and internally of lath and plaster.

-In the cavities there would be ample space for

-large stores of comb and honey. A swarm of

-bees took possession of a portion of the front

-wall, having a south-south-eastern aspect, entering

-their abode through a crevice between the

-tiles just over one of the chamber windows.

-They held possession for several years, and still

-held their own when I left the cottage. As

-they never swarmed, it is almost certain there

-must have been a large collection of honey; but

-for some reason or other, chiefly, no doubt, on

-account of the difficulty of taking the honey

-without injuring the house and exposing the

-whole family to the attacks of the bees, I profited

-in no way by their busy labours.</p>

-

-<p>Less than ten years ago, when making a call

-at the old farmhouse, Penrhos, Lyonshall, Herefordshire,

-my attention was directed to a colony

-of bees which had made a settlement in the

-upper part of one of the walls of the house. I

-suggested the removal of a portion of the inner

-wall, and predicted a large ‘find.’ After some

-time, this advice was acted on; but the farmer

-adopted a plan which I should have strongly

-deprecated—the plan of destroying with brimstone

-the entire bee community. The store of

-honey was so great that every available keeler

-and pan in the house was filled to the extent

-of nearly two hundredweight.</p>

-

-<p>Two other instances may be cited, as reported

-in the <i>West Surrey Times</i>. One is that of an

-extraordinary ‘take’ of honey from the walls of

-the <i>Hautboy and Fiddle Inn</i>, Ockham, Surrey.

-The outer walls of the house are about three feet

-in thickness, and at the very top of the third

-story a colony of bees had established themselves,

-holding undisturbed possession for a number of

-years. At length the innkeeper determined to

-find out their whereabouts. After a diligent

-search under the roof, a piece of comb was found.

-Descending to one of the upper bedrooms, chisel

-and hammer went to work, and a square of about

-two feet was opened in the front wall; here a

-large mass of comb was discovered; and after

-fumigating the bees, about one hundred and

-twenty pounds of honey were secured. Another

-and still more extraordinary ‘take’ of honey was

-secured at Winter’s Hall, Bramley, Surrey, the

-seat of Mr George Barrett. Some bees had long<span class="pagenum" id="Page_535">{535}</span>

-held possession of a space between the ceiling of

-the coachhouse and the granary: on effecting

-an entrance, about three hundredweight of honey

-was secured.</p>

-

-<p>In some countries the honey-bee still roams

-at will and uncontrolled; this is notably the

-case in the western parts of the United

-States and Canada. The discovery of their

-natural hives for the purpose of securing

-the honey is the calling of a class of persons

-known as bee-hunters. A writer of considerable

-repute thus speaks on this subject: ‘The

-beautiful forests in which we were encamped

-abounded in bee-trees; that is to say, trees in

-the decayed trunks of which wild-bees had established

-their hives. It is surprising in what

-countless swarms the bees have overspread the

-Far West within but a moderate number of years.

-The Indians consider them the harbinger of the

-white man, as the buffalo is of the red man, and

-say that in proportion as the bee advances, the

-Indian and the buffalo retire. We are always

-accustomed to associate the hum of the beehive

-with the farmhouse and the flower-garden, and

-to consider those industrious little animals as

-connected with the busy haunts of men; and

-I am told that the wild-bee is seldom to be met

-with at any great distance from the frontier.

-They have been the heralds of civilisation,

-steadily preceding it, as it advanced from the

-Atlantic borders; and some of the ancient (early)

-settlers of the West pretend to give the very

-year when the honey-bee first crossed the Mississippi.

-The Indians, with surprise, found the

-mouldering trees of their forests suddenly teeming

-with ambrosial sweets; and nothing, I am

-told, can exceed the greedy relish with which

-they banquet for the first time upon the unbought

-luxury of the wilderness. At present, the

-honey-bee swarms in myriads in the noble groves

-and forests that skirt and intersect the prairies

-and extend along the alluvial bottoms of the

-rivers. It seems to me as if these beautiful

-regions answer literally to the description of the

-land of promise, “a land flowing with milk and

-honey;” for the rich pasturage of the prairies is

-calculated to sustain herds of cattle as countless

-as the sands upon the seashore; while the flowers

-with which they are enamelled render them a

-very paradise for the nectar-seeking bee.’</p>

-

-<p>A bee-hunt must be a very exciting adventure,

-and, as most people would think, attended with

-considerable risk; but the ingenuity of the

-settlers, and especially of the bee-hunters, who

-make a living of the business, is equal to the

-occasion. Let us, for the sake of greater brevity,

-suppose a case, which is, however, little other

-than a narrative of simple facts. A party sets

-out in quest of a bee-tree—a tree in the cavity

-of which a colony of bees have established themselves.

-The party is headed by a veteran bee-hunter,

-a tall lank fellow, with his homespun

-dress hanging loosely about him, and a hat which

-might be taken for a beeskep. A man similarly

-attired attends him, with a long rifle on his

-shoulder. The rest of the party, six in number,

-are armed with axes and rifles. Thus accoutred,

-they are ready for any sport, or even more

-serious business. Reaching an open glade on

-the skirts of the forest, the party halts, and the

-leader advances to a low bush, on which he

-places a piece of honeycomb. This is a lure

-for the bees. In a very short time several are

-humming about it and diving into the cells.

-Laden with honey, they rise into the air and

-dart off in a straight line with almost the velocity

-of a bullet. The hunters watch attentively the

-course they take, and set off in the same direction,

-still watching the course of the bees. In

-this way the tree where the bees have made

-their home is reached. But it will often happen,

-as may be suspected, that the bees will elude

-the sight of the most vigilant hunter, and the

-party may wander about without succeeding in

-finding any treasure. Another method is then

-adopted: a few bees are caught and placed in

-a small box with a glass top, having at the

-bottom a small piece of honeycomb. When

-they have satisfied themselves with honey, two

-or three are allowed to escape, the hunters taking

-care to observe the direction of their flight and

-to follow them as rapidly as possible. When

-these bees are lost sight of, two or three others

-are set free and their course followed, and so

-on until the identical tree has been reached.

-It sometimes happens that one set of bees take

-an opposite course to their predecessors. The

-hunter knows by this that he has passed the

-tree, or otherwise missed his mark, and he

-retraces his steps and follows the lead of the

-unerring bees. The sight of the bee is so strong

-and keen that it can descry its home at an immense

-distance. It is a well-ascertained fact

-that if a bee be caught on a flower at any given

-distance south of its home, and then be taken

-in a close box an equal distance north of it, the

-little creature, when set free, after flying in a

-circle for a moment, will take a straight course

-to its identical tree. Therefore, the hunter who

-has intelligence, patience, and perseverance on

-his side is sure to be successful in the end.</p>

-

-<p>It not unfrequently happens that when in the

-immediate neighbourhood of the tree, the hunter

-may not be able to distinguish the particular

-one he is searching for from the rest, as the

-entrance to the bee-castle is commonly many

-feet above the ground. He is not then at the

-end of his resources. A small fire is kindled,

-and upon a piece of stone or other suitable

-material made hot, some honeycomb is placed;

-the smell will at once induce the whole colony

-of bees to come down from their citadel, when

-the hunters proceed with their axes to bring

-down the tree. A vigorous writer thus describes

-the proceedings, when the party of hunters had

-traced the honey-laden bees to their hive in the

-hollow trunk of a blasted oak, into which, after

-buzzing about for a time, they entered at a hole

-about sixty feet from the ground: ‘Two of the

-bee-hunters now plied their axes vigorously at

-the foot of the tree, to level it with the ground.

-The mere spectators and amateurs in the meantime

-drew off to a cautious distance, to be out

-of the way of the falling of the tree and the

-vengeance of its inmates. The jarring blows of

-the axe seemed to have no effect in alarming or

-agitating this most industrious community; they

-continued to ply at their usual occupations; some

-arriving full-freighted into port, others sallying

-forth on new expeditions, like so many merchantmen

-in a money-making metropolis, little suspicious

-of impending bankruptcy and downfall.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_536">{536}</span>

-Even a loud crack, which announced the disrupture

-of the trunk, failed to divert their attention

-from the intense pursuit of gain. At length,

-down came the tree with a tremendous crash,

-bursting open from end to end, and displaying

-all the hoarded treasures of the commonwealth.

-One of the hunters immediately ran up with a

-wisp of lighted hay, as a defence against the

-bees. The latter, however, made no attack, and

-sought no revenge; they seemed stupefied by

-the catastrophe and unsuspicious of its cause,

-remaining crawling and buzzing about the ruins,

-without offering us any molestation.’</p>

-

-<p>When the tree had been brought down, the

-whole party fell to with spoon and hunting-knife

-to scoop out the combs with which the hollow

-trunk was stored. A single tree has been known

-to yield from one hundredweight to one and a

-half hundredweight.</p>

-

-<p>‘Some of the combs were old and of a deep

-brown colour; others were beautifully white,

-and the honey in their cells was almost limpid.

-Such of the combs as were entire were placed

-in camp kettles, to be conveyed to the encampment;

-those which had been broken by the fall

-were devoured on the spot. Every stark bee-hunter

-was to be seen with a rich morsel in his

-hand, dripping about his fingers, and disappearing

-as rapidly as a cream tart before the holiday

-appetite of a schoolboy.’</p>

-

-<p>Not in America alone, but in Africa also, the

-wild-bee is an object of pursuit by the natives.

-Even the Hottentots show considerable shrewdness

-in obtaining the wild-honey. The author of an

-<i>Expedition into the Interior of Africa</i> thus describes

-an operation of this kind: ‘One of the Hottentots

-observed a number of bees entering a hole in the

-ground which had formerly belonged to some

-animal of the weasel kind. As he made signs

-for us to come to him, we turned that way,

-fearing he had met with some accident.’ It was

-the home of a recent swarm. ‘When the people

-began to unearth the bees, I did not expect that

-we should escape being severely stung; but they

-knew so well how to manage an affair of this

-kind, that they robbed the poor bees with the

-greatest ease and safety. Before they commenced

-digging, a fire was made near the hole, and constantly

-supplied with damp fuel, to produce a

-cloud of smoke. In this the workmen were

-completely enveloped, so that the bees returning

-from the field were prevented approaching, and

-those which flew out of the nest were driven

-by it to a distance.’</p>

-

-<p>The same writer mentions another incident,

-even more interesting. ‘Whilst I was engaged

-in the chase one day on foot with a Namaqua

-attendant, he picked up a small stone; he looked

-at it earnestly, then over the plain, and threw

-it down again. I asked what it was. He said

-there was the mark of a bee on it. Taking it

-up, I also saw on it a small pointed drop of wax,

-which had fallen from the bee in its flight. The

-Namaqua noticed the direction the point of the

-drop indicated, and walking on, he picked up

-another stone, also with a drop of wax on it,

-and so on at considerable intervals, till, getting

-behind a crag, he looked up, and bees were seen

-flying across the sky and in and out of a cleft

-in the face of the rock. Here, of course, was the

-honey he was in pursuit of. A dry bush was

-selected, a fire was made, the cliff ascended, and

-the nest robbed in the smoke.’</p>

-

-<p>An amusing anecdote is related in <i>Feminine

-Monarchy</i>, an old book printed in 1609, and given

-by a Russian ambassador to Rome as ‘written

-out of experience by Charles Butler.’ A man was

-out in the woods searching for honey. Climbing

-a large hollow tree, he discovered an immense

-‘find’ of the luscious produce. By some means

-however, he missed his footing, and slipped into

-the hollow, sinking up to his breast in honey. He

-struggled to get out, but without avail. He called

-and shouted, but alike in vain. He was far

-from human habitation, and help there was none,

-for no one heard his cries. At length, when he

-had begun to despair of deliverance, he was extricated

-in a most remarkable and unexpected way.

-Strange to say, another honey-hunter came to

-the same tree in the person of a large bear, which,

-smelling the honey, the scent of which had been

-diffused by the efforts of the imprisoned man,

-mounted the tree and began to lower himself,

-hind-part first, into the hollow. The hunter,

-rightly concluding that the worst could be but

-death, which he was certain of if he remained

-where he was, clasped the bear around the loins

-with both hands, at the same time shouting

-with all his strength. The bear, what with the

-handling and the shouting, was very seriously

-frightened, and made speed to get out of his fix.

-The man held fast, and the bear pulled until,

-with his immense strength, he drew the man

-fairly out of his strange prison. The bear being

-released, made the best of his way off, more

-frightened than hurt, leaving the man, as the

-story quaintly says, ‘in joyful fear.’</p>

-

-<p>We conclude this paper with a story of another

-kind, a version of which was given some years

-ago in a contemporary; but the French bishop

-was turned into an English prelate, and the

-bee-keeping curé into an Anglican clergyman,

-the story being otherwise greatly changed. The

-said French bishop, while paying a visit to his

-clergy, was much distressed by the extreme

-poverty which met him everywhere. Reaching

-the house of a certain curate who lived in the

-midst of very poor parishioners, where he expected

-to witness even greater destitution, he was

-astonished to find that everything about the

-house wore an appearance of comfort and plenty.

-Greatly surprised by what he saw, the bishop

-asked: ‘How is this, my friend? You are the

-first pastor I have seen having a cheerful face

-and a plentiful board. Have you any income

-independent of your cure?’</p>

-

-<p>‘Yes,’ said the curé, ‘I have. My household

-would otherwise starve on the pittance I receive

-from my poor people. If you will walk into the

-garden, I will show you the stock which yields

-me such excellent interest.’</p>

-

-<p>On going into the garden, the bishop saw a

-long range of beehives.</p>

-

-<p>‘There,’ said the curé—‘there is the bank from

-which I draw an annual dividend; and it is one

-that never stops payment.’</p>

-

-<p>The fact was that his honey supplied the place

-of sugar, leaving him a considerable quantity for

-sale, in addition to other household uses. Then,

-of the washings of the comb and refuse honey

-he manufactured a very palatable wine; while the

-wax went far to pay his shoemaker’s bill.</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_537">{537}</span></p>

-

-<p>Ever afterwards, it is said, when any of the

-clergy complained to the bishop of poverty, he

-would tell the story of the bee-keeping curé,

-following up his anecdote with the advice: ‘Keep

-bees—keep bees!’</p>

-

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_FRIEND_OF_THE_FAMILY">A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.</h2>

-</div>

-

-

-<h3>CHAPTER III.—A GRAVE ACCUSATION.</h3>

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Thus</span> valiant, the Major entered the library at

-the appointed time. He was, however, taken

-aback on finding that it was not only the gentlemen

-he had to confront, but also two of the

-ladies—Mrs Joseph and Mrs John. Nellie had

-positively refused to be present. He had not

-bargained for an examination in the presence of

-the ladies, for he could not say before them

-what he must say in order to exculpate himself.

-He felt that he was being very unfairly treated.

-But he was thankful for small mercies. They

-might have had Miss Euphemia in to witness

-his humiliation—for humiliation it must be to

-confess his stupidity in despatching the letters

-in the wrong envelopes.</p>

-

-<p>The Squire was seated at his writing-table,

-and assumed something of his magisterial air (he

-was a J.P.) as he requested the Major to take

-a chair. The three letters were on the desk before

-him; and he proceeded to read them carefully,

-whilst profound silence prevailed. Mrs Joseph

-darted angry glances alternately at her husband

-and the culprit. Mrs John looked more serious

-than usual, but still showed symptoms of an

-inclination to titter. John Elliott stood in the

-shadow of a large bookcase; Maynard near the

-window which opened to the terrace, impatiently

-twirling his moustache and at intervals glancing

-fiercely towards the Major, who, in his indignation

-at the whole proceeding, returned the glance

-in a like spirit.</p>

-

-<p>The Squire cleared his throat with a raucous

-cough. ‘You have placed me in a most painful

-position, Major,’ he began with an evident desire

-to be friendly, which was checked by the frown

-of his wife. ‘I am as tolerant as anybody of a

-joke. You know that well enough, Dawkins;

-but I can’t stand such a hoax as you have played

-upon us in sending these letters here.’</p>

-

-<p>The Major rose; he felt so much injured, that

-he was calm. ‘My dear friend Elliott’——</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, confound it—there’s the beginning of the

-plaguy things,’ ejaculated the Squire.</p>

-

-<p>‘Allow me to explain. I intended no hoax.

-These letters were written with an earnest desire

-to avert misunderstanding. Unfortunately, in my

-agitation and haste, I blundered.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Not a hoax—not a joke!’ bellowed the

-Squire, rising to his feet and thrusting the

-letters into a drawer of the table. ‘Do you

-mean to say, then, that I suspected my wife of

-anything?’</p>

-

-<p>‘No.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Do you mean to say that a word could be

-spoken about me in association with any one

-which could or should cause Nellie—Miss Carroll—to

-be displeased with me?’ broke in Maynard

-threateningly.</p>

-

-<p>‘No.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Do you mean to say that I am in any way

-involved with another lady?’ snapped Elliott of

-Arrowby.</p>

-

-<p>‘No.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Stop a minute,’ interposed Mrs John, in her

-light-hearted way, coming to the rescue of Major

-Dawkins, and turning to her husband. ‘The Major

-did not say you were involved, John; he only

-warned me not to mind any nonsense I might

-hear about you. Give our friend time to explain.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I am grateful for your intercession, madam,’

-said the Major stiffly. ‘If your husband has read

-the letter which, as I have told you, fell into Mrs

-Joseph’s hands by mischance, he knows precisely

-how the matter stands, and I request <i>him</i> to

-explain, or to speak to me in private.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I have read the letter, of course,’ was the

-peevish response of John Elliott; ‘and it does

-not suggest anything for me to explain, or why

-you should require a private interview with

-me.’</p>

-

-<p>The Major had the opportunity to avenge himself

-on the instant by stating before them all why

-he had written the letters. But Mrs John was

-evidently quite ignorant of her husband’s suspicions;

-why should he pain her by revealing

-them? The outcome of the revelation would be

-an inevitable rupture between the man and wife.

-Nellie Carroll had not heard John Elliott’s

-scandal about Maynard: why should he, for his

-own convenience, stir the stagnant pool and increase

-the distress he had already unintentionally

-caused? No; he would not do that. He had

-blundered, and must pay the penalty.</p>

-

-<p>‘Since Mr John Elliott declines to say anything

-or to grant me a private interview,’ said

-the Major firmly, ‘the affair must end here. I

-withdraw everything that is written in these

-unlucky letters, and request you to give them

-back to me, so that they may be at once

-destroyed.’</p>

-

-<p>‘That won’t do,’ rejoined the Squire gruffly;

-‘if you won’t make the thing clear to us, it has

-gone too far to end here. I shall place the letters

-in the hands of my solicitor to-morrow morning,

-and leave him to arrange with you.’</p>

-

-<p>‘In that case, you will provoke a family scandal

-which will cause you all much vexation, and

-cannot possibly do good to anybody.’</p>

-

-<p>‘It will at least teach <i>some</i> person a serious

-lesson,’ observed Mrs Joseph sternly.</p>

-

-<p>‘O madam, the lesson has been learned already,’

-answered the Major bitterly.—‘But since you,

-Squire, are not satisfied that I am sufficiently

-punished for my mistake by the loss of your

-friendship, but also mean to take legal proceedings,

-I must summon a friend from town who

-will convince you that the trouble did not originate

-with me.’</p>

-

-<p>‘So be it, Major Dawkins; and as things stand,

-I shall expect your visit to Todhurst to terminate

-to-morrow,’ said the Squire, getting the inhospitable

-words out with much difficulty.</p>

-

-<p>‘It would terminate this instant, were it not

-that I still desire to serve you and your family.

-So much you will acknowledge to-morrow, and

-then my presence will no longer disturb you.’</p>

-

-<p>There was a degree of dignity in the Major’s

-retreat which impressed everybody except the

-hot-headed lover, Maynard, who muttered between<span class="pagenum" id="Page_538">{538}</span>

-his teeth: ‘If this were not my friend’s house, I

-would horsewhip the little beggar.’ As he could

-not enjoy that luxury, he occupied his talents

-in seeking a reconciliation with Nellie, and unluckily,

-but naturally, besought the aid of Mrs

-John. His conversations with her in the drawing-room

-and on the lawn again irritated the

-suspicious husband, who, instead of speaking out

-frankly, endeavoured to hide the bitter thoughts

-which were passing through his mind, and became

-more abstracted and more disagreeable than ever.</p>

-

-<p>Mrs Joseph perversely held to her opinion that

-the guest had ‘something’ to say which she ought

-to know.</p>

-

-<p>‘But you don’t mean to say, Kitty,’ the Squire

-expostulated, ‘that if I had any fault to find

-with you I should not speak it straight out to

-yourself, instead of blabbing it to other folk?

-Past experience ought to make you sure that

-when I am not pleased, you will hear about it

-soon enough.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I know that perfectly well—there is no lack of

-fault-finding on your part to myself; and how am

-I to tell what you have been saying about me to

-others?’ retorted Mrs Joseph, whose temper being

-once roused, as has been stated, was not easily

-allayed.</p>

-

-<p>‘Nonsense, Kitty—you don’t believe that I

-would speak about you to outsiders.—Come,

-now; drop this humbug, for you know it is

-humbug; and, ’pon my honour, I think we have

-been too hard on poor Dawkins.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Before deciding on that point, I shall wait to

-hear what this friend he is summoning from

-London has to say to-morrow.’</p>

-

-<p>‘I take his word for it, that there was a

-mistake.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Then he should not make such a mistake,

-and having made it, ought to suffer the consequences.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But, my dear, don’t you see that he is taking

-the consequences?—and infernally unpleasant ones

-they are. I tell you there is nothing in it;

-and if he had only said it was all a joke, I

-should have been satisfied.’</p>

-

-<p>‘But he said it was not a joke, and told you

-that if you prosecuted him, it would result in a

-grave family scandal. How can you answer

-that?’</p>

-

-<p>‘I can’t, and he wouldn’t; so we must wait for

-the person who will.’</p>

-

-<p>There was a kind of armed truce declared in

-this way between the husband and wife—she

-feeling guiltily conscious that she was somehow

-making a mountain of a molehill; and he feeling

-perfectly sure of it.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb">

-

-<p>The Major went straight to his room, resolved

-that he would hold no intercourse with the family

-until Mrs John’s brother, Matt Willis, arrived.

-Had there been a train that evening to town, he

-would have taken it and brought his friend down;

-and if there had been a hotel in the village, he

-would have left the house forthwith. But there

-was no train and there was no hotel—not even a

-beershop, for the country folk thereabout mostly

-brewed their own ale. There was, however, a

-post and telegraph office in the village, and Hollis

-was despatched with a message for Willis, entreating

-him, for his sister’s sake, to come down by the

-first train on the following morning. That done,

-he endeavoured to compose himself and to take

-a calm survey of his position. He had upset

-everybody, and most of all himself, by his good-natured

-anxiety to save others from the consequences

-of their own folly. The thing ought to

-have resulted in a laugh and a shake-hands all

-round; but instead of that, it threatened to

-become a serious affair for the law-courts to

-deal with; and the Major had no means to

-enable him to indulge in the luxury of a lawsuit.</p>

-

-<p>What was he to do? Nothing but what he

-had determined upon—to get Willis to speak

-out, since John Elliott would not. There was of

-course the possibility that Willis would refuse,

-as it was his intense repugnance to interfering

-with family squabbles which had prompted him

-to call for the Major’s assistance as mediator

-between his sister and her husband.</p>

-

-<p>Major Dawkins felt indignant with John Elliott

-for shrinking from speaking the few words which

-would have put everything right. But the truth

-flashed upon him—perhaps the man was so

-blinded by his jealousy, that he really did not

-understand what was required of him, when

-asked to explain the position. Although the

-Major could only surmise that this was the case,

-the surmise was correct; but the true reason why

-John Elliott did not understand him was that

-he had no idea of his conversation with Willis

-having been repeated to any one. If that were

-so, the Major felt that it was his duty to prevent

-the threatened publicity by every means in his

-power. Apart from his consideration for the

-feelings of Mrs John and Nellie, there was his

-own plight to be taken into account. Publicity

-would expose him to ridicule, if not contempt,

-and would inevitably put an end to all hope of

-winning the hand of Miss Euphemia Panton.

-He resolved to see the Squire the moment

-dinner was over, and make another effort to

-get him to understand the real state of the

-unfortunate business.</p>

-

-<hr class="tb">

-

-<p>Servants have a special instinct for discovering

-the ill-luck of the family they serve,

-and invariably they accept it in a distorted form.

-Then they sympathise with the master and

-mistress, or rejoice in their fallen state, according

-to the perquisites which have been allowed them

-or withheld from them. Hollis having heard

-that his master was in disgrace with the family

-they had come to visit, felt that his own dignity

-was at stake; therefore, in the housekeeper’s

-room and in the butler’s pantry he valiantly

-defended the honour of his chief. He was a

-little crest-fallen when he found that his master

-was not to join the family at dinner, for this

-circumstance appeared to confirm the gossip of

-the servants’ hall that the Major had been guilty

-of some grave offence, the nature of which was

-too dreadful to be mentioned. Hollis was equal

-to the occasion, and by taking the position as

-one of great injustice to his master, succeeded, by

-cautious suggestions of forthcoming revelations,

-in impressing the housekeeper and butler with

-the idea that they would reap a large reward in

-the future by careful attention to the Major’s

-present needs. The diplomacy of Hollis was

-used as much on his own account as on that of

-his master; for he managed to secure command<span class="pagenum" id="Page_539">{539}</span>

-of the dishes which were most favoured by the

-Major—and himself, as well as a sufficient supply

-of Clos de Vougeot and Heidsieck.</p>

-

-<p>The Major was scarcely sufficiently appreciative

-of the attentions of his servant in catering

-for him so far as the eatables were concerned;

-and he sadly disappointed Hollis by taking a

-larger share of the wine than that gentleman

-had expected. For this loss, however, he contrived

-to compensate himself when he got downstairs

-again. Major Dawkins was too eager for

-the moment when he should be able to speak

-freely to the Squire to find any delight in eating;

-and although he took the wine, it was without

-any of the relish with which he usually partook

-of rare vintages. When Hollis had cleared the

-table, he rose immediately, disregarding his

-digestion, and paced the room. He knew that

-the dinner would be a more lugubrious affair

-than the luncheon had been, and he endeavoured

-to calculate exactly when it would be over.</p>

-

-<p>The time having arrived, he opened his door,

-which was nearly opposite that of the library.

-To the latter he advanced quickly, knowing that

-the Squire frequently went thither after dinner

-to examine letters or to take a nap. He heard

-some one moving in the room, and tapped at

-the door. There was no answer. He tapped

-again, and still receiving no answer, boldly turned

-the handle and entered. There was no one

-visible. He was puzzled, for there had been

-unmistakable sounds of some one moving about

-and also of the shutting of a drawer. The

-window which opened on the terrace was slightly

-ajar, and possibly the Squire, suspecting who was

-his visitor, had stepped out in order to avoid

-him. That was both unfriendly and unjust.</p>

-

-<p>The Major was angry, for he could not conceive

-any reason for being avoided in this

-manner. He looked out: no one was visible on

-the terrace. Then a sudden temptation seized

-him. He knew exactly in which drawer the

-Squire had placed those abominable letters.

-They were his own—why should he not take

-possession of them and destroy them? In this

-way the whole miserable business would be

-ended. Of course, he could not deny having

-written such letters as would be described, but

-they would not be forthcoming; and if it should

-come to the worst, his explanation of the circumstances

-under which they had been written would

-be listened to with the more patience and consideration.</p>

-

-<p>The temptation was too much for him. For

-the sake of the family as well as for his own

-sake, those letters must be destroyed. He went

-to the drawer, pulled it open, and there before

-him lay the letters. He snatched them out and

-thrust them into the breast-pocket of his coat,

-with the intention of burning them when he

-reached his own room; but at that moment his

-wrists were tightly grasped and he heard the

-click of handcuffs fastened upon them. He was

-helpless and speechless. He stood staring at the

-smiling face of a broad-shouldered fellow who

-wore the costume of a gamekeeper.</p>

-

-<p>‘Got you at last,’ said this gentleman quite

-pleasantly. ‘You have given me no end of

-trouble; but, there, I respect you all the

-more. Only, you have been coming it rather

-strong, and I am surprised that you didn’t take

-a rest, seeing that you’ve had the valuables out

-of half-a-dozen mansions in the county.’</p>

-

-<p>‘What do you mean?’ shouted the Major

-furiously.</p>

-

-<p>‘Nothing particular,’ replied the complacent

-gentleman, ‘unless you count it particular that

-I should want you to come along with me. I

-am a constable, and I have been looking out for

-you for some weeks past. So, you had better

-make no fuss about the matter, but come along

-quietly. It’ll be all the better for yourself.’</p>

-

-<p>‘You confounded fool!’ ejaculated the Major

-indignantly, ‘do you take <i>me</i> for a burglar?

-I am a guest in this house—I am Major

-Dawkins.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Alias Captain Jack, alias ’Arry Smith.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Call the family—they will identify me,’ the

-Major almost shrieked, whilst he endeavoured to

-free himself from his handcuffs.</p>

-

-<p>‘Oh, I’ll call the family,’ answered the detective,

-as he lifted up a jemmy which was lying beside

-the Squire’s desk. ‘I suppose you don’t know

-what this little tool means, and I suppose you

-don’t know anything about this drawer which

-has been forced open with it?’</p>

-

-<p>‘You scoundrel, to suspect me of such’——</p>

-

-<p>‘There now; don’t say anything to commit

-yourself; I’ll call the family.’</p>

-

-<p>Thereupon, the detective rang the bell.</p>

-

-<p>The summons was answered by Parker the

-butler, who was somewhat astonished to find a

-stranger in the library with the Major. The

-latter’s face—purple with rage—and wild gesticulations,

-with his fettered hands, presented a

-spectacle so astounding that Parker could

-scarcely believe his eyes rested on a guest of

-the house.</p>

-

-<p>‘Tell your master to come here and release

-me from this ruffian, who takes me—me, Major

-Dawkins—for a burglar!’</p>

-

-<p>The detective smiled placidly as he addressed

-the butler: ‘Yes, if you please, inform Mr

-Elliott that he is wanted here on particular

-business.’</p>

-

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="ENGLISH_COUNSEL_AND_SOLICITORS">ENGLISH COUNSEL AND SOLICITORS.</h2>

-</div>

-<p class="ph3">BY A BARRISTER.</p>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> time ago, an agitation sprang up in favour

-of the amalgamation of the two legal professions

-in England, and the conduct thereafter of litigious

-business on lines more or less nearly approximating

-to the American system. The movement

-emanated, no doubt, from the town branch of

-the profession; for it is no secret that many

-solicitors are anxious to distinguish themselves

-in court by pleading their clients’ causes, in

-place of retaining counsel to do so for them.

-But, in the face of more burning questions, the

-agitation gradually died away.</p>

-

-<p>It now seems not unlikely to be revived, as

-it is certain that sooner or later it must be.

-And an <i>ex cathedrâ</i> utterance given by that

-eminently practical judge, Mr Justice Stephen,

-a short time ago, will tend to hasten the course

-of events in this matter. A case for trial before

-that judge was duly called on, when it was

-found that the plaintiff was unrepresented, his

-counsel being at the time engaged in another

-court. The plaintiff being unwilling, or at least<span class="pagenum" id="Page_540">{540}</span>

-unprepared, to conduct his own case—notwithstanding

-the growing tendency in favour of

-personally conducted cases—the judge was asked

-to allow the case to stand over, which he did,

-but not without giving a hint as to the possibility

-of future ‘reform.’ ‘If,’ said his lordship, ‘such

-an incident occurs often, it will become necessary

-to do away with the separation between

-solicitors and barristers.’ Just so. This is the

-way the question is regarded from the judicial

-point of view. When the judge is put to

-inconvenience, he speaks out; and if he is at

-all often put to inconvenience, he will act also.

-But inasmuch as, in most actions, each party is

-represented by more than one counsel—certainly

-no ‘distinguished’ or fashionable counsel will

-accept a brief without a junior—such inconvenience

-to a judge is of comparatively unfrequent

-occurrence; so that, although one of its

-members may occasionally be found to <i>speak</i> in

-favour of amalgamation, little or no active

-assistance can be expected from the judicial

-body.</p>

-

-<p>But how does the question affect other interests?

-Solicitors, as we have hinted, are in

-favour of amalgamation. It can hardly do them

-much harm, but must in many cases add to

-their professional incomes, which is of course

-all that, as a body, they want. Barristers are

-more opposed to it, but, we think, without much

-reason. A few, doubtless, will suffer; but the

-state of the advocate’s profession as a whole can

-hardly be worse than it is at present. There

-are barristers, it may be said, who earn fifteen

-or twenty thousand pounds a year; but they

-are not many—infinitely fewer in number than

-those who earn nothing at all—and they are

-probably well above the reach of competition,

-partly by reason of their known and exceptional

-ability, and partly because they have been placed

-by fashion on a pedestal which is too firm to

-crumble away, at least during their brief span

-of life. But the few who make such incomes

-may be compared to the large landowners whom

-Mr Henry George and his friends would rob to

-enrich (?) those who have no land. If all the

-incomes made at the Bar were added together,

-and their sum divided amongst all the barristers,

-each would have but a pittance, so overstocked

-is the profession. Hence, regarding barristers as

-forming a small community, and giving due consideration

-to the greatest happiness of the greatest

-number principle, it is pretty obvious that the

-Bar has really little to lose by the bringing about

-of amalgamation.</p>

-

-<p>Now from the point of view of the public. It

-is clear that this largest interest must benefit by

-amalgamation. It would promote economy—an

-extremely great gain. It would practically mean

-the abolition of that middle-man who is so

-obnoxious to economists, so hurtful to the proper

-expression of delicate points, and so wasteful of

-time. It matters not to the public, as long as it is

-placed in direct communication with its counsel,

-whether that counsel be a solicitor or a barrister;

-but it is of great and increasing importance to

-the vast body of litigants that personal relations

-should be established between client and advocate;

-and this is what must sooner or later come

-to pass. Other advantages of the amalgamated

-system have been before urged here and elsewhere;

-they need not be again specified in detail.

-Technically, the probable effect of the system

-would be the immediate entering into partnership

-of counsel and solicitors; which would mean

-nothing to the general public except the nearer

-approach of counsel and the vastly increased possibility

-of personal interview with him. Solicitors,

-in fact, would for all practical purposes become

-barristers’ confidential clerks; they would do all

-the work they do now for settlement by their

-partner counsel; they would receive clients in

-chambers while their partners were engaged in

-court, and in the event of an unusual press of

-court-work, would conduct the minor cases through

-their trials. The aggregate advantages of such a

-reform are so obvious, that minor interests should

-not be considered in bringing it about; and we

-are therefore inclined to express a hope that Mr

-Justice Stephen’s criticism of the existing state

-of affairs may prove to be prophetic of the near

-future.</p>

-

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="LADY_FREDERICKS_DIAMONDS">LADY FREDERICK’S DIAMONDS.</h2>

-</div>

-

-

-<p><span class="smcap">I, Arnold Blake</span>, have had a queer up-and-down,

-checkered sort of life, and until I was

-nearing my fortieth year, was most persistently

-down in my luck. First, it was in Mexico that

-I tried my fortune, and failed. Then, tempted

-by an enthusiastic friend, I went to Genoa and

-set up there in partnership with him as a merchant.

-The life was a very healthy and happy

-one, but not what any one could call profitable,

-from a pecuniary point of view—in fact, quite

-the reverse. After a few years, finding it impossible,

-with both ends stretched to the uttermost,

-to make them meet, we gave that up; and I

-moved on to Nice, where I had two or three

-substantial friends. There, things took a turn

-for the better, and I gradually formed a niche

-for myself, in time becoming quite an authority

-in my own small circle. Then, acting on good

-advice, I started a branch bank in connection

-with a well-known one in London. This answered

-fairly well; I had just as much work as I cared

-to do, was able to pay my expenses, and had

-even begun to lay by a little hoard against the

-proverbial ‘rainy-day.’ Nice was a gay, bright

-town to live in, and I constantly met old friends,

-and made many pleasant new ones, who were

-passing through to the South, or spending two

-or three months there, or at Monte Carlo, for

-the fascinating pleasure of either losing their

-own money, or making a tidy little fortune out

-of somebody else’s pocket.</p>

-

-<p>One afternoon, I was sitting in my small

-counting-house, writing for the English mail,

-when the door opened, and in came an old

-acquaintance, Sir Frederick O’Connor, with a

-parcel in his hand. ‘How d’ye do, Blake?’ said

-he cheerily. ‘I’ve come to you to get me out

-of a difficulty. These are my wife’s jewels.

-Why she has brought them with her, family

-diamonds and all, passes my understanding. I

-call it insane! Fact is I don’t relish the idea

-of waking up some fine morning to find my

-throat cut! I want to know if you will be so

-good as to keep them in your safe while we are

-here. Whenever Lady O’Connor wishes to dazzle

-her friends with them, I can easily come round

-and ask you for what she wants.’</p>

-

-<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_541">{541}</span></p>

-

-<p>Naturally, I willingly consented to find a

-corner for the jewels; and after I had taken

-an inventory of them, Sir Frederick himself

-placed them in an inner compartment, and I

-locked the door. I little thought what a

-dance those confounded diamonds should lead

-me!</p>

-

-<p>A few days after this, at a large garden-party

-I met Lady O’Connor, young, pretty, and happy-looking.

-She shook hands cordially, expressed

-pleasure at meeting again, and asked if I thought

-the season would be a gay one. ‘By-the-by,’

-she said, ‘it is very kind of you, Mr Blake, to

-take care of my valuables. Sir Frederick was

-quite in despair about them, until a happy

-thought suggested you as their protector. I

-am going to trouble you for some of them

-to-morrow. Fred will call for them; and do

-not be surprised if you see him bristling with

-bowie-knives and revolvers, for he has a fixed

-idea that the Nice ruffian has a keener nose for

-other people’s property than any other ruffian

-in the world.’</p>

-

-<p>I answered that her lovely jewels were worthy

-of an escort armed to the teeth, and that I was

-very glad indeed to be of use to Sir Frederick

-and herself in any way.</p>

-

-<p>The morning after this garden-party—it must

-have been about half-past four or five—my sleepy

-senses were completely scattered by my door

-being thrown violently open, and Roscoe, my

-combined valet and commissionaire, a quiet and

-respectful treasure, landing beside me as if shot

-out of a catapult. I knew at once that something

-very dreadful must have happened. Roscoe’s

-face of horror and despair would have made a

-valuable study for an artist.</p>

-

-<p>‘Get up, sir, at once, and come down to the

-office. The safe has been broken open, and

-cleaned out, sir, quite empty!’ gasped Roscoe

-breathlessly, pale with excitement.</p>

-

-<p>I cannot recollect what followed during the

-few minutes in which I hurriedly dressed, and

-Roscoe is far too considerate to have ever reminded

-me of that short scene. The first thing

-I <i>do</i> remember is, finding myself in my office,

-clothed in a sketchy and uncomfortable manner,

-the victim of one of the most audacious burglaries

-that had taken place in Nice for a very long

-time. I stood gazing at my ransacked safe and

-rummaged drawers, and at the floor, strewn with

-papers, among which, here and there, I noticed

-a few gold pieces, which seemed as if the robbers

-had been interrupted or startled in some way or

-other. I was afraid to move from the spot on

-which I stood until the detective, whom I had

-sent Roscoe off in a <i>fiacre</i> to fetch, should arrive,

-lest I might unwittingly destroy some small but

-important piece of evidence, which his experienced

-eyes would discover at a glance. In a very

-short time he appeared, and after a friendly word

-or two, commenced his investigations. He carefully

-examined the safe, the window, and the

-door. Nothing seemed to escape him. He

-took voluminous notes; measured a footmark

-which he discovered on the floor; but the footmark

-on further inquiry was found to be his

-own, which rather put him out.</p>

-

-<p>I told him of the jewels which had been

-placed in my care so lately.</p>

-

-<p>‘Your man informed me, monsieur, as we

-came, that you had diamonds of great value in

-your iron safe.’</p>

-

-<p>A clammy dew broke out suddenly on my

-forehead, as I remembered that Lady O’Connor

-was counting on appearing in those same jewels

-at the prefecture ball that night.</p>

-

-<p>‘On the strength of what your servant told

-me, monsieur,’ continued the detective, ‘I have

-already telegraphed to Marseilles, Genoa, and

-Turin, and have directed some of my most trustworthy

-men to be on the alert at the railway

-station and the port. I will send and let monsieur

-know the moment we get any trace of the stolen

-property.’</p>

-

-<p>I made out a careful list of all I had lost,

-gave it to the detective, and then returned to

-my rooms to dress in a rather less superficial

-manner. The awful business of breaking the

-loss of the jewels to Sir Frederick and Lady

-O’Connor was now staring me in the face, and

-as I walked to their hotel I became a prey to

-the most paralysing nervousness I hope it will

-ever be my lot to endure. I was shown into

-a charming sitting-room, facing the sea, and

-though I did not look at anything round me,

-except the two people I had come to see, I

-remembered afterwards every detail of the scene.</p>

-

-<p>They were at breakfast. The refreshing, sun-warmed

-morning air breathed softly in through

-the open window, scented by the mignonette,

-which grew thickly in boxes on the balcony

-outside. Lady O’Connor looked very graceful and

-pretty in a long loose gown of some soft Indian

-silk, trimmed with lace. Sir Frederick, also

-in comfortable unconventional garments, was

-reading aloud a letter, over which they were

-both laughing merrily as I was announced.

-They welcomed me warmly, looking as if early

-and unexpected visitors were quite a common

-occurrence, and between them, carried on the

-usual preliminary chit-chat about the lovely

-weather, the delight of being able to breakfast

-with the window open in the month of

-November, the view, &amp;c., as long as the servant

-remained in the room, while I stood looking

-from one to the other, solemnly bowing my

-head in silent answer to their cheerful remarks.

-It is not necessary to relate what passed;

-suffice it to say that both Sir Frederick and

-Lady O’Connor possessed an unusual share of

-kindness of heart and of sympathy with other

-people’s misfortunes, and they endeavoured to

-make my unpleasant position as easy for me

-as possible.</p>

-

-<p>Then followed a week of restless activity.

-I haunted the police bureau; if I was not there

-two or three times a day myself, I sent Roscoe

-to find out for me if any telegrams had arrived

-on the all-important subject, any clue been found

-to throw the smallest light upon it.</p>

-

-<p>One lovely afternoon, I was walking down

-the Promenade des Anglais in anything but

-a cheerful frame of mind, indeed I do not

-think I ever felt so utterly depressed before.

-Nothing whatever had been heard of the

-missing jewels; and during a long consultation

-that morning with Aigunez the detective,

-he had told me that he firmly believed that

-the robbery was the work of one man, and that

-the jewels were still in Nice. I had been calling

-at one of the pretty villas beyond the Var,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_542">{542}</span>

-and was now making my way down the side

-of the Promenade next the houses, to the <i>Hôtel de

-la Mediterranée</i>, to talk over Aigunez’s last suggestion

-with Sir Frederick O’Connor. As I was

-passing the high solid walls of the now quite

-unused cemetery, I noticed that the door was

-ajar; and expecting to find there old Baroni

-the care-taker, whom I knew, I pushed open

-the door and entered. Nobody was there:

-all was silent and solitary. Here and there

-were untidy heaps of rubbish; tangled, overgrown

-bushes; and propped against the walls were two

-or three gravestones that had covered graves

-from which the remains had been removed to

-some family vault elsewhere. I could not help

-wondering how much Baroni received for the

-amount of care and labour he bestowed on the

-old English burial-ground. When my eyes,

-which were uncommonly sharp ones, had become

-accustomed to the dark shadows thrown by the

-walls, and the brilliant glare where the shadow-line

-ended, I noticed that a gravestone lying

-in rather a retired spot appeared, by the fresh-looking

-footmarks round it, to have been lately

-moved. I do not think that this circumstance

-would have roused my curiosity in the then

-preoccupied state of my mind, had it not been

-that close beside it a large branch of a neighbouring

-tree had been bent down and fastened firmly

-to the ground by means of a stone. This arrested

-my attention, it was so evidently intended to

-mark the spot. Exerting all my strength, I

-pushed the heavy stone sufficiently to one side

-to enable me to see that it concealed a small

-pit, recently dug, by the look of the mould round

-it. It was empty! I managed to replace the

-gravestone, and left the cemetery, carefully closing

-the door behind me, and glancing round to see if

-my actions had been observed.</p>

-

-<p>I hurried on to the hotel, wondering and conjecturing

-as to the possible meaning of the curious

-little mystery I had just discovered. That small

-oblong pit, for what purpose could it have

-been prepared? My first idea was that a murder

-had been or was about to be committed, and

-in this way it was intended to get rid of the

-victim’s body; but the hole was certainly not

-large enough for a grown person. Was it possible

-that it was to be the unblessed, unadorned

-tomb of some little one, done to death by pitiless

-earthly guardians, who found its frail helpless

-life a burden to them? That was too hideous

-a fancy. Suddenly, the thought struck me that

-it might be a hiding-place for property! By

-Jove, the diamonds!</p>

-

-<p>At that moment I reached the <i>Mediterranée</i>,

-and going up the broad stairs three at a time

-in my excitement, I knocked at the door of the

-O’Connors’ sitting-room. Sir Frederick was alone,

-smoking, with the last number of the <i>World</i> in

-his hand.</p>

-

-<p>‘I felt sure that you would come in this afternoon,’

-he said, as he pushed his cigar case towards

-me, ‘so I put off going to the club.—What

-is the latest intelligence?’</p>

-

-<p>I first told him of Aigunez’s opinion, that

-the jewels were still in Nice, an opinion which

-had now gained for me a double significance.

-Then I unfolded my own budget, and told him

-of all I had seen in the old cemetery which

-had been closed for so many years.</p>

-

-<p>This put Sir Frederick into the wildest spirits.

-‘We’ve got them now, Blake!’ he exclaimed,

-‘and no mistake about it. They’ve run themselves

-into a nice trap. Of <i>course</i>, these are the

-rascals we’re after.—What do you say?—Don’t

-set my heart upon it, in case of disappointment.

-Nonsense! my dear fellow. Don’t you see they

-cannot get rid of diamonds like those in a hurry;

-and not being able to leave the town puts them

-in a regular fix? It is very dangerous for them

-to keep such valuable things about them, and

-now, they flatter themselves that they have found

-an uncommonly safe hiding-place. Why, Fate

-must have led you by the very nose to that

-door this afternoon!’</p>

-

-<p>I laughed. ‘It is as well for us, perhaps, that

-I did not feel her fingers, or things might have

-turned out differently. We had better settle our

-plan of action for to-night, as it won’t do to let

-this chance slip. How fortunate there is no moon.

-It will be as black as Erebus inside those high

-walls.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Our best plan,’ said Sir Frederick, ‘is, I think,

-to hide ourselves there as soon as it is dark. We

-may have a long time to wait; but then, again,

-we may not, and we are much less likely to be

-observed if we slip in early in the evening.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Then I will call for you, Sir Frederick, as

-soon as it is dark enough,’ I answered. ‘And

-allow me to suggest that we do not take Aigunez

-into our confidence, for it will be a triumph

-indeed to cut out the far-famed French detective

-in his own line of business.’</p>

-

-<p>I left the hotel with a lighter heart than I

-had carried about with me for some time.

-Though I had cautioned Sir Frederick not to

-be too sanguine, I was myself convinced that

-we should have the diamonds in our possession

-before morning. I went back to my rooms,

-wrote some letters, dined, and then tried to quiet

-my excited mind by pacing up and down the

-sitting-room, smoking my usual post-prandial

-cigar, till I thought it was sufficiently dark to

-venture forth. The church clocks were striking

-ten as I arrived at the <i>Mediterranée Hôtel</i>, and

-I found Sir Frederick performing the same restless

-quarter-deck constitutional on the pavement

-outside.</p>

-

-<p>‘So glad you’ve come, Blake; I’m anxious to

-be off now.—What is that in your hand?’</p>

-

-<p>‘A small lantern,’ I answered. ‘We shall find

-it useful.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Got a revolver?’ inquired Sir Frederick in

-a solemn whisper.</p>

-

-<p>‘No,’ said I, in an equally sepulchral voice;

-‘fists are my weapons.’</p>

-

-<p>‘Pooh!’ returned he. ‘Of what use are

-English fists when you have an Italian knife in

-your ribs?—Here we are!’</p>

-

-<p>The door was exactly as I had left it. There

-was not a sign of anybody near us, so we went

-quickly through, closing it again behind us. We,

-stood for a minute silent and still, until our eyes

-had become more accustomed to the intense darkness

-round us; then we groped our way, with

-two or three stumbles against tombstones and

-over mounds of earth, to the spot where I fancied

-the marked stone must be, and in a few seconds

-I discovered it without doubt, by falling over

-it. As I was collecting myself and my scattered

-senses together again, after this sudden and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_543">{543}</span>

-unpleasant downfall, I heard close beside me a

-volley of muttered execrations from Sir Frederick,

-who declared, in an agitated whisper, that he

-was sure he had caught a ghost or something very

-like it. At the risk of discovery, I opened the

-lantern, and for one second threw the light on

-the object he held in his hands. It was an

-unusually large bat, which, disturbed by our

-intrusion on its own domain, must have flown

-or dropped on to Sir Frederick from the tree

-under which he was standing. He quickly shook

-it off; and without further adventure we concealed

-ourselves in some thick bushes near the

-grave. It would have required the eyes of a

-lynx to discover us, hidden as we were in the

-midst of a mass of evergreens, overgrown with

-a network of tangled creepers, and the high black

-wall behind. There we waited, keenly watchful.

-Not a leaf stirred. A perfectly dead silence lay

-over everything, as if the fairy of the Sleeping

-Beauty story of our childhood held nature bound

-under her spell. A mouldy, damp, earthy vapour

-rose from the ground at my feet, and seemed

-to weigh me down as if it were something

-solid.</p>

-

-<p>The clock of Notre-Dame struck eleven.

-Another long weary hour went slowly by, and

-then the clock struck midnight. I believe I had

-sunk into a sort of doze, when every faculty was

-suddenly roused by hearing a soft movement at

-the door, which was very gently opened. There

-was a pause, as if the new-comers were listening;

-the door was shut, and a lantern shed its narrow

-streak of light over the graves at their feet. One,

-two, three dark forms, two of whom carried between

-them what seemed to be a box. Sir Frederick

-gently nudged me—of course <i>that</i> contained the

-jewels. They came quietly to the side of the

-mysterious tombstone, and, setting their burden

-down on another one close by, they set to work,

-and quickly moved it to one side. I then discovered,

-to my surprise, that the one that held

-the lantern was a woman. Their faces were deep

-in shadow; I did not once get a glimpse of

-their features. All their movements were quiet

-and free from haste; they evidently had not the

-smallest notion that discovery was possible. The

-two men carefully laid the box in the hole prepared

-for it, covered it with mould, and, after

-replacing the stone stretched themselves, and

-held the lantern aloft, the better to survey their

-handiwork. It seemed very satisfactory to their

-female companion, for I distinctly heard her

-breathe a sigh of unmistakable relief. They left

-the place as quietly as they had come to it, not

-having, as far as we knew, spoken a word to

-each other the whole time.</p>

-

-<p>It was our turn now. As soon as we were

-quite sure that we again had this dismal solitude

-to ourselves, we emerged from our damp hiding-place

-and shook ourselves into shape, for naturally

-we both felt very stiff and numb after our long

-weird vigil. I opened my lantern, and we began

-eagerly to undo the work we had just seen so

-neatly accomplished. It did not take long to

-remove the stone and scatter the thin layer of

-mould. In a few minutes we had the box—a

-boy’s oblong deal play-box, clamped with iron—lying

-on a tombstone before us.</p>

-

-<p>‘Open it, Blake,’ said Sir Frederick.</p>

-

-<p>‘Locked,’ I answered as I shook the lid.</p>

-

-<p>‘Take my knife,’ continued the baronet, as he

-drew from his pocket one of the formidable

-weapons at which his wife had laughed.</p>

-

-<p>It was a common lock, and easily forced. As

-I threw back the lid, Sir Frederick held up the

-lantern. ‘Take them out, Blake, and see if they

-are all there; it will be a wonderful thing if

-none are missing.—What on earth is that?’</p>

-

-<p>‘It looks to me like a dog-collar,’ I answered,

-as I shook out a black Cashmere shawl in which

-was wrapped a silver curb chain with a small

-silver bell attached to it.</p>

-

-<p>‘Stolen from somebody else,’ cried Sir Frederick.

-‘Get on with the rest.’</p>

-

-<p>‘This beats everything,’ said I, and drew forth

-a small pale-blue garment fashioned like a horse’s

-body-cloth, with a monogram in gold thread at

-one side. ‘It is a dog’s coat.—And what the

-deuce is this?’</p>

-

-<p>‘A dog!’ we exclaimed simultaneously.</p>

-

-<p>Carefully folded in a piece of soft linen lay

-the body of a small silky white, long-haired

-terrier—to judge by all its surroundings, a lady’s

-cherished pet. For a few seconds, disgust and

-disappointment kept us silent; then Sir Frederick

-broke out into a series of execrations more amusing

-than effective.</p>

-

-<p>We had been befooled by our own enthusiasm

-as amateur detectives, and at first were angry,

-but by-and-by came to see the situation in its

-more grotesque aspect. After giving vent to our

-feelings in a burst of suppressed laughter, we

-put the little pet back into his play-box coffin,

-being careful to see that everything was just as

-we had found it; and quickly shovelling the

-mould and pushing the tombstone over it, we

-crept out of the old cemetery. Our feelings

-were very different from those with which we

-had entered it. We were greatly cheered, however,

-on reaching the hotel to find a line from

-Aigunez, which had come during Sir Frederick’s

-absence; ‘I am on the right track.’</p>

-

-<p>We heard no more for two days, when the

-detective reappeared with a captive, a valet

-whom Sir Frederick had dismissed before leaving

-England, who, knowing the great value of the

-jewels which Lady O’Connor was taking with

-her, had thought it worth his while to follow

-them, and being a clever hand at that sort of

-work, had succeeded as we have seen.</p>

-

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="OCCASIONAL_NOTES">OCCASIONAL NOTES.</h2>

-</div>

-

-

-<h3>THE WEST AUSTRALIAN GOLD-FIELDS.</h3>

-

-<p><span class="smcap">For</span> some years, the government of Western

-Australia has offered a reward of five thousand

-pounds for the discovery of a payable gold-field

-within three hundred miles of a declared port.

-From recent news from Perth, it would almost

-appear that a profitable gold-field has at last

-been discovered. We learn that Messrs Malet

-and M‘Ewen, who were sent by the government

-to explore the Kimberley District, in the extreme

-north of the colony, have returned, after an

-expedition which nearly proved disastrous to the

-explorers. They lost their horses; and having

-consumed all their provisions, only escaped starvation

-by coming unexpectedly to a settler’s hut,

-where they obtained assistance. The party

-arrived barefooted, their boots having fallen to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_544">{544}</span>

-pieces on the tramp of one hundred miles. Mr

-M‘Ewen nearly succumbed to the hardships of

-the journey. A quantity of the new gold has

-already found its way to England. According

-to advices from Derby, the port of the country—named

-after the present Lord Derby, and situated

-at the head of King’s Sound—large numbers

-of people, who were totally unfitted for the

-work, were starting for the Kimberley gold-fields.

-As the roads are rough, and provisions scarce

-and dear, with an absence of water, it goes

-without saying that no one need venture in

-search of wealth without being supplied with

-plenty of money and an ample supply of provisions.

-The country is described as closely

-resembling the Peak Down District in Queensland.

-The gold is much scattered, but the gullies

-are numerous. It is expected that so soon as the

-alluvial gold is worked out, productive reefs will

-be laid bare. The Kimberley District, contrary

-to what many have supposed, is a country about

-four and a half times the size of Scotland, with

-splendid rivers, and with millions of acres of

-pastoral and agricultural land. The climate has

-been commended by Captain Grey and other

-explorers as one of the finest and healthiest

-in the tropics. Last year, the population numbered

-only about one hundred white men; the

-blacks, who are not numerous, are tractable.

-Sheep, cattle, and horses thrive well, so that,

-whether or not the gold-fields fulfil the expectations

-of those who seek their fortune at the gold-fields,

-there is a fine country to develop. Derby,

-the capital of this district, at the mouth of the

-Fitzroy River, consisted lately of but a few huts

-and tents, and is the station of a government

-resident. Should the ‘rush’ to the gold-fields continue,

-doubtless all this will soon be changed.</p>

-

-

-<h3>ROYAL VETERINARY COLLEGE.</h3>

-

-<p>The horse fills so large a place in human affairs,

-that a few words descriptive of an institution

-devoted to its welfare must interest more or less

-every one. The Royal Veterinary College—situated

-in Great College Street, Camden Town,

-London, N.W.—discharges the twofold function

-of a hospital and a school; that is to say, it is

-there the sick or maimed horse—or for the matter

-of that, the sick or maimed sheep, ox, dog, &amp;c.—is

-taken to be doctored; and it is there the young

-man goes for the education and diploma which

-are to qualify him for the vocation of a veterinary

-surgeon. The scope of the present series of papers,

-however, only justifies our considering the institution

-in its curative capacity. Horse-owners, then,

-come, in relation to the College, under two heads—subscribers

-and non-subscribers. If elected

-by the Governing Body, or General Purposes

-Committee, a person becomes a yearly subscriber

-by paying two guineas per annum; or a life subscriber

-either by paying twenty guineas in one

-sum, or sixteen guineas after making the annual

-payment for not less than two consecutive years—certain

-exceptional conditions applying to firms

-and companies. The privileges of a subscriber

-are—(1) To have the gratuitous opinion of the professors

-as to the treatment to be applied to any

-animal of his brought for the purpose to the

-College, but which he may desire to retain in his

-own keeping. (2) To have admitted into the

-infirmary, for medical and surgical treatment,

-any number of his own horses and other animals

-for which there may be room, at a charge only

-for their ‘keep.’ (3) To have in the course of

-any year five horses, his actually or prospective

-property, examined gratuitously as to soundness,

-either before or after purchase; and to have any

-further number examined at a fee of ten shillings

-and sixpence per head. (4) To be supplied with

-medicines for animals at a fixed charge. (5) To

-have, at a fixed rate, a chemical analysis made

-by the Professor of Chemistry at the College of

-any water, provender, oilcake, or other feeding-matter,

-and of the viscera of any animal suspected

-of being poisoned. (6) In cases of extensive or

-serious outbreaks of disease, to have an investigation

-made into its nature and causes, on payment

-of the fixed charges. And (7) To have a post-mortem

-examination of any animal, or parts

-of an animal, sent to the College, and receive

-an opinion of the probable cause of death, on

-payment of a fixed charge. As regards outsiders

-or non-subscribers, the treatment and examination

-of their animals by the staff of the College

-are subject to a higher tariff of charges. Another

-disability under which they labour is that their

-animals may not be received into the infirmary

-for treatment. ‘Accidents’ and other urgent

-cases are received into the institution at all times

-of the day and night, special vehicles being kept

-at hand for their transportation.</p>

-

-<p>A singular by-law of the College is the following:

-‘Credit will be given for all animals which

-may die in the infirmary according to the amount

-received for the carcase; but all diseased parts

-shall be considered to be the property of the

-College.’ Such ‘diseased parts’ are useful vehicles

-in the dissecting-room for conveying knowledge

-to the minds of the students.</p>

-

-

-<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

-

-<div class="chapter">

-<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_SONG_OF_REST">A SONG OF REST.</h2>

-</div>

-

-

-<div class="poetry-container">

-<div class="poetry">

-  <div class="stanza">

-    <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">O weary</span> Hands! that, all the day,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">Were set to labour hard and long,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">Now softly fall the shadows gray,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">The bells are rung for evensong.</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">An hour ago, the golden sun</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">Sank slowly down into the west;</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">Poor, weary Hands, your toil is done;</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!</div>

-  </div>

-  <div class="stanza">

-    <div class="verse indent0">O weary Feet! that many a mile</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">Have trudged along a stony way,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">At last ye reach the trysting stile;</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">No longer fear to go astray.</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">The gently bending, rustling trees</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">Rock the young birds within the nest,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">And softly sings the quiet breeze:</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">‘’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!’</div>

-  </div>

-  <div class="stanza">

-    <div class="verse indent0">O weary Eyes! from which the tears</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">Fell many a time like thunder-rain—</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">O weary Heart! that through the years</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">Beat with such bitter, restless pain,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">To-night forget the stormy strife,</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">And know, what Heaven shall send is best;</div>

-    <div class="verse indent0">Lay down the tangled web of life;</div>

-    <div class="verse indent2">’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!</div>

-  </div>

-  <div class="stanza">

-    <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Florence Tylee.</span></div>

-  </div>

-</div>

-</div>

-

-<hr class="full">

-

-<p class="center">Printed and Published by <span class="smcap">W. &amp; R. Chambers</span>, 47 Paternoster

-Row, <span class="smcap">London</span>, and 339 High Street, <span class="smcap">Edinburgh</span>.</p>

-

-<hr class="full">

-

-<p class="center"><i>All Rights Reserved.</i>

-</p>

-<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73319 ***</div>

-</body>

-</html>

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+      Chambers's Journal, August 21, 1886 | Project Gutenberg
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73319 ***</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_529">{529}</span></p>
+
+
+<h1>CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL<br>
+OF<br>
+POPULAR<br>
+LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.</h1>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="center">
+
+<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. -->
+
+<a href="#HOLIDAYS_IN_CAMP">HOLIDAYS IN CAMP.</a><br>
+<a href="#IN_ALL_SHADES">IN ALL SHADES.</a><br>
+<a href="#WILD-BEES_AND_BEE-HUNTING">WILD-BEES AND BEE-HUNTING.</a><br>
+<a href="#A_FRIEND_OF_THE_FAMILY">A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.</a><br>
+<a href="#ENGLISH_COUNSEL_AND_SOLICITORS">ENGLISH COUNSEL AND SOLICITORS.</a><br>
+<a href="#LADY_FREDERICKS_DIAMONDS">LADY FREDERICK’S DIAMONDS.</a><br>
+<a href="#OCCASIONAL_NOTES">OCCASIONAL NOTES.</a><br>
+<a href="#A_SONG_OF_REST">A SONG OF REST.</a><br>
+
+<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. -->
+
+</p>
+
+
+<hr class="full">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="figcenter" id="header" style="max-width: 37.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/header.jpg"  alt="Chambers’s Journal of Popular Literature, Science,
+and Art. Fifth Series. Established by William and Robert Chambers, 1832. Conducted by R. Chambers (Secundus).">
+</div>
+
+<hr class="full">
+<div class="center">
+<div class="header">
+<p class="floatl"><span class="smcap">No. 138.—Vol. III.</span></p>
+<p class="floatr"><span class="smcap">Price</span> 1½<em>d.</em></p>
+<p class="floatc">SATURDAY, AUGUST 21, 1886.</p>
+</div></div></div>
+
+<hr class="full">
+
+
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="HOLIDAYS_IN_CAMP">HOLIDAYS IN CAMP.</h2>
+</div>
+<p class="ph3">ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the United States, even in the coolest, most
+northerly portion, the summers are long and
+hot; the July days are scorching and the nights
+are suffocating in the crowded cities and larger
+towns; with August comes a little change, but
+then come the exhausting ‘dog-days,’ when, though
+the mercury will not run so high in the thermometer,
+the atmosphere is as unpleasant as if
+it were still July.</p>
+
+<p>Those who can afford it—and many who cannot
+do so, but fancy they must do as their wealthy
+neighbours do—begin in June to flit to seaside,
+mountain, or Springs hotel, where they pay as
+high a rent for a tiny room as would give them
+a whole house in town. Here the ladies and
+children stay for such a time as suits them, or as
+suits papa’s purse. If the hotel chosen is within
+a reasonable distance of the men’s places of business,
+they will flock there on Saturday night, and
+hasten away early on Monday morning. At some
+resorts, certain trains or boats have the local
+name, for the season, of ‘husbands’ train’ or
+boat, as the case may be. The maidens who have
+no lover to look for at this time are on the
+alert to see what ‘new men’ Messrs So-and-so
+will bring with them this Saturday; for there
+is an appalling dearth of eligible men—eligible,
+if only as escorts or partners at tennis or cotillon
+at most of these summer resorts. Between Monday
+and Saturday the ladies amuse themselves with
+fancy-work, gossip, reading of light novels, fault-finding
+with the meals, or with the noise other
+people’s children make, and flirting with the men
+who, taking their own holiday, are remaining at
+the hotel for a week or two. Then, too, there is
+usually, in so mixed an assembly as must necessarily
+be found at even the most select hotel, at
+least one person who has something queer, perhaps
+no worse than simply great eccentricity,
+about her, and so furnishes material to her fellow-boarders
+for endless speculation and gossip.</p>
+
+<p>Hotel-life is so distasteful to many and so expensive,
+that there has of late arisen another way
+of summering—camping-out; but not necessarily
+tenting, though some prefer that. All over the
+northern portion of the land there are springing
+up like mushrooms roughly-built cottages, which
+are only better than a tent in that they are water-tight,
+have hard floors, and are not apt to be
+blown down at the first stiff gale. These cottages
+are often unpainted, or but slightly so, and have
+two rooms, small, down-stairs, and one large or
+two small rooms above; if the latter, the partition
+is rarely more than six feet high. When the
+campers are a mixed party, not simply father,
+mother, and children, the young men sleep down
+in the living-room, and the up-stairs beds are
+curtained off by curtains or screens. The cottage
+is always erected near water of some sort, old
+ocean having the preference, and a pinewood on
+the edge of a pond or lake is also popular. I
+remember one such spot, in Maine, where some
+friends of mine passed a very delightful vacation;
+it was a pine-grove not many miles from the city
+of Augusta, on the very edge of one of those hundreds
+of fresh-water lakelets which dot Maine so
+thickly. The owner of the land had erected five
+of these simple houses, and rented them to persons
+of the highest respectability, one being a
+High School teacher, one a Universalist minister,
+one an editor, and so on. The rental was very
+moderate—at the rate of a dollar a day for those
+who only wished to remain one or two weeks;
+but at a very much less figure if they took a
+cottage for the two summer months. This price
+included the use of all the ice they needed for
+the preservation of their food, and a rowboat
+which would hold eight persons. The campers
+brought their own furniture; and it is really
+surprising how few things one actually needs to
+live in comfort for a month. The pond which
+bears the Indian name—more easy to pronounce
+than to write—of Cobbasacontee, is well stocked
+with fish, and is dotted all over with pretty little
+islands, which are capital places to land and build
+a fire to cook the fish you have just caught. If<span class="pagenum" id="Page_530">{530}</span>
+you have taken the precaution to bring with you
+a coffee-pot as well as your frying-pan, and some
+coffee, sugar, condensed milk, pepper, salt, and
+buttered bread, you can soon have a meal fit for
+a king—a hungry king.</p>
+
+<p>How well I remember one such excursion I
+made two years ago! There were five in the
+party, none very young, and none at all in love
+with any one present. We two ladies were afraid
+to trust ourselves in the tiny sailboat which
+made part of our fleet of two, so we and my
+friend’s nephew started off in the rowboat.
+Hardly had we got well out, however, when the
+sailor of the party found that his sail was not
+fitted to the boat it was in; and nothing would
+suit the men but that sails and oars must change
+places while passengers sat still; and in spite
+of our unspoken qualms and our glances of
+mistrust slily exchanged with one another, we
+had to go under full sail after all. And how the
+wind did justify its title of ‘fickle as a woman,’
+that morning! For a few moments we would
+scud over the water in a rather alarming style,
+considering that our skiff was capable of holding
+only about six persons; then, after having dipped
+our gunwale quite as often as I liked, the breeze
+would vanish, the sail would hang limp and
+lifeless, and we were becalmed. The other boat
+was soon far ahead; and while we were yet
+within sight of our camp, the occupants had
+reached our destination, and were hauling in
+the fish with most provoking rapidity. During
+one of our spasmodic, rapid skims down the
+pond, we disturbed a mother-loon. Laughing
+at us in the strange, weird manner peculiar to
+that sort of water-fowl, she swam down the
+shore, trying to allure us to chase her, and not
+believe that there was a nest full of little loons,
+less hardy than the young one which was paddling
+along beside her, among those long sedges from
+which she had started out with such haste as
+our boat drew near them. For as much as a
+quarter of mile she lured us—so <i>she</i> put it—away
+from her home, answering us when we
+tried to imitate her tones. Did you ever hear
+a loon laugh in the dusk stillness of a warm
+summer night? It has a queer, eerie sound—a
+lonesome, unhappy sound. After much tacking
+and drifting, we came at last to a little island
+where two of my friend’s city neighbours, a
+minister and a learned judge, were camping in
+a tiny cottage, set in a most lovely spot, a
+tangle of underbrush and blackberry vines growing
+up to the very doorway. Little brown squirrels—so
+tame that at our approach they ran <i>down</i>
+the trees to see what we were doing in their
+domain—sprang about from tree to tree, or scampered
+over the soft grass, quite aware that no
+one would harm <i>them</i> while fishes were so
+plenty; birds twittered and sung; Eden could
+not have been more peaceful. There are scores of
+such islands to be hired or bought for a mere song.</p>
+
+<p>Did you ever inspect a house kept by the
+average man? I have heard that men when
+camping are rarely in the habit of washing dishes
+any oftener than they can help; and since I
+saw the little kitchen attached to that cottage,
+I am sure some men, some learned men, don’t
+worry over such trifles as greasy pans or grimy
+tins! The judge and his comrade had gone
+out for a day’s fishing; we had met them on
+our way down, and they cordially bade us
+make ourselves perfectly at home in their abode.
+We did so. They sent us a message, a few
+days later, that they wished the ladies would
+visit their house again. I know they hardly
+recognised their own cups and saucers when
+they went to get supper that night!</p>
+
+<p>The furnishing of most of these cottages is
+very primitive. Comfortable beds are a <i>sine quâ
+non</i> to those who are accustomed to hair-mattresses
+and pliant springs, and one can sleep sweetly and
+restfully on a bed of dry clean hay. It is not
+much trouble to carry empty ticks, and dry grass
+or, still better, pine-needles can be had for the
+gathering. Blankets and thick quilts must be
+on hand, for, no matter what the days are, it
+is sure to be chilly the moment the sun is
+well out of sight. A cot-bed is also necessary—for
+friends who, in town, cannot find time
+to visit one, will gladly travel fifty miles to
+camp a day or two with their cronies who have
+a cottage—not only for use at night, but to be
+converted into a lounge in the daytime; and
+of course there will be hammocks to sling under
+the trees or on the piazza. There is always a
+farmer near who will gladly sell—at city prices—butter,
+eggs, and milk; and as most of these
+lakes are well stocked with fish, black bass,
+pickerel, trout, or perch—or if the camp is on
+the seashore, there are mackerel, lobsters, clams,
+and greedy, open-mouthed sculpin, which can
+devour more bait without being hooked than any
+ten other fish, but which make a fairly good
+chowder when enough are caught—no one needs
+suffer from hunger.</p>
+
+<p>Several pretty groves on the Kennebec and
+Penobscot rivers are utilised for camp-meetings.
+Here, for a week, usually in the latter part of
+August—when the farmers are done haying—or
+the beginning of September, religious services
+are held morning, noon, and night, popular
+preachers or exhorters being invited to take part.
+The grounds immediately around the spot where
+the services are held are generally owned by a
+stock Company, and the regulations for the preservation
+of good order are very strict, and rigidly
+enforced: lights must be out at a given hour;
+unseemly mirth or secular music is not tolerated
+on Sunday; the sale of intoxicating liquors
+is not permitted at any time, nor the use of
+them in private tents or cottages, if it can be
+detected by the patrol force always on hand.
+These rules are absolutely necessary to prevent
+the freedom of camp-life from degenerating into
+license; for many young folks go to camp-meeting
+who care very little for the religious part of the
+affair.</p>
+
+<p>The Methodists have the largest number of
+camp-grounds; but other denominations are more
+or less fond of them. I once visited a Spiritualist
+camp-ground on one of these Maine rivers; and
+a damper, more ghostly spot could not well be
+imagined; everything and everybody looked
+mouldy, and one might, without much stretch
+of the imagination, expect to see a materialised
+spirit pop up anywhere. I understand, however,
+that there were never any ‘manifestations’ at
+camp; it was only held for the dissemination
+of their peculiar faith.</p>
+
+<p>A party of about a dozen boys and four or
+five men have gone for the past six years to a little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_531">{531}</span>
+island in a New Hampshire lake not far from
+Lake Winnipisaukee, which is a favourite summer
+resort on account of its beautiful scenery, to
+pass the months of July and August. Their
+temporary dwelling is very primitive, not much
+more than a roof and three walls, for they intend
+to spend all their time in the open air. Every
+Sunday afternoon these boys have held religious
+services; they have a small parlour organ, and
+form a choir themselves. They intend this year,
+if possible, to have their choir properly vested, for
+<i>their</i> service is according to the Book of Common
+Prayer. There is not a church of any sort within
+a long distance, for this portion of the State is
+rather thinly settled. It is of New Hampshire
+that residents of other States say that the farmers
+there have to sharpen the noses of the sheep, in
+order that they may crop the grass between the
+rocks, as New Hampshire is all rocks. The
+natives attend the boys’ service as a treat, though,
+as the church is not very well known there,
+they are not quite sure that they approve of the
+ceremonial. The service is not always lay, however;
+several distinguished clergy and one or two
+bishops have visited this little camp and have
+preached for them. One of the boys told me
+that during these six years there had been but
+one Sunday when it rained so hard that they
+had to hold service in their hut. Doubtless,
+some day there will be a permanent chapel there.</p>
+
+<p>And oh, what good times the little ones have
+at these camps! No fine clothes to be kept
+clean; no attractive but forbidden alley children
+to be avoided; no danger of being run over;
+no cross dogs to fear; and no venturing out
+in the water without the knowledge of mamma
+or nurse, for here no one is too busy to have
+one eye on the little mischiefs; but as much
+paddling about on the brink of the lake or
+ocean as would delight any small heart. And
+then, too, for mamma’s side of the question:
+no candy-shops to draw the pennies out of her
+pocket, or the tears from disappointed eyes; no
+coaxing ‘Can’t we go play with So-and-so?’ no
+scarlet fever or measles to be caught from some
+neighbour’s progeny; no evil influences to be
+feared for the older boys and girls; and no
+parties to be made for or attended by the children.</p>
+
+<p>Mother Nature is a great restorer, and a few
+days of uninterrupted intercourse with her do
+more to renew the wasted health or relaxed energies,
+than as many weeks of dress and gaiety
+at a fashionable resort; and so sensible people
+are becoming more and more convinced.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="IN_ALL_SHADES">IN ALL SHADES.</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER XLI.</h3>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> the yelling mob could close again round
+Harry Noel’s fallen body, with their wild
+onslaught of upraised cutlasses, more dangerous
+to one another in the thick press than to the
+prostrate Englishman or to poor fainting and
+unconscious Nora, another hasty clatter of horse’s
+hoofs burst upon them from behind, up the hilly
+pathway, and a loud, clear, commanding voice
+called out in resonant tones that overtopped and
+stilled for a moment the tumultuous murmur of
+negro shrieks: ‘In the Queen’s name—in the
+Queen’s name, hold; disperse there!’</p>
+
+<p>That familiar adjuration acted like magic on
+the fierce and half-naked throng of ignorant and
+superstitious plantation negroes. It was indeed
+to them a mighty word to conjure with, that
+loud challenge in the name of the great distant
+Queen, whose reality seemed as far away from
+them and as utterly removed from their little
+sphere as heaven itself. They dropped their
+cutlasses instantly, for a brief moment of doubt
+and hesitation; a few voices still shouted fiercely,
+‘Kill him—kill him!’ and then a unanimous
+cry arose among all the surging mass of wild
+and scowling black humanity: ‘Mr Hawtorn,
+Mr Hawtorn! Him come in Missis Queen name,
+so gib us warnin’. Now us gwine to get justice.
+Mr Hawtorn, Mr Hawtorn!’</p>
+
+<p>But while the creole-born plantation hands
+thus welcomed eagerly what they looked upon,
+in their simplicity, as the Queen’s direct mouthpiece
+and representative, Louis Delgado, his face
+distorted with rage, and his arms plying his
+cutlass desperately, frowned and gnashed his
+teeth more fiercely than ever with rage and disappointment;
+for his wild African passion was
+now fully aroused, and like the tiger that has
+once tasted blood, he would not be balked of
+the final vengeful delight of hacking his helpless
+victim slowly to pieces in a long-drawn
+torture. ‘Missis Queen!’ he cried contemptuously,
+turning round and brandishing his cutlass
+with savage joy once more before the eyes of
+his half-sobered companions—‘Missis Queen, him
+say dar! Ha, ha, what him say dat for? What
+de Queen to me, I want you tell me? I doan’t
+care for Queen, or judge, or magistrate, or nuffin!
+I gwine to kill all de white men togedder, in all
+Trinidad, de Lard helpin’ me!’</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, Edward Hawthorn jumped hastily
+from his saddle, and advanced with long strides
+towards the fiercely gesticulating and mumbling
+African. The plantation negroes, cowed and
+tamed for the moment by Edward’s bold and
+resolute presence, and overawed by the great name
+of that mysterious, unknown, half-mythical Queen
+Victoria, beyond the vast illimitable ocean, fell
+back sullenly to right and left, and made a little
+lane through the middle of the crowd for the
+Queen’s representative to mount the staircase.
+Edward strode up, without casting a single glance
+on either side, to where Delgado stood savagely
+beside Harry Noel’s fallen body, and put his
+right hand with an air of indisputable authority
+upon the frantic African’s uplifted arm. Delgado
+tried to shake him off suddenly with a quick,
+adroit, convulsive movement; but Edward’s grip
+was tight and vice-like, and he held the black
+arm powerless in his grasp, as he spoke aloud
+a few words in some unknown language, which
+sounded to the group of wondering negroes like
+utter gibberish—or perhaps some strange spell
+with which the representative of Queen Victoria
+knew how to conjure by some still more potent
+and terrible obeah than even Delgado’s.</p>
+
+<p>But Louis Delgado alone knew that the words
+were Arabic, and that Edward Hawthorn grasped
+his arm: ‘In the name of Allah, the All-wise,
+the most Powerful!’</p>
+
+<p>At the sound of that mighty spell, a powerful
+one, indeed, to the fierce, old, half-christianised
+Mohammedan, Delgado’s arm dropped powerless
+to his trembling side, and he fell back,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_532">{532}</span>
+gnashing his teeth like a bulldog balked of a
+fight, into the general mass of plantation negroes.
+There he stood, dazed and stunned apparently,
+leaning up sulkily against the piazza post, but
+speaking not a word to either party for good or
+for evil.</p>
+
+<p>The lull was but for a minute; and Edward
+Hawthorn saw at once that if he was to gain
+any permanent advantage by the momentary
+change of feeling in the fickle negro mob, he
+must keep their attention distracted for a while,
+till their savage passions had time to cool a little,
+and the effect of this unwonted orgy of fire and
+bloodshed had passed away before the influence
+of sober reflection. A negro crowd is like a
+single creature of impulse—swayed to and fro a
+hundred times more easily than even a European
+mob by every momentary passing wave of anger
+or of feeling.</p>
+
+<p>‘Take up Mr Noel and Miss Dupuy,’ he said
+aside in his cool commanding tone to the Orange
+Grove servants:—‘Mr Noel isn’t dead—I see
+him breathing yet—and lay them on a bed and
+look after them, while I speak to these angry
+people.’ Then he turned, mastering himself with
+an effort for that terrible crisis, and taking a
+chair from the piazza, he mounted it quickly,
+and began to speak in a loud voice, unbroken
+by a single tremor of fear, like one addressing
+a public meeting, to the great sea of wondering,
+upturned black faces, lighted up from behind in
+lurid gleams by the red glare of the still blazing
+cane-houses.</p>
+
+<p>‘My friends,’ he said, holding his hand before
+him, palm outward, in a mute appeal for silence
+and a fair hearing, ‘listen to me for a moment.
+I want to speak to you; I want to help you to
+what you yourselves are blindly seeking. I am
+here to-night as Queen Victoria’s delegate and
+representative. Queen Victoria has your welfare
+and interest at heart; and she has sent me out
+to this island to do equal justice between black
+man and white man, and to see that no one
+oppresses another by force or fraud, by lawlessness
+or cunning. As you all know, I am in part
+a man of your own blood; and Queen Victoria,
+in sending me out to judge between you, and
+in appointing so many of your own race to posts
+of honour here in Trinidad, has shown her wish
+to favour no one particular class or colour to the
+detriment or humiliation of the others. But in
+doing as I see you have done to-night—in burning
+down factories, in attacking houses, in killing or
+trying to kill your own employers, and helpless
+women, and men who have done no crime against
+you except trying to protect your victims from
+your cruel vengeance—in doing this, my friends,
+you have not done wisely. That is not the way
+to get what you want from Queen Victoria.—What
+is it you want? Tell me that. That is
+the first thing. If it is anything reasonable, the
+Queen will grant it. What do you want from
+Queen Victoria?’</p>
+
+<p>With one voice the whole crowd of lurid upturned
+black faces answered loudly and earnestly:
+‘Justice, justice!’</p>
+
+<p>Edward paused a moment, with rhetorical skill,
+and looked down at the mob of shouting lips
+with a face half of sternness and half of benevolence.
+‘My friends,’ he said again, ‘you shall
+have justice. You haven’t always had it in the
+past—that I know and regret; but you shall
+have it, trust me, henceforth in the future.
+Listen to me. I know you have often suffered
+injustice. Your rights have not been always
+respected, and your feelings have many times
+been ruthlessly trampled upon. Nobody sympathises
+with you more fully than I do. But
+just because I sympathise with you so greatly,
+I feel it my duty to warn you most earnestly
+against acting any longer as you have been acting
+this evening. I am your friend—you know I
+am your friend. From me, I trust, you have
+never had anything less than equal justice.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Dat’s true—dat’s true!’ rang in a murmuring
+wave of assent from the eager listening crowd
+of negroes.</p>
+
+<p>‘Well,’ Edward went on, lowering his tone to
+more persuasive accents, ‘be advised by me, then,
+and if you want to get what you ask from Queen
+Victoria, do as I tell you. Disperse to-night
+quietly and separately. Don’t go off in a body
+together and talk with one another excitedly
+around your watch-fires about your wrongs and
+your grievances. Burn no more factories and
+cane-houses. Attack no more helpless men and
+innocent women. Think no more of your rights
+for the present. But go each man to his own
+hut, and wait to see what Queen Victoria will
+do for you.—If you continue foolishly to burn
+and riot, shall I tell you in plain words what
+will happen to you? The governor will be
+obliged to bring out the soldiers and the volunteers
+against you; they will call upon you, as
+I call upon you now, in the Queen’s name, to
+lay down your pistols and your guns and your
+cutlasses; and if you don’t lay them down at
+once, they will fire upon you, and disperse you
+easily. Don’t be deceived. Don’t believe that
+because you are more numerous—because there
+are so many more of you than of the white men—you
+could conquer them and kill them by
+main force, if it ever came to open fighting. The
+soldiers, with their regular drill and their good
+arms and their constant training, could shoot
+you all down with the greatest ease, in spite
+of your numbers and your pistols and your
+cutlasses. I don’t say this to frighten you or
+to threaten you; I say it as your friend, because
+I don’t want you foolishly to expose yourselves
+to such a terrible butchery and slaughter.’</p>
+
+<p>A murmur went through the crowd once more,
+and they looked dubiously and inquiringly toward
+Louis Delgado. But the African gave no sign
+and made no answer; he merely stood sullenly
+still by the post against which he was leaning;
+so Edward hastened to reassure the undecided
+mob of listening negroes by turning quickly to
+the other side of the moot question.</p>
+
+<p>‘Now, listen again,’ he said, ‘for what I’m
+going to say to you now is very important. If
+you will disperse, and go each to his own
+home, without any further trouble or riot, I
+will undertake, myself, to go to England on
+purpose for you, and tell Queen Victoria herself
+about all your troubles. I will tell her that you
+haven’t always been justly treated, and I’ll try
+to get new and better laws made in future for
+you, under which you may secure more justice
+than you sometimes get under present arrangements.
+Do you understand me? If you go home
+at once, I promise to go across the sea and speak<span class="pagenum" id="Page_533">{533}</span>
+to Queen Victoria herself on your behalf, over
+in England.’</p>
+
+<p>The view of British constitutional procedure
+implied in Edward Hawthorn’s words was not
+perhaps strictly accurate; but his negro hearers
+would hardly have felt so much impressed if he
+had offered to lay their grievances boldly at the
+foot of that impersonal entity, the Colonial Office;
+while the idea that they were to have a direct
+spokesman, partly of their own blood, with the
+Queen herself, flattered their simple African susceptibilities
+and helped to cool their savage anger.
+Like children as they are, they began to smile
+and show their great white teeth in infantile
+satisfaction, as pleasantly as though they had
+never dreamt ten minutes earlier of hacking
+Harry Noel’s body fiercely into little pieces; and
+more than one voice cried out in hearty tones:
+‘Hoorrah for Mr Hawtorn! Him de black man
+fren’. Gib him a cheer, boys! Him gwine to
+’peak for us to Queen Victoria!’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then promise me faithfully,’ Edward said,
+holding out his hand once more before him, ‘that
+you’ll all go home this very minute and settle
+down quietly in your own houses.’</p>
+
+<p>‘We promise, sah,’ a dozen voices answered
+eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>Edward Hawthorn turned anxiously for a
+moment to Louis Delgado. ‘My brother,’ he
+said to him rapidly in Arabic, ‘this is your doing.
+You must help me now to quiet the people you
+have first so fiercely and so foolishly excited.
+Assist me in dispersing them, and I will try to
+lighten for you the punishment which will surely
+be inflicted upon you as ringleader, when this is
+all over.’</p>
+
+<p>But Delgado, propped in a stony attitude
+against the great wooden post of the piazza,
+answered still never a word. He stood there
+to all appearance in stolid and sullen indifference
+to all that was passing so vividly around
+him, with his white and bloodshot eyes staring
+vacantly into the blank darkness that stretched
+in front of him, behind the flickering light of
+the now collapsed and burnt-out cane-houses.</p>
+
+<p>Edward touched him lightly on his bare arm.
+To his utter horror and amazement, though not
+cold, it was soft and corpse-like, as in the first
+hour of death, before rigidity and chilliness have
+begun to set in. He looked up into the bloodshot
+eyes. Their staring balls seemed already
+glazed and vacuous, utterly vacant of the fierce
+flashing light that had gleamed from the pupils
+so awfully and savagely but ten minutes before,
+as he brandished his cutlass with frantic yells
+above Harry Noel’s fallen body. Two of the
+plantation negroes, attracted by Edward’s evident
+recoil of horror, came forward with curiosity,
+flinging down their cutlasses, and touched the
+soft cheeks, not with the reverent touch which
+a white man feels always due to the sacredness
+of death, but harshly and rudely, as one might
+any day touch a senseless piece of stone or timber.</p>
+
+<p>Edward looked at them with a pallid face of
+mute inquiry. The youngest of the two negroes
+drew back for a second, overtaken apparently
+by a superstitious fear, and murmured low in
+an awe-struck voice: ‘Him dead, sah, dead—stone
+dead. Dead dis ten minute, since ever
+you begin to ’peak to de people, sah.’</p>
+
+<p>He was indeed. His suppressed rage at the
+partial failure of his deeply cherished scheme
+of vengeance on the hated white men, coming
+so close upon his paroxysm of triumph over
+the senseless bodies of Mr Dupuy and Harry
+Noel, had brought about a sudden fit of cardiac
+apoplexy. The old African’s savage heart had
+burst outright with conflicting emotions. Leaning
+back upon the pillar for support, as he felt
+the blood failing within him, he had died suddenly
+and unobserved without a word or a cry,
+and had stood there still, as men will often
+stand under similar circumstances, propped up
+against the supporting pillar, in the exact attitude
+in which death had first overtaken him.
+In the very crisis of his victory and his defeat,
+he had been called away suddenly to answer
+for his conduct before a higher tribunal than
+the one with which Edward Hawthorn had so
+gently and forbearingly threatened him.</p>
+
+<p>The effect of this sudden catastrophe upon the
+impressionable minds of the excited negroes was
+indeed immediate and overwhelming. Lifting up
+their voices in loud wails and keening, as at
+their midnight wakes, they cried tremulously
+one after another: ‘De Lard is against us—de
+Lard is against us! Ebbery man to your tents,
+O Israel! De Lard hab killed Delgado—hab
+killed Delgado—hab smitten him down, for de
+murder him committed!’ To their unquestioning
+antique faith, it was the visible judgment
+of heaven against their insurrection, the blood
+of Theodore Dupuy and Harry Noel crying out
+for vengeance from the floor of the piazza, like
+the blood of righteous Abel long before, crying
+out for vengeance from the soil of Eden.</p>
+
+<p>More than one of them believed in his heart,
+too, that the mysterious words in the unknown
+language which Edward Hawthorn had muttered
+over the old African were the spell that had
+brought down upon him before their very eyes
+the unseen bolt of the invisible powers. Whether
+it were obeah, or whether it were imprecation
+and solemn prayer to the God of heaven, they
+thought within themselves, in their dim, inarticulate,
+unspoken fashion, that ‘Mr Hawtorn word
+bring down de judgment dat very minute on Louis
+Delgado.’</p>
+
+<p>In an incredibly short space of time, the great
+crowd of black faces had melted away as quickly
+as it came, and Edward Hawthorn was left alone
+in the piazza, with none but the terrified servants
+of the Orange Grove household to help him in
+his task or to listen to his orders. All that night
+long, across the dark gorge and the black mango
+grove, they could hear the terrified voices of
+the negroes in their huts singing hymns, and
+crying aloud in strange prayers to God in heaven
+that the guilt of this murder might not be
+visited upon their heads, as it had been visited
+before their very eyes that night on Louis
+Delgado. To the negro mind, the verdict of
+fate is the verdict of heaven.</p>
+
+<p>‘Take up his body, too, and lay it down on
+the sofa,’ Edward said to Uncle ’Zekiel, still
+beside himself with terror at the manifold horrors
+of this tragical evening.</p>
+
+<p>‘I doan’t can dare, sah,’ Uncle ’Zekiel answered
+tremulously—‘I doan’t can dare lay me hand
+upon de corpse, I tellin’ you, sah. De finger
+ob de Lard has smite Delgado. I doan’t dare
+to lift an’ carry him.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_534">{534}</span></p>
+
+<p>‘One of you boys, then, come and help me,’
+Edward cried, holding up the corpse with one
+hand to keep it from falling.</p>
+
+<p>But not one of them dared move a single step
+nearer to the terrible awe-inspiring object.</p>
+
+<p>At last, finding that no help was forthcoming
+on any hand, Edward lifted up the ghastly
+burden all by himself in his own arms, and
+laid it down reverently and gently on the piazza
+sofa. ‘It is better so,’ he murmured to himself
+slowly and pitifully. ‘There will be no
+more blood on either side shed at anyrate for
+this awful evening’s sorry business.’</p>
+
+<p>And then at length he had leisure to turn
+back into the house itself and make inquiries
+after Mr Dupuy and Harry and Nora.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="WILD-BEES_AND_BEE-HUNTING">WILD-BEES AND BEE-HUNTING.</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">There</span> are, it is said, no fewer than twenty-seven
+genera, and one hundred and seventy-seven
+species of bees, natives of Great Britain. But
+one only of all these, the <i>Apis millifica</i>, or
+common honey-bee, has been domesticated.
+Attempts have been made with others, especially
+with the <i>bombus</i>, or humble-bee, but without
+any adequate success.</p>
+
+<p>The frequent mention of honey in the Old
+Testament from the patriarchal ages downward,
+and the description of Palestine as ‘a land flowing
+with milk and honey,’ may well have raised
+the question whether the honey was obtained
+from bees in a wild condition or in a state of
+domestication. The weight of evidence is in
+favour of the former. In the somewhat wandering
+life, as ‘strangers and pilgrims,’ which many
+of the patriarchs led, bee-culture would have
+been very inconvenient, if not impossible; and
+as honey was to be had in rich abundance simply
+for the seeking, there would be little inducement
+to undertake unnecessary cares and labours in
+the domestication of the native variety. There
+is no question, however, as to the possibility of
+inducing wild bees to accept domestication. In
+Cashmere and the north of India, the natives
+have a simple and ready method of doing this:
+in building their houses, they leave cavities in
+one of the walls having a sunny aspect, with a
+small hole like that of a modern hive opening
+outwards. The inner side of the wall is fitted
+with a frame of wood with a door attached. A
+swarm of bees in search of a new home—or
+perhaps the pioneers who are sent, a day or two
+before the actual swarming, to seek out a dwelling-place—would
+be attracted by such an ‘open
+door,’ and the family, or army, ten, twenty, or
+thirty thousand strong, would at once take
+possession. The vacant space would soon be
+filled by the busy workers; and the inmates of
+the house, having access to the store by means
+of the open door, could move a comb or two
+at pleasure, without distressing the bees, simply
+using the precaution of blowing in as much
+smoke at the back as would cause the bees to
+fly out at the front. English travellers report
+having seen the operation performed, and the
+bees quietly return when the work was done.
+The plan has been recommended for use in this
+country. It is at least practicable, if not necessary.
+In dwelling-houses there might be risks, which
+would not apply to farm-buildings and erections
+around a country house. But if man has not
+utilised this plan, the bees themselves have acted
+upon it. An instance of two within the writer’s
+own knowledge may not be uninteresting.</p>
+
+<p>I was the tenant of Rose Cottage, Brenchley,
+Kent, from 1853 to 1862. The house—which
+has been considerably altered since—was well
+adapted for such a purpose. The upper parts of
+the walls were formed, as is common in that
+part of the county, externally of tiles on a framework
+of wood, and internally of lath and plaster.
+In the cavities there would be ample space for
+large stores of comb and honey. A swarm of
+bees took possession of a portion of the front
+wall, having a south-south-eastern aspect, entering
+their abode through a crevice between the
+tiles just over one of the chamber windows.
+They held possession for several years, and still
+held their own when I left the cottage. As
+they never swarmed, it is almost certain there
+must have been a large collection of honey; but
+for some reason or other, chiefly, no doubt, on
+account of the difficulty of taking the honey
+without injuring the house and exposing the
+whole family to the attacks of the bees, I profited
+in no way by their busy labours.</p>
+
+<p>Less than ten years ago, when making a call
+at the old farmhouse, Penrhos, Lyonshall, Herefordshire,
+my attention was directed to a colony
+of bees which had made a settlement in the
+upper part of one of the walls of the house. I
+suggested the removal of a portion of the inner
+wall, and predicted a large ‘find.’ After some
+time, this advice was acted on; but the farmer
+adopted a plan which I should have strongly
+deprecated—the plan of destroying with brimstone
+the entire bee community. The store of
+honey was so great that every available keeler
+and pan in the house was filled to the extent
+of nearly two hundredweight.</p>
+
+<p>Two other instances may be cited, as reported
+in the <i>West Surrey Times</i>. One is that of an
+extraordinary ‘take’ of honey from the walls of
+the <i>Hautboy and Fiddle Inn</i>, Ockham, Surrey.
+The outer walls of the house are about three feet
+in thickness, and at the very top of the third
+story a colony of bees had established themselves,
+holding undisturbed possession for a number of
+years. At length the innkeeper determined to
+find out their whereabouts. After a diligent
+search under the roof, a piece of comb was found.
+Descending to one of the upper bedrooms, chisel
+and hammer went to work, and a square of about
+two feet was opened in the front wall; here a
+large mass of comb was discovered; and after
+fumigating the bees, about one hundred and
+twenty pounds of honey were secured. Another
+and still more extraordinary ‘take’ of honey was
+secured at Winter’s Hall, Bramley, Surrey, the
+seat of Mr George Barrett. Some bees had long<span class="pagenum" id="Page_535">{535}</span>
+held possession of a space between the ceiling of
+the coachhouse and the granary: on effecting
+an entrance, about three hundredweight of honey
+was secured.</p>
+
+<p>In some countries the honey-bee still roams
+at will and uncontrolled; this is notably the
+case in the western parts of the United
+States and Canada. The discovery of their
+natural hives for the purpose of securing
+the honey is the calling of a class of persons
+known as bee-hunters. A writer of considerable
+repute thus speaks on this subject: ‘The
+beautiful forests in which we were encamped
+abounded in bee-trees; that is to say, trees in
+the decayed trunks of which wild-bees had established
+their hives. It is surprising in what
+countless swarms the bees have overspread the
+Far West within but a moderate number of years.
+The Indians consider them the harbinger of the
+white man, as the buffalo is of the red man, and
+say that in proportion as the bee advances, the
+Indian and the buffalo retire. We are always
+accustomed to associate the hum of the beehive
+with the farmhouse and the flower-garden, and
+to consider those industrious little animals as
+connected with the busy haunts of men; and
+I am told that the wild-bee is seldom to be met
+with at any great distance from the frontier.
+They have been the heralds of civilisation,
+steadily preceding it, as it advanced from the
+Atlantic borders; and some of the ancient (early)
+settlers of the West pretend to give the very
+year when the honey-bee first crossed the Mississippi.
+The Indians, with surprise, found the
+mouldering trees of their forests suddenly teeming
+with ambrosial sweets; and nothing, I am
+told, can exceed the greedy relish with which
+they banquet for the first time upon the unbought
+luxury of the wilderness. At present, the
+honey-bee swarms in myriads in the noble groves
+and forests that skirt and intersect the prairies
+and extend along the alluvial bottoms of the
+rivers. It seems to me as if these beautiful
+regions answer literally to the description of the
+land of promise, “a land flowing with milk and
+honey;” for the rich pasturage of the prairies is
+calculated to sustain herds of cattle as countless
+as the sands upon the seashore; while the flowers
+with which they are enamelled render them a
+very paradise for the nectar-seeking bee.’</p>
+
+<p>A bee-hunt must be a very exciting adventure,
+and, as most people would think, attended with
+considerable risk; but the ingenuity of the
+settlers, and especially of the bee-hunters, who
+make a living of the business, is equal to the
+occasion. Let us, for the sake of greater brevity,
+suppose a case, which is, however, little other
+than a narrative of simple facts. A party sets
+out in quest of a bee-tree—a tree in the cavity
+of which a colony of bees have established themselves.
+The party is headed by a veteran bee-hunter,
+a tall lank fellow, with his homespun
+dress hanging loosely about him, and a hat which
+might be taken for a beeskep. A man similarly
+attired attends him, with a long rifle on his
+shoulder. The rest of the party, six in number,
+are armed with axes and rifles. Thus accoutred,
+they are ready for any sport, or even more
+serious business. Reaching an open glade on
+the skirts of the forest, the party halts, and the
+leader advances to a low bush, on which he
+places a piece of honeycomb. This is a lure
+for the bees. In a very short time several are
+humming about it and diving into the cells.
+Laden with honey, they rise into the air and
+dart off in a straight line with almost the velocity
+of a bullet. The hunters watch attentively the
+course they take, and set off in the same direction,
+still watching the course of the bees. In
+this way the tree where the bees have made
+their home is reached. But it will often happen,
+as may be suspected, that the bees will elude
+the sight of the most vigilant hunter, and the
+party may wander about without succeeding in
+finding any treasure. Another method is then
+adopted: a few bees are caught and placed in
+a small box with a glass top, having at the
+bottom a small piece of honeycomb. When
+they have satisfied themselves with honey, two
+or three are allowed to escape, the hunters taking
+care to observe the direction of their flight and
+to follow them as rapidly as possible. When
+these bees are lost sight of, two or three others
+are set free and their course followed, and so
+on until the identical tree has been reached.
+It sometimes happens that one set of bees take
+an opposite course to their predecessors. The
+hunter knows by this that he has passed the
+tree, or otherwise missed his mark, and he
+retraces his steps and follows the lead of the
+unerring bees. The sight of the bee is so strong
+and keen that it can descry its home at an immense
+distance. It is a well-ascertained fact
+that if a bee be caught on a flower at any given
+distance south of its home, and then be taken
+in a close box an equal distance north of it, the
+little creature, when set free, after flying in a
+circle for a moment, will take a straight course
+to its identical tree. Therefore, the hunter who
+has intelligence, patience, and perseverance on
+his side is sure to be successful in the end.</p>
+
+<p>It not unfrequently happens that when in the
+immediate neighbourhood of the tree, the hunter
+may not be able to distinguish the particular
+one he is searching for from the rest, as the
+entrance to the bee-castle is commonly many
+feet above the ground. He is not then at the
+end of his resources. A small fire is kindled,
+and upon a piece of stone or other suitable
+material made hot, some honeycomb is placed;
+the smell will at once induce the whole colony
+of bees to come down from their citadel, when
+the hunters proceed with their axes to bring
+down the tree. A vigorous writer thus describes
+the proceedings, when the party of hunters had
+traced the honey-laden bees to their hive in the
+hollow trunk of a blasted oak, into which, after
+buzzing about for a time, they entered at a hole
+about sixty feet from the ground: ‘Two of the
+bee-hunters now plied their axes vigorously at
+the foot of the tree, to level it with the ground.
+The mere spectators and amateurs in the meantime
+drew off to a cautious distance, to be out
+of the way of the falling of the tree and the
+vengeance of its inmates. The jarring blows of
+the axe seemed to have no effect in alarming or
+agitating this most industrious community; they
+continued to ply at their usual occupations; some
+arriving full-freighted into port, others sallying
+forth on new expeditions, like so many merchantmen
+in a money-making metropolis, little suspicious
+of impending bankruptcy and downfall.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_536">{536}</span>
+Even a loud crack, which announced the disrupture
+of the trunk, failed to divert their attention
+from the intense pursuit of gain. At length,
+down came the tree with a tremendous crash,
+bursting open from end to end, and displaying
+all the hoarded treasures of the commonwealth.
+One of the hunters immediately ran up with a
+wisp of lighted hay, as a defence against the
+bees. The latter, however, made no attack, and
+sought no revenge; they seemed stupefied by
+the catastrophe and unsuspicious of its cause,
+remaining crawling and buzzing about the ruins,
+without offering us any molestation.’</p>
+
+<p>When the tree had been brought down, the
+whole party fell to with spoon and hunting-knife
+to scoop out the combs with which the hollow
+trunk was stored. A single tree has been known
+to yield from one hundredweight to one and a
+half hundredweight.</p>
+
+<p>‘Some of the combs were old and of a deep
+brown colour; others were beautifully white,
+and the honey in their cells was almost limpid.
+Such of the combs as were entire were placed
+in camp kettles, to be conveyed to the encampment;
+those which had been broken by the fall
+were devoured on the spot. Every stark bee-hunter
+was to be seen with a rich morsel in his
+hand, dripping about his fingers, and disappearing
+as rapidly as a cream tart before the holiday
+appetite of a schoolboy.’</p>
+
+<p>Not in America alone, but in Africa also, the
+wild-bee is an object of pursuit by the natives.
+Even the Hottentots show considerable shrewdness
+in obtaining the wild-honey. The author of an
+<i>Expedition into the Interior of Africa</i> thus describes
+an operation of this kind: ‘One of the Hottentots
+observed a number of bees entering a hole in the
+ground which had formerly belonged to some
+animal of the weasel kind. As he made signs
+for us to come to him, we turned that way,
+fearing he had met with some accident.’ It was
+the home of a recent swarm. ‘When the people
+began to unearth the bees, I did not expect that
+we should escape being severely stung; but they
+knew so well how to manage an affair of this
+kind, that they robbed the poor bees with the
+greatest ease and safety. Before they commenced
+digging, a fire was made near the hole, and constantly
+supplied with damp fuel, to produce a
+cloud of smoke. In this the workmen were
+completely enveloped, so that the bees returning
+from the field were prevented approaching, and
+those which flew out of the nest were driven
+by it to a distance.’</p>
+
+<p>The same writer mentions another incident,
+even more interesting. ‘Whilst I was engaged
+in the chase one day on foot with a Namaqua
+attendant, he picked up a small stone; he looked
+at it earnestly, then over the plain, and threw
+it down again. I asked what it was. He said
+there was the mark of a bee on it. Taking it
+up, I also saw on it a small pointed drop of wax,
+which had fallen from the bee in its flight. The
+Namaqua noticed the direction the point of the
+drop indicated, and walking on, he picked up
+another stone, also with a drop of wax on it,
+and so on at considerable intervals, till, getting
+behind a crag, he looked up, and bees were seen
+flying across the sky and in and out of a cleft
+in the face of the rock. Here, of course, was the
+honey he was in pursuit of. A dry bush was
+selected, a fire was made, the cliff ascended, and
+the nest robbed in the smoke.’</p>
+
+<p>An amusing anecdote is related in <i>Feminine
+Monarchy</i>, an old book printed in 1609, and given
+by a Russian ambassador to Rome as ‘written
+out of experience by Charles Butler.’ A man was
+out in the woods searching for honey. Climbing
+a large hollow tree, he discovered an immense
+‘find’ of the luscious produce. By some means
+however, he missed his footing, and slipped into
+the hollow, sinking up to his breast in honey. He
+struggled to get out, but without avail. He called
+and shouted, but alike in vain. He was far
+from human habitation, and help there was none,
+for no one heard his cries. At length, when he
+had begun to despair of deliverance, he was extricated
+in a most remarkable and unexpected way.
+Strange to say, another honey-hunter came to
+the same tree in the person of a large bear, which,
+smelling the honey, the scent of which had been
+diffused by the efforts of the imprisoned man,
+mounted the tree and began to lower himself,
+hind-part first, into the hollow. The hunter,
+rightly concluding that the worst could be but
+death, which he was certain of if he remained
+where he was, clasped the bear around the loins
+with both hands, at the same time shouting
+with all his strength. The bear, what with the
+handling and the shouting, was very seriously
+frightened, and made speed to get out of his fix.
+The man held fast, and the bear pulled until,
+with his immense strength, he drew the man
+fairly out of his strange prison. The bear being
+released, made the best of his way off, more
+frightened than hurt, leaving the man, as the
+story quaintly says, ‘in joyful fear.’</p>
+
+<p>We conclude this paper with a story of another
+kind, a version of which was given some years
+ago in a contemporary; but the French bishop
+was turned into an English prelate, and the
+bee-keeping curé into an Anglican clergyman,
+the story being otherwise greatly changed. The
+said French bishop, while paying a visit to his
+clergy, was much distressed by the extreme
+poverty which met him everywhere. Reaching
+the house of a certain curate who lived in the
+midst of very poor parishioners, where he expected
+to witness even greater destitution, he was
+astonished to find that everything about the
+house wore an appearance of comfort and plenty.
+Greatly surprised by what he saw, the bishop
+asked: ‘How is this, my friend? You are the
+first pastor I have seen having a cheerful face
+and a plentiful board. Have you any income
+independent of your cure?’</p>
+
+<p>‘Yes,’ said the curé, ‘I have. My household
+would otherwise starve on the pittance I receive
+from my poor people. If you will walk into the
+garden, I will show you the stock which yields
+me such excellent interest.’</p>
+
+<p>On going into the garden, the bishop saw a
+long range of beehives.</p>
+
+<p>‘There,’ said the curé—‘there is the bank from
+which I draw an annual dividend; and it is one
+that never stops payment.’</p>
+
+<p>The fact was that his honey supplied the place
+of sugar, leaving him a considerable quantity for
+sale, in addition to other household uses. Then,
+of the washings of the comb and refuse honey
+he manufactured a very palatable wine; while the
+wax went far to pay his shoemaker’s bill.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_537">{537}</span></p>
+
+<p>Ever afterwards, it is said, when any of the
+clergy complained to the bishop of poverty, he
+would tell the story of the bee-keeping curé,
+following up his anecdote with the advice: ‘Keep
+bees—keep bees!’</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_FRIEND_OF_THE_FAMILY">A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3>CHAPTER III.—A GRAVE ACCUSATION.</h3>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Thus</span> valiant, the Major entered the library at
+the appointed time. He was, however, taken
+aback on finding that it was not only the gentlemen
+he had to confront, but also two of the
+ladies—Mrs Joseph and Mrs John. Nellie had
+positively refused to be present. He had not
+bargained for an examination in the presence of
+the ladies, for he could not say before them
+what he must say in order to exculpate himself.
+He felt that he was being very unfairly treated.
+But he was thankful for small mercies. They
+might have had Miss Euphemia in to witness
+his humiliation—for humiliation it must be to
+confess his stupidity in despatching the letters
+in the wrong envelopes.</p>
+
+<p>The Squire was seated at his writing-table,
+and assumed something of his magisterial air (he
+was a J.P.) as he requested the Major to take
+a chair. The three letters were on the desk before
+him; and he proceeded to read them carefully,
+whilst profound silence prevailed. Mrs Joseph
+darted angry glances alternately at her husband
+and the culprit. Mrs John looked more serious
+than usual, but still showed symptoms of an
+inclination to titter. John Elliott stood in the
+shadow of a large bookcase; Maynard near the
+window which opened to the terrace, impatiently
+twirling his moustache and at intervals glancing
+fiercely towards the Major, who, in his indignation
+at the whole proceeding, returned the glance
+in a like spirit.</p>
+
+<p>The Squire cleared his throat with a raucous
+cough. ‘You have placed me in a most painful
+position, Major,’ he began with an evident desire
+to be friendly, which was checked by the frown
+of his wife. ‘I am as tolerant as anybody of a
+joke. You know that well enough, Dawkins;
+but I can’t stand such a hoax as you have played
+upon us in sending these letters here.’</p>
+
+<p>The Major rose; he felt so much injured, that
+he was calm. ‘My dear friend Elliott’——</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, confound it—there’s the beginning of the
+plaguy things,’ ejaculated the Squire.</p>
+
+<p>‘Allow me to explain. I intended no hoax.
+These letters were written with an earnest desire
+to avert misunderstanding. Unfortunately, in my
+agitation and haste, I blundered.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Not a hoax—not a joke!’ bellowed the
+Squire, rising to his feet and thrusting the
+letters into a drawer of the table. ‘Do you
+mean to say, then, that I suspected my wife of
+anything?’</p>
+
+<p>‘No.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Do you mean to say that a word could be
+spoken about me in association with any one
+which could or should cause Nellie—Miss Carroll—to
+be displeased with me?’ broke in Maynard
+threateningly.</p>
+
+<p>‘No.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Do you mean to say that I am in any way
+involved with another lady?’ snapped Elliott of
+Arrowby.</p>
+
+<p>‘No.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Stop a minute,’ interposed Mrs John, in her
+light-hearted way, coming to the rescue of Major
+Dawkins, and turning to her husband. ‘The Major
+did not say you were involved, John; he only
+warned me not to mind any nonsense I might
+hear about you. Give our friend time to explain.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I am grateful for your intercession, madam,’
+said the Major stiffly. ‘If your husband has read
+the letter which, as I have told you, fell into Mrs
+Joseph’s hands by mischance, he knows precisely
+how the matter stands, and I request <i>him</i> to
+explain, or to speak to me in private.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I have read the letter, of course,’ was the
+peevish response of John Elliott; ‘and it does
+not suggest anything for me to explain, or why
+you should require a private interview with
+me.’</p>
+
+<p>The Major had the opportunity to avenge himself
+on the instant by stating before them all why
+he had written the letters. But Mrs John was
+evidently quite ignorant of her husband’s suspicions;
+why should he pain her by revealing
+them? The outcome of the revelation would be
+an inevitable rupture between the man and wife.
+Nellie Carroll had not heard John Elliott’s
+scandal about Maynard: why should he, for his
+own convenience, stir the stagnant pool and increase
+the distress he had already unintentionally
+caused? No; he would not do that. He had
+blundered, and must pay the penalty.</p>
+
+<p>‘Since Mr John Elliott declines to say anything
+or to grant me a private interview,’ said
+the Major firmly, ‘the affair must end here. I
+withdraw everything that is written in these
+unlucky letters, and request you to give them
+back to me, so that they may be at once
+destroyed.’</p>
+
+<p>‘That won’t do,’ rejoined the Squire gruffly;
+‘if you won’t make the thing clear to us, it has
+gone too far to end here. I shall place the letters
+in the hands of my solicitor to-morrow morning,
+and leave him to arrange with you.’</p>
+
+<p>‘In that case, you will provoke a family scandal
+which will cause you all much vexation, and
+cannot possibly do good to anybody.’</p>
+
+<p>‘It will at least teach <i>some</i> person a serious
+lesson,’ observed Mrs Joseph sternly.</p>
+
+<p>‘O madam, the lesson has been learned already,’
+answered the Major bitterly.—‘But since you,
+Squire, are not satisfied that I am sufficiently
+punished for my mistake by the loss of your
+friendship, but also mean to take legal proceedings,
+I must summon a friend from town who
+will convince you that the trouble did not originate
+with me.’</p>
+
+<p>‘So be it, Major Dawkins; and as things stand,
+I shall expect your visit to Todhurst to terminate
+to-morrow,’ said the Squire, getting the inhospitable
+words out with much difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>‘It would terminate this instant, were it not
+that I still desire to serve you and your family.
+So much you will acknowledge to-morrow, and
+then my presence will no longer disturb you.’</p>
+
+<p>There was a degree of dignity in the Major’s
+retreat which impressed everybody except the
+hot-headed lover, Maynard, who muttered between<span class="pagenum" id="Page_538">{538}</span>
+his teeth: ‘If this were not my friend’s house, I
+would horsewhip the little beggar.’ As he could
+not enjoy that luxury, he occupied his talents
+in seeking a reconciliation with Nellie, and unluckily,
+but naturally, besought the aid of Mrs
+John. His conversations with her in the drawing-room
+and on the lawn again irritated the
+suspicious husband, who, instead of speaking out
+frankly, endeavoured to hide the bitter thoughts
+which were passing through his mind, and became
+more abstracted and more disagreeable than ever.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs Joseph perversely held to her opinion that
+the guest had ‘something’ to say which she ought
+to know.</p>
+
+<p>‘But you don’t mean to say, Kitty,’ the Squire
+expostulated, ‘that if I had any fault to find
+with you I should not speak it straight out to
+yourself, instead of blabbing it to other folk?
+Past experience ought to make you sure that
+when I am not pleased, you will hear about it
+soon enough.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I know that perfectly well—there is no lack of
+fault-finding on your part to myself; and how am
+I to tell what you have been saying about me to
+others?’ retorted Mrs Joseph, whose temper being
+once roused, as has been stated, was not easily
+allayed.</p>
+
+<p>‘Nonsense, Kitty—you don’t believe that I
+would speak about you to outsiders.—Come,
+now; drop this humbug, for you know it is
+humbug; and, ’pon my honour, I think we have
+been too hard on poor Dawkins.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Before deciding on that point, I shall wait to
+hear what this friend he is summoning from
+London has to say to-morrow.’</p>
+
+<p>‘I take his word for it, that there was a
+mistake.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then he should not make such a mistake,
+and having made it, ought to suffer the consequences.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But, my dear, don’t you see that he is taking
+the consequences?—and infernally unpleasant ones
+they are. I tell you there is nothing in it;
+and if he had only said it was all a joke, I
+should have been satisfied.’</p>
+
+<p>‘But he said it was not a joke, and told you
+that if you prosecuted him, it would result in a
+grave family scandal. How can you answer
+that?’</p>
+
+<p>‘I can’t, and he wouldn’t; so we must wait for
+the person who will.’</p>
+
+<p>There was a kind of armed truce declared in
+this way between the husband and wife—she
+feeling guiltily conscious that she was somehow
+making a mountain of a molehill; and he feeling
+perfectly sure of it.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>The Major went straight to his room, resolved
+that he would hold no intercourse with the family
+until Mrs John’s brother, Matt Willis, arrived.
+Had there been a train that evening to town, he
+would have taken it and brought his friend down;
+and if there had been a hotel in the village, he
+would have left the house forthwith. But there
+was no train and there was no hotel—not even a
+beershop, for the country folk thereabout mostly
+brewed their own ale. There was, however, a
+post and telegraph office in the village, and Hollis
+was despatched with a message for Willis, entreating
+him, for his sister’s sake, to come down by the
+first train on the following morning. That done,
+he endeavoured to compose himself and to take
+a calm survey of his position. He had upset
+everybody, and most of all himself, by his good-natured
+anxiety to save others from the consequences
+of their own folly. The thing ought to
+have resulted in a laugh and a shake-hands all
+round; but instead of that, it threatened to
+become a serious affair for the law-courts to
+deal with; and the Major had no means to
+enable him to indulge in the luxury of a lawsuit.</p>
+
+<p>What was he to do? Nothing but what he
+had determined upon—to get Willis to speak
+out, since John Elliott would not. There was of
+course the possibility that Willis would refuse,
+as it was his intense repugnance to interfering
+with family squabbles which had prompted him
+to call for the Major’s assistance as mediator
+between his sister and her husband.</p>
+
+<p>Major Dawkins felt indignant with John Elliott
+for shrinking from speaking the few words which
+would have put everything right. But the truth
+flashed upon him—perhaps the man was so
+blinded by his jealousy, that he really did not
+understand what was required of him, when
+asked to explain the position. Although the
+Major could only surmise that this was the case,
+the surmise was correct; but the true reason why
+John Elliott did not understand him was that
+he had no idea of his conversation with Willis
+having been repeated to any one. If that were
+so, the Major felt that it was his duty to prevent
+the threatened publicity by every means in his
+power. Apart from his consideration for the
+feelings of Mrs John and Nellie, there was his
+own plight to be taken into account. Publicity
+would expose him to ridicule, if not contempt,
+and would inevitably put an end to all hope of
+winning the hand of Miss Euphemia Panton.
+He resolved to see the Squire the moment
+dinner was over, and make another effort to
+get him to understand the real state of the
+unfortunate business.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Servants have a special instinct for discovering
+the ill-luck of the family they serve,
+and invariably they accept it in a distorted form.
+Then they sympathise with the master and
+mistress, or rejoice in their fallen state, according
+to the perquisites which have been allowed them
+or withheld from them. Hollis having heard
+that his master was in disgrace with the family
+they had come to visit, felt that his own dignity
+was at stake; therefore, in the housekeeper’s
+room and in the butler’s pantry he valiantly
+defended the honour of his chief. He was a
+little crest-fallen when he found that his master
+was not to join the family at dinner, for this
+circumstance appeared to confirm the gossip of
+the servants’ hall that the Major had been guilty
+of some grave offence, the nature of which was
+too dreadful to be mentioned. Hollis was equal
+to the occasion, and by taking the position as
+one of great injustice to his master, succeeded, by
+cautious suggestions of forthcoming revelations,
+in impressing the housekeeper and butler with
+the idea that they would reap a large reward in
+the future by careful attention to the Major’s
+present needs. The diplomacy of Hollis was
+used as much on his own account as on that of
+his master; for he managed to secure command<span class="pagenum" id="Page_539">{539}</span>
+of the dishes which were most favoured by the
+Major—and himself, as well as a sufficient supply
+of Clos de Vougeot and Heidsieck.</p>
+
+<p>The Major was scarcely sufficiently appreciative
+of the attentions of his servant in catering
+for him so far as the eatables were concerned;
+and he sadly disappointed Hollis by taking a
+larger share of the wine than that gentleman
+had expected. For this loss, however, he contrived
+to compensate himself when he got downstairs
+again. Major Dawkins was too eager for
+the moment when he should be able to speak
+freely to the Squire to find any delight in eating;
+and although he took the wine, it was without
+any of the relish with which he usually partook
+of rare vintages. When Hollis had cleared the
+table, he rose immediately, disregarding his
+digestion, and paced the room. He knew that
+the dinner would be a more lugubrious affair
+than the luncheon had been, and he endeavoured
+to calculate exactly when it would be over.</p>
+
+<p>The time having arrived, he opened his door,
+which was nearly opposite that of the library.
+To the latter he advanced quickly, knowing that
+the Squire frequently went thither after dinner
+to examine letters or to take a nap. He heard
+some one moving in the room, and tapped at
+the door. There was no answer. He tapped
+again, and still receiving no answer, boldly turned
+the handle and entered. There was no one
+visible. He was puzzled, for there had been
+unmistakable sounds of some one moving about
+and also of the shutting of a drawer. The
+window which opened on the terrace was slightly
+ajar, and possibly the Squire, suspecting who was
+his visitor, had stepped out in order to avoid
+him. That was both unfriendly and unjust.</p>
+
+<p>The Major was angry, for he could not conceive
+any reason for being avoided in this
+manner. He looked out: no one was visible on
+the terrace. Then a sudden temptation seized
+him. He knew exactly in which drawer the
+Squire had placed those abominable letters.
+They were his own—why should he not take
+possession of them and destroy them? In this
+way the whole miserable business would be
+ended. Of course, he could not deny having
+written such letters as would be described, but
+they would not be forthcoming; and if it should
+come to the worst, his explanation of the circumstances
+under which they had been written would
+be listened to with the more patience and consideration.</p>
+
+<p>The temptation was too much for him. For
+the sake of the family as well as for his own
+sake, those letters must be destroyed. He went
+to the drawer, pulled it open, and there before
+him lay the letters. He snatched them out and
+thrust them into the breast-pocket of his coat,
+with the intention of burning them when he
+reached his own room; but at that moment his
+wrists were tightly grasped and he heard the
+click of handcuffs fastened upon them. He was
+helpless and speechless. He stood staring at the
+smiling face of a broad-shouldered fellow who
+wore the costume of a gamekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>‘Got you at last,’ said this gentleman quite
+pleasantly. ‘You have given me no end of
+trouble; but, there, I respect you all the
+more. Only, you have been coming it rather
+strong, and I am surprised that you didn’t take
+a rest, seeing that you’ve had the valuables out
+of half-a-dozen mansions in the county.’</p>
+
+<p>‘What do you mean?’ shouted the Major
+furiously.</p>
+
+<p>‘Nothing particular,’ replied the complacent
+gentleman, ‘unless you count it particular that
+I should want you to come along with me. I
+am a constable, and I have been looking out for
+you for some weeks past. So, you had better
+make no fuss about the matter, but come along
+quietly. It’ll be all the better for yourself.’</p>
+
+<p>‘You confounded fool!’ ejaculated the Major
+indignantly, ‘do you take <i>me</i> for a burglar?
+I am a guest in this house—I am Major
+Dawkins.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Alias Captain Jack, alias ’Arry Smith.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Call the family—they will identify me,’ the
+Major almost shrieked, whilst he endeavoured to
+free himself from his handcuffs.</p>
+
+<p>‘Oh, I’ll call the family,’ answered the detective,
+as he lifted up a jemmy which was lying beside
+the Squire’s desk. ‘I suppose you don’t know
+what this little tool means, and I suppose you
+don’t know anything about this drawer which
+has been forced open with it?’</p>
+
+<p>‘You scoundrel, to suspect me of such’——</p>
+
+<p>‘There now; don’t say anything to commit
+yourself; I’ll call the family.’</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon, the detective rang the bell.</p>
+
+<p>The summons was answered by Parker the
+butler, who was somewhat astonished to find a
+stranger in the library with the Major. The
+latter’s face—purple with rage—and wild gesticulations,
+with his fettered hands, presented a
+spectacle so astounding that Parker could
+scarcely believe his eyes rested on a guest of
+the house.</p>
+
+<p>‘Tell your master to come here and release
+me from this ruffian, who takes me—me, Major
+Dawkins—for a burglar!’</p>
+
+<p>The detective smiled placidly as he addressed
+the butler: ‘Yes, if you please, inform Mr
+Elliott that he is wanted here on particular
+business.’</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="ENGLISH_COUNSEL_AND_SOLICITORS">ENGLISH COUNSEL AND SOLICITORS.</h2>
+</div>
+<p class="ph3">BY A BARRISTER.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> time ago, an agitation sprang up in favour
+of the amalgamation of the two legal professions
+in England, and the conduct thereafter of litigious
+business on lines more or less nearly approximating
+to the American system. The movement
+emanated, no doubt, from the town branch of
+the profession; for it is no secret that many
+solicitors are anxious to distinguish themselves
+in court by pleading their clients’ causes, in
+place of retaining counsel to do so for them.
+But, in the face of more burning questions, the
+agitation gradually died away.</p>
+
+<p>It now seems not unlikely to be revived, as
+it is certain that sooner or later it must be.
+And an <i>ex cathedrâ</i> utterance given by that
+eminently practical judge, Mr Justice Stephen,
+a short time ago, will tend to hasten the course
+of events in this matter. A case for trial before
+that judge was duly called on, when it was
+found that the plaintiff was unrepresented, his
+counsel being at the time engaged in another
+court. The plaintiff being unwilling, or at least<span class="pagenum" id="Page_540">{540}</span>
+unprepared, to conduct his own case—notwithstanding
+the growing tendency in favour of
+personally conducted cases—the judge was asked
+to allow the case to stand over, which he did,
+but not without giving a hint as to the possibility
+of future ‘reform.’ ‘If,’ said his lordship, ‘such
+an incident occurs often, it will become necessary
+to do away with the separation between
+solicitors and barristers.’ Just so. This is the
+way the question is regarded from the judicial
+point of view. When the judge is put to
+inconvenience, he speaks out; and if he is at
+all often put to inconvenience, he will act also.
+But inasmuch as, in most actions, each party is
+represented by more than one counsel—certainly
+no ‘distinguished’ or fashionable counsel will
+accept a brief without a junior—such inconvenience
+to a judge is of comparatively unfrequent
+occurrence; so that, although one of its
+members may occasionally be found to <i>speak</i> in
+favour of amalgamation, little or no active
+assistance can be expected from the judicial
+body.</p>
+
+<p>But how does the question affect other interests?
+Solicitors, as we have hinted, are in
+favour of amalgamation. It can hardly do them
+much harm, but must in many cases add to
+their professional incomes, which is of course
+all that, as a body, they want. Barristers are
+more opposed to it, but, we think, without much
+reason. A few, doubtless, will suffer; but the
+state of the advocate’s profession as a whole can
+hardly be worse than it is at present. There
+are barristers, it may be said, who earn fifteen
+or twenty thousand pounds a year; but they
+are not many—infinitely fewer in number than
+those who earn nothing at all—and they are
+probably well above the reach of competition,
+partly by reason of their known and exceptional
+ability, and partly because they have been placed
+by fashion on a pedestal which is too firm to
+crumble away, at least during their brief span
+of life. But the few who make such incomes
+may be compared to the large landowners whom
+Mr Henry George and his friends would rob to
+enrich (?) those who have no land. If all the
+incomes made at the Bar were added together,
+and their sum divided amongst all the barristers,
+each would have but a pittance, so overstocked
+is the profession. Hence, regarding barristers as
+forming a small community, and giving due consideration
+to the greatest happiness of the greatest
+number principle, it is pretty obvious that the
+Bar has really little to lose by the bringing about
+of amalgamation.</p>
+
+<p>Now from the point of view of the public. It
+is clear that this largest interest must benefit by
+amalgamation. It would promote economy—an
+extremely great gain. It would practically mean
+the abolition of that middle-man who is so
+obnoxious to economists, so hurtful to the proper
+expression of delicate points, and so wasteful of
+time. It matters not to the public, as long as it is
+placed in direct communication with its counsel,
+whether that counsel be a solicitor or a barrister;
+but it is of great and increasing importance to
+the vast body of litigants that personal relations
+should be established between client and advocate;
+and this is what must sooner or later come
+to pass. Other advantages of the amalgamated
+system have been before urged here and elsewhere;
+they need not be again specified in detail.
+Technically, the probable effect of the system
+would be the immediate entering into partnership
+of counsel and solicitors; which would mean
+nothing to the general public except the nearer
+approach of counsel and the vastly increased possibility
+of personal interview with him. Solicitors,
+in fact, would for all practical purposes become
+barristers’ confidential clerks; they would do all
+the work they do now for settlement by their
+partner counsel; they would receive clients in
+chambers while their partners were engaged in
+court, and in the event of an unusual press of
+court-work, would conduct the minor cases through
+their trials. The aggregate advantages of such a
+reform are so obvious, that minor interests should
+not be considered in bringing it about; and we
+are therefore inclined to express a hope that Mr
+Justice Stephen’s criticism of the existing state
+of affairs may prove to be prophetic of the near
+future.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="LADY_FREDERICKS_DIAMONDS">LADY FREDERICK’S DIAMONDS.</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">I, Arnold Blake</span>, have had a queer up-and-down,
+checkered sort of life, and until I was
+nearing my fortieth year, was most persistently
+down in my luck. First, it was in Mexico that
+I tried my fortune, and failed. Then, tempted
+by an enthusiastic friend, I went to Genoa and
+set up there in partnership with him as a merchant.
+The life was a very healthy and happy
+one, but not what any one could call profitable,
+from a pecuniary point of view—in fact, quite
+the reverse. After a few years, finding it impossible,
+with both ends stretched to the uttermost,
+to make them meet, we gave that up; and I
+moved on to Nice, where I had two or three
+substantial friends. There, things took a turn
+for the better, and I gradually formed a niche
+for myself, in time becoming quite an authority
+in my own small circle. Then, acting on good
+advice, I started a branch bank in connection
+with a well-known one in London. This answered
+fairly well; I had just as much work as I cared
+to do, was able to pay my expenses, and had
+even begun to lay by a little hoard against the
+proverbial ‘rainy-day.’ Nice was a gay, bright
+town to live in, and I constantly met old friends,
+and made many pleasant new ones, who were
+passing through to the South, or spending two
+or three months there, or at Monte Carlo, for
+the fascinating pleasure of either losing their
+own money, or making a tidy little fortune out
+of somebody else’s pocket.</p>
+
+<p>One afternoon, I was sitting in my small
+counting-house, writing for the English mail,
+when the door opened, and in came an old
+acquaintance, Sir Frederick O’Connor, with a
+parcel in his hand. ‘How d’ye do, Blake?’ said
+he cheerily. ‘I’ve come to you to get me out
+of a difficulty. These are my wife’s jewels.
+Why she has brought them with her, family
+diamonds and all, passes my understanding. I
+call it insane! Fact is I don’t relish the idea
+of waking up some fine morning to find my
+throat cut! I want to know if you will be so
+good as to keep them in your safe while we are
+here. Whenever Lady O’Connor wishes to dazzle
+her friends with them, I can easily come round
+and ask you for what she wants.’</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_541">{541}</span></p>
+
+<p>Naturally, I willingly consented to find a
+corner for the jewels; and after I had taken
+an inventory of them, Sir Frederick himself
+placed them in an inner compartment, and I
+locked the door. I little thought what a
+dance those confounded diamonds should lead
+me!</p>
+
+<p>A few days after this, at a large garden-party
+I met Lady O’Connor, young, pretty, and happy-looking.
+She shook hands cordially, expressed
+pleasure at meeting again, and asked if I thought
+the season would be a gay one. ‘By-the-by,’
+she said, ‘it is very kind of you, Mr Blake, to
+take care of my valuables. Sir Frederick was
+quite in despair about them, until a happy
+thought suggested you as their protector. I
+am going to trouble you for some of them
+to-morrow. Fred will call for them; and do
+not be surprised if you see him bristling with
+bowie-knives and revolvers, for he has a fixed
+idea that the Nice ruffian has a keener nose for
+other people’s property than any other ruffian
+in the world.’</p>
+
+<p>I answered that her lovely jewels were worthy
+of an escort armed to the teeth, and that I was
+very glad indeed to be of use to Sir Frederick
+and herself in any way.</p>
+
+<p>The morning after this garden-party—it must
+have been about half-past four or five—my sleepy
+senses were completely scattered by my door
+being thrown violently open, and Roscoe, my
+combined valet and commissionaire, a quiet and
+respectful treasure, landing beside me as if shot
+out of a catapult. I knew at once that something
+very dreadful must have happened. Roscoe’s
+face of horror and despair would have made a
+valuable study for an artist.</p>
+
+<p>‘Get up, sir, at once, and come down to the
+office. The safe has been broken open, and
+cleaned out, sir, quite empty!’ gasped Roscoe
+breathlessly, pale with excitement.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot recollect what followed during the
+few minutes in which I hurriedly dressed, and
+Roscoe is far too considerate to have ever reminded
+me of that short scene. The first thing
+I <i>do</i> remember is, finding myself in my office,
+clothed in a sketchy and uncomfortable manner,
+the victim of one of the most audacious burglaries
+that had taken place in Nice for a very long
+time. I stood gazing at my ransacked safe and
+rummaged drawers, and at the floor, strewn with
+papers, among which, here and there, I noticed
+a few gold pieces, which seemed as if the robbers
+had been interrupted or startled in some way or
+other. I was afraid to move from the spot on
+which I stood until the detective, whom I had
+sent Roscoe off in a <i>fiacre</i> to fetch, should arrive,
+lest I might unwittingly destroy some small but
+important piece of evidence, which his experienced
+eyes would discover at a glance. In a very
+short time he appeared, and after a friendly word
+or two, commenced his investigations. He carefully
+examined the safe, the window, and the
+door. Nothing seemed to escape him. He
+took voluminous notes; measured a footmark
+which he discovered on the floor; but the footmark
+on further inquiry was found to be his
+own, which rather put him out.</p>
+
+<p>I told him of the jewels which had been
+placed in my care so lately.</p>
+
+<p>‘Your man informed me, monsieur, as we
+came, that you had diamonds of great value in
+your iron safe.’</p>
+
+<p>A clammy dew broke out suddenly on my
+forehead, as I remembered that Lady O’Connor
+was counting on appearing in those same jewels
+at the prefecture ball that night.</p>
+
+<p>‘On the strength of what your servant told
+me, monsieur,’ continued the detective, ‘I have
+already telegraphed to Marseilles, Genoa, and
+Turin, and have directed some of my most trustworthy
+men to be on the alert at the railway
+station and the port. I will send and let monsieur
+know the moment we get any trace of the stolen
+property.’</p>
+
+<p>I made out a careful list of all I had lost,
+gave it to the detective, and then returned to
+my rooms to dress in a rather less superficial
+manner. The awful business of breaking the
+loss of the jewels to Sir Frederick and Lady
+O’Connor was now staring me in the face, and
+as I walked to their hotel I became a prey to
+the most paralysing nervousness I hope it will
+ever be my lot to endure. I was shown into
+a charming sitting-room, facing the sea, and
+though I did not look at anything round me,
+except the two people I had come to see, I
+remembered afterwards every detail of the scene.</p>
+
+<p>They were at breakfast. The refreshing, sun-warmed
+morning air breathed softly in through
+the open window, scented by the mignonette,
+which grew thickly in boxes on the balcony
+outside. Lady O’Connor looked very graceful and
+pretty in a long loose gown of some soft Indian
+silk, trimmed with lace. Sir Frederick, also
+in comfortable unconventional garments, was
+reading aloud a letter, over which they were
+both laughing merrily as I was announced.
+They welcomed me warmly, looking as if early
+and unexpected visitors were quite a common
+occurrence, and between them, carried on the
+usual preliminary chit-chat about the lovely
+weather, the delight of being able to breakfast
+with the window open in the month of
+November, the view, &amp;c., as long as the servant
+remained in the room, while I stood looking
+from one to the other, solemnly bowing my
+head in silent answer to their cheerful remarks.
+It is not necessary to relate what passed;
+suffice it to say that both Sir Frederick and
+Lady O’Connor possessed an unusual share of
+kindness of heart and of sympathy with other
+people’s misfortunes, and they endeavoured to
+make my unpleasant position as easy for me
+as possible.</p>
+
+<p>Then followed a week of restless activity.
+I haunted the police bureau; if I was not there
+two or three times a day myself, I sent Roscoe
+to find out for me if any telegrams had arrived
+on the all-important subject, any clue been found
+to throw the smallest light upon it.</p>
+
+<p>One lovely afternoon, I was walking down
+the Promenade des Anglais in anything but
+a cheerful frame of mind, indeed I do not
+think I ever felt so utterly depressed before.
+Nothing whatever had been heard of the
+missing jewels; and during a long consultation
+that morning with Aigunez the detective,
+he had told me that he firmly believed that
+the robbery was the work of one man, and that
+the jewels were still in Nice. I had been calling
+at one of the pretty villas beyond the Var,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_542">{542}</span>
+and was now making my way down the side
+of the Promenade next the houses, to the <i>Hôtel de
+la Mediterranée</i>, to talk over Aigunez’s last suggestion
+with Sir Frederick O’Connor. As I was
+passing the high solid walls of the now quite
+unused cemetery, I noticed that the door was
+ajar; and expecting to find there old Baroni
+the care-taker, whom I knew, I pushed open
+the door and entered. Nobody was there:
+all was silent and solitary. Here and there
+were untidy heaps of rubbish; tangled, overgrown
+bushes; and propped against the walls were two
+or three gravestones that had covered graves
+from which the remains had been removed to
+some family vault elsewhere. I could not help
+wondering how much Baroni received for the
+amount of care and labour he bestowed on the
+old English burial-ground. When my eyes,
+which were uncommonly sharp ones, had become
+accustomed to the dark shadows thrown by the
+walls, and the brilliant glare where the shadow-line
+ended, I noticed that a gravestone lying
+in rather a retired spot appeared, by the fresh-looking
+footmarks round it, to have been lately
+moved. I do not think that this circumstance
+would have roused my curiosity in the then
+preoccupied state of my mind, had it not been
+that close beside it a large branch of a neighbouring
+tree had been bent down and fastened firmly
+to the ground by means of a stone. This arrested
+my attention, it was so evidently intended to
+mark the spot. Exerting all my strength, I
+pushed the heavy stone sufficiently to one side
+to enable me to see that it concealed a small
+pit, recently dug, by the look of the mould round
+it. It was empty! I managed to replace the
+gravestone, and left the cemetery, carefully closing
+the door behind me, and glancing round to see if
+my actions had been observed.</p>
+
+<p>I hurried on to the hotel, wondering and conjecturing
+as to the possible meaning of the curious
+little mystery I had just discovered. That small
+oblong pit, for what purpose could it have
+been prepared? My first idea was that a murder
+had been or was about to be committed, and
+in this way it was intended to get rid of the
+victim’s body; but the hole was certainly not
+large enough for a grown person. Was it possible
+that it was to be the unblessed, unadorned
+tomb of some little one, done to death by pitiless
+earthly guardians, who found its frail helpless
+life a burden to them? That was too hideous
+a fancy. Suddenly, the thought struck me that
+it might be a hiding-place for property! By
+Jove, the diamonds!</p>
+
+<p>At that moment I reached the <i>Mediterranée</i>,
+and going up the broad stairs three at a time
+in my excitement, I knocked at the door of the
+O’Connors’ sitting-room. Sir Frederick was alone,
+smoking, with the last number of the <i>World</i> in
+his hand.</p>
+
+<p>‘I felt sure that you would come in this afternoon,’
+he said, as he pushed his cigar case towards
+me, ‘so I put off going to the club.—What
+is the latest intelligence?’</p>
+
+<p>I first told him of Aigunez’s opinion, that
+the jewels were still in Nice, an opinion which
+had now gained for me a double significance.
+Then I unfolded my own budget, and told him
+of all I had seen in the old cemetery which
+had been closed for so many years.</p>
+
+<p>This put Sir Frederick into the wildest spirits.
+‘We’ve got them now, Blake!’ he exclaimed,
+‘and no mistake about it. They’ve run themselves
+into a nice trap. Of <i>course</i>, these are the
+rascals we’re after.—What do you say?—Don’t
+set my heart upon it, in case of disappointment.
+Nonsense! my dear fellow. Don’t you see they
+cannot get rid of diamonds like those in a hurry;
+and not being able to leave the town puts them
+in a regular fix? It is very dangerous for them
+to keep such valuable things about them, and
+now, they flatter themselves that they have found
+an uncommonly safe hiding-place. Why, Fate
+must have led you by the very nose to that
+door this afternoon!’</p>
+
+<p>I laughed. ‘It is as well for us, perhaps, that
+I did not feel her fingers, or things might have
+turned out differently. We had better settle our
+plan of action for to-night, as it won’t do to let
+this chance slip. How fortunate there is no moon.
+It will be as black as Erebus inside those high
+walls.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Our best plan,’ said Sir Frederick, ‘is, I think,
+to hide ourselves there as soon as it is dark. We
+may have a long time to wait; but then, again,
+we may not, and we are much less likely to be
+observed if we slip in early in the evening.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Then I will call for you, Sir Frederick, as
+soon as it is dark enough,’ I answered. ‘And
+allow me to suggest that we do not take Aigunez
+into our confidence, for it will be a triumph
+indeed to cut out the far-famed French detective
+in his own line of business.’</p>
+
+<p>I left the hotel with a lighter heart than I
+had carried about with me for some time.
+Though I had cautioned Sir Frederick not to
+be too sanguine, I was myself convinced that
+we should have the diamonds in our possession
+before morning. I went back to my rooms,
+wrote some letters, dined, and then tried to quiet
+my excited mind by pacing up and down the
+sitting-room, smoking my usual post-prandial
+cigar, till I thought it was sufficiently dark to
+venture forth. The church clocks were striking
+ten as I arrived at the <i>Mediterranée Hôtel</i>, and
+I found Sir Frederick performing the same restless
+quarter-deck constitutional on the pavement
+outside.</p>
+
+<p>‘So glad you’ve come, Blake; I’m anxious to
+be off now.—What is that in your hand?’</p>
+
+<p>‘A small lantern,’ I answered. ‘We shall find
+it useful.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Got a revolver?’ inquired Sir Frederick in
+a solemn whisper.</p>
+
+<p>‘No,’ said I, in an equally sepulchral voice;
+‘fists are my weapons.’</p>
+
+<p>‘Pooh!’ returned he. ‘Of what use are
+English fists when you have an Italian knife in
+your ribs?—Here we are!’</p>
+
+<p>The door was exactly as I had left it. There
+was not a sign of anybody near us, so we went
+quickly through, closing it again behind us. We,
+stood for a minute silent and still, until our eyes
+had become more accustomed to the intense darkness
+round us; then we groped our way, with
+two or three stumbles against tombstones and
+over mounds of earth, to the spot where I fancied
+the marked stone must be, and in a few seconds
+I discovered it without doubt, by falling over
+it. As I was collecting myself and my scattered
+senses together again, after this sudden and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_543">{543}</span>
+unpleasant downfall, I heard close beside me a
+volley of muttered execrations from Sir Frederick,
+who declared, in an agitated whisper, that he
+was sure he had caught a ghost or something very
+like it. At the risk of discovery, I opened the
+lantern, and for one second threw the light on
+the object he held in his hands. It was an
+unusually large bat, which, disturbed by our
+intrusion on its own domain, must have flown
+or dropped on to Sir Frederick from the tree
+under which he was standing. He quickly shook
+it off; and without further adventure we concealed
+ourselves in some thick bushes near the
+grave. It would have required the eyes of a
+lynx to discover us, hidden as we were in the
+midst of a mass of evergreens, overgrown with
+a network of tangled creepers, and the high black
+wall behind. There we waited, keenly watchful.
+Not a leaf stirred. A perfectly dead silence lay
+over everything, as if the fairy of the Sleeping
+Beauty story of our childhood held nature bound
+under her spell. A mouldy, damp, earthy vapour
+rose from the ground at my feet, and seemed
+to weigh me down as if it were something
+solid.</p>
+
+<p>The clock of Notre-Dame struck eleven.
+Another long weary hour went slowly by, and
+then the clock struck midnight. I believe I had
+sunk into a sort of doze, when every faculty was
+suddenly roused by hearing a soft movement at
+the door, which was very gently opened. There
+was a pause, as if the new-comers were listening;
+the door was shut, and a lantern shed its narrow
+streak of light over the graves at their feet. One,
+two, three dark forms, two of whom carried between
+them what seemed to be a box. Sir Frederick
+gently nudged me—of course <i>that</i> contained the
+jewels. They came quietly to the side of the
+mysterious tombstone, and, setting their burden
+down on another one close by, they set to work,
+and quickly moved it to one side. I then discovered,
+to my surprise, that the one that held
+the lantern was a woman. Their faces were deep
+in shadow; I did not once get a glimpse of
+their features. All their movements were quiet
+and free from haste; they evidently had not the
+smallest notion that discovery was possible. The
+two men carefully laid the box in the hole prepared
+for it, covered it with mould, and, after
+replacing the stone stretched themselves, and
+held the lantern aloft, the better to survey their
+handiwork. It seemed very satisfactory to their
+female companion, for I distinctly heard her
+breathe a sigh of unmistakable relief. They left
+the place as quietly as they had come to it, not
+having, as far as we knew, spoken a word to
+each other the whole time.</p>
+
+<p>It was our turn now. As soon as we were
+quite sure that we again had this dismal solitude
+to ourselves, we emerged from our damp hiding-place
+and shook ourselves into shape, for naturally
+we both felt very stiff and numb after our long
+weird vigil. I opened my lantern, and we began
+eagerly to undo the work we had just seen so
+neatly accomplished. It did not take long to
+remove the stone and scatter the thin layer of
+mould. In a few minutes we had the box—a
+boy’s oblong deal play-box, clamped with iron—lying
+on a tombstone before us.</p>
+
+<p>‘Open it, Blake,’ said Sir Frederick.</p>
+
+<p>‘Locked,’ I answered as I shook the lid.</p>
+
+<p>‘Take my knife,’ continued the baronet, as he
+drew from his pocket one of the formidable
+weapons at which his wife had laughed.</p>
+
+<p>It was a common lock, and easily forced. As
+I threw back the lid, Sir Frederick held up the
+lantern. ‘Take them out, Blake, and see if they
+are all there; it will be a wonderful thing if
+none are missing.—What on earth is that?’</p>
+
+<p>‘It looks to me like a dog-collar,’ I answered,
+as I shook out a black Cashmere shawl in which
+was wrapped a silver curb chain with a small
+silver bell attached to it.</p>
+
+<p>‘Stolen from somebody else,’ cried Sir Frederick.
+‘Get on with the rest.’</p>
+
+<p>‘This beats everything,’ said I, and drew forth
+a small pale-blue garment fashioned like a horse’s
+body-cloth, with a monogram in gold thread at
+one side. ‘It is a dog’s coat.—And what the
+deuce is this?’</p>
+
+<p>‘A dog!’ we exclaimed simultaneously.</p>
+
+<p>Carefully folded in a piece of soft linen lay
+the body of a small silky white, long-haired
+terrier—to judge by all its surroundings, a lady’s
+cherished pet. For a few seconds, disgust and
+disappointment kept us silent; then Sir Frederick
+broke out into a series of execrations more amusing
+than effective.</p>
+
+<p>We had been befooled by our own enthusiasm
+as amateur detectives, and at first were angry,
+but by-and-by came to see the situation in its
+more grotesque aspect. After giving vent to our
+feelings in a burst of suppressed laughter, we
+put the little pet back into his play-box coffin,
+being careful to see that everything was just as
+we had found it; and quickly shovelling the
+mould and pushing the tombstone over it, we
+crept out of the old cemetery. Our feelings
+were very different from those with which we
+had entered it. We were greatly cheered, however,
+on reaching the hotel to find a line from
+Aigunez, which had come during Sir Frederick’s
+absence; ‘I am on the right track.’</p>
+
+<p>We heard no more for two days, when the
+detective reappeared with a captive, a valet
+whom Sir Frederick had dismissed before leaving
+England, who, knowing the great value of the
+jewels which Lady O’Connor was taking with
+her, had thought it worth his while to follow
+them, and being a clever hand at that sort of
+work, had succeeded as we have seen.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="OCCASIONAL_NOTES">OCCASIONAL NOTES.</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3>THE WEST AUSTRALIAN GOLD-FIELDS.</h3>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">For</span> some years, the government of Western
+Australia has offered a reward of five thousand
+pounds for the discovery of a payable gold-field
+within three hundred miles of a declared port.
+From recent news from Perth, it would almost
+appear that a profitable gold-field has at last
+been discovered. We learn that Messrs Malet
+and M‘Ewen, who were sent by the government
+to explore the Kimberley District, in the extreme
+north of the colony, have returned, after an
+expedition which nearly proved disastrous to the
+explorers. They lost their horses; and having
+consumed all their provisions, only escaped starvation
+by coming unexpectedly to a settler’s hut,
+where they obtained assistance. The party
+arrived barefooted, their boots having fallen to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_544">{544}</span>
+pieces on the tramp of one hundred miles. Mr
+M‘Ewen nearly succumbed to the hardships of
+the journey. A quantity of the new gold has
+already found its way to England. According
+to advices from Derby, the port of the country—named
+after the present Lord Derby, and situated
+at the head of King’s Sound—large numbers
+of people, who were totally unfitted for the
+work, were starting for the Kimberley gold-fields.
+As the roads are rough, and provisions scarce
+and dear, with an absence of water, it goes
+without saying that no one need venture in
+search of wealth without being supplied with
+plenty of money and an ample supply of provisions.
+The country is described as closely
+resembling the Peak Down District in Queensland.
+The gold is much scattered, but the gullies
+are numerous. It is expected that so soon as the
+alluvial gold is worked out, productive reefs will
+be laid bare. The Kimberley District, contrary
+to what many have supposed, is a country about
+four and a half times the size of Scotland, with
+splendid rivers, and with millions of acres of
+pastoral and agricultural land. The climate has
+been commended by Captain Grey and other
+explorers as one of the finest and healthiest
+in the tropics. Last year, the population numbered
+only about one hundred white men; the
+blacks, who are not numerous, are tractable.
+Sheep, cattle, and horses thrive well, so that,
+whether or not the gold-fields fulfil the expectations
+of those who seek their fortune at the gold-fields,
+there is a fine country to develop. Derby,
+the capital of this district, at the mouth of the
+Fitzroy River, consisted lately of but a few huts
+and tents, and is the station of a government
+resident. Should the ‘rush’ to the gold-fields continue,
+doubtless all this will soon be changed.</p>
+
+
+<h3>ROYAL VETERINARY COLLEGE.</h3>
+
+<p>The horse fills so large a place in human affairs,
+that a few words descriptive of an institution
+devoted to its welfare must interest more or less
+every one. The Royal Veterinary College—situated
+in Great College Street, Camden Town,
+London, N.W.—discharges the twofold function
+of a hospital and a school; that is to say, it is
+there the sick or maimed horse—or for the matter
+of that, the sick or maimed sheep, ox, dog, &amp;c.—is
+taken to be doctored; and it is there the young
+man goes for the education and diploma which
+are to qualify him for the vocation of a veterinary
+surgeon. The scope of the present series of papers,
+however, only justifies our considering the institution
+in its curative capacity. Horse-owners, then,
+come, in relation to the College, under two heads—subscribers
+and non-subscribers. If elected
+by the Governing Body, or General Purposes
+Committee, a person becomes a yearly subscriber
+by paying two guineas per annum; or a life subscriber
+either by paying twenty guineas in one
+sum, or sixteen guineas after making the annual
+payment for not less than two consecutive years—certain
+exceptional conditions applying to firms
+and companies. The privileges of a subscriber
+are—(1) To have the gratuitous opinion of the professors
+as to the treatment to be applied to any
+animal of his brought for the purpose to the
+College, but which he may desire to retain in his
+own keeping. (2) To have admitted into the
+infirmary, for medical and surgical treatment,
+any number of his own horses and other animals
+for which there may be room, at a charge only
+for their ‘keep.’ (3) To have in the course of
+any year five horses, his actually or prospective
+property, examined gratuitously as to soundness,
+either before or after purchase; and to have any
+further number examined at a fee of ten shillings
+and sixpence per head. (4) To be supplied with
+medicines for animals at a fixed charge. (5) To
+have, at a fixed rate, a chemical analysis made
+by the Professor of Chemistry at the College of
+any water, provender, oilcake, or other feeding-matter,
+and of the viscera of any animal suspected
+of being poisoned. (6) In cases of extensive or
+serious outbreaks of disease, to have an investigation
+made into its nature and causes, on payment
+of the fixed charges. And (7) To have a post-mortem
+examination of any animal, or parts
+of an animal, sent to the College, and receive
+an opinion of the probable cause of death, on
+payment of a fixed charge. As regards outsiders
+or non-subscribers, the treatment and examination
+of their animals by the staff of the College
+are subject to a higher tariff of charges. Another
+disability under which they labour is that their
+animals may not be received into the infirmary
+for treatment. ‘Accidents’ and other urgent
+cases are received into the institution at all times
+of the day and night, special vehicles being kept
+at hand for their transportation.</p>
+
+<p>A singular by-law of the College is the following:
+‘Credit will be given for all animals which
+may die in the infirmary according to the amount
+received for the carcase; but all diseased parts
+shall be considered to be the property of the
+College.’ Such ‘diseased parts’ are useful vehicles
+in the dissecting-room for conveying knowledge
+to the minds of the students.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_SONG_OF_REST">A SONG OF REST.</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">O weary</span> Hands! that, all the day,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Were set to labour hard and long,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Now softly fall the shadows gray,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">The bells are rung for evensong.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">An hour ago, the golden sun</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Sank slowly down into the west;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Poor, weary Hands, your toil is done;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">O weary Feet! that many a mile</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Have trudged along a stony way,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">At last ye reach the trysting stile;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">No longer fear to go astray.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">The gently bending, rustling trees</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Rock the young birds within the nest,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">And softly sings the quiet breeze:</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">‘’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!’</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">O weary Eyes! from which the tears</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Fell many a time like thunder-rain—</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">O weary Heart! that through the years</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Beat with such bitter, restless pain,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">To-night forget the stormy strife,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">And know, what Heaven shall send is best;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Lay down the tangled web of life;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Florence Tylee.</span></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="full">
+
+<p class="center">Printed and Published by <span class="smcap">W. &amp; R. Chambers</span>, 47 Paternoster
+Row, <span class="smcap">London</span>, and 339 High Street, <span class="smcap">Edinburgh</span>.</p>
+
+<hr class="full">
+
+<p class="center"><i>All Rights Reserved.</i>
+</p>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73319 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+