Chambers’s Journal, August 28, 1886 (2024)

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CONTENTS

OUR WAYS AND THEIRS.
IN ALL SHADES.
‘TELEGRAPHED.’
A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.
THE MONTH: SCIENCE AND ARTS.
CYCLING AS A HEALTH-PRODUCT.
OCCASIONAL NOTES.
PICCIOLA.

OUR WAYS AND THEIRS.

To do at Rome as the Romans do is sage advice,not always nor often followed by those of uswho wander afield. Voluntarily placing ourselvesamong people whose ways and habits are differentfrom our own, and whose principles of action areas sacred to them as ours are to us, we ‘flingour five fingers’ in the face of rules and regulationswhich are to them the very sign andsubstance of social decorum. Principles whichare stricter than our own we call prejudices;and pooh-pooh as valueless those virtues in whichwe are wanting, while condemning as unpardonablyimmoral everything whatever which is oflaxer fibre and looser holding than the correspondingcirc*mstance at home. Thus, we fallfoul of the southern nations for their want ofstraightforwardness, their sweet deceptive flatteries,their small short-sighted dishonesties; yetwe count it but a little matter that they shouldbe sober, abstemious, kind-hearted, and charitable;that they should not beat their children nor kicktheir wives to death; nor spend on one grossmeal of beef and beer half the earnings of theweek. We forget, too, that if we are ‘done’ inthe vineyards and the orange groves, others areas much ‘done’ in the hop gardens and the hay-fields;and that: ‘Here is a stranger—come, letus rob him,’ is the rule of life all the world over.We deride the costly political efforts made byyoung nations struggling to obtain a place inEuropean councils; but we have not a word ofpraise for the patience with which the people beartheir heavy burden of taxation, that their countrymay be great with the great, and strong with thestrong. In short, we find more barren land thanfertile, all the way from Dan to Beersheba; and,once across the silver streak, very few points, ifany, attract our admiration, while fewer stillcompel our adhesion.

One of the most striking acts of unconformitylies in the charter of liberty given to our girls,compared with the close guard enforced among thebold wooers and jealous possessors of the fervidsouth. An amount of freedom, which is bothinnocent and recognised here, is held as dangerousand improper there; but few English girls willsubmit to more personal restraint in Palermo orMadrid than that to which they have been accustomedin Cornwall or Cumberland. And indeed,they often launch out into strange license, and dothings in foreign cities which they would not dareto do in their own native towns. They thinkthey are not known; and what does it signifywhat people say of them?—the honour of theEnglish name not counting. If you reason withthem, and tell them that such and such thingsare ill thought of by the natives, they look at youblankly and answer: ‘What does it matter tous? Their ways are not ours, thank goodness!and we prefer our own. Besides, they must bevery horrid people to think evil when there isnone.’ Mothers and chaperons are no more sensitive,no more conformable, than their charges, andquite as resolute to reject any new view andtrample under foot any rule of life to which theyhave not been accustomed. Tell one of them that,in a purely foreign hotel, the girl must not be letto sleep in another corridor—on another floor—oraway from her own immediate vicinity, and sheasks: ‘Why? My daughter is not a baby; shecan take care of herself. And what harm shouldhappen to her?’ Tell her that the girl must notwander unaccompanied about the passages, thegardens, the public rooms of the hotel, nor sitapart in corners of the salon talking in whisperswith the men, nor lounge on the benches withone favoured individual alone—and she scouts allthese precautions as foolish if not insulting. Saythat it is not considered correct for the younglady to come to table-d’hôte by herself at any timeof the meal it may suit her to appear—perhapsdashing into dinner in her hat, breathless, heated,excited—and again the advice is rejected. Herdaughter has been accustomed to be mistress ofher own time as well as actions, and lawn-tennisis a game which cannot be interrupted nor determinedby one person only. She did just thesame last year at Scarborough, and no one made{546}unpleasant observations; so, why should she beunder more control now? Yes, she did all thesethings at home, where they are compatible with‘well-and-wise-walking.’ But in a foreign hotel,tenanted by men who respect young women onlyin proportion to the care that is taken of them,they are not well nor wise; nay, more, theyare looked on as criminal acts of neglect inthose who have the guidance of things.

Manners are special to countries as to classes,and are accepted as so much current coin, whichpasses here, but would not run out of the limitsof the realm. Jermimer, down at Margate,giggles back to ’Arry, making lollipop eyes ather over the old boat, while sucking the knobof his sixpenny cane. From giggling and makinglollipop eyes, the pair soon come to speech; fromspeech to association; from association to love-makingin earnest, and mayhap to marriage. Inany case, no harm is done; and Jermimer and’Arry are as little out of the right course, judgedfrom their own stand-point, when they makeacquaintance in this primitive manner, as isLady Clara Vere de Vere when she is whirledaway in Lord Verisopht’s arms on a first introduction.The coin is good where it is minted.But Lady Clara Vere de Vere would be but basemetal at Tangier and Tunis; and Jermimer isnot understood, say at Palermo, when she comesthere in force, trailing her Margate manners ather heels. Consequently, when three pretty girlsalight at that fair city, and ‘carry on’ as if theywere in ’appy ’Ampton, they naturally excitesome attention, not of a flattering kind, amongpeople to whom girlhood is at once brittle wareand a sacred deposit. A showy triad, dressedin the fluttering fashion dear to the tribe ofJermimer—bows here, ends there—colours whichdazzle, and shapes not to be overlooked—theymake themselves still more conspicuous by theirmillinery than nature has already made themby her gift of milkwhite skins and flaxen hair.They make themselves more conspicuous by theirmanners than by either millinery or colour.They care nothing for sight-seeing, and all forflirting, or what in their vernacular is ‘larking.’Like their prototype giggling back to ’Arry overthe old boat, they look back and laugh andbeckon and nod to the young officers who followthem through the streets, thinking that hereis sport made to their hand, and that to rejectthe roasted larks which fall from the sky wouldbe a folly unworthy a rational human being.From looking they pass into speech; and, byaid of a dictionary and their fingers, make appointmentsand go off on expeditions, unchaperoned,with these young men, to whom they haveno more clue than is given by their uniform andthe number of their regiment. When warnedby experienced compatriots, they treat the warningas envy of their enjoyment. When advisedby the handsome general who takes his ownshare of the cake, liberally, they treat hisadvice as jealousy of the younger men; and so,following their own course, they become thetown’s talk, the shame of the English colony,the indignation of their hotel companions, andthe standing marvel of the whole native population.They put, too, a stone in the hand ofthe reactionary and exclusive; and: ‘See to whatyour dangerous liberties lead your girls!’ is areproach which no one can ward off. This isan instance of unconformity known to the writerof these lines as having taken place last winterin Palermo.

English and American girls flirt in a way whichthe fervid south neither permits nor understands.So far that fervid south is more real and moreintense than we, who yet pride ourselves on bothour sincerity and our depth. A painful littledrama took place not long ago, founded on thesecross lines of violated custom. Down on theGulf of Naples a quite young girl, precociousin character and appearance and given up byher mother to the care of her maid, flirted witha young Italian as a foolish child would, giventhe chance, and only a venal servant to acceptbribes for not looking after her. The youngfellow took her seriously. When the tryingmoment came, she opened her large blue eyesand said with the candid air of a cherub: ‘Imeant nothing but fun. I do not love you, andI am too young to marry.’ The youth shothimself as his commentary on her answer.

Again, no kind of warning as to the untrustworthinessof certain plausible scoundrels, knownto be mere cacciatori or fortune-hunters, will doany good to certain women determined to ruinthemselves. A girl not long ago fell in love witha Sicilian scamp of handsome presence and desperatecharacter. In vain her friends warned herof his reputation, and besought her to conquerher suicidal passion—in vain! in vain! Shewould not, and she did not; but, like the poorfoolish moth, flew right up to the candle, andproved too fatally what the flame was like. Shemarried; and then learnt what a torturer and atyrant could do when put to it. Before the yearwas out she had to escape by stealth from a manwho starved her and beat her; who slept witha revolver under his pillow, with which hethreatened her at dead of night—waking herfrom her sleep to terrify her into almost madness—andwho made her regret too bitterly thatshe had not taken advice when it was givenher, and believed in the truer knowledge of themore experienced.

In health it is the same story. We, who go ona visit of a few weeks, know so much betterwhat is good for us than the natives of the place,who have had the experience of a lifetime andthe traditions of centuries to guide them! Welaugh at their precautions, and refuse to be‘coddled.’ Hence, we go straight into the jawsof danger, and then wonder that we are bitten.We hang over the malarial waters stagnating in{547}the Colosseum, when we go there to ‘enthuse’ bymoonlight. We lie on the rank grass in theCampagna, cooling our flushed faces on the earthwhich teems with the germs that slay and theemanations that destroy. We whip our blood tofever-heat by violent exertion under the burningsun, then get chilled to the marrow when thegreat orb sinks to darkness and the cold dampsrise like malignant spirits from the tomb; andwe think the inhabitants lazy because they taketheir exercise doucely, and effeminate becausethey avoid the half-hour of sundown as theywould avoid a tiger crouching in the jungle.We eat and drink in feverish Italy and excitingSpain as we eat and drink in damp, depressingEngland; and we refuse to do at Rome as theRomans do, to the damage of our liver and the ruinof our nerves. We know best—are we not free-bornBritons?—and our flag of unconformity is thesign of our superiority. We despise the religion ofthe countries we visit, and will not believe thatthe worshippers of the saints have more respectthan have we ourselves for the faith into whichthey have been born and bred. A friend of ourown carries this feeling to its last development,not being able to understand, nor to believe, thatthe old Greeks and Romans had any respect forZeus or worship for Minerva. The grandeur andmultiplicity of their temples, the magnificenceand frequency of their processions, say nothing tohim. Their ways are not his, and he cannotaccept them as true for them if not for him.All people who have been abroad, and whor*spect the habits and feelings of those amongwhom they have placed themselves, know howpainful it is to meet certain of their countrymenand women in the churches during service.These nonconformists pay no more respect to theplace than if it were a barn cleared out for aplay-night. They walk about making commentsin audible voices, and stepping over the obstructivefeet of the kneeling worshippers as unconcernedlyas if they were picking their way amongso many bales of cotton and wool. Why shouldthey not? When faith and habits clash, are notour own those which we must consider? At afuneral service in St Roch, when the nave wasdraped in black and occupied by the mournersgathered round the coffin, there came up theside aisle, arm-in-arm, a young Englishman and,perhaps, his bride, joyous, happy, talking, laughing.What to them, in the flush of their youthfulbliss, was the sorrow of the widow, the grief ofthe children, the loss of a good man and a usefullife? They were on one plane, and all theseweeping mourners were on another; and theirown was predominant.

In a smaller matter than this, we show thesame want of conformity. We go to a theatrein full dress where the ladies of the place go inbonnets, and to the opera in ulsters and travel-wornhats where the élite are in their diamondsand plumes. But so it is all through. We areBritish, and may do as we like, not being slavesnor wearing wooden shoes like those others,and Britannia ruling the seas—a cross betweenNeptune and Minerva. We eat and drink anddress and flirt and live independent of the rulesby which the people of the country are guidedand checked. But if any one does not conformto our ways, he is anathematised, and wewonder how such bad taste is possible with awell-conditioned person! It is the stiff Anglo-Saxonneck, which, were it to bend, would notlose in power, but would gain in grace.

IN ALL SHADES.

CHAPTER XLII.

Marian was behind in the dining-room andbedrooms with Aunt Clemmy, helping to nurseand tend the sick and wounded as well as shecould, in the midst of so much turmoil anddanger. When she and Edward had been rousedby the sudden glare of the burning cane-houses,reddening the horizon by Orange Grove, andcasting weird and fitful shadows from all themango-trees in front of their little tangled garden,she had been afraid to remain behind alone atMulberry, and had preferred facing the maddenedrioters by her husband’s side, to stoppingby herself under such circ*mstances amongthe unfamiliar black servants in her own house.So they had ridden across hurriedly to theDupuys’ together, especially as Marian was noless timid on Nora’s account than on her own;and when they reached the little garden gatethat led in by the back path, she had slippedup alone, unperceived by the mob, while Edwardwent round openly to the front door and triedto appease the angry negroes.

The shouts and yells when she first arrivedhad proved indeed very frightening and distracting;but after a time, she could guess, from thecomparative silence which ensued, that Edwardhad succeeded in gaining a hearing: and thenshe and Aunt Clemmy turned with fast beatinghearts to look after the bleeding victims, oneof whom at least they gave up from the firstas quite dead beyond the reach of hope or recovery.

Nora was naturally the first to come to. Shehad fainted only; and though, in the crushand press, she had been trampled upon andvery roughly handled by the barefooted negroes,she had got off, thanks to their shoeless condition,with little worse than a few ugly cutsand bruises. They laid her tenderly on herown bed, and bathed her brows over and overagain with Cologne water; till, after a fewminutes, she sat up again, pale and deathly tolook at, but proud and haughty and defiant asever, with her eyes burning very brightly, andan angry quiver playing unchecked about herbloodless lips.

‘Is he dead?’ she asked calmly—as calmlyas if it were the most ordinary question onearth, but yet with a curious tone of suppressedemotion, that even in that terrible momentdid not wholly escape Marian’s quick womanlyobservation.

‘Your father?’ Marian answered, in a lowvoice.—‘Dear, dear, you mustn’t excite yourselfnow. You must be quite quiet, perfectly quiet.You’re not well enough to stand any talkingor excitement yet. You must wait to hear aboutit all, darling, until you’re a little better.’

Nora’s lip curled a trifle as she answered almostdisdainfully: ‘I’m not going to lie here andlet myself be made an invalid of, while thosemurderers are out yonder still on the piazza.{548}Let me get up and see what has happened.—No;I didn’t mean papa, Marian; I know he’sdead; I saw him lying hacked all to piecesoutside on the sofa. I meant Mr Noel. Havethey killed him? Have they killed him? He’sa brave man. Have the wretches killed him?’

‘We think not,’ Marian answered dubiously.‘He’s in the next room, and two of the servantsare there taking care of him.’

Nora rose from the bed with a sudden bound,and stood, pale and white, all trembling beforethem. ‘What are you stopping here wastingyour care upon me for, then?’ she asked halfangrily. ‘You think not—think not, indeed!Is this a time to be thinking and hesitating!Why are you looking after women who gointo fainting-fits, like fools, at the wrongmoment? I’m ashamed of myself, almost, forgiving way visibly before the wretches—forletting them see I was half afraid of them.But I wasn’t afraid of them for myself, though—nota bit of it, Marian: it was only for—forMr Noel.’ She said it after a moment’sbrief hesitation, but without the faintest touchof girlish timidity or ill-timed reserve. Thenshe swept queen-like past Marian and AuntClemmy, in her white dinner dress—the samedress that she had worn when she was Marian’sbridesmaid—and walked quickly but composedly,as if nothing had happened, into the next bedroom.

The two negresses had already taken off Harry’scoat and waistcoat, and laid him on the bedwith his shirt front all saturated with blood,and his forehead still bleeding violently, in spiteof their unskilful efforts to stanch it with awet towel. When Nora entered, he was lyingthere, stretched out at full length, speechlessand senseless, the blood even then oozing slowly,by intermittent gurgling throbs, from the opengash across his right temple. There was anotherdeeper and even worse wound gurgling similarlyupon his left elbow.

‘They should have been here,’ Nora cried;‘Marian and Clemmy should have been here,instead of looking after me in yonder.—Is hedead, Nita, is he dead? Tell me!’

‘No, missy,’ the girl answered, passively handingher the soaked towel. ‘Him doan’t deadyet; but him dyin’, him dyin’. De blood comin’out ob him, spurt, spurt, spurt, so him can’tlib long, not anyway. Him bledded to deathalready, I tinkin’, a’most.’

Nora looked at the white face, and a few tearsbegan at last to form slowly in her brimmingeyelids. But she brushed them away quickly,before they had time to trickle down her blanchedcheek, for her proud West Indian blood was upnow, as much as the negroes’ had been a fewminutes earlier; and she twisted her handkerchiefround a pocket pencil so as to form ahasty extemporised tourniquet, which she fastenedbravely and resolutely with intuitive skill abovethe open wound on the left elbow. She had noidea that the little jets in which the bloodspurted out so rhythmically were indicative ofthat most dangerous wound, a severed artery;but she felt instinctively, somehow, that thiswas the right thing to do, and she did it withoutflinching, as if she had been used to dealingfamiliarly with dangerous wounds for half herlifetime. Then she twisted the hasty instrumenttightly round till the artery was securely stopped,and the little jets ceased entirely at each pulsationof the now feeble and weakened heart.

‘Run for the doctor, somebody!’ she criedeagerly; ‘run for the doctor, or he’ll die outrightbefore we can get help for him!’

But Nita and Rose, on their knees beside thewounded man, only cowered closer to the bedside,and shook with terror as another cry rose on asudden from outside from the excited negroes.It was the cry they raised when they foundDelgado was really struck dead before their veryeyes by the visible and immediate judgment ofthe Almighty.

Nora looked down at them with profound contempt,and merely said, in her resolute, scornfulvoice: ‘What! afraid even of your own people?Why, I’m not afraid of them; I, who am awhite woman, and whom they’d murder nowand hack to pieces, as soon as they’d look atme, if once they could catch me, when theirblood’s up!—Marian, Marian! you’re a whitewoman; will you come with me?’

Marian trembled a little—she wasn’t upheldthrough that terrible scene by the ingrainedhereditary pride of a superior race before theblind wrath of the inferior, bequeathed to Noraby her slave-owning ancestors; but she answeredwith hardly a moment’s hesitation: ‘Yes, Nora.If you wish it, I’ll go with you.’

There is something in these conflicts of racewith race which raises the women of the higherblood for the time being into something braverand stronger than women. In England, Marianwould never have dared to go out alone in theface of such a raging tumultuous mob, even ofwhite people; but in Trinidad, under the influenceof that terrible excitement, she found heart toput on her hat once more, and step forth withNora under the profound shade of the spreadingmango-trees, now hardly lighted up at all at fitfulintervals by the dying glow from the burnt-outembers of the smoking cane-houses. They wentdown groping their way by the garden path,and came out at last upon the main bridle-roadat the foot of the garden. There Marian drewback Nora timidly with a hand placed in quickwarning upon her white shoulder. ‘Stand aside,dear,’ she whispered at her ear, pulling her backhastily within the garden gate and under thedark shadow of the big star-apple tree. ‘They’recoming down—they’re coming down! I hearthem, I hear them! O God, O God, I shouldn’thave come away! They’ve killed Edward! Mydarling, my darling! They’ve killed him—they’vekilled him!’

‘I wouldn’t stand aside for myself,’ Noraanswered half aloud, her eyes flashing proudlyeven in the shadowy gloom of the garden. ‘Butto save Mr Noel’s life, to save his life, I’ll standaside if you wish, Marian.’

As they drew back into the dark shadow, evenNora trembling and shivering a little at thetramp of so many naked feet, some of the negroespassed close beside them outside the fence ontheir way down from the piazza, where they hadjust been electrified into sudden quietness by theawful sight of Louis Delgado’s dead body. Theywere talking earnestly and low among themselves,not, as before, shrieking and yelling and{549}gesticulating wildly, but conversing half belowtheir breath in a solemn, mysterious, awe-struckfashion.

‘De Lard be praise for Mr Hawtorn!’ one ofthem said as he passed unseen close beside them.‘Him de black man fren’. We got nobody likehim. I no’ would hurt Mr Hawtorn, de blessedman, not for de life ob me.’

Marian’s heart beat fast within her, but shesaid never a word, and only pressed Nora’s hand,which she held convulsively within her own,harder and tighter than ever, in her mute suspenseand agony.

Presently another group passed close by, andanother voice said tremulously: ‘Louis Delgadodead—Louis Delgado dead! Mr Hawtorn iswonderful man for true! Who’d have toughtit, me brudder, who’d have tought it?’

‘That’s Martin Luther,’ Nora cried almostaloud, unable any longer to restrain her curiosity.‘I know him by his voice. He wouldn’t hurtme.—Martin, Martin! what’s that you’re saying?Has Mr Hawthorn shot Delgado?’ As she spoke,with a fierce anticipatory triumph in her voice,she stepped out from the shadow of the gateon to the main bridle-path, in her white dressand with her pale face, clearly visible under thefaint moonlight.

Martin flung up his arms like one stabbed tothe heart, and shouted wildly: ‘De missy, demissy! Dem done killed her on de piazzayonder, and her duppy comin’ now already toscare us and trouble us!’

Even in that moment of awe and alarm, Noralaughed a little laugh of haughty contempt forthe strong, big-built, hulking negro’s superstitiousterror. ‘Martin!’ she cried, darting afterhim quickly, as he ran away awe-struck, andcatching him by the shoulder with her lightbut palpable human grasp, ‘don’t you know me?I’m no duppy. It’s me myself, Missy Nora,calling you. Here, feel my hand; you see I’malive still; you see your people haven’t killedme yet, even if you’ve killed your poor oldmaster.—Martin, tell me, what’s this you’reall saying about Mr Hawthorn having shotDelgado?’

Martin, shaking violently in every limb, turnedround and reassured himself slowly that it wasreally Nora and not her ghost that stood bodilybefore him. ‘Ha, missy,’ he answered good-humouredly,showing his great row of big whiteteeth, though still quaking visibly with terror,‘don’t you be ’fraid; we wouldn’t hurt you, nota man of us. But it doan’t Mr Hawtorn datshot Delgado! It God Almighty! De Lardhab smitten him!’

‘What!’ Nora cried in surprise. ‘He felldead! Apoplexy or something, I suppose. Theold villain! he deserved it, Martin.—And MrHawthorn? How about Mr Hawthorn? Havethey hurt him? Have they killed him?’

‘Mr Hawtorn up to de house, missy, an’ allde nigg*rs pray de Lard for true him lib forebber, de blessed creature.’

‘Why are you all coming away now, then?’Nora asked anxiously. ‘Where are you goingto?’

‘Mr Hawtorn send us home,’ Martin answeredsubmissively; ‘an’ we all ’fraid, if we doan’t gostraight when him tell us, we drop down deadwit Kora, Datan, an’ Abiram, an’ lyin’ Ananias,same like Delgado.’

‘Marian,’ Nora said decisively, ‘go back toyour husband. You ought to be with him.—Martin,you come along with me, sir. Mr Noel’sdying. You’ve killed him, you people, asyou’ve killed my father. I’ve got to go andfetch the doctor now to save him; and you’vegot to come with me and take care of me.’

‘Oh, darling,’ Marian interrupted nervously,‘you mustn’t go alone amongst all these angry,excited negroes with nobody but him. Don’t,don’t; I’ll gladly go with you!’

‘Do as I tell you!’ Nora cried in a tone ofauthority, with a firm stamp of her petulant littlefoot. ‘You ought to be with him. You mustn’tleave him.—That’s right, dear.—Now, then,Martin!’

‘I ’fraid, missy.’

‘Afraid! Nonsense. You’re a pack of cowards.Am I afraid? and I’m a woman! You ought tobe ashamed of yourself. Come along with meat once, and do as I tell you.’

The terrified negro yielded grudgingly, andcrept after her in the true crouching Africanfashion, compelled against his will to followimplicitly the mere bidding of the stronger andmore imperious nature.

They wound down the zigzag path together,under the gaunt shadows of the overhangingbamboo clumps, waving weirdly to and fro withthe breeze in the feeble moonlight—the strongman slouching along timorously, shaking andstarting with terror at every rustle of Nora’sdress against the bracken and the tree ferns;the slight girl erect and fearless, walking a paceor two in front of her faint-hearted escort withproud self-reliance, and never pausing for a singlesecond to cast a cautious glance to right or leftamong the tangled brushwood. The lights werenow burning dimly in all the neighbouring negrocottages; and far away down in the distance, thelong rows of gas lamps at Port-of-Spain gleameddouble with elongated oblique reflections in thecalm water of the sleepy harbour.

They had got half-way down the lonely gullywithout meeting or passing a single soul, when,at a turn of the road where the bridle-path sweptaside to avoid a rainy-season torrent, a horsecame quickly upon them from in front, andthe rapid click of a co*cked pistol warned Noraof approaching danger.

‘Who goes there?’ cried a sharp voice witha marked Scotch accent from the gloom beforeher. ‘Stop this minute, or I’ll fire at you, younigg*r!’

With a thrill of delight, Nora recognised thelonged-for voice—the very one she was seeking.It was Dr Macfarlane, from beyond the gully,roused, like half the island, by the red glare fromthe Orange Grove cane-houses, and spurring upas fast as his horse could carry him, armed andon the alert, to the scene of the supposed insurrection.

‘Don’t shoot,’ Nora answered coolly, holdingher hand up in deprecation. ‘A friend!—It’sme, Dr Macfarlane—Nora Dupuy, coming to meetyou.’

‘Miss Dupuy!’ the doctor cried in astonishment.‘Then they’ll not have shot you, at anyrate,young leddy! But what are you doing out{550}here alone at this time of night, I’m wondering?Have you had to run for your life from OrangeGrove from these cowardly insurgent nigg*rfellows?’

‘Run from them!’ Nora echoed contemptuously.‘Dr Macfarlane, I’d like to see it. No, no;I’m too much of a Dupuy ever to do that, Ipromise you, doctor. They can murder me, butthey can’t frighten me. I was coming down tolook for you, for poor Mr Noel, who’s lyingdangerously wounded up at our house, with awound on the arm and a terrible cut across thetemple.’

‘Coming alone—just in the very midst of allthis business—to fetch me to look after a woundedfellow!’ the doctor ejacul*ted half to himself,with mingled astonishment and admiration.He jumped down from his horse with a quickmovement, not ungallantly, and lifted Nora upin his big arms without a word, seating hersideways, before she could remonstrate, on theawkward saddle. ‘Sit you there, Miss Dupuy,’he said kindly. ‘You’re a brave lass, if everthere was one. I’ll hold his head, and run alongsidewith you. We’ll be up at the house againin ten minutes.’

‘They’ve killed my father,’ Nora said simply,beginning to break down at last, after herunnatural exaltation of bravery and endurance,and bursting into a sudden flood of tears. ‘He’slying at home all hacked to pieces with theirdreadful cutlasses; and Mr Noel’s almost deadtoo; perhaps he’ll be quite dead, doctor, beforewe can get there.’

(To be continued.)

‘TELEGRAPHED.’

‘Have you seen the Purple Sandpiper at MrWalton’s, telegraphed near here?’ The abovesentence in a friend’s letter, a keen ornithologist,set me thinking. How many species of birds do Iknow of that have been ‘telegraphed?’ or, inother words, killed by flying against the telegraphwires? On looking up notes whichextend over several years’ observations, Ifound the list not a long one, but somewhatvaried. As my own knowledge of thissubject extends over only a small district, yetone thickly set with wires, and taking intoconsideration the destruction of birds by thispeculiar means in this particular portion of thekingdom, and the thousands of miles of wireswhich extend over the rest of the British Islands,the thought crosses my mind that there mustbe an immense death-rate among birds throughthis modern invention, now a necessity of ourpresent life.

But to return to our Purple Sandpiper (Tringamaritima). What brought it so far inland?—abovetwenty miles from its usual haunts by the shore,being purely a bird of the littoral. Was itmerely a straggler lost or blown out of its course?Or was it accompanied by other Sandpipers,which escaped the fatal wires? on some line ofautumnal migration which is certainly new tous, or, rather, only just suspected; and whichwill take some years of careful study and note-takingbefore being fully established.

One of the birds most commonly ‘telegraphed’with us, both in its spring and autumn ‘flittings,’is the Landrail (Crex pratensis), or perhaps betterknown as the Corncrake; indeed, in the springmigration I have known of its presence amongus through this means, some time before itswell-known call-note was heard; although, occasionally,individual birds stay all the winterwith us. Lately, a new line of wires has beenput across a common near us, to join others onone of the great north roads. These wires wereput up to meet the increase of work which wasexpected through the introduction of the sixpennytelegrams. The first Sunday after thesewires were stretched, I found a Corncrake whichhad met its death by them. But it had sufferedconsiderably from the attentions, presumedly,paid to it by a pair of Carrion Crows (Corvuscorone), which flopped away from its immediateneighbourhood on our approach. Shortly after,I picked up a fine co*ck Blackbird (Turdus merula)alive, but in sore condition. The skin of thebreast, by the force of the blow, was rolledbackward down to the thighs, one of which wasbroken. The contrast between the blackness ofits plumage and the golden brown of the fallenbeech-leaves on which it lay was somethingstartling. I stood looking at it some time beforeattempting to lay hold of it, wondering whatwas the matter, as it lay perfectly still, lookingat me with its fearless black eyes. It made noeffort to get away when I laid hold of it, thoughit bit as well as it could. Blackbirds are commonvictims to this form of death: I have seen threein one week, and it is really difficult to explainwhy. The habit they have, might account forit, of flying about and alarming the neighbourhoodby their warning note till nearly dark,long after most light-loving birds have gone toroost. A rare stranger was ‘telegraphed’ amongus, Leach’s or the Fork-tailed Petrel (Procellarialeucorrhoa), just after the heavy gales near theend of last October. Most of the British specimensof this bird have been obtained inland,after heavy gales blown to us, I suppose, acrossthe Atlantic, from the Banks of Newfoundland.Snipes, both the Common and Jack, often comeinto collision with the wires, thus showing thatthey also fly after dark. A very beautifulspecimen of the Common Snipe, in full breedingplumage, was brought to a friend of mine onthe last day of February by a tramp, who hadpicked it up by the roadside, ‘telegraphed.’That Owls should meet with this fate, seemsvery curious, as they are so specially adaptedfor seeing in a dull light; but such is the case.I know of several, both Barn (Strix flammea)and Wood (Strix stridula) Owls, which havebeen picked up dead beneath the wires. Onecan only account for it on the supposition thatthey are intent on looking for prey beneaththem, perhaps watching some particular mouseor shrew at the moment the fatal contact takesplace.

{551}

The Peewit or Green Plover (Vanellus cristatus)is another common victim to this form of death,sometimes in great numbers. Three winters ago,large flocks of plovers used to frequent particularfields at night-time, flying to and from the coastmorning and night. In these daily migrationsthey had to pass, at one particular place, aperfect network of wires; and though odd birdshad been got from time to time, yet great wasthe astonishment of the signalman at a box nearat hand, when daylight broke one morning aftera stormy night, to see the ground near his boxstrewn with Peewits. I should not like to sayhow many there were, but it took him at leasttwice to carry them to the nearest gamedealer’s.Golden Plovers (Charadrius pluvialis) occasionallyfall victims to the same means; and I have seena young bird of this species killed, while on itsway to the coast, as early as the 9th of July,and many miles from the nearest breeding-ground.The Missel Thrush (Turdus viscivorus) in itsshort autumnal migrations often shares the samefate; and at the same period I once saw thathideling bird, the Spotted Crake (Porzana maruetta).I know of no instance of any of the hawksbeing done to death in this manner, thoughother observers may have been more fortunate asregards these birds. Instead, the Kestrel (Falcotinnunculus) often makes use of the wires as apost of observation, mice being very plentiful asa rule along railway sides; and in winter theyoften come out of their holes to feed on thehorse-refuse on the highways. Wild-ducks alsoescape, as far as my knowledge goes, and wemight naturally expect to see them occasionally;but that may be accounted for by their flyingtoo high in their passage from coast to coast orto inland feeding-grounds.

Of the orthodox bird, as Sydney Smith calledthe Pheasant, it is in some places a very commonvictim. I think I could pick out one stretch ofrailway which at certain seasons of the yearproduces for the surfaceman who goes along itin early morning a never-failing supply ofwounded and dead birds. On one side of therailway is a long belt of plantation, where thebirds are turned into after being hand-reared,on the other side a river with cornfields stretchingdown to it; and it is in the passage from thecovers to the cornfields, when the grain is ripeor standing in stook, that the accidents occur.Partridges also often fall victims to the wires,as also did the Red Grouse where the telegraphcrossed their native heaths. In more than oneinstance have the wires been laid underground,where crossing grouse-moors, to prevent the birdskilling themselves; but even when crossing thesemoors in the usual style from post to post,grouse after a time get to beware of them, anddeaths through this cause get fewer and fewer.One instance of this peculiar adaptation of themselvesto new circ*mstances came very forciblyunder the writer’s notice. A wire-fence was putacross a very good grouse-moor in Cumberland,dividing the fell into two allotments. For sometime after this was done, dead or dying birdswere picked up daily, until it was well knownthat whoever was first along the fence was sureof a grouse-pie. It was amusing to see the differentstratagems employed by the shepherdsand others to get along the fence without seemingto do so. Indeed, I have seen two farmersmeet at the ‘Townfoot,’ and after a short gossip,separate, going in different directions and awayfrom the fell; and an hour after, I have heardof them meeting about the middle of the fence,both intent on dead or wounded birds. Whilefor some time this slaughter of grouse went on,another fellow put in his appearance, this timewith four legs, and made a track by the side ofthe fence to replenish his larder; and Mr Stoathad even the temerity to dispute the claim inone instance with the two-legged hunter. Butthe grouse in time got to know the dangers ofthe fence, and now the victims, like angels’ visits,are few and far between.

The ‘vermin,’ as weasels and stoats are generallycalled, have often a regular trackbeneath the wires, for the purpose of lookingfor dead and wounded birds. The other dayI found beneath the new wires I have alreadymentioned a lot of scattered feathers belongingto a Redwing (Turdus iliacus), but no bird.Thinking it might only be wounded, I set tolook for it, and after some patient hunting, founda few more feathers farther on the common.These traces I followed diligently, finding themevery four or five yards apart, till in a hedge-bankfifty yards from the wires I found themthick about a small hole—no doubt the burrowof a weasel, not an uncommon animal in thatsame old hedge. One would have liked to haveseen the weasel carrying or dragging its prey,whichever it was, the former more likely, fromthe traces of the feathers being left at suchregular intervals. A friend informs me that hehas seen the Carrion Crow regularly hunting alongthe wires in his district.

Another victim has just come to hand in theshape of a young Guillemot (Uria troile) in itsfirst year’s dress; and in the month of May Isaw a Sanderling (Calidris arenaria) which hadpartially put on its nuptial garb, and was nodoubt making north to the arctic regions as fastas wings could carry it, when arrested by thestretched wire.

If it were possible to get authentic statisticsof all the different species and numbers of birds‘telegraphed,’ we should have a mass of informationwhich no doubt would greatly assist ourornithologists in their study of the migration ofthe feathered tribes. This, I am afraid, is impossible,as birds mostly fall during the hours ofdarkness or semi-light; and there are others, bothquadrupeds and birds, which have the advantageof the genus hom*o in hunting propensities, andwho are at work before he is out of bed. Theyare not in search of information; their huntingis prompted by something keener than even asearch for knowledge. The cravings of an emptystomach must be satisfied if possible, and whocan tell how many a rare bird—which an ornithologistwould have tramped miles to see—hasformed a breakfast dish for a lot of hungry youngweasels, or swelled out the crop of some gauntcarrion crow!

Any one living near a line of wires will findsomething to interest him, if he is an early riser,by searching underneath the wires in his morningwalk. And when a specimen is found, a noteshould be taken of its name, the date, directionof wind during night, and weather; and thus{552}in time a quantity of information would begathered which would materially assist our migrationcommittees. The death-rate through being‘telegraphed’ is generally greatest during thespring and autumn migrations.

A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.

CHAPTER IV.—THE BURGLARY.

The noise of the disturbance in the library hadalready attracted the attention of the Squire andhis guests, who had just then reached the doorof the drawing-room. When Parker announcedthat Major Dawkins was arrested for burglary,there was a general exclamation of incredulity;but the mention of the handcuffs elicited a littlescream from Miss Euphemia and an exclamationof indignation from the Squire.

‘This is too absurd. It is some rascal’s practicaljoke; but it is one that I shall punish, for it isa disgrace to me that such a thing should beperpetrated on a guest of mine.—Friends, comewith me.’ He led the way to the library; andthe ladies, unable to restrain their curiosity,followed the gentlemen. Perhaps they also feltsome timidity at the idea of being left alone; forthe numerous burglaries committed of late duringthe dinner hour at country-houses were tryingthe nerves of everybody who had property tolose.

‘What is the meaning of this outrage in myhouse?’ exclaimed the Squire. ‘Release thisgentleman at once. He is my guest.’

‘I told you so,’ ejacul*ted the Major, still tooangry to realise fully the humiliating as well asludicrous position in which he stood.

The detective answered the Squire respectfullyand firmly: ‘This is my card, sir; my nameis Kidman. I am a police officer, and was sentdown here to watch the movements of a manknown to the police under various aliases. Thisis the person I have been seeking. He is prettywell disguised with his dyed hair’ (the Majorshuddered: the thunderbolt had fallen at last!);‘but his height and figure correspond preciselywith this photograph.’ He displayed the portraitof a man whose figure was certainly like theMajor’s, and, allowing for the effect of disguise,there might even be discovered some resemblancein the features.

‘I tell you this is preposterous,’ the Squiresaid impatiently. ‘I will be responsible to youfor this gentleman.’

‘Well, sir, of course the affair must be disagreeableto you, only you are not the firstgentleman he has taken in.’

‘I say, release him at once. If you refuse, itwill be at your peril. I am a justice of thepeace.’

‘So much the better, sir; and in that caseyou will permit me to tell you the circ*mstancesunder which I arrest this—gentleman. I havebeen on the lookout for him; and from informationreceived that an attack was to be madeupon your house, I came here this evening towatch. I posted myself in the shrubbery; andnot half an hour ago, whilst you were at dinner,I saw him look from that window to spy if thecoast was clear’——

‘I was looking for you, Squire,’ interruptedthe Major.

‘I couldn’t guess how he had got in withoutme seeing him, but that is explained by his beinga guest of yours. I knew he was at work, andso stepped quietly in after him. I found himso busy at one of the drawers of this table thatI managed to slip these ornaments on his wristsbefore he could turn round.’

‘At the drawers of the table!’ ejacul*tedseveral voices, whilst all looked in amazed horrorat the culprit.

‘Yes,’ continued Mr Kidman complacently,finding that he had at last made an impression;‘and this sort of thing’ (holding up the jemmy)‘is not exactly what you would expect to find ina gentleman’s dressing-case. I found it here onthe table, and the middle drawer has been forcedopen with it.’

‘The drawer forced open?’ muttered the Squiredoubtingly.

‘You will find it so, and done by an experiencedhand too. Will you oblige me by examiningthe contents of the drawer and letting meknow what has been abstracted?’

‘This is horrible!’ said the Major, becomingcalmer as the situation became more serious.

It was indeed most horrible to every onepresent. Miss Euphemia afterwards declared toMrs John that she felt ready to sink throughthe floor, and fervently wished that she couldhave done so.

‘The drawer has certainly been rummaged bysome one,’ the Squire said gravely.

‘Anything valuable missing?’ asked the detective,notebook in hand.

‘Yes—a considerable sum of money in notesand gold.’

‘Ah, I daresay our friend will be able to giveus an account of the notes and gold,’ was theplayful comment of Mr Kidman.

‘This indignity is insufferable,’ said the Majorstiffly; ‘and I cannot understand, Elliott, whyyou should hesitate for a moment to release mefrom this degrading position. You know me;you know how easily my identity can be established.You know nothing of this man beyondhis own assertion. How can you tell that heis not a confederate of the thieves, and hispresent action a ruse to give them time toescape?’

‘That’s not bad, captain,’ rejoined the detectivewith an admiring smile. ‘But these letters—whichyou will excuse me taking from yourpocket—will show that one part of my statementis correct.—Do they belong to you, sir?’

He handed the three fatal letters to the Squire,who hastily glanced at them, whilst his wifestood on one side of him and Mrs John on theother.

‘Why, that is the letter which I received!’observed Mrs Joseph with acerbity.

‘And that is mine; and the other is the onewhich has upset poor dear Nellie so much!’cried Mrs John.

‘It was to ask you again to allow me to{553}destroy those confounded letters, that I cameto seek you, Squire, thinking that I might findyou here alone after dinner,’ the Major explained.‘I heard some one moving about the room, and,concluding that it was you, knocked two orthree times. Getting no answer, I entered, butfound nobody here. As the window was open,it occurred to me that you might have steppedout on the terrace, and I looked for you. Ofcourse you were not there, but it must havebeen then that this man saw me.’

‘No doubt,’ answered the Squire slowly; ‘buthe found you at my drawer.’

‘My anxiety to prevent a scandal to the familytempted me to take back my letters—for theyare mine—and burn them without your leave.I knew that you would pardon me when youheard the explanation which you will have to-morrow.’

Whilst the Major spoke, the Squire wasfrowning.

‘According to your own statement, MajorDawkins, your conduct has not been creditableto you as an honourable man.’

‘I acted for the best, as you would see ifyou would give me leave to speak to you inprivate.’

They were interrupted and startled by thereport of two pistol-shots in the grounds. Presentlya footman rushed in with the informationthat they had caught a man who had jumpedout of one of the windows, and he had firedupon them.

‘I see the whole thing,’ exclaimed the Majorexcitedly. ‘It was the thief who was in herewhen I knocked; and whilst you, sir, you, havebeen insulting me and making a fool of yourself—ifyou are a detective—you have given him theopportunity to ransack the house!’

Mr Kidman looked puzzled, but he actedpromptly. He removed the handcuffs, sayinghumbly: ‘I beg pardon, sir; but mistakes willhappen. I must catch that man—he is a desperatecard, and uses his revolver freely.’ He darted outto the terrace and disappeared.

The Squire and Maynard immediately followed.John Elliott was too timid, and the Major tooindignant at the treatment to which he hadbeen subjected, to take any part in the pursuit.After pulling himself and his ruffled garmentstogether, he addressed his hostess, Mrs Joseph:‘I presume, madam, I may now retire?’

The lady bowed a little awkwardly, feelingsome compunction for his sufferings. She hopedthat a good night’s rest would enable him tolaugh at this painful incident, if not to forgetit.

‘An affair of this sort does not readily becomea subject of mirth to the victim. But thanksfor your kind wishes.’

He was about to retire, when Squire Elliottand Maynard returned.

‘It’s all right, Major. They have got thescoundrel fast bound, and he has hurt no onebut himself. There are my notes and gold, whichwe have just taken from his pocket.’

‘How did it all happen?’ was the eagerexclamation of the ladies.

‘I offer you my cordial congratulations,’ addedthe Major drily.

‘It happened exactly as the Major surmised;and we have to thank Nellie’s headache, or whateverhas kept her upstairs, for the timely discoveryof the burglar. She was going into herdressing-room, and on opening the door, sawa man busy with her jewel-case. She knewwhat that meant—closed the door and lockedit. She ran to the window and screamed out“Thieves!” The fellow took the alarm, andhaving the window open in readiness for suchan emergency, he flung out a bundle which hehad prepared. Then he slipped over the ledge,and let himself drop to the ground; but hehad miscalculated the distance, and broke hisleg in the fall. Two of our men, who had heardNellie scream, were upon him before he couldattempt to rise. He fired, but they had gothis arms up in the air; so no harm was done;and he is safe for ten or fifteen years.’

‘And the bundle—what was in it?’ anxiouslyinquired the Squire’s wife.

‘A lot of trinkets and things, which are scatteredall over the place, as the bundle in fallingstruck the branch of a hawthorn and was tornopen. I have sent Parker to look after them;but we must go out ourselves.’

The ladies, whose looks of deep concern indicatedhow much they were interested in thesearch, eagerly proposed to accompany the gentlemen.Hats and shawls were quickly procured,and the whole party went forth. Nellie stoleshyly down from her room and joined her friends—muchto the delight of Maynard, althoughhe endeavoured to appear cold and indifferent.She, too, wore a mask of indifference. Butboth were conscious that it was a mask, andthat each was at heart earnestly wishing thatthe other would say something which wouldlead to an explanation. Without words, however,they somehow knew that the reconciliationwould come in the morning.

The Major’s presence was taken as a matterof course; for, in the excitement of the moment,his banishment was forgotten by every one excepthimself. He silently took his place as the specialattendant of Miss Euphemia, who received hisattentions as graciously as if the incident of themorning had not occurred. He was peculiarlyfortunate in being the finder of most of herstolen valuables, which won him additional favour.Nearly everything was found, and a furthersearch was to be made in the morning. So,everybody retired to rest that night with feelingsof thankfulness for having had such asingular escape from heavy loss.

In the morning, there were general inquiriesfor the Major. His misfortunes of the previousnight had toned down the anger which had beenfelt regarding him, and the idea now was thatthey had been too hard upon the well-meaninglittle man. All—and especially the Squire—wouldhave been pleased to see him in hisusual place at table. But as he did not appear,the only inference that could be drawn was thathe felt too much hurt to make any advances.

They were rising from the table and preparingfor the unpleasant business of the day, whenthere was a sound of carriage-wheels, followedby a loud ring at the hall-bell.

‘That’s Willis,’ said the Squire, moving to thewindow and looking out, after casting a glance{554}of satisfaction at his wife and at his sister-in-law.

His assertion was immediately confirmed bythe entrance of Parker to announce the visitor,who, without ceremony, had closely followed thebutler.

After hurried greetings were over, Willis saidabruptly: ‘I want to get back to town to-night,and I have come down here in consequence ofa telegram from Dawkins, who tells me that youhave all got into a nonsensical squabble owingto his interference with the intention of settingyou right.’

‘I thoroughly agree with you, Willis—it is anonsensical squabble, but who the deuce is toblame for it?’ said the Squire with a good-naturedlaugh.

‘Glad to hear you ask the question,’ rejoinedWillis, who, being a plain and practical person,came to the main point at once. ‘The firstthing you have got to understand is that Dawkinsis not to blame; the next thing you have gotto understand is that I am the party you havegot to blow up. But before you begin with me,you had better take my good-natured brother-in-lawto task, and before you do that, I wantto have a few words with you, John Elliott.’

‘You had better speak out whatever you haveto say here,’ muttered Elliott of Arrowby witha painfully feeble assumption of haughtiness.

‘Would you like that, Sophy?’ said Willis,addressing his sister, Mrs John.

‘I think I understand the whole position, Matt,’she replied. ‘Indeed, I think we all understandit now. The poor Major blundered about hisletters; we all got the wrong ones, and misinterpretedtheir meaning. We need not gointo the details, for, as you know, they wouldbe painful to me as well as to John. Take Joeaway with you, and get him to express to theMajor the regret that we all feel for the annoyancewe have caused him.’

‘Come along,’ said the Squire promptly. ‘We’llpacify him somehow.’ As he was passing hiswife, he whispered to her: ‘I hope you aresatisfied now, Kitty;’ and she gave an approvingnod. ‘But I wish he had been down with usto breakfast.’

The Squire and Matt Willis proceeded to thelibrary; and there a very few additional wordssatisfied the former that the unfortunate friendof the family had been trying to discharge adisagreeable duty which he thought himselfbound to undertake.

The Major was hurt enough by the awkwardposition in which he was placed; but that wasnot the reason why he kept to his chamber. Hewas not thinking of breakfast or the misunderstandingwith his friends. Still, in his dressing-gownhe was pacing the floor in a state of crueldistress. His hair was tossed about wildly and—itwas of a ghastly gray-green colour! Thatwicked burglar had taken away the preciousRussian leather case—no doubt thinking it containedjewelry—and it had not been amongstthe articles found last night. Without it, theMajor could not perform his toilet. This wasthe cruellest blow of all to the poor man. Itwas impossible for him to appear before any onein his present guise; and he even avoided themirrors, lest he should catch sight of his ownhead. Hollis had been despatched to make diligentsearch in every spot where the case mighthave fallen; and his master was waiting in agonyfor the result. A knock at the door.—Ah, therehe is at last! No, it was only Parker tosay that Mr Willis had arrived, and was withthe Squire in the library waiting for MajorDawkins.

‘Make my excuses, please, and say that I cannotgo down yet, but will be with them as soonas possible.’

A quarter of an hour elapsed, and anothermessage came; then another more urgent, anda fourth more urgent still. The Major wishedhe could shave his head; it would be more presentablethen than as it was now. He was bemoaningthe ill-luck or stupidity of Hollis, whenthe Squire himself arrived at the door.

‘What is the matter, Dawkins? We are allwaiting for you. Are you ill?’

‘Yes, yes; I am ill; but I will be with youas soon as I can.’

‘Then open the door and let me shake handswith you.’

‘Not just now, not just now. I’ll come andshake hands with you as much as you like, inhalf an hour or so,’ was the agitated response.

‘Well, as you please; but I want to ask youto forget yesterday. Willis has explained everything,and your letters are correctly understoodnow. My wife is sorry that she did not takein the right meaning of the one which fell intoher hands; Nellie appreciates your desire toforewarn her against any stupid gossip that foolCousin John might spread; Mrs John thinks itwas kind of you to wish to put her husband right,and he has got a lesson which he will not forget ina hurry. But she regards the whole affair as agood joke. You see, all is well; so come awayat once and complete the party.’

‘I am delighted; but please do excuse me,Squire. I can’t come at once,’ groaned theMajor, passing his hand shudderingly throughthe besmirched hair.

‘Very well, then, as soon as you can; youwill find us somewhere about the lawn.’ Andthe Squire, wondering what the Major’s curiousmalady could be, rejoined his friends.

At last Hollis did knock at the door, bringingthe joyful tidings that he had found the case—stickingbetween two branches of the hawthornwhich had wrecked the burglar’s bundle. Hehad been about to abandon the search, when,happening to look up, he saw it where he neverwould have thought of looking for it.

The Major dressed with more than usual care,gave Hollis orders to pack up, as they were toleave that day; and then, holding himself aserect as if on parade, he proceeded in the directionof the lawn with the firm determinationto bid his host and hostess good-bye. But onhis way he encountered Miss Euphemia, whosegold-rimmed pince-nez glittered with pleasure atsight of him. ‘I am so delighted to see you,Major. I—we were all afraid, that you wereseriously ill.’

‘No; not seriously ill, but considerablybothered,’ he responded uncomfortably.

‘Of course you must have been; but thankgoodness it is all over now. The Squire andall the others are most anxious to make amends{555}to you for the vexation you have endured sonobly. He wants you to stay, and has sent meto persuade you not to say no.’

‘Stay!—It is impossible—quite impossible.’

‘Oh, but you really must not bear malice—theymade a mistake, and everybody does so sometimes.’She was smiling coaxingly, and looked a differentbeing from the lady who had surveyed himthrough her glasses so severely yesterday.

‘I respect the family as much as ever; but Icannot remain.’

‘Oh, do—to please me.’

He looked at her and fancied he saw a blush.‘To please you, I would stay for ever,’ he answeredgallantly; ‘but’——

‘Then stay—for ever!’ she interrupted withemphasis.

He opened his eyes. Did he understand her?Could she be serious? Had the time come forhim to speak?

‘Do you mean that it would be a particularpleasure to you if I remained—for your sake?’

‘It would,’ she answered in a low voice.

‘Then I understand,’ he said, taking her hand,‘this is my consolation for all the afflictions ofyesterday?’ She did not say no; and he, drawingher arm within his, continued: ‘I am a happyman, although again a captive.’

The announcement of their engagement addedmuch to the happiness which everybody felt inthe reconciliations effected that morning. Therewas a merry twinkle in the Squire’s eyes. Hewas a cunning fellow when prompted by hiswife, and had guessed what would happen whenhe chose Miss Euphemia as his ambassador tothe Major. The only person who felt in theleast uncomfortable was John Elliott of Arrowby,who was now confessedly the originator of allthe mischief. The only reproach he had toendure from his wife was the expression accompaniedby a pitying smile, ‘Poor John!’

There were festivities on a grand scale atTodhurst when Nellie and Maynard were wedded;but the marriage of Euphemia Panton and MajorDawkins was a very quiet affair—as the ladythought. She had only three bridesmaids andabout twenty other friends to witness theceremony. The Major was content to besupported by an old companion in arms andMatthew Willis.

The happy couple disappeared for six months.On returning to England, their first visit was toTodhurst. For a moment the Squire and hiswife found it difficult to recognise their oldfriends. The Major was now a quiet elderly-lookinggentleman with gray hair and moustache;and Mrs Dawkins was a subdued-looking lady,whose hair suggested that she had certainlyarrived at years of discretion. They had bothcome to accept with resignation the inevitablesigns that time passes and old age draws on;and they were happy. They had not been soin the days when they vainly struggled to hidethe progress of years. The Major could neverforget that morning of agony when the Russianleather case could not be found. Probably hisaccount of it, combined with the fact that itwas no longer possible to hide from each othertheir dabblings in the fine arts, helped his wifeto agree with him that it was best to make noattempt to improve upon nature. The Majorhad given up all his youthful ways, much tohis own comfort; and he was firmly resolvednever again to play the part of the officiousfriend of the family.

THE MONTH:
SCIENCE AND ARTS.

One of the most important applications of photographyis the production of printing-blocks,which, under various names, are in great requestfor book and newspaper illustration. It is notgenerally known that some of the finest illustrationswhich adorn high-class magazines are producedwithout the intervention of the engraver atany stage of the process. They are photographeddirect from drawings, in some cases even fromnature; and from the photograph a printing-blockready for the press is produced automatically.Oil-paintings and water-colour drawings can alsobe thus reproduced with the greatest fidelity. Afew years back, this was impossible, for the photographdid not translate the colours in their truetone-relation to one another. Thus, yellow andred would be reproduced as black, while bluewould photograph white. All this has beenchanged by the introduction of what is knownas the isochromatic process, by which colours arerendered as a skilful artist working in Indian inkor blacklead pencil would render them.

As an outcome of this capacity of the photographicchemicals, the Royal Academy of Artshas made a new departure in the issue of anIllustrated Catalogue of the principal works exhibitedat Burlington House. This is a handsomefolio volume, containing one hundred and fiftyfac-similes of pictures by Royal Academicians andoutsiders. It is not only precious as a workof art, for every touch of the painter’s brush isrecognised and reproduced, but it forms a valuablerecord for future reference. The particularsystem adopted is that known as the Goupilphotogravure process, which is worked by MessrsBoussod Valadon & Company of Paris andLondon. This firm have published in a similarmanner selected pictures from the Paris Salonsof the last two years; and we are glad that ourAcademy authorities have followed such a goodexample.

Four crematory furnaces are in course of erectionat the far-famed Parisian cemetery, PèreLachaise, and will be ready for operation in ashort time. These furnaces, which have theoutward appearance of ornamental ovens, arebuilt on the model of those in use at Rome andMilan. The cost of cremation will be fifteenfrancs only—to rich and poor alike. It is saidthat already sculptors and metal-workers arebusy in designing and producing cinerary urnsfor the preservation of the ashes from these furnaces.These vessels will, at the option of therelatives of the dead, be removed to family vaults,or will be deposited in a building which is to beerected by the city of Paris for their reception.

{556}

The late discussion in the Times as to the permanenceof water-colour drawings has led theLords of the Committee of Council on Educationto appoint a Commission to inquire into the wholesubject, under the efficient chairmanship of SirF. Leighton, the President of the Royal Academy.With him will work several well-known artists.Captain Abney and Dr Russell, who for sometime have been engaged in testing the action oflight upon pigments, will act as scientific advisersto the Commission.

It is reported that the recent revival ofarchæological research in Italy is continuallybeing hampered by the extortionate demandsof proprietors on whose lands excavations aredesirable. It is also alleged that a large tradehas been organised in the manufacture of shamantiquities. Senator Fiorelli, the head of theArchæological Department, seeks to put a stop tothese abuses by the passage of a law which willplace excavations under state supervision and byofficial permission only. It is also suggested thatthe smaller antiquities should only be admittedto be genuine after due examination and theattachment of some form of official stamp orseal.

The London Chamber of Commerce haveunder their consideration the establishment inthe metropolis of Commercial Museums, or, asthey might be termed, permanent exhibitions,such as are found in Holland, Belgium, Germany,France, Switzerland, and other countries.With this view, they have deputed their secretary,Mr Kenrick Murray, to visit the Museums ofthe chief commercial centres on the Continent.They have instructed him to report to them uponthe area of the buildings used for the purpose,their financial organisation and annual expenditure,the number of visitors they receive, andtheir presumed effect upon the trades of thecountry in which they are situated. Mr Murraywill bear Foreign Office introductions to theQueen’s representatives in the different countrieswhich he will visit, and will, therefore, haveevery facility for carrying out a most importantcommission.

The most fearful outbreak of volcanic forcewhich the world has experienced since theeruption of Krakatoa in the Straits of Sunda,has recently laid waste many miles of the fairestpart of New Zealand. It is not yet known howmany human lives have been sacrificed in thisterrible visitation, but it is certain that severalMaori settlements have been completely destroyed,and that the country for many miles round thecentre of disturbance has been literally devastated.The outbreak commenced at midnight on the 9thof last June with a succession of fearful earthquakeshocks. Then, for the first time withinliving memory, Mount Tarawera suddenly becamean active volcano, and belched forth torrents ofstones and boiling mud mingled with fire andsmoke. The once fertile district is covered witha layer of mud and ashes, so that those who havesurvived the terrible ordeal have starvation andruin before them. One minor effect of thedisaster will be regretted all the world over bythose who have visited or have read of thewondrous scenery of New Zealand. The far-famedpink and white terraces have ceased toexist. These terraces were unique, and had theybeen known in ancient times, must have beencounted with the wonders of the world. Boilingwater heavily charged with silica issued from theground, and as it tumbled over the hillside andgradually cooled in its descent, it deposited itssilica as a glittering crystallisation. Mr Froude,one of the last visitors who has written uponthe subject, says: ‘Stretched before us we sawthe white terrace in all its strangeness: a crystalstaircase, glittering and stainless as if it wereice, spreading out like an open fan from a pointabove us on the hillside, and projecting at thebottom into a lake, where it was perhaps twohundred yards wide.’

This hot-lake district was becoming a greatsanatorium, and tourists flocked to it from allcountries, for the warm water was credited withwonderful healing powers. From this circ*mstancealone, it was believed that the district hada great future before it. The Maoris thoughtnot a little of the natural wonders of whichthey were the stewards, and took care to levyblackmail on all their visitors. All this is nowat an end, for the wonders have gone, untilpossibly new ones are gradually developed intheir stead.

Much has been written on the subject ofmysterious noises, which in most cases, if intelligentlyinquired into, would be found to haveno mystery at all about them. A Professor atPhiladelphia recently recorded that at a certainhour each day one of the windows in his houserattled in the most violent manner. On consultingthe local railway time-table, he could findno train running at the hour specified. But onexamining another table, which included aseparate line, he found that a heavy train passedat the time at a distance of several miles fromhis house. He then referred to the geologicalformation of the ground between the two points,and at once saw that there was an outcroppingledge of rock which formed a link of connectionbetween the distant railway line and his home.It was the vibration carried by this rock fromthe passing train that rattled the window.

Dr Marter of Rome has discovered in manyof the skulls in the different Roman and Etruscantombs, as well as in those deposited in thevarious museums, interesting specimens of ancientdentistry and artificial teeth. These latter arein most cases carved out of the teeth of some largeanimal. In many instances, these teeth are fastenedto the natural ones by bands of gold. Nocases of stopped teeth have been discovered,although many cases of decay present themselveswhere stopping would have been advantageous.The skulls examined date as far back as the sixthcentury B.C., and prove that the art of dentistryand the pains of toothache are by no meansmodern institutions.

The city of Hernosand, in Sweden, can boastof being the first place in Europe where thestreets are lighted entirely by electricity to theexclusion of gas. It has the advantage of plentyof natural water-power for driving the electricengines, so that the new lights can actually beproduced at a cheaper rate than the old ones.

Although many investors have burnt theirfingers—metaphorically, we mean—over the electric-lighting{557}question in this country, it seemsto be becoming a profitable form of investmentin America. A circular addressed by the editorof one of the American papers to the generalmanagers of the lighting Companies has elicitedthe information that many of them are earninggood dividends—in one case as much as eighteenper cent. for the year. As we have before hadoccasion to remind our readers, the price of gasin this country averages about half what it doesin New York, and this fact alone would accountfor the more flourishing state of transatlanticelectric lighting Companies.

At a half-demolished Jesuit College at Vienna,a dog lately fell through a fissure in the pavement.The efforts to rescue the poor animalled to a curious archæological discovery. Thedog had, it was found, fallen into a large vaultcontaining ninety coffins. The existence of thisunderground burial-place had hitherto been quiteunsuspected. The inscriptions on the coffinsdate back to the reign of Maria Theresa, andthe bodies are of the monks of that period, andof the nobles who helped to support the monastery.

In an interesting lecture lately delivered beforethe Royal Institution on ‘Photography as an Aidto Astronomy,’ Mr A. A. Common, who is theprincipal British labourer in this comparativelynew field of research, described his methods ofworking, and held out sanguine hopes of futurethings possible by astronomical photography.Speaking of modern dry-plate photography, hesaid: ‘At a bound, it has gone far beyond anythingthat was expected of it, and bids fair tooverturn a good deal of the practice that hash*therto existed among astronomers. I hope soonto see it recognised as the most potent agent ofresearch and record that has ever been withinthe reach of the astronomer; so that the recordswhich the future astronomer will use will notbe the written impression of dead men’s views,but veritable images of the different objects ofthe heavens recorded by themselves as theyexisted.’

Two remarkable and wonderful cases of recoveryfrom bullet-wounds have lately taken placein the metropolis. In one case, that of a girl whowas shot by her lover, the bullet is deeply imbeddedin the head, too deep to admit of anyoperation; yet the patient has been dischargedfrom the hospital convalescent. The other casewas one of attempted suicide, the sufferer havingshot himself in the head with a revolver. In thiscase, too, the bullet is still in the brain, and insuch a position as to prevent the operation ofextraction. In spite of this, the patient has beendischarged from hospital care, and it is said thathe suffers no inconvenience from the consequencesof his rash act. A curious coincidence in connectionwith these cases is that both shots were firedon the same day, the 19th of June, and that bothcases were treated at the London Hospital. ‘Thetimes have been,’ says Shakspeare, ‘that, whenthe brains were out, the man would die.’ Thepoet puts these words into the mouth of Macbeth,when that wicked king sees the ghost of the murderedBanquo rise before him. In the cases justcited, we have a reality which no poet couldequal in romance. People walking about in theflesh with bullets in their brains are certainlyfar more wonderful things than spectres. Thesemarvellous recoveries from what, a few years ago,would have meant certain death, must be creditedto surgical skill and the modern antiseptic methodof treating wounds.

Magistrates are continually deploring the useof the revolver among the civil community, andhardly a week passes but some terrible accidentor crime is credited to the employment of thatweapon. That it is a most valuable arm whenused in legitimate warfare, the paper lately readbefore the Royal United Service Institution byMajor Kitchener amply proved. According tothis paper, every nation but our own seems toconsider that the revolver is the most importantweapon that cavalry can be armed with. InRussia, for instance, all officers, sergeant-majors,drummers, buglers, and even clerks, carry revolvers.In Germany, again, there is a regularannual course of instruction in the use of theweapon. In our army, however, the revolverseems to be in a great measure ignored, exceptingby officers on active foreign service.

A new method of detecting the source of anoffensive odour in a room is given by TheSanitarian newspaper. In the room in question,the smell had become so unbearable that thecarpet was taken up, and a carpenter was aboutto rip up the flooring to discover, if possible, thecause. By a happy inspiration, the services ofsome sanitary inspectors in the shape of a coupleof bluebottle flies were first called into requisition.The flies buzzed about in their usualaggravating manner for some minutes, buteventually they settled upon the crack betweentwo boards in the floor. The boards were thereupontaken up, and just underneath them wasfound the decomposing body of a rat.

The extent to which the trade in frozen meatfrom distant countries has grown since theintroduction, only a few years back, of the systemof freezing by the compression and subsequentexpansion of air, is indicated by the constantarrival in this country of vast shiploads of carcasesfrom the antipodes. The largest cargo of dead-meatever received lately arrived in the Thamesfrom the Falkland Islands on board the steamshipSelembria. This consisted of thirty thousandfrozen carcases of sheep. This ship possesses fourengines for preserving and freezing the meat, andthe holds are lined with a non-conducting packingof timber and charcoal.

A new system of coating iron or steel with acovering of lead, somewhat similar in practice tothe so-called galvanising process with zinc, hasbeen introduced by Messrs Justice & Co. ofChancery Lane, London, the agents for the AjaxMetal Company of Philadelphia. Briefly described,the process consists in charging moltenlead with a flux composed of sal ammoniac,arsenic, phosphorus, and borax; after which,properly cleansed iron or steel plates will whendipped therein receive a coating of the lead. Themetal so protected will be valuable for roofs, inplace of sheet-lead or zinc, for gutters, and fornumberless purposes where far less durablematerials are at present used with very falseeconomy.

It would seem, from the results of some experimentslately conducted on the Dutch state railroadsin order to discover the best method of{558}protecting iron from the action of the atmosphere,that red-lead paints are far more durable thanthose which owe their body to iron oxide. Thetest-plates showed also that the paint adhered tothe metal with far greater tenacity if the usualscraping and brushing were replaced by pickling—thatis, treatment with acid. The best resultswere obtained when the metal plate was firstpickled in spirits of salts (hydrochloric acid) andwater, then washed, and finally rubbed with oilbefore applying the paint.

The latest advance in electric lighting is representedby the introduction of Mr Upward’sprimary battery, the novelty in which consists inits being excited by a gas instead of a liquid.The gas employed is chlorine, and the batterycells have to be hermetically sealed, for chlorineis, as every dabbler in chemical experimentsknows, a most suffocating and corrosive gas. Inpractice, this primary battery is connected withan accumulator or secondary battery, so that theelectricity generated by it is stored for subsequentuse. The invention represents a convenientmeans of producing the electric light on a smallscale for domestic use, where gas-engines anddynamo-machines are not considered desirableadditions to the household arrangements. Thebattery is made by Messrs Woodhouse and Rawson,West Kensington.

Mr Fryer’s Refuse Destructor has now beenadopted in several of our large towns. Newcastleis the latest which has taken up the system, andin that town thirty tons of refuse are consumedin the furnaces daily. The residue consists ofbetween seven and eight tons of burnt clinker anddry ashes, which are used for concrete and asa bedding for pavement. There is no actualprofit attached to the system, but it affords a convenientmethod of dealing with some of thatunmanageable material which is a necessary productof large communities, and which mightotherwise form an accumulation most dangerousto health.

After three years of constant work, the signalstation on Ailsa Craig, in the Firth of Clyde, isannounced, by the Northern Light Commissioners,to be ready for action. In foggy or snowyweather, the fog-horns which have been placedthere will utter their warning blasts to mariners,and will doubtless lead to the prevention ofmany a shipwreck. The trumpets are of such apowerful description, that in calm weather theywill be audible at a distance of nearly twentymiles from the station; and as the blasts are ofa distinctive character, the captain of a ship willbe easily able to recognise them, and from themto learn his whereabouts.

Mr Sinclair, the British consul at Foochow,reports that the manufacture of brick tea ofvarieties of tea-dust by Russian merchants, forexport to Siberia, is acquiring considerableimportance at Foochow. The cheapness of thetea-dust, the cheapness of manufacture, the lowexport duties upon it, together with the lowimport duties in Russia, help to make this tradesuccessful and profitable. The brick is said to bebeautifully made, and very portable. Mr Sinclairwonders that the British government does notget its supplies from the port of Foochow, as theywould find it less expensive and more wholesomethan what is now given the army and the navy.He suggests that a government agent should beemployed on the spot to manufacture the bricktea in the same way as adopted by the Russiansthere and at Hankow.

CYCLING AS A HEALTH-PRODUCT.

The advantages of a fine physical form are under-estimatedby a large class of people, who havea half-defined impression that any considerableaddition to the muscles and general physiquemust be at the expense of the mental qualities.This mistaken impression is so prevalent, thatmany professional literary people avoid anyvigorous exercise for fear that it will be a drainupon their whole system, and thus upon theircapacity for brain-work. The truth is that suchcomplete physical inertness has the effect ofclogging the action of the blood, of retainingthe impurities of the system, and of eventuallybringing about a host of small nervous disordersthat induce in turn mental anxiety—the worstpossible drain upon the nervous organisation.When one of these people, after a year of sick-headacheand dyspepsia, comes to realise thathealthy nerves cannot exist without generalphysical health and activity, he joins a gymnasium,strains his long-unused muscles on barsand ropes, or by lifting heavy weights. Theresult usually is that the muscles, so long unaccustomedto use, cannot withstand the suddenstrain imposed upon them, and the would-beathlete retires with some severe or perhaps fatalinjury.

But occasionally he finds some especial gymnasticexercise suited to him, and weathers thefirst ordeal. He persists bravely, and is astonishedto find that his digestion improves, hisweight increases, and his mind becomes clearand brighter. He exercises systematically, andcultivates a few special muscles, perhaps those ofthe shoulder, to the hindrance of the complexmuscles of the neck and throat; or perhaps thoseof the back and groin, as in rowing, to thedetriment of chest, muscle, and development;and although his condition is greatly improved,he is apt to become wearied from a lack ofphysical exhilaration, or a lack of that sweeteningof mental enjoyment which gives cycling sucha lasting charm. If a man has no heart in hisexercise, he will not persist in it long enough toget its finest benefits.

In the gentle swinging motion above the wheel,there is nothing to disturb the muscular ornervous system once accustomed to it; indeed,it is the experience of most cyclists that themotion is at first tranquillising to the nerves,and eventually becomes a refreshing stimulus.The man who goes through ten hours’ dailymental fret and worry, will in an hour ofpleasant road-riding, in the fresh sweet-scentedcountry, throw off all its ill effects, and preparehimself for the effectual accomplishment of anotherday’s brain-work. The steady and active employmentof all the muscles, until they are wellheated and healthily tired, clears the blood fromthe brain, sharpens the appetite, and insures anight’s refreshing sleep.

In propelling the wheel, all the flexor andextensor muscles of the legs are in active motion;while in balancing, the smaller muscles of the{559}legs and feet and the prominent ones of the groinand thighs are brought into play. The wristand arms are employed in steering; while thewhole of the back, neck, and throat muscles areused in pulling up on the handles in a spurt.Thus the exertion is distributed more thoroughlyover the whole body than in any other exercise.A tired feeling in any one part of the body isgenerally occasioned by a weakness caused byformer disuse of the muscles located there, andthis disappears as the rider becomes habituatedto the new motions of the wheel. With anexperienced cyclist, the sensation of fatigue doesnot develop itself prominently in any one part ofthe body, but is so evenly adjusted as to be hardlynoticeable.

The wretched habit of cyclists riding withthe body inclined forward has produced anhabitual bent attitude with several riders, andgives rise to a prejudice against the sport asproducing a ‘bicycle back.’ Nearly all oarsmenhave this form of back; it has not proved detrimental,but it is ungainly, and the methodsby which it is acquired on a bicycle are entirelyunnecessary. Erect riding is more graceful, itdevelops the chest, and adds an exercise to themuscles of the throat and chest that rowing doesnot.

The exposure to out-of-door air, the constantemployment of the mind by the delight ofchanging scenery or agreeable companionship,add their contribution, and make cycling, tothose who have tried practically every othersport, the most enjoyable, healthful, useful exerciseever known. Most cyclers become sound,well-made, evenly balanced, healthy men, andbid fair to leave to their descendants some suchheritage of health and vigour as descended fromthe hardy old Fathers to the men who havemade this country what it is.

OCCASIONAL NOTES.

FLAX-CULTURE.

The depressed condition of agriculture, consequenton the low prices obtainable for all kindsof produce, has led the British farmer to turnhis attention to the growth of crops hithertoneglected or unthought of. This is exemplifiedby the interest now taken in the cultivation oftobacco and the inquiries being made regardingit, with a view to its wholesale production inEngland. It is doubtful, however, if in this casethe British farmer will be able to competesuccessfully with his American rival, the latterbeing favoured by nature with soil and climatespecially suited for the growth of the ‘weed.’

There are other plants, however, which claimour attention, and amongst these the flax plant.This is perfectly hardy and easily cultivated,and is free from the bugbear of American competition.It is grown largely in Ireland, especiallyin the north, and at the present time isthe best paying crop grown in the island. Thefollowing figures show the quantity of fibreproduced during the year 1885: Ireland, 20,909tons; Great Britain, 444 tons. As far as theBritish Islands are concerned, Ireland has practicallya monopoly in the production of thisvaluable article of commerce. It was formerlygrown to a large extent in Yorkshire and insome parts of Scotland; but of late years, wasgiven up in favour of other crops. It can nowbe produced to show much better results thanformerly, flax not having fallen in price so muchin proportion as other farm produce. Comparedwith the requirements of the linen manufacturers,the quantity grown in the British Isles is verysmall, and had to be supplemented by the importfrom foreign countries, during 1885, of overeighty-three thousand tons, value for three millionand a half sterling. Two-thirds of this quantityis imported from Russia, the remainder principallyfrom Holland and Belgium.

The manufacturer will give the preference tohome-grown fibre provided that it is equal inall respects to the foreign. We can scarcelyhope to compete successfully with Holland andBelgium, as flax-culture has been brought togreat perfection there; but we can produce afibre much superior to Russian, and if we canproduce it cheap enough, can beat Russia outof the market. The average price of Irish flaxin 1885 was about fifty-two pounds per ton;the yield per acre, where properly treated, wouldbe from five to six hundredweight on an average.In many cases the yield rose far above thesefigures, reaching ten to twelve hundredweight,and in one instance which came under the writer’spersonal observation, to eighteen hundredweight.A new scutching-machine—a French patent—isnow being tested in Belfast, and it is stated thatby its use the yield of fibre is increased bythirty per cent. Should this apparatus comeinto general use, it will add greatly to the valueof the flax plant as a crop. In continentalcountries, the seed is saved, and its value contributeslargely to the profit of flax-culture there.Any difficulty that might exist in this countrywith regard to the preparation of the fibre formarket might be met by farmers in a districtbanding together to provide the requisitemachines, which can now be had cheaper andbetter than before.

If flax-culture is profitable in Ireland, it canbe made so in Britain; and if only half of theeighty-three thousand tons annually importedcould be grown at home, a large sum would bekept in the country which now goes to enrichthe foreigner.

THE RIGHTS OF DESERTED WIVES.

A legal correspondent writes to us on thissubject as follows:

‘It has long been felt to be a defect in theEnglish law that if a man deserted his wifewithout any cause or otherwise, she had no directremedy against him in respect of the expenseof her maintenance and the bringing up of thechildren (if any) of the marriage. In case thewife so deserted could carry on any business, orin any other way acquire the means of livelihood,she could obtain a protection order so early as theyear 1858, long before the passing of the firstMarried Women’s Property Act. But if she werenot so fortunately situated, and had no near relativesto whom she could look for assistance, shemust go into the workhouse, and leave the poor-lawofficers to look after her husband. This hasoften been productive of great hardship, for it{560}is no light thing for a woman delicately nurturedto become an inmate of the refuge for the destitute.But by an Act passed in the recent session,this defect has been remedied to a considerableextent in an easy and practical way. Thus, if aninnocent woman has been deserted by her husband,she may have him summoned before anytwo justices of the peace in petty sessions orany stipendiary magistrate; and thereupon, if thejustices or magistrate should be satisfied thatthe husband, being able wholly or in part tomaintain his wife, or his wife and family, asthe case may be, has wilfully refused or neglectedso to do, and that he has deserted his wife,they or he may order that the husband payto his wife such weekly sum not exceedingtwo pounds as may be considered to be in accordancewith his means, taking also into accountany means which the wife may have for thesupport of herself and family, if any. Poweris given for the alteration of the order wheneverit should appear to be necessary or just, in caseof any alteration in the circ*mstances of the husbandor of the wife. And any such order maybe discharged on the application of the husband,if it should appear just to do so. Writers in someof the legal journals have expressed the opinionthat this change in the law goes too far; but thepresent writer has long advocated such a change,and it appears to be altogether an improvementupon the previous state of the law in thisrespect.’

THE GREAT SPHINX.

An interesting work has been going on, underthe direction of M. Maspéro, at the great Sphinxof Gizeh, which has been buried, all but thehead, for centuries. M. Maspéro, while wewrite, had got down as far as the paws, on theright of which are a number of Greek inscriptions.The paws appear to be cut out of thesolid stone, and afterwards built round withmasonry, the surface of which is painted redwith yellow additions. Bryant is of opinionthat the Sphinx was originally a vast rock ofdifferent strata, which, from a shapeless mass,the Egyptians fashioned into an object ofbeauty and veneration. Although the excavatorshave now reached a lower level than Cargliaand others, yet much remains to be donebefore the whole of this wondrous specimen ofancient art is entirely uncovered; for, if we areto believe Pliny’s statements, the head of theSphinx was one hundred and two feet in circumference,and sixty-two feet high from the belly;whilst the body was one hundred and forty-threefeet long, and was, moreover, supposed to bethe sepulchre of King Amasis, who died 525 B.C.But, according to Herodotus, the body of thismonarch was buried in the Temple of Sais; andon the defeat and death of his son by thePersians, it was taken from its tomb, brutallymangled, and then publicly burnt, to the horrorof the Egyptian people. If the Sphinx is reallyfound to be a solid rock, Pliny’s story of itshaving been a tomb falls to the ground.M. Maspéro has been working in layers of hardsand which has lain undisturbed for probablyeighteen hundred years. This is found to be soclose and hard, that it is more like solid stonethan sand, and requires a great amount of labourto cut through. The work is, however, progressingwith energy and determination, and itis to be hoped that it will not be suffered tostop abruptly for want of funds.

NOVEL USE OF ELECTRICITY.

Electric power has been applied in a verynovel manner of late on the estate of theMarquis of Salisbury at Hatfield, where it hasbeen in operation for some time past in variousways and works; but the last is perhaps themost peculiar of all. On one of the farms,ensilage has been stored in large quantities, afarm-building being turned into a silo for thispurpose; and it being decided that the greenfood shall be ‘chaffed’ before placing it in thesilo, a chaff-cutter has been erected about twentyfeet above the ground. This machine is notonly driven by electric power, but the samemotor is employed to elevate the grass to thelevel of the chaff-cutter. This is done soeffectually that about four tons of rough grassare raised and cut per hour. A sixteen-light‘Brush’ machine is the generator, driven by ahuge water-wheel, and both are on the banksof the river Lea, a mile and a half distant. Thepower is transmitted to one of Siemens’ type, speciallyconstructed to work as a motor with the‘Brush’ machine. Nor is this all, for thesame electric power is ingeniously applied towork the ‘lifts’ in use at the many haystackson the estate.

PICCIOLA.

[Count de Charney, when in prison, was led into a philosophicaltrain of reflections by the sight of a flower which grewup between the flagstones of the prison court.]

The Conductor of Chambers’s Journal begs to directthe attention of Contributors to the following notice:

If the above rules are complied with, the Editor willdo his best to insure the safe return of ineligible papers.

Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 PaternosterRow, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.

All Rights Reserved.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73395 ***