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diff --git a/78194-0.txt b/78194-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..98b9986 --- /dev/null +++ b/78194-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2463 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78194 *** + + + “_Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS._”—SHAKESPEARE. + + + + + HOUSEHOLD WORDS. + A WEEKLY JOURNAL. + + + CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. + + + N^{o.} 24.] SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1850. [PRICE 2_d._ + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS OF CHEAPNESS. + + + THE STEEL PEN. + +We remember (early remembrances are more durable than recent) an epithet +employed by Mary Wollstonecraft, which then seemed as happy as it was +original:—“The _iron_ pen of Time.” Had the vindicatress of the “Rights +of Women” lived in these days (fifty years later), when the iron pen is +the almost universal instrument of writing, she would have bestowed upon +Time a less common material for recording his doings. + +Whilst we are remembering, let us look back for a moment upon our +earliest schooldays—the days of large text and round hand. Twenty +urchins sit at a long desk, each intent upon making his _copy_. A nicely +mended pen has been given to each. Our own labour goes on successfully, +till, in school-boy phrase, the pen begins to splutter. A bold effort +must be made. We leave the form, and timidly address the writing-master +with—“Please, sir, mend my pen.” A slight frown subsides as he sees that +the quill is very bad—too soft or too hard—used to the stump. He dashes +it away, and snatching a feather from a bundle—a poor thin feather, such +as green geese drop on a common—shapes it into a pen. This mending and +making process occupies all his leisure—occupies, indeed, many of the +minutes that ought to be devoted to instruction. He has a perpetual +battle to wage with his bad quills. They are the meanest produce of the +plucked goose. + +And is this process still going on in the many thousand schools of our +land, where, with all drawbacks of imperfect education, both as to +numbers educated and gifts imparted, there are about two millions and a +half of children under daily instruction? In remote rural districts, +probably; in the towns certainly not. The steam-engine is now the +pen-maker. Hecatombs of geese are consumed at Michaelmas and Christmas; +but not all the geese in the world would meet the demand of England for +pens. The supply of _patés de foie gras_ will be kept up—that of quills, +whether known as _primes_, _seconds_, or _pinions_, must be wholly +inadequate to the wants of a _writing_ people. Wherever geese are bred +in these islands, so assuredly, in each succeeding March, will every +full-fledged victim be robbed of his quills; and then turned forth on +the common, a very waddling and impotent goose, quite unworthy of the +name of bird. The country schoolmaster, at the same springtime, will +continue to buy the smallest quills, at a low price, clarify them after +his own rude fashion, make them into pens, and sorely spite the boy who +splits them up too rapidly. The better quills will still be collected, +and find their way to the quill dealer, who will exercise his empirical +arts before they pass to the stationer. He will plunge them into heated +sand, to make the external skin peel off, and the external membrane +shrivel up; or he will saturate them with water, and alternately +contract and swell them before a charcoal fire; or he will dip them in +nitric acid, and make them of a gaudy brilliancy but a treacherous +endurance. They will be sorted according to the quality of the barrels, +with the utmost nicety. The experienced buyer will know their value by +looking at their feathery ends, tapering to a point; the uninitiated +will regard only the quill portion. There is no article of commerce in +which the market value is so difficult to be determined with exactness. +For the finest and largest quills no price seems unreasonable; for those +of the second quality too exorbitant a charge is often made. The foreign +supply is large, and probably exceeds the home supply of the superior +article. What the exact amount is we know not. There is no duty now on +quills. The tariff of 1845—one of the most lasting monuments of the +wisdom of our great commercial minister—abolished the duty of +half-a-crown a thousand. In 1832 the duty amounted to four thousand two +hundred pounds, which would show an annual importation of thirty-three +millions one hundred thousand quills; enough, perhaps, for the +commercial clerks of England, together with the quills of home +growth;—but how to serve a letter-writing population? + +The ancient reign of the quill pen was first seriously disturbed about +twenty-five years ago. An abortive imitation of the _form_ of a pen was +produced before that time; a clumsy, inelastic, metal tube fastened in a +bone or ivory handle, and sold for half-a-crown. A man might make his +mark with one—but as to writing, it was a mere delusion. In due course +came more carefully finished inventions for the luxurious, under the +tempting names of ruby pen, or diamond pen—with the plain gold pen, and +the rhodium pen, for those who were sceptical as to the jewellery of the +inkstand. The economical use of the quill received also the attention of +science. A machine was invented to divide the barrel lengthwise into two +halves; and, by the same mechanical means, these halves were subdivided +into small pieces, cut pen shape, slit, and nibbed. But the pressure +upon the quill supply grew more and more intense. A new power had risen +up in our world—a new seed sown—the source of all good, or the dragon’s +teeth of Cadmus. In 1818 there were only one hundred and sixty-five +thousand scholars in the monitorial schools—the new schools, which were +being established under the auspices of the National Society, and the +British and Foreign School Society. Fifteen years afterwards, in 1833, +there were three hundred and ninety thousand. Ten years later, the +numbers exceeded a million. Even a quarter of a century ago two-thirds +of the male population of England, and one-half of the female, were +learning to write; for in the Report of the Registrar-General for 1846, +we find this passage:—“Persons when they are married are required to +sign the marriage-register; if they cannot write their names, they sign +with a mark: the result has hitherto been, that nearly one man in three, +and one woman in two, married, sign with marks.” This remark applies to +the period between 1839 and 1845. Taking the average age of men at +marriage as twenty-seven years, and the average age of boys during their +education as ten years, the marriage-register is an educational test of +male instruction for the years 1824–28. But the gross number of the +population of England and Wales was rapidly advancing. In 1821 it was +twelve millions; in 1831, fourteen millions; in 1841, sixteen millions; +in 1851, taking the rate of increase at fourteen per cent., it will be +eighteen millions and a half. The extension of education was proceeding +in a much quicker ratio; and we may therefore fairly assume that the +proportion of those who make their marks in the marriage-register has +greatly diminished since 1844. + +But, during the last ten years, the natural desire to learn to write, of +that part of the youthful population which education can reach, has +received a great moral impulse by a wondrous development of the most +useful and pleasurable exercise of that power. The uniform penny postage +has been established. In the year 1838, the whole number of letters +delivered in the United Kingdom was seventy-six millions; in this year +that annual delivery has reached the prodigious number of three hundred +and thirty-seven millions. In 1838, a Committee of the House of Commons +thus denounced, amongst the great commercial evils of the high rates of +postage, their injurious effects upon the great bulk of the +people:—“They either act as a grievous tax on the poor, causing them to +sacrifice their little earnings to the pleasure and advantage of +corresponding with their distant friends, or compel them to forego such +intercourse altogether; thus subtracting from the small amount of their +enjoyments, and obstructing the growth and maintenance of their best +affections.” Honoured be the man who broke down these barriers! Praised +be the Government that, _for once_, stepping out of its fiscal tram-way, +dared boldly to legislate for the domestic happiness, the educational +progress, and the moral elevation of the masses! The steel pen, sold at +the rate of a penny a dozen, is the creation, in a considerable degree, +of the Penny Postage stamp; as the Penny Postage stamp was a +representative, if not a creation, of the new educational power. Without +the steel pen, it may reasonably be doubted whether there were +mechanical means within the reach of the great bulk of the population +for writing the three hundred and thirty-seven millions of letters that +now annually pass through the Post Office. + +Othello’s sword had “the ice-brook’s temper;” but not all the real or +imaginary virtues of the stream that gave its value to the true Spanish +blade could create the elasticity of a steel pen. Flexible, indeed, is +the Toledo. If thrust against a wall, it will bend into an arc that +describes three-fourths of a circle. The problem to be solved in the +steel pen, is to convert the iron of Dannemora into a substance as thin +as the quill of a dove’s pinion, but as strong as the proudest feather +of an eagle’s wing. The furnaces and hammers of the old armourers could +never have solved this problem. The steel pen belongs to our age of +mighty machinery. It could not have existed in any other age. The demand +for the instrument, and the means of supplying it, came together. + +The commercial importance of the steel pen was first manifested to our +senses a year or two ago at Sheffield. We had witnessed all the curious +processes of _converting_ iron into steel, by saturating it with carbon +in the converting furnace;—of _tilting_ the bars so converted into a +harder substance, under the thousand hammers that shake the waters of +the Sheaf and the Don; of _casting_ the steel thus converted and tilted +into ingots of higher purity; and, finally, of _milling_, by which the +most perfect development of the material is acquired under enormous +rollers. About two miles from the metropolis of steel, over whose head +hangs a canopy of smoke through which the broad moors of the distance +sometimes reveal themselves, there is a solitary mill where the tilting +and rolling processes are carried to great perfection. The din of the +large tilts is heard half a mile off. Our ears tingle, our legs tremble, +when we stand close to their operation of beating bars of steel into the +greatest possible density; for the whole building vibrates as the +workmen swing before them in suspended baskets, and shift the bar at +every movement of these hammers of the Titans. We pass onward to the +more quiet _rolling_ department. The bar that has been tilted into the +most perfect compactness has now to acquire the utmost possible tenuity. +A large area is occupied by furnaces and rollers. The bar of steel is +dragged out of the furnace at almost a white heat. There are two men at +each roller. It is passed through the first pair, and its squareness is +instantly elongated and widened into flatness;—rapidly through a second +pair,—and a third,—and a fourth,—and a fifth.—The bar is becoming a +sheet of steel. Thinner and thinner it becomes, until it would seem that +the workmen can scarcely manage the fragile substance. It has spread +out, like a morsel of gold under the beater’s hammer, into an enormous +leaf. The least attenuated sheet is only the hundredth part of an inch +in thickness; some sheets are made as thin as the two-hundredth part of +an inch. And for what purpose is this result of the labours of so many +workmen, of such vast and complicated machinery, destined?—what the +final application of a material employing so much capital in every step, +from the Swedish mine to its transport by railroad to some other seat of +British industry? _The whole is prepared for one Steel-pen Manufactory +at Birmingham._ + +There is nothing very remarkable in a steel pen manufactory, as regards +ingenuity of contrivance or factory organisation. Upon a large scale of +production the extent of labour engaged in producing so minute an +article is necessarily striking. But the process is just as curious and +interesting, if conducted in a small shop as in a large. The pure steel, +as it comes from the rolling mill, is cut up into strips about two +inches and a half in width. These are further cut into the proper size +for the pen. The pieces are then annealed and cleansed. The maker’s name +is neatly impressed on the metal; and a cutting-tool forms the slit, +although imperfectly in this stage. The pen shape is given by a convex +punch pressing the plate into a concave die. The pen is formed when the +slit is perfected. It has now to be hardened, and finally cleansed and +polished, by the simple agency of friction in a cylinder. All the +varieties of form of the steel pen are produced by the punch; all the +contrivances of slits and apertures above the nib, by the cutting-tool. +Every improvement has had for its object to overcome the rigidity of the +steel,—to imitate the elasticity of the quill, whilst bestowing upon the +pen a superior durability. + +The perfection that may reasonably be demanded in a steel pen has yet to +be reached. But the improvement in the manufacture is most decided. +Twenty years ago, to one who might choose, regardless of expense, +between the quill pen and the steel, the best Birmingham and London +production was an abomination. But we can trace the gradual acquiescence +of most men in the writing implement of the multitude. Few of us, in an +age when the small economies are carefully observed, and even paraded, +desire to use quill pens at ten or twelve shillings a hundred, as +Treasury Clerks once luxuriated in their use—an hour’s work, and then a +new one. To mend a pen, is troublesome to the old and even the +middle-aged man who once acquired the art; the young, for the most part, +have not learnt it. The most painstaking and penurious author would +never dream of imitating the wondrous man who translated Pliny with “one +grey goose quill.” Steel pens are so cheap, that if one scratches or +splutters, it may be thrown away, and another may be tried. But when a +really good one is found, we cling to it, as worldly men cling to their +friends; we use it till it breaks down, or grows rusty. We can do no +more; we handle it as Isaak Walton handled the frog upon his hook, “as +if we loved him.” We could almost fancy some analogy between the gradual +and decided improvement of the steel pen—one of the new instruments of +education—and the effects of education itself upon the mass of the +people. An instructed nation ought to present the same gradually +perfecting combination of strength with elasticity. The favourites of +fortune are like the quill, ready made for social purposes, with a +little scraping and polishing. The bulk of the community have to be +formed out of ruder and tougher materials—to be converted, welded, and +tempered into pliancy. The _manners_ of the great British family have +decidedly improved under culture—“_emollit mores_:” may the sturdy +self-respect of the race never be impaired! + + + + + TWO CHAPTERS ON BANK NOTE FORGERIES. + + + CHAPTER I. + +Viotti’s division of violin-playing into two great classes—good playing +and bad playing—is applicable to Bank note making. The processes +employed in manufacturing good Bank notes we have already described: we +shall now cover a few pages with a faint outline of the various arts, +stratagems, and contrivances employed in concocting bad Bank notes. The +picture cannot be drawn with very distinct or strong markings. The +tableaux from which it is copied are so intertwisted and complicated +with clever, slippery, ingenious scoundrelism, that a finished chart of +it would be worse than morally displeasing:—it would be tedious. + +All arts require time and experience for their development. When +anything great is to be done, first attempts are nearly always failures. +The first Bank note forgery was no exception to this rule, and its story +has a spice of romance in it. The affair has never been circumstantially +told; but some research enables us to detail it:— + +In the month of August, 1757, a gentleman living in the neighbourhood of +Lincoln’s Inn Fields named Bliss, advertised for a clerk. There were, as +was usual even at that time, many applicants; but the successful one was +a young man of twenty-six, named Richard William Vaughan. His manners +were so winning and his demeanour so much that of a gentleman (he +belonged indeed to a good county family in Staffordshire, and had been a +student at Pembroke Hall, Oxford), that Mr. Bliss at once engaged him. +Nor had he occasion, during the time the new clerk served him, to repent +the step. Vaughan was so diligent, intelligent, and steady, that not +even when it transpired that he was, commercially speaking, “under a +cloud,” did his master lessen confidence in him. Some enquiry into his +antecedents showed that he had, while at College, been extravagant; that +his friends had removed him thence; set him up in Stafford as a +wholesale linen draper, with a branch establishment in Aldersgate +Street, London; that he had failed, and that there was some difficulty +about his certificate. But so well did he excuse his early failings and +account for his misfortunes, that his employer did not check the regard +he felt growing towards him. Their intercourse was not merely that of +master and servant. Vaughan was a frequent guest at Bliss’s table; +by-and-by a daily visitor to his wife, and—to his ward. + +Miss Bliss was a young lady of some attractions, not the smallest of +which was a handsome fortune. Young Vaughan made the most of his +opportunities. He was well-looking, well-informed, dressed well, and +evidently made love well, for he won the young lady’s heart. The +guardian was not flinty hearted, and acted like a sensible man of the +world. “It was not,” he said on a subsequent and painful occasion, “till +I learned from the servants and observed by the girl’s behaviour that +she greatly approved Richard Vaughan, that I consented; but on condition +that he should make it appear that he could maintain her. I had no doubt +of his character as a servant, and I knew his family were respectable. +His brother is an eminent attorney.” Vaughan boasted that his mother +(his father was dead), was willing to re-instate him in business with a +thousand pounds; five hundred of which was to be settled upon Miss Bliss +for her separate use. + +So far all went on prosperously. Providing Richard Vaughan could attain +a position satisfactory to the Blisses, the marriage was to take place +on the Easter Monday following, which the Calendar tells us happened +early in April, 1758. With this understanding, he left Mr. Bliss’s +service, to push his fortune. + +Months passed on, and Vaughan appears to have made no way in the world. +He had not even obtained his bankrupt’s certificate. His visits to his +affianced were frequent, and his protestations passionate; but he had +effected nothing substantial towards a happy union. Miss Bliss’s +guardian grew impatient; and, although there is no evidence to prove +that the young lady’s affection for Vaughan was otherwise than deep and +sincere, yet even she began to lose confidence in him. His excuses were +evidently evasive, and not always true. The time fixed for the wedding +was fast approaching; and Vaughan saw that something must be done to +restore the young lady’s confidence. + +About three weeks before the appointed Easter Tuesday, Vaughan went to +his mistress in high spirits. All was right: his certificate was to be +granted in a day or two; his family had come forward with the money, and +he was to continue the Aldersgate business he had previously carried on +as a branch of the Stafford trade. The capital he had waited so long +for, was at length forthcoming. In fact, here were two hundred and forty +pounds of the five hundred he was to settle on his beloved. Vaughan then +produced twelve twenty-pound notes; Miss Bliss could scarcely believe +her eyes. She examined them. The paper she remarked seemed rather +thicker than usual. “Oh,” said Bliss, “all Bank bills are not alike.” +The girl was naturally much pleased. She would hasten to apprise +Mistress Bliss of the good news. + +Not for the world! So far from letting any living soul know he had +placed so much money in her hands, Vaughan exacted an oath of secresy +from her, and sealed the notes up in a parcel with his own seal; making +her swear that she would on no account open it till after their +marriage. + +Some days after, that is, “on the twenty-second of March,” (1758) we are +describing the scene in Mr. Bliss’s own words—“I was sitting with my +wife by the fireside. The prisoner and the girl were sitting in the same +room—which was a small one—and although they whispered, I could +distinguish that Vaughan was very urgent to have something returned +which he had previously given to her. She refused, and Vaughan went away +in an angry mood. I then studied the girl’s face, and saw that it +expressed much dissatisfaction. Presently a tear broke out. I then +spoke, and insisted on knowing the dispute. She refused to tell, and I +told her that until she did, I would not see her. The next day I asked +the same question of Vaughan; he hesitated. ‘Oh!’ I said, ‘I dare say it +is some ten or twelve pound matter—something to buy a wedding bauble +with.’ He answered that it was much more than that, it was near three +hundred pounds! ‘But why all this secresy,’ I said; and he answered it +was not proper for people to know he had so much money till his +certificate was signed. I then asked him to what intent he had left the +notes with the young lady? He said, as I had of late suspected him, he +designed to give her a proof of his affection and truth. I said, ‘You +have demanded them in such a way that it must be construed as an +abatement of your affection towards her.’” Vaughan was again exceedingly +urgent in asking back the packet; but Bliss remembering his many +evasions, and supposing that this was a trick, declined advising his +niece to restore the parcel without proper consideration. The very next +day it was discovered that the notes were counterfeits. + +This occasioned stricter enquiries into Vaughan’s previous career. It +turned out that he bore the character in his native place of a +dissipated and not very scrupulous person. The intention of his mother +to assist him was an entire fabrication, and he had given Miss Bliss the +forged notes solely for the purpose of deceiving her on that matter. +Meanwhile the forgeries became known to the authorities, and he was +arrested. By what means, does not clearly appear. The “Annual Register” +says that one of the engravers gave information; but we find nothing in +the newspapers of the time to support that statement; neither was it +corroborated at Vaughan’s trial. + +When Vaughan was arrested he thrust a piece of paper into his mouth, and +began to chew it violently. It was, however, rescued, and proved to be +one of the forged notes; fourteen of them were found on his person, and +when his lodgings were searched twenty more were discovered. + +Vaughan was tried at the Old Bailey on the seventh of April, before Lord +Mansfield. The manner of the forgery was detailed minutely at the +trial:—On the first of March (about a week before he gave the twelve +notes to the young lady) Vaughan called on Mr. John Corbould, an +engraver, and gave an order for a promissory note to be engraved with +these words:— + + “No. ——. + + “I promise to pay to ——, or Bearer, ——, London ——.” + +There was to be a Britannia in the corner. When it was done, Mr. Sneed +(for that was the _alias_ Vaughan adopted) came again, but objected to +the execution of the work. The Britannia was not good, and the words “I +promise” were too near the edge of the plate. Another was in consequence +engraved, and on the fourth of March Vaughan took it away. He +immediately repaired to a printer, and had forty-eight impressions taken +on thin paper, provided by himself. Meanwhile, he had ordered, on the +same morning, of Mr. Charles Fourdrinier, another engraver, a second +plate, with what he called “a direction,” in the words, “For the +Governor and Company of the Bank of England.” This was done, and about a +week later he brought some paper, each sheet “folded up,” said the +witness, “very curiously, so that I could not see what was in them. I +was going to take the papers from him, but he said he must go upstairs +with me, and see them worked off himself. I took him upstairs; he would +not let me have them out of his hands. I took a sponge and wetted them, +and put them one by one on the plate in order for printing them. After +my boy had done two or three of them, I went downstairs, and my boy +worked the rest off, and the prisoner came down and paid me.” + +Here the Court pertinently asked, “What imagination had you when a man +thus came to you to print on secret paper, ‘the Governor and Company of +the Bank of England?’” + +The engraver’s reply was:—“I then did not suspect anything. But I shall +take care for the future.” As this was the first Bank of England note +forgery that was ever perpetrated, the engraver was held excused. + +It may be mentioned as an evidence of the delicacy of the reporters +that, in their account of the trial, Miss Bliss’s name is not mentioned. +Her designation is “a young lady.” We subjoin the notes of her +evidence:— + +“A young lady (sworn). The prisoner delivered me some bills; these are +the same (producing twelve counterfeit Bank notes sealed up in a cover, +for twenty pounds each), said they were Bank bills. I said they were +thicker paper—he said all bills are not alike. I was to keep them till +after we were married. He put them into my hands to show he put +confidence in me, and desired me not to show them to any body; sealed +them up with his own seal, and obliged me by an oath not to discover +them to any body. And I did not till he had discovered them himself. He +was to settle so much in Stock on me.” + +Vaughan urged in his defence that his sole object was to deceive his +affianced, and that he intended to destroy all the notes after his +marriage. But it had been proved that the prisoner had asked one John +Ballingar to change first one, and then twenty of the notes; but which +that person was unable to do. Besides, had his sole object been to +dazzle Miss Bliss with his fictitious wealth, he would most probably +have entrusted more, if not all the notes, to her keeping. + +He was found guilty, and passed the day that had been fixed for his +wedding, as a condemned criminal. + +On the 11th May, 1758, Richard William Vaughan was executed at Tyburn. +By his side, on the same gallows, there was another forger: William +Boodgere, a military officer, who had forged a draught on an army agent +named Calcroft, and expiated the offence with the first forger of Bank +of England notes. + +The gallows may seem hard measure to have meted out to Vaughan, when it +is considered that none of his notes were negotiated and no person +suffered by his fraud. Not one of the forty-eight notes, except the +twelve delivered to Miss Bliss, had been out of his possession; indeed +the imitation must have been very clumsily executed, and detection would +have instantly followed any attempt to pass the counterfeits. There was +no endeavour to copy the style of engraving on a real Bank note. That +was left to the engraver; and as each sheet passed through the press +twice, the words added at the second printing, “For the Governor and +Company of the Bank of England,” could have fallen into their proper +place on any one of the sheets, only by a miracle. But what would have +made the forgery clear to even a superficial observer was the singular +omission of the second “n” in the word England.[1] + +Footnote 1: + + Bad orthography was by no means uncommon in the most important + documents at that period; the days of the week, in the day-books of + the Bank of England itself, are spelt in a variety of ways. + +The criticism on Vaughan’s note of a Bank clerk examined on the trial +was:—“There is some resemblance, to be sure; but this mote” (that upon +which the prisoner was tried) “is numbered thirteen thousand eight +hundred and forty, and we never reach so high a number.” Besides there +was no water-mark in the paper. The note of which a fac-simile appeared +in our eighteenth number, and dated so early as 1699, has a regular +design in the texture of the paper; showing that the water-mark is as +old as the Bank notes themselves. + +Vaughan was greatly commiserated. But despite the unskilfulness of the +forgery, and the insignificant consequences which followed it, the crime +was considered of too dangerous a character not to be marked, from its +very novelty, with exemplary punishment. Hanging created at that time no +remorse in the public mind, and it was thought necessary to set up +Vaughan as a warning to all future Bank note forgers. The crime was too +dangerous not to be marked with the severest penalties. Forgery differs +from other crimes not less in the magnitude of the spoil it may obtain, +and of the injury it inflicts, than in the facilities attending its +accomplishment. The common thief finds a limit to his depredations in +the bulkiness of his booty, which is generally confined to such property +as he can carry about his person; the swindler raises insuperable and +defeating obstacles to his frauds if the amount he seeks to obtain is so +considerable as to awaken close vigilance or enquiry. To carry their +projects to any very profitable extent, these criminals are reduced to +the hazardous necessity of acting in concert, and thus infinitely +increasing the risks of detection. But the forger need have no +accomplice; he is burdened with no bulky and suspicious property; he +needs no receiver to assist his contrivances. The skill of his own +individual right hand can command thousands; often with the certainty of +not being detected, and oftener with such rapidity as to enable him to +baffle the pursuit of justice. + +It was a long time before Vaughan’s rude attempt was improved upon: but +in the same year, (1758), another department of the crime was commenced +with perfect success;—namely, an ingenious alteration, for fraudulent +purposes, of real Bank notes. A few months after Vaughan’s execution, +one of the northern mails was stopped and robbed by a highwayman; +several Bank notes were comprised in the spoil, and the robber, setting +up with these as a gentleman, went boldly to the Hatfield Post office, +ordered a chaise and four, rattled away down the road, and changed a +note at every change of horses. The robbery was, of course, soon made +known, and the numbers and dates of the stolen notes were advertised as +having been stopped at the Bank. To the genius of a highwayman this +offered but a small obstacle, and the gentleman-thief changed all the +figures “1” he could find into “4’s.” These notes passed currently +enough; but, on reaching the Bank, the alteration was detected, and the +last holder was refused payment. As that person had given a valuable +consideration for the note, he brought an action for the recovery of the +amount; and at the trial it was ruled by the Lord Chief Justice, that +“any person paying a valuable consideration for a Bank note, payable to +bearer, in a fair course of business, has an understood right to receive +the money of the Bank.” + +It took a quarter of a century to bring the art of forging Bank notes to +perfection. In 1779, this was nearly attained by an ingenious gentleman +named Mathison, a watchmaker, from the matrimonial village of Gretna +Green. Having learnt the arts of engraving and of simulating signatures, +he tried his hand at the notes of the Darlington Bank; but, with the +confidence of skill, was not cautious in passing them, was suspected, +and absconded to Edinburgh. Scorning to let his talent be wasted, he +favoured the Scottish public with many spurious Royal Bank of Scotland +notes, and regularly forged his way by their aid to London. At the end +of February he took handsome lodgings in the Strand, opposite Arundel +Street. His industry was remarkable; for, by the 12th of March, he had +planed and polished rough pieces of copper, engraved them, forged the +water-mark, printed and negotiated several impressions. His plan was to +travel and to purchase articles in shops. He bought a pair of +shoe-buckles at Coventry with a forged note, which was eventually +detected at the Bank of England. He had got so bold that he paid such +frequent visits in Threadneedle Street that the Bank clerks became +familiar with his person. He was continually changing notes of one, for +another denomination. These were his originals, which he procured to +make spurious copies of. One day seven thousand pounds came in from the +Stamp Office. There was a dispute about one of the notes. Mathison, who +was present, though at some distance, declared, oracularly, that the +note was a good one. How could he know so well? A dawn of suspicion +arose in the minds of the clerks; one trail led into another, and +Mathison was finally apprehended. So well were his notes forged that, on +the trial, an experienced Bank clerk declared he could not tell whether +the note handed him to examine was forged or not. Mathison offered to +reveal his secret of forging the water-mark, if mercy were shown to him; +this was refused, and he suffered the penalty of his crime. + +Mathison was a genius in his criminal way, but a greater than he +appeared in 1786. In that year perfection seemed to have been reached. +So considerable was the circulation of spurious paper-money that it +appeared as if some unknown power had set up a bank of its own. Notes +were issued from it, and readily passed current, in hundreds and +thousands. They were not to be distinguished from the genuine paper of +Threadneedle Street. Indeed, when one was presented there, in due +course, so complete were all its parts; so masterly the engraving; so +correct the signatures; so skilful the water-mark, that it was promptly +paid; and only discovered to be a forgery when it reached a particular +department. From that period forged paper continued to be presented, +especially at the time of lottery drawing. Consultations were held with +the police. Plans were laid to help detection. Every effort was made to +trace the forger. Clarke, the best detective of his day, went, like a +sluth-hound, on the track; for in those days the expressive word +“blood-money” was known. Up to a certain point there was little +difficulty; but beyond that, consummate art defied the ingenuity of the +officer. In whatever way the notes came, the train of discovery always +paused at the lottery-offices. Advertisements offering large rewards +were circulated; but the unknown forger baffled detection. + +While this base paper was in full currency, there appeared an +advertisement in the Daily Advertiser for a servant. The successful +applicant was a young man, in the employment of a musical-instrument +maker; who, some time after, was called upon by a coachman, and informed +that the advertiser was waiting in a coach to see him. The young man was +desired to enter the conveyance, where he beheld a person with something +of the appearance of a foreigner, sixty or seventy years old, apparently +troubled with the gout. A camlet surtout was buttoned round his mouth; a +large patch was placed over his left eye; and nearly every part of his +face was concealed. He affected much infirmity. He had a faint hectic +cough; and invariably presented the patched side to the view of the +servant. After some conversation—in the course of which he represented +himself as guardian to a young nobleman of great fortune—the interview +concluded with the engagement of the applicant; and the new servant was +directed to call on Mr. Brank, at 29, Titchfield Street, Oxford Street. +At this interview Brank inveighed against his whimsical ward for his +love of speculating in lottery-tickets; and told the servant that his +principal duty would be to purchase them. After one or two meetings, at +each of which Brank kept his face muffled, he handed a forty and twenty +pound Bank note; told the servant to be very careful not to lose them; +and directed him to buy lottery-tickets at separate offices. The young +man fulfilled his instructions, and at the moment he was returning, was +suddenly called by his employer from the other side of the street, +congratulated on his rapidity, and then told to go to various other +offices in the neighbourhood of the Royal Exchange, and to purchase more +shares. Four hundred pounds in Bank of England Notes were handed him, +and the wishes of the mysterious Mr. Brank were satisfactorily effected. +These scenes were continually enacted. Notes to a large amount were thus +circulated; lottery-tickets purchased; and Mr. Brank—always in a coach, +with his face studiously concealed—was ever ready on the spot to receive +them. The surprise of the servant was somewhat excited; but had he known +that from the period he left his master to purchase the tickets, one +female figure accompanied all his movements; that when he entered the +offices, it waited at the door, peered cautiously in at the window, +hovered around him like a second shadow, watched him carefully, and +never left him until once more he was in the Company of his +employer—that surprise would have been greatly increased.[2] Again and +again were these extraordinary scenes rehearsed. At last the Bank +obtained a clue, and the servant was taken into custody. The directors +imagined that they had secured the actor of so many parts; that the +flood of forged notes which had inundated that establishment would at +length be dammed up at his source. Their hopes proved fallacious, and it +was found that “Old Patch,” (as the mysterious forger was, from the +servant’s description, nick-named) had been sufficiently clever to +baffle the Bank directors. The house in Titchfield Street was searched; +but Mr. Brank had deserted it, and not a trace of a single implement of +forgery was to be seen. + +Footnote 2: + + Francis’s History of the Bank of England. + +All that could be obtained was some little knowledge of “Old Patch’s” +proceedings. It appeared that he carried on his paper coining entirely +by himself. His only confidant was his mistress. He was his own +engraver. He even made his own ink. He manufactured his own paper. With +a private press he worked his own notes; and counterfeited the +signatures of the cashiers, completely. But these discoveries had no +effect; for it became evident that Mr. Patch had set up a press +elsewhere. Although his secret continued as impenetrable, his notes +became as plentiful as ever. Five years of unbounded prosperity ought to +have satisfied him; but it did not. Success seemed to pall him. His +genius was of that insatiable order which demands new excitements, and a +constant succession of new flights. The following paragraph from a +newspaper of 1786 relates to the same individual:— + +“On the 17th of December, ten pounds was paid into the Bank, for which +the clerk, as usual, gave a ticket to receive a Bank note of equal +value. This ticket ought to have been carried immediately to the +cashier, instead of which the bearer took it home, and curiously added +an 0 to the original sum, and returning, presented it so altered to the +cashier, for which he received a note of one hundred pounds. In the +evening, the clerks found a deficiency in the accounts; and on examining +the tickets of the day, not only that but two others were discovered to +have been obtained in the same manner. In the one, the figure 1 was +altered to 4, and in another to 5, by which the artist received, upon +the whole, nearly one thousand pounds.” + +To that princely felony, Old Patch, as will be seen in the sequel, added +smaller misdemeanors which one would think were far beneath his notice; +except to convince himself and his mistress of the unbounded facility of +his genius for fraud. + +At that period the affluent public were saddled with a tax on plate; and +many experiments were made to evade it. Among others, one was invented +by a Mr. Charles Price, a stock-jobber and lottery-office keeper, which, +for a time, puzzled the tax-gatherer. Mr. Charles Price lived in great +style, gave splendid dinners, and did everything on the grandest scale. +Yet Mr. Charles Price had no plate! The authorities could not find so +much as a silver tooth-pick on his magnificent premises. In truth, what +he was too cunning to possess, he borrowed. For one of his sumptuous +entertainments, he hired the plate of a silversmith in Cornhill, and +left the value in bank notes as security for its safe return. One of +these notes having proved a forgery, was traced to Mr. Charles Price; +and Mr. Charles Price was not to be found at that particular juncture. +Although this excited no surprise—for he was often an absentee from his +office for short periods—yet in due course and as a formal matter of +business, an officer was set to find him, and to ask his explanation +regarding the false note. After tracing a man who he had a strong notion +was Mr. Charles Price through countless lodgings and innumerable +disguises, the officer (to use his own expression) “nabbed” Mr. Charles +Price. But, as Mr. Clarke observed, his prisoner and his prisoner’s lady +were even then “too many” for him; for although he lost not a moment in +trying to secure the forging implements, after he had discovered that +Mr. Charles Price, and Mr. Brank, and Old Patch, were all concentrated +in the person of his prisoner, he found the lady had destroyed every +trace of evidence. Not a vestige of the forging factory was left. Not +the point of a graver, nor a single spot of ink, nor a shred of silver +paper, nor a scrap of anybody’s handwriting, was to be met with. +Despite, however, this paucity of evidence to convict him, Mr. Charles +Price had not the courage to face a jury, and eventually he saved the +judicature and the Tyburn executive much trouble and expense, by hanging +himself in Bridewell. + +The success of Mr. Charles Price has never been surpassed; and even +after the darkest era in the history of Bank forgeries—which dates from +the suspension of cash payments, in February, 1797, and which will be +treated of in a succeeding paper—“Old Patch” was still remembered as the +Cæsar of Forgers. + + + + + THE TWO GUIDES OF THE CHILD. + + +A spirit near me said, “Look forth upon the Land of Life. What do you +see?” + +“Steep mountains, covered by a mighty plain, a table-land of +many-coloured beauty. Beauty, nay, it seems all beautiful at first, but +now I see that there are some parts barren.” + +“Are they quite barren?—look more closely still!” + +“No, in the wildest deserts, now, I see some gum-dropping acacias, and +the crimson blossom of the cactus. But there are regions that rejoice +abundantly in flower and fruit; and now, O Spirit, I see men and women +moving to and fro.” + +“Observe them, mortal.” + +“I behold a world of love; the men have women’s arms entwined about +them; some upon the verge of precipices—friends are running to the +rescue. There are many wandering like strangers, who know not their +road, and they look upward. Spirit, how many, many eyes are looking up +as if to God! Ah, now I see some strike their neighbours down into the +dust; I see some wallowing like swine; I see that there are men and +women brutal.” + +“Are they quite brutal?—look more closely still.” + +“No, I see prickly sorrow growing out of crime, and penitence awakened +by a look of love. I see good gifts bestowed out of the hand of murder, +and see truth issue out of lying lips. But in this plain, O Spirit, I +see regions—wide, bright regions,—yielding fruit and flower, while +others seem perpetually veiled with fogs, and in them no fruit ripens. I +see pleasant regions where the rock is full of clefts, and people fall +into them. The men who dwell beneath the fog deal lovingly, and yet they +have small enjoyment in the world around them, which they scarcely see. +But whither are these women going?” + +“Follow them.” + +“I have followed down the mountains to a haven in the vale below. All +that is lovely in the world of flowers makes a fragrant bed for the dear +children; birds singing, they breathe upon the pleasant air; the +butterflies play with them. Their limbs shine white among the blossoms, +and their mothers come down full of joy to share their innocent delight. +They pelt each other with the lilies of the valley. They call up at will +fantastic masques, grim giants play to make them merry, a thousand +grotesque loving phantoms kiss them; to each the mother is the one thing +real, the highest bliss—the next bliss is the dream of all the world +beside. Some that are motherless, all mother’s love. Every gesture, +every look, every odour, every song, adds to the charm of love which +fills the valley. Some little figures fall and die, and on the valley’s +soil they crumble into violets and lilies, with love-tears to hang in +them like dew. + +“Who dares to come down with a frown into this happy valley? A severe +man seizes an unhappy, shrieking child, and leads it to the roughest +ascent of the mountain. He will lead it over steep rocks to the plain of +the mature. On ugly needle-points he makes the child sit down, and +teaches it its duty in the world above.” + +“Its duty, mortal! do you listen to the teacher?” + +“Spirit, I hear now. The child is informed about two languages spoken by +nations extinct centuries ago, and something also, O Spirit, about the +base of a hypothenuse.” + +“Does the child attend?” + +“Not much; but it is beaten sorely, and its knees are bruised against +the rocks, till it is hauled up, woe-begone and weary, to the upper +plain. It looks about bewildered; all is strange,—it knows not how to +act. Fogs crown the barren mountain paths. Spirit, I am unhappy; there +are many children thus hauled up, and as young men upon the plain; they +walk in fog, or among brambles; some fall into pits; and many, getting +into flower-paths, lie down and learn. Some become active, seeking +right, but ignorant of what right is; they wander among men out of their +fog-land, preaching folly. Let me go back among the children.” + +“Have they no better guide?” + +“Yes, now there comes one with a smiling face, and rolls upon the +flowers with the little ones, and they are drawn to him. And he has +magic spells to conjure up glorious spectacles of fairy land. He frolics +with them and might be first cousin to the butterflies. He wreathes +their little heads with flower garlands, and with his fairy land upon +his lips he walks toward the mountains; eagerly they follow. He seeks +the smoothest upward path, and that is but a rough one, yet they run up +merrily, guide and children, butterflies pursuing still the flowers as +they nod over a host of laughing faces. They talk of the delightful +fairy world, and resting in the shady places learn of the yet more +delightful world of God. They learn to love the Maker of the Flowers, to +know how great the Father of the Stars must be, how good must be the +Father of the Beetle. They listen to the story of the race they go to +labour with upon the plain, and love it for the labour it has done. They +learn old languages of men, to understand the past—more eagerly they +learn the voices of the men of their own day, that they may take part +with the present. And in their study when they flag, they fall back upon +thoughts of the Child Valley they are leaving. Sports and fancies are +the rod and spur that bring them with new vigour to the lessons. When +they reach the plain they cry, ‘We know you, men and women; we know to +what you have aspired for centuries; we know the love there is in you; +we know the love there is in God; we come prepared to labour with you, +dear, good friends. We will not call you clumsy when we see you tumble, +we will try to pick you up; when we fall, you shall pick us up. We have +been trained to love, and therefore we can aid you heartily, for love is +labour!’” + +The Spirit whispered, “You have seen and you have heard. Go now, and +speak unto your fellow-men: ask justice for the child.” + +To-day should love To-morrow, for it is a thing of hope; let the young +Future not be nursed by Care. God gave not fancy to the child that men +should stamp its blossoms down into the loose soil of intellect. The +child’s heart was not made full to the brim of love, that men should +pour its love away, and bruise instead of kiss the trusting innocent. +Love and fancy are the stems on which we may graft knowledge readily. +What is called by some dry folks a solid foundation may be a thing not +desirable. To cut down all the trees and root up all the flowers in a +garden, to cover walks and flower-beds alike with a hard crust of +well-rolled gravel, that would be to lay down your solid foundation +after a plan which some think good in a child’s mind, though not quite +worth adopting in a garden. O, teacher, love the child and learn of it; +so let it love and learn of you. + + + + + CHIPS. + + + EASY SPELLING AND HARD READING. + +An interesting case of educational destitution presents itself in the +following letter. It is written by the son of a poor, but honest, +brickmaker of Hammersmith, who emigrated to Sidney, and is now a +shepherd at Bathurst. While the facts it contains are clearly stated, +and the sentiments expressed are highly creditable to the writer—showing +that his moral training had not been neglected by his parents—the +orthography is such as, we may safely affirm, would not have emanated +from any human being with similar abilities, and in a similar station, +than an Englishman. + +England stands pre-eminent in this respect. The parents of this +letter-writer were too poor to _pay_ to have their child taught, and +consequently with the best will in the world to be an ordinary scholar, +he is unable to spell. The clever manner in which such letters are +selected as represent the sounds he is in the habit of giving to each +word, shows an aptitude which would assuredly have made with the +commonest cultivation a literate and useful citizen. More amusing +orthography we have no where met; but the information it conveys is of +the most useful kind. The reader will perceive that the points touched +upon are precisely those respecting which he would wish to be informed; +were he about to emigrate. + +The epistle not only gives a truthful picture of an Australian +shepherd’s condition, but is in itself a lesson and a censure on that +want of national means of education from which at least one-third of the +adult population of England suffer, and of which the writer is an +especial victim and example:— + + “Deer mother and father and sisters i root thes few lines hooping to + find you All well for I arr in gudd halth my self and i wood root + befor onley i wos very un setled and now i have root i houp you will + rite back as soon as you can and send how you all arr and likwise our + frends and i am hired my self for a sheeprd 12 munts for 19 pound and + my keep too for it wos to soun for our work when i arive in the cuntry + it is a plesent and a helthay cuntry and most peple dows well in it as + liks onley it is a grait cuntry for durnkerds and you do not Xpket for + them to do well no weer i have not got any folt to find of the cuntry + for after few theres man can bee is own master if hee liks for the + wagers is higher then tha arr at hom and the previshen is seeper and + peple do not work so hard as thay do at tom and if any wne wish to com + com at wonce and don with it same as i did and take no feer oof the + see whot ever for i did not see any danger whot ever and it is a + cuntry that puur peapole can get a gud living in hoostlue wich thay + can not at tom i arr vrey well plesed off the cuntry and i should bee + very happy if i had som relishon over with mee and i am 230 miles up + the cuntry and wee had a very plesent voyge over in deed and likwise + luckey and vrey litle sickenss and no deths deer mother and father i + houp you will lett our frends no how i am geeting on and der frends + you take no heed what pepole says about horstler take and past your + own thouths about it and if any body wishes to com i wood swade them + to com con pepole can geet a gud living there wer tha cant at tome and + pepole beter com and geet a belly full then to stop at tome and work + day and night then onely get haf a bely ful and i am shuur that no + body can not find any folt off the cuntry eXcep tis pepole do not now + when tha arr doing well [price of pervison] tee lb 1_s_ to 3_s_ suuger + lb 2_d_ to 6_d_ coofe lb 8_d_ to 1_s_ bred lb 1_d_ to 2_d_ beef lb + 1_d_ to 2_d_ mutten ditto baken lb 6_d_ to 1_s._ poork lb 2_d_ to 4_d_ + butter lb _6_d to 1_s_ chees lb 4_d_ to 8_d_ pertos price as tome sope + lb 4_d_ to 6_d_ starch and blue and sooder home price candles lb 4_d_ + to 6_d_ rice lb 2_d_ to 4_d_ hags hom price trekle lb 4_d_ to 5_d_ + solt lb 1_d_ peper nounc 2_d_ tabaker lb 1_s_ to 6_s_ beer 4_d_ pot at + sednay and up in the pool 1_s_ spirts hom price frut happles pars + horengs lemns peshes gusbryes curneth cheerys cokelnut storbyes + rasberys nuts of all sorts vegtbles of all sorts price of cloths much + the same as tome stok very resneble sheep 2_s_ 6_d_ heed wait about 80 + pounds fat bullket about 1000 wit 3_l_ pour hors from 2_l_ to 10_l_ + ther is wonderful grait many black in the cuntry but tha will not hurt + any one if you will let them aolne. + + traitment on bord ship, + + wee arive in the 7 febery and sailed to graveshend then wee stop ther + 2 days then wee sailed from ther to plymeth and wee stop ther 9 days + and took in loot more emigrant then wee sailed from ther to seednay we + arive to seednay 8 of June wee had it vry ruf in the bay of biskey and + three mor places beside but i did not see any dainger of sinking not + the lest for wee had a vry plesent voyges over in deed the pervison on + bord ship Monday pork haf pound pea haf pint butter 6 ounces weekly + tea 1 ounce per week 9 ounces daily biscuit Tusday beef haf pound rice + 4 ounces flour 1 pound per week Wendesday pork haf pound peas haf pint + raisins haf pound per week cooffee 1 ounce and haf per week Thursday + preserved meet haf pound Friday pork haf pound peas haf pint Sadurday + beef haf pound rice 4 ounces sugar three Quarter pound per week Sunday + preserved meat haf pound fresh woter three Quarrts daily vinegar haf + pint per week Mustard haf ounce per week salt tow ounces per week lime + Juse haf pint per week my der sisters i houp you will keep your selvs + from all bad company for it is a disgrace to all frends and likwise + worse for you own sellvs o rember that opinted day to com at last tis + behoups that wee shal bee free from all dets o whot a glorious tirm it + will bee then wee shal feel no more pains nor gref nor sorows nor + sickness nor truble of any cind o whot a glorious term it will bee + then o seeners kip your selvs out off the mire for feer you shuld sink + to the bootem the sarvents wagars of houstler tha geets ges haf as + much mour as tha gets at tome and my sister Maryaan shee kood geet 16 + punds a year and Sarah get 20 pound and Marther get 8 or 9 pound and + tha arr not so sharp to the servents as tha arr at tome i houp you + will send word wot the yungest child name is and how it is geeting on + and send the date when it wos born and i houp this will find you all + weel and cumfortble to. J. R.” + + + + + A VERY OLD SOLDIER. + + +The following is a chip from a block whence we have already taken a few +shavings:—“Kohl’s Travels in the Netherlands.” It describes the National +Hospital for the Aged at Brussels. Some of the inmates whom he found in +it, though still alive, belong to history. It must have been with a sort +of archaic emotion that our inquisitive friend found himself speaking to +a man who had escorted Marie Antoinette from Vienna to Paris, on the +occasion of her marriage! + +“The magnitude of the _Hospice des Vieillards_ in Brussels,” says Mr. +Kohl, “fully realises the idea of a National establishment. The building +itself fulfils all the required conditions of extent, solidity, and +convenience. The gardens, court-yards, and apartments are spacious and +well arranged. The sleeping and eating rooms are large, and well +furnished; and it is pleasing to observe, here and there, the walls +adorned with pictures painted in oil-colours. The inmates of this +_Hospice_ pass their latter days in the enjoyment of a degree of +happiness and comfort which would be unattainable in their own homes. +The chapel is situated only at the distance of a few paces from the main +building, and is connected with it by means of a roofed corridor; thus +obviating the difficulties which prevent old people from attending +places of public worship when, as it frequently happens, they are +situated at long and inaccessible distances from their dwellings. In +winter the Chapel of the _Hospice_ is carefully warmed and secured +against damp. + +“At the time of my visit to the _Hospice des Vieillards_ in Brussels, +the establishment contained about seven hundred inmates, of both sexes, +between the ages of seventy and eighty. Of this number six hundred and +fifteen were maintained at the charge of the establishment, and +seventy-five, being in competent circumstances, defrayed their own +expenses. That the number of those able to maintain themselves should +bear so considerable a relative proportion to the rest, is a fact which +bears strong testimony in favour of the merits of the establishment. +Those who support themselves live in a style more or less costly, +according to the amount of their respective payments. Some of the +apartments into which I was conducted certainly presented such an air of +comfort that persons, even of a superior condition of life, could +scarcely have desired better. + +“I learned from the Governor of the _Hospice_ that the average cost of +the maintenance of each individual was about seventy-five centimes per +day, making a total diurnal expenditure of six hundred francs, or of two +hundred thousand francs per annum. But as this estimate includes the +wages of attendants and the expenses consequent on repairs of the +building, it may fairly be calculated that each individual costs about +three hundred francs per annum. The _Hospice_ frequently receives +liberal donations and bequests from opulent private persons. + +“For such of the pensioners as are able to work, employment is provided: +others are appointed to fill official posts in the veteran Republic. Now +and then a little task-work is imposed; but the _Hospice_ being rich, +this duty is not exacted with the precision requisite in establishments +for the young, where the inmates having a long worldly career before +them, it is desirable that they should be trained in habits of +regularity and industry. The pensioners of the Brussels _Hospice des +Vieillards_, enjoy much freedom; and they are even allowed some +amusements and indulgences, which it might not be proper to concede to +young persons. For example, they are permitted to play at cards; but it +will scarcely be said there is anything objectionable in such an +indulgence to old persons who have run out their worldly course; for +even were they fated once more to enter into society, their example +could neither be very useful nor very dangerous. Here and there I +observed groups of the pensioners, male and female, seated at cards, +staking their pocket-money, of which each has a small allowance, on the +hazard of the game. The penalties assigned for misdemeanours are very +mild, consisting merely in the offending party being prohibited from +going out, or, as it is called, _la privée de la sortie_. In extreme +cases the delinquent is confined to his or her own apartment. + +“It has seldom been my lot to visit a charitable institution, which +created in my mind so many pleasing impressions as those I experienced +in the Hospital for the Old in Brussels. It was gratifying to observe in +the spacious court-yards the cheerful and happy groups of grey-haired +men and women, sunning themselves in the open air. Some were playing at +cards, whilst here and there the females were seated at work, and men +sauntering about smoking their pipes and gossiping. Every now and then I +met an old man whistling or singing whilst he paced to and fro. More +than one of these veterans had been eye-witnesses of interesting +historical events, which now belong to a past age. Several of them had +served as soldiers during the Austrian dominion in Belgium. Of these the +porter of the Hospital was one. + +“The most remarkable character in the whole establishment was an old +Dutchman, named Jan Hermann Jankens, who was born at Leyden in the year +1735. At the time when I saw him, he was one hundred and nine years of +age; or, to quote his own description of himself, he was ‘_leste, +vaillant, et sain_.’” + + “Il nous rapelle en vain + Apres un siècle de séjour, + Ses plaisirs ainsi que ses amertumes.” + +“These lines were inscribed beneath his portrait, which hung in his own +apartment. I remarked that the painter had not flattered him. ‘You are +right, Sir,’ replied he; ‘the fact is, I am much younger than my +portrait,’ and to prove that he was making no vain boast, he sprang up, +and cut several capers, with surprising agility. His faculties were +unimpaired, and he was a remarkable example of that vigorous +organisation which sometimes manifests itself in the human frame; and +which excites our wonder when we find that such delicate structures as +the nerves of sight and hearing may be used for the space of a century +without wearing out. Until within two years of the time when I saw +Jankens, he had been able to work well and actively. His hand was firm +and steady, and he frequently wrote letters to his distant friends. When +in his one hundred and seventh year, he thought, very reasonably, that +he might give up work. ‘And what do you do now?’ I enquired. ‘I enjoy my +life,’ replied he; ‘I saunter about the whole day long, singing, +smoking, and amusing myself. I spend my time very gaily!’ + +“‘Yes, Sir; he dances, drinks, and sings all day long!’ exclaimed, in a +half-jeering, half-envious tone, another veteran, named Watermans, who +had joined us, and who, though _only_ ninety years of age, was much more +feeble than Jankens. + +“I learned from the latter that he had had fifteen children; but that of +all his large family, only one survived, though most of them had lived +to a goodly age. His memory was stored with recollections of events +connected with the marriage of Louis the Sixteenth; for, when a soldier +in the Austrian service, he had formed one of the military escort which +conducted Marie Antoinette into France. He sang me an old song, which +had been composed in honour of the Royal nuptials, and which he said was +very popular at the time. It was in the usual style of such effusions; a +mere string of hyperbolic compliments, in praise of the ‘beauteous +Princess,’ and the ‘illustrious Prince.’ It sounded like an echo from +the grave of old French loyalty. Jankens sang this song in a remarkably +clear, strong voice; but nevertheless, the performance did not give +satisfaction to old Watermans, who, thrusting his fingers into his ears, +said peevishly, ‘What a croaking noise!’ + +“Heedless of this discouraging remark, the venerable centenarian was +preparing to favour me with another specimen of his vocal ability, when +the great bell in the court-yard rang for supper. ‘Pardon, Sir,’ said +Jankens, with an apologetic bow, ‘but—supper.’ Whereupon he hurried off +in the direction of the refectory, with that sort of eager yearning with +which it might be imagined he turned to his mother’s breast one hundred +and nine years before. + +“‘It is amazing that that old fellow should have so sharp an appetite,’ +observed the petulant Watermans, hobbling after him in a way which +showed that he too was not altogether unprepared to do honour to the +evening meal.” + +This Hospital for the Aged is a sort of National Almshouse not solely +peculiar to Belgium. Private munificence does in England what is done +abroad by Governments; but it is to be deplored that a more general +provision for the superannuated does not exist in this country. +Workhouses are indeed asylums for the old; but for those who are also +decayed in worldly circumstances, they cannot afford those comforts +which old age requires. Except Greenwich Hospital for sailors, and +Chelsea Hospital for soldiers, we have no national institution for old +people. + + + + + THE HOUSEHOLD JEWELS. + + + A Traveller, from journeying + In countries far away, + Re-passed his threshold at the close + Of one calm Sabbath day; + A voice of love, a comely face, + A kiss of chaste delight, + Were the first things to welcome him + On that blest Sabbath night. + + He stretched his limbs upon the hearth, + Before its friendly blaze, + And conjured up mixed memories + Of gay and gloomy days; + And felt that none of gentle soul, + However far he roam, + Can e’er forego, can e’er forget, + The quiet joys of home. + + “Bring me my children!” cried the sire, + With eager, earnest tone; + “I long to press them, and to mark + How lovely they have grown; + Twelve weary months have passed away + Since I went o’er the sea, + To feel how sad and lone I was + Without my babes and thee.” + + “Refresh thee, as ’tis needful,” said + The fair and faithful wife, + The while her pensive features paled, + And stirred with inward strife; + “Refresh thee, husband of my heart, + I ask it as a boon; + Our children are reposing, love; + Thou shalt behold them soon.” + + She spread the meal, she filled the cup, + She pressed him to partake; + He sat down blithely at the board, + And all for her sweet sake; + But when the frugal feast was done, + The thankful prayer preferred, + Again affection’s fountain flowed; + Again its voice was heard. + + “Bring me my children, darling wife, + I’m in an ardent mood; + My soul lacks purer aliment, + I long for other food; + Bring forth my children to my gaze, + Or ere I rage or weep, + I yearn to kiss their happy eyes + Before the hour of sleep.” + + “I have a question yet to ask; + Be patient, husband dear. + A stranger, one auspicious morn, + Did send some jewels here; + Until to take them from my care, + But yesterday he came, + And I restored them with a sigh: + —Dost thou approve, or blame?” + + “I marvel much, sweet wife, that thou + Shouldst breathe such words to me; + Restore to man, resign to God, + Whate’er is lent to thee; + Restore it with a willing heart, + Be grateful for the trust; + Whate’er may tempt or try us, wife, + Let us be ever just.” + + She took him by the passive hand, + And up the moonlit stair, + She led him to their bridal bed, + With mute and mournful air; + She turned the cover down, and there, + In grave-like garments dressed, + Lay the twin children of their love, + In death’s serenest rest. + + “These were the jewels lent to me, + Which God has deigned to own; + The precious caskets still remain, + But, ah, the _gems_ are flown; + But thou didst teach me to resign + What God alone can claim; + He giveth and he takes away, + Blest be His holy name!” + + The father gazed upon his babes, + The mother drooped apart, + Whilst all the woman’s sorrow gushed + From her o’erburdened heart; + And with the striving of her grief, + Which wrung the tears she shed, + Were mingled low and loving words + To the unconscious dead. + + When the sad sire had looked his fill. + He veiled each breathless face, + And down in self-abasement bowed, + For comfort and for grace; + With the deep eloquence of woe, + Poured forth his secret soul, + Rose up, and stood erect and calm, + In spirit healed and whole. + + “Restrain thy tears, poor wife,” he said, + “I learn this lesson still, + God gives, and God can take away, + Blest be His holy will! + Blest are my children, for they _live_ + From sin and sorrow free, + And I am not all joyless, wife, + With faith, hope, love, and thee.” + + + + + THE LABORATORY IN THE CHEST. + + +The mind of Mr. Bagges was decidedly affected—beneficially—by the +lecture on the Chemistry of a Candle, which, as set forth in a previous +number of this journal, had been delivered to him by his youthful +nephew. That learned discourse inspired him with a new feeling; an +interest in matters of science. He began to frequent the Polytechnic +Institution, nearly as much as his club. He also took to lounging at the +British Museum; where he was often to be seen, with his left arm under +his coat-tails, examining the wonderful works of nature and antiquity, +through his eye-glass. Moreover, he procured himself to be elected a +member of the Royal Institution, which became a regular house of call to +him, so that in a short time he grew to be one of the ordinary phenomena +of the place. + +Mr. Bagges likewise adopted a custom of giving _conversaziones_, which, +however, were always very private and select—generally confined to his +sister’s family. Three courses were first discussed; then dessert; after +which, surrounded by an apparatus of glasses and decanters, Master Harry +Wilkinson was called upon, as a sort of juvenile Davy, to amuse his +uncle by the elucidation of some chemical or other physical mystery. +Master Wilkinson had now attained to the ability of making experiments; +most of which, involving combustion, were strongly deprecated by the +young gentleman’s mamma; but her opposition was overruled by Mr. Bagges, +who argued that it was much better that a young dog should burn +phosphorus before your face than let off gunpowder behind your back, to +say nothing of occasionally pinning a cracker to your skirts. He +maintained that playing with fire and water, throwing stones, and such +like boys’ tricks, as they are commonly called, are the first +expressions of a scientific tendency—endeavours and efforts of the +infant mind to acquaint itself with the powers of Nature. + +His own favourite toys, he remembered, were squibs, suckers, squirts, +and slings; and he was persuaded that, by his having been denied them at +school, a natural philosopher had been nipped in the bud. + +Blowing bubbles was an example—by-the-bye, a rather notable one—by which +Mr. Bagges, on one of his scientific evenings, was instancing the +affinity of child’s play to philosophical experiments, when he bethought +him Harry had said on a former occasion that the human breath consists +chiefly of carbonic acid, which is heavier than common air. How then, it +occurred to his inquiring, though elderly mind, was it that +soap-bladders, blown from a tobacco-pipe, rose instead of sinking? He +asked his nephew this. + +“Oh, uncle!” answered Harry, “in the first place, the air you blow +bubbles with mostly comes in at the nose and goes out at the mouth, +without having been breathed at all. Then it is warmed by the mouth, and +warmth, you know, makes a measure of air get larger, and so lighter in +proportion. A soap-bubble rises for the same reason that a fire-balloon +rises—that is, because the air inside of it has been heated, and weighs +less than the same sized bubbleful of cold air.” + +“What, hot breath does!” said Mr. Bagges. “Well, now, it’s a curious +thing, when you come to think of it, that the breath should be +hot—indeed, the warmth of the body generally seems a puzzle. It is +wonderful, too, how the bodily heat can be kept up so long as it is. +Here, now, is this tumbler of hot grog—a mixture of boiling water, and +what d’ye call it, you scientific geniuses?” + +“Alcohol, uncle.” + +“Alcohol—well—or, as we used to say, brandy. Now, if I leave this +tumbler of brandy-and-water alone——” + +“_If_ you do, uncle,” interposed his nephew, archly. + +“Get along, you idle rogue! If I let that tumbler stand there, in a few +minutes the brandy-and water—eh?—I beg pardon—the alcohol-and-water—gets +cold. Now, why—why the deuce—if the brandy—the alcohol-and-water cools; +why—how—how is it we don’t cool in the same way, I want to know? eh?” +demanded Mr. Bagges, with the air of a man who feels satisfied that he +has propounded a “regular poser.” + +“Why,” replied Harry, “for the same reason that the room keeps warm so +long as there is a fire in the grate.” + +“You don’t mean to say that I have a fire in my body?” + +“I do, though.” + +“Eh, now? That’s good,” said Mr. Bagges. “That reminds me of the man in +love crying, ‘Fire! fire!’ and the lady said, ‘Where, where?’ And he +called out, ‘Here! here!’ with his hand upon his heart. Eh?—but now I +think of it—you said, the other day, that breathing was a sort of +burning. Do you mean to tell me that I—eh?—have fire, fire, as the lover +said, here, here—in short, that my chest is a grate or an Arnott’s +stove?” + +“Not exactly so, uncle. But I do mean to tell you that you have a sort +of fire burning partly in your chest; but also, more or less, throughout +your whole body.” + +“Oh, Henry!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson, “How can you say such horrid +things!” + +“Because they’re quite true, mamma—but you needn’t be frightened. The +fire of one’s body is not hotter than from ninety degrees to one hundred +and four degrees or so. Still it is fire, and will burn some things, as +you would find, uncle, if, in using phosphorus, you were to let a little +bit of it get under your nail.” + +“I’ll take your word for the fact, my boy,” said Mr. Bagges. “But, if I +have a fire burning throughout my person—which I was not aware of, the +only inflammation I am ever troubled with being in the great toe—I say, +if my body is burning continually—how is it I don’t smoke—eh? Come, +now!” + +“Perhaps you consume your own smoke,” suggested Mr. Wilkinson, senior, +“like every well-regulated furnace.” + +“You smoke nothing but your pipe, uncle, because you burn all your +carbon,” said Harry. “But, if your body doesn’t smoke, it steams. +Breathe against a looking-glass, or look at your breath on a cold +morning. Observe how a horse reeks when it perspires. Besides—as you +just now said you recollected my telling you the other day—you breathe +out carbonic acid, and that, and the steam of the breath together, are +exactly the same things, you know, that a candle turns into in burning.” + +“But if I burn like a candle—why don’t I burn _out_ like a candle?” +demanded Mr. Bagges. “How do you get over that?” + +“Because,” replied Harry, “your fuel is renewed as fast as burnt. So +perhaps you resemble a lamp rather than a candle. A lamp requires to be +fed; so does the body—as, possibly, uncle, you may be aware.” + +“Eh?—well—I have always entertained an idea of that sort,” answered Mr. +Bagges, helping himself to some biscuits. “But the lamp feeds on +train-oil.” + +“So does the Laplander. And you couldn’t feed the lamp on turtle or +mulligatawny, of course, uncle. But mulligatawny or turtle can be +changed into fat—they are so, sometimes, I think—when they are eaten in +large quantities, and fat will burn fast enough. And most of what you +eat turns into something which burns at last, and is consumed in the +fire that warms you all over.” + +“Wonderful, to be sure,” exclaimed Mr. Bagges. “Well, now, and how does +this extraordinary process take place?” + +“First, you know, uncle, your food is digested—” + +“Not always, I am sorry to say, my boy,” Mr. Bagges observed, “but go +on.” + +“Well; when it _is_ digested, it becomes a sort of fluid, and mixes +gradually with the blood, and turns into blood, and so goes over the +whole body, to nourish it. Now, if the body is always being nourished, +why doesn’t it keep getting bigger and bigger, like the ghost in the +Castle of Otranto?” + +“Eh? Why, because it loses as well as gains, I suppose. By +perspiration—eh—for instance?” + +“Yes, and by breathing; in short, by the burning I mentioned just now. +Respiration, or breathing, uncle, is a perpetual combustion.” + +“But if my system,” said Mr. Bagges, “is burning throughout, what keeps +up the fire in my little finger—putting gout out of the question?” + +“You burn all over, because you breathe all over, to the very tips of +your fingers’ ends,” replied Harry. + +“Oh, don’t talk nonsense to your uncle!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson. + +“It isn’t nonsense,” said Harry. “The air that you draw into the lungs +goes more or less over all the body, and penetrates into every fibre of +it, which is breathing. Perhaps you would like to hear a little more +about the chemistry of breathing, or respiration, uncle?” + +“I should, certainly.” + +“Well, then; first you ought to have some idea of the breathing +apparatus. The laboratory that contains this, is the chest, you know. +The chest, you also know, has in it the heart and lungs, which, with +other things in it, fill it quite out, so as to leave no hollow space +between themselves and it. The lungs are a sort of air-sponges, and when +you enlarge your chest to draw breath, they swell out with it and suck +the air in. On the other hand you narrow your chest and squeeze the +lungs and press the air from them;—that is breathing out. The lungs are +made up of a lot of little cells. A small pipe—a little branch of the +windpipe—opens into each cell. Two blood-vessels, a little tiny artery, +and a vein to match, run into it also. The arteries bring into the +little cells dark-coloured blood, which _has been_ all over the body. +The veins carry out of the little cells bright scarlet-coloured blood, +which _is to go_ all over the body. So all the blood passes through the +lungs, and in so doing, is changed from dark to bright scarlet.” + +“Black blood, didn’t you say, in the arteries, and scarlet in the veins? +I thought it was just the reverse,” interrupted Mr. Bagges. + +“So it is,” replied Harry, “with all the other arteries and veins, +except those that circulate the blood through the lung-cells. The heart +has two sides, with a partition between them that keeps the blood on the +right side separate from the blood on the left; both sides being hollow, +mind. The blood on the right side of the heart comes there from all over +the body, by a couple of large veins, dark, before it goes to the lungs. +From the right side of the heart, it goes on to the lungs, dark still, +through an artery. It comes back to the left side of the heart from the +lungs, bright scarlet, through four veins. Then it goes all over the +rest of the body from the left side of the heart, through an artery that +branches into smaller arteries, all carrying bright scarlet blood. So +the arteries and veins of the lungs on one hand, and of the rest of the +body on the other, do exactly opposite work, you understand.” + +“I hope so.” + +“Now,” continued Harry, “it requires a strong magnifying glass to see +the lung-cells plainly, they are so small. But you can fancy them as big +as you please. Picture any one of them to yourself of the size of an +orange, say, for convenience in thinking about it; that one cell, with +whatever takes place in it, will be a specimen of the rest. Then you +have to imagine an artery carrying blood of one colour into it, and a +vein taking away blood of another colour from it, and the blood changing +its colour in the cell.” + +“Aye, but what makes the blood change its colour?” + +“Recollect, uncle, you have a little branch from the windpipe opening +into the cell which lets in the air. Then the blood and the air are +brought together, and the blood alters in colour. The reason, I suppose +you would guess, is that it is somehow altered by the air.” + +“No very unreasonable conjecture, I should think,” said Mr. Bagges. + +“Well; if the air alters the blood, most likely, we should think, it +gives something to the blood. So first let us see what is the difference +between the air we breathe _in_, and the air we breathe _out_. You know +that neither we nor animals can keep breathing the same air over and +over again. You don’t want me to remind you of the Black Hole of +Calcutta, to convince you of that; and I dare say you will believe what +I tell you, without waiting till I can catch a mouse and shut it up in +an air-tight jar, and show you how soon the unlucky creature will get +uncomfortable, and begin to gasp, and that it will by-and-by die. But if +we were to try this experiment—not having the fear of the Society for +the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, nor the fear of doing wrong, +before our eyes—we should find that the poor mouse, before he died, had +changed the air of his prison considerably. But it would be just as +satisfactory, and much more humane, if you or I were to breathe in and +out of a silk bag or a bladder till we could stand it no longer, and +then collect the air which we had been breathing in and out. We should +find that a jar of such air would put out a candle. If we shook some +lime-water up with it, the lime-water would turn milky. In short, uncle, +we should find that a great part of the air was carbonic acid, and the +rest mostly nitrogen. The air we inhale is nitrogen and oxygen; the air +we exhale has lost most of its oxygen, and consists of little more than +nitrogen and carbonic acid. Together with this, we breathe out the +vapour of water, as I said before. Therefore in breathing, we give off +exactly what a candle does in burning, only not so fast, after the rate. +The carbonic acid we breathe out, shows that carbon is consumed within +our bodies. The watery vapour of the breath is a proof that hydrogen is +so too. We take in oxygen with the air, and the oxygen unites with +carbon, and makes carbonic acid, and with hydrogen, forms water.” + +“Then don’t the hydrogen and carbon combine with the oxygen—that is, +burn—in the lungs, and isn’t the chest the fireplace, after all?” asked +Mr. Bagges. + +“Not altogether, according to those who are supposed to know better. +They are of opinion, that some of the oxygen unites with the carbon and +hydrogen of the blood in the lungs; but that most of it is merely +absorbed by the blood, and dissolved in it in the first instance.” + +“Oxygen absorbed by the blood? That seems odd,” remarked Mr. Bagges, +“How can that be?” + +“We only know the fact that there are some things that will absorb +gases—suck them in—make them disappear. Charcoal will, for instance. It +is thought that the iron which the blood contains gives it the curious +property of absorbing oxygen. Well; the oxygen going into the blood +makes it change from dark to bright scarlet; and then this blood +containing oxygen is conveyed all over the system by the arteries, and +yields up the oxygen to combine with hydrogen and carbon as it goes +along. The carbon and hydrogen are part of the substance of the body. +The bright scarlet blood mixes oxygen with them, which burns them, in +fact; that is, makes them into carbonic acid and water. Of course, the +body would soon be consumed if this were all that the blood does. But +while it mixes oxygen with the old substance of the body, to burn it up, +it lays down fresh material to replace the loss. So our bodies are +continually changing throughout, though they seem to us always the same; +but then, you know, a river appears the same from year’s end to year’s +end, although the water in it is different every day.” + +“Eh, then,” said Mr. Bagges, “if the body is always on the change in +this way, we must have had several bodies in the course of our lives, by +the time we are old.” + +“Yes, uncle; therefore, how foolish it is to spend money upon funerals. +What becomes of all the bodies we use up during our lifetimes? If we are +none the worse for their flying away in carbonic acid and other things +without ceremony, what good can we expect from having a fuss made about +the body we leave behind us, which is put into the earth? However, you +are wanting to know what becomes of the water and carbonic acid which +have been made by the oxygen of the blood burning up the old materials +of our frame. The dark blood of the veins absorbs this carbonic acid and +water, as the blood of the arteries does oxygen,—only, they say, it does +so by means of a salt in it, called phosphate of soda. Then the dark +blood goes back to the lungs, and in them it parts with its carbonic +acid and water, which escapes as breath. As fast as we breathe out, +carbonic acid and water leave the blood; as fast as we breathe in, +oxygen enters it. The oxygen is sent out in the arteries to make the +rubbish of the body into gas and vapour, so that the veins may bring it +back and get rid of it. The burning of rubbish by oxygen throughout our +frames is the fire by which our animal heat is kept up. At least this is +what most philosophers think; though doctors differ a little on this +point, as on most others, I hear. Professor Liebig says, that our carbon +is mostly prepared for burning by being first extracted from the blood +sent to it—(which contains much of the rubbish of the system +dissolved)—in the form of bile, and is then re-absorbed into the blood, +and burnt. He reckons that a grown-up man consumes about fourteen ounces +of carbon a day. Fourteen ounces of charcoal a day, or eight pounds two +ounces a week, would keep up a tolerable fire.” + +“I had no idea we were such extensive charcoal-burners,” said Mr. +Bagges. “They say we each eat our peck of dirt before we die—but we must +burn bushels of charcoal.” + +“And so,” continued Harry, “the Professor calculates that we burn quite +enough fuel to account for our heat. I should rather think, myself, it +had something to do with it—shouldn’t you?” + +“Eh?” said Mr. Bagges; “it makes one rather nervous to think that one is +burning all over—throughout one’s very blood—in this kind of way.” + +“It is very awful!” said Mrs. Wilkinson. + +“If true. But in that case, shouldn’t we be liable to inflame +occasionally?” objected her husband. + +“It is said,” answered Harry, “that spontaneous combustion does happen +sometimes; particularly in great spirit drinkers. I don’t see why it +should not, if the system were to become too inflammable. Drinking +alcohol would be likely to load the constitution with carbon, which +would be fuel for the fire, at any rate.” + +“The deuce!” exclaimed Mr. Bagges, pushing his brandy-and-water from +him. “We had better take care how we indulge in combustibles.” + +“At all events,” said Harry, “it must be bad to have too much fuel in +us. It must choke the fire I should think, if it did not cause +inflammation; which Dr. Truepenny says it does, meaning, by +inflammation, gout, and so on, you know, uncle.” + +“Ahem!” coughed Mr. Bagges. + +“Taking in too much fuel, I dare say you know, uncle, means eating and +drinking to excess,” continued Harry. “The best remedy, the doctor says, +for overstuffing is exercise. A person who uses great bodily exertion, +can eat and drink more without suffering from it than one who leads an +inactive life; a foxhunter, for instance, in comparison with an +alderman. Want of exercise and too much nourishment must make a man +either fat or ill. If the extra hydrogen and carbon are not burnt out, +or otherwise got rid of, they turn to blubber, or cause some disturbance +in the system, intended by Nature to throw them off, which is called a +disease. Walking, riding, running, increase the breathing—as well as the +perspiration—and make us burn away our carbon and hydrogen in +proportion. Dr. Truepenny declares that if people would only take in as +much fuel as is requisite to keep up a good fire, his profession would +be ruined.” + +“The good old advice—Baillie’s, eh?—or Abernethy’s—live upon sixpence a +day, and earn it,” Mr. Bagges observed. + +“Well, and then, uncle, in hot weather the appetite is naturally weaker +than it is in cold—less heat is required, and therefore less food. So in +hot climates; and the chief reason, says the doctor, why people ruin +their health in India is their spurring and goading their stomachs to +crave what is not good for them, by spices and the like. Fruits and +vegetables are the proper things to eat in such countries, because they +contain little carbon compared to flesh, and they are the diet of the +natives of those parts of the world. Whereas food with much carbon in +it, meat, or even mere fat or oil, which is hardly anything else than +carbon and hydrogen, are proper in very cold regions, where heat from +within is required to supply the want of it without. That is why the +Laplander is able, as I said he does, to devour train-oil. And Dr. +Truepenny says that it may be all very well for Mr. M‘Gregor to drink +raw whiskey at deer-stalking in the Highlands, but if Major Campbell +combines that beverage with the diversion of tiger-hunting in the East +Indies, habitually, the chances are that the Major will come home with a +diseased liver.” + +“Upon my word, sir, the whole art of preserving health appears to +consist in keeping up a moderate fire within us,” observed Mr. Bagges. + +“Just so, uncle, according to my friend the Doctor. ‘Adjust the fuel,’ +he says, ‘to the draught—he means the oxygen; keep the bellows properly +at work, by exercise, and your fire will seldom want poking.’ The +Doctor’s pokers, you know, are pills, mixtures, leeches, blisters, +lancets, and things of that sort.” + +“Indeed? Well, then, my heart-burn, I suppose, depends upon bad +management of my fire?” surmised Mr. Bagges. + +“I should say that was more than probable, uncle. Well, now, I think you +see that animal heat can be accounted for, in very great part at least, +by the combustion of the body. And then there are several facts that—as +I remember Shakespeare says— + + “‘help to thicken other proofs, + That do demonstrate thinly.’ + +“Birds that breathe a great deal are very hot creatures; snakes and +lizards, and frogs and fishes, that breathe but little, are so cold that +they are called cold-blooded animals. Bears and dormice, that sleep all +the winter, are cold during their sleep, whilst their breathing and +circulation almost entirely stop. We increase our heat by walking fast, +running, jumping, or working hard; which sets us breathing faster, and +then we get warmer. By these means we blow up our own fire, if we have +no other, to warm ourselves on a cold day. And how is it that we don’t +go on continually getting hotter and hotter?” + +“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Bagges, “I suppose that is one of Nature’s +mysteries.” + +“Why, what happens, uncle, when we take violent exercise? We break out +into a perspiration; as you complain you always do, if you only run a +few yards. Perspiration is mostly water, and the extra heat of the body +goes into the water, and flies away with it in steam. Just for the same +reason, you can’t boil water so as to make it hotter than two hundred +and twelve degrees; because all the heat that passes into it beyond +that, unites with some of it and becomes steam, and so escapes. Hot +weather causes you to perspire even when you sit still; and so your heat +is cooled in summer. If you were to heat a man in an oven, the heat of +his body generally wouldn’t increase very much till he became exhausted +and died. Stories are told of mountebanks sitting in ovens, and meat +being cooked by the side of them. Philosophers have done much the same +thing—Dr. Fordyce and others, who found they could bear a heat of two +hundred and sixty degrees. Perspiration is our animal fire-escape. Heat +goes out from the lungs, as well as the skin, in water; so the lungs are +concerned in cooling us as well as heating us, like a sort of regulating +furnace. Ah, uncle, the body is a wonderful factory, and I wish I were +man enough to take you over it. I have only tried to show you something +of the contrivances for warming it, and I hope you understand a little +about that!” + +“Well,” said Mr. Bagges, “breathing, I understand you to say, is the +chief source of animal heat, by occasioning the combination of carbon +and hydrogen with oxygen, in a sort of gentle combustion, throughout our +frame. The lungs and heart are an apparatus for generating heat, and +distributing it over the body by means of a kind of warming pipes, +called blood-vessels. Eh?—and the carbon and hydrogen we have in our +systems we get from our food. Now, you see, here is a slice of cake, and +there is a glass of wine—Eh?—now see whether you can get any carbon and +oxygen out of that.” + +The young philosopher, having finished his lecture, applied himself +immediately to the performance of the proposed experiment, which he +performed with cleverness and dispatch. + + + + + THE HOME OF WOODRUFFE THE GARDENER. + + + IN EIGHT CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. + +It was observed by Woodruffe’s family, during one week of spring of the +next year, that he was very absent. He was not in low spirits, but +absorbed in thought, and much devoted to making calculations with pencil +and paper. At last, out it came, one morning at breakfast. + +“I wonder how we should all like to have Harry Hardiman to work with us +again?” + +Every one looked up. Harry! where was Harry? Was he here? Was he coming? + +“Why, I will tell you what I have been thinking,” said their father. “I +have thought long and carefully, and I believe I have made up my mind to +send for Harry, to come and work for us as he used to do. We have not +labour enough on the ground. Two stout men to the acre is the smallest +allowance for trying what could be made of the place.” + +“That is what Taylor and Brown are employing now on the best part of +their land,” said Allan; “that is, when they can get the labour. There +is such difference between that and one man to four or five acres, as +there was before, that they can’t always get the labour.” + +“Just so; and therefore,” continued Woodruffe, “I am thinking of sending +for Harry. Our old neighbourhood was not prosperous when we left it, and +I fancy it cannot have improved since; and Harry might be glad to follow +his master to a thriving neighbourhood; and he is such a careful fellow +that I dare say he has money for the journey,—even if he has a wife by +this time, as I suppose he has.” + +Moss looked most pleased, where all were pleased, at the idea of seeing +Harry again. His remembrance of Harry was of a tall young man, who used +to carry him on his shoulders, and wheel him in the empty water-barrel, +and sometimes offer to dip him in it when it was full, and show him how +to dig in the sand-heap with his little wooden spade. + +“Your rent, to be sure, is much lower than in the old place,” observed +Abby. + +“Why, we must not build upon that,” replied the father; “rent is rising +here, and will rise. My landlord was considerate in lowering mine to +3_l._ per acre, when he saw how impossible it was to make it answer; and +he says he shall not ask more yet, on account of the labour I laid out +at the time of the drainage. But when I have partly repaid myself, the +rent will rise to 5_l._; and, in fact, I have made my calculations, in +regard to Harry’s coming, at a higher rent than that.” + +“Higher than that?” + +“Yes: I should not be surprised if I found myself paying, as +market-gardeners near London do, ten pounds per acre, before I die.” + +“Or rather, to let the ground to me, for that, father,” said Allan, +“when it is your own property, and you are tired of work, and disposed +to turn it over to me. I will pay you ten pounds per acre then, and let +you have all the cabbages you can eat, besides. It is capital land, and +that is the truth. Come—shall that be a bargain?” + +Woodruffe smiled, and said he owed a duty to Allan. He did not like to +see him so hard worked as to be unable to take due care of his own +corner of the garden;—unable to enter fairly into the competition for +the prizes at the Horticultural Show in the summer. Becky now, too, +ought to be spared from all but occasional help in the garden. Above +all, the ground was now in such an improving state that it would be +waste not to bestow due labour upon it. Put in the spade where you +would, the soil was loose and well-aired as needs be: the manure +penetrated it thoroughly; the frost and heat pulverised, instead of +binding it; and the crops were succeeding each other so fast, that the +year would be a very profitable one. + +“Where will Harry live, if he comes?” asked Abby. + +“We must get another cottage added to the new row. Easily done! Cottages +so healthy as these new ones pay well. Good rents are offered for +them,—to save doctors’ bills and loss of time from sickness;—and, when +once a system of house-drainage is set agoing, it costs scarcely more, +in adding a cottage to a group, to make it all right, than to run it up +upon solid clay as used to be the way here. Well, I have good mind to +write to Harry to-day. What do you think,—all of you?” + +Fortified by the opinion of all his children, Mr. Woodruffe wrote to +Harry. Meantime, Allan and Becky went to cut the vegetables that were +for sale that day; and Moss delighted himself in running after and +catching the pony in the meadow below. The pony was not very easily +caught, for it was full of spirit. Instead of the woolly insipid grass +that it used to crop, and which seemed to give it only fever and no +nourishment, it now fed on sweet fresh grass, which had no sour stagnant +water soaking its roots. The pony was so full of play this morning that +Moss could not get hold of it. Though much stronger than a year ago, he +was not yet anything like so robust as a boy of his age should be; and +he was growing heated, and perhaps a little angry, as the pony galloped +off towards some distant trees, when a boy started up behind a bush, +caught the halter, brought the pony round with a twitch, and led him to +Moss. Moss fancied he had seen the boy before, and then his white teeth +reminded Moss of one thing after another. + +“I came for some marsh plants,” said the boy. “You and I got plenty +once, somewhere hereabouts: but I cannot find them now.” + +“You will not find any now. We have no marsh now.” + +The stranger said he dared not go back without them: mother wanted them +badly. She would not believe him if he said he could not find any. There +were plenty about two miles off, along the railway, among the clay-pits, +he was told; but none nearer. The boy wanted to know where the clay-pits +hereabouts were. He could not find one of them. + +“I will show you one of them,” said Moss; “the one where you and I used +to hunt rats.” And, leading the pony, he showed his old gipsy playfellow +all the improvements, beginning with the great ditch,—now invisible from +being covered in. While it was open, he said, it used to get choked, and +the sides were plastered after rain, and soon became grass-grown, so +that it was found worth while to cover it in; and now it would want +little looking to for years to come. As for the clay-pit, where the rats +used to pop in and out,—it was now a manure-pit, covered in. There was a +drain into it from the pony’s stable and from the pig-styes; and it was +near enough to the garden to receive the refuse and sweepings. A heavy +lid, with a ring in the middle, covered the pit, so that nobody could +fall in, in the dark, and no smell could get out. Moss begged the boy to +come a little further, and he would show him his own flower-bed; and +when the boy was there, he was shown everything else: what a cartload of +vegetables lay cut for sale; and what an arbour had been made of the +pent-house under which Moss used to take shelter, when he could do +nothing better than keep off the birds; and how fine the ducks were,—the +five ducks that were so serviceable in eating off the slugs; and what a +comfortable nest had been made for them to lay their eggs in, beside the +water-tank in the corner; and what a variety of scarecrows the family +had invented,—each having one, to try which would frighten the sparrows +most. While Moss was telling how difficult it was to deal with the +sparrows, because they could not be frightened for more than three days +by any kind of scarecrow, he heard Allan calling him, in a tone of +vexation, at being kept waiting so long. In an instant the stranger boy +was off,—leaping the gate, and flying along the meadow till he was +hidden behind a hedge. + +Two or three days after this one of the ducks was missing. The last time +that the five had been seen together was when Moss was showing them to +his visitor. The morning after Moss finally gave up hope, the glass of +Allan’s hotbed was found broken, and in the midst of the bed itself was +a deep foot-track, crushing the cucumber plants, and, with them, Allan’s +hopes of a cucumber prize at the Horticultural Exhibition in the summer. +On more examination, more mischief was discovered, some cabbages had +been stolen, and another duck was missing. In the midst of the general +concern, Woodruffe burst out a-laughing. It struck him that the chief of +the scarecrows had changed his hat; and so he had. The old straw hat +which used to flap in the wind so serviceably was gone, and in its stead +appeared a helmet,—a saucepan full of holes, battered and split, but +still fit to be a helmet to a scarecrow. + +“I could swear to the old hat,” observed Woodruffe, “if I should have +the luck to see it on anybody’s head.” + +“And so could I,” said Becky, “for I mended it,—bound it with black +behind, and green before, because I had not green ribbon enough. But +nobody would wear it before our eyes.” + +“That is why I suspect there are strangers hovering about. We must +watch.” + +Now Moss, for the first time, bethought himself of the boy he had +brought in from the meadow; and now, for the first time, he told his +family of that encounter. + +“I never saw such a simpleton,” his father declared. “There, go along +and work! Now, don’t cry, but hold up like a man and work.” + +Moss did cry; he could not help it; but he worked too. He would fain +have been one of the watchers, moreover; but his father said he was too +young. For two nights he was ordered to bed, when Allan took his dark +lantern, and went down to the pent-house; the first night accompanied by +his father, and the next by Harry Hardiman, who had come on the first +summons. By the third evening, Moss was so miserable that his sisters +interceded for him, and he was allowed to go down with his old friend +Harry. + +It was a starlight night, without a moon. The low country lay dim, but +unobscured by mist. After a single remark on the fineness of the night, +Harry was silent. Silence was their first business. They stole round the +fence as if they had been thieves themselves, listened for some time +before they let themselves in at the gate, passed quickly in, and locked +the gate (the lock of which had been well oiled), went behind every +screen, and along every path, to be sure that no one was there, and +finally, perceiving that the remaining ducks were safe, settled +themselves in the darkness of the pent-house. + +There they sat, hour after hour, listening. If there had been no sound, +perhaps they could not have borne the effort: but the sense was relieved +by the bark of a dog at a distance; and then by the hoot of the owl that +was known to have done them good service in mousing, many a time; and +once, by the passage of a train on the railway above. When these were +all over, poor Moss had much ado to keep awake, and at last his head +sank on Harry’s shoulder, and he forgot where he was, and everything +else in the world. He was awakened by Harry’s moving, and then +whispering quite into his ear:— + +“Sit you still. I hear somebody yonder. No—sit you still. I won’t go +far—not out of call: but I must get between them and the gate.” + +With his lantern under his coat, Harry stole forth, and Moss stood up, +all alone in the darkness and stillness. He could hear his heart beat, +but nothing else, till footsteps on the path came nearer and nearer. +They came quite up; they came in, actually into the arbour; and then the +ducks were certainly fluttering. In an instant more, there was a gleam +of light upon the white plumage of the ducks, and then light enough to +show that this was the gipsy boy, with a dark lantern hung round his +neck, and, at the same moment, to show the gipsy boy that Moss was +there. The two boys stood, face to face, motionless from utter +amazement, and the ducks had scuttled and waddled away before they +recovered themselves. Then, Moss flew at him in a glorious passion, at +once of rage and fear. + +“Leave him to me, Moss,” cried Harry, casting light upon the scene from +his lantern, while he collared the thief with the other hand. “Let go, I +say, Moss. There, now we’ll go round and be sure whether there is any +one else in the garden, and then we’ll lodge this young rogue where he +will be safe.” + +Nobody was there, and they went home in the dawn, locked up the thief in +the shed, and slept through what remained of the night. + +It was about Mr. Nelson’s usual time for coming down the line; and it +was observed that he now always stopped at this station till the next +train passed,—probably because it was a pleasure to him to look upon the +improvement of the place. It was no surprise therefore to Woodruffe to +see him standing on the embankment after breakfast; and it was natural +that Mr. Nelson should be immediately told that the gipsies were here +again, and how one of them was caught thieving. + +“Thieving! So you found some of your property upon him, did you!” + +“Why, no. I thought myself that it was a pity that Moss did not let him +alone till he had laid hold of a duck or something.” + +“Pho! pho! don’t tell me you can punish the boy for theft, when you +can’t prove that he stole anything. Give him a whipping, and let him +go.” + +“With all my heart. It will save me much trouble to finish off the +matter so.” + +Mr. Nelson seemed to have some curiosity about the business; for he +accompanied Woodruffe to the shed. The boy seemed to feel no awe of the +great man whom he supposed to be a magistrate, and when asked whether he +felt none, he giggled and said “No;” he had seen the gentleman more +afraid of his mother than anybody ever was of him, he fancied. On this, +a thought struck Mr. Nelson. He would now have his advantage of the +gipsy woman, and might enjoy, at the same time, an opportunity of +studying human nature under stress—a thing he liked, when the stress was +not too severe. So he passed a decree on the spot that, it being now +nine o’clock, the boy should remain shut up without food till noon, when +he should be severely flogged, and driven from the neighbourhood: and +with this pleasant prospect before him, the young rogue remained, +whistling ostentatiously, while his enemies locked the door upon him. + +“Did you hear him shoot the bolt?” asked Woodruffe. “If he holds to +that, I don’t know how I shall get at him at noon.” + +“There, now, what fools people are! Why did you not take out the bolt? A +pretty constable you would make! Come—come this way. I am going to find +the gipsy-tent again. You are wondering that I am not afraid of the +woman, I see: but, you observe, I have a hold over her this time. What +do you mean by allowing those children to gather about your door? You +ought not to permit it.” + +“They are only the scholars. Don’t you see them going in? My daughter +keeps a little school, you know, since her husband’s death.” + +“Ah, poor thing! poor thing!” said Mr. Nelson, as Abby appeared on the +threshold, calling the children in. + +Mr. Nelson always contrived to see some one or more of the family when +he visited the station; but it so happened, that he had never entered +the door of their dwelling. Perhaps he was not himself fully conscious +of the reason. It was, that he could not bear to see Abby’s young face +within the widow’s cap, and to be thus reminded that hers was a case of +cruel wrong; that if the most ordinary thought and care had been used in +preparing the place for human habitation, her husband might be living +now, and she the happy creature that she would never be again. + +On his way to the gipsies, Mr. Nelson saw some things that pleased him +in his heart, though he found fault with them all. What business had +Woodruffe with an additional man in his garden? It could not possibly +answer. If it did not, the fellow must be sent away again. He must not +burden the parish. The occupiers here seemed all alike. Such a fancy for +new labour! One, two, six men at work on the land within sight at that +moment, over and above what there used to be! It must be looked to. +Humph! he could get to the alders dryshod now; but that was owing solely +to the warmth of the spring. It was nonsense to attribute everything to +drainage. Drainage was a good thing; but fine weather was better. + +The gipsy-tent was found behind the alders as before, but no longer in a +swamp. The woman was sitting on the ground at the entrance as before, +but not now with a fevered child laid across her knees. She was weaving +a basket. + +“Oh, I see,” said Woodruffe, “This is the way our osiers go.” + +“You have not many to lose, now-a-days,” said the woman. + +“You are welcome to all the rushes you can find,” said Woodruffe; “but +where is your son?” + +Some change of countenance was seen in the woman; but she answered +carelessly that the children were playing yonder. + +“The one I mean is not there,” said Woodruffe. “We have him safe—caught +him stealing my ducks.” + +She called the boy a villain—disowned him, and so forth; but when she +found the case a hopeless one, she did not, and therefore, probably +could not, scold—that is, anybody but herself and her husband. She +cursed herself for coming into this silly place, where now no good was +to be got. When she was brought to the right point of perplexity about +what to do, seeing that it would not do to stay, and being unable to go +while her boy was in durance, she was told that his punishment should be +summary, though severe, if she would answer frankly certain questions. +When she had once begun giving her confidence, she seemed to enjoy the +license. When her husband came up, he looked as if he only waited for +the departure of his visitors to give his wife the same amount of +thrashing that her son was awaiting elsewhere. She vowed that they would +never pitch their tent here again. It used to be the best station in +their whole round—the fogs were so thick! From sunset to long after +sunrise, it had been as good as a winter night, for going where they +pleased without fear of prying eyes. There was not a poultry-yard or +pig-stye within a couple of miles round, where they could not creep up +through the fog. And they escaped the blame, too; for the swamp and +ditches used to harbour so much vermin, that the gipsies were not always +suspected, as they were now. Till lately, people shut themselves into +their homes, or the men went to the public-house in the chill evenings; +and there was little fear of meeting any one. But now that the fogs were +gone, people were out in their gardens, on these fine evenings, and +there were men in the meadows, returning from fishing; for they could +angle now, when their work was done, without the fear of catching an +ague in the marsh as they went home. + +Mr. Nelson used vigorously his last opportunity of lecturing these +people. He had it all his own way, for the humility of the gipsies was +edifying. Woodruffe fancied he saw some finger-talk passing, the while, +though the gipsies never looked at each other, or raised their eyes from +the ground. Woodruffe had to remind the Director that the whistle of the +next train would soon be heard; and this brought the lecture to an +abrupt conclusion. On his finishing off with, “I expect, therefore, that +you will remember my advice, and never show your faces here again, and +that you will take to a proper course of life in future, and bring up +your son to honest industry;” the woman, with a countenance of grief, +seized one hand and covered it with kisses, and the husband took the +other hand and pressed it to his breast. + +“We must make haste,” observed Mr. Nelson, as he led the way quickly +back; “but I think I have made some impression upon them. You see now +the right way to treat these people. I don’t think you will see them +here again.” + +“I don’t think we shall.” + +As he reached the steps the whistle was heard, and Mr. Nelson could only +wave his hand to Woodruffe, rush up the embankment, and throw himself +panting into a carriage. Only just in time! + +By an evening train, he re-appeared. When thirty miles off, he had +wanted his purse, and it was gone. It had no doubt paid for the gipsies’ +final gratitude. + +Of course, a sufficient force was immediately sent to the alder clump; +but there was nothing there but some charred sticks, and some clean pork +bones, this time, instead of feathers of fowls, and a cabbage leaf or +two. The boy had had his whipping at noon, after a conference with his +little brother at the keyhole, which had caused him to withdraw the +bolt, and offer no resistance. Considering his cries and groans, he had +run off with surprising agility, and was now, no doubt, far away. + + + CHAPTER VIII. + +The gipsies came no more. The fogs came no more. The fever came no more; +at least, in such a form as to threaten the general safety. Where it +still lingered, it was about those only who deserved it,—in any small +farm-house, where the dung-yard was too near the house; and in some +cottage where the slatternly inmates did not mind a green puddle or +choked ditch within reach of their noses. More dwellings arose, as the +fertility of the land increased, and invited a higher kind of tillage; +and among the prettiest of them was one which stood in the corner,—the +most sunny corner,—of Woodruffe’s paddock. Harry Hardiman and his wife +and child lived there, and the cottage was Woodruffe’s property. + +Yet Woodruffe’s rent had been raised; and pretty rapidly. He was now +paying eight pounds per acre for his garden-ground, and half that for +what was out of the limits of the garden. He did not complain of it; for +he was making money fast. His skill and industry deserved this; but +skill and industry could not have availed without opportunity. His +ground once allowed to show what it was worth, he treated it well; and +it answered well to the treatment. By the railway, he obtained what +manure he wanted from the town; and he sent it back by the railway to +town in the form of crisp celery and salads, wholesome potatoes and +greens, luscious strawberries, and sweet and early peas. He knew that a +Surrey gardener had made his ground yield a profit of two hundred and +twenty pounds per acre. He thought that, with his inferior market, he +should do well to make his yield one hundred and fifty pounds per acre; +and this, by close perseverance, he attained. He could have done it more +easily if he had enjoyed good health; but he never enjoyed good health +again. His rheumatism had fixed itself too firmly to be entirely +removed; and, for many days in the year, he was compelled to remain +within doors, or to saunter about in the sun, seeing his boys and Harry +at work, but unable to help them. + +From the time that Allan’s work became worth wages, in addition to his +subsistence, his father let him rent half a rood of the garden-ground +for three years, saying— + +“I limit it to three years, my boy, because that term is long enough for +you to show what you can do. After three years, I shall not be able to +spare the ground, at any rent. If you fail, you have no business to rent +ground. If you succeed, you will have money in your pocket wherewith to +hire land elsewhere. Now you have to show us what you can do.” + +“Yes, father,” was Allan’s short but sufficient reply. + +It was observed by the family that, from this time forward, Allan’s eye +was on every plot of ground in the neighbourhood which could, by +possibility, ever be offered for hire: yet did his attention never +wander from that which was already under his hand. And that which was so +great an object to him became a sort of pursuit to the whole family. +Moss guarded Allan’s frames, and made more and more prodigious +scarecrows. Their father gave his very best advice. Becky, who was no +longer allowed, as a regular thing, to work in the garden, found many a +spare half-hour for hoeing and weeding, and trimming and tying up, in +Allan’s beds; and Abby found, as she sat in her little school, that she +could make nets for his fruit trees. It was thus no wonder that, when a +certain July day in the second year arrived, the whole household was in +a state of excitement, because it was a sort of crisis in Allan’s +affairs. + +Though breakfast was early that morning, Becky and Allan and Moss were +spruce in their best clothes. A hamper stood at the door, and Allan was +packing in another, which had no lid, two or three flower-pots, which +presented a glorious show of blossom. Abby was putting a new ribbon on +her sister’s straw bonnet; and Harry was in waiting to carry up the +hampers to the station. It was the day of the Horticultural Show at the +town. Woodruffe had been too unwell to think of going till this morning; +but now the sight of the preparations, and the prospect of a warm day, +inspired him, and he thought he would go. At last he went, and they were +gone. Abby never went up to the station: nobody ever asked her to go +there; not even her own child, who perhaps had not thought of the +possibility of it. But when the train was starting, she stood at the +upper window with her child, and held him so that he might lean out, and +see the last carriage disappear, as it swept round the curve. After that +the day seemed long, though Harry came up at his dinner-hour to say what +he thought of the great gooseberry in particular, and of everything else +that Allan had carried with him. It was holiday time, and there was no +school to fill up the day. Before the evening, the child became +restless, and Abby fell into low spirits, as she was apt to do when left +long alone; so that Harry stopped suddenly at the door when he was +rushing in to announce that the train was within sight. + +“Shall I take the child, Miss?” said Harry. (He always called her +“Miss.”) “I will carry him——But, sure, here they come! Here comes +Moss,—ready to roll down the steps! My opinion is that there’s a prize.” + +Moss was called back by a voice which everybody obeyed. Allan should +himself tell his sister the fortune of the day, their father said. + +There were two prizes, one of which was for the wonderful plate of +gooseberries; and at this news Harry nodded, and declared himself +anything but surprised. If that gooseberry had not carried the day, +there would have been partiality in the judges, that was all; and nobody +could suppose such a thing as that. Yet Harry could have told, if put +upon his honour, that he was rather disappointed that everything that +Allan carried had not gained a prize. When he mentioned one or two, his +master told him he was unreasonable; and he supposed he was. + +Allan laid down on the table, for his sister’s full assurance, his +sovereign, and his half-sovereign, and his tickets. She turned away +rather abruptly, and seemed to be looking whether the kettle was near +boiling for tea. Her father went up to her; and on his first whispered +words, the sob broke forth which made all look round. + +“I was thinking of one, too, my dear, that I wish was here at this +moment. I can feel for you, my dear.” + +“But you don’t know—you don’t know—you never knew——.” She could not go +on. + +“What don’t I know, my dear?” + +“That he constantly blamed himself for saying anything to bring you +here. He said you had never prospered from the hour you came, and now——” + +And now Woodruffe could not speak, as the past came fresh upon him. In a +few moments, however, he rallied, saying, + +“But we must consider Allan. He must not think that his success makes us +sad.” + +Allan declared that it was not about gaining the prizes that he was +chiefly glad. It was because it was now proved what a fair field he had +before him. There was nothing that might not be done with such a soil as +they had to deal with now. + +Harry was quite of this opinion. There were more and more people set to +work upon the soil all about them; and the more it was worked the more +it yielded. He never saw a place of so much promise. And if it had a bad +name in regard to healthiness, he was sure that was unfair,—or no longer +fair. He and his were full of health and happiness, as they hoped to see +everybody else in time; and, for his part, if he had all England before +him, or the whole world, to choose a place to live in, he would choose +the very place he was in, and the very cottage; and the very ground to +work on that had produced such a gooseberry and such strawberries as he +had seen that day. + + + + + THE SINGER. + + + Unto the loud acclaim that rose + To greet her as she came, + She bent with lowly grace that seemed + Such tribute to disclaim; + With arms meek folded on her breast + And drooping head, she stood; + Then raised a glance that seemed to plead + For youth and womanhood; + A soft, beseeching smile, a look, + As if all silently + The kindness to her heart she took, + And put the homage by. + + She stood dejected then, methought, + A Captive, though a Queen, + Before the throng, when sudden passed + A change across her mien. + Unto her full, dilating eye, + Unto her slender hand, + There came a light of sovereignty, + A gesture of command: + And, to her lip, an eager flow + Of song, that seemed to bear + Her soul away on rushing wings + Unto its native air; + Her eye was fixed; her cheek flushed bright + With power; she seemed to call + On spirits that around her flocked, + The radiant Queen of all; + There was no pride upon her brow, + No tumult in her breast; + Her soaring soul had won its home, + And smiled there as at rest; + She felt no more those countless eyes + Upon her; she had gained + A region where they troubled not + The joy she had attained! + Now, now, she spoke her native speech, + An utterance fraught with spells + To wake the echoes of the heart + Within their slumber-cells; + For at her wild and gushing strain, + The spirit was led back + By windings of a silver chain, + On many a long-lost track; + And many a quick unbidden sigh, + And starting tear, revealed + How surely at her touch the springs + Of feeling were unsealed; + They who were always loved, seemed now + Yet more than ever dear; + Yet closer to the heart they came, + That ever were so near: + And, trembling to the silent lips, + As if they ne’er had changed + Their names, returned in kindness back + The severed and estranged; + And in the strain, like those that fall + On wanderers as they roam, + The Exiled Spirit found once more + Its country and its home! + + She ceased, yet on her parted lips + A happy smile abode, + As if the sweetness of her song + Yet lingered whence it flowed; + But, for a while, her bosom heaved, + She was the same no more, + The light and spirit fled; she stood + As she had stood before; + Unheard, unheeded to her ear + The shouts of rapture came, + A voice had once more power to thrill, + That only spoke her name. + Unseen, unheeded at her feet, + Fell many a bright bouquet; + A single flower, in silence given, + Was once more sweet than they; + _Her_ heart had with her song returned + To days for ever gone, + Ere Woman’s gift of Fame was her’s, + The Many for the One. + + E’en thus; O, Earth, before thee + Thy Poet Singers stand, + And bear the soul upon their songs + Unto its native land. + And even thus, with loud acclaim, + The praise of skill, of art, + Is dealt to those who only speak + The language of the heart! + While they who love and listen best, + Can little guess or know + The wounds that from the Singer’s breast + Have bid such sweetness flow; + They know not mastership must spring + From conflict and from strife. + “These, these are but the songs they sing;” + They are the Singer’s life! + + + + + A LITTLE PLACE IN NORFOLK. + + +Theodore Hook’s hero, Jack Bragg, boasted of his “little place in +Surrey.” The Guardians of the Guiltcross poor have good reason to be +proud of _their_ little place in Norfolk. When the Guiltcross Union was +formed, Mr. Thomas Rackham, master of the “house,” set aside a small +estate for the purpose of teaching the Workhouse children how to +cultivate land. This pauper’s patrimony consisted of exactly one acre +one rood and thirty-five poles of very rough “country.” A certain number +of the boys worked upon it so diligently, that it was soon found +expedient to enlarge the domain, by joining to it three acres of “hills +and holes,” which in that state were quite useless for agricultural +purposes. Two dozen spades were purchased at the outset to commence +digging the land with, and six wheel-barrows were made by a pauper, who +was a wheelwright; pickaxes and other tools were also fashioned with the +assistance of the porter, who was a blacksmith. By means of these tools, +and the labour of some fourteen sturdy boys, the whole of this barren +territory was levelled, the top sward being carefully kept uppermost. We +copy these and the other details from Mr. Rackham’s report to the +Guardians, for the information and encouragement of other Workhouse +masters, who may have the will and the power to “go and do likewise.” + +It appears then, that by the autumn of 1846 one acre of the new land was +planted with wheat, and two roods twenty three poles of the home +land—the one acre one rood and thirty-five poles mentioned above—was +also planted with wheat, making in all one acre two roods and twenty +three poles under wheat for 1847. This land produced eighteen coombs +three pecks beyond a sufficient quantity reserved for seed for the wheat +crop of 1848. The remainder of the land was planted with Scotch kale, +cabbages, potatoes, &c., &c., which began coming into use in March, +1847. The entire domain is now under fruitful cultivation. + +“The quantity of vegetables actually consumed by the paupers according +to the dietary tables only,” says Mr. Rackham, “is charged in the +provision accounts. Persons acquainted with domestic management and the +produce of land are aware that, where vegetables are purchased, a great +deal is paid for that which is useless for cooking purposes. In the +present case this refuse is carefully preserved and used for feeding +pigs, which were first kept in April 1848. This accounts for the large +amount of pork fatted, as compared with the small quantity of corn and +pollard used for the pigs. The leaves, &c., not eaten by the pigs, +become valuable manure. If the Guardians would consent to keep cows, +different roots and vegetables might be grown to feed them with; and +these would produce an increased quantity of manure, whilst an increased +quantity of manure would afford the means of raising a larger amount of +roots and green crops, and secure a more extended routine in cropping +the land. This would add to the profit of the land account, and give +much additional comfort to the aged people and the young children in the +workhouse.” But Mr. Rackham is ambitious of a dairy, chiefly for the +training of dairy-maids: who would become doubly acceptable as farm +servants. + +Besides other advantages, the experiment presents one dear to the minds +of rate-payers—it tends to reduce the rates. The average profit per +annum on each of the acres has been fifteen pounds. Here are the +sums:—The profit of the first year was sixty pounds two shillings and +fourpence farthing; second year, fifty-one pounds seventeen shillings +and sixpence; to Christmas, 1849, three-quarters of a year, sixty-seven +pounds two shillings and one penny farthing; total, one hundred and +seventy-nine pounds one shilling and elevenpence halfpenny. + +As at the Swinton and other pauper schools, a variety of industrial arts +are taught in the Guiltcross Union house, and the fact that sixty of the +boys and girls who have been trained in it are now earning their own +living, is some evidence of the success of the system pursued there. + +Of one of the cultivators of this “little place in Norfolk” (not we +believe an inmate of the Union), an agreeable account was published in a +letter from Miss Martineau lately in the Morning Chronicle. It shows to +what good account a knowledge of small farming may be turned. That lady +having two acres of land, at Ambleside, in Westmoreland, which she +wished to cultivate, sent to Mr. Rackham to recommend her a farm +servant. The man arrived, and his Guiltcross experience in cultivating +small “estates” proved of essential service. He has managed to keep two +cows and a pig, besides himself and a wife, on these narrow confines; +for Miss Martineau calculates that the produce in milk, butter, +vegetables, &c., obtained from his skill and economy for herself and +household, quite pays his wages. This is her account of him:— + +“He is a man of extraordinary industry and cleverness, as well as rigid +honesty. His ambition is roused; for he knows that the success of the +experiment mainly depends on himself. He is living in comfort, and +laying by a little money, and he looks so happy that it would truly +grieve me to have to give up; though I have no doubt that he would +immediately find work at good wages in the neighbourhood. His wife and +he had saved enough to pay their journey hither out of Norfolk. I gave +him twelve shillings a week all the year round. His wife earns something +by occasionally helping in the house, by assisting in my washing, and by +taking in washing when she can get it. I built them an excellent cottage +of the stone of the district, for which they pay one shilling and +sixpence per week. They know that they could not get such another off +the premises for five pounds a year.” + +This is all very interesting and gratifying, but there are two sides to +every account. Supposing the system of agricultural and other industrial +training were pursued in all Unions in the country (and if it be a good +system, it ought to be so followed), then, instead of boys and girls +being turned out every three years in sixties, there would be accessions +of farmers, tailors, carpenters, dairy-maids, and domestic servants +every year to be reckoned by thousands. Supposing that every fourteen of +the agricultural section of the community had been earning fifteen +pounds a year profit per acre, we should then have a large amount of +produce brought into the market in competition with that of the +independent labourer. When, again, the multitude of boys had passed +their probation, themselves would be thrown in the labour market (as the +sixty Guiltcross boys already have been), so that their older and weaker +competitors would, in their turn, be obliged to retire to the Workhouse, +not only to their own ruin, but to the exceeding mortification of the +entire body of parochial rate-payers. The axiom, that when there is a +glut in a market any additional supply of the same commodity is an evil, +applies most emphatically to labour. In this view, the adoption of the +industrial training system for paupers and criminals would be an evil; +and an evil of the very description it is meant to cure—a pauperising +evil. + +The easy and natural remedy is a combination of colonisation, with the +industrial training system. In all our colonies ordinary, merely animal +labour is eagerly coveted, and skilled labour is at a high premium. +There a competition _for_, instead of against, all sorts of labour is +keenly active. Yet great as is the demand, it is curious that no +comprehensive system for the supply of skilled labour has yet been +adopted. Except the excellent farm school of the Philanthropic Society +at Red Hill, no attempt is made to _teach_ colonisation. The majority of +even voluntary colonists are persons utterly ignorant of colonial wants. +They have never learned to dig or to delve. Many clever artists have +emigrated to Australia, where pictures are not wanted; not a few +emigrant ladies, of undoubted talents in Berlin work and crochet, have +always trembled at the approach of a cow, and never made so much as a +pat of butter in their lives. Still they succeed in the end; but only +after much misery and mortification, which would have been saved them if +they had been better prepared for colonial exigencies. The same thing +happens with the humbler classes. Boys, and even men, have been sent out +to Canada and the Southern Colonies (especially from the Irish Unions), +utterly unfitted for their new sphere of life and labour. + +If, therefore, the small beginnings at Guiltcross be imitated in other +Unions (and it is much to be wished that they should be), they will be +made to grow into large results. But these results must be applied not +to clog and glut the labour market at home; but to supply the labour +market abroad. + +If to every Union were attached an agricultural training school, upon a +plan that would offer legitimate inducements for the pupils to emigrate +when old enough and skilled enough to obtain their own livelihood, this +country would, we are assured, at no distant date be de-pauperised. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + Page Changed from Changed to + + 565 the deuce—if the brand—the the deuce—if the brandy—the + alcohol-and-water alcohol-and-water + + ● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Renumbered footnotes. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + ● The caret (^) is used to indicate superscript, whether applied to a + single character (as in 2^d) or to an entire expression (as in + 1^{st}). + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78194 *** |