THE
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J^n JllusiTaiod Jffontlxti^
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♦ EDITED BY
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. GEORGE NEWNES
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^^' Vol. IX.
JANUARY TO JUNE
■V,
Xont)on :
GEORGE NEWNES, LTD., 8, 9, 10, & 11, SOUTHAMPTON STREET,
AND EXETER STREET, STRAND
■T-= *
.*^ ' ■' 1895
^ *\ -'
THE ASTROLOGER.
{See page 244.)
The Treasure of the Ram-Bagk.
By Herbert Russell.
HE struggle was over ; the last
spark of rebellion crushed out,
and the ancient city of Delhi,
the glory of the Mogul race,
was again in the hands of the
English. What a time it had
been, that summer of '57 ! Never was
warfare waged with such bitter fierceness as
between the I'eringhees and the revolted
Foorbeahs. On the one side was desperation,
and on the other fanaticism : the atmo-
sphere of the Punjab was dark with powder-
smoke, and it seemed to us in those sultry
regions as though even Nature herself paused
and stood aside, so to speak, to watch the
terrific combat between the Black and the
White. But now it was all over; the last
cannon had boomed forth its stern voice of
terrible reprisal, scattering from its mouth the
limbs of some murderous sepoy ; the feverish
rapacity of the looter had been appeased,
and the British soldier, worn out, footsore,
harassed to a mere shadow, and reduced to
rags, sat down to rest and to thank God for
a victory, however hard earned, that still left
his glorious flag waving over the minarets of
the great Oriental capitals.
I had been an officer in one of the native
infantry regiments, quartered in the canton-
ments of Mooltan, a regiment bearing a
glorious record for deeds of valour performed
in earlier wars. But the spirit of disaffection
was only too strongly manifest in the ranks
at the beginning of the Mutiny ; and one
morning on parade, in the presence of a
battalion of Europeans and a battery of
artillery, ready with lighted portfires to sweep
the barrack square with a hailstorm of grape,
the commanding officer ordered the sepoys
to "pile arms," and, almost before the men
realized it, they were rendered powerless by
having their weapons taken from them. Yet
I will vow that none in all that regiment
felt the disgrace of this disarming more
than their own officers ; and it is an open
secret that in the cart which collected
the muskets to carry them to the magazine
were found the swords and belts of several
captains and lieutenants. But when a week
later the sepoys suddenly uprose eti masse,
broke out of their lines, forced the bells of
arms, shot down the quarter-guard, and
hurried away towards Delhi, we were all
obliged to admit that the General's measure
had been only too wise a one.
Vol. ix.-32.
The war over, my former regiment no
longer existing, and having realized quite a
modest little fortune as my share of the
fruits of the great Delhi prize auctions, in
which were sold all the plundered wealth of
the Mogul palace, I determined to give up
the service and return to England. I there-
fore sold my commission, but the season of
the rains approaching, I resolved to remain
in Delhi till they should be over. My syce,
or native servant, who had faithfully served
me throughout the campaign, I retained to
act as a valet. His name was Meer Alee,
and he was a splendid example of the hill
tribemen, standing about 6ft. 3in., with
large, flashing eyes, a high, aquiline nose, and
a heavy, curling moustache. Withal, he was
as intelligent as he was handsome.
I was seated one day in the veranda of my
bungalow, puffing at a "Trichy," and thought-
fully surveying a slowly-healing sabre cut
upon my left wrist dealt me by a strapping
sozvar, when Meer Alee entered the room,
and, pausing in the doorway, made me a
profound salaam.
" Well," said I ; " what is it ? "
" May I speak with the Sahib ? "
" Say on."
He stepped close to my chair, and extend-
ing a small object, said, "Will the Sahib
look at this ? " I took the thing in my hand.
It was a little image of dusky yellow metal,
and very heavy. I recognised it as a statue
of Gautama, the incarnation of Buddha, and
from its weight at once perceived that it was
made of gold.
"Where did you get this, Meer Alee?" I
asked.
"Is it of any value, Sahib ? "
" I cannot tell you what it may be worth,
but it is undoubtedly pure gold."
He rolled up his fine eyes till nothing but
the whites of them gleamed forth between
the dusky lids. Then he said, " I found it
in the Ram-Bagh."
These two words, literally translated, mean
sacred garden. The • Ram-Bagh which my
servant spoke of was a little, wild tract of
land surrounding a ruined mosque not far
distant from the outside of the city walls.
It was a place where no living creature ever
went, save maybe some wretched fakir seek-
ing shelter in the crumbling temple. Doubt-
less the long grass harboured many snakes,
and no man in his senses would purposely
-;*5^
244
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
venture into what was pretty sure to prove a
hotbed of deadly reptiles.
" What were you doing in the Ram-Bagh ? "
I asked.
" I will tell the Sahib everything," answered
the syce, squatting in Eastern fashion at my
feet, with the little image in his lap. "Three
days ago came hither an astrologer, begging
for alms. The wise man makes friends with
these people, so I brought him in and gave
him of food and drink, together with a few
pice. Then said he unto me, "" Bhai-bund,
you are the first who this day has given me
charity. May Silva bless your caste. For I
am grown old and poor, and people no longer
have faith in my reading of the planets, and,
whereas I cannot live much longer, I will tell
thee a secret in return for thy goodness which
is written in no book, and known only to Him
that can divine the unseen.' Well, Sahib, I
listened with attention, for these astrologers
often speak words that are worth hearing.
' Know ye the Ram-Bagh ? ' said he to me.
• ' Despise not what I tell you, but take a
.^^ spade, and dig deep, and you shall find
\ ■ there treasure untold. For I am grown old,
J and it is no use to me.' So when he
t* was departed I thought upon what he had
said, and knowing that he could read secrets
which it is given but to very few to know, I
resolved to follow his words. So I went
forth into the Ram-Bagh with a spade, and
dug down into the earth, but discovered
nothing. I was not disheartened by my
failure, and on the following day tried again,
still without success. Said I, 'Perhaps I have
not yet gone deep enough.' So this morning
I once more went into the Ram-Bagh, and
dug again in the same place, and found
this," said he, holding up the little golden
image.
"Meer Alee," said I, "why have you told
me of this thing ? You might have kept it
to yourself, and have grown rich."
" How," answered the faithful fellow,
" should I hide it from the Sahib whose salt
I eat ? No, no. Even as the astrologer
gave the secret unto me, because he was
grown old and did not want longer to keep
it, so do I now give it to you."
" Will you leave this with me ? " I asked,
taking the image from him.
" It is yours," answered he.
" No. At least, if I keep it, I will pay you
for it. Although I have little doubt of its
being gold, still, to make quite sure, I will
take an early opportunity to have it tested.
Meanwhile, not a word on the matter to any-
body, Meer Alee. Your astrologer has given
you a secret that should make us both rich
men, but we must keep it to ourselves."
" Trust me. Sahib," said he, rising and
salaaming ; and then, with the gliding stealth
of an Oriental, he left the room.
I lay back in my chair, reflecting deeply
upon the surprising story my syce had just
told me. Perhaps the one feature in the
whole business which astonished me most
was the amazing sense of fidelity the trusty
fellow had displayed in coming straight to me
with news of his discovery, when he might so
easily have kept it to himself. That beneath
the wild, overgrown surface of the Ram-Bagh
should lie buried treasure, I considered in
the highest degree probable.
It is well known to most people acquainted
with India that the soil in the neighbourhood
of the great cities teems with hidden valu-
ables. Down to within quite recent times,
when a native acquired wealth, instead- of
putting his money into a bank or investing
it, he dug a hole in the earth and secreted
it. Seeing that this system has been carried
on from the very earliest ages of the
ancient empire, it must be readily apparent
that large tracts of ground are cemeteries
of untold riches. Delhi in particular, that
glittering city of gorgeous domes and white
spires, for generations the seat of the Mogul
dynasty, has traditions of buried treasure
beyond all computation. The Ram-Bagh
stood among the ruins of Ferozabad, the
ancient city of Delhi, and was just the spot
to prove a vast earthy coffer. The land was
all Crown property, but the Commissioner or
Government Agent chanced to be a personal
friend of mine, and I had small doubt of
being able to obtain permission to dig for
treasure by applying to him.
I went that same afternoon to a well-
known money-changer and goldsmith in the
Chandree Chouk, and, placing the image in
his hands, requested him to test it. He
took it, stroked it over, weighed it, and said,
" No need to test it. The thing is pure
gold."
" You are positive of that ? " said I.
" I will give you thirty rupees an ounce for
it, if you please."
This was convincing enough. I told him
that I did not wish to part with the little
statue, but merely wanted to satisfy myself as
to its true value. He repeated, "Well, the
thing is pure gold," and I left his bazaar. I
went next to see my friend the Commissioner,
and found him seated in his office sucking
iced brandy-pawnee through a straw.
" Ha ! " cried he, on catching sight of me.
THE TREASURE OF THE RAM-BAGH
245
" THE THING IS PURE GOLD."
" How are you, old fellow ? Come in and
sit down."
" I have come to ask a favour," said I,
dropping into an inviting canvas chair, v/hich
at once folded up under me and landed me
on the floor.
" To ask a favour, eh ? " he exclaimed,
laughing at my mishap. " Most of my friends
visit me for that purpose. I begin rather to
suspect that my apparent popularity in the
station is due to my capacity of obliging.
Well, when you have extricated yourself from
that chair, perhaps you will tell me what I
can do for you."
" Oh, it is a very simple affair," said I,
getting upon my feet again. " I merely want
your permission to go digging " — he stared at
me — " on the Ram-Bagh," I added.
" What the deuce can you want to go dig-
ging in that weedy, snake-haunted place for ? "
said he, screwing a gold-rimmed glass into his
eye, to view me more attentively. " Going
to seek for treasure, eh ? "
" Why," I answered, a little taken aback,
and wondering whether, after all, the astrolo
ger's secret might not be
known to him, "to tell you
the truth, you have exactly
hit it."
He burst into a laugh.
" I wouldn't give you the
value of a paper dollar for
all you're likely to find."
I drew a deep breath of
relief.
"Will you consent to my
making the experiment ? "
said I.
" My dear fellow, dig over
the whole place, if you like.
You will be doing a great
service by clearing it of weeds.
Take care a cobra doesn't
abruptly terminate your little
venture, that's all. But what
has put the notion of seek-
ing for treasure in the Ram-
Bagh into your head ? "
" Well," I answered, feign-
ing reluctance to admit a
little superstitious weakness,
" an astrologer called at my
bungalow a few days ago
begging for alms, and out of
gratitude for the charity be-
stowed upon him, he said
that if I should dig in the
Ram - Bagh, Heaven would
reward my goodness."
" And you are credulous enough to believe
him ! Well, I confess I am astonished that
a man who has lived in India as long as you
have should listen to the words of the first
native impostor that chances to stop at your
door. Don't you know these budtnash astrolo-
gers are the greatest set of rogues ? My advice
to you would be not to waste your time and
money in digging up that forsaken spot.
But if you wish to try, why, then, by all
means go ahead, and good luck attend
you."
"I think," said I, "although there is great
truth in what you have said, that with your
good leave I will make the attempt. Trea-
sure-hunting is at least as good an occupation
as sucking brandy-pawnee through a straw,
and far less injurious to the liver." His eyes
twinkled. I continued : " It will be a matter
of no very great cost to set a few coolies to
work to clear away the land. At all events, I
have your consent ? "
" Oh, certainly," he answered. " Dig up
the whole of Ferozabad, if you please."
"Suppose," said I — "just for the sake of
'246
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
argument, you know — that I do find any-
thing, shall I be allowed to keep it? "
" My poor, deluded friend," he cried,
laughing, " you won't find anything. If
your astrologer knew of the existence of
treasure in the Ram-Bagh, do you think he
would have let you into the secret ? But if
you do happen to discover an old coin or
two, or a bit of antique pottery, why, don't
tell anybody about it."
" One thing more to crown the obligations
I am under to you," said I. " Lest I should
be interfered with during my explorations,
will you give me a written permit to dig up
the Ram-Bagh ? "
He took a sheet of officially headed paper,
scrawled a few lines upon it to the effect that
I was at liberty to seek for treasure upon the
spot named, and handed it to me. I thanked
him, and quitted his officCj quite sensible
that I had sunk in his opinion as a weak-
minded man whose head was to be turned
by any native mendicant that should tell him
a tale of buried gold. But, then, my worthy
friend did not know of the little image that
was in the brown-paper parcel which I held
in my hand while I talked to him.
My first act on returning to
my bungalow was to summon
my syce, and go with him to
■take a view of the Ram-Bagh.
The spot lay about ten minutes'
walk outside the walls of the
city in the direction of the
Ajmere Gate, and about a
quarter of a mile to the right
of the ruins of Ferozabad. It
was out of the way of any of
the great roads leading into
Delhi, and was probably never
visited except, as I have said,
by some miserable fakir or
goojur seeking refuge in the
dilapidated mosque that stood
in the centre of the grounds.
The place was altogether
somewhere about three acres
in extent, and inclosed by a
crumbling wall.
The dreariness and desola-
tion of the spot were unspeak-
able. There was nothing in
the hum and life of the great
city near at hand to neutralize
the profound sense of loneli-
ness that came to one on
entering the wild and over-
grown sacred garden. Bald-
headed vultures wrangled in
harsh screams for scraps of carrion among
the long grass, and clouds of flies, humming
as they rose like locusts, hovered over the
body of a dead jackal or the corpse of a
famished dog. My servant told me that
here, so tradition said, was to be seen the
unearthly shape of the ghoul sporting in
the moonbeams, though, for his own part,
he had little doubt that the apparition
which had presented itself to affrighted
native eyes, in the form of some strange
goblin, was nothing more than a wretched
pariah looking for a place to lay his head.
We climbed over the wall, treading most
gingerly for fear of snakes, and Meer Alee
led me to the spot where he had unearthed
the little image. It was in a corner of the
garden, where the undergrowth was less thick
than in most places. He had only dug a
hole of about 4ft. deep, and about a yard in
diameter ; I saw exactly where he had found
the Httle statue, for the impression of its
grotesque form lay plain in the clayish soil.
Having taken a brief survey of the bagh, I re-
turned with my syce, deliberating plans for
beginning operations next day. When we
arrived at my bungalow, I said to Meer Alee : —
^A
" MEER ALEE LED ME TO THE SPOT."
THE TREASURE OF THE RAM-BAGH
247
" Now, listen to what I am going to say to
you. First of all, I have had your image tested,
and it is of pure gold. Here it is. Next,
I went to the Commissioner and obtained
from him a written permission to dig in the
Ram-Bagh for treasure. His advice to me
was to keep all I found and say nothing
about it ; therefore, we shall know how to
act in this respect. Now, Meer Alee, as you
have behaved so handsomely towards me, I
wish to treat you equally well. Therefore, I
make you this proposal : We will go into
partnership over the undertaking ; I will find
all the money requisite to hire labour to clear
away the wild growth of the place and dig
up the ground, and we will share equally of
the profits of whatever we may find. Do you
consent to this ? "
"Sure, the Sahib is much too generous,"
replied he.
" You think it a fair proposal, then ? "
"Worthy of one of the just and righteous
Feringhees, our lords and masters," he
answered, with Hindu humility, which was
not without a twang of hypocrisy about it.
But I saw that he was really very well satisfied,
so I continued : —
" It must be our business to keep as quiet
as we possibly can over the matter. Once
we let it get wind that we are seeking for
treasure, people will come flocking about us,
and it may end in the Government laying
claim to whatever we discover, since the
land is Crown property. We must have
coolies to clear away the long grass before
we can do anything. Where are we to get,
say, half-a-dozen good, trusty fellows who may
be relied upon to keep their own counsel ? "
" If the Sahib will leave it to me, I will
undertake by to-morrow to find six such men,
who will eat of my chupatiees, and swear to
secrecy."
" Good ! Tell them they shall be liberally
rewarded for their services. Ten rupees a
day each shall they have, and as much curry
and bang as they can eat and drink."
Meer Alee salaamed and withdrew. I
was perfectly satisfied to leave the matter of
employing labourers in his hands, for he was
a native himself and would consequently have
a good knowledge of the native character,
and furthermore his interests were as much
concerned as my own ; therefore, he would
act with extreme caution. Had it not
been for the discovery of the golden
image, I should have been by no
means so wiUing to give credence to the
astrologer's story. Yet I considered it quite
possible, too, that there might be current a
tradition of buried treasure in the Ram-Bagh
of Delhi. Among the Indian races history
is perpetuated very much as it was in Homeric
days : by word of mouth. Legends are
handed down from generation to generation,
and although in the course of ages the versions
may become twisted out of all recognition of
their original events, still they are based upon
the truth. Not that I mean to say the mere
circumstance of a strolling beggar calling at
the door of my bungalow for alms, and
bidding me dig in a certain spot, where I
should find reward for my charity, would
suffice to persuade me into entering upon the
quest. But the discovery by Meer Alee put
the matter beyond all dispute. It might
happen that, almost by a miracle, he had
chanced upon the only object of value con-
cealed beneath the surface of the Ram-Bagh.
But, at all events, the bringing to light of the
little image of Gautama was a matter which,
coming on top of the astrologer's story, might
determine the most sceptical man upon
making a search in the ancient sacred garden.
My syce came to me after dinner that
evening, and asked permission to go out into
the Subzee Mundee for an hour or two. I
guessed his motive, and readily gave my
consent. He carried a small paper pack-
age in his hand ; I asked him what he had
there, and he answered "Chupattees." Now, a
chupattee is nothing more or less than a little
cake, made of unleavened flour and water,
and constitutes the chief article of the
Hindu's food. When a native requires any
particular service from his brethren, accord-
ing to an immemorial custom he takes a
chupattee, and, breaking it into pieces, dis-
tributes the fragments amongst those whom
he considers likely to answer his purpose.
The men who accept the morsels are pledged
to keep faith with him throughout any under-
taking they may enter upon ; and be it said
that no form of oath could be more binding
in its moral effect upon the native mind than
the receiving of the chupattee. Consequently,
when Meer Alee showed me his little supply
of these unsavoury cakes, I perfectly well
gathered his intentions, and granted him un-
conditional leave of absence.
I did not see him again until the morning.
He brought me my shaving water as usual,
and, on my inquiring how he had fared
during the previous night, he replied : —
" I have got six men. Sahib. You m.ay
trust them to serve you faithfully and to
keep your secret. They will all be in the
Ram-Bagh at ten o'clock this morning with ■
spades, ready to begin work,"
248
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
" Capital ! " I cried. " Meer Alee, you are
a first-class fellow ! " He acknowledged the
compliment by an abject obeisance. " You
understand these coolies better than I do," I
continued, " therefore, you had better act as
overseer."
Directly after breakfast I set out for the
Ram-Bagh, clad in a suit of kharkee and
knee-boots, a useful working costume in a
hot climate. The season of the rains was
just over, and the heat, even at noon, was
never intolerable, although it was unwise to
expose oneself to the sun. Meer Alee,
whose fine eyes flashed with excitement, had
gone on ahead of me, carrying such imple-
ments for cutting away the tangled weeds as
my little garden-house yielded. When I
arrived, I found him stripped of everything
save a cloth round his loins and a turban on
his head, digging away as though for dear
life : the hour was only a trifle past nine
o'clock, and the coolies had not yet come. I
would have made short work of the thick
growth by burning it down had I not known
that the smoke would attract a crowd to the
spot, which was the very thing I did not
desire.
OIGGINfj AWAY AS THOUGH FOR DEAR LIFE.
However, in due course the half-dozen
natives my servant had hired arrived. They
were stout, likely-looking fellows, and came
well armed with shovels and pickaxes. I
spoke to them in Hindustanee, briefly telling
them that our purpose was to seek for a trea-
sure which was reported to be hidden under
the ground on which they stood. We then
set to work in real earnest, and by the hour
of noon, when I called a halt to rest, the
coolies had cleared away a broad space of
land extending the whole width of the hagh.
The number of snakes, chiefly cobras, which
lay hidden in the tall grass was incredible,
and on several occasions one or another of
the men had a narrow escape of being bitten
by the disturbed reptiles.
The shape of the Ram-Bagh was nearly
square, and my idea was to start by digging
a trench about 4ft. deep close up against the
wall whence we began cutting down the
growth, and work our way from this, turning
up the soil till we had covered the whole
length of the garden. I reckoned that an
average depth of 4ft. would be sufficiently
far to penetrate, since, being a little bit of a
geologist, I perceived that the deposit of soil
had been very slow on this spot.
Wliilst we were resting, a burkandaz,
or armed policeman, stepped into
the inclosure and demanded to know
what we were doing. I told him I
had an order from the Commis-
sioner at Delhi to clear the tangle
weed of the place, upon which he
saluted and went away again.
Meer Alee, who was himself the
most enthusiastic among the workers,
turned the coolies to afresh after a
short interval, and they laboured on
with but little pause until sundown,
by which time the Ram-Bagh looked
as probably it had not looked for
centuries past : a clear, level space,
with the mass of sun-browned stuff
/hich had converted it into a minia-
ture jungle piled in a huge stack in
one corner. All was now in readi-
ness to begin digging, and I am free
to confess it was with no small
degree of anticipation that, on the
following morning, I set the natives
to work upon the trench I have
already spoken of
The soil was of a loose, sandy
character upon the surface and easily
turned, though at a little depth it
became stiff and clay-like. The coolies
toiled 01:1 for several hours with-
THE TREASURE OF THE RAM-BAG H
249
out lighting upon anything more than some
fragments of broken pottery ; then we came
to our first find. This was neither money
nor jewellery, but an elepha^it. The animal
lay upon its side about a yard below the
surface, pressed as flat as a board, and in a
wonderfully good state of preservation. Its
hide was almost white, and I thought it quite
possible that the animal had been one of the
scarce sacred species, interred in the Ram-
Bagh on its death. How long it had lain
buried one could never come to know, yet
from various things afterwards found at the
same depth, I guessed it was at least a
thousand years old.
Our next discovery, made some yards
away from the spot where we had come upon
the elephant, was of a more welcome
character. It consisted of a long-necked,
brown earthenware vase, of the size of a
large melon. The neck of it was filled up
with clay, but on handling it the weight of
the thing gave us to know that it was full of
some heavy substance. I took a pickaxe
from one of the natives, and by a cautiously
directed blow shattered the vase : the riven
fragments flew asunder, and out fell a mass of
gold coins. Meer Alee gave a shrill cry of
delight. I picked up one of the pieces,
about the size and thickness of an English
florin. I could decipher the date 1400 upon
it, but the inscription was in some Oriental
language unknown to me. I afterwards dis-
covered that the coins were of the period of
the bloodthirsty Tamerlane, who in 1399
took the city of Ferozabad, and put 100,000
people to- the sword. There were 210 pieces
in all, and their value was exactly ;^4oo
English currency.
This was indeed a good beginning, and we
went to work afresh with renewed vigour. I
felt persuaded that somewhere within the
walls of the Ram-Bagh there was a great
treasure buried, compared with' which the
trifling discovery we had just made would be
as a lac of rupees to a Nizam's revenue.
Collecting the gold coins into my hand-
kerchief, and securely binding them up, I
bade Meer Alee carry them to my bungalow,
and deposit them in a place of safety. He
must have fled with the swiftness of the wind
itself, for he was back again in ten minutes.
The coolies worked as only a willing Hindu
can work, and the earth flew in showers
before the flashing blades of their shov:ls.
But during the rest of the morning we dis-
covered nothing more, save a large jadestone
statue of some ancient native god, which
was so damaged that I left it,
Vol, ix.^-33.
A thought came into my head whilst the
little gang were taking their midday rest, and
eating their mealies under the shadow of the
bagh wall. I strolled towards the ruins of
the temple, and entered. The place was,
indeed, in a most terribly dilapidated con-
dition. The roof was gone, and the crumbling
walls stood gaunt, full of distorted archways
and gaping chasms. Yet all the fallen
stones had been at some time or other
removed, probably for building purposes, and
the floor of the place presented a clear
surface, thickly carpeted with a sandy dust.
I brushed aside a little space of this with my
foot, and saw that the floor of the temple
consisted of large stone flags. Wishing to
get a clearer view of this pavement, and not
desiring to disturb the natives at their dinner,
I fetched a broom which I had observed one
of the coolies deposit in a corner of the
inclosure, and with my own hands, despite
the suffocating clouds that arose, I laid bare
a large square patch. The flags were laid
not close together, but at intervals of about a
couple of inches apart, the interstices between
being filled up flush with dust.
In sweeping aside the rubbish, I had taken
notice of a long, rusty iron spike, like a ten- ^
penny nail. I now went and sought this,
picked it up, and stooping down, ran it
along the chinks betwixt the flagging of the
floor. Out spurted a quantity of dirt,
scattering itself right and left, and — could I
believe my eyes ? — amongst the grains of
dust there rolled forth a number of pearls !
I remained idly looking at the little sparkling
white gems whilst one might have counted a
hundred, too much staggered to realize the
sudden amazing revelation of a hidden
treasure, which, for all I could tell, was
perhaps to be computed in millions. Then
I fell upon my knees, and collected all the
pearls I could see ; about twenty I think
there were. None of them were very large
or of great value ; but there could be no
shadow of doubt that they were genuine
gems, and if the floor of the temple was
going to disgorge jewels in this fashion, there
might be many magnificent prizes amongst
them.
I put the pearls I had gathered up care-
fully in my coat pocket, stepped back again
into the bagh, and beckoned to Meer Alee.
He approached me, and I turned aside in a
half-careless way, as though I were going to
speak to him on some matter of no great
moment, so that the other natives should not
observe us.
" I have good news to tell you," said I,
250
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
subduing my voice, though excitement was
now working deep in me ; " I have dis-
covered where the real treasure of the Ram-
Bagh lies."
He stared at me in his mild way, and said,
" Yes, Sahib ? "
" It is beneath the floor of yonder temple,"
I exclaimed. " Look what I have just found
among the flag-stones there," and drawing
forth the handful of pearls, I exposed them
to his view.
His eyes sparkled, and he said, " By the
faith of my fathers, but the astrologer spoke
true words ! "
" We will abandon digging in the grounds
for the present," said I, " and set the coolies
to work to raise the stones of the temple
pavement. I got the pearls merely by scrap-
ing between the chinks of the flags with a
rusty nail. Who can tell what may be
concealed beneath?"
On this he bustled away, and I heard
him exhorting the Hindu labourers to
work with a will, making an offer of in-
creased reward. The coolies moved in
a body towards the temple, and began
lustily clearing away the dust from the
floor, which rose in dense clouds into
the air. An hour sufficed them to lay
bare the flag -stones within the ruined
walls. Stooping to inspect
them more narrowly, I now
perceived that they ' were
formed of the finest porcelain.
1 determined to start ex-
cavating from one corner of
the place, working my way
diagonally across the whole
width of it. We found that
the tiles, which were about
2 ft. square, needed little
effort to raise them : if they
had ever been cemented the
stuff had crumbled away
long ago. Under the first
dozen or so of these which
the natives lifted the yellow-
soil lay as flat as the top of
a table. I carefully worked
about among the dust on
the surface with my fingers,
but found nothing in the
way of precious stones.
When as many of the tiles
had been removed as laid
bare a space about the area
of a good-sized room, I
told the natives to begin to
dig. Almost the very first
blow of the shovels into the yielding
ground gave back a sharp metallic chink. I
heard it and sprang to the spot, crying to the
fellows to be careful lest the blades of
their spades should injure the object
they had lighted upon. They began
gingerly scraping away the soil, and pre-
sently uncovered what proved to be a
most beautiful model of a pagoda, in 'pure
gold, and, as I afterwards found, of Chinese
workmanship. One corner of this lovely toy
had been chipped away by the workman's
shovel, otherwise it was completely intact.
The size of it was about i8in. square at the
base, and it weighed nearly lolb.
I fear that I should weary you, besides
spinning out my yarn beyond all admissible
limits, if I were to recount step by step
the story of our excavation of the floor
of that ruined temple in the Ram-Bagh.
We were three days in lifting all the tiles,
and searching the soil underneath. We found
a great number of stone coffins, containing
the bodies of Hindu men whose rank
had entitled them to burial in the musjid — all
THEY UNCOVERED A MOST BEAUTIFUL MODEL OF A PAGODA.
THE TREASURE OE ThE RAM-BAGH.
251
in a wonderful state of preservation, although
they crumbled away iniu powder shortly after
being exposed to the air. In every case these
cofifins contained money and jewels, the
former of these showing by their dates that
they covered a period extending from the
reign of the atrocious Jenghiz Khan, in the
thirteenth century, down to the days of
Aurung-Zeb in the middle of the seventeenth
century. From some forty-seven tombs thus
opened we got in all gold pieces to the value
of ^9,000 sterling, and jewels to nearly
treble that value.
But this was not all. With my own hands
I collected from among the dust which lined
the interstices of the tiles as many pearls as
would have filled to the brim a pint measure.
They were all pearls : not a gem of any other
description was among them, and roughly I
estimated the worth of them at about
^1,200. Many remarkable curiosities of
treasure did we unearth, for the most part in a
perfect state of preservation. One object in
particular, which I thought the most exquisite
piece of workmanship I had ever set eyes
upon, was dug out by my syce. It consisted
of a flower-pot of virgin gold, delicately
wrought in filigree, containing a plant about
I Sin. high. The stem of this plant was of
silver : the wide-spreading leaves of gold,
densely studded with emeralds, causing
the whole to stream with brilliant green
fires. The marvellous skill of the Oriental
goldsmith was never better illustrated
than in this incomparable work of art.
Another wonderfully beautiful toy was found
by one of the coolies. This was a birdcage
of golden wires, containing the representation
of some gorgeously plumed bird in precious
stones. The body was of rubies, streaked
with turquoises ; the pinions were diamonds,
and the eyes were two tiny moonstones.
Of gold and silver pieces of money we
found such a surprising quantity in various
spots beneath the floor of the temple, and
particularly in the coffins I have already
mentioned, that we literally grew weary of
collecting the coins. I caused a number of
bags to be made, in each of which I placed
as many of the pieces as it was convenient
to carry at one load, dispatching them to my
bungalow by Meer Alee, and by the time
we had concluded our search in the Ram-
Bagh, / had twenty-three of these bags in my
private room. The greater bulk of this
treasure was gold coins of various dates
during the Mogul dynasty.
We likewise discovered fourteen little
images of gold, all more or less like the one
Meer Alee had first shown me ; a quantity
of daggers and small swords of various
curious patterns, with hilts incrusted in
precious stones ; several splendid caskets
full of articles of jewellery; large breast
shields of pure gold, bearing emblematic
devices ; a superb spray of diamonds which
had probably formed the plume of a great
Rajah's turban ; some jadestone carvings,
chiefly of native gods, and a quantity of
broken fragments of gold. As we finished
our search in one part of the ruined building,
so I obliged the workmen to shovel back the
soil into its place, and lay the tiles afresh, in
order that should we be suddenly interrupted
during our operations, the intruder, whoever
he might be, should not be able to perceive
what we were at. But in all the while we
were exploring the grounds and temple of the
Ram-Bagh not a soul came near the place,
saving the burkandaz of whom I have already
spoken. One evening, whilst we were still
working in the garden, my friend the Com-
missioner drove over after dinner to visit me
at my bungalow.
He presently said, " Have you got any
treasure yet from that dirty old spot ? "
I answered, " Yes, we have found several ^
curious things. I will show you some of ^^
them." And then I produced one of the
little golden images and about a dozen coins.
I set these upon the table before him. Then
said he : —
"There may be more of these sort of
things."
" No doubt there are," I answered.
" I think, on reflection," said he, stroking
his moustache, "that I may perhaps have
exceeded the power vested in me by giving
you permission to search for treasure and to
keep all you found in the Ram-Bagh. As
Crown Agent, you will easily understand that
it is a point of honour with me to look after
Crown property."
" My excellent sir," I exclaimed, " you
have but to express your wish, and I will dis-
continue digging at once. I am not avaricious,
and the few trifles I have already unearthed
will satisfy me, seeing that I have your per-
mission to keep them. You must admit that
I deserve some share of the treasure for being
the first to reveal its existence. So let what
I have already got constitute that share, and
meanwhile do me the pleasure to accept that
quaint httle image and those coins in token
that the words of a Hindu astrologer are not
always to be disregarded."
He stared at me steadily and said : —
" Have you really had a great find ? "
252
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
■ " What makes you suspect it ? "
" Your liberality, for one thing."
'"Now, see here," I exclaimed, " I will tell
you what I have done. You gave me per-
mission to search the Ram-Kagh for treasure
and to keep what I found. On the strength
of this I |et to work, hired labour, and had
the pestilential old place cleared out. That
in itself was a distinct service. Next, I
have only explored about one-third of the
garden, and the temple in the centre of it.
The rest of the grounds are all ready for
digging up, but they have not been touched.
None knows of this secret saving you and me,
my syce^ and the coolies I employed. Now, I
will not turn another sod myself, for I am quite
satisfied with what I have already got. The
place simply teems with buried treasure. The
six natives who have been working for me are
thoroughly trusty fellows, and have eaten of
my faithful servant's chupattees, consequently
their lips are sealed. They will go to work
at sunrise to-morrow morning, as usual, but I
shall not be there. Meer Alee will attend,
and tell them they may now dig for another
master. Do you understand me ? "
He sprang towards me and grasped my
hand. " You have given me
a fortune," cried he.
"And the Government?"
said I, drily.
. "Is always pleased to have
waste lands cleared and
rendered fit for cultivation,"
he answered, with a slow
smile.
■ " I never knew before
that you were a humorist,"
said 1.
He left my house that
evening in wonderfully good
spirits, and a month later,
to the astonishment of every-
body, he gave up his high
Civil Service appointment
for no apparent reason, and
quitted India to return to
England.
. To conclude this narrative
of treasure-finding : I told
Meer Alee what I had done,
in promising to desist from '
digging any further, and ex-
plained that my motive had
been to conciliate the Com-
missioner, lest an avaricious
policy on our part should lead
MEER ALEE IN PAI.L MALL.
to a demand from the Government to give
up what we had already got. He looked a
little discontented at first, but speedily ad-
mitted that I had done wisely. " And, after
all. Sahib," said he, with his bland smile,
"we have got enough."
Then came the question of turning the
treasure into sterling currency. This, in
India, is never a matter of very great difficulty.
I contrived to get something resembling
a fair price for my valuable property from the
haggling Brahmins. When all was sold, and I
came to calculate the amount yielded, I found
that Meer Alee and myself had very nearly five
lacs of rupees to divide ; which at the then
exchange value came to near upon ;z^45,ooo
in English money.
The last time I saw Meer Alee was in
London. The handsome fellow was parading
Pall Mall in the costume of a West-end
dandy, and a fine, commanding figure he
looked for all the incongruity of his garb.
He spied me, and came bounding across the
road. I shook him warmly by the hand
and inquired what he was doing in
England. He told me that, feeling
a curiosity to view the country of the
Feringhees, he had come to
London about six years ago
along with a young Parsee
student, who had taught him
English during the voyage.
He liked London so well
that he continued to
prolong his visit, " until,"
said he, with his old, mild
smile : —
" I don't suppose I shall
ever return now."
I gazed at his frock-coat,
and his curly-brimmed Bond
Street hat, his umbrella,
gloves, and elegant boots,
and • could scarcely realize
that this remarkably well-
dressed Hindu was indeed
the same syce who had so
faithfully serve4 nie through
the Mutiny. I saw by his
face that he read my
thoughts, and said, " What
a wonderful transformation,
Meer Alee."
" Yes," he answered ; " all
due to the Ram-Bagh. But,
excuse me, my name is now
Hopkins,"
Monsieur Got.
The Father of the Comedie Fran^aise.
By the Baroness Althea Salvador.
From a Photo, by]
M. GOT S HOUSE.
[Benqtie tt; Co., Paris.
r^!ss;n-^.r,n>i9^\
V
M
M
HE last night of January, 1895,
witnessed the final appearance
of the eminent actor, M. Got,
who, since the ist of Novem-
ber, had been performing the
round of characters created by
him during his half-century of service in the
House of Moliere. In 1842, M. Got
obtained the second prize for comedy at the
Paris Conservatoire, and in 1843 the first
prize was his award. Then he entered the
Comedie Frangaise, and made his dedu^
as a domestic. His success was assured,
and at that time even, his advancement
would have been rapid had he not been
obliged to serve as a soldier. After a short
time spent in Algeria, he decided that he had
more talent for the theatre than for the army.
" Yes," said the colonel, " you are right.
Return to the theatre. Here you could not
have risen very high, but on the stage you
will never be anything."
This was not very encouraging, but Got
had confidence in himself, and at an early
period in his career created several ro/es,
among the most important of which was that
of Giboyer in Emile Augier's " Fils de
Giboyer."
Since then, Got's principal characters have
been Jonquiere's Jean de Thomery ; the rabbi
of "L'Ami Fritz"; MaUre Pierre, of "La
' Farce de Maitre Pathelin " ; Brissot, of
" Denise " ; the grandfather, in '' Flibustier " ;
and the priest, in " II ne faut jurer de rien."
But never was the great actor more applauded
than in October last, when he created the
part of Bibus, in Jean Richepin's " Vers la
Joie." Bibus is the shepherd, doctor, philo-
sopher of the piece, and here Got had an
opportunity of declaiming the finest verses. He
made us forget the actor and think only of real
life: Got is the first member of the Comedie
Fran9aise who has attained his fiftieth anniver-
sary. Mole, Preville,Guerin, and LaThorilliere
all counted many years of service, but did not
approach the half-century. On July 17th,
1894, the actors, actresses, machinists, and em-
ployes of the Comedie Fran9aise, in all eighty
persons, celebrated, by a family breakfast at
Saint-Germain-en-Laye, the fiftieth anniversary
of M. Got's connection with the House of
Moliere. At the close of the dejeuner, M.
Jules Claretie, the manager, made a brilliant
speech. Mounet-Sully's remarks related to
the wonderful career of the oldest societaire ;
Le Bargy, a favourite pupil of Got, read a
touching essay; and Coquefin Cadet brought
the "admiration of the absent."
The real dramatic career of Got dates from
his performance of the priest in Alfred de
Musset's "II ne faut jurer de rien." Theo-
phile Gautier wrote in 1848 : " Got has made
of this personage a living and animated
silhouette, full of curious faults, and without
caricature." When Got reached the zenith
of his talent and reputation, he did not
254
THE STRAND MAGAZINE
From a Photo, bt/]
M. GOT IN 1876.
iA'adur, Paris.
disdain to resume the characters in which
he had made his early success. He has
never been vain of his talent, but always
proud of his art. A desire for effect has
never lessened his good sense, and he has
always been known as a " reasonable artist."
Indeed, the finish, the perfection of his
art is not due to inspiration, but to premedi-
tation. Got presents a curious and rare
phenomenon — the union of profound logic
and great imagination. But this imagination
is only allowed play at intervals. It never
dominates truth, the solid foundation of
studies, pursued by every conscientious artist.
M. Got is professor at the Conservatoire,
and on Mondays and Thursdays, the days
on which he gives lessons, he rises at eight.
At nine he mounts a Passy-Louvre omnibus,
for he lives at a little suburb of Paris called
Bonlainvilliers. Every omnibus conductor
knows Got, for he never takes a cab : even
after a performance at the theatre, when the
applause has been most enthusiastic, he
hastens to change his dress, so that he may
not miss the last omnibus. Some of the
actor's friends call this " principle " ; others
say he is actuated only by motives of economy.
In spite of his effort at early rising on the
day of his lessons (for he usually sleeps
very late in the morning), Got is always late
at the Conservatoire. However, he remains
there longer, in order to compensate his
pupils for the time lost. His costume never
varies : in winter, a loose redingote of
broadcloth, and in summer a sack-coat of
the same material. The hat is always silk,
with broad, straight brim, pressed down to
his nose. When he reaches the Conserva-
toire, he is respectfully saluted by his pupils ;
but he merely nods and waits impatiently
until his assistant has called over the
names. When the assistant has retired, Got
says : " Well, my children, whose turn is it
now ? " Little by little, the actor becomes
animated and witty, never hesitating to ex-
press his opinion, even when it is most
unflattering to his pupils. Sometimes the
actor goes to the theatre to advise young
artists, sometimes to assist in mounting
plays ; and his opinion of manager, author,
play, and artists is very frank — perhaps too
frank for those criticised.
Got once told me that the former adminis-
trateur, Perrin, understood the Comedie
Frangaise, and knew how to manage actors
and authors. " Jules Claretie is very amiable,
but weak ; he does not rule, but is ruled.
I am fond of Mounet-SuUy as a friend ; but,
as a comrade on the stage, he is too self-
sufficient and too easily ruffled. Coquelin
GOT IN HIS GARDEN. — PRESENT DAY.
From a Photo, by Benque tt Co., Paris.
MONSIEUR GOT.
255
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/[. GOT AS MR. POIRIER IN " LE GENDRE DE MR. POIRIER."
[Benque <t Co., Paris.
aim should never have been taken back : the
treasury has suffered thereby."
Got is not a talker, and never gossips with
the actors and actresses. He is very con-
scientious ; he has a right to a certain number
of seats at the theatre, but he never gives
them to his friends, because that would lessen
the receipts.
His dressing-room is very simply furnished :
there is not a picture, not a drawing in it,
but everywhere one sees swords. There are
two tiny rugs, one for each foot, and a table
with all the materials for " making up."
When he is dressed, the actor leaves his
room and strolls through the corridors, wait-
ing until he is " called." He tells you that
he is always frightened before going on the
stage — that his heart beats violently ; but,
after the first word, his calmness returns. After
a scene, sometimes he is gay, and makes witty
speeches in the corridors. At other times,
he is melancholy, sits down and speaks to no
one. Got cares very little for luxury. His
home is as simply furnished as his dressing-
room at the theatre, and during all these
years he has only possessed one work of art —
his own portrait by Carpeaux. It was painted
by candle-light, and the artist's thumb re-
placed a brush. Its strength made so great
an impression," that Haquette created a
portrait of Got by throwing the paint on the
canvas. This portrait is remarkably powerful,
but does not belong to the actor.
Got has a wonderful library, and when he
has not to go to the theatre, he smokes a t
pipe, and reads or works in the garden. He
looks like a priest, and this resemblance to
an ecclesiastic nearly cost him his life during
M. GOT AS THE RABBI IN L AMI FRITZ.
From a Photo, by Nadar, Paris.
256
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
got as ukiac in une jouknee
d'agrippa."
the Commune.
Then he lived
in London as
director of the
company of the
Comedie Fran-
gaise. He and
his comrades
tried to earn a
httle money by
giving perform-
ances, as the
theatre had not
a penny in its
treasury. One
day, Got was
obhged to re-
turn to Paris,
and when he
left London
he said to his
comrades :
" Announce
that I play the day after to-morrow." Un-
fortunately, he fell into the hands of the
Communists.
" Who are you, and where are you going?"
" I am Got, of the Comedie Fran^aise, and
I am going to London."
" You are not Got : you are the vicar of
Sainte-Marie-des-BatignoUes."
" I have never been a priest : see, I
have no tonsure ! "
But the poor actor was carried to the
Place du Trone, and placed with the other
prisoners in an improvised prison. At the
close of day, the Communists took him out
of prison, and said : " As you are an actor,
recite something for us. Go on. Recite some
verses." When he had finished, they said :
" Perhaps you are Got ; in any case, you are
free."
The fact was that the commander was an
Italian, and Got, speaking that language, was
able to explain the situation, and thus save
his life. Got never attempts to learn his
parts. He reads them over two or three
times, and, while reading, tries to form an
idea of the personage he is to represent.
He reflects about people whom he knows,
chooses a characteristic from this one, an-
other from that, and so composes his part.
For example, the priest he impersonates in
"II ne faut jurer de rien " was a replica of
the priest in his regiment. Got studied care-
fully this country abbe — simple, ignorant
of the world — and, as a result, Parisians
were presented with a priest of irreproach-
able taste, and delightfully true to nature.
Got says : " In order to succeed as an
actor one must work very hard, and be the
favourite of chance. Whenever a young
man comes to ask my advice, I say, ' My
friend, if you can do something else, do it ;
but do not enter upon a theatrical life.' But
the young man never pays any attention to
this advice, and that is one reason why so
many actors fail. I never, or rarely, make a
mistake in my judgment. As soon as one of
my pupils recites a phrase, I know what he
can do. It is the same with plays. Often I
listen to the reading of a play at the Comedie
Frangaise out of respect for the author ; but
from the first scene I know if he be a
dramatist. Only once have I been mistaken
about the success of a play.
" When Scribe read us his ' Contes de la
Reine de Navarre,' I was shocked, for the
play seemed absolutely absurd. Scribe was
then the fashionable author, and as I was
obliged to vote after the reading, I thought,
' Everybody will put in a black ball, and
there must be one ball in favour of Scribe, if
only to please him : a white ball would be
too flattering, so I will put in a red one ! '
Judge of my stupefaction when I found that
mine was the only red ball — all the others
were white ! That play was represented a
hundred times ; but, in spite of its success, I
have never modified my opinion. I have
always thought that more was due to the
talent of Madeleine Brohan than to the play
itself"
M. GOT AS AKNOLPHE IN ECOLE DES FEWWES,
MONSIEUR GOT.
257
It is interesting to know that the artist who
recently celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of
his connection with the House of Moliere
once brought it into the law courts. In
1865, displeased at the regulations which
imperilled the privileges and dignity of the
association, and discouraged because his
efforts to reform abuses were without avail,
Got tendered his resignation. Its refusal
was the cause of the lawsuit that resulted in
Got remaining a societaire.
had been appropriated for the use of the
Government, and great was the discontent
of the students in the Latin Quarter. It was
known that the Emperor and Empress would
honour the theatre with their presence, and
from pit to gallery the house was filled with
students, who saluted Napoleon III. by singing
"Luxembourg — Luxembourg," to the famous
air of " Lampions" — a souvenir of 1848.
The courtiers were naturally irate, but the
students bade adieu to the monarch with
1 \
:•!:.■
"**'^ •-j^o-- .. ■ '""*
n*
WM^^'^'^^*' ■■■:
* #
From a Photo. Sy]
THE CAST OF " VERS LA JOIE " AT THE COMEDIE FRAN5AISE. [La Photographie Xouvelle, Paris
M. GOT, MMES. BARETTA AND PIERSON, MM. COQUELIN CADET, P. MOC.VET, LE BABGY, LANGIEB, AND ESQUIEK.
Soon afterwards, Emile Augier wished Got to
create apart in his new comedy, ''' .Contagion,"
to be produced at the Odeon. Got's request
to undertake the character was refused, but
the Emperor ordered him to appear at the
Odeon and create the part of Lagarde in the
new play. "Contagion " caused great curiosity
and much excitement, as it was rumoured that,
in the character o{ Baron d Estriganf, Augier
had wished to depict the Due de Morny.
The play was represented just at the time
when a portion of the Luxembourg Gardens
"Luxembourg — Luxembourg." The Imperial
carriages were obliged to pass slowly through
the Rue Corneille and the Rue de I'Odeon,
while the police were unable to prevent a
compact crowd from hissing and insulting the
Emperor and Empress. Four years later
came the end of the Empire, and hardly a
voice was raised in its defence. Notwith-
standing this disturbance, Emile Augier's
comedy had a great success ; but Got, eclipsed
by Berton as the hero, returned to his old
home, where he remained ever since.
Vol. ix.~-34.
The Storm.
From the French of Armand Silvestre.
1
I.
at
T was at the little hamlet of
Pilhoel, one of the wildest
on the coast of Brittany, almost
savage in its environment of
blue rocks, the rugged crests
of which were reddened by
the setting sun, with the sea, rampant like a
chained lion, or furious and hurling its
sonorous waves .to the very thresholds of the
houses above ; while, inland, the country
was sheltered and smiling with flowers in all
seasons, as in a greenhouse — a sunny zone,
where camellias blossomed in the open air.
At that time Pilhoel was a corner un-
known to tourists, and a few painters who
went there to sketch took care not to lead
thither the importune crowd of elegants and
curious. Fifty houses at most, all inhabited
by fishermen, stood under the shadow of the
ruined church, the cracked bell of which
frightened even the sea-gulls on the shore.
During the working days of the week, none
but women with children hanging to' their
skirts were to be seen moving about between
the dwelling-places. All the men were away
fishing.
On Sundays their long nets were spread
along the weather-stained white of the house-
walls, holding in their meshes silver spangles
which glittered in the light ; and there was a
world of poor people, all resigned, pious, and
knowing nothing of the unwholesome dream-
ings of city dwellers, but full of faith and
courage.
There is in France — at least, on the borders
of the sea — no village, however humble, which
has not its pearl of beauty. It was no un-
truth so to call Jeanne, the prettiest girl in
Pilhoel. The humblest garments — for she
was one of the poorest girls in the hamlet —
could not disguise her inherent grace and
beauty. Her superbly-designed bare feet,
her little hands, which hard toil had often
wounded, were signs unconquerable of natural
aristocracy. Good and modest above all the
girls about her, she had, none the less, a
love-secret in her heart.
She was sixteen, and he whom she loved
was four years older : a handsome youth who,
equally with herself, felt the flow of noble
blood in his veins. Something of instinctive
worth was betrayed in his least gestures, and
a proud melancholy was strongly expressed
in his face. He was skilful in his calling and
bravest of the brave ; with all that, a dreamer,
taking little part in the Sunday sports on the
square in front of the church, but oftener,
at the hour when Jeanne was listening to the
vespers and singing the verses, re-entering
the holy building, and, at the foot of
a pillar, contemplating her in the shadow
scarcely penetrated by the yellow rays of
the altar candles ; or wandering away to
the deserted sea-shore to think of her, the
music of the waves seeming to bear away to
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THE STORM.
259
far-off horizons the frail bark of his unspoken
hopes.
What was it separated these two beings, so
completely made to unite their laborious and
resigned existence ? Their common poverty.
Both were orphans. Loehic had earned his
scanty hving in service on the boats, and
only, at last, had been able to buy one for
himself, and such a boat ! — the oldest and
most sea-battered of the little fleet !
As to Jeanne, she had been reared by her
old Aunt Mathurine, who had brought her
up with infinite tenderness, but, at the same
time, promising herself not to allow her niece
to marry any but a man who would be
in a position to assure her (Mathurine)
a comfortable provision for her old age.
For there is always a basis of selfish-
ness in our devotion.
This man she had chosen without say-
ing anything about it : it was Mathias,
the pilot, who was looked up to by the whole
fishing community of the little hamlet. A
rough man, with his weather-beaten face and
hands of bronze, yet hale and hearty in spite
of his fifty years ; who had often faced
Death, from whom he had snatched his in-
tended victims ; and who had made enough
fortune to insure his ease and allow him to
retire from his perilous calling. He had
known Jeanne in her infancy, had danced
her on his knees, and had seen her grow with
increasing and affectionate interest. And
Mathurine, who had the natural sharpness of
all peasants, had guessed that the old pilot
was in love with this flower of grace, slowly
expanding under his eyes.
But Mathias was no fool, and when he
thought of his age he laughed at himself,
and again became paternal with the young
girl, who, innocent creature, had never even
suspected the combat that was being waged
in the old sailor's heart. With him she was
always the same — simple, frank,' and some-
times cruelly charming ; admiring him, but
in the way in which patriarchs are venerated.
All her tenderness was reserved for Loehic,
and, knowing that her aunt was opposed
to her marriage with him, she had resolved
to remain unwed rather than become the
wife of any other man. She had sworn it
to him one evening when they had met upon
the shore in the soft moonlight, broken by
the sea into a rain of gold ; at one of those
mysterious hours, sweet to lovers, when their
hearts seem to open widest to solemn con-
fidences, when their souls bathe deliciously
in the same concert of abandonment and
sincerity ; he had even placed upon her
finger a ring in remembrance of her
promise — a poor brass ring, but one which
Monseigneur the bishop had blessed at the
last confirmation.
" Before God I am your betrothed," she
had said to him, all her soul vibrating in her
voice, "and death alone can part my thoughts
from yours ! "
And both had melted into tears, the bitter
drops of which ran down to their lips,
mingling with the salt vapours rising from
the waves and the tossing seaweeds of the
shore. And from the shelter of a block of
granite, in the lande, he had plucked a wild
" I AM YOUR BETROTHED."
flower and given it to her, and she had placed
it between two leaves of her poor " Book of
Hours," the face towards a picture of the
Virgin bearing this epigraph : " Ave maris
Stella." And she turned her eyes towards a
star, on the golden eyelashes of which a tear
of pity seemed to tremble.
Both had moved away, overcome by this
26o
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
idyll, but confident in each other, expecting
nothing of men, but everything from some
marvellous and heavenly intervention, which
would not permit the future viewed by them
wMth a like tenderness to be for ever de-
stroyed, or that such a dream as theirs should
be the eternal despair of their lives.
After that supreme interview, existence
had, so to speak, returned to them. Loehic
every day, without rest or truce, risked his
life in his miserable boat for trifling gains ;
and Jeanne repaired the nets of old or un-
married fishermen for a small piece of money,
which Aunt Mathurine dropped into the
throat of a nearly empty purse.
II.
There was a fete that day at Pilhoel. The
pilot, Mathias, had solemnly retired. He
had said farewell to the fleet he had com-
manded, and his old companions, to do him
honour, and in gratitude for the services he
had rendered them, had organized a series of
rejoicings.
As soon as it was daylight they went to his
cottage, to play the drum and fire guns and
pistols under his windows. Then the maidens
brought him a large bouquet, which was
presented by Jeanne ; which made the , old
sailor's tanned face blush as red as a peony
with pleasure. Then full cups of the best
cider — which had been bottled months before
in anticipation of the event — were drained,
and the glory of the old pilot commemorated
in song.
Loehic had not been the least active in
all these proceedings ; for he felt towards
Mathias a child-like admiration mixed with a
confiding sympathy. Many times he had
been on the point of confessing to him his
tenderness for Jeanne and asking his advice
— for how could he, for a moment, imagine
that venerable Mathias had ever regarded
her with other than fatherly feelings? At
twenty, people think those who are fifty years
of age veritable Methuselahs.
As was proper, this touching ceremony was
not left without its comic side. This was
secured to it by Aunt Mathurine, by the
offering of a pair of slippers embroidered by
herself — a garden in tapestry, with roses
resembling cabbages and birds that might
readily be mistaken for gnats : for Mathurine
had, in her youth, been in service in one of
the large towns, and had acquired genteel
accomplishments. The old sailor, who had
never in his life worn anything but sabots,
felt an enormous temptation to burst into a
roar of laughter.
" If it makes no difference to you,
Mathurine," he said, " I'll wear 'em on my
hands in winter-time, to play the dandy in at
the High Mass."
And, by way of thanks, he clapped on
the old girl's two cheeks a pair of such
hearty kisses as, for a moment, made her
teeth rattle in her head like castanets.
Everybody had that morning made holiday
for this rejoicing, which was followed by a
copious repast, and ended with a rigadoon,
accompanied by Mathurine on the guitar —
a superannuated instrument which had been
given to her by one of her old employers,
and which distilled under her meagre fingers
some vinegary notes, falling drop by drop, as
it were, into the tormented ear. But they
had no refined notions as to music at Pilhoel,
and so this performance of Aunt Mathurine,
embroidered by the gruntings of a bagpipe,
played by a lad whose execution had come to
him naturally and wholly without study,
seemed to all who heard it as charming as
any music could be.
All this revelling had filled the morning
down to one o'clock, and the time was then
come for putting off to sea, to make up for
the early lost hours of the day.
It was in the month of September, and the
forenoon had been particularly bright. The
sun had risen over the ocean in mist, which
had speedily been consumed by its rays and
had melted, like the last cloud of smoke at a
conflagration, into the rosy light. The intense
azure of the zenith paled down to the horizon,
where the blue of the sea blended with that
of the sky in a long kiss — the insensible line
between reality and dream, between the
region of' stars and the region of tempests.
The mild air — too warm, perhaps, for the
season — was scarcely tinctured with salt, but
laden with the life-giving perfumes, the nourish-
ing breath of the immense living thing which
breathes along the land and warms it with
the beatings of its heart. On seeing the few
tiny copper clouds which the dawn had
rapidly driven before it, some of the weather-
prophets had said that the day would not
pass without a storm.
But this threat seemed to have withdrawn
behind the glittering curtains of the firma-
ment, and in the gaieties of Mathias's fete
had passed from the minds of all. Joyously,
therefore, the sails had been unbound from
the masts, dressed with flags for the occasion,
when, suddenly and unexpectedly, they were
caught by a rude puff of wind and filled even
before they were completely spread, while a
violet-hued vapour rose above the horizon,
7 HE STORM.
2O1
presently shaping itself into a long, slate-
coloured blade, widening itself obliquely, and
cutting the azure sky as with a shadowy knife.
" There'll be a tempest presently ! " said
Mathias. " Take care of yourselves, boys ! "
" Ah ! you have done well to quit the
business, my good Mathias ! " Aunt Mathurine
murmured softly in his ear.
Jeanne looked sadly on while Loehic
adjusted, as well as he could, the rough and
torn sail which, like a wounded wing, was to
bear him out to sea. His soul was heavily
oppressed by melancholy. When he had
wished to dance with Jeanne, old Mathurine
had made at him, through her diabolical
spectacles, such a pair of eyes, that he had
not dared to invite the young girl. At table,
before that, they had been placed as far as
possible apart from each other ; so that what
" JEANNE LOOKED SADLY ON."
had been a pleasure to everybody else, had
been for him nothing but a punishment.
Never had he felt so completely downcast.
So, when passing near him, while her aunt
was offering a pinch of snuff to Mathias,
Jeanne had said to him : — •
" Don't go out to sea, my Loehic, I beg
of you ! "
The only reply he had been able to make
to her was : —
" Oh, let me go ! — I wish to die."
III.
A HEAVY gloom poisoned the departure after
the gaiety of the morning, and many a furtive
tear mingled with the farewells along the
range of boats into which the men were
climbing, to go in quest of the daily bread
for which they daily prayed.
The prediction of Mathias had troubled
the minds of the most courageous ; the old
pilot knew so well the ocean and its treasons !
But all had solid boats, and
well fitted to withstand the
onslaughts of the waves.
Then, they were not going
far out, but meant to con-
tent themselves with fishing
within sight of the coast,
ready for a prompt return,
in case the winds and waves
should prove too hostile.
Loehic alone, in his shattered
boat, would run any real
danger.
" Take my better boat, lad,"
said Mathias, with rough
tenderness.
But, for the first time, the
poor young fellow had noticed
the old man's assiduities to
Jeanne, . and with what fond
eyes he had gazed upon her,
and he answered, shortly : —
" No, thank you ; I don't
want it."
And with a last look,
charged with agony, cast
upon his loved one, he threw
himself into his leaky boat,
and his tattered sail, fiUing
with the rest, bore him away.
The wind grew every moment
stronger, and, one by one,
the boats disappeared into
the violet mist, their grey
sails looking to the end like
the wings of frightened gulls.
Mathias and Mathurine
had retired into the cottage of the latter, who
had prevailed on him to partake of a last
pitcher of cider ; for she could think of no
262
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
better artifice for drawing to her house the
only nephew she could hope to secure in this
country, so far removed from the shores of
Pactolus. Moreover, the moment appeared
to her an excellent one for making a first
trial. The old sailor had given up the sea ; it
was the very time for him to take to himself a
wife. Jeanne was the prettiest girl in Pilhoel ;
Mathias was the richest fisherman there.
These two aristocracies were made for one
another, evidently. The match-maker, there-
fore, set about diplomatizing, commencing
the campaign by a significant enumeration of
her niece's virtues : she augured well from
the enthusiasm with which Mathias declared
that she had still fallen short of the truth.
During this conversation, in which she was
so much concerned, Jeanne had remained on
the sea-shore, anxiously, and with moistened
eyes, peering into the horizon overspread by a
dark curtain which had,
at length, veiled the
whole sky. Suddenly
this veil was torn by a
flash of lightning, skim-
ming the dense green
surface of the sea afar
off; followed by a
scarcely perceptible
rumble, after a long in-
terval. The storm was
yet distant.
But she already felt
its commotions, and a
chill fell on her heart.
The light had faded out
of the sky. Heavy drops
of rain fell upon the
sands, tinting them grey.
A fresh zig-zag of fire
rent the air, reflecting
itself on the^lVice of the
deep water, and the
voice of the thunder
immediately followed.
Jeanne uttered a cry
of agony.
"We had better go
and see what it was,
perhaps," said Mathias,
emptying a last glass of
rider to the health of
Jeanne.
" Nonsense — stay
where you are," said
Mathurine, restraining
him.
Like a flight of pigeons
regaining the dovecote,
pressing closely one against the other, white,
and rapidly increasing in size, the sails of
the fishermen appeared, all low upon the
water, all flying before and under the stress
of the tempest. A third burst of thunder had
brought all the women and children in terror
to the beach.
In spite of Mathurine, Mathias had hurried
down to the shore, his rough face expressing
a strange anxiety. This one and that one
uttered cries of relief and joy on receiving
those belonging to them. The wind came in
aid of the courage of the sailors ; a powerful
gust threw the whole fleet on to the shore in
safety.
On all sides kisses, embracings, sobs of
joy, hand-graspings of friends lost and re-
stored. One sail alone was behind— a rag of
canvas on a raft, for the gunwale of the boat
had all been torn away by the waves ; and
'A RAG OF CANVAS OX A KAFT.
THE STORM.
263
against it the figure of a young man struggling
to keep it standing against the fury of the
wind. Jeanne recognised in him Loehic,
and, with blanched features and clenched
hands, felt as if Death had laid his hands
upon her.
" He is lost ! " was the cry of all.
"There is only one man who can save
him ! " cried a fisherman.
. " Mathias, alone, could make head against
such a sea ! " cried another.
Mathias had already stripped off his waist-
coat and thrown it on the ground. He was
going to launch his own boat.
"Unhappy man — I forbid you ! " screamed
Mathurine, clinging to the pilot's shirt-sleeve.
Mathias looked at Jeanne.
There are moments, solemn, mysterious,
when language becomes useless, when souls
understand each other in silence, when hearts
open themselves, dumb, but readable as
wide-spread books. The young girl went to
the pilot and said to him, in a voice so low
that none but he could hear her : —
"Save him, and I will be your wife."
For that look — that one look — had, in an
instant, revealed to her the pilot's passion.
With a vigorous movement, Mathias threw
off Mathurine — so vigorous, indeed, that her
clutch carried away with it a shred of the
shirt-sleeve on which it had been fastened —
and sprang into his boat, already moving out
through the surf. A turn of the helm^a
white furrow in the sea — then a cry of agony
and admiration !
The storm raged more furiously than ever.
The old pilot's boat had reached Loehic's
shattered vessel in the midst of a cloud of
spray, which, at moments, hid both from
view. The mingled forms of two men stood
out against the grey tumultuous background
— Mathias holding Loehic, insensible, in his
stalwart arms. The double shadow stoops —
the shadow of a single man rises : Mathias
has laid in the bottom of his own boat the
body of the man he has saved. Another
turn of the helm, and in a few seconds the
rescuer lands the still insensible form of
Loehic on the beach.
A ringing outburst of hurrahs ! — ^^the horny
hand of the old pilot passed from lip to
lip; his name murmured by all mouths in
benediction. The women on their knees
put up thanks to the Virgin also.
Jeanne, pale, motionless as death ; Mathias
turns upon her a look appealing for thanks.
A pained smile passes to the young girl's lips,
and Mathurine makes everybody laugh by
breathlessly bringing to the pilot a glass of
hot sugared wine, which, in spite of all the
old girl's protestations, he insists on forcing
between the lips of Loehic, who has not yet
returned to consciousness.
IV.
At the end of six weeks, Loehic, saved and
sheltered by Mathias, has slowly recovered
the reason of which, for awhile, he had been
bereft by excess of emotion. After many
days of delirium, during which his life had
been in suspense, consciousness had returned
to his mind, but on his heart had fallen the
shadow of an incurable sadness.
Mathurine had only permitted Jeanne to
come and see him once ; and Mathias —
strange as it seemed — had not sought to
break through that cruel decree, but appeared
to be completely in agreement on the subject.
The reason was that, in his sick dreams,
poor Loehic had so often repeated the name
of Jeanne, and with such despairing tender-
ness in the tones of his voice, that the old
pilot feared he had discovered that love
existed between them. Jeanne, whom he
saw every day at her aunt's, appeared, how-
ever, firmly resolved to keep her promise.
She had allowed her hand to be officially
asked of Mathurine, and, without making
the least objection, proceeded with the
preparation of her trousseau.
The young girl hstened to the pilot's
projects of happiness without responding,
but with a vague smile upon her lips which
he might take for contentment.
One day she was kneeling in prayer as he
entered, and, in rising, let a faded flower fall
from the " Book of Hours." Mathias stooped
for the purpose of picking it up and returning
it to her ; but, before he could reach it, she
had snatched it up and jealously hidden it in
her bosom.
The eagerness of her action attracted the
old sailor's attention.
" Who gave you that flower ? " he asked,
uneasily, without knowing why.
" Loehic gave it to me."
And, as a look of anguish passed into the
pilot's eyes, she added : —
" God does not forbid remembrance."
Mathias did not insist, but a terrible doubt
had entered his heart. An hour later, on
taking his place by the bed of Loehic, now
convalescent, he said to the young man : —
" How would you answ^er me, Loehic, if I,
who have saved your life, were to ask some-
thing of you in return ? "
" I should answer you : ' Mathias, my life
is yours ; dispose of it as you please.' "
264
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
After an interval of painful silence, and
with a faltering voice, the pilot continued : —
" It is not much I have to ask of you, lad ;
give me only the worthless brass ring you
always wear on your finger."
Loehic started in his bed and became very
pale.
" That ? Never ! " he cried, an angry light
flashing from his eyes.
" It was Jeanne, then, who gave it to you ? "
replied Mathias, his voice choking with pain.
" Why do you ask me, since you know ? "
rejoined Loehic, closing his eyes and over-
come by this sudden trial of emotion.
The pilot rose, his eyes full of tears. He
kissed the forehead of the young man, who
had fallen suddenly into a kind of sleep. He
listened, and assured himself that he was
really sleeping.
" Focgive me ! " he murmured.
Then, in a corner of the room, before a
crucifix, he knelt and besought God to give
him courage. Calmed, a look of admirable
resignation on his brow, he put on his heavy
woollen cap and returned to the house of
Mathurine, whom he found working with
feverish ardour at the white bridal dress.
" Well- — will the trousseau be ready soon ? "
he cried, in a voice which he rendered
almost rough from trying too much to make
it gay.
" You have become very pressing all of a
sudden. Master Mathias," replied Aunt
Mathurine. " For when do you want it ? "
Very simply, this time, in the admirable
tone of sacrifice, the pilot answered, looking
at Jeanne : —
"For when Loehic is well again."
HE KNF.LT BEFORE A CRUCIFIX.
-^"1-
From Belli //J fJie Speaker s Chair.
XTX.
(VIEWKD P,Y HENRY W. LUCY.)
THERE was a report current
COURT DRESS, at the beginning of the present
Parliament that the Speaker,
commiserating the lot of members who for
various reasons were not disposed to endow
themselves with Court dress, proposed to
give a series of supplementary feasts at which
ordinary dinner dress would serve. I'he
rumour may be dismissed without a moment's
consideration. The Speaker is not likely,
voluntarily, to divest himself of one of the
conditions which tem])er his official hospitality.
It suffices to be bound
to invite in turn 670
gentlemen to dinner,
without going out of
the way to remove a
possible obstacle to
the invitation being
universally accepted.
Accordingly, this
Session, as from time
immemorial, members
dining with the
Speaker have
been required
to don Court
dress and carry
a sword by
their side,
when it is not
between some-
body else's
legs.
So inexora-
ble is this law,
that last Ses-
sion it operated to the extent of banishing the
seconder of the Address from the Speaker's
table. It is the invariable custom that the
mover and seconder of the Address shall be in-
vited to the dinner to Her Majesty's Ministers
with which the Speaker hospitably opens
the Session. Last year Mr. Fenwick, whose
honourable boast it is that he commenced
liis career as a working collier, seconded the
Address. He undertook the duty only upon
condition that he should not be called upon
to array himself in military, naval, or Court
dress, as is the quaint custom of the occasion.
The point was yielded as far as his appear-
ance in the House of Commons was con-
cerned. But the Speaker, tied and bound by
immemorial custom, did not see his way to
vary the usages of the Ministerial dinner.
Vol. ix —35.
mi;, fewvick (as h1'; michi' havk
AI'I'KAKMD).
Accordingly, whilst the mover of the Address,
arrayed in the martial costume of a major in
the Militia, dined with the nobihty and gentry
at Speaker's Court, the seconder, clad in sober
black, humbly ate his chop at home.
From their earliest departure on the war-
path the Irish members have made a point of
standing aloof from the Speaker's dinner
parties. There is, indeed, a story of the late
Mr. Joseph (jillis Biggar having been en-
countered on the top of a Clapham 'bus with
velvet coat on his back, ruffles at his wrist,
black stockings coyly hiding his shapely legs,
silver buckles on his shoes, and sword in
dainty scabbard hanging within easy reach of
his right hand. Questioned as to the occa-
sion for this disguise, he airily rephed : " I've
l)een dining with Mr. Speaker." This is,
however, only one of the many myths that
linger round the memory of honest Joseph
( iillis. As upon another apocryphal occasion
it was announced that " the Tenth never
dance," so it remains true to this day that the
Irish members never dine — at least, not with
the Speaker.
Shortly after Mr. Bright, in 1868,
MR. joined the Ministry as Presi-
KRiGHT. dent of the Board of Trade,
the clothes difficulty presented
itself. His Quaker conscience revolted
against the necessity of assuming the semi-
warlike costume which forms the full dress of
Her Majesty's Ministers. To prance around
in scarlet coat, with gold lace down his
trousers and a plumed cocked hat under his
arm, was a sacrifice that seemed too much,
e\en as a preliminary condition of being
enabled to serve his
country. But the uni-
HE DKKW THE LINE AT THE SWORD,
266
7^HE STRAND MAGAZINE.
THE DIRE-
NESS OF
UNCER-
TAINTY.
form is imperatively necessary in connection
with Court duties inseparable from Ministerial
ofifice. On visits to the Queen, attendance
at the Prince of Wales's levees, and at the
Ministerial dinners in Speaker's Court, the
integrity of the British Constitution demands
a certain strictly ordered uniform. After
some protest, Mr. Bright gave in in the
matters of coat and trousers, even of plumed
hat. But he drew the line at the sword.
Finally concession was made on this point, he
alone of all Her Majesty's Ministers appear-
ing on ceremonial occasions unembarrassed
by a sword.
It is said that fewer new members
have possessed themselves of
Court dress in the present Parlia-
ment than in any of its pre-
decessors of recent times. The
reason for that lies on the surface. AMien
the present Parliament began business, there
were some authorities who confidently asserted
that dissolution would fall upon it before it
had enjoyed its first Easter holiday. When
nothing happened at Easter, the date of the
prophecy was shifted to the Committee stage
of the Home Rule Bill. When nothing
happened then, other occasions, none remote,
were with equal confidence named. Whether
immediately, or by - and - by, Parliament
could not last long, and what was to
become of the new member, thrown upon
the country with a brand-new suit of Court
dress and no certainty of being returned at
another election ? The situation, it is said,
appealed with peculiar force to Scottish
members ; only those with majorities so
large as to justify expectation of opportunity
of wearing out their Court dress in a sub-
sequent Parliament adventuring on the
expenditure.
One peculiar dis-
LORDS AND tinction between
COMMONS, the Eords and
Commons is the
greater jealousy with which
the latter guard the sanctity
of their Chamber. Both
Houses have staffs of mes-
sengers, chiefly responsible as
media of communication
between members and the
outer world. But whilst mes-
sengers in the Lords, charged
wath a letter, a card, or a
Ministerial box, may ap-
proach the person addressed
and achieve his errand, a
messenger in the House of
LEGISLATION
IN THE
LORDS.
LORD CHAN'CELLOR AND I
CHAIRMAN."
Commons may not approach beyond the bar
at one end, or proceed further than the
steps of the Speaker's Chair at the other.
I'he consequences are inconvenient and
sometimes ludicrous. What happens is that
the messenger, standing by the cross benches,
hands to the nearest member the message or
card with which he is charged, and it is
slowly passed along the line till it reaches its
destination ; each member in turn thinking
it is meant for him, occasionally an absent-
minded statesman opening a letter not
addressed to him. This is a matter in which
the Lords are certainly more up to date, and
the Commons might well take a leaf out of
their oixlinarily despised book.
In another respect, that of
advancing Bills by stages, the
House of Lords -could, as Sir
John Astley used to say, give
the Commons a stone and beat them. Towards
the end of the Session, when, after sitting for
months with nothing to do, the Lords find
themselves overwhelmed with work, the
rapidity with which legislation is accomplished
is bewildering to the stranger in the gallery.
The Clerk, rising from his seat at the end
of the table, recites the name of a Bill.
The Lord Chancellor, wigged and gowned
on the Woolsack, says in a breath: " The-
question-is-that-this-Bill-be-read-a-second-
time-those-that-are-of-that-opinion-say-content-
the-contrary-not- content -I-think-the-contents-
have it."
Standing Orders having been sus-
as is usual at this time of the
the Lord Chancellor moves half a
the left of the Woolsack, and sits
down. By what seems a simultaneous motion.
Lord Morley, Chairman of Committees, taking
an equal pace in the same
direction, slips into the chair
at the head of the table.
This means that the House
is in Committee, the Lord
Chancellor nowhere, the
Chairman of Committees
presiding. "Clause One,"
says Lord Morley, rising to
his feet. " Question-is-that-
this-clause-stand-part-of-the-
Bill - those - that - are -of- that-
opinion-say-content -contrary-
not-content - I-think-the-con-
tents - have - it -Clause - two.-"
and so on to the end of
the Bill, with the same
breathless formula and the
same unhesitatiuLT con-
The
pended,
Session,
pace to
FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKERS CHAIR.
267
elusion that " the contents have it.''
When the preamble is added to the
Bill, the Chairman puts the question that
the House do now resume. The hidden
machinery underneath the floor works again.
The Lord Chancellor, sliding half a pace to
the right, is on the Woolsack, once more
President. The Chairman of Committees,
simultaneously moving in the same direction,
is out of the Chair, and, for the nonce,
is nobody. " The-question-i.s," says the Lord
Chancellor, "that-this-Bill-be-now-read-a-third-
time-those-that-are-of-that-opinion," etc. W'ith
two able-bodied, active men like Lord
Herschell and Lord Morley in charge of the
performance, a Bill can be run through the
Lords in an incredibly short time.
In the Commons, the best possible in the
circumstances is achieved, but the Lords
have certain natural advantages that make
them the Eclipse of this kind of racing. In
the first place, the suspension of the Standing
Orders, so that successive stages of a Bill may
be taken right off, a matter of course in the
Lords, is a serious business in the Commons.
The objection of a single member would be
effectual in stopping the onward course, and
such objection is withheld only on the rarest
occasions. Then there are physical conditions.
The Speaker of the House of Commons, unlike
the Lord Chancellor, is not seated on the level
of the floor. He is raised on a pedestal, and
when he leaves the Chair on the House going
into Committee, must needs descend the
steps and withdraw behind the Chair. How-
ever urgent the need of haste, it cannot be
expected that the Speaker, in wig and gown,
should skip down the steps like a young
maiden going to the fair. If he did, he
might come in contact with Mr. Mellor,
stepping forward to occupy the Chair of
Committees, which is close by the foot
of the Speaker's Chair. In the Lords
there is a wide space between the table and
the W^oolsack, which makes easy the simul-
taneous moving of Lord Chancellor and
Chairman of Committees.
People who talk glibly of the immediate
abolition of the House of Lords should think
over these things.
It is curious to find so old a
WRITTEN Parliamentary hand as Sir William
SPEECHES. Harcourt going back to the use
of manuscript when delivering
his speeches. He has been in the House of
Commons for a practically uninterrupted
period exceeding a quarter of a century, and
has taken a prominent part in current debates.
Before he entered he had established a
lucrative practice at the Parliamentary Bar.
In conversation he is one of the wittiest of
men ; in debate one of the quickest. Yet,
in these latter days, he invariably prepares his
speech verbatim in manuscript, and reads it
from first page to last. He does it exceedingly
well, his deUvery lacking little in animation.
But the wonder remains that he should do it
at all. The practice is reasonable in deliver-
ing his financial statement as Chancellor of
the Exchequer. Even Mr. Gladstone, on such
occasions, condescended to pretty voluminous
notes. But Sir William Harcourt extends
the practice in various directions, any speech
of more than average importance being read
from manuscript.
This is doubtless due to sense of responsi-
bility with his still new position as Leader
of the House of Commons. The custom
certainly dates from his assumption of that
ofiice. That it is not necessitated by failing
aptitude was repeatedly shown in debate in
Committee on his great Budget scheme.
He was then constantly on guard, occasionally
delivering as many as a score of speeches in
a single sittmg. There was then displayed
no lack of well-ordered information or of
apt phrases. On the contrary, these impromptu
addresses were more immediately effective
than the carefully prepared orations. It was
the old Parliamentary gladiator at his best.
I'o see him with written copy of his speech
before him is like watching an accomplished
swimmer going back to the use of corks.
Another Parliamentary debater
T ORD
of the first rank who went back
RANDOLPH , , c
to the use ot manuscript was
■ Lord Randolph Churchill. The
last speech delivered by him in the House
of Commons before his departure on
his sadly interrupted journey round the
world was written out verbatim, and read
to the House. He always carefully pre-
pared his speeches in his study, and in his
palmiest days never rose in ordered debate
witliout a sheaf of notes. But they were
merely catch notes, from the line of which
he was, upon interruption, ever ready to make
brilliant divagation. With his later manner his
speech suffered much in the delivery, Lord
Randolph, with head bent over his manu-
script, not being audible on the back benches.
Mr. James Bryce, who sat attentive on
the Treasury Bench immediately opposite,
and heard every word of ft, told me it was
a remarkably cogent argument, admirably
phrased and illumined by happy illustration,
falling, in these respects, nothing short of
Lord Randolph's earlier successes.
268
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
an outsider, it is not his liabit to prepare
in his study his impromptus, or even the
saHent points of his argument. The most
difficult task that can fall to the lot of a Leader
on either side of the House of Commons is
to make those set orations, whether over the
tomb or the altar, for which necessity from
time to time arises. Mr. Gladstone is, by
common consent, the only man of the age
who could rise to either occasion. Mr.
Disraeli, when occupying in 1852 the position
now filled by Sir A\'illiam Harcourt, being
I'xct.F, AMI ni:piie\v.
UNCLE
AND
NEPHEW.
Of all Parliamentary debaters of
the day, whether in Lords or
Commons, there is no man less
dependent upon notes than is the
Marquis of Salisbury. As in important
debates in the present Parliament he usually
speaks towards the close of a sitting, in antici-
pation of the Premier winding up a debate,
he has no opportunity for ])reparation.
Certainly there is no smell of the lamji
about his discourses. He does not even,
as others do, make a note of thoughts or of
criticism that occurs to him whilst listening.
When his turn comes he presents himself at
the table and, leaning one hand upon it, pro-
ceeds with unfaltering flow of perfectly turned
j)hrases, most of them carrying barbed points.
A sonorous voice and unhurried delivery are
details which complete the intellectual treat
of hearing jLord Salisbury drink delight of
battle with his peers.
Mr. Arthur Balfour shares in
degree his uncle's freedom from
the trammels of manuscript notes.
He is not entirely without their
assistance, but they are
merest skeletons, and
obviously do not con
fine the range of his
speech. Such as they
are, they are invariably
written on his knee
in the House of
Commons. As far as
may be ol>served by
A I.UGUBRK^rS MANNKR
MK. HALFOTr's " NOTES."
called upon to pronounce a eulogy on the
Duke of Wellington, who had just answered to
his name in the final roll-call, borrowed his
best passage from a lament declaimed by
M. Thiers over the tomb of Marshal Gouvioii
de St. Cyr. This second - rate French
Marshal, dead more
than twenty years, was
forgotten. But Thiers'
flash of eloquence was
remembered by others
than Mr. Disraeli.
Mr. Chamberlain
made tlie most memor-
able, if not the only,
failure of his Parlia-
mentary addresses
when he joined in the
funeral orations in the
House of Commons
on the death of Mr.
Bright. Sir William
Harcourt is prone on
such occasions to
assume a lugubrious
manner that fatally
depresses the spirits
of his audience. The
FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKER'S CHAIR.
i6()
last time Mr. Balfour, in his capacity as
Leader of tlie Opposition, took part in such
ceremonial proceedings was when the Hou^e
of Commons passed a resolution of con-
dolence with France upon the murder of
President Carnot. Sir William Harcourt,
who moved the resolution, read a funeral
sermon from manuscript he took out of his
breast coat pocket, whilst his voice rose and
fell in melancholy cadence. Mr. Balfour,
taking a sheet of notepaper from the table,
wrote down the outline of what proved to be
a short but almost perfect speech, taking as
his text successive points in Sir William
Harcourt's monody, and giving them fresh
turns.
One result of the sub-division of
HOPELESSLY parties in the House of Commons
MIXED, following on the disruption in
the Liberal ranks has an im-
portant effect upon the vitality of debate.
Up to the year 1886 the House of Commons
was broadly divided between two parties.
There were, of course, the Home Rulers -
the tiers parti, as Mr. O'Donnell called them,
a suggestion that naturally led on to the
nomenclature of the Fourth Party. But
their position did not vary the rule. When
they were on the war-path, there were still,
at that time, only two parties in the House -
the Irish members and the rest.
\\\ such circumstances a member faced his
opponents, the Irish meml)ers with the
addition of having some of them also on
their right flank. When spoken sentiments
were approved, they were hailed with a hearty
cheer running continuously along the benches
on one side. \\'here they were objected to,
the shouts of disapproval came all from the
same quarter of the encampment. To-day,
with the little party under Mr. Chamberlain's
command wedged into the very centre of
the Liberal forces, things have grown so
hopelessly mixed, that the oltl significance
of cheering and counter - cheering is lost.
When a member hears Mr. Chamberlain,
rising from the Liberal benches, lustily
cheered by the Conservatives, and when later
the thin black line on the third bench below
the gangway on the Liberal side hail with
cheers the appearance at the table of Mr.
Balfour or Mr. Coschen, the old member,
accustomed to other times and manners,
"dunno where 'e are." The situation is
further complicated by the Irish members
sitting aligned with the English country gen-
tlemen, cheering when they sit silent, and
derisively howling when they cheer.
Another consequence of this uncanny state
of things is that the give-and-take of debate,
which obtains in all well-ordered assemblies,
has now become impossible in the House of
C'ommons. It has ever been the custom of
the Speaker to call alternately upon members
composing the Ministerialists and the Oppo-
sition. Now there are the Liberal Unionists
to be counted with, and if the topic be, as
it sometimes is, an Irish question, there
are the Leaders of the Nationalist Party and
the Parnellites, who claim severally to be
heard. The inevitable consequence is that
at critical stages of set debates the House
has a speech from a Minister, who is followed
by Mr. Balfour, to whom succeeds Mr.
Chamberlain. Or, vice-versa, the two allies,
separated only by the floor of the House,
say the same thing over in different ways.
Then, if Mr. Sexton or Mr. McCarthy speaks,
Mr. John Redmond must needs deliver an
address of equal length. The same thing
happens on lower grades, the rank and file
of factions of })arty getting bewilderingly
intermingled.
In the House of Lords this lack
IN THE of symmetry in the order of
LORDS, debate is even more marked,
and from the constitution of
parties is inevitable. There really are not
enough of Liberal peers to go round in
one of the set debates to which the Lords
occasionally treat themselves. As Lord
Rosebery, in his famous speech at Brad-
ford, complained, peers of Liberal per-
suasion are not more in number than
5 per cent, of the House of Lords. It
naturally follows that the preponderance of
debating force is on one side. To mention
three names indicative of various hostile
attitudes towards Liberalism, there are Lord
Salisbury, the Duke of Devonshire, and the
Duke of Argyll, who may, and sometimes do,
follow each other in close succession. When
Lord Rosebery, Lord Herschell, Lord Spencer,
the Marquis of Ripon, and Lord Russell of
Killowen have spoken, the forces of debate
on the Liberal side begin to be exhausted ;
whilst in the Conservative camp there are
many other peers beside the Duke of Devon-
shire and the Duke of Argyll who, having
learned fencing in the Liberal school, are
now ready to turn imbuttoned foils on what
are left of their former comrades. Regarded
as a debating assembly, this condition of
affairs is a distinct disadvantage to the House
of Jvords, which, paradoxical as the statement
may appear, would find its majority in a far
more powerful position if it were numerically
less strong.
270
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
HARRYING
EX-
MEMliERS.
Old members of the House of
Commons withdrawn from Par-
liamentary life discover on re-
visiting the familiar scene how
jealously guarded are the privileges of sitting
members. The House of Commons, if no
longer the best club in the world, is certainly
the most exclusive. All its approaches are
guarded with almost hectic jealousy. It is
easier for a camel to pass through the eye of
a needle than for an unauthorized stranger to
enter even the lobby of the House. I'hese
are regulations which, though they may seem
harsh in personal experience, are absolutely
necessary for the conduct of business. Human
interest in the House of Conmions is so
burning in its intensity, that if approach were
easy the building would be swamped by the
idly curious. As it is, strangers unprovided
with orders of admission are kept at arms'
length with as much severity as if they were
infected with leprosy.
Ex-members find these restrictions par-
ticularly obnoxious. Looking in upon a
place of which they were at one time
privileged and perchance honoured occupants,
they find their footsteps politely but firmly
dogged by the perfection of police on duty
at Westminster Palace. Ordinary strangers
may not approach the House of Commons
as far as the inner lobby without special
permission. Ex-members may go so far but no
farther, unless they are accompanied bya sitting
member. They may not enter the corridor
leading to the dining-room, library, or terrace,
nor may they pass in or out by the once
familiar staircase leading down to the cloak-
room. As for finding a place in or under the
strangers' galleries, they are on the footing
of the obscurest stranger, and must obtain an
order from the Speaker or the Serjeant-at-
Arms. These restrictions are, perhaps,
necessary. But they are none the less irk-
some to men who for years have had the run
of the House.
The House of Lords makes a difference
in this respect in the case of Privy Councillors.
A right hon. gentleman of whatever distinc-
tion who has been a member of the House
of Commons may not, after withdrawing
from Parliamentary life, approach beyond
the inner lobby of his old quarters. But
he has always the right of entry to the
House of Lords, and may take his place
behind the rails skirting the Throne, shoulder
to shoulder with such of Her Majesty's
Ministers and members of the Opposition
from the House of Commons as are also
Privy Councillors.
The House of Commons is,
BLOCKING probably, the best place in the
HATS. world in which to make a joke,
however poor. It is so pro-
foundly bored with much talking that it
clutches with feverish haste at anything that
will permit it to laugh. An impassioned
orator who concludes his speech by sitting on
his hat is regarded as a benefactor of his
species. Another, who with sweep of his
right hand knocks over a glass of water,
instantly become a popular personage. To
this day tender memories linger round a
genial Q.C., long severed from Parliamentary
life, who once in the course of a single speech
twice knocked off the same member's hat.
Of all men in the House, the sufferer was Mr.
Campbell - Bannerman, a circumstance that
added greatly to the subtle enjoyment of the
scene. It was in the Parliament of 1880, and
the question of the hour related to Mr.
Bradlaugh's status. " It is essential," said
the hon. and learned gentleman, " that this
(juestion should be treated in a calm and
judicial manner." Instinctively sweeping out
his right hand, by way of illustrating the idea
of breadth of view, the learned Q.C. smote the
crown of the hat of Mr. Campbell-Bannerman,
who sat on the Treasury Bench below him.
The future Secretary for \\'ar, at that
time Financial Secretary, is a man of daunt-
less courage and imperturbable humour. To
a senator sitting with arms folded, head bent
down, and mind intent on following the
argument of an esteemed friend behind,
nothing is more disconcerting than to have
his hat suddenly swept off his head. Mr.
Campbell-Bannerman was equal to the
occasion.' The House tittered with laughter.
EQUAL TO THE OCCASION.
FROM BEHIND THE SPEAKERS CHAIR.
271
He picked up his hat as if that were
his ordinary way of having it taken off,
replaced it on his head, and returned to the
consideration of the points of the argument
he had been considering. Ten minutes later,
another wave of emotion overcoming the
orator, the hat of the Financial Secretary to
the War Office was once more trundling
along the floor. Then, it is true, Mr.
Campbell-Bannerman cautiously moved along
the bench out of range of fire, whilst the
House gave itself up to uncontrolled laughter.
In more recent
times, Mr. ^^'il-
liam O'Brien has
driven home his
argument by
bringing down a
clenched fist on
DRIVING HOME AN ARGUMENT.
the top of the hat of an hon. member sitting im-
mediately below him. But the record in which
the present Secretary of State for War pas-
sively assisted remains unbroken.
A less vigorous form
LAPSUS of humour in which
LiNGu.^i. the House delights
is a slip of the toiigue
on the part of a member." The
more matter-of-fact he be, the
fuller is the enjoyment. Last
Session Mr. Arthur Balfour fell
upon a phrase, the possible
double meaning of
which delighted the
House. In the course
of debate on the affairs
of Matabeleland, the Leader of the Opposi-
tion emphatically declared that what was
needed for the welfare and prosperity of
South Africa was "the extension of roads."
As the name of Mr. Cecil Rhodes had been
prominently mentioned throughout the
debate, not without unfriendly hints that
self-aggrandizement was the base of his
policy, Mr. Balfour was interrupted by a
burst of boisterous laughter, at which he
affected innocent amazement, and repeated
the phrase again and again, till the House
permitted him to conclude the passage.
There was much controversy at the time
as to whether he had perceived the double
entendre^ or whether in persisting in reitera-
tion of his phrase he was unconscious of its
possible application. Talking the matter
over later on the same night, he told me
that he recognised the slip as soon as the
phrase had escaped his lips. But he was not
going to give himself away by accepting the
construction humorously put upon it. To
those who were present and remember his
appearance of genuine astonishment at the
interruption, this will show that an old Parlia-
mentary hand may still be young in years,
and ingenuous in manner.
Incomparably the best mixed
MR. saying of this kind ever uttered in
COBDEN. the House of Commons dropped
from the lips of Mr. Cobden. It
was told me by one of the few members of
the present House who heard the debates on
the Commercial Treaty with France.
" Now I will give you an illustration of
what I mean," said Mr. Cob-
den, reaching a certain point in
his exposition. " My hon. friend
who sits near me " (indicating
Mr. Bright) " spins long yarns of
poor quality."
Mr. Cobden got no further
with the sentence, the remainder
bjing lost amid inextinguishable
laughter. Only Mr. Bright, then
in the prime of his powers, a
frequent and voluminous contri-
butor to Parliamentary debate,
did not see the joke.
THE EXTENSION OF RHODES.
Some SJiapes of Heads.
V>\ |. K. Barnard.
HE study of the external form
of the head has at various
times admitted of much con-
troversy and
speculation.
The " bumps "
or superficial prominences, so
readily felt on carrying the
hand over the head, afford
phrenologists a large field for
the imagination ; and some
scientific men have adopted a
method of surface measure-
ment for the purpose of study-
ing racial peculiarities and
descent.
During the past few years
a large number of heads,
amounting to several thou-
sands, have been measured
under my supervision. It
has, therefore, occurred to
me that a brief account of
some of the more striking
shapes might be of interest
to the general reader.
For this purpose a selection has been made,
embodying those which are chiefly interesting
for their irregularity and asymmetry of out-
line, or because they point out certain racial
or individual fea-
tures. The most
casual observer
cannot help being
struck with the
great variation in
all directions of
the examples here
figured. There is
often an almost
total absence of
symmetry, and the
size varies within
wide limits. A fre-
quent observation
of those to whom
such shapes are
shown is : " How
like a foot I " and,
indeed, the excla-
mation in many
cases is fully justified. The size is in every
case considerably reduced, the scale being
approximately a reduction of 5 diameters.
The figures have been taken
from men alone, the shape of
the female head being difficult
to gauge accurately owing to
the arrangement of the hair.
That there are certain shapes
of head peculiar to different
peoples there is no question,
and this is often so marked,
that the sha])e may form a
fairly reliable guide to the
determination of a person's
nationality, or, at any rate, that
of his antecedents.
Taking, for instance, nii
ideal head, as Fig. i, one
notices that it is rather long.
Its length should exceed its
breadth by i^Mn. An I'Jiglish
head, as I<"ig. 2, is generally
slightly longer than this,
broader at . the back, and
tapering rather towards the
forehead. The English of to-day are some-
what mixed in their antecedents, and cannot
therefore claim to have such a characteristic
head as the Highlander or Irishman.
SOME SHAPES OE HEADS.
73
The Figs. 6, 7, 8, and 9 are all Scotch
heads, and have not been selected because
of any peculiarity, but are, in all cases, typical.
It will be seen that they taper very much
towards the front, narrowing at the temples,
and very often becoming square and
prominent at the forehead. A Highlander
is, in fact, a " long-headed " man, not only
chosen, one is that
of a noted, and
unciuestionab 1 v
highly intellectual,
Irish ParlianitP.-
tary leader, and the
other is the head
of a nonentity.
The Welsh and
Cornish head
differs considera-
bly from either of
the types so far
noticed, as Figs.
19 and 20 show.
It partakes more
of the shape cha-
racteristic of the
I*' r e n c h m a n o r
Spaniard. Doubt-
less, in the west
of Cornwall there is a slight trace of
Spanish blood, which is possibly due to a
few who escaped from the Spanish Armada
settling there. At the Fizard, for instance,
the name of Jose is common or even
predominant, 'fhis is no doubt a corruption
of the Spanish name Jose. In the case of
Cornwall, however, the trade carried on for
proverbially, but in reality. Figs. 3 and 5
are also long, but are abnormal specimens of
English heads.
An Irishman, also, has a long head, as Figs.
10, II, and 12 show, but it is not so narrow
in comparison with the length as a Scotch
head. It does not contract so much at the
temples, and is squarer. Of the examples
Vol. ix —36.
centuries, even before the time ot Christ,
with Brittany, Spain, and other countries,
might account more satisfactorily for the
apparent admixture of foreign blood. The
relation of the shape of the head to
nationality might broadly be associated
with climate, for one finds that, the further
south the examples are taken from, the
274
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
rounder do heads become, and a north
country head is proportionately longer. This
applies to other countries than our own.
Fig. 15 shows a Frenchman's head, which
is much rounder than an Englishman's. Fig.
13, German, is rounder still, and broadens
is that it is a result of the habitual use of
the right hand. Recent investigations into
the functions of the brain have shown
that the several members of the body are
what is known as " represented " on its sur-
face. For example, the impulse to move the
very much at the back, although Fig. 14 is
a most unusual exception. Fig. 1 7 is Dutch,
the peculiarity being a smaller head, but
still much the type of the Cierman. Fig. 16
is a Spanish and P'ig. 18 is an Italian head.
A negro's head is rounder still : in LxcX,
almost bullet shape.
The illustrations are not only remark-
able for their general shape or outline, but
an even more extraordinary feature is the
great want of symmetry before mentioned.
The line dividing each shape is tak-en from
the top of the nose
to where the spinal
column meets the head
at the back, therefore
dividing the head into
two lateral parts. In
l^^igs- 2, 4, 3p, and 31
this inequality is so
marked that it almost
amounts to a deformity.
Curiously enough, the
larger portion is almost
invariably on the left
side, the cases whe-re
the opposite occurs
being rare. Many
theories have been ad-
vanced to account for
this, but probably the
most satisfactory one
right arm comes from a special part of the
surface of the left side of the l)rain. In
right-handed persons, the centres subserving
the faculty of speech iare located on the left
side of the brain, whle there is evidence to
show that in left-handed persons these
centres are more probably situated on the
right side. It is not by any means im-
probable that as we have through countless
generations been in the habit of using
our right hand and arm, and leaving the
left hand uneducated, it has at length
SOME SHAPES OE HEADS.
275
resulted in the brain on tlie left side becom-
ing enlarged.
It might be suggested that, such being
the case, a left-handed person should have
an enlarged right side of the head, and
in some instances this was found to be
the case. Fig. 21, for instance, is a case in
which the left hand was thoroughly developed,
and performed all required of it in the same
existence they would in
a few generations have
an enlargement on the
right side as character-
istic as right-handed
persons now have on
the left side of the
head. Such a marked
inequality, as just de-
scribed, might be made
a subject of much
theory ; but as the
object of this paper is
chiefly to state facts,
we do not propose
entering into contro-
versial matter.
In the cases under
our notice, it has most
fre(|uently happened
tliat a person of more
than average intelligence has a head above
the average size. 'rhi,s«is not by any means
without exception, as, for instance, Fig. 24,
which is the head of a well-known surgeon,
and is one of the smallest we have noticed.
On the other hand, the very large one. Fig.
32, is the head of an insane person; a not
uncommon accompaniment of lunacy or
idiotcy being an abnormally krrge head.
way as most right hands do. The result is
seen in a marked development of the right
side of the head. It might happen that the
heads of left-handed persons would not in-
variably show this, but it is not improbable
that if a race of left-handed people came into
It very often happens that a large-headed
father has a small-headed son, the converse
rarely occurring. In Figs. 22 and 25, the
larger is the father's and the smaller the son's
head, but this case presents a peculiarity in that
the shapes are so entirely different. It generally
276
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
difference in -oge
between the young-
est and the eldest.
Fig. 26 varies rather
from the others,
and the tempera-
ment of the owner
of this head is
different in many
ways. P^ig. 2% again,
represents an abnor-
mal head in a large
family, all the rest of
which are peculiarly
normal.
The size of the
head seems to bear
little relation to the
size of the body. A
very big man often
has a small head,
happens that even if the head is smaller, the or, at any rate, one of average size ; on the
shapes resemble each other, as, for instance, other hand, a small man may have a large
in Figs. 26, 27, 28, and 29, which are those of head — in fact, we have been unable to trace
four brothers, the same general outline pre- any relationship between size of head and
vailing in each, although there is a wide body.
Note. — The illustrations are so placed that the forehead is towards the top of the page.
W'\fS5
The Story of a Oirl's Adventure Underground.
By Mrs. St. Loe Strachev.
MUST begin all over again
the weary, heart-breaking search
for work — the repeated failures,
the weariness, the sickness of
hope deferred — all' this must
be gone through again — again I
And how many times more ? No employment
of mine seemed to last long : always a new
struggle to obtain my daily bread lay darken-
ing before me. Truly, an evil star had
gleamed on the horizon on the night of my
birth, for to my lot it had fallen to carry
Adam's burden though I lay under the curse
of Eve.
But misfortune must be faced, some work
must be found. I must live, and my store
of money in hand was dwindling in a terribly
rapid manner ; it was time to make a
desperate effort for employment. But the
month was unfavourable. At the beginning
of August work, at any rate in London, is
scarce. Perhaps I might get an engagement
as a holiday governess to little children, to
tide over the time till people came back to
town. I looked over the advertisements in
the penny morning papers, but could find
nothing which even promised well. One
afternoon, however, I obtained the loan of
the Times, and in it 1 found the following
advertisement ; —
TIT ANTED. — Cultured lady (under 30 preferred)
VV to take charge of valuable domestic pet during
owner's absence in country. Caretaker left in house.
Liberal honorarium. Apply to-day (Friday) to Mme.
Lebrun, .
And here followed the address of a house in
one of the old-fashioned squares in the north
of London. It was getting late in the day, but
in spite of that I thought it would be worth
while to make an effort to obtain the place. An
omnibus landed me within about ten minutes'
THE STRAND MAGAZLNE.
walk of the square. As I passed through
the streets the wind was blowing gustily,
and from the square gardens a few slightly
turned leaves fluttered to the ground.
Autumn was beginning her harvest early. The
houses in the square I was seeking were tall
and thin, and over the doors and windows
skeleton rams' heads and delicate mouldings
of flowers told
of the Adams
decorations
within. But the
exterior of the
house which I
was seeking was
at first sight
plain — then I
saw that the
handles of the
bells were of
sphinxes'
heads, and each
knocker a
bronze cat's
head. At my
ring the double
door split in the
middle, and an
old man-servant
asked me my
business, ahd
on hearing it
admitted me
without a mo-
ment's hesita-
tion — admitted
me apparently
into the halls of
Memphis, for
the doorway
leading into the
inner hall had
been converted
into an archwax ,
over which an
unknown hiero-
glyphic inscrip-
tion was painted.
A bronze sphinx stood sentinel on either
side of the great chimney-piece, and the
walls were covered with paintings such as
are found in Egyptian tombs. As I followed
my guide up the dark staircase, a dim, oblong
form showed from the corner of the broad
landing — a shape broad at the top and
narrowing to the feet. Memento mori.
But all was changed when the wide door
of the drawing-room was thrown open. Here
was PVance. France of the beginning of the
TH1-~.V SEE.MKD TO UNDKKSTAM) J-;ACII OTHKR.
century was seen in the deep crimson satin
hangings ; France of to-day in the small wood
fire which smouldered on the hearth— for the
evening was chill— in the varnished boards,
and in the very places of the furniture. This I
learnt afterwards. At the moment my atten-
tion was fixed and held by a figure standing
in the middle of the room. The figure was
small, slight,
and fragile,
draped in long
grey folds and
crowned by a
bushy mass of
grey hair. Its
arm was out-
stretched, and
on the wrist sat
perched an old,
old parrot, al-
most featherless,
with a look of
s u p e r h u m a n
cunning and
malice in its
eyes. This old
bird and its
older mistress
were apparently
holding an
actual conver-
sation. They
seemed to un-
derstand each
other perfectly.
For a moment I
stood transfixed,
then the voice
o f t h e m a n -
servant broke
the spell : —
"A lady,
madame, has
called, in answer
to your adver-
tisement."
"Ah! I have
already seen so
many," and the grey figure, speaking with a
strong foreign accent, came floating quickly
towards me ; " but perhaps this time better
luck. J/fz/jr— but I think this is more hopeful.
Eh, Gustave ? Come, mademoiselle, and give
yourself the trouble to, be seated; you are,
no doubt, fatigued." And with her left hand
— her right was still occupied with the
parrot — she led me to a comfortable chair by
the fire.
" I called, madame," I began, when seated.
THE DEAD REVEL.
279
"in answer to your advertisement which I
saw in the Times this morning."
"Ah! ma foi, yti<.. That announcement —
what trouble it has given me. You cannot
figure to yourself the persons I have seen
to-day who all declared themselves ' ladies of
cultivation.' But for you, mademoiselle, it
is a different thing. I could not leave you
alone in this great house ; you are too young,
too pretty. It would — how shall I say it ? —
it would walk out of the conveniences."
" I implore you, madame, not to let con-
siderations like these influence you. I am
entirely dependent on my work, and there is
so little work I can do," and as I thought of
the cruel disappointments I had had in the
last fortnight, my voice broke.
" Ah, pmwre enfant, we shall see. The
case is this. My doctors tell me I must
positively have a change of air. My parrot,
Gustave, like other old people — for he is
older still than I — cannot bear to be
deranged in his habits : he is miserable if he
quits this house. Qjte /aire ? Accustomed
as he is to my society and conversation, I
cannot leave him to servants : he would expire
of dulness. So I thought if I could get some
lady to see to him, to talk to him during my
two months' absence "
'' Ah, madame," I interrupted, " if you
would only try me, I would take such care of
him."
" \\'e shall see," again said Mme. Lebrun.
"(lustave, man ami, dost thou think thou
couldst stay with mademoiselle ? Dost thou
like her ? "
At this a[)peal (lustave with great solemnity
fluttered to the floor, and, to my alarm, began
solemnly hopping round me in ever-lessening
circles. At last he stopped in front of me,
and, looking straight up into my face, emitted
a sound like drawing a cork and screamed
out in a high, fast, monotonous shriek :
" Pretty girl, pretty girl, don't cry, my dear ;
don't like being kissed ? That's what pretty
girls are made for. Ha ! ha ! ha I " and
he exploded into a fit of cackling, gasping
laughter.
But Mme. Lel)run was apparently quite
satisfied, and then and there we settled our
luisiness arrangements, salary, which was
indeed liberal, included. I was to take
possession that day week. As I rose to go,
Mme. Lebrun said : —
" Two last injunctions I must give you.
You will not, will you, leave Gustave for
more than two hours at a time ? And you
must not permit him to go into the cellars.
Yes, thou old rascal, I speak of thy sins.
Into the cellars. i)v hook or by crook, thou
lovest to go. And they are cold, and thou
coughest when thou comest out. Made-
moiselle, he is a curious bird. He belonged,
as did this house, to M. Beckford."
" The great Beckford, the author of
'Vathek'?" I cried, much excited, thinking
this explained the general curious aspect of
the place.
" Ah, you have heard of him. Yes, to
him. My mother rented the house from
him. This is her portrait," and she pointed
to a large portrait on the wall of an extremely
pretty woman in lilmpire dress, with an ex-
pression, half arch, half wistful, in her dark
eyes. "This room she furnished in her own
taste — here probably you will like to sit — it
is less friste than the other apartments."
I thanked her heartily, for, indeed, I had no
notion of living in an Egyptian museum, and
took my leave. A week after found me
comfortably established in the house, in the
care of the old man-servant and his wife, who
I found was a super-excellent cook, (iustave
stayed with me night and day. He was
generally drowsy in the morning, but was
painfully restless and wide-awake at night.
He had a habit of waking me by making a
sound as of a violent slap being given to a
thigh tightly breeched in satin, after which
he would cry : " Doose take it, did yer ? "
But it was a pleasant time, filled with
dreams of the curious people and things
that the house had seen. It was not fated to
last.
One day the man-servant asked me if he
and his wife might go that evening to some
family gathering and festivity to which they
were bidden. Pleased to do a little kindness
to people who were so attentive to me, I gladly
consented. My usual dinner was converted
into a tempting cold supper, which was
spread ready for me. At six o'clock they
left me. I was absorbed in a book, and
hardly noticed what happened till the clock
on the mantelpiece chimed seven. It was
growing dusk. I was hungry, I would take my
supper.
" Gustave," I called. No answer. No
impatient flutter such as usually greeted a sum-
mons to eat, for Gustave took his meals with
his family. I searched in vain for him. Then
conviction flashed across me. He had nm
away into the cellars. There was nothing to
be done but to go after him. I took a
candle and a box of matches and started on
my quest, down, down, through the hall, the
kitchen, till I reached the great, vaulted
cellars. I went through them, guided l)y the
THE STRAND MAGAZTNE.
sound of Gustave chattering and swearing
excitedly.
At last, in the furthest vault of all, I
found him. He was hopping excitedly
round and round in a circle in the middle
of the floor. With voice and hand I tried
to soothe him, but he eluded me. At last
I tried to catch him by force. Suddenly, as I
sprang after him, I felt the paved floor beneath
my feet tremble. The stone on which I stood
wa» giving — turning. I sprang off it, un-
I TRIED TO CATCH HIM.
consciously giving it a further impetus as
I did so. It turned half round, leaving a
black vault at my feet, up which an icy wind
blew suddenly and extinguished my light.
With trembling hands I tried to strike a
match, hearing in the darkness a scream of
triumph from Gustave ; then he suddenly let
fall a volley of strange oaths, and it struck
me with dismay that his voice was sounding
fainter.
At last I lighted my candle, and, shading
the flame with my hand from the draught,
I looked into the blackness at my feet. I
saw a flight of worn steps winding down-
wards, and from below sounded the hoarse
laugh of Gustave.
1 followed him ; I allowed myself no pause,
no moment of hesitation, but passed rapidly
down the narrow winding stair. At last 1
reached the bottom. Before me was an arch-
way, still hung with dusty,, tattered fragments
of what had once been heavy portieres.
Round the arch I could distinguish an
inscription in high, blood - red letters.
Slowly I deciphered it : " Ftxii
ce que voudras.''' I shud-
dered ! Dim memories of
Medenham Abbey surged in my
mind, and of that unholy revel
when the blasphemous revellers
found suddenly that one had
been added to their number, and
yet no man could tell which was
the uninvited guest.
I pushed on and stood at
last in a vast, vaulted hall. By
my dim light, I saw a great
table, where lay musty remnants
of a long dead orgie. Masks
and tattered, mouldy dominoes
were scattered about in wild
profusion — chairs overset and
pushed back. Apparently, a
sudden interruption had broken
up the feast.
Then a ghastly imitation of a
human voice struck my ear. It
was Gustave. He had perched on
the arm of the great chair at the
top of the table, and vvas scream-
ing out with horrible articu-
lateness an old-world drinking
song :—
To kiss wilh the ir.aid when the mis-
tress is kind,
Believe me, you always are loth, sir ;
But if the maid's fairest, the oath
doesn't bind,
Or — you may, if you like it, kiss both,
sir.
This, then, was the meaning of his wish to
constantly roam about the cellars. He had en-
joyed many a revel in this horrible hall, and he
could not believe that the good old time
was dead for ever. But the spark cf energy
soon died in him, and he sat perched there
stupidly, with his eyes glazed and dim. I looked
round the hall, and found that there were other
openings besides the one I had come through
leading out of it ; how was I to know my
own ? Suddenly the sound of footsteps and
hoarse voices approaching struck my ears.
Who was coming, and on what dark errand.
THE DEAD REVEL.
281
'MUSTY KE.MNANTS OF
to that dreadful place ? Nearer and nearer
came the sounds. I seized one of the
mouldy dominoes which were scattered about,
wrapped it round me, concealed Gustave
in it under my arm, blew out my light, and
crept beneath the great table just in time.
The light of many burning torches filled the
hall, and a rough voice cried : — •
" Aye, here the place is, just as Cartwright
thought. There's room enough for stuff here
to blow up all London. The chief will be
pleased at this."
And then to my horrified ears was revealed
a plot, sheltered under the sacred names of
Liberty and Freedom ; a plot which showed
the ingenuity of Satan himself, and a cruel
callousness to the sufferings of millions which
was superhuman. This plot, I am told, it
were prudent not to reveal.
I lay still as death: one laugh from Gustave,
one gasp for breath from myself, and I was
dopmed. Mercifully, at last the tension
became too great and I fainted. When I
came to myself all was dark and still again.
I crept out from the table and struck a
match. This roused Gustave, who apparently
had been sleeping off his excitement, and
unhesitatingly he fluttered to the ground and
Vol. IX ..-37.
hopped through the right archway. As we
emerged from the cellar I found that it was
daylight — -the night had passed in that
terrible place.
Exhausted as I was, I instantly went to
Scotland Yard and told them what I had
heard. They fortunately believed me and
set inquiries on foot. Jingland was saved
from a disaster which would have brought
her enemies flocking like vultures around
her, and the world from a crime which
would have stained the Book of Fate
with a record black as death. Utterly ex-
hausted, I went straight to bed when I
reached home, and had food brought to me
there.
As I am, alas, only too well used to
adventures and misfortune, I quickly re-
covered my usual strength — but yet I woke
next morning with a presentiment of mis-
fortune, a foreboding of evil. Too well was
this justified. The excitement of visiting his
old haunts had proved too much for Gustave.
The parrot was dead ; my occupation was
gone.
I telegraphed immediately to Mme.
Lebrun, and received an answer that she
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
would return home that evening. She came,
and great were her lamentations over her
dead companion — for Gustave was nothing
less to her.
That day the police searched the whole
of the underground part of the square.
It appeared that the existence of this
place had long been rumoured in the
thieves' quarter of London. The origin of
it was, so far as can be discovered, as
follows : —
Many years ago the now half deserted
square was a fashionable centre in London,
and a certain noble Earl, famed in history
for his fearful deeds and his wild life,
inhabited a great house which formed one
side of it — now split into separate habita-
tions, of which that of Mme. Lebrun formed
one. Under the square, so said rumour, he
excavated a great subterranean hall. Was
it simply to outdo his neighbours in the
recklessness of his expenditure, or for some
darker reason ? At this distance of time who
shall say ? Enough that the tradition of the
place still lingered, and on his return from
Italy, Beckford heard of it. It touched his
whimsical imagination, and he bought the
house subsequently rented by the mother of
Mme. Lebrun (or Mile., as she should rather
have been called, for she had never married,
but had merely taken brevet rank).
The other openings which I had dimly
seen, and down which one of the Anarchist
conspirators (as they were subsequently
proved) had come, must have been con-
structed in Beckford's time, for it was found
that the houses which they led to had all
been inhabited, by his friends. Down those
steps what companies had flocked to what
unimaginable revels ! But the reason of
the great fright which had broken up their
last orgie, and why everything had been left
in such a sudden hurry, had never been
discovered. Had the legend of Medenham
been repeated ?
The Anarchists had found the hall through
one of their members telling, when they were
looking for some safe place to store their
explosives, that he remembered his father,
who had been a mason, had told him that
as a lad he had been employed in mending a
flight of stone steps in No. — , in the square,
which steps led to a great subterranean hall.
The house indicated was to let — they took
it — and but for the wonderful chances of
Gustave on that night escaping to the
cellars, and of my accidentally treading on
the secret spring of the turning stone, their
fell designs would in time have been accom-
plished.
The whole occurrence was a terrible shock
to poor Mme. Lebrun. She could not
bear to leave the house in which her whole
life had been passed, and yet she said she
would never feel safe in it again, and no
wonder. The police knowing of the hall,
and keeping a watch on it, made some
difference, but she could not rest until she
had the flight of steps destroyed, the stone
cemented down, and the door of the
cellar which contained it bricked up.
Then she said she felt a great " soulage-
ment" To me she was most kind, for
she felt that I had dared more than most
girls would have done for the protection of
her favourite.
But it had been too much for her, and
she died a short time afterwards. Her
heir, some distant cousin, a little, dried-
up, black -avised Frenchman, made short
work of the Egyptian antiquities. He carried
off the pictures and the furniture, and in a
little while a great board announced that for
the first time for nearly a century No. — ,
Square, was "To let." Who will
take it next ?
Girls Schools of To-day.
I.— CHELTENHAM COLLEGE.
By L. T. Meade.
N these days when the
" Woman's Question " is dis-
cussed on all sides, and when
even the most prejudiced of
the opposite sex are forced to
admit that women are their
competitors in almost every walk of life, it is
interesting to trace the fact to its primary
source. In this last decade of the century,
women are being thoroughly educated in the
broadest and fullest sense of the term.
Their brains are being developed, their
bodies stimulated to grow to their full
dimensions — in consequence, weakness,
timidity, nerves, mental cowardice, are gradu-
ally, but surely, creeping into the background,
and the girls of the present day are able to
hold their own with their brothers.
School life is undoubtedly at the root of
this vast improvement, and my intention in
this paper is to say a few words with regard
to school hfe as it now exists for girls.
All those who know anything of girls'
education will feel". that the primary place
amongst English schools must be given to
the far-famed ladies' college at Cheltenham.
Here, from the child in her kindergarten to
the girl who is undergoing her examination
for her London degree, is to be found the
most perfect training for
spirit, mind, and body.
The name of the prin-
cipal, Dorothea Beale, is
widely known. I have
had the privilege of visit-
ing her at Cheltenham
College for the purpose of
writing this paper; but,
much as she told me, and
much as I saw of her
work, it is difficult in so
short a space to give any
just estimate of her modes
of operation and her
wonderful personality.
It would be impossible
to get any just idea of the
life which now goes on at
Cheltenham College
without knowing a little
of its past history and
growth — its past struggle
for existence seems to ac-
centuate and strengthen
the effect of its present
remarkable success.
MISS BEALE, PRINCIPAL OF CHELTENHAM COLLEGE.
From a Photo, by County of Gloucester Studio, Cheltenham.
I should like to give the story of the
college in Miss Beale's own graphic words,
but as the limits of a magazine paper make
this impossible, I can only allude to the
leading and most interesting facts.
In beginning her account of the college,
Miss Beale speaks of the great change which
took place in the education of girls about
the middle of the present century. Up to
the year 1847 it was impossible, except in
very rare cases, for a woman to take a high
place in the intellectual world — her educa-
tion generally was unsystematic, and had
no thoroughness. True, there were such
women as MarySomerville, Harriet Martineau,
and Caroline Cornwallis — there were also
a few poets and novelists whom all the
world justly holds in honour; but these
were exceptional, and showed the strength of
their characters when they broke through the
barriers which fenced them off from the fields
of intellect in which their brothers roamed
at will. In those days, girls of the middle
classes were usually taught at home by private
governesses assisted by masters, or they were
sent to small boarding schools. Most of
their time was spent in learning by rote
what the Schools Inquiry Commissioners
call " Miserable Catechisms," " Lamentable
Catechisms," "the Nox-
ious Brood of Catech-
isms." They worked
from books which taught
facts, such facts as the
following: "State the
number of houses burnt
in the fire of London."
No subject was taught
scientifically, but merely
as so much information.
Mr. Fitch wrote : "I
have seen girls learning
by heart the .terminology
of the Linnaean system,
to whom the very ele-
ments of the vegetable
physiology were un-
known — they learnt from
a catechism the meaning
of such words as divisi-
bility, inertia ; knowing
nothing whatever of the
physical facts, of which
these words are the re-
presentatives."
Miss Beale says of
J HE STRAND MAGAZINE.
A
^
X HiMh., '!Mfc .M^
'3
1,1' /
11 ..«-»:»
i
i<'ra»n a]
CHELTENHAM COLLEGE.
herself: "In 1848 I was a pupil in a
school in Paris, which was kept by English
ladies. We were taught to perform con-
juring tricks with a globe, by which we
obtained answers to problems without one
principle being made intelligible. We were
even compelled to learn from Lindley Mur-
ray lists of prepositions, that we might be
saved the trouble of thinking what part of
speech it was."
In her delightful paper, which can be read
in full in the college magazine, Miss Beale
graphically states how this condition of
things passed away, how first one .college and
then another was opened to women, how
Professor Maurice took up the cause of girls'
education, and at last how Local Examina-
tions of the University of Cambridge were
opened to women — but as this paper refers
primarily to Cheltenham College, I must go on
at once to speak of it.
The college, which now occupies so high a
position in the educational world, was first
opened in 1854, in a house which was
called Cambray House, and is now an
overflow school. Miss Beale gives an amusing
account of the opening day. One lady,
who was present at the opening, writes :
" I was at the opening of the ladies'
college on the thirteenth of February, 1854.
Nine o'clock was the time appointed for us to
assemble. I remember I was standing in the
large school-room and our names being called
over. The eldest of us was eighteen, and the
infants' department contained some very little
mites. The subjects taught at present are
very different from what we had ; nevertheless,
we worked hard, and the teaching was very
thorough. Of course, there were clever girls,
and stupid girls,
and idle girls ; but
the tone of the
college was one of
work.'"'
Another writes :
''The opening of
the ladies' college
is so very long ago,
and I was only
eleven. My chief
recollection of the
first day is that a
good many pupils
brought their dogs
with them, and
that there was a
general scrimmaj.e
among these ani-
mals — eight of
them fighting in the cloak-room. Naturally,
no dogs were admitted in the future."
The number of pupils when the college
was first opened was eighty-eight, and by the
end of the year there were one hundred and
twenty. From several causes, however, a
decline in the numbers soon set in, and
when Miss Beale was appointed principal in
1858, affairs were in a very critical condition.
The pupils had fallen to sixty-nine, and of
these about fifteen had given notice to leave.
In short, the next two years were ones of
extreme difficulty, and Miss Beale says that
it is impossible to give an adequate idea of
the hard struggle for existence which the
college had to maintain, and of the minute
economies they were called upon to practise.
The principal says : " I was blamed for
ordering prospectuses, at the cost of fifteen
shillings, without leave from the secretary.
Second-hand furniture was procured which
would not have delighted people of esthetic
taste ; curtains were dispensed with as far
as possible, and it was questioned whether a
carving knife was required for me in my fur-
nished apartments. In short, society was
opposed to the college.
" Cheltenham was a conservative place,
and the very name ' college ' frightened
people. It was said ' Girls would be turned
into boys if they attended the college.'
The kind of education, too, was not ap-
proved ; the curriculum was too advanced,
though it would now be considered quite
behind the age. It embraced only English
studies, French, German, and a very little
science ; all was taught, it was true, in a
somewhat thorough way. ' It is all very
well,' said a mother, who withdrew her
GIRLS' SCHOOLS OF TO-DAY.
'■^5
daughter at the end of a quarter, 'for my
daughter to read Shakespeare, but don't
you think it is more important for her to
be able to sit down at a piano and amuse
her friends ? '
" ' I had my own opinion,' said Miss Beale,
'about the kind of amusement she would
afford them.' "
Speaking of herself, she continues : " I had
been for some years mathematical tutor at
Queen's College, London, but I was advised
that it would not do to introduce mathematics.
Some objected to advanced arithmetic. ' My
dear lady,' said a father, ' if my daughters
were going to be bankers it would be very
well to teach arithmetic as you do, btit really
there is no need.'
" ' No, I have not learnt fractions,' said a
child, ' my governess told me they were not
necessary for girls.' "
Miss Beale also speaks of the great diffi-
culty of obtaining good teachers.
" Do you prepare your lessons ? " she
asked of a candidate for a vacant post.
" Oh, no " ; was the answer, " I never
profess .to teach anything I do not under-
stand."
One was sent to her with such excellent
recommendations that she thought she had
found a " black swan." She asked her to come
down that she might judge for herself. This
lady could teach literature, history, physi-
ology, but Miss Beale, to her astonishment,
discovered that she had literally read nothing
but little text-books, and proposed to teach
on the notes of the lessons she had had.
The college in those early days was not only
poor, but on the verge of bankruptcy ; this
From a]
STUDENTS BEDROOM AT FAUCONBERG HOUSE, DIVIDED LY CURTAINS. [Photograph.
want of money made itself felt in all sorts of
ways. I'here was no library, and a grant of
five pounds did not go very far. There was,
besides, no lending library in the town ; a
few stationers lent out books, but the supply
was meagre indeed. Miss Beale relates how
she went into one of the two principal shops
to see if she could get the " Idylls of the
King," when the book came out. She was
answered : " We never have had any poetical
effusions in the library, and we don't think
we shall begin now."
The time of trial, however, was not to be
followed by defeat. The spirit of the brave
principal was not to be daunted — the numbers
in the school rose again to seventy - eight.
Still the balance was on the wrong side of the
ledger ; but just then a gentleman in the town,
a Mr. Brancker, was asked to be auditor. He
drew up a financial scheme on altogether new
lines : this was adopted, and from that hour
the college entered on a new and prosperous
career. This good man undertook all the
duties of a secretary gratuitously. His clear
judgment, his insight into character, his
courage and frankness made him a most
valuable adviser, and Miss Beale feels sure
that had he not taken the helm at that time,
the college would not have been safely
steered through the rocks.
From that hour, however, prosperity
attended all efforts, prejudices began to give
way, and the number of pupils increased
yearly.
In giving her brief history, Miss Beale
considers that Cheltenham College has gone
through three epochs. In the first, she in-
cludes the twenty years of its life in the
original college of
Cambray. The
second decade is
occupied with the
internal growth
and consolidation
of the new college.
The third takes
the period of ex-
ternal develop-
ment from the
foundation of the
College Guild in
It was at Lady
Day, 1873, that
the principal and
pupils took pos-
session of the
present lovely and
extensive college.
286
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
Miss Beale speaks thus of the change : —
" I am sure that the change from the plain
bare walls of Cambray to the beautiful and
stately surroundings of our new college was
not without its effect upon teacher and
taught. Mr. Thring, of Uppingham, used
to insist, by word anddeed, that if we would
have learning honoured, we should build it a
fitting habitation. The greater dignity of our
surroundings made us feel that our teaching
must not be meagre and bare, but as perfect
in its form, as attractive in its expression, as
exact in its details as we were able to make
it, and thus the material environment re-
acted upon the intellectual and spiritual : the
same music is different in a concert-room and
in a cathedral, where arches and vaulted roof
respond to the pealing organ, and spirit
answers to spirit in subtones and harmonics."
Large as the college was, however, when it
was opened, it has been added to immensely
from time to time until it has reached its
present important dimensions, and there are,
as it seems to an outsider, class-rooms of
the most perfect kind, for every possible
course of education which can be entered
upon. The richness of the architecture
of these noble room', the beauty of the
painted windows, the intelligent and wide
sympathy of the spirit which has governed
and planned the whole can scarcely be de-
scribed ; the rooms must be seen, the kindly
spirit must be felt, to make it possible to
understand the vastness of the influence
which has been at work.
The guild of the college was formed in
the July of 1883, and thus began, as Miss
Beale says, the period of external develop-
ment. The guild is the means of uniting
old and new members in a common interest,
which does not cease with school lifie. It
maintains a mission at Bethnal Green.
The badge is a daisy — that flower loved of
poets. The open daisy is the emblem of
the soul ; closed, it is the pearl of flowers,
the emblem of purity. " It is," writes
Ruskin, " infinitely dear, as the bringer of
light ; ruby, white, and gold, the three
colours of the day, with no hue of shade in it."
The objects of the guild are many, some
articles of its creed being that it is a duty all
through life to continue one's own education
— that the worst thing one can do with any
talent is to bury it.
Junior members are expected not only to
follow a definite course of study, but also to
undertake some domestic form of work.
Miss Beale feels very strongly that the better
trained a woman is mentally, the more
thoroughly she will attend to the minutiae of
daily life, and that a knowledge of mathe-
matics, so far from militating against home
comforts, will, by the training it gives in
system and effort, enable her all the better
to keep the household machinery in order.
It was a bright day in the end of October
when I paid my first visit to Cheltenham
College. I found the principal standing on
a raised platform at one end of the great
hall. She received me in the heartiest and
most genial manner, and told me at once she
had made arrangements to give up her day to
me. I can truly say that she kept her word.
I arrived at the college at about half-past
twelve, and from then until half-past five we
went from class-room to class-room, from
boarding-house to boarding-house, with only
brief intervals for refreshment. While she took
me round, Miss Beale explained her systems
and methods of work in a clear, incisive style,
peculiarly her own. There was no attempt
at boasting, no trace of gratified vanity in the
enormous success of the wonderful place
which she has practically made. Her whole
soul is in her work, but she is too great and
also too simple of heart to be vain.
Viewed as a whole, the college has a
colossal and almost bewildering effect upon
a new-comer; but the boarding-houses, fifteen
in number, strike one at once as pictures of
simplicity and home comfort. Two of the
houses are specially devoted to girls of
limited means, where the fees are exception-
ally low ; but here, as in the others, there is
the same delightful sympathetic house-
mistress, the beautifully arranged sitting-
rooms, the cheerful dining-halls, and the
bright, cosy bedrooms, either single, or
curtained off into cubicles.
Of the many boarding-houses, St. Hilda's
is probably the most perfect. It was built
especially for the college, and is full of all
modern beauty and contrivance. No girl is
admitted to St. Hilda's under eighteen.
After going round the college and the
other boarding-houses I arrived there in time
for tea, and shall not soon forget the cosy
effect of the charming little room into which
I was ushered. Tea was ready, a fire was
burning brightly, there was a sofa, some easy
chairs, small tables, little bookcases, photo-
graphs, ornaments of all kinds.
" And where am I to sleep ? " I asked of
the girl-student who was with me.
" Why, here," was the reply : " this is your
bedroom."
I looked around me in some bewilderment
and momentary dismay. A charming sitting-
GIRLS' SCHOOLS OF TO-DAY.
287
Froin a]
room was all very
well, but I was
tired and hot,
and dirty. In a
moment, how-
ever, the secret of
the magical room
was revealed to
me. When a
cover was slipped
off the sofa a
comfortable bed
appeared. When
a spring was
touched in the
bureau a shelf
dropped sud-
denly down, and
all necessary
washing appa-
ratus came into
view. That
bureau is such a
clever construc-
tion that it de-
serves a word to
itself. At one
side are the washing arrangements, at the
other a writing-desk and chest of drawers; on
the top is a cabinet with glass doors, meant
to contain either books or ornaments.
I had supper at St. Hilda's, made the
acquaintance of Miss Lumby, the delightful
principal of the house, and afterwards saw
the girls dance in the beautiful drawing-room.
They all dressed for the evening, and it would
have been difificult to see brighter, more
interesting, or happier faces.
Early next morning I returned to the
college, where I was present at what is
perhaps the most impressive sight in this
beautiful house of learning, morning prayers.
The great hall, more than looft. long, 30ft.
wide, and 41ft. high in the centre, with its deep
gallery at the farther end, was completely filled
with girls and teachers. The short service
was all that was solemn, sweet, and in-
vigorating. It was worth going to prayers to
hear the singing alone. Afterwards the girls
filed out, one by one, going immediately
to their different class-rooms. Miss Beale
took the second division in Scripture,
and I had the privilege of listening to
a most impressive and practical address.
Afterwards she took me round the class-
rooms again, and I saw teachers and pupils
busily at work. There was no haste, no
excitement, no undue pressure. All the
work is done in the mornina;, the afternoons
ST. HILDAS.
^Photograph.
being devoted to
necessary pre-
paration, and to
games, walks, etc.
I have alluded
already to the
beautiful college
buildings, but I
must add a few
words about the
lovely stained-
glass windows,
which are very
fine examples of
the art, and are
not easily for-
gotten by those
who have seen
them. The win-
dows are given in
c o m m e moration
of some special
friends of the col-
lege, and the sub-
jects are taken
from the story of
Britomart, in
Spenser's "Faery Queen." Britomart gives
the poet's ideal of a perfect woman.
A short time ago the story of Brito-
mart was dramatized and acted by the
guild.
There are six hundred regular pupils,
besides many occasional ones. Such is the
completeness of the organization that each
pupil is cared for as an individual, and no
two girls have exactly the same time-table.
There are about fifty regular teachers, besides
many visiting lecturers and masters. The
institution may be call,ed an aggregate of
schools. There are, in fact, seven Head
Mistresses, or Heads of Departments, work-
ing with considerable independence under the
Principal. There is the Vice-Principal, the
Head Mistress of the second and third
divisions ; the Head of the London B. A.
and B. Sc. class, of the Cambridge Higher
and the Oxford A. A. local classes ; lastly,
the two Heads of the Education and Kinder-
garten deptirtments. The Principal also
gives a considerable share of the workings to
the class-teachers, thus training up com-
petent heads for all other schools, whilst these
are able to avail themselves of her larger
experience. She considers the right maxim
for a ruler is : " If you want a thing done,
don't do it yourself," and comm.ends
especially the old woman who set everything
in motion to get the pig over the stile. As
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
nearly all the teachers are her own pupils and
they understand one another thoroughly, the
whole works most harmoniously.
The Musical Department is extremely
efficient. There are thirty teachers, a special
Gymnastics are not neglected. These are
taught by a Swede. There are twenty-six
tennis grounds, and two fives, besides a play-
ground of about twelve acres for games which
require much space.
From a Photo, by]
PRAYERS IN THE GREAT HALL — CHELTENHAM COLLEGE.
[P. Parsons, Gheltenlmvi.
wdng is devoted to it, and about fifteen
hundred lessons are given weekly.
The science department is very complete,
containing a central lecture - room, two
chemical laboratories for practical work, a
weighing -.room, one for physics, two for
biology, besides a museum 70ft. by 26ft.
There is a beautiful studio 60ft. by 30ft.
The fees for the ordinary course of
education at Cheltenham College for pupils
over fifteen are eight guineas a term ;
under fifteen, six guineas ; under ten, four
guineas.
The fees for residence at the boarding-
houses vary from fifty to seventy guineas per
annum.
Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives.
THE EARL OF WINCHILSEA AND
NOTTINGHAM.
Born 1851.
From a\ age 2. liliniatxin.
URRAY EDWARD GORDON
FINCH-HATTON, EARL OF
WINCHILSEA AND
NOTTINGHAM, was educated
at Eton and Balliol College,
Fr(iima,\
[Plwtograpn.
Oxford, and graduated M.A. in 1876 ; he
sat as M.R for Lincolnshire S. (C.) in 1884,
and for Holland, or the Spalding Division of
Vol. ix.— 38.
Lincolnshire, from 1885 to '87. His lord-
ship's name is now prominently before the
public in connection with the great interest
taken by him in agricultural matters. ;
From a I'lwto. by'i
PRESENT DAY.
\J. Thomson.
290
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
m
] AGE 21. iPhotograph.
MR. BARON POLLOCK.
Born 1823.
HE HON. SIR CHARLES
EDWARD BARON POLLOCK
received his education at St. Paul's
School. When his father was
Attorney - General, in 1843-44,
Mr. Pollock acted as his secretary, and later
became a pupil of the late Mr. Justice Wills,
and was called to the Bar in 1847, being made
a Q.C. in 1866. He was appointed Baron
of the Exchequer in 1873, ^^^ soon after
received the honour of Knighthood.
h..<bi .JUuUaM-m- ■•~,
J4. IRohinson & Cheirill.
■■•JS
ji
9§
Lb
S
S
1
1
^^
P
' A
Ftomu Photo by] agi 51 [John yValkmi
From a]
AGE 27.
[Daguerreotype.
From a Plioto. by] present day. lit. J. Whitlock.
PORTRAITS OF CELEBRITIES.
291
AGE I.
Fr(ym a Drawing.
From a]
MRS. GLADSTONE.
RS. CATHERINE GLAD-
STONE, eldest daughter of the
late Sir Stephen Glynne, Bart.,
was married to Mr. William Ewart
Gladstone in 1839. She is not
merely known as the wife of the Grand Old
Man of England, but she has also won no
unimportant place in contemporary history by
her large-hearted and systematic benevolence.
During
cholera epi-
demics, Mrs.
Gladstone
devoted
niuch of her
time to the
sick and con-
valescent, and has since founded the Conva-
lescent Home at Woodford, Essex, with whose
good work everyone is well acquainted.
292
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
mm
AGE 10.
From a Silhouette.
SIR MYLES FENTON.
Born 1830.
NE of our ablest railway managers
is Sir Myles Fenton, whose long
experience of railway work fully
entitles him to control the destinies
of the South-Eastern Railway.
Sir Myles began his railway career as early as
1845, by joining the Kendal and Windermere
Railway, since when he has varied his
experience during his connection with variou';
lines, such as the East Lancashire, the I ondon
From a Fainting by\
IJ. 1). W'ltauii
and South-Western, and also as CiLiicral
Manager of the Metropolitan Railway, a post
filled by him for eighteen years with con-
spicuous success. In 1880, the important
position of General Manager of the South-
Eastern Railway was offered to Sir Myles
Fenton, who ever since has given unmistak-
able proofs of his being well qualified to
From a]
[Photograph.
AGE 53.
control "the most difiicult railway to manage."
Sir Myles is a Lieut.-Col. of the Engineer
and Railway Volunteer Staff Corps, and was
knighted in 1889.
From a Photo. 6y)
PRESENT DAY.
[Elliott & Fry.
PORTRAITS OF CELEBRITIES.
293
From a Photo. &y]
AGE I. [Gordon d: Co., Putney.
MR. T. SULLIVAN.
Born 1868.
HE English championship of the
sculling world was held until
quite
recent-
Prom a Photo, by] age 17. {.Gregory, Auckland.
Tyne for ^400 and the championship
cup, but is reported to be so dissatisfied
with the result that a second match is to
take place shortly between the rivals.
ly, by
Tom Sullivan.
He first started
sculling at 13
j'ears of age, and
in 1888 and 1889
he met M'Kay,
the then amateur
champion of New
Zealand, whom
he conquered. In
i8gi he met and
defeated George
Bubear upon the
Nepean with ease,
while on only two
occasions since
he joined the
professional ranks
has he suffered
defeat, the first being at the hands of Stansbury,
when he rowed for the championship of
the world. It may be mentioned, however,
that Sullivan holds the records for both
the Parramatta and Nepean rivers, the only
two recognised waterways of Australia. For the
latter his time^ is igmin. 15 sec. for the full
championship course, and the former i8min.
41^ sec. One of his greatest races was that
against Bubear on the Thames for the champion-
ship of England and the Sportsman's challenge
cup, in which he won as he wished. On the
1 6th of last month, Sullivan was beaten by
C. R. Harding, of Chelsea, in a match on the
AGS 24.
From a Photo, by Smythe, Putney.
PRESENT DAY.
From a Photo, by Gordon <t Co.. Putney.
By Mrs. Egerton Eastwick (Pleydell North).
HEY came across one another
at the Hotel, Brighton.
John Brownlow Winterden,
in passing the door of No. — ,
had heard the sound of cough-
ing within, varied occasionally
by a moan of pain and disease; or by a
voice, weak, monotonous, depressed. One
•day he asked the chambermaid the name and
condition of the sufferer ; the voice was
plainly that of a man. He learned in reply
that the occupant of the room was a
Mr. Julius Hatton, that his present illness
was the result of a severe attack of
inflammation of the lungs, and that his
ultimate recovery was considered more than
doubtful. He was under the care of a
hospital nurse, sent by the doctor in attend-
ance. No relations or friends had been to
see him, and no inquiries had been made.
After John Winterden had gathered these
particulars, he went out to the beach, and for
an hour ploughed the shingle, watching with
'his bodily eyes a grey horizon, merged in the
greens and browns of a turbid sea, but having
before his mental vision a far different scene.
The whole thing had been recalled by the
name "Julius Hatton "^ — although Julius
Hatton had played no part in the affair when
it had most concerned John Winterden.
The picture he saw was that of a long
dining-room, warmly lit in the sombre after-
noon by the blaze of a great coal fire ; at the
table sat a woman, her head bowed upon her
arm, which, outstretched upon the crimson
cloth, showed its round proportions through
the tightly-fitting sleeve of black ; the warm
light caught and illumined the coils of yellow
hair.
The figure was very plainly gowned, but
upon one of the white fingers which lay so
listlessly upon the crimson cloth a great
diamond shone, and that, too, caught the
fire gleam, and flashed in it. The diamond
had been his, John Winterden's, gift.
Not far from the hand, lying as though
pushed away, was a book, newly bound,
newly labelled, from Mudie's,
" Oh, Jack — how could you — how could
you?"
THE SECRET OF JULIUS HATTON.
295
The words fell with the pained moan of a
creature wounded to death, but resentless.
" Clothilde, I give you my word."
" Your word, when not another soul knows
but yourself, when the very phrases that I
used in my letters to you are repeated there ! "
She made a gesture towards the book.
^' Words as sacred as my love — sacred as
death — and you have coined them into
money, won notoriety out of them, and
thought to shield yourself behind a false
name. Oh ! how could you, how could
you ? "
In the excitement of her speech she had
raised her face ; it was pale, moulded with a
generous and yet delicate touch. It bore
no signs of tears, but it was drawn and pitiful
with a grief worse to see. It was the face of
a woman of perhaps twenty-six years of age.
John Winterden stood silent beneath the
reproach of the eyes that a week ago had
held for him the secret of all joy. Every-
thing that he could say had been said ; he
had only his word to offer. The head
drooped again until the face was hidden.
Then he spoke : —
"Clothilde, I swear I will find the man
who wrote that book. The story is yours,
the words are yours : I know them. They
have been stolen from me ; how, I cannot
tell. I have never left your letters in any
unlocked place. I have never spoken of the
history you intrusted to my honour, much
less sold it, as you hint, or made capital out
of it for my own aggrandizement or profit."
Now, looking back, John Winterden knew
that he had spoken coldly and with measured
words. He, too, was smarting under the
sense that she could so mistrust him, and the
inexplicable nature of the thing.
He had waited, half hoping that she would
again look up, perhaps with some light of
faith and reassurance in her eyes, some
word that might hold possible comfort for
them both ; but neither word nor look had
been given, and he had left her, sorrowfully,
but still with some indignation on his side.
Afterwards he had written to her, saying that
imless she summoned him to her presence
he would not see her again until he could
bring with him his justification. The
summons had not come, and she had sent
him back the diamond ring.
He had not known until then how deeply
he had loved her, and the knowledge had
lasted until now; indignation had died out
long ago, in a deep pitifulness for all she
must endure in the betrayal of the sorrow and
suffering of the past; the exposure of the
thoughts, the love, the hopes, and the fears
that had been meant for him alone.
And this would affect her the more, because
she was by nature a very reticent woman,
and her reticence had been increased by
pain. There was no escape for her. The
book — -on account of its deadly realism, its
unveiling of the true tortures of a true
woman, of a soul that had been dragged
down the path that should have led to
destruction, and yet had escaped unscathed,
and in its essence unsullied — became popular;
and those who knew something of the bare
outlines of her story associated her with the
hideous revelation, and attributed to it the
separation from her lover, which almost
immediately followed its appearance.
That he had already been made the sole
recipient of her confidence no one knew, and
no one consequently thought of crediting him
with the cruel exposure. It was generally
held that this might be the work of some
slighted or discarded lover, in whom she had
unwisely confided. No effort at concealment
had been made ; the story had been told in
the form of letters and a duplex diary ; her
share in it had been reproduced almost
verbatim from actual documents in the hands
of John Winterden ; the answers, except for
an occasional phrase, in which the latter
recognised comments that he had made and
written upon the margins of her letters, were
imaginary and consequently less effective.
The hero was felt to be, in spite of the
author's assertions to the contrary, a shallow
and slight creation, unworthy of the woman's
passionate confidence. A fundamental diver-
gence from the truth lay, moreover, in the fact
that the friendship of the lovers was placed
during the husband's life-time,' and their
passion (minutely analyzed in the diary
portions) supposed to have culminated in
the death of the heroine. Whereas John
Winterden had never met Clothilde d'Alton
before her widowhood.
And now two years had passed, and the
authorship of the book that had wrought so
much misery still remained a mystery. To
all inquiries the publishers merely replied that
the writer desired to remain unknown : and
Winterden had no case to justify persistence
in unearthing him or her — he sometimes
thought the work must be that of a woman.
He could point to no time when the letters
had been out of his own keeping ; when he
had travelled they had travelled with him,
always safely secured ; his possessions had
never, to his knowledge, been abstracted or
broken into. If he produced the letters to
296
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
prove that they had been copied verbatim,
he would only fit and fix more firmly
the insult and notoriety upon the head he
loved. Indignation against her had died
long ago ; love and the thought of her inno-
cent suffering had overpowered any memory
of his own wrongs ; even when, at the end of
a year, he had heard of her engagement to
Julius Hatton, resentment had found no
place in his regret.
He had gone abroad then, and only
returned within the last few weeks ; he had
he might have the pleasure of seeing Mr.
Winterden that afternoon, provided always
the latter had not repented of his kind offer
of the previous day."
John Winterden had not repented, and
about four o'clock went to the sick man's
room. A small, emaciated figure lay upon
the bed ; a figure with a boyish, sensitive
face, a woman's mouth, and eyes which, the
restlessness of fever having passed, remained
large in humid greyness and seeming pitiful
prayer for the life that was slipping away.
Ax. j^
A SMALL, EMACIATED FIGURE LAY UPON THE BED.
never heard either of the marriage or that
the engagement was cancelled ; only, how
came it to pass that Julius Hatton lay alone
and sick to death in an hotel ? Where was
she ? Could it be the same man, or another
of the name ?
That evening John Winterden sent in his
card, and offered his services if his presence
could be of any assistance or comfort to the
sick man. The reply was brought by the
nurse ; she said that her patient shrank from
receiving the visits of a stranger in his present
state, although sincerely thanking Mr.
Winterden for his kindness.
There the matter seemed to be at an end ;
not without, on John Winterden's part, a keen
sense of disappointment. The following
morning, however, he was surprised to receive
a note, written, he judged, by the nurse, but
dictated by the sick man. It said that
"Mr. Hatton, feeling slightly better, hoped
The strong man whose physique had re-
sisted the shocks of fate and fortune felt
strangely moved ; he sat down by the other's
side, and the nurse, thankful for a respite
from her cares, slipped away for an hour's
rest and a quiet cup of afternoon tea.
That visit was the commencement of a
curious friendship between these two most
dissimilar men. Julius Hatton had reached
a stage where^ life might flicker out and die at
any moment, while yet the faint vitality craved
interest and amusement ; and these, in his
present dearth of close ties, it seemed to
fall naturally to the lot of the stronger man
to supply.
The name of Clothilde d' Alton was never
mentioned, and seeing the weak, boyish
nature of this Julius, the idea that he could
be identical with the man upon whom her
second choice had fallen died from John
Winterden's mind.
THE SECRET OF JULIUS HA 7 TON.
297
Hatton, however, had two strong personal
claims : a great natural sweetness of disposi-
tion which underlay the irritability of disease
clothing his deficiencies with that undefinable
attraction that creates love in stronger
minds ; while through a certain slight morally
defective or oblique organization flashed now
and again the light of a clear and far-seeing
perception, which blinded John Winterden's
honest practical limitations and deductions,
and proclaimed the weaker soul a genius
and a poet half-born.
Autumn deepened into winter, and still
Julius Hatton lingered. No friends came to
see him, he received few letters, and no
inquiries were made, so far rs Winterden
could discover. Once he asked, Was there
anyone whom the sick man would wish
summoned or communicated with ? Hatton
replied, whimsically, that, barring a brother in
India, his only remaining relation was an
elderly aunt, from whose attentions he pre-
ferred to be exempt. 'He was plainly not a
rich man, though he showed no immediate
want of funds.
Under the genial influence, the slight
excitement of John Winterden's society, he
so far rallied as to be able on bright days to
leave his room and take a turn upon the
Parade, leaning upon his friend's arm ; but
as October days shortened into the bleaker
outlook of November, he again failed rapidly.
John Winterden, watching him, knew that
no care could prolong his life through the
winter, and suffered so much in the thought,
that he was angry with himself for having
risked the possibihty of this new pain.
At last, in December the time came to be
numbered by hours ; Hatton was plainly
dying of heart disease and consumption,
engendered by pneumonia.
Winterden had been out for his lonely
afternoon walk, and returning met the doctor
upon the stairs of the hotel.
" I have just left Mr. Hatton," he said.
" It is right you should know : another forty-
eight hours, perhaps ; I cannot give him
longer. The vital principle, always slight, is
almost exhausted ; there was no stamina to
resist disease."
It was then dark ; John Winterden went
for a few moments to his own room, then
straight to that of his friend. Hatton lay
upon the bed, the mere semblance of a man ;
wasted, thin, and small ; only the grey eyes,
shadowed by dark brows and lashes, looked
larger, blacker for the change. The nurse
was sitting by the fire ; she rose and went
out of the room, as she often did when
Vol. ix.— 39.
Winterden entered. John took his usual
place beside the bed.
" Winterden, I want you to do something
for me ; to-night, when we are alone."
"Anything that I can."
" This is not difficult. You see that black
leather case, there, on the chest of drawers ?
It contains letters, papers. I want you to
burn them, to let me see them burnt."
A faint flush had risen to the thin face ; the
voice held an eagerness hitherto absent from
vibrations which had been languid, pettish,
affectionate, or even inspired, but never
expressive of desire ; the one great desire,
the desire of life, had lain in the eyes, where
now also had crept the fear of death.
" Be quite at rest; I will do as you wish.
I will sit with you through the night : it is my
turn."
The night came ; the night of a vigil
which John Winterden was not likely to for-
get. The nurse had made up the fire, placed
medicines and nourishment within reach,
and retired to rest until five in the morning,
at which hour Winterden was to be relieved.
For a time Julius Hatton seemed inclined to
sleep, but about midnight he roused and
called to his companion. Winterden went at
once to his side.
"You will do it — what you promised —
now ? " said Hatton, eagerly. " The keys are in
the right-hand drawer."
A few minutes more and Winterden had
laid the open case upon the bed, and the
thin white fingers pointed out a packet of
letters and a flat manuscript book.
"There," he said ; " let me see them burnt
before my eyes."
Winterden closed and replaced the case,
then went over to the fire with the letters and
the book in his hand. He threw the former
at once upon the embers ; and the red light
flamed up and lit the face of the man whose
life-story was perishing with them.
The book seemed too thick to consume at
once, and Winterden tore out some of the
pages, that he might destroy it by degrees.
The flame from the burning letters fell upon
the papers he held, illuminating them for a
morhent with a most vivid brightness ; and a
name, a sentence, flashed itself across his
eyes and struck into his brain with the force
of an electric shock.
Without an instant's hesitation he crumpled
the papers in his hand and tore others from^
the book ; these, after a rapid glance, he
threw upon the flames in place of those he
held. In a few minutes the grate was strewn
with ashes, the flame had finally died down,
29S
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
and the man upon the bed breathed a sigh
of relief.
Winterden quietly crossed the room and
gave him his usual sleeping draught, to-night
purposely postponed.
" Now," said Hatton, gratefully, " I think
I can sleep," and turned upon his side.
few necessaries for the one night he was to
spend at the hotel. Intending to cross by
the night boat, he did not reclaim his posses-
sions until the evening of the following day,
when they were safely delivered up in ac-
cordance with the ticket which he held ; but
he now remembered that he had been asked
'let me bee them burnt before my eyes."
There was silence in the room. Winterden
had raked out the ashes and replenished the
fire ; he drew the night-lamp nearer, and
waited until the regular breathing of his
patient told that the draught had taken
effect. Then he cautiously drew from his
pocket the crumpled sheets and smoothed
them out upon the table before him. The
name and the sentence that he had seen
assured him that he had a right to their
perusal, yet he glanced up guiltily at the
sleeping form with a sense that he was robbing
a helpless and a dying man, and betraying a
sacred trust.
The extracts from the diary which he had
preserved were dated nearly three years be-
fore, and recorded a transaction which, in its
singular simplicity and audacious fraud, filled
him with amaze and just indignation, but also
with some pity, and recalled an incident, so
slight that it had hitherto almost escaped
his memory, but which, as it now transpired,
had held the germ of the disaster of his fife.
The incident was as follows : —
Passing through town about three years
ago on his way to Paris, he had left in the
cloak-room of the Victoria Station all his lug-
gage excepting the Gladstone, which held the
to state which of two portmanteaus, almost
exactly similar in make and size, belonged to
him. He had been able to identify his own
by a stain upon the leather — the result of an
accident ; no hint at previous difficulty had
been given ; he was late for the train and
too hurried to ask questions, had in fact
never given the matter a second thought ;
his possessions were there, and secure ; and
they were at once given to the porter to be
wheeled to the luggage van.
The first entry in the diary which proved
of interest was headed George Street, W.,
26th October, 18 — , the same day as that on
which he had deposited his luggage.
" 4 p.m. I have arrived in Babylon, and
secured a room — a roof over my head so
long as funds last. God knows what is
before me. Johnson and Grasse write
suggesting that in place of ' Progress ' I
should provide them with a realistic romance,
not immoral. There seems to be a mania for
analyzing temptation.
" How am I to write of that of which I
THE SECRET OF JULIUS HATTON.
299
know comparatively nothing ? I am twenty-
two, and have not yet experienced a grand
passion ! What an anomaly. At the same
time, I am likely to starve and seek to assuage
bodily hunger by taking a clerkship at ^60
per annum, provided always that I can get it :
and then I should starve — body and soul —
starve for freedom and fresh air. What was
the story of the man who committed a murder
that he might be realistic over the murderer's
remorse? Must I — bah !- -I must go out,
tramp the streets — there's tragedy there if I
could fathom it — and back to the station.
"8 p.m. A curious coincidence, almost
I might say a special Providence — or a
favour from the Evil One — which ? At any
rate, a temptation, a horrible temptation.
- " I went to the station to take out the
portmanteau which holds the greater part of
my worldly belongings, and which I had left
in the cloak-room while I tramped in search
of a shelter, a cab not being allowable under
the circumstances. I got it here for a
shilling ; mine in shape, size, general appear-
ance and number of ticket ; also, more
strange, the lock yielded to my key. Within,
a suit of dress clothes, not mine, and a
packet of papers.
" My first feeling was one of annoyance at
discomfort for the night, the possible loss of
my own belongings, or the trouble of return-
ing at once, tired out as I was, to the station
to rectify the mistake. Then the papers
fascinated me, my curiosity was roused ; they
were bulky, and written apparently in a
woman's hand.
" At last I touched them, moved with my
finger the corner of an envelope which lay
at the top ; the address on the under side.
On a folded sheet beneath I read these words :
' I have told you the history of my life, laid
bare before you the story of my soul as it is
known to none other save God, and therein
you will read the truth so far as words can
tell it, for it is in the heart, not in incident,
that the depth of tragedy lies.'
"After that I took the packet into my
hands. The envelope was addressed to
' J. Brownlow, Esq.,'. the letter was signed,
' Clothilde.' Beneath the letter were many
folded sheets, closely written. It took me
more than an hour to read them through ;
having commenced, I found it impossible to
stop. They contained the revelation of a
noble woman's soul, in the throes of ignoble
bondage, struggling through misery, degrada-
tion, and shame, yet clinging to some self-
revealed standard of purity and truth ;
striving to shake off the contamination of
foulness, but at times dragged down, hopeless,
despairing.
" She had borne, first, the actuality and,
afterwards, its memory in silence, until she
met the man to whom, because she loved
him, she revealed the secret of her life. She
judged him large - hearted, magnanimous,
pitiful— and from a few notes written in
pencil on the margin of the papers, I fancied
that her confidence was not misplaced. I
also gathered that, although never condemna-
tory, he was not afraid to rectify the errors of
her less disciplined nature.
" The husband's picture was drawn with a
touch here and there, highly f-uggestive. The
smooth face, the finely-cut lips that could
smile so sweetly, and yet were sensually
cruel ; the loss of all sense of honour, covered
by an air of benignity — the outline was not
difficult to fill.
" The whole story presented itself with the
clearness of a revelation, which it was — for
revelation is truth ; and this was truth.
"Then came my temptation. I knew that
in the discovery lay my worldly salvation ;
and I had not sought it : it had come to me
by what is called pure accident. Who would
know, who would be the worse for my avail-
ing myself of opportunity ?
" The facts must be in some way disguised.
I gather from the MS. that the husband is-
dead : I would make him still alive; and with
the impossibility of redemption apart from
dishonour, I would make her die like a
broken flower upon the rock of passion,
shamed by her surroundings, but nervously
shrinking from the only other possibility of
escape.
"The man, as I see him, is painfully strong
and upright ; the woman inherently pure and
cruelly sensitive.
" It will be interesting to imagine these
two natures coming into contact under the
influences of present danger and denied
happiness, rather than under the comparative
calm of retrospect. To-night I can take
down the greater part of the papers in short-
hand ; to-morrow morning, early, I will return
the portmanteau to the cloak-room ; provided
that I do not encounter the owner, my posi-
tion is safe ! If this be dishonour — it is fate,
not I, that is responsible, and the morbid
craving of the age."
Winterden read this analysis of himself and
her with growmg anger and contempt for
the trickster who had wronged them both ;
but also with the consciousness of great
possible joy. His time had come ; the
means of his reinstatement lay within his
300
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
hand. The identity of names between the
man who had violated the sanctity of her
hfe, and the man who had afterwards taken
the place which he himself had once held in
her regard, was not the least strange part of
the affair.
It seemed almost impossible to credit this
poor weakling, whose faintly drawn breaths
broke the night stillness, with the double part,
yet no other solution of the mystery presented
itself. If the assumption were true, Clothilde
d'Alton was at all events doubly free.
The fact that no idea should have occurred
to Hatton of associating him, John Winter-
den, with the J. Brownlow of the letters, was
accounted for by the fact that he had rarely
made use of his
original patrony-
mic since his
adoption of that
of his mother
with the falling in
of a small estate
some eighteen
months before.
"Winterden —
John "
Hatton was
awake and call-
ing to him. He
went over to the
bed, and the grey
eyes, wide open
now and restless,
watched his com-
ing.
" You have
burnt the papers
—all ? "
Winterden
hesitate(J..<+r6w
wasjie^ lie to a dying man, and yet, still
tiore, how tell him the truth ? He stood
silent.
" Because," said the other, restlessly,
" I have been dreaming — dreaming of — of a
woman I wronged. I dreamed that she
came — here — and stood where you are
standing, and that her anger and contempt
went with me through death, and there was
no pardon in her eyes. But — I — loved her
— I grew to love her first through — through
some letters of hers that I read — and — -and
published. It is a secret, but I must tell
you before I die. You will not betray me ? "
The papers were in the breast-pocket of
John Winterden's coat; they might have
been live coals.
The sick man luckily waited for no answer.
" I know that I can trust you," he went on,
with the weak, halting rapidity of tongue that
belongs to numbered hours. " I have proved
you — I — I met her afterwards, sought her
out. I heard that the published letters had
wrought trouble. I thought I might atone —
but — I — I was always a coward, and I grew
to love her so dearly. I wanted her for
myself, and the other man was gone — what
was the use? — and for a little while she
listened to me, talked with me, told me how
she had suffered ; then we quarrelled — I was
jealous — I began to see that through it all
she loved that other man. Jack — Jack — it
was always Jack." He spoke the last
sentence pettishly, turning his head away like
a spoilt child,
remembering un-
merited wrong.
The heart that
beat beneath the
letters throbbed
tumultuously.
For a moment
Hatton lay still,
-\ exhausted; then
the grey eyes
opened again and
travelled back to
the grave face
that awaited their
YOU WILL NOT BETRAY iME?
message.
"Give me
something — I
am tired."
Winterden
held the usual
cordial to his
lips, raising the
frail body gently,
as though the
spirit within had
done him no
wrong.
"Well — we
quarrelled — and
y parted — went
our different
ways. Then I got ill. Money had come ;
although I dared not publish as the author
of ' Tried in the Furnace ' ; still my work
sold, but it was too late. I have never seen
her — again — but now I want her to come
before I die — I know where she is."
" What do you want me to do ? "
" Write for me, just a line, will you ? Say
Julius Hatton is dying — say I shall live to
see her if she comes at once. Only, if she
had that look in her eyes — if she knew and
THE SECRET OF JULIUS HATTON.
301
condemned — I could not bear it ; promise
that you will not betray me. Let me die
quietly, looking in her face — seeing her smile
— assured that she will never know."
" Never ! " said Winterden. He thought
his passion must have betrayed itself even
in the single word.
" Oh, perhaps hereafter, if there be one.
That is beyond you and me — but can't you
understand that I desire she should think
well of me as long as possible ? — remember
only that I loved her. Death atones for so
much."
"Yes."
" You will write at once ? You will find
and a miniature, a delicately -tinted photograph
in a frame of carved ivory.
He had kept nothing ; not a line of her
writing, nothing to remind him of that which
he had lost. He looked so long and so
intently at the well-known face that Hatton
grew restless.
" You are going to write ? " he said.
" Yes, I am going to write."
The other gave a sigh of relief. " She
will surely com 2," he muttered. He was
exhausted with the excitement of memory,
the effort of speech, and now lay perfectly
still.
Wniterden went over to the table, and,
■ HE LOOKED LONG AND INTENTLY AT THE WELL-KNOWN FACE.
the address there in my pocket-book, with
the portrait — I did not give that back."
"Yes, I will write."
" And my secret, you will keep my
secret ? "
" What have I to do with your secret? It
is no affair of mine."
The dim eyes stared at him uneasily : —
" You strong, conscientious people can be
very hard — perhaps you have never been
tempted ; but still, give me the pocket-
book."
Winterden complied. He did not say
how well he knew the address of Clothilde
d'Alton.
Presently he held in his hands a short
note, a mere formal invitation to dinner,
addressed from the house in Cadogan Square,
with the portrait before him,
wrote a few formal lines : —
"Dear Mrs. D'Alton, — I
am writing to you by the re-
quest of Julius Hatton. He
has been lying at this hotel for
some months seriously ill, and
is most anxious to see you.
To make you more inclined to
grant his request, perhaps, I
should tell you that I believe it to be that of
a dying man. If you decide to come, come
at once.
"Yours very sincerely,
" J. Brownlow Winterden."
He folded, inclosed, and addressed the letter,
and then sat for awhile staring into the fire.
When his vigil was at an end, and the
nurse came to relieve him at the turn of the
night, the papers which contained his justifi-
cation were still in his possession. He had
given no definite proniise to Julius Hatton,
and he could not assure himself that he had
no right to this means of tardy vindication
which had fallen into his hands.
If it were his own welfare alone that was
concerned, perhaps honour would have coun-
selled further endurance ; but Hatton had
302
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
assured him that the love of Clothilde still
belonged to John Brownlow. Was she, too,
to be sacrificed ? Let the issues of this
crisis be worked out ; for the present, he
would retain the proofs of his position.
His letter to Clothilde was sent by the
first post, and after the hour at which he
calculated it would be delivered in town, he
watched in anxious expectation for a telegram.
None came; the afternoon wore into evening;
the sick man grew restless and feverish, ask-
ing constantly for news.
Winterden could not keep away from the
room ; he felt drawn by a sort of fascination
to the presence of the man who had wronged
him, and who, to satisfy the cravings of his
self-love, was ready to die with a lie upon his
soul. Such a nature was to him a curious
study, and in its presence he felt he could
better estimate his own possible lines of
action. Could he pierce the soul of this poor
weakling in the hour of parting, or should he
let him play out his pitiful part to the end,
and unfold the truth to Clothilde across a
dead body ?
Either alternative was sufficiently painful.
How would she regard an explanation vouched
for by a confession stolen from the dead ?
Although he had long ceased to blame her,
he could not help realizing now what infinite
pain might have been spared by a more
perfect trust.
As a third and last course, was he to allow
things to drift, keep silence, and bear the
odium of another man's wrong-doing, and her
condemnation, until the end ?
He looked out the trains, and saw that it
was possible she might arrive about nine
o'clock ; the letter might not have reached
her immediately. Then he busied himself in
making preparations for heV comfort. He
could not think, provided she was in town,
that she would risk the delay of a night.
Hatton had changed rapidly during the last
twenty-four hours ; it was doubtful whether
the morning would find him conscious.
It was nearly ten o'clock when he was told
that Mrs. D'Alton had arrived, and would
like to see him. He found her, already
divested of her bonnet and travelling cloak,
awaiting him in the room he had engaged for
her. She was standing near the fire, a tall,
straight figure, clad simply in a dark gown.
Any awkwardness that he might have feared,
or any hopes he had entertained from the
meeting, were at once set aside as she came
forward a few paces to greet him. She was
perfectly self-possessed, and had entirely taken
the position into her own hands.
" I have to thank you, Mr. Winterden, for
sending for me, and for making the necessary
arrangements for my comfort. I left town
immediately I received your letter. I am
not too late ? "
" No ; Mr. Hatton is still conscious, but
you must be prepared ; he has sunk very
rapidly during the day."
" Shall I go to him at once ? "
" If you wish it, but ought you not to rest,
to take some refreshment ? "
" I feel neither tired nor hungry. I should
like to see him as soon as possible."
" If you will allow me, I will take you to
his room/'
He had a strong wish that they three
should meet face to face ; to see if any idea,
any consciousness of the truth would force
itself upon either of the two others con-
cerned.
She hesitated —
" I am giving you a great deal of trouble.
Is there no one else ? "
"Only the nurse. If you will allow me,
it is no trouble. I am constantly with him : I
left him, in fact, to come to you."
She signed her assent, and he led the way
with a somewhat elaborate exaggeration of
the cold politeness of her manner. The
irony of the situation supplied him with a
cynicism which no suffering had hitherto
been able to evoke. He saw her stand
beside the dying bed of Julius Hatton, and
take the wasted hand in hers, while a smile
of boyish gladness stole over the sick man's
face.
"You have come — thank you — and not,
as I dreamed, in anger. Now I shall carry
the memory of your sweetness through
death."
She sat down beside him, and, his hand
still in hers, he seemed to sleep. Winterden
stole out of the room. When he returned
an hour later she was still there ; Hatton had
hardly moved.
" It is time you went to rest," he said, with
some authority. " Can you withdraw your
hand without disturbing him ? "
" Thank you, I will remain. He is sleep-
ing so quietly."
" He might drift away in that sleep," he
whispered.
" Then I shall be with him to the last.
You do not understand. I feel I have
wronged him. It is not much to make this
small atonement."
" You — wronged him I "
"Yes, I was glad of his sympathy; his half
boyish enthusiasm comforted me. Then he
\
THE SECRET OF JULIUS IJATTON.
Z^Z
gave me his love, and I, having nothing to — you look worn out," she said, with a sudden
offer in return, threw it aside." access of womanly pity.
" And now ? " Hatton was watching them ; he made a
" And now — I love him — I am so sorry sign for Winterden to approach.
for him," she said, simply.
" And you have no pity for me ? You
still believe that I did that thing ? "
HE SAW HER STAND BESIDE THE DYING BED OK JULIUS HATTON.
" You have never shown me that you did
not," she said, uneasily. " I told Julius the
whole story. He agreed with me that the
facts seemed beyond doubt. But he saw, or
fancied that he saw, that I had not forgotten
you, and so, through you, I have lost him also.
You have robbed me of everything."
Hatton moved, and opened wide the
grey eyes in which vision seemed already
growing dim. They travelled restlessly from
one to the other of the two faces at his side,
and he appeared anxious to speak. Clothilde
leaned down towards him, but at that moment
the doctor entered to pay a final visit, and
the words were left unsaid.
" He may last till the morning," was the
verdict given to Winterden in the corridor a
quarter of an hour later. " He is conscious
now, but if there are any further requests or
wishes to be attended to "
Winterden went back to the room and
whispered this report to Mrs. D'Alton. The
tears rose to her eyes.
" How thankful I am that I did not delay
— at least, now, I can remain with him to the
end." Then she caught sight of Winterden's
face. It looked almost more drawn and
_than that upon the bed. " But you
" Good-night, John."
Winterden hesitated a moment ; then laid
his hand upon the feeble one that was
carrying his life in its grasp. The eyes of
the two men met, in quick revelation, almost
mutual prayer — and Winterden gathered that
Hatton knew him and still trusted to his for-
bearance. So he read that last look.
He turned away in silence and went to his
own room. There he put the leaves of the
diary upon the fire, and pressed them down
among the embers, till nothing of the paper
remained but a few black ashes ; then he lay
down upon his bed ; and, after a time, fell
asleep, for he was physically, as well as
mentally, wearied.
About six o'clock the nurse came to
his door with a message. Hatton was
dead : he had passed away in sleep quite
tranquilly.
A few hours later, Winterden sent a note
to Clothilde to inquire if he could be of any
further service. The answer was that she
intended returning to town by the twelve
o'clock train, but would he speak with her
first ? He went at once. She met him, he
thought, with a little more kindliness ; and
this he attributed to the presence of death.
304
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
Her face showed signs of tears. They spoke
quietly about the needful arrangements, and
she expressed a wish to put a small stone
cross upon the grave. Winterden promised
to give the order.
" When you return to town, will you come
and see me and tell me about it ? " she said.
" I am thinking of going abroad again, but
I will write."
" As you will ; but I wish to say that I
regret having spoken so harshly last night.
The irrevocableness of death makes one
feel that one
should be more
gentle in one's " "^
judgments.---
Could we not be
friends ? " \ . . ^
" That is im-
possible. You
require proofs,
and I have none
to give. Doubt
is incompatible
with friendship."
" Yet, pro;nise
me that you
will not leave
England with-
out communicat-
ing with me."
" I will attend
to your wishes
about the grave,
and. write to
you."
C 1 o t h i 1 d e
turned away.
All these
months she had
been learning
that doubt, if in-
compatible with
friendship, is not
always incom-
patible with love.
An hour later
she had left for
town ; but Winterden remained to see that
the last rites were decently rendered to
Julius Hatton, and to arrange for the carry-
ing-out of Clothilde's wish with regard to
his grave. He told himself that he did
this merely because he would have been
ashamed of the heartlessness and cruelty
implied by a different course.
He found that there was money in hand
sufficient for the needful expenses ; the
balance, a very small sum, went, together
HE I'UT THE LEAVES OF THE DIARY UPON THE FIRE
with the personal effects of the dead man, to
his heir-at-law, the brother in India of whom
he had spoken as his sole near relation.
So soon as he was free, John Winterden
started for Algiers ; he spent nearly fifteen
months in wandering, but the spring of the
second year after Hatton's death found him
again in London.
The question of the memorial cross once
settled, there had been no further intercourse
between himself and Clothilde d' Alton ; but
he heard of her occasionally, knew that she
was still unmar-
ried, and longed
intensely to see
her again. Still,
he told himself
that unless her
heart prompted
his full and un-
questioned ac-
([uittal, they
must meet as
comparative
strangers.
He had been
in town about a
fortnight, when
he was startled
to see in the
papers the an-
nouncement of a
new work by the
author of " Tried
in the Furnace,"
To whom could
this posthumous
production of
Julius Hatton's
writings be due ?
Possibly he had
left MSS. in the
hands of his pub-
lishers at the
time of his
death, which
were only now
given to the
In that case, unless the embargo of
secrecy were removed, this stirring of the
memory of a half-forgotten scandal was hardly
likely to benefit his, John Winterden's,
position.
He bought a copy of the book, and found
it inferior in matter and style ; it struck him
as juvenile work resuscitated, and likely
rather to damage the memory of the author
than otherwise. The reviews were not yet
out.
world.
^■^
THE SECRET OF JULIUS HATTON.
305
Within the week he met Mrs. D'Alton at
dinner, their first encounter since his return.
He scarcely saw her, however, until they
were seated at the table. The party was a
large one, and he arrived rather late. Then,
however, he found that she occupied the
place almost opposite his own, and that she
had been assigned to the care of a man
whose face seemed strangely familiar, although
he could not at the moment recall the place
or manner of their meeting. The stranger
had the look of a soldier, recently returned
from foreign service. Mrs. D'Alton seemed
deeply interested in his conversation, and
scarcely aware of Winterden's presence, who
covertly watching the pair became gradually
conscious that the haunting familiarity of the
man's face was due to a certain likeness of
feature and expression to Julius Hatton,
oddly disguised by a long moustache.
During the second course one of those in-
explicable pauses occurred which leave to
one unfortunate speaker the attention of the
whole table.
" by the author of ' Tried in
the Furnace ' : who can it be ? "
These were the words that fell upon the
silence. Evidently the matter under discus-
sion had been the authorship of Julius
Hatton's last book. One or two persons at
the table knew the subject to be an awkward
one in the presence of Mrs. D'Alton, and
would have rushed in to cover the mishap,
but her neighbour leaned forward and spoke
clearly.
" Don't you know ? " he said. " Why, my
brother, Julius Hatton, wrote that book ; it's
hard he shouldn't have some of the fame now
he's dead, poor fellow. He was too modest, I
suppose, in his life."
People at the other end of the table tried
to talk hurriedly, the hostess turned to her
neighbour with a remark upon a new play,
but in the immediate group round the speaker
there was still silence.
" I was in India, you know," went on
Colonel Hatton, turning innocently to Mrs.
D'Alton; " in fact, I should not have returned
now but for being invalided, and I only
discovered the poor lad's secret by some
shorthand notes, verbatim of the most telling
parts of the book, which I found in an old
box of MSS. Then I had an interview with
the publishers, who confirmed my suspicions.
There is no doubt, but I wonder he did not
tell you,^'' he added, in a lower tone.
The buzz of general conversation had re-
commenced before the sentence was con-
cluded. Winterden could scarcely catch the
Vol. ix.— 40.
last words, but Clothilde's face had grown
white as the damask upon which her eyes
were fixed as though she would never again
dare to raise them. Fearful of adding to her
embarrassment, he hardly dared again to
glance in her direction during ■ dinner, and
when, later, he entered the drawing-room, she
was on the point of leaving. She held out
her hand to him as she passed : —
" Will you come to see me tO;morrow ? I
shall be at home till luncheon." Her eyes
were almost imploring.
" Most certainly I will."
The hours that intervened before he could
carry out his promise dragged slowly for John
Winterden ; being spent chiefly in utterly
futile speculation.
How would Clothilde receive him — what
was her object in asking him to come ?
Would she hold him finally acquitted without
further explanation, or did she want merely
to question him? Surely, she could hardly
suspect him of deeper complicity in this
miserable affair.
He arrived at the house in Cadogan Square
about noon, and on being announced found
her standing near the middle of the room,
evidently expectant. He guessed that she
had been pacing the length of it, as was her
habit when excited or restless ; her im-
petuosity was not yet cured.
It was not, however, until they were both
seated that she found words for the question
uppermost in her mind.
" You heard what Colonel Hatton said last
night?" /
" I did."/
" Was it news to you ? "
" No. I had been aware of it for some
time."
" Since when ? Do you mind telling me ? "
" Since the night on which I wrote for you
to come to Brighton."
" Well, I have something to tell you.
Julius Hatton asked me, that last night, if
you, John Winterden, were the Jack Brown-
low I used to speak of. He overheard us
talking."
" Yes, and what then ? "
" He became terribly agitated, evidently he
had no idea of your identity. Later on, he
seemed anxious to tell me something, but
he could not make me understand. It was
such a little while before the end. I think
now that he wanted to repair the wrong he
had done you, for I gather that you and he
had never met, never had any intercourse,
until you met at Brighton."
" Never. I had never heard of Julius
3o6
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
Hatton until I heard of him as engaged
to you."
"How, then" — their eyes met — "how,
then, did he read my letters ? " she said,
below her breath.
" Are you sure that he did read them ? "
" Would you have me believe that the
whole thing was a coincidence ? "
" I cannot say what I would have you
believe, except that I had nothing to do
with it."
" But you know the truth ? "
He shifted his position uneasily.
" You have known it ever since that night ? "
Still he did not answer.
She looked at him for a moment, steadily,
wonderingly ; then she crossed the room and
laid her hand upon his arm.
"Jack!"
He looked up at her.
" Of what use is it ? " he said ; " he is
dead."
" How can I ever forgive myself? "
" Don't try, dear ; let us forget all about it.
Will you have your ring back ? I have
brought it in the hope — — "
She let him take in his the hand that had
rested upon his arm.
How Explosives are Made.
By William G. FitzGerald.
N writing to a Government
Department for assistance in
iterary matters, there is a
deliglitful uncertainty. You
may be refused — let down
gently, it is true^but still
refused. The refusal, on the other hand,
may be chilling, or even severely aggressive.
If the reply is none of these, it surely
contains official assent — formal, gracious,
comprehensive. Such was the letter sent by
Dr. AV. Anderson, Her Majesty's Director-
General of Ordnance Factories, in answer to
our application for official permission to visit
the famous Royal Gunpowder Factory, whose
main gate is almost
under the shadow of
the ugly Norman
tower of Waltham
Abbey.
Here, indeed, is
the most extra-
ordinary factory in
the world. Factory
is quite a misnomer
applied to this lovely
and picturesque
domain. The estab-
lishment consists of
about four hundred
acres of wooded land,
intersected by four
miles of crystal
streams, which would
fill the angler's heart
with delight.
As a matter of fact,
the place was bought
by the Government,
in 1787, from John
Walton, a direct de-
scendant of the im-
mortal Izaak ; and
the name of the
former may yet be seen inscribed on a sun-
dial in the quadrangle near the office of the
superintendent. Colonel Ormsby. This sun-
dial, by the way, is robbed of much of its
quaint and picturesque nature by eight big
shells, which are symmetrically arranged
about the base, and' which, we need hardly
say, are not described in any work on con-
chology.
It goes without saying that Waltham has its
stirring and exciting moments. Quite apart
from the fact that the vast powder factory is,
to put it mildly, a continual menace to the
local public peace, there are a surprising
number of h:<^reams about the place, which
overflow in wL:;ter, and occasionally compel
the inhabitants to go a-punting down High
Bridge Street.
Nevertheless, Waltham is a pretty town ;
and, as one turns off from the main street
into tlie lane leading to the principal entrance
of the factory, one cannot help admiring the
pastoral scenes of woodland and meadow,
which render it difficult to believe that the
most dangerous in-
dustry in the world
is carried on within
a few hundred yards.
Passing in at the gate
we beheld an avenue
of stately poplars, at
the end of which the
Union Jack floated
proudly from a flag-
staff This gave rise
to a train of thought
from which we were
rudely aroused by a
sharp challenge from
the inspector of police.
We were then re-
quested to enter the
police quarters, where
we were plied with
(juestions as to our
lousiness, and whether
we possessed any
matches, pipes, or
steel implements.
Then we turned out
our pockets, just as
Lord Sandhurst had
to do when he
visited the factory for the purpose of opening
the hospital. In fact, all comers, from the
Prince of Wales down to the humblest factory
lad, are interrogated by the police at the gate
with a strict regard for duty that reminded us
of certain anecdotes in our school - books.
Our illustration (No. i) shows one of the
sergeants of police searching the men at the
main gate.
sol
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
The gallant colonel assured us that the
way was long, and therefore it would be
better for us to set off on our personally
conducted tour at once. He was right. The
buildings seemed to be scattered far and
wide, as though it were the primary intention
of the authorities to occupy every available
square foot of land, ^^'e walked miles ; we
plunged into thickets, crossed innumerable
streams, and occasionally glided from one
building to another in a swift electric launch,
the panting of whose screw scared
the birds and rabbits that abound
in this extraordinary place.
But we must commence ab initio.
The first place we visited — and we
were calm and appreciative then,
not knowing the extent of the
appalling task that lay before us —
was the saltpetre refinery shown in
No. 2. To the right in the photo-
graph is Mr. Knowler, the " father
of the factory," as he is called from
the fact of his forty-three years'
service. The saltpetre comes from.
Scinde in bags of loolb., and in
this state it contains about 5 per
cent, of impurities. It is dissolved
in large quantities in water heated
to 230 degrees, and, after careful skim-
ming, the solution is pumped into the
coolers shown in No. 2. The saltpetre crystal-
lizes in these coolers, and is then raked from
the bottom in the form of wet snow, which is
piled up, and subsequently undergoes a wash-
ing process by means of a continuous stream
of water. There are four refining coppers
and seven evaporating pots in the refining-
room. The saltpetre is ultimately sent to the
mixing- house in barrels, with a certificate
showing that it contains between 3 and 6
per cent, of water. The saltpetre refuse is
bought by farmers for from 8s. to 12 s. per
ton. We next called at the sulphur refinery
(Illus. No. 3), but found it almost impossible
to breathe within its evil-smelling precincts.
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NO. 2. — THE SALTPETRE REFINERY.
NO. 3. — THE SULPHUR REFINERY.
As regards the worthy man we found there, he
was as unconcerned as though he were in-
haling the ozone on Brighton Pier ; more, he
proceeded to give us, out of the fulness of
his twenty-six years' experience, a few details
concerning his own department in quite a
graphic manner.
Six hundredweight
and a half of
Sicilian sulphur is
shot into the retort,
seen to the right
in the picture, and
after it has re-
mained there about
three hours it
passes in vapour
from the retort^
through cold-water
jacketed pipes, into
the receiving-pot,
where it arrives in
a treacly mass.
Our friend is seen
ladling this viscous
matter into the
casting tubs, in
which it is left for
about eighteen
hours. Next morn-
HOW EXPLOSIVES ARE MADE.
309
ing these tubs are emptied, and out of each
comes two hundredweight of purified sulphur,
which resembles a monstrous custard. This
also goes to the mixing-room, after having
been ground in the sulphur mill.
There remains
one other con-
stituent of powder
to be investigated
— namely, char-
coal. Why, we
asked, are there
such extensive
groves and forests
of willow, dog-
wood, and alder
within the bound-
aries of this
strangest of fac-
tories? Onereason
is that the wood is
converted into
charcoal; and an-
other, that a dense
growth of trees
serves to locate the
effects of a possible
explosion.
No. 4 is a view
of the wood stacks, many of which are from
three to ten years old.
Now let us see what these workmen are
going to do with the seasoned branches they
are loading on to the trolley.
No. 5 is a view of the charcoal-room.
The wood is placed in the cylindrical
drums, and the latter are then run into
furnaces shaped to receive them, by means
of travelling cranes. After from three to
eight hours of very great heat, during which
time the very gases from the burning wood
NO. 5. — MAKING CHARCOAL
NO. 4. — THE WOOD STACKS.
are utilized as fuel in the furnace below^, the
drums are withdrawn and their contents shot
into air-tight iron vessels to cool for four
hours. The charcoal is subsequently removed
to smaller coolers, where it remains another
twelve hours, after which it is taken by boat
to the store. Here it remains for a day or
two before being
picked over' by
hand, in order to
see that there are
no nails or pieces
of iron in it. The
responsibility of
this last-mentioned
W'Ork may be
judged when we
state that, if the
smallest particle
of gritty matter of
any sort is inad-
vertently passed
over, it infallible
means an awful
explosion and cer-
tain loss of life.
The sulphur is
ground so as to
pass through a
sieve having 36
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
openings to the square inch ; the charcoal
is passed through a mesh 32 to the inch.
Now we are ready for the mixing - room.
Of this strange place it was impossible to
obtain a photograph, owing to the dark-
ness that prevailed. Grimy men flitted
through an almost tangible gloom ; and in
one corner an expert was weighing up the
saltpetre, sulphur, and charcoal in parts of
which revolve two enormous wheels, each
weighing four tons.
Into this bed is shot the contents of the
half-charge sack brought from the mixing-
house. A wooden " plough " is then fixed
from the centre, so as to keep the powder
continually under the rollers, and then all is
ready for starting the machinery. Even in
this stage the mixture is highly inflammable,
and therein lies the raison
d'etre of the '' flash-board,"
which is seen over the bed.
In the event of an ex-
plosion, either through the
wheels meeting with gritty
particles in the mixture, or
from other causes, this
board would be violently
thrown upwards on hinges,
and in its descent back-
wards would automatically
overturn tanks of water, not
merely on to its own bed,
but also on the beds of its
working neighbours, who
might otherwise be tempted
to join in the riot.
Indeed, the risk is so
great, that in order to
NO. 6. — INCORrORATliN'G MILLS : EXTKRIOR VIEW.
75, 10, and 15 respectively. For powder for
big guns, however, the proportions are 79,
3, and 18. These constituents were shot
into a revolving drum fitted with blades
inside. The mixture is afterwards packed in
half-charge sacks of 6olb. and sent to the
incorporating mill — the first of the " danger
buildings."
In No. 6 is shown a set of incorporating
mills, which are built in groups of six, and
are worked by independent machinery. Ex-
cept for the division walls, these mills are
constructed of the flimsiest material possible,
the roof being of wood, and the fronts
of canvas, buttoned on to a slight iron
framework ; this is in order that no resistance
may be offered to a possible explosion. It
will be noticed that the arms of the danger
signals are raised, in order to show that the
mills are working ; when these signals are up,
no barrow or truck-load of powder, in any
stage whatsoever, is allowed to pass by the
mills. Yet the interior of any one of the
incorporating mills is not calculated to strike
awe or terror into the heart of the visitor.
As will be seen from No. 7, there is nothing
in the place but a big, circular iron bed, round
NO. 7. — INCORPORATING MILL: INTERIOR.
HOU^ EXPLOSIVES ARE MADE.
311
start the incorporating mill, the operator
prudently draws down the flaps of his cloth
helmet, puts on his gauntlets, and retires
outside, as is shown in No. 8. The man is
1
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NO. 8. — STARTING THE INCORPORATING MILL.
clothed in a suit of " lasting " — that curious
leathery material affected by the London
apprentices in the days of Queen Elizabeth.
There are no pockets in
this suit, and the buttons
are of bone ; no powder
adheres to this material.
The men are even for-
bidden to cultivate long
beards, lest perhaps these
hirsute appendages should
contain particles of grit,
harmless enough in them-
selves, but more deadly
than cholera bacilli when
introduced into a powder
mill.
After being three and a
half hours beneath the in-
corporating rollers, the mix-
ture becomes " mill-cake,"
and is removed in covered
trucks to the breaking-down
house. This building, in
common with most of tlie other danger
buildings, is lighted at night by electric
lamps, immersed in water, and placed
.'ctbide the windows. In the breaking-
down house the mill-cake is placed in a
hopper, drawn up on an endless band, and
crushed into meal powder by two pairs of
gun-metal rollers. Only twelve charges of
i2olb. each are allowed in this house at one
time.
The next department is the press-house,
an exterior view of which is shown in No. 9.
The machine-house is on the left, and the
men's retiring-room on the right. Between
these two buildings is placed the " traverse,"
a mighty mass of masonry, concrete, and
earth, which is intended to protect the
workmen ; these latter are compelled to
remain in the lobbies while the machinery is
in motion. In the press-house one of the
most dangerous operations takes place.
Copper plates are fixed in a rack in a huge
iron box, and about 75olb. of meal powder
is strewn between them. A hydraulic ram of
from 6t, to 500 tons pressure is then brought
to bear upon the plates for half an hour,
during which time the men are congregated
in the shoe-room on the other side of the
traverse. It is no exaggeration to say that
there is an awful uncertainty about this
operation.
A bell rings when the pressure gauge
reaches a certain point, and the men then
return to the machine-room and remove the
" press-cake," as it is now called, from the
plates. The regulations caution the men
against "undue haste" in removing the cake,
and the authorities have thoughtfully provided
THE I'KESS-HOUSE, SHOWING TRAVERSE,
deep wells outside each danger building, into
which men who have been badly burnt may
plunge. No more than goolb. of powder
may be kept in the press-house at one
312
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
time. No. 9 also shows a covered powder boat
on the left. There are thirty-six of these boats
altogether, and no one is allowed to go over
a bridge while one of them is passing beneath,
lest any dirt or grit should fall upon the
immaculate deck.
The press-house is
the parting of the ways,
so to speak, of the
various kinds of
powder, which are
made from press-cake
treated in different
ways. For pebble
powder the press-cake
—which, by the way,
resembles thick black
slate — is cut into strips,
and these strips are
further cut into " y%
cubes." The rest of
the cake is reduced
to coarse powder by
three pairs of gradu-
ated rollers.
All sorts of fear-
some notices and cau-
tions abound in the
retiring-room of the
press-house, which is
depicted in No. 10. A
rigorous line of demarcation s formed by an
upright board, before passing which every
visitor, from the Government inspector down-
wards, is compelled to put on a pair of enor-
mous boots over his own. In No. 10 the chief
foreman is seen
undergoing this
operation. This
precaution is taken
in order that no
gritty particles may
be introduced on
to the soft leather
floor of the danger
buildings. Having
put on these boots,
you shuffle shame-
facedly round the
traverse to the
machine-room. We
say shamefacedly
advisedly, for we
defy any man to
walk a dozen yards
in these safety-
boots and yet
maintain a sem-
blance of dignity.
NO. 10. — ENTERING A DANGER 151IILUING.
The glazed and granulated powder (the
dust from which has been removed by
another process and sent back to the incor-
porating mills) is now ready for moulding
into prisms for the built-up charges used in
big guns. The in-
terior of the moulding-
room is shown in No.
II. Coarse -grained
powder is fed into
the compartments of
the wheeled tray to
the right, and it is
then pushed under
the hydraulic press,
which has correspond-
ing plungers. The
hexagonal prisms
emerge in batches of
sixty-four, or 13,000
per day. To the left
in our photograph
(No. 11) a skilled
workman is seen
weighing a specimen
from each batch in air
and mercury. And "if
the scale do turn (liter-
ally) but in the esti-
mation of a hair," the
whole batch is rejected.
In the drying-rooms, ordinary grain powder
is left for from one to three hours ; pebble
powder, however, takes from twenty-four to
forty hours to dry, and S.B.C. (" slow burning
cocoa"), for iio-ton guns, about sixty hours.
NO. II. — THE MOULDING-liOO.M.
BOIV EXPLOSIVES ARE MADE.
Z^Z
NO. 12. — A POWDER BARGE.
The last - mentioned powder is proved in
iiin. guns with a charge of 3601b., and
gives a muzzle velocity of from 2,010ft. to
2,050ft. per second. Finished powder of all
of each kind are blended so as to give uni-
formity, and the powder is then conveyed to
Purfleet and Woolwich in special barges,
which fly a red flag and can be sunk in five
minutes. One of these craft, together with a
typical view of the Waltham Abbey establish-
ment, is shown in No. 12.
Altogether there are about 900 men em-
ployed in the factory, and the annual wages
bill comes nigh unto ^^70,000. One thou-
sand four hundred tons of saltpetre are
stocked; 100 tons of sulphur; and enough
wood to make 40,000 barrels of powder.
The annual consumption of coal ranges from
8, coo to 10,000 tons. Very significant is the
photograph we reproduce (No. 13), It
shows the interior of the little hospital opened
by Lord Sandhurst quite recently. The
hospital stands close to one of the myriad
streams that intersect the vast grounds of the
factory, and is intended solely for the benefit
of injured workmen. By the way, it seems
strange that, in spite of innumerable pre-
cautions and all that science can do, frightful
explosions should take place — explosions as
disastrous as they are inexplicable. Truly,
these grave, quiet men, who are turning out
by day and by night material for the defence
of our country, " know not the day nor the
hour."
Let us now turn to the manufacture of
cordite, that new and terrible explosive which
eminent experts tell us will increase a
hundredfold the carnage on the battle-field of
il
Fl
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NO. 13. -INTERIOR OF THE HOSPITAL.
sorts is sent to the splendidly-fitted labora-
tory to undergo various tests ; it is then
proved in the guns at the butts attached to
the establishment. Finally, large quantities
Vol. ix.— 41.
the next European war in which we are
engaged. The following facts attest the
tremendous power of this explosive : The
charge of ordinary black powder for the
314
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
service rifle is 70
grains, and tliis
gives a muzzle
velocity of 1,850ft.
per second. A
cordite charge of
30 grains gives a
velocity of 2,000ft.
Again, the powder
charge for the
1 2 -pounder gun
is 41b., while the
cordite charge for
the same weapon
is i5^oz. ; and
the latter gives far
better results.
As cordite is
primarily founded
on gun-cotton, we
first visited the
picking - room,
under the cour-
teous guidance of
Captain Nathan, the cordite superintendent.
In No. 14 the girls are seen picking over the
cotton waste, which comes from the Man-
chester spinning mills in hundredweight bales,
and costs about ^30 per ton. It will be seen
that the connection between peaceful trade
and this formidable explosive is as close as it
is curious. The stuff is picked carefully, in
order that fragments of wood, rope, wire, and
rag may be removed. The cotton waste is
then thrown on to a powerful teasing machine,
which rends and tears its fibre ; after this
-THE WEIGHING AND UKV1M_
NO. 14. — PICKING COTTON FOR CORDITE.
it is cut up by another machine, and
then it passes on an endless band into a
drying -room heated to 180 degrees. The
cotton is then weighed up into lots of
ij4^1b., and each lot is placed in a tin
cooling box ; these operations are shown in
No. 15. After twenty-four hours, the lots, or
charges, are ready for dipping. Each dipping
pan contains 22olb. of mixed acid — three
parts of sulphuric and one of nitric acid.
The operator simply throws the dry cotton
into the acid and leaves it there for about
five minutes, dur-
ing which time
each charge of
i^lb. will have
absorbed 13}^ lb.
of acid.
The workman
now takes his im-
plements from the
cold water in
which they sire
kept immersed,
for fear that re-
peated contact
with the acid
should corrode
them, and he pro-
ceeds to remove
the saturated
cotton from the
ba:h or pan. As
will be seen from
No. 16, he has an
IIOJV EXPLOSn'ES ARE MADE.
315
^0. 16. — I HE IMl'I'INO lANks.
earthenware pot ready to receive the charge.
The earthenware vessels containing the
charges are then allowed to stand in shallow
water for some little time. No. 17 is a
general view of the cooling tanks, with the
dipping baths in the background.
From the earthenware vessels the cotton is
shot into a centrifugal machine, wliirling round
at a speed of 1,200 revolutions a minute.
In a very short time the cotton is compara-
tively dry ; and the waste acid removed
by the machine is allowed for by a contractor.
The next operation is the washing of the
cotton in a wooden tank full of water,
which is agitated by a revolving bladed wheel.
When the foreman thinks this washing has
gone on long enough, he tastes the cotton,
and if no flavour of acid remains, it is taken
out by a man who wades in in big boots.
The water is wrung out and the cotton is
then removed to the vat-house, where it is
boiled in monstrous vats for four or five days.
Each vat holds about i8c\vt. of cotton ; and
the interior of this department is shown in
No. 18.
From the vats the long-suffering cotton
comes out like wet oatmeal ; then comes more
churning and washing, until at length the
moulding process is reached, and the cotton
is pressed into big cubes of 2)^ lb. These
cubes are veritable gun - cotton, and when
pressed flat and furnished with a dry cylinder
and a fulminate of mercury detonator, they
are quite ready for torpedo work. l"he gun-
cotton press -house, depicted in No. 19, is
furnished with what is called a protective
rope mantelet, or wall of rope, such as is
used in fortifications.
'J'o make cordite, the dry gun-cotton is
taken to the nitro-glycerine house, a wholly ex-
traordinary building, literally buried under a
mound or hill, and approached by a burrow-
like, brick-lined passage in the earth. The two
most dangerous nitro-glycerine houses are
NO. i;. — Ti;;; cukling tanks.
3i6
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
NO. l8.— THE BOILING VATS.
shown in No. 20. Beneath the mound
on the left is the washing-house :
the other building to the right is
the nitrating -house. The dry gun-
cotton, as we have said, is taken to the
nitro-glycerine house in boxes, and it
is there saturated with nitro-glycerine, an
almost colourless liquid. Should a single
drop of this fall on the leaden floor, it
is instantly wiped up with a damp cloth.
The saturated gun-cotton is now called
"cordite dough,"and it is taken direct to
the kneading-house, which is shown in
No. 21. The men, as may be seen from
the photograph, wear curious respirators
as they bend over the sticky mass,
which gives forth nauseous and deadly
fumes. When thoroughly kneaded, the
dough is sent to the incorporating-
house and placed in drums, which
have slow revolving screw blades ; this
mixing process goes on for seven hours.
The component part<^ of cordite, by the
way, are as follows : nitro-glycerine 5 7
parts, gun-cotton 38 parts, and five
parts of mineral jelly, this latter being
added three and a half hours after the
dough or paste has been in the incor-
porating machine. Acetone is also
added in quantities of 151b, looz. to
every charge of 751b. One of the final
operations takes place in the moulding-
house. There i^lb. of cordite paste
is pressed and moulded ; the mould
and its contents are then placed in
another machine, and, to the amaze-
ment of the onlooker, out comes
2,000ft. of what looks like brown
twine, with a diameter of •o375in. This
is finished cordite, and it is wound
upon a reel. For 6in. quick-firers,
cordite with a diameter of "31^ is
turned out, and as it emerges from the
machine it is cut into i4in. lengths.
No. 22 shows the interesting opera-
tion of "ten-stranding." Ten reels
of cordite, just as they come from the
machine, are fixed in a rack (the lad
in our illustration is about to fix the
tenth reel) and are wound simultane-
ously on to a single reel, the object
being to secure uniformity of explo-
siveness. Furthermore, six " ten-
stranded " reels are afterwards wound
NO. 19. — THE CORDITE PRESS-HOUSE.
BOJV EXPLOSIVES ARE MADE.
317
upon one, and the
" sixty-stranded "
reel is then ready
to be sent away.
Minute details as
to whose hands
it has passed
through accom-
pany each reel ;
and the end of
the thread is
secured with a
band of webbing.
Ultimately, the
cordite is cut into
little bits and made into bundles for the
cartridge cases, but this work is not done at
Waltham.
A pool adjoining the cordite works is
-IIIi; xri KO-GLVCEKINE WORKS,
accumulated in
the pool that,
when it came to
be blown up, the
result was really
startling Colonel
Ormsby, the
general superin-
tendent of the
works, has lent
us, for reproduc-
tion, a photo-
graph (No. 24)
taken imme-
diately after this
particular blowing-up. A glance will reveal
the tremendous force of the explosion, which
blew holes 20ft. deep around the pond.
The testing armoury and proof range are
at Quinton Hill, but are
within the boundaries of
the factory. It is most in-
teresting to behold the array
of field artillery and naval
quick-firers, all clean and
bright and with a business-
like appearance. On the
occasion of our visit, a
6in. quick-firing gun was
mounted in a sort of cave
formed of earth and masonry
so as to minimize danger
in case of the weapon
bursting. Remember, the
powder is being tested, and
no one knows what may
happen. When the gun is
ready to be fired, every
person leaves the vicinity;
-MIXING CORDITE DOUGH.
show'n in No. 23. Into this
pool all water from the vari-
ous nitro-glycerine houses is
most carefully drained,
since such water contains
a certain quantity of nitro-
glycerine. Every Saturday
this extraordinary pond is
blown up by means of a
dynamite cartridge, in order
to get rid of the explosive
matter it contains. After
the terrible explosion in
the nitro-glycerine house,
on the 7th of May, 1894,
when four men were blown
to pieces, such a large
quantity of nitro-glycerine
NO. 22. — "ten-stranding.'
3i8
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
-THK SETTLING TOM).
the electric switch is moved in the instrument-
room some distance away, and with a terrific
roar, accentuated by the confined space,
the gun hurls its projectile 17ft. into the
sand of the distant butt. A blank cartridge,
by the way, is first fired so as to warm the
gun. Standing here, listening to the roar of
the Waltham quick-firers, which is answered by
the sharp, crack-
ling fusillade from
the Maxims at the
Enfield Small
Arms Factory
close by, it is not
difficult to imagine
that a modern
battle is in pro-
gress.
The Royal (am-
powder Factory
turns outabout5oo
tons of cordite
and 5,ooo,ooolb.
of black powder
every year, though
the output varies
according to
orders received.
For our own part,
we would far
sooner work in the
cordite factory
than in the powder
mills, for once the
dough is mixed,
cordite is abso-
lutely safe to handle ; in-
deed, you might hold a
piece of it to a lighted
match without causing any
excitement : it would
simply burn.
When we had concluded
our tour of inspection, twi-
light was falling upon the
woods and streams of this
strange place. Night-watch-
men, armed with wonderful
little electric hand lamps,
flitted mysteriously here
and there, and the electric
lights immersed in water
outside the windows of the
danger buildings began to
glow softly. We passed
the explosive pond with
a shudder of nervous ap-
prehension, and left behind, as speedily as
possible, the buried nitrating-house, wherein
scarlet-clad men were manipulating the
terrible liquid. The tremendous energy that
lay dormant in every building oppressed us,
even though that, energy slept behind massive
traverses and walls loft. thick; so we came
away.
NO. 24. — THE I'ONU AFTER AN EXPLOSION.
Joiimeyings of the Judges.
By " Kasomo."
IRCUITING is popularly sup-
posed to be akin to junketing ;
but, as a matter of fact, it is
ofi;en a very serious and sober
business — especially for the
prisoners. There is, however,
much in circuit life that is curious and of
interest, especially to those to wliom custom
has not staled the infinite
variety that presents itself at
every turn.
Ancient customs die hard,
and this is especially true in
the remoter corners of the
kingdom. At Oakham, for instance, the lord
of the manor still exercises the right to
demand from every peer passing through the
town the near fore-shoe of his nag ; a demand
that is usually liqui-
dated by a money
payment to provide
for a counterfeit
presentment on a
large scale of the
coveted shoe,
which is in due
course nailed on
the wall of the old
Shire Hall, a struc-
ture that dates
back to the time
of the Conquest.
Even Royalty is
not exempt from
the toll, and the
" horse-shoes " of
George IV., his
brother, the Duke
of York, and our own Prince of Wales figure
on the walls in all the bravery of royal red
and gold-leaf.
I do not propose to weary my readers with
a learned disquisition on the origin and pro-
gress of circuits. Suffice it to say, and to say
it briefly, that the circuit system, as we now
know it, is much the same as that which
obtained with our
ancestors from
almost time imme-
morial ; and this in
spite of constant
attempts at reform
by the bolder spirits
who would rule mat-
ters judicial. Let
it be whispered that
the reforms have
for the most part
proved abortive ;
and that in all
probability we shall
revert to the wis-
dom of our fathers,
and to the old order
of things.
Let us start with
one of Her Majesty's
judges on circuit.
Needless to say,
we shall travel eii
prince, for the railway companies are solicitous
for the comfort of his lordship and the mem-
bers of his staff, and provide reserved compart-
ments, with a separate luggage "cupboard,"
L U .L ^ 1 ')DI,1N(_
320
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
practically a necessity on account of the
enormous quantity of baggage and impedi-
menta required for the five or six weeks' tour.
Arrived at the first town on the circuit, the
judicial campaign really begins. The judge
is met at the railway station by the high
sheriff of the county, who usually looks very
uncomfortable and self-conscious in the quasi-
military uniform which is insisted upon for
the occasion ; the sheriff's chaplain, also in
like plight in the stiffest of Geneva gowns,
usually the gift of the sheriff; the under-
sheriff, in any costume that his fancy may
lightly turn to, ranging from a Court
suit down to the most unconventional of
morning dress ; and a posse comiiat2(s, in the
shape of a dozen or so of stalwart county
policemen, whose
faces and uniforms
are mostly a har-
mony of red and
blue. The judge
introduces his
marshal (an able-
bodied youth from
one of the Universi-
ties, or maybe a
budding Templar)
to the high sheriff,
who bows gra-
ciously, tries not to
fall over his sword,
and leads the way
to the State car-
riage, accompanied
by the chaplain and
under - sheriff, and
escorted by the
gccd men in blue.
At one or two assize
towns there is an
escort of " javelin
men," armed with halberds raked up from
the county museum probably, and attired in
a hybrid livery, half " beef-eater " and half
footman ; but, generally speaking, the county
police constitute the escort, with occasional
relief in the form of a troop of Yeomanry,
if the high sheriff happens to hold Her
Majesty's commission of arms in addition
to one of the peace.
As soon ao the little procession emerges
from the railway station, a couple of
trumpeters, who have taken up a command-
ing position in the yard for the dye display
of their gorgeous liveries, set up an ear-
torturing performance, supposed to be in
imitation of an ancient fanfare. To this
" rough music " the judge takes his seat in
the State carriage, and the whole party set
off at a snail's pace for the judge's lodgings,
the trumpeters fanfaring with a vigour
and persistence that must have inspired
the bandsmen of " General " Booth's lads
in red. On the occasion of the trial of an
election petition at a cathedral city, the mayor
met the judges in a coach drawn by a couple
of black horses that usually figured at funerals,
and the secret of their vocation ha'd some-
how leaked out. As they were crawling along
in the accustomed style, Mr. Justice Hawkins,
who was one of the judges, said, with the
quiet, incisive humour that has ever dis-
tinguished him : " Mr. Mayor, does not this
very much remind you of following the dear
departed ? " Cin-tain.
The judge's lodgings are usually a fine
old house set apart for the purpose, with
occasional intervening visitations from Militia
officers during the training of their merry
men, and everything therein is of the stately
order; though the furnishing and general
fitment would probably vex the soul of a
Maple or a Shoolbred. Bare walls glower
«on the judge, fresh from his own ornate house
in Mayfair, Kensington, or Richmond ; but
there is an air of solid comfort about these
old places, more particularly in the dining-
room, where massive silver and table equip-
age of great antiquity make a brave show.
Arrived at his temporary home, the judge
of assize forthwith arrays himself in the
splendid robes of his high office, and
JOURNEYINGS OF THE JUDGES.
321
HERTFOKD — JUD(iE S LODGINGS.
proceeds to the cathedral or parish church, as
the case may be, to attend the customary
assize service. This is an institution honoured
by time, but usually dishonoured by the
townspeople ; for there are seldom more than
two or three
gathered together
to hear the words
of wisdom and
counsel that fall
from the lips of
the sheriff's chap-
lain, who has pro-
bably spent
anxious weeks in
the preparation of
his sermon.
Preachers vary as
ordinary mortals
vary, and so do
assize sermons.
Sometimes they
are brilliant, force-
ful, and in every
way worthy of a
better fate than to
be forgotten by the
handful of people,
great and small,
to whom they are
addressed.
Vol. ix. -42.
The next morning the
l)usiness of the assize
begins in real earnest, and
the grand jury, consisting
usually of magistrates of
experience, are summoned
from all parts of the county
to consider the bills of
indictment that are sent
up to them by the Crown.
Twenty-three is the regu-
'ation number of grand
jurors for an assize, and to
the credit of the squire-
archy be it recorded that
it seldom happens that
fewer than the twenty-three
put in an appearance. The
roll having been called, the
grand jury are sworn by
the judge's marshal ; the
foreman, usually a county
magnate of the first rank,
being sworn first. The
prescribed oath is impres-
sive, and I give it for
the benefit of my lay
readers : —
" My Lord [or Sir],—
" You as foreman ' of this grand
inquest for our Sovereign Lady the Queen,
and the body of this County of Westcum-
land, shall diligently inquire and true pre-
NORWICH — JUDGES DIMX
322
THE STKAA'D MAGA/JNE
BIRMINGHAM ASSIZE COURT — BARON I'OLLOCK ON THE BENCH.
sentment make of all such matters, offences,
and things as shall be brought to your notice
touching this present service. The Queen's
counsel, your fellows and your own, you shall
observe and keep secret. You shall present no
person out of envy, hatred, or malice ; neither
shall you leave any one unpresented through
fear, favour, gain, reward, or the hope or
promise thereof But you shall present all
things indifferently as they shall come to
your knowledge, according to the best of
your skill and understanding. — So help you
God."
The rest of the grand jury are then sworn
shortly in batches.
Now commences the charge by the judge,
who touches upon the salient points of the
more important or complicated cases in the
calendar, for the guidance of the grand iury
when they come to consider whether or not a
prima -facie case is made out against a
prisoner.
Before a man can be tried for any offence,
his case is first of all investigated before a
Bench of magistrates, who in their discretion
can commit a prisoner for trial before a judge
and jury. The witnesses are bound over to
appear at the sessions or assizes, and in due
course give their evidence on oath before the
grand jury, who bring their considerable
experience to bear in determining whether
the case should go for trial or not. If
they think it should, they indorse the indict-
ment : " A true bill," and the parchment is
handed down to the Court. The prisoner
is then placed in the dock, and the indict-
ment having been read over to him more or
less intelligibly by the clerk of assize, he is
called upon to plead " guilty " or " not
guilty," as he may elect. If the latter, the
petit jury, consisting of twelve good men
and true, are then sworn, and the trial
proceeds. This threefold inquiry is a great
safeguard to the liberty of the subject, and as
a matter of fact, a miscarriage of justice
seldom takes place. The " great unpaid "
are perhaps the best-abused class in this
country, but they do their duty as between
the Crown and their fellow-subjects, and do
it well, Mr. L,abouchere's weekly pillory In
Truth to the contrary notwithstanding.
If a prisoner has a good defence to the
charge made against him, assuredly it will be
carefully supported at the trial. Her Majesty's
judges holding fast to the old maxim of our
law that " every man is presumed to be
innocent until he is proved to be guilty," and
if the case against him is not proved up to
the hilt, the man will go free : all this in
marked contrast to the system obtaining on
the Continent, where the unhappy wretch is
examined and cross-examined by State
JOURNEYINGS OF THE JUDGES.
323
LINCOLN — WAITING FOR THE JUDGE.
officials with the express object of securing a
conviction.
EngUshmen have reason to be proud of
their judges for their absolute integrity and
impartiality, to say nothing of their ability
and learning, which probably speak for them-
selves.
The comfort of a judge on circuit much
depends on the stuff of which his staff are
made. First comes his personal officer, the
marshal afore-mentioned, whose duty it is to
swear in the grand jury, and to attend the
judge wherever
he goes, sharing
his meals with
him in public or
private, and
generally making
himself agree-
able and useful ;
for the most
part a pleasant
office enough, but
it is one that at
times requires
considerable tact
and knowledge of
the world in order
to keep the path
judicial from be-
coming too
thorny.
The k n igh t-
errant, otherwise
Her Majesty's
judge of assize,
has furthermore
the constant
presence of a faithful esquire in the shape of
his clerk, who, unlike the marshal, is perma-
nently in the judge's service, both in London
and on circuit. The duties of this officer are
multifarious, and range from the most deli-
cate diplomacy down to keeping the circuit
accounts. Divers are the duties, and diverse
are the men, probably more so than any
other body in the pay of the Crown. Formerly,
some few of them rose to eminence, the late
Lord Justice Lush being a brilliant example ;
but the Lins of Court have of late years, for
MONMOU I
324
THE STRAXD MAGAZINE.
A KITCHEN COLLOQUY — THE CIRCUIT BUTLER.
some reason not difficult to discover, pro-
hibited any person holding an appointment
as clerk to a judge, or in the central
office of the Supreme Court, from becoming
a barrister-student. A hard case, probably,
and one showing, moreover, that petty
jealousy is not unknown even in high
places.
Next in importance, if not in usefulness,
comes the cir-
cuit butler,
who robes and
valets the
judge, con-
trols the house-
hold, and when
" on the road "
acts as bag-
gage-master.
The mar-
shal's man fol-
lows in order,
and does
duty as a sort
of footman.
Last, but
certainly not
least, comes
the cook.
Formerly only
LIN'COLN — JUDGE S liEDKOOM.
men -cooks were
engaged by the
judges for cir-
cuit, as the life
was hard and the
work arduous ;
but since the
introduction of
the single -judge
system, that has
excited so much
opposition from
profession and
public alike,
many of the
judges have
employed wo-
men - cooks, the
work being in
these days much
lighter and the
travelling ar-
rangements more
comfortable. A
good circu it
cook must be
possessed of considerable forethought, and
all-round ability as a caterer. The food
supplies of many of the assize towns are
often very primitive, but woe betide the
unlucky c^ef if he sends up an insufficient
or an unsatisfactory meal. Some of these
Knights of the Black Cap rise to affluence
in their profession, occasionally securing snug
berths as cooks to the Inns of Court, be-
sides carrying
on businesses
more or less
lucrative, as
confectioners
and restaura-
teurs. One, in
addition to all
this, has be-
come a mem-
ber of the Lon-
don Count}'
Council, and in
course of time
may represent
the people in
a larger sense,
and help to
make the laws
for the judges
to administer.
Note. — INIy photographic readers may be interested to know that most of the illustrations to this article were taken with a
" Samuels " hand camera, many of the instantaneous pictures and interior views being obtained on Messrs. Elliott and Son's
"Rocket " and " Barnet " plates.
stories from the Diary of a Doctor.
second series.
By L. T. Meade and Clifford Halifax, M.D.
[These stories are written in collaboration with a medical man of large experience. Many are founded on fact, and all are
within the region of practical medical science. Those stories which rrlay convey an idea of the impossible are only a forecast of an
early realization.]
III.— THE SH.ENT TONGUE.
T was a day in late October
when I found myself in a
train which was to convey me
from Waterloo to Salisbury. I
was on my way to pay a week's
visit to my old friend and
patient, General Romney. After retiring
from active service he had bought a place in
Wiltshire, and had repeatedly begged of me
to come to see him there.
My multifarious duties, however, had
hitherto made it impossible for me to visit
High Court ; but the present occasion was
of such special moment that I determined to
make a great effort to gratify my old friend,
and do myself a pleasure
at the same time.
I was to arrive at High
Court on Thursday after-
noon, and on the fol-
lowing Tuesday, Iris
Romney, the General's
beautiful and only
daughter, was to be
married to a young man
of the name of Vane, a
captain in the — th
Lancers. I had known
Iris from her childhood,
and was prepared to con-
gratulate her now on a
most suitable match.
From the letters which I
had received from
General Romney, Cap-
tain Vane was all that
was desirable : an upright,
good, honourable fellow.
His position in society
was well assured, and he
had ample means.
" It is not only that
Vane is all that her
mother and I could
desire," continued the
General, in his last letter
to me, " but there is another reason which
makes this marriage a relief to our . minds.
Our poor Iris, whose beauty, as you know,
is much above the average, has been
persecuted for many months past by the
unwelcome and, I may almost add, the
AN UNGENTLEMAMA'
OF RAN";
unscrupulous attentions of our next-door
neighbour, the sc^uire of this place, an un-
gentlemanly boor of the name of Ransome.
The fellow won't take ' No ' for an answer,
and things have come to such a pass
that Iris is quite afraid to go out alone,
as Ransome is sure to waylay her, and renew
his unwelcome protestations and demands.
Indeed, were it not for this happy marriage,
we should have been obliged, for our child's
sake, to leave High Court."
I paid little heed to this part of my friend's
letter when reading it, but it was destined
to be brought very vividly before my
mind later on.
I arrived at High Court
about three o'clock in the
afternoon, and found Iris
standing in the square
entrance -hall. She was
surrounded by dogs, and
was pulling on a pair of
gauntlet gloves; she wore
a hat, and was, evidently,
in the act of going out.
On hearing my steps, she
turned quickly and came
eagerly to meet me.
" Here you are," she
exclaimed, holding out
both her hands. " How
nice ! how delightful !
Am I much altered. Dr.
Halifax — would you re-
cognise me ? "
" Yes, I should recog-
nise you," I answered,
looking with admiration
at the lovely girl. " You
have changed, of course.
How tall you are ! You
were only a child when I
saw you last."
" I was fifteen," an-
swered Iris; "the most
• • troublesome monkey in
existence. Now I am eighteen — quite grown
up. Well, it is a real pleasure to see you
again. Let me take you to father : he has
been talking of nothing but your arrival all
day."
I accompanied Miss Romney to her
'I' THE NAA.E
326
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
father's study. To her surprise it was
erripty.
" Where can father be ? " she exclaimed.
" He knew you would arrive about now.
Perhaps he has gone to lie down — he has
not been (|uite well. We won't disturb him,
unless you particularly wish it, Dr. Halifax ? "
'' Certainly not," I replied.
" Mother is out — she had to go to Salis-
bury on business. May I have the pleasure
of your society all to myself for a little ? I
am just going out to meet Captain Vane —
will you come with me ? I should much
like to introduce him to you."
" And I should like to know him," I
replied. " Let us come for a walk, by all
means — there is nothing I should enjoy
more."
We went out together. Miss Romney's
step was full of the light spring of youth.
She entertained me with many animated re-
marks, and took me to several points of
interest in the beautiful grounds. From a
place called " The Mound " we could see the
long, evening shadows falling across Salisbury
Plain ; turning to our right we got a peep, in
the dim distance, of the far-famed Cathedral.
" Yes, yes, it is all lovely," she cried, " and
I am in the mood to enjoy it to-day — I am
very happy. I do not mind telling you how
happy I am, for you are such an old
friend."
" You may be sure I rejoice to hear of
your happiness," I replied. I looked at her as
I spoke. She was standing at a little distance
from me, very upright. The dogs had
followed us, and a great mastiff stood near
her. She rested her white hand on his head.
Some rays from the evening sun sparkled in
her hair, which was very bright in hue, and
looked now like burnished gold. Her eyes,
full of happiness, looked frankly into mine.
They were lovely eyes, with a tender,
womanly expression in them. I thought
what a happy fellow Vane would be.
As we were standing together the silence
was suddenly broken by the sharp report of a
gun. . _
"Who can possibly be shooting in our
grounds ? " exclaimed Miss Romney.
"The report came from that copse," I
answered her — "down there to our left.
Perhaps Captain Vane is amusing himself
having a shot or two."
" He did not take his gun with him," she
answered ; " I saw it in the hall as we passed
through just now. No, I am afraid I guess
who did fire the shot " ; she paused suddenly,
and a hot flush of annoyance swept over her
face. It passed almost as quickly as it
came.
" There is David," she said, in a glad
voice. " Do you see him ? He is just
coming up that path through the trees. Let
us go to meet him."
We soon reached the bottom of the
mound, and Captain Vane came quickly up to
us. He was a tall, well-made man, of about
twenty-eight years of age. His face was
moulded in strong lines. He was somewhat
dark in complexion, and had resolute eyes.
" David, this is our old friend. Doctor
Halifax," said Miss Romney.
" I am glad to meet you," said Vane to
me. He made one or two further remarks
of an indifferent character.
We turned presently to go back to the
house. We had only gone about half the
distance when Iris uttered a hoirified ex-
clamation.
" What is that on your handkerchief? " she
cried to her lover.
He had pulled his handkerchief out of his
pocket. He looked at it when she spoke,
started, and turned pale.
" I must apologize to you both," he ex-
claimed. " How stupid of me ; I forgot all
about it."
" Your handkerchief is all over blood.
Have you hurt yourself? " asked Iris.
" No, not a bit of it !" He thrust the hand-
kerchief out of sight. "The fact is simply
this. That brute of a Ransome has been
shooting round the premises this morning,
and, like the cur he is, has only half done his
work. This handkerchief is stained because
I have been putting a pheasant out of his
misery. It was a horrid sight. Don't let
us talk about it any more."
" I had a premonition that Mr. Ransome
was somewhere near," said Iris. " The mere
thought of that man affects me disagree-
ably."
She shivered as she spoke. Vane looked
at her, but did not reply. Their eyes met —
he gave her a quick smile, but I could not
help noticing that he looked pale and worried.
We reached the house, where Mrs. Romney
came out to meet us. She gave me a hearty
welcome, and asked me to go with her at
once to her husband.
" The General is lying down in his study,
Dr. HaUfax, or he would come to you," she
explained. " The fact is, he has not been
well for some days^, and just now I found
him trembling violently, and scarcely able to
stand. Oh, I do not think there is much the
matter — he will be all right by-and-by, and
STORIES FROM THE DIARY OF A DOCTOR.
327
nothing will do him more good than a quiet
chat with you."
I followed Mrs. Romney to the study.
The General was l}'ing on a sofa, but when
we approached, he rose quickly, and came
to meet us. He was a tall, largely-made
man, somewhat full in habit, and with
a fresh - coloured face. That face now
was flushed, and his eyes looked suspiciously
bright.
" Welcome," he exclaimed, holding out
both his hands to me. " Here I am, and
nothing whatever the matter with me. I had
an attack of giddi-
ness, but it has passed
off Has my wife been
making out that I am
an invalid, eh? Well,
I never felt better
in my life. It would
be a shabby trick to
play on you, Halifax,
to bring you down
here, and then give
you doctoring work to
do."
" I am always pre-
pared for doctoring
work," I answered,
" but I am delighted
to see you so fit.
General."
" You can leave us
now, Mary," said the
General, turning to his
wife, and giving her
an affectionate glance.
"The giddiness has
quite passed, my love,
and a chat with Hali-
fax will do me more
good than anything
else."
Mrs. Romney went
immediately away.
The moment she did
so, the General sank
into an arm-chair, and covered his eyes with
one of his hands. I noticed that his big
hand shook.
"The fact is," he said, in an altered tone,
" I am 7iot quite the thing. I did not want
the wife to know, nor Iris, bless her. You
are aware, or perhaps you are not, that there
is to be a dance here to-night, Halifax — it
would never do for an old chap like me to
spoil sport. You have just come in the nick
of time. Give me something to steady my
nerves."
I prescribed a simple dose, the ingredients
for which were fortunately close at hand. I
mixed it, and General Romney took the glass
from my hand and quickly drained off the
contents.
"It takes a good bit out of a man to part
with his only child," he said. " I consider
myself, however, the luckiest father in
existence. There never was a better fellow
than Vane. You have seen him. What do
you make of him, eh ? "
" I have scarcely spoken two dozen words
to Captain Vane," I said.
" What does that signify ? You are a keen
observer of character. What do }0u make
of the lad ? "
" I like what I have seen of him," I
replied.
" I am delighted to hear you say that," ex-
claimed the General. " When I tell you that
I consider Vane worthy of Iris, you will
understand that I cannot give him higher
praise. They are devoted to one another,
and as happy as children. We shall have a
gay time until the wedding is over. To-night
328
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
there is to be a dance ; to-morrow we go to
the Sinclairs', for a farewell dinner ; the next
day — but I need not recount all our gaieties
to you, Halifax. Your dose has done me
good — I feel as well as ever I did in my life
at the present moment."
The General certainly looked more like
himself. The violent colour on his face had
subsided ; his - eyes were still too excited,
though, to please me, and I purposely led the
conversation to every-day subjects.
There was a large dinner party at High
Court that evening. This was to be followed
by a dance, to which a number of guests had
been invited.
Iris sat near me at dinner — she wore white,
which suited her well. Her face was so
vivacious, her hair so bright, the sparkle in
her flashing eyes gave so much light and
movement to her expression, that no vivid
colour was needed to set off her remarkable
beauty. Vane sat opposite to the bride-
elect, and I found myself looking at him
several times during dinner wath much
interest. He was on the whole the most
silent of the party, and I guessed him to be
a man of few^ words, but I felt certain by
the thoughtful gleam in his eyes and the firm
cut of his lips that he was one to be relied
on and rested upon in the battle of life.
Immediately after
dinner, the ladies
went upstairs to re-
arrange their dresses
for the coming ball,
and General Romney
motioned me up to
his end of the table.
He resumed the con-
versation we had had
before dinner, and
assured me several
times in a low voice
that the medicine I
had given him had
completely removed
the nervous attack
from which he had
been suffering when
I first saw him.
"Not that I have
been at all the thing
for some time," he
added ; " but we'll
talk of my ailments
when the ball is
over. Nothing must
interfere with Iris's
bridal ball, bless her."
\\"e did not stay long over wine, and I
presently found myself standing in the great
central hall. A footman came up to place
some fresh logs on the glowing fire. i\.s
he did so he glanced at me once or twice
in a queer, nervous sort of manner. Sud-
denly he looked behind him, found that
we were alone, and said, in a hurried, eager
voice : —
"You are the doctor from London, ain't
you, sir ? "
" Yes," I answered, in some surprise.
" Might I speak to you for a moment,
sir? I have something to say — something
that must be told. Might I see you by your-
self, doctor — I won't keep you a minute ? "
" Certainly," I replied ; " say what you have
got to say at once."
The man's manner alarmed me, he was
shaking all over.
" On this night, of all nights," he said.
" 'Twill upset the General, for certain. Oh,
sir, what is to be done ? "
" If you will tell me what the news is, I
can, perhaps, answer your question," I
replied. " Now, pull yourself together, man,
and tell me what is the matter."
The man stood up.
" It's a tragedy," he began, "and has hap-
pened, so to speak, at our gates. It's this :
iMIGllT 1 bl'EAK. TO VOi, hOK A .MO.MENT?'
STORIES FROM THE DIARY OF A DOCTOR.
329
Squire Ransome was found dead in the copse
at the back of the house, not an hour ago.
He was lying on his face and hands with his
skull smashed in, and his gun lying by his
side. They have took him home, and they
say there's to be a warrant took out immedi-
ately for the arrest of the murderer. Who
could have done it ? I wouldn't have tlie
General know thi.s for ^.500.'
Some people came into the hall ; T turned
quickly to the man.
" Hush," 1 said, in a peremptory voi(-e ;
" keep your information to yourself for the
present. If this thing is kept from the
family until after the ball, so much the better.
You were right to tell me, and we must trust
that nothing will be known here until to-
morrow."'
The man nodded and walked away. A'anc
approached me at that moment, and taking
my arm led me to the ball-room.
" The band has just struck up," he said.
*' Iris and I are going to open the ball, as a
matter of course, but no doubt she will want
you to be her partner in one or two dances
later on.''
" I hope she will," T rei)lied.
"There she is; let us go to her," said
Wane.
We walked up a long and s|)lLndidly dcc(~)-
ralcd ball-room. Iris was standing beside
hrr father and mother, near the principal
entrance. They were busily engaged re-
xei\ing guest after guest, who arrived con-
tinuousl). In a few moments the great room
was full of aniniated couples whirling roimd
to the music of a splendid string band, which
IukI been brought from London for the occa-
sion. \'ane and Iris opened the dance together.
All eyes followed the graceful pair as they
Hew round in the giddy mazes of the waltz.
Iris's face looked so animated, and there was
su(^h a flashing brilliancy about her eyes, that
I began to compare her to her quaint name,
and to think that she had some of the many
lights of the rainbow, in its shifting, changing
colours, about her.
One dance was f]uickly followed bv
another, (leneral Romney and his wife still
stood near the entrance. I noticed to my
dismay that the deep, crimson flush which
had somewhat alarmed me in the (leneraFs
appearance before dinner had again returned.
He was a man of full habit, and I, did not
like the glittering light in his e\es. 1
sincerely hoped, for ewry reason, that the
terrible tragedy which had taken place in the
copse before diufU'r would not rearli his ears
until the evening's amusement was over.
Vol. ix -43. '
For a time I stood rather apart from the gay
and brilliant throng. Iris had promised to
give me one or two dances, but our turn had
not come yet.
As I stood and waited, I recalled the
sound I had heard when I stood with Miss
Romney on the mound. '' At that moment,
in all probability, the murder was being
committed," I said to myself. " But, no, that
could not have been the case, for the un
fortunate S(|uire was found with his skull
broken in ; he could not have come by his
death from a gunshot wound."
At that moment Miss Romnev made her
way to mv side.
" Ours is the next dance," she said, looking
into my face, " but " she hesitated.
'•AN'hat is it ? "" I asked, smiling at her.
'' I am tired, I do not want to dance, ' she
said. ■• Shall we sit this waltz out ? A\'ill
you come with me to the conservatory, it is
so hot here ? "'
" With pleasure,'' I replied.
She put her slim hand on mv arm, and we
left the ball-room. We had to cross the
great hall to reach a large conservatory at
the further (iwiX.
" I am anxious to ha\e a talk with you,"
said the young girl, almost in a whisper, as we
pushed our way through the throngs of guests.
■• r ha\e known sou since I was a child, and
1 am anxious —
We had almost rt-aehed the conservatory
now, but before we entered. Iris Romney
turned and faced me.
'' I )r. Halifax," she said, " is niy father well?"'
I was about to answer her. when a c( 111-
motion l)ehind caused us both to turn our
heads. A man who was neither a guest wvx
a servant had pushed his way into the hall.
He was a dark man, plainly dressed. Two
of the powdered footmen had come up and
were speaking to liim. They seemed to be
expostulating with him, anfl he appeared to
be resisting them. One of the servants put
his hand on the man's arm ; he pushed him
impatiently aside, and came farther into the
hall.
The guests were everywhere — in the hall,
on the stairs, trooping in and out of the ball-
room. They all stood still now, as if moved
by a common impulse. Every eye was fixed
on the stranger. I suddenly felt that the
moment had come for me to interfere. I
cannot say what premonition seized me,
but I knew beyond the possibility of
doubt that that strange, queer-looking man
had jjushed his wa_\' into this festive scene on
some terrible errand.
^o
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
'•Pardon mc," 1 said t(j Iris, "1 will just
go and s[K-ak to that fellow, and l)e back
with yoti in a minaitc."
"What can the man want? " exclaimed Iris.
"I will tell )()U in a nKjmcnt," I said;
" [)ray stay where you are."
To my annoyance, I found that she was
following me.
The servant, Henry by name, who had
given me the news of Ransome's death, came
eagerly up when he saw me approaching.
"I am glad you are here, I)r. Halifax," he
said. " Perhaps you can get Constable
Morris to go away. I keep on telling him
that he can come back later on."
The footman s[)oke in a hoarse whisper ;
agitation had paled his face ; he clutched
hold of my coat in a sort of nervous frenzy.
" Keep c^uiet," I said to him, sharply —
then I turned to the policeman : •' If you
have any business here, you had better come
into this room," I said.
The room in question was a small smoking-
room, the door of which happened to stand
open.
" Yes, sir, it would be best," said the man,
in a [)erfectly civil tone. He stepped across
the hall immediately — I followed him — Miss
Romney did the same.
" Had you not better go ;iway ? " I said to
her.
'"No," she answered. " I prefer to stay and
hear the matter out. Whv, this is (Nonstable
Morris — I know him [)erfectly well. What
do you want here to-nig'it, Morris ? You see
we are all busy ; if
vou have anything
important to say,
we can st.^e you at
any hour you like to
arrange in the
morning."
" I must do my
work to-night, miss,"
he answered. " I'd
rayther cut off my
right hand than
give you pain, miss,"
he continued —
" but, there, busi-
ness is business. A
constable's life ain't
none too pleasant
at ti^iies — no, that
it ain't."
Here he (Sxvw
himself \\\) and,
taking a red pocket-
In ndke-rchief out Oi"
his pocket, wiped the moisture from his brow.
His eyes travelled cjuickly from Iris, in her
white dresS, to me and then back again to Iris.
" Sir," he said, addressint; himself to me,
'• can't you get Miss Ronmey to leave the
room ? "
"I'm afraid I can't," I replied.
" \\'ell, I suppose I must go on with the
whole black business afore the young lady.
If the thing is done quickly, there's no call for
anyone to know, except the family. I beg a
thousand pardons for coming into the hall as
I've done, but I could not get a servant to
hear me in the back premises. My colleague
is outside with the trap, and we can take the
young gent away as quiet as possible, and no
one need know. Lor' ! it's sure to turn out
a big mistake, but duty is duty."
"• What gentleman do you want to take
away ? " asked Iris, going u[) and standing
opposite to the man. " Is it one of our
guests ?-- which ? "
" (iod .\lmighty knows, miss, that I don't
want to trouble you."
'' Speak out, man,'' I said. " Tell us your
business, good or bad, immediately. Can't
you see that this susjjense is very bad for
Miss Romney ? "
The man glanced at Iris, but immediately
looked down again.
" Well, sir," he said, addressing himself
to me, '' its an ugly job, but here is the
long and short of it. There has been a
murder committed in these grounds, Stpiire
Ransome, of Ransome Pleights, was found
■ SPKAK OL'T, MAX
STORIES FROM THE DL4RY OF A DOCTOR.
dead in the copse not three hundred yards
from the house. The gamekeeper here and
a labourer from the village found him and
gave the alarm. He was took home, and I
hold a warrant now for the arrest of C'ai)tain
1 )a\id Wane on a charge of having murdered
him."
" On a charge of what ? " said Iris. She
had been very pale — as white as death, until
the man had finally delivered himself of his
cruel errand — then a great wave of brilliant
colour flooded her face, and restored the
dancing light to her eyes.
" This is such utter folly, that I am not
even afraid about it," she said. " Oblige
me. Dr. Halifax, by remaining with this man
for a few minutes while I go to fetch David.
It needs but a word or two to clear him of
this monstrous charge."
She drew herself up to her full stately
lieight, and left the room with the air of a
(jueen.
Morris looked after her with a red face and
troubled eyes.
" Ef you'll believe me, sir," he said, " Td
rayther than five hundred pounds that I was
out of this job — it's a bad business altogether"
— here he shook his head ominously.
The constable had scarcely said the words
before Iris returned, accompanied by \'ane.
" What is all this about ? " said Vane. He
looked full at the man, then at me.
Iris must have prepared him. He came
into the room holding her hand. As
he stood and faced the police-constable, he
still kept it in a tight grip.
"Is it true," he said, "that I am charged
with murder ; and that you have a warratu to
arrest me ? "
"Are you C^aptain \'ane, sir ? "
"Yes."
" Then that is what I've got to do, I am
sorry to say, sir. I've a trap outside, and my
colleague is there, and the best thing we can
do is to go off quietly at once. If you'll
give me your word as you'll not try to escape,
Captain Vane, I won't use the handcuffs.
It's only to look at you, sir, to know that
you're a gent of your word."
" Had you not better leave us. Iris ? " said
Vane, looking down for the first time at the
girl's white face.
" No, I'll see it out to the end," she
answered. " But can't you say something,
David? Can't you clear yourself? Can't
you put this dreadful thing straight ? "
" I can and will, dearest," he re[)lied, in a
low tone ; " but I'm afraid I must go with
this man to-night."
" There's no help for it, sir. The warrant
must be carried out. The inquest is to be
held at the poor gentleman's own place to-
morrow, and, as sure as sure, you'll be cleared ;
but now it's my duty to take you with me,
Captain Vane."
" Cheer up, Iris," said Vane. " It is sure
to be all right." He gave her a smile with
his eyes. It was a queer, strong sort of
smile, and it never reached his lips.
For the first time poor Iris broke down —
she gave a low, heart-broken sob, and covered
her face with her trembling hands.
" Take care of her," said X'ane to me.
" Keep it up if you can until the dance is
over, and, above all things, try to conceal
this horrid business from Ceneral Romney
until after the guests have gone."
Here he turned to the policeman.
" I am ready to accompany you, ' he said.
" Will you allow me to fetch my overcoat?"
" I'm afraid, sir, it's my duty not to let you
out of my sight — perhaps the other gentle-
man would bring the coat."
" No, I'll fetch it," said Iris, recovering
herself like a flash. " Ves, I wish to fetch
it — I know where it is."
She ran out of the room, but had
scarcely done so when the door was suddenly
flung open and General Romney, holding one
hand to his head and stretching the other
out before him as though he were groping
blindly in the dark, tottered into our midst.
" ^^'hat in the name of Heaven is all this
about ? " he exclaimed. " Vane, what are
you doing here ? Is not that man Constable
Morris ? Morris, what is your business in my
house at this hour ? "
Iris had now returned with the coat. She
gave it to Vane, who began to put it on, and
then went up to her father.
" Come away, father, do," she said.
" Folly, Iris," he replied ; " keep your
hand off* me. I am not a baby to be
coerced in this style. Ah, Halifax, so you are
here, too ! Now, what's the mischief ? Vane,
can't you speak? Are you all struck dumb"*?"
" It's a bad business, sir," said the police-
man. " I've a warrant here to arrest this
young gentleman, Captain David Vane, on a
charge of murder."
" A charge of iniirdei- ? " shouted the
( General.
" Yes, sir. Squire Ransome has been
found in the copse close to this house with
his skull knocked in, and there's circum-
stantial evidence of a grave nature which
points to Captain \"ane as his murderer. It
is mv business to arrest hini, and -"
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
i;\lKAI. HiiMXKY TOTTERFD.
" And I will come with you," said Vane.
He turned to the (General as he spoke. " I
beg of you, General," he said, '• to take Iris
away from here. This matter is very liorrible,
but it can have only one termination. 1
am innocent, and my innocence can be
easily proved. In all probability I shall be
back here to-morrow, noiie the worse for this
experience. I'hink of Iris, (jcneral, and for
Heaven's sake take hc-r out of this.'"'
Iris tried again to lay her hand on her
father's arm.
He shook her off as if she had struck him.
His red face was no longer red — it was
purple. The veins stood out in great knots
on his neck and temples.
"You are charged with murder ? '' he said,
turning to his future son-in-law. "■ And you
have come here to arrest him," he continued,
facing about and staring at the policeman —
" then let me " he broke off abruptly. A
groan came from his lips, he stretched out
l)Oth hands wildly as though to clutch at
something.
"My ( iod, I am blind and deaf!" he
panted. " There is a roaring of water in my
ears, I " He stumbled forward, and fell
in an unconscious heap on the floor.
The confusion which foUowi'd can scarcely
be described. It was my duty to attend to
General Romnev. 1 knelt by him, raised his
head, loosened his collar and necktie, and
desired someone to fetch Mrs. Romney.
Figures kept passing to and fro, I knelt
on by the side of the unconscious man,
Presently Mrs. Romney came hurrying in,
Two or three footmen also appeared. We
raised General Romney with great care, and
carried him through the hall full of guests,
up the broad staircase, and into his own
spacious bedroom on the first floor. There
he was undressed and laid in his bed.
There was no doul)t with regard to the
nature of his illness. General Romney
had been smitten down with a severe
attack of paralysis. I asked Mrs. Romney
to send for the family physician. Dr. Haynes,
He arrived on the scene in an incredibly
short s|)ace of time. We had a hurried
consultation over the case. Dr. Haynes
arranged to sit up for the night with the
unconscious man, and then for the first
time I had a moment to think of others.
What had become of Wane ? A\'here was
Iris ?
Absorbed in anxiety al)out them, I ran
hastily downstairs. The lights were still burn-
ing all over the house, but every guest had
vanished : the place wore a neglected aspect.
Some flowers were scattered about on the
marble floor of the great hall. The fire on
the hearth was reduced to ashes. All the
doors leading into the hall stood open.
A girl in a white dress stood motionless
by the empty hearth. Two or three dogs
crouched at her feet. On hearing my steps
she raised her head with a start. Her face,
which had been dull and ahnost vacant in
expression, lit uj) into full light. She sprang
to meet me and stretched out her hands.
" I'm so glad you ha\ e come," she ex-
claimed. •■ How is father?"
" I am sorry to say he is very ill," I replied.
" He is suffering from a severe stroke of
paralysis."
Iris put her hand to her forehead.
"Is he in danger, Dr. Halifax?" she
asked. *
" I would rather not gi\'e any opinion
about him to-night,"" I replied.
'■ I ought to be with him," she said. " I
will go to him in a moment — after — after I
have spoken to you.'
" You cannot possibly do him any good by
going to him now," I replied. " He is quite
unconscious, and would not know you. He
knows no one. \'our mother is with him,
and also Dr. Havnes. He wants for nothing
at the present moment-nothing, I mean, that
man can do. His life is in Higher Hands.
•-./:m«
STORIES FROM THE DIARY OF A DOCTOR.
oil
All we have to do is patiently to await results.
Now, do you know that it is past two o'clock?
You ought to be in bed."
Iris shuddered.
'•' I could not sleep if I went," she said.
■'Dr. Halifax, I want to tell you something.''
" What is that ? "' I asked.
She looked full up at me — her eyes were
bright again.
" Do you know why I fetched iJavid's over
coat ? "' she said.
" I cannot say — you probably knew where
it was to be found."
" I did — but I had another reason. 1
wanted to take the handkerchief away."
" \\'hat handkerchief?" I asked, in some
astonishment.
" Have you such a short memory ? " she
asked, looking at me with a pu/zlecl expres-
sion. " 1 )on"t you remember the handker-
chief which David pulled out of his pocket
•this afternoon as we were coming up the
avenue ? It was blood-stained. 1 )on't )ou
recall the circumstances ? "
" Ves," I replied, gravely. " I do I had
forgotten it when you first s[)oke of a hand-
kerchief."
'' Well, I remembered it," she replied : '' it
flashed suddenly across my memory when
David asked for his coat. I knew that the
handkerchief would be found there, and that
they would use the blood-stains against him.
That was why I was in such a hurry to fetch
it. I removed the handkercliief and "'
" \'es," I said, when she paused, '"and
'what did you do with it ? "
" I burnt it — here, on this hearth. That
horrible witness is, at least, reduced to aslies.
Why, what is the matter, Dr. Halifax? How
grave you look."
I felt grave. I knew that Iris had done
wrong in burning the handkerciiief. It might
have been an important witness in favour cM'
tlie accused. There was nu use, however, in
adding to her misery now.
"■ I wish you would go to bed," I said.
" \'ou are looking very ill."
She did not reply at once : she ke[)t staring
at me — her quick intuition read disapproval
on my face.
" Have I done wrong? " she exclaimed, in
a voice of terror.
" I sincerely hope not."' I answered, as
soothingly as I could speak. '' Perhaps
nothing will be said about the liandkerchief."
■' But why are you so grave ? Are you not
glad that it is gone ? "
I gave her a quick glance- she was the
sort of girl who C()uld bear the truth.
■•You acted with natural, but mistaken,
impulse," I said. "It would have been po--
sible to prove that the stains on the hand-
kerchief were caused by pheasant's blood,
which differs in essential particulars from
man's — but doubtless," I continued, raising
my voice to a cheerful key, " the monstrous
charge against Captain Yane will be shattered
without the least difificulty at the examination
before the magistrate to-morrow morning."
''David is the noblest fellow in the world,"
said Iris, with shining eyes. " But," she
added, suddenly, and as if the words were
wrung from her, " he did hate Mr. Ransome,
and he had good cause."
The next day Vane was brought before a
magistrate at Salisbur)-. General Romney
was lying in a prostrate condition, and
Haynes decided to remain with him until the
nurse from London arrived. I was, therefore,
free to accompany Mrs. Romney and Iris to
the police-court at Salisbury. I have no
space here to go into full particulars of
the examination. The case against Wane was
as follows :- -
His dislike to Ransome was well known.
On the day of the murder Vane had gone
out early — during the time of his absence
Ransome undoubtedly met his death. This
fact alone could not have incriminated the
young man, but, unfortunately, he had been
seen bv two labourers, returning from their
work, basing high words with Ransome.
Ransome was seated on the gate in the fence
which disided (General Romne\'s grounds
from those of Ransome Heights. When the
labourers pa.ssed, Ransome was using excited
words, and \\ane was replying to them with
a degree of heat and intemperance c[uilc
fcjreign to his usual character. The men
lingered near as long as they decently could,
but seeing that Ransome noticed them they
slunk off. They had reached the road and
were walking rapidly towards their homes,
when they heard a shot fned. They
remarked on the circumstance to each other,
and wondered, as they exj)ressed it, » if the
young gents were up to mischief That
evening, on repairing to the village lap-room,
tbiC first news that reached them was that of
the murder of Scpiire Ransome. On their
e\idence a warrant was taken out for the
arrest of \'ane.
The magistrate listened gra\elv to all that
was said, and then stated that there was
no course open to him but to remand
( "aptaiii \'ane until the result of the coroner's
in(iue>t was known.
As Mrs. Roinnev. i)Oor Iris, and 1 were
'*^^^
334
THE STRAND MAGAZLNE.
It-aving the police-court, the lawyer who was
employed in Vane's defence, one of the
leading men in his profession at Salisbury,
came up and asked to speak to me alone. I
conducted the ladies to their carriage, antl
then went into a small room with him.
" What is the matter?" I asked.
" This is a grave busines.s," he replied.
" Of course, I hope to get my client off, but
I must own that circumstantial evidence
points strongly against him. His own story
is as follows : He frankly admits that he
quarrelled with Ransome yesterday. He was
walking across a field in General Romney's
grounds when he came across a wounded
pheasant lying on the path. He took his
handkerchief out and strangled the bird.
^^'hile doing so he heard a loud, mocking
laugh, and looking up he saw Ransome
astride of the gate in the fence. Vane called
out to him with, as he acknowledged, con-
siderable temper in his tones. His words
were as fellows : — ■
" ' I should think, if you are cad enough to
shoot another man's game, you would at
least have the decen(-y to kill il, and not
lea\e it maimed.'
\W NAN'SOME ASIRIDK. OF I'HE CiATE TV THF, FK.S'CE.
•• He says that he finished this speech by
flinging the pheasant at Ransome's feet.
" The Squire got into a towering passion,
and broke immediately into a volley of oaths.
\'ane says that Ransome took good care to
drag in Miss Romney's name in the most
offensive manner.
'■ He acknowledged that he had some diffi-
culty in keeping himself in control, and
presently thought the most prudent course
was to turn on his heel and walk away. He
had only gone a little distance when he heard
the report of a gun. He sa)s he thought
nothing of the circumstance beyond con-
cluding that Ransome was continuing his
sport. This is his tale," concluded the
lawyer, " and a very lame one it will appear
if there is no testimony to support it. \"ane
speaks of having stained his handkerchief
with the pheasant's blood. He says he left
it in his overcoat. Now, I cannot find it
there. Would it be possible. Dr. Halifax, for
you to get it for me ? '
" I am afraid not," I re})lied, gravely.
I then told Mr. Selwyn of poor Iris's rash
act of the pre\ious night.
The lav>'yer looked very grave.
"What mad crea-
tures women are,"
he said, after a
jxause. " The mere
fact of the handker-
chief being destroy-
ed will incriminate
the unfortunate
young n^an."'
AVe spoke to-
gether for a little
longer, and then I
was obliged to leave
Selwyn to accom-
pany Mrs. Romney
and Iris to High
( ,'ourt.
I made a strong
effort for their sakes
to overcome the
gloomy forebodings
which seized me,
and resolved that
Iris should hear
nothing more of
her own rash act,
unless circum-
stances made it im-
possible to keep it
from her.
In the course of
the afternoon, a,
STORIES FROM THE DIARY Of A DOCTOR.
335
messenger from Ransome Heights brought me
a brief note to say that the coroner had
returned a verdict of wilful murder against
Captain David Vane. I can scarcely explain
the emotion which overcame me when I read
this brief note. I crushed it in my hand,
pushed it into my pocket, and went out for
a long walk.
I'hat evening I was sitting alone in General
Romney's study, when my thoughts were in-
terrupted by a message from Mrs. Romney
desiring my presence in the sick room.
I went upstairs at once. The General was
lying on his back, breathing stertorously ; the
flush on his face was not so marked as it had
been when first the seizure had taken him ;
his lips were slightly open, and occasionally
he moved his eyelids very faintly.
'' He has looked at me once or twice," said
Mrs. Romney, who was standing by the bed-
side ; "and," she added, " his eyes have had
a question in them."
" He doubtless has much he wants to tell
you," I said, in a soothing voice. " This is a
good sign of his returning intelligence."
" ]]ut I fear you do not think well of him,
Dr. Halifax."
" The case is a very grave one," I replied.
Mrs. Romney was silent for a moment —
then she laid her hand on my arm and drew
me to a distant part of the room.
" Do you think," she said, looking full up
at me as she spoke — "do you think that my
husband knows anything of the murder ? "
Her words startled me.
" How could he ? " I answered. " General
Romney has not I.)een out for some days "
"That is true," she replied, "he has not
been well — not quite himself. Still, what
does the strange, anguished look in his eyes
mean ? Oh, I know he wants to tell me
something very badly. See, doctor, his eyes
are open now. Come to him : he would
beckon us if he could."
I approached the bed where the stricken
man lay. He gazed at me fixedly — his eyes
were bloodshot and dull ; nevertheless,
beneath the dulness, beneath the ebbing
powers of life, I thought I caught a glimpse of
a tortured soul. The look in the General's
eyes startled me. I laid my hand gently over
them to close them.
" Do not think - sleep," I said to him.
Perhaps he did not understand me —
perhaps he did.
Soon afterwards I left the room. I
returned once more to the study. My mind
was now filled by a very anxious thought.
Su])post; Mrs. Romney was right ? Suppose
the dying man did know some fact which
might clear David \'ane? The feeling that
this might possibly be so, and the knowledge
also that the dull brain would in all pro-
bability never have the power of express-
ing its thoughts again — that the man who was
so soon to leave the world would most
likely carry his secret in darkness and
silence to his long home — gave me a feeling
•of intense pain. I felt absolutely powerless
to do anything in the matter, and in order to
while away the wretched moments, I looked
around me to see if I could find something
to read.
The General was not a reading man, and,
with the exception of a few sporting journals,
there were no books to be found in his
study. I was about to leave the room
to seek for some literature further a-field,
when a cabinet of old-fashioned make, which
occupied a niche in one corner, attracted my
attention. The cabinet was of oak, old, and
beautifully carved ; it had doors which could
be shut or opened by the turning of brass
handles. It was possible that I might find
something to read in this cabinet. I went to
it and opened the doors. I saw at a glance
that it did not contain what I had come to
seek. Some guns, one or two rusty jMStols,
a few old files and bottles, were scattered about
on the different shelves ; but what particularly
attracted my attention was a battered-looking
hat, which seemed from the way it had been
pushed in on the top of bottles and various
other debris, to have found a hasty hiding-
place in the cabinet. I took it into my hands
and looked at it — at first without any special
interest. Then the faint smell of singeing
attracted my attention. I held the hat
between me and the light, and noticed that
it had been considerably injured. On close
examination I saw that it had been shot
through. There were holes apparent in the
crown ; one round hole about the size of a
shilling, and three or four smaller ones.
These holes must have been caused by a
charge of shot. For what possible reas£)n
had anyone made a shooting target of the old
hat ?
I put it back again in its place, shut the
cabinet doors, and returned to my place by
the fireside. I felt excited, and no longer
cared to divert my thoughts by reading.
Why was the hat in the cabinet, and why
had it been riddled with shot ?
"Suppose," I said to myself, "General
Romney really knows all about this affair —
and suppose Vane is hanged for it."
I began to think hard. I had scarcely
336
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
time, however, to arrange my thoughts
before the study door was opened, and Iris
came in. There were red rims round her
eyes as if she had been crying— otherwise
she was quite calm. I looked at her
attentively, and it occurred to me that she
might help me to throw light on the mystery
which was now occupying all my thoughts.
" Sit down," I
said to her ; "' I
want to talk to )'ou
about your father."
" How is he?"' she y//
a.sked.
" Very ill indeed,"
I replied.
Her face grew a
shade paler.
" Is he dying ? "
she asked of me.
" I have grave fears
for him," I answered ;
" but you know the
old s a }■ i n g , that
' while there is life
there is hope.' It is ''/
important that I
should know the
s y m p t o m s w h i c h
preceded this sud-
den attack, and it
has occurred to me
that you can possibly
help me. What did
your father do, for
instance, vester-
day ? ■'
Iris's brow con-
tracted with a certain
impatience.
" My father lias
not been well for
some days," she said.
" He spent yesterdav as he has spent most
days lately, in his study."
" He did not go out, then ? "
"(io out! — no, he has not been out for
a fortnight."
"Are you certain on that point?" I asked.
" Yes — what do }0u mean ? E\en if he
did go out, it does not greatly matter, does
it? But I know that he did not."
'' In the state he was in,"' I said, "exercise
would have been extremely injurious to him,
and if he took it, it might have hastened the
attack."'
" He was not out, Dr. Halifax," said Iris,
"and," she continued, eagerly, " it so happens
that I can prove it. Father would never stir
THKRK WF.KK HOLES AITAREXT IN" THE CROWN.
a yard without a certain old hat which he
had a f^mcy for. That hat has been hanging
in the hall for the last fortnight. I v.'ill fetch
it for you."
" Do,' I said ; '" I am sorry to trouble
you, but it is important that I should know
if the attack was in any way caused by
unwonted exercise."
Iris quickly left
the room ; she came
back in a moment
with empty hands.
"The hat is not
there," she ex-
claimed. " It was on
the stand yesterday
morning. I saw it :
perhaps one of the
servants has removed
it."'
"Is this it?"' I
asked, going sud-
denly to the cabinet,
flinging it open, and
producing the hat. I
held it high, for I
did not wish Iris to
notice the holes
made by the shot.
She came eagerly
to my side.
" That is certainly
the hat,"' she replied.
"I wonder why
father hid it in the
cabinet? ''
" Finding the hat
here points to the
conclusion that he
went out yesterday,'
I said. " He per-
haps put it in this
cabinet to a\oid the
trouble of returning it to its place in the hall."
" Perhaps so," replied Iris. " And you
think he injured himself by going out ? "
"He certainly did,"' I said, in a grave voice.
I did not add any more. My suspicions
were confirmed.
" Vou are looking tired," I said to Iris.
" You had better go to bed. Rest assured
that I mean to take this matter up, but you
mustn't question me. If I fail, I fail, but 1
may succeed. CiO to bed and slee}). Rest in
the knowledge that I will do my best.'"
Iris suddenly seized my hand.
'■ Y(m are good, you comfort me," she said ;
'•you strengthen me."
She ran out of the room
STORIES FROM THE DIARY OF A DOCTOR.
i7
I sat down again b\- the fire. I was now
concentrating my thoughts on one object,
and one only. Ha\ing clearly made up my
mind that (General Romney possessed a secret,
it was my mission to restore to him the power
of di\ulging it. How could I do that ?
The Cicneral was suffering from embolism
— there was little doubt, also, that there was
progressive paralysis of the brain. Tl : case
was a bad one, and under ordinary circum-
stances the tfoomed man would go down into
his grave in unbroken silence. In this case
the silence must be broken. How ?
Suddenly, an idea came to me — the shadow
of a hope possessed me. Thin and poor as
this hope was, I determined to act upon
it. I went u}) to General Romney's bed-
room. Haynes was there, seated by the
bedside ; a trained nurse, who had arrived
from town, was also present, and Mrs.
Romney was lying on a sofa in a distant part
of the room. The Cieneral lay as motionless
as of old. I went over and sat by the bedside
— the pallor was deepening over the sick man's
face, the shadow of death was on it ; his eyes,
however, were wide open : they looked at me
now, full of speech, but of speech which I
had no power to interpret. I took his hand
in mine, and felt his pulse, it was weak and
fluttering ; I bent down and listened to his
breathing, then I asked Haynes to come into
the next room for a moment.
"What do you think of the case? " I said
to him.
" Quite hopeless," he answered. " I do
not think our patient will be alive in the
morning."
" He is certainly very ill," I replied. " His
respiratory centres are affected, out of pro-
portion to the severity of the attack of
paralysis ; in short, even if the hemorrhage
on the brain does not proceed, he is likely to
die of asphyxia."
" I have noticed the affection of the lungs,"'
said Haynes. "Can nothing be done to
relieve the breathing ? "
" I am inclined to try the inhalation of
oxygen gas," I answered. " I propose that
we send immediately to Salisbury for some
bags of the gas, and give it to the patient to
inhale."
Haynes looked at me in doubtful surprise.
"\\'here so much is wrong," he said, "what
is the use of trying what may only prolong
life to cause further suffering ? The patient
is almost unconscious."
" He is not unconscious,'' I replied. " He
knows us. Have you not noticed the ex-
pression in his eyes ? "
Vol. ix -44,
" I have," said Haynes. " To tell the
truth, I do not like their look. They give
me a sense of being haunted."
" The inhalation of the gas can do no
harm," I said, almost cheerfully. " I am
quite aware that it is not usually tried in such
cases, but I have a special reason for wishing
not to leave a stone unturned to give the
(General a chance of even partial revivement.
Now, can we get a messeiiger to go to Salis-
bury at once ? "
Haynes looked dubious and disturbed.
" I will go, if anybody must," he answered;
" but in addition to. not leeling sanguine as
to the success of your remedy, I am quite
certain that we cannot get the oxygen gas in
Salisl)ury."
" We'll make it, then," I replied. " Such
a trivial obstacle must not l)affle us at a
crucial moment like the present. Will you
go for me immediately to Salisbury, Haynes,
and get two nitrous oxide bags from any
dentist you happen to know ? 'I'hen get from
the chemist a retort and a S[)irit-lamp, some
chlorate of potash, some peroxide of man-
ganese, some caustic i)otash, some rubber
tubing, and two big glass jars. Bring these
back with you as fast as ever you can. I
believe in the remedy, but there is not a
moment to lose in preparing the oxygen gas."
Haynes left me, and I returned to the sick
room. I shall not soon forget those weary
hours of watching. I knew that with all
possible speed Haynes would not be back
with the necessary materials for preparing the
gas under a couple of hours. Meanwhile, the
patient's strength was ebbing fost. Any
moment that fluttering pulse might cease. I
administered restoratives at intervals, and
held the limp hand in mine. Shortly before
Haynes returned, Mrs. Romney stirred on
her sofa, rose, and motioned to me to follow
her into the next room. AA'hen I did so, she
spoke, eagerly.
" How is my husband ? " she asked.
I looked at her. ^
" Vou must know the truth," I said. " You
are brave — you will bear up — (General
Romney is dying — nothing can be done to
save his life, but I have sent to Salisbury for
a special remedy which will, in all probability,
relieve the breathing, and it is quite possible
give him the opportunity of communicating
to us that thought which haunts his dying
bed."
" Ves, yes, he wants to tell us something,"
said Mrs. Romney. She turned white, and
trembled so excessively that I made her sit
down on the nearest chair.
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
THK I'AiiKxi's srRy:\(ri'ii was f'.rp.ixc, fast."
At this moment I heard steps on the stairs,
and Haynes arrived with all the necessary
materials for making the gas.
There was not a moment to waste. I got
the apparatus quickly into order, mixed the
chemicals, and soon had the satisfaction of
seeing the bag slowly fill with pure oxygen
gas. Haynes and I then hurried into the
sick room. I directed the nurse to place a
lamp in such a position that the light should
fall on the patient. My object now was to
revive him — in short, to untie, if possible,
that silent tongue. Mrs. Romney followed
me into the room. The gas was quickly
applied, and the effect of even the first few
whiffs was marvellous. The death-like pallor
on the sick man's fiice left it. The returning
colour first stole into the tii)s of the ears, then
to the lips, then the eyes grew bright. The
General heaved a deep sigh, as though an
awful weight had been lifted from him.
I removed the rubber tubing which I had
introduced into one of his nostrils, and
noticed the quick, strong respirations which
now proceeded from the relieved lungs. This
relief did not last long ; but when I ad-
ministered the gas again, the effect was in
every way satisfactory. At the third applica-
tion Cieneral Romney sat up in bed. His
mouth twitched, he tried to speak, but no
intelligent words would come to him. He
was now, however, fully conscious, and I
knew that the moment had arrived for me to
speak to him.
" I want to tell you something, ("leneral,"" I
said. "Captain David Vane "'
" Oh, don't, I beg of you," interrupted Mrs.
Romney.
I pushed her aside.
" l)o noL interrupt me,"' I said : "look at
his face."
'i'hat face was, indeed, eloquent with sup-
l)ressed speech. The General moved his
arms impatiently. I turned to him and
began to speak again in a low, distinct voice.
"Captain David Vane," I said, "has been
arrested for the murder of Mr. Ransome, of
Kanspme Heights. It is very probable that
a verdict of wilful murder may be returned
against him, unless you. General Romney,
you who are a dying man, can throw light on
the mystery."
His face worked ; a hopeless jumble of un-
intelligible sounds proceeded from his lips.
I held the gas again to his nostrils and he
revived. Making an effort, he suddenly
threw out his right arm and hand and pointed
with one finger to some writing materials
which lay on a table not far distant. I went
to the table, secured blotting-pad and paper
and a sharply pointed pencil. I brought
them back with me, placed the pencil in the
dying hand, and supported the old man in
such a way that he was able to write without
much ditificulty.
"Quick," I whispered to him, "a life
depends on what you want to say."
His fingers immediately began to move
across the paper. I looked over his shoulders,
as he wrote.
These were the words which I read : —
" David \'ane is innocent. I am the
person who killed Thomas Ransome. This
is how the deed was done. On the day you
arrived I went out, contrary to my doctor's
advice, for a short walk. I went into the
copse. I saw Ransome sitting on the fence
which divides his property from ours. He
was in the act of aiming at a pheasant in my
copse when I saw him. I called to him in a
loud voice to abstain. I called him what he
was a scoundrel. He raised his eves
STORIES FROM THE DEARY OF A DOCTOR.
339
I saw
I came
looked at inc and burst out laughin
that he was the worse for drink,
close up to him.
" ' It isn't pheasants alone I have come to
knock down,' he said, with a jeer. ' I'm
looking for bigger game.'
" The next instant I heard a noise and felt
some heat. The fellow had presented his
gun at me at near quarters. I closed with
him, and we had a terrible tussle. I seized
the gun, and gave him one l)low on the head
— only one. I thought I had stunned him
he rolled into the ditch and lay quiet
came back to the house and saw that the full
charge of the gun had entered my hat. I
regarded my life as a miracle,
and put the hat away — not
to alarm my family. I felt
ill and shaken — I had been
unwell for some time. I had
no idea that I had killed
Ransome. You came in and
gave me a restorative, and I
felt better. I was in the
ball-room receiving my
visitors when someone rushed
up and told me that Ran-
some was dead, and that a
police-officer had arrived for
the purpose of arresting
\'ane. I ran, as if the Evil
One were behind me, to find
Vane, and tell the truth.
Before I could do so, I was
stricken down."'
Having written so far, the
( leneral paused. The pencil
fluttered out of his feeble
fingers. I applied the gas
once again — his respiration
grew easier, but I saw that the last flicker of
strength was leaving him, and that soon even
the revivifying gas would fail in its effects.
" For God's sake, rouse yourself, (jcneral,"
I cried to him. '' Sign the statement you
have just made. Sign it quickly."
Haynes, Mrs. Ronmey, and the nurse were
all standing round-the General took the
pencil in his hand.
"Sign, sign," I said.
I held him up, and he managed with the
last flicker of strength to put his name in full
at the bottom of the paper. I handed the
paper to Mrs. Romney, with an expressive
look. She took it and laid it on the table.
I put General Romney once more back on
his ))illows.
" I tiii)U(;ht I HAD sruN"xr:i) him."
" ^'ou ha\e done bravely," I said to him.
"This paper will completely clear Vane. Your
girl will be happy yet — you may die in peace."'
He looked up at me, and I saw that the
(|uestion and the agony had left his dyjng
eyes for ever. Iris was hurriedly sent for,
but before she arrived the old man was
unconscious. She sat by his side, and took
his hand in hers. As she sat so, I read over
to her the words which her father had just
put on paper. She burst into tears, and fell
forward on his breast.
Perhaps he knew she was there, for the
eyelids seemed to flutter, but gradually and
surely the laboured breath quieted down, and
before the morning dawned General Romney
died.
\NY people labour under the
false impression that an idea is
an invciifio/i, and with assur-
ance in this connection submit
ideas to editors, and other
great men, seeking information
regarding the remuneration they may expect
from the said great men in the event of the
latter piloting their ideas through perfection,
and the Patent Ofifice. Every practical
inventor knows that ideas are common to
nearly everybody who will exercise their minds
a little ; and that an inventive man has
suggested mentally scores of ideas, of which
he perceives the impracticability, and which he
discards at once. Some apparently impossible
suggestions a}-e realized, by men such as
Edison. Ikit there are many ideas which
even the wizard lidison could not lick into
proper shai)e — ideas that I have culled from
the many sources open to all — ideas of cranks
and addle-pated men who have imaginative
minds, but are quite devoid of practical
sense. I have illustrated them in order the
better to convey their absurdity.
Take the ridiculous notion for preventing
collisions on the railway (f"ig. i). It is
^t^a-
| ^ ' Li^L\\\^\VVv^.5^^N:^
suggested that the fronts of the engines shall
be wedge-shaped, somewhat after the manner
of a ship, the first of tlic claims for such
a contrivance being mon.- feasible and credit-
able than the second. The first is based on
the supposition that less resistance would
thereupon be offered to the wind than is now
manifested; and that, therefore, the train
would proceed at an easier and quicker pace,
with a less expenditure of energy. Here I
am of the same opinion as the inventor ; but
when it is asserted that if the front edges of
these engines were slightly curved outwards,
the effect of a collision would be the
pushing off the line of one train by the
stronger of the two, I am inclined to believe
that the remedy would jirove as disastrous as,
if not more destructive than, the evil it aimed
to avoid. As soon as one engine was pushed
off the line, its opposing companion would
crash through the carriages which were being
dragged off the metals. All inventions need
to be tested before final pronouncement of
their value can be candidly given ; but in
such a case as that now before us, the diffi-
culty of forming a pronouncement is for-
midably obstructed by the danger attending
actual experiment. If the inventor's claims
are sincerely believed in i)y him, he should
have every inducement to test the matter,
and should feel convinced that a purposely
contrived collision would not
{produce dire results. But, not-
withstanding his assertions, I
imagine that he would feel
(jualms of conscience were a
test about to be applied to the
peculiar engines. *
Still keeping our attention
attached to locomotives, I will
acquaint the reader with a more
sensible, albeit impracticable,
suggestion for minimizing the
risk accruing from another form
of collision. In this case, the
object in view is to provide
against the danger incident
u[)on the meeting of one train with the
back of a forerunner. It is intended that
all locomotives should have the last van
shaped in a sloping manner, so that a
i^r.
ECCENTRIC IDEAS.
341
train following too closely behind it would
be enabled to run up the slanting sur-
face, and eventually mount to the top of
it (Fig. 2). Lines are to be laid along the
slopes and the tops of the carriages, and it
is supposed that the driver of the topmost
train would have sufficient time allowed him
thereby to shut off steam and bring his
locomotive to a standstill. I am wondering
how the upper one would fare in the event of
the meeting happening near a tunnel, as I
have depicted in my illustration ; supposing
that the under one had not been crushed to
pieces by the weight and com-
motion above it.
Practical inventors will at
once detect many obvious and
almost insurmountable points
calculated to deprive this in-
vention of a claim to meritorious
(jualification. In the first place,
unless the sloping portion of the
train dragged along directly in
contact with the ground, and
the rails upon it were tapered
to a nicety at the bottom, the
back engine would not act as
desired, for the alternate course
would entail the use of wheels,
whereupon the extreme end
edge of the train would l)e
raised to an elevation of several
inches above the ground, and
would form a kind of ste[) up
which the following train could
not spring. The second futile point is that,
even supposing that the front locomotive
did slope accurately, and ])ermit surmounting,
the great gaps between the carriages whicli
would necessarily exist would form gulfs into
which the wheels of the upper train would
slip, and c:ause dreadful destruction.
After all, it would appear that the safest
plan to adopt in these matters is to prevent
the collisions.
Are we getting lazy, or are our business
demands so urgent that great
haste in our personal locomo-
tion is absolutely necessary ?
I am prompted to ask this
f]uestion because one enthu-
siast has suggested the peculiar
sloping roadways illustrated in
Fig. 3. The idea is that by
constructing the roads in this
rather tantalizing manner,
pedestrians could, when they
desired, leave the pavement,
and after having applied roller-
skates to their feet, just stand
erect at the top of the slope,
and allow themselves to travel
down without further effort —
unless it be to maintain their equilibrium or
to avoid violent conta(^t with fellow-skaters.
Arrived at the bottom of a slope, steps would
have to be climbed — a difficult matter, by the
way, whilst one's feet are encased in skates
— before other slopes could be reached.
Certainly, if a very long street were so formed,
speed would be assured. But how about
vehicles ? Where would they be accom-
modated ? I suppose that they would take
to the i)avements, crossing from one to
another by means of the square levels at the
street ends. As a pastime, perhaps, this
means of progress might be amusing; but it
is too ludicrous to commend itself as a
serirtus invention, calciilaled to be popular
j4-
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
\\\ our busy centres of cnmmt-rct', or, for
the matter of that, anywhere within our
reahiis.
Burglars ! What sneaking, running, clever
rogues burglars are, for the most part ! The\-
defy householders who adopt various sug-
gestions that apparently offer effective oppo-
sition to their enterprising tactics. Locks
and l)ars, Ijells and dogs, shutters and steel-
]>!ates- all are sooner or later rendered preg-
nable by the undoubted, yet unadmired, skill
of the genuine professional burglar. Whether
he would approve or disapprove of the prac-
tical application of the scheme depicted in
Fig. 4 is a matter likely to arouse dispute.
He might not consider it very formidable :
he might even regard it with a friendly eye,
and ask for its extensive adoption. This is
the idea : The pavement in front of each shop
and warehouse should be so constructed as
to be capable of being lifted bodily like a
trap-door, and secured by mechanical means
to the house-front, at night. Beneath the wide
pavements would be a very deep trench, either
permanently filled with water, or so arranged
that sufficient water would enter it every
evening at a particular hour. The object of
this device is to form a barrier which, it is
supposed, would baffle the burglar. He could
not ste[) across the ditch on to any convenient
ledge ; nor could he stand in the water,
as its depth would prevent recourse to such
a tactic. But, if he did manage to stand
by some artful means in the water, his
consequent damp condition would assuredly
attract the notice of stray policemen, whose
inquiry and activity might result disastrously
to the busy B. (lentlemen with planks to
be used as bridges at midnight would also
draw "cute attention towards their movements.
TIh' invention seems feasil)le and useful;
but it is surrounded with disadvantages.
Highway robberies would undoubtedly
increase largely, owing to the convenient
means ready at hand wherewith to dispose
of the unfortunate victims' lives. The con-
stant presence of the water would be respon-
sible for the appearance of diseases, and
would tend to destroy the foundations of the
houses. And in addition to all this, we have
the unfortunate fact that to the
very class of buildings that mostly
need protection, vi/., uninhabited
warehouses, the idea would not
be ap]:licable, for the very sub-
.stantial reason that if it were im-
possible for a burglar to open thr
door when the trap-pavement was
elevated, it would be an ecjually
impossible job for the last man
leaving a City house to raise the
pavement and secure it. .And, of
course, if fitted outside houses in
which dwelt inmates, its value and
efficiency would be diminished by
the fact of their presence. How
(juickly the utility of bold and
huge ideas is destroyed I
i\Iany readers may have heard of
crawling books — to wit : live snakes with
records and sayings tattooed on their skins ;
but I daresay few have heard of the suggested
travelling roadway. Tliink of it I A cart to
ECCEXTRJC IDEAS.
543
carry its own road with it I The illustration
(Fig. 5) explains to the ordinary eye as much
as is requisite to understand it. Five narrow
troughs are to he hinged together and placed
outside each cart-wheel, in such a way as to
he incapable of accidental release. As the
cart proceeded, first one then another trough
would gradually lie along the thoroughfare
and afford a footing for the wheel.
'Hie idea is that, by this means, a level
l)ath would be available for travelling over
sandy, muddy, stony, or slippery ground.
Of course the result in i)ractice would be
exactly the same as if the wheel itself had
been made in the shape of the five-sided
frame to start with, instead of round.
In the highly entertaining article on the
"revolution of the
Cycle,"api)earing
in 1'hi: .Strand
Mac;azine for
July, 1892, many
eccentric ideas
were m a n i -
fested ; but few
are more curious
than the sugges-
ted foot -cycle
portrayed in Fig.
^ 6. The belief of
its inventor is
. that many would
adopt its use
FIG. 6. " because thereby
it w o u 1 d b e
possible to travel on the pavement, and
he free from the dangers to which cyclists
are now exposed in the roadway. More-
oxer, the machine would be portable when
not in actual use, but in this direction I
cannot enlighten my readers. It is advised
that two wheels should be connected to a
belt, and that motion should be gained by
turning a handle. It would have steering
apparatus, but could only travel over com-
paratively smooth pavements or roads.
I have heard sailors declare that they
would much prefer to be at sea during stormy
or windy weather than be wandering through
the streets of a town. They say, truthfully,
that no dislodged chimney-pots or bricks can
surprise and injure them by falling on their
tender heads. In their innocent way, they
forget the existence of equally severe dangers
beneath their feet. I daresay, however, that
e\en if they (;ould be persuaded to don the
wonderful tall hat depicted in the adjoining
illustration (Fig. 7), sufficient faith in its
efficienfy would jiot be forthcoming to induce
them to wander about so dressed, and they
would still hanker for the ocean. Moreover,
the spectacle of a sailor with a tall hat would
provoke so much mirth on the part of land-
lubbers generally, as to make Jack feel too
uncomfortable for his own happiness.
Gentlemen are not advised to wear this
hat, although it is sujiposed that immediately
a brick or other obtrusive article fell upon il.
a spring would be thereby released, ami
cause an interior cylinder to pop up and
eject the objectionable material. I will not
ask any questions concerning the details of
this contrivance, although I feel annoyed
that certain mysterious points are still un-
fathomable.
How many ladies will be fascinated with
the fan-umbrella hat shown in Fig. 8 ? I shall
keep a sharp eye on the tender sex when
I am out -doors during the wet weather,
although I must confess that I anticipate but
little prospect of encountering any of them
parading with this contrivance above their
devoted heads. Perhaps the inventor thought
that as the only purposes for which a fan at
present serves is either to cool a heated cheek
or hide a blush, it ought in justice to itself to
be known that it can be made to act as a
serviceable umbrella. The closed fan is to
occupy a position within the hat, when not
recjuired for the (]ueer use referred to ; and.
l)e capat)le of being opened entirely in
344
THE STRAXD MAGAZINE.
the form ot a circle as shown, and have the
additional attraction of an accompanying
curtain to shield the back hair. How the
surplus rain, which would assuredly accumu-
late thereon, is to be disposed of I know not,
so pray do not press me for further particulars.
Ladies will perhaps be satisfied by uttering :
" Fancy that ! See that fan ? " and pass on
to the gentleman's umbrella-hat, which,
however, is hardly so charming an appendage
as its companion.
This particular covering (Fig. 9) assumes
the shape of the ordinary college cap when
in its closed condition, but may be opened as
shown during times of elemental disturbance.
It is to be unfolded and folded in a similar
way possible with ungummed envelopes.
By what manner of means it is to sustain its
four unfolded corners, no man (even the
inventor himself) knoweth. ^\'hat a delight-
fully picturesque pair a lady and gentleman
carrying these last forms of headgear would
present ! It must be acknowledged, though,
that the position of the caps is too elevated
to be of effective utility, and it would be
desirable, therefore — in the interests of
utility, if not of the individuals — to com-
press the heads of the wearers to such an
extent that the combination umbrellas would
be better adapted for sheltering the
shoulders.
Fig. 10 represents a more for-
midable notion, and one of quite
another category. It has been
suggested that to the ordinary
wheels of tram-cars should be
attached cog-wheels of a larger
diameter ; and that these cog-
wheels should engage with notched
rails situated beneath the ordinary
tram-lines. The under-sides of the
notched rails are to communicate
with a shallow tunnel, and to them
may be suspended parcels and
bo.xes, bags and sacks, and any
other class of article the carriage of
which iienple arc- in the habit of
deputing to carmen and railway trucks. It
is supposed -and the idea is a charmingly
deceptive one — that the cog-wheels of a
travelling tram would by such means propel
the notched rails (in an opposite direction to
that followed by the tram), which in turn
would convey the goods. Such a proceeding
mii:^ht ensue, were the tram-wheels fixtures in
the proper sense of the word — />., deprived
of a forward motion, and only permitted to
revolve ; but as affairs are proposed, there
would happen but one thing — the goods
would not move. The cog-wheels would only
fit in and out of the notches in the rails beneath
them, and fiil to act as anticipated, for the
simple reason that in travelling forward they
could exert no leverage, and, consequentlv.
create no motion.
The gentleman who is comfortably dream-
ing beneath a huge trumpet (Fig. 11) would
undoubtedly regret having followed an
eccentric inventor's suggestion, in the event
of a mishap taking place with the suspending
rope. The idea is that by adopting this form
ECCENTRIC IDEAS.
MS
of contrivance (which is to communicate with
the outer air) an abundance of refreshing,
stimulating air could be secured during sleep,
without providing facilities for burglarious
entrance into the chamber, as is now pro-
vided when the window is left open for the
admission of the atmosphere. Properly
speaking, this slumberer's window should be
well shuttered ; but as he would then be in
total darkness, I cannot see how I could
have portrayed him and his precious air-
trumpet.
I can safely predict that, in the event of
anyone addicted to snoring foolishly availing
himself of the practical application of this
idea, such strenuous complaints by the
neighbours would be made relative to the
magnified sounds audible, as to render the
availer's life unbearable. How the poor man
is to make his bed, or enter it after it has
been made, whilst so formidable a pre-
ventive remains
in evidence, are
a couple of minor
questions that
should not, per-
haps, have been
mooted.
I have pur-
posely left until
last the most
sensible of the
curious proposed
schemes' col-
lected by me. Yet
it, too, has its many impossibilities, or,
at least, colossal disadvantages. The
project concerns the lighting of our towns
and cities, and the inventor claims that,
by stationing men on platforms above
the reflectors, and by furnishing tele-
graphic communication between all captive
balloons and ground stations, people in
the street would be so conspicuously under
observation that any suspicious persons
could be tracked completely through the
maze of thoroughfares. If my fear that, in
the course of time, the balloons would carry to
the heavens the houses to which they are
secured by ropes is unfounded, there still
remains the difficulty of relieving the watchers
daily, weekly, or monthly, unless the matter
be overcome by the costly method of lower-
ing and raising the balloons on every occa-
sion. However, there's the idea. Use it if
you can (Fig. 12).
Having now
explained as fully
as is desirable a
few of the eccen-
tric ideas of man,
I will sum up
by stating that
eccentric ideas
are like mush-
rooms — all top
and no bottom ;
and — like soda-
water bottles —
cannot stand.
Vol.
45.
JX, ^-voi^ "^^^Ch
Bv E. P. Larken.
RITZ, Franz, and Hans were
charcoal-burners. They lived
with their mother in the depths
of a forest, where they very
seldom saw the face of another
human being. Hans, the
youngest, did not remember ever having
lived anywhere else, but Fritz and Franz
could just call to mind sunny meadows, in
which they played as little children, plucking
the flowers and chasing the butterflies.
Indeed, Fritz was able to compare the present
state of miserable poverty in which they lived
with the ease and comfort they enjoyed in
years gone by.
Once upon a time they were well off.
They had enough to eat every day, they
lived in a comfortable house, surrounded by
a nice garden, and with plenty of kind
neighbours round them. Then came a
change. Their father lost his money, and
was forced to leave this pleasant home, and
to earn bread for his family by becoming a
charcoal-burner. Everything now became
different. Their house was a poor hut, com-
posed of a few logs of wood knocked roughly
together. Dry black bread with, occasionally,
a few potatoes and lentils, and now and then,
as a great treat, a little porridge, formed
their food. And to secure even this they
had to work hard from morning till night at
their grimy trade. But their father was
brave and patient, and, while he was alive,
the wolf was kept some distance from the
door. Besides, he could always put some
heart into the boys, when they began to
flag, by a joke or a pleasant story. But he
had died a year ago, owing to an accident
he met with while chopping wood for the
furnace, and since his death matters had been
going from bad to worse with the family.
Fritz and Franz were, unfortunately, selfish,
ill-conditioned lads, who made the worst in-
stead of the best of their troubles, and who even
grudged their mother and brother their share
of the food. Hans, on the other hand, was a
capital fellow. He always had a cheerful
smile or word, and did all in his power to
help his mother to keep in good spirits. One
day at dinner time they were startled by a
knock at the door. A knock at the door
does not sound to us, perhaps, to be a very
startling thing, but they, as I said, so seldom
saw a strange face near their home that this
knock at the door quite took away tKeir
breath. AVhen it came, Fritz and Franz were
sitting over the fire munching their last piece
of black bread, and grumbling to one another
as was their custom, while Hans, seated on
the bed beside his mother, was telling her
about what he saw and what he fancied when
he was in the forest. Fritz was the first to
recover himself, and he growled out, in his
usual surly tone, " Come in," The door
opened, and a gentleman entered. From his
green dress, the gun that he carried in his
THE UNICORN.
347
hand, and the game-bag slung by his side,
they saw that he was a huntsman who had
been amusing himself with shooting the game
with which the forest abounded.
" Good morning, good friends," he said, in
a cheerful tone. " Could you provide me with
a cup of water and a mouthful of something
to eat ? I have forgotten to bring anything
with me, and am ravenously hungry and far
from home."
Fritz and Franz first threw a scowling
glance from under their eyebrows at the
stranger, by way of reply, gave a grunt, and
continued munching at their hunks of bread.
Hans, however, was more polite. The only
seats in the hut were occupied by Fritz and
Franz, and, as they showed no disposition to
move, Hans dragged a log of wood from a
corner and placed it before the visitor and
invited him to sit down. Then he produced
a cup, scrupulously clean, indeed, but sadly
cracked and chipped, and, running outside,
he filled it from a spring of delicious cool
water, which rose near the hut. As he had
been busy talking to his mother, he had had
no time to eat his share of the black bread,
and so he handed his coarse crust to the
stranger, saying he was sorry that there was
nothing better to offer him.
" Thank you," said the stranger, cour-
teously. " Hunger is the best sauce. There
is no lunch I hke so well as this." And he
set to work with such a good will that, in
a very short time, poor Hans' crust had
vanished, and there was nothing left before
the stranger but a few crumbs of bread on
the table, and a few drops of water in the
cup. These he kneaded carelessly together
into a little pellet, about the size of a pea,
while Hans told him, in answer to his ques-
tions, all about their lonely life in the forest,
and the hardships which they had to endure.
When the stranger rose to go he said,
"Well, I thank you heartily for your hospitality
— now I will give you a word of advice. One of
you lads should go and seek the sparkling
golden water which turns everything it touches
into gold."
Fritz and Franz pricked up their ears at
this, and, both at once, demanded where
this sparkling golden water was to be found.
The stranger turned towards them cour-
teously, although these were the first words
they had spoken since his entrance, and
replied : —
" The sparkling golden water is to be
found in the forest of dead trees, on the
further side of those blue mountains wl: 'ch
you may see on any clear day in the fir
distance. It is a tnree weeks' journey on
foot from here."
Then, bowing to his hosts, he stepped
towards the door. Hans, however, was there
first, and opened it for him. Obeying
a sign from the stranger, Hans followed
him a little way from the hut. Then the
stranger, taking from his pocket the little
black bread pellet, said, " I know, because
you gave me your dinner, that you will have
to go hungry. I have no money to offer you,
but here is something that will be of far
greater value to you than money. Keep this
pellet carefully, and when you seek this
sparkling golden water, as I know you will,
don't forget to bring it with you. Now go
back : you must follow me no further." So
saying, the stranger waved his hand to Hans,
and, plunging into the thicket, disappeared.
Hans slipped the pellet into his pocket and re-
entered the hut, where he found his brothers in
loud dispute about the sparkling golden water.
They were much too interested in the matter
to pay any attention to Hans or to ask him,
as he was afraid they would, whether the
stranger had given him any money before he
left. As he came in he heard Fritz saying,
in a loud voice : —
" Fm the eldest, and I will go first to get
the sparkling golden water. When I've got
it I will buy all the land hereabouts and
become Count. I will hunt every day, and
have lots of good wine, and sometimes, if
I'm passing near here, I'll just look in to see
how you all are, and to show you my fine
clothes, and horses, and dogs, and servants."
Fritz was, for him, almost gracious at the
bright prospect before him.
" I don't care whether you're the eldest or
not," growled Franz, stubbornly, " I shall go,
too, to find the sparkling golden water.
When I've found it I will buy the Burgo-
master's office, and live in his house in the
town yonder, and wear his fur robes and gold
chain, and, best of all, walk at the head of
all the grand processions. None of your
wild hunting for me — give me ease and
comfort."
At last it was decided, after a great deal
of squabbling, that Fritz as the eldest should
go first in search of the sparkling golden
water, and accordingly next day he set out.
Hans ventured to hint that the first thing to
be done with this sparkling golden water when
it was found should be to provide a comfort-
able home for their mother, but Fritz's only
answer to this was a blow, and an angry order
to Hans to mind his own business.
We cannot follow Fritz all the way on his
348
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
journey. As he had no money, he was
forced to beg at the doors of the cottages and
farm-houses which he passed, for food and
shelter for the night. Now, this proved to
be rather hard work, because nobody very
much liked his looks or his manner, and
people only gave him spare scraps now and
then in order to get him to go away as soon
as possible. However, he found himself,
at last, approaching the forest of dead
trees. He knew that it was
the forest, although there was
nobody there to tell him so.
He had not, in fact, seen any
human being for the last three
days. But he felt that he
could not be mistaken. A vast
forest of enormous trees lifted
leafless, sapless branches to
the sky, which every breath
of wind rattled together like
the bones of a skeleton. When
he was about twenty yards
from the forest a terrible sound
came from it. It was as
though a thousand horses
were neighing and scream-
ing all at once. Fritz's
heart stood still. He
wanted to run away,
but his legs refused
to move. As he stood
there, shaking and quak-
ing, there rushed out of
the forest a huge unicorn
with a spiral golden horn on his forehead.
" What seek you here ? " asked the unicorn,
in a voice of thunder. Fritz stammered out
that he sought the sparkling golden water.
"What want you with the sparkling golden
water, which is in my charge ? " thundered
the unicorn.
Fritz was almost too frightened to speak.
He fell on his knees, put up his hands,
and cried : " Oh, good Mr. Unicorn, oh,
kind Mr. Unicorn, pray don't hurt me."
The unicorn stamped furiously on the
ground with his right fore-foot. " Say this
instant," he cried, '" what it is fhat you want
with the sparkling golden water ! "
" I want to get money to buy land and
become a Count," Fritz was just able* to gasp
out. The unicorn said nothing : he simply
lowered his head, and with his golden horn
tossed Fritz three hundred and forty-five feet
in the air. Up went Fritz like a sky-rocket,
and down he came like its stick, turning
somersaults all the way. Fortunately for him,
his fall was broken by the branches of one
of the dead trees. If it had not been for
this he would probably have been seriously
hurt. Through these branches he crashed
until he reached the point where they joined
the trunk. The tree was hollow here, and
Fritz tumbled down to the bottom of the
trunk and found himself a prisoner. While
he was feeling his arms and legs to find out
if any bones
were broken or
not, he had the
satisfaction of
hearing the uni-
corn, as he trotted
back into the
forest, muttering,
loud enough for
his words to
pierce the bark
and wood of
Fritz's prison : —
" So much for
you and your
Countship."
Fritz tried to
get out, but in
vain. The tree
was too smooth
and slippery and
high for him to
UP WENT FRITZ.
be able to clamber up, and he only
hurt himself every time he attempted to
escape. There was nothing for it, then,
but for him to lie down and howl. He had
to satisfy his hunger, as best he might, by
eating the stray worms and woodlice and
fungi, which he found creeping, crawling, and
growing round about the roots of the tree,
We will leave him there for the present and
return to the others.
Franz, Hans, and their mother waited and
waited for Fritz to come back. Hans and
THE UNICORN.
149
his mother could not believe it possible that,
when he had secured the sparkling golden
water, he would leave them in their poverty.
Franz, on the other hand, judging Fritz by
himself, thought that nothing was more likely.
And Franz was most probably right. Six
weeks was the shortest time in which Fritz
could be home again. " Unless," said Hans,
" he buys a horse and rides back, as he will
be very well able to do when he has got the
sparkling golden water." But six weeks
passed, and two months, and three months,
and no Fritz, either on horseback or afoot.
Then Franz's patience came to an end. He
must needs go, too.
" I won't wait here starving any longer,"
said he ; " Fritz has forgotten all about us.
Fll get the sparkling golden water and
become Burgomaster." So off he set, follow-
ing the same rOcld as Fritz, and meeting with
much the same difficulties. They were, how-
ever, rather greater in his case than in his
brother's. Folk remembered the ill-condi-
tioned Fritz only too well, and Franz was so
like him in looks and manner, that they shut
the door in his face the moment he appeared,
and ran upstairs and called out from the top
windows of their houses, "Go away. There's
npthing for you here. The big dog's loose in
the yard, (io away, charcoal-burner."
However, by dint of perseverance, in which
to say the truth he was not lacking, Franz,
very hungry and sulky, reached the verge of
the forest of dead trees. Out came the
unicorn and asked his business. On Franz
replying that he wanted the sparkling golden
water in order to buy the house and post of
Burgomaster, the unicorn tossed him into the
air, and he tumbled into the same tree as
Fritz. Then the unicorn trotted back into
the forest muttering, for Franz's benefit : "So
much for you and your Burgomastership."
^^'hen Fritz and Franz found themselves
thus closely confined in the same prison,
they, instead of making the best of one
another's company, as sensible brothers would
have done, fell to quarrelling and fighting,
until at last neither would speak to the
other, and that state of sulky silence they
maintained all the time of their captivity.
The months passed by, but no news came
to Hans and his mother of Fritz and Franz.
Meanwhile Hans found that it became daily
more difficult for him to earn enough money
to support two people. Moreover, he saw that
his mother was growing weaker, and he feared
that she would die unless she had proper food
and nourishment. At last he said : —
" Mother, if there was only someone to
take care of you, I would go in search of
Fritz and Franz. You may be sure that they
have got the sparkling golden water by this
time. They would never refuse me a few
guldens if I were to ask them and tell them
how ill you are."
But Hans' mother did not at all like the
idea of his leaving her, and she begged and
prayed him not to go. He felt obliged, there-
fore, to submit, and stayed on for a little
longer, until at last even his mother saw that
they must either starve or do as Hans
suggested. Most fortunately at this time
there dropped in to see them another char-
coal-burner, whom Hans used to call " Uncle
Stoltz," although he was no uncle at all, but
only a good-natured neighbour and an old
friend of Hans' father. Uncle Stoltz strongly
urged the mother to let her boy go in search
of his brothers, adding, although he was
nearly as poor as they were themselves : -
" You come and live with me and my
wife. While we have a crust to divide you
sha'n't want."
So Hans' mother gave a reluctant consent,
and went to live with Uncle Stoltz, while
Hans went out in search of his brothers.
By making inquiries he easily found the road
which they had taken, but nobody ever
thought of shutting the door in his face.
On the contrary, his polite manners and
cheerful looks made him a welcome guest at
every cottage and farmstead at which he
stopped. At last he, too, found himself on
the verge of the forest of dead trees and
face to face with the golden-horned unicorn.
But Hans was not to be frightened as his
brothers had been by the terrible voice and
awe-striking appearance of the guardian of
the fountain. In reply to the usual question
— given in the usual tone of thunder :
" What seek you here ? " — Hans replied,
coolly, " I seek my brothers, Fritz and Franz."
" They are where you will never find them,"
said the unicorn, "so go home again."
" If I cannot find my brothers," said Hans,
firmly, " I will not go home without ^the
sparkling golden water."
" What want you with the sparkling golden
water, which is in my charge ? " asked the
unicorn, in his terrible voice.
" I want to buy food and wine and
comforts for my mother, who is very ill,"
answered Hans, undaunted. But his eyes
filled with tears as he thought of his mother.
The unicorn spoke more gently.
" Have you," he asked, " the crystal ball ?
Because without it I cannot allow you to pass
to the sparkling golden water."
35°
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
" The crystal ball I " echoed Hans. " I
never heard of such a thing."
" That's a pity," said the unicorn, gravely ;
" I'm afraid you will have to go home without
the water ; but, stay, feel in your pockets.
You may have had the
ball, and put it some-
where, and have for-
gotten all about it."
Hans smiled at the
idea of the crystal ball
lying, unknown to him,
in his pockets, but he
followed the sugges-
tion of the unicorn,
and found, as he knew
he should find, nothing
at all, except, indeed,
the pellet of black
bread which the
stranger - hunts-
man had given
him, and which
he had not
thought of from
that day to this.
" No," he said
to the unicorn,
" I have no- [-
thing in my
pocket, except
this pellet," and he was about
to throw it away when the
unicorn called out to him
to stop.
" Let me see it," he said. " Why," he
went on, " this is the crystal ball — look!"
Hans did look, and sure enough he
found in his hand a tiny globe of crystal.
He examined it with amazement. " Well,"
he said, " all I know is that a second ago it
was a black bread pellet."
" That may be," said the unicorn, care-
lessly ; "anyhow, it is a crystal ball now, and
the possession of it makes me your servant.
It is my duty to carry you to the fountain of
sparkling golden water, if you wish to go.
Have you brought a flask with you ? "
" No," said Hans. " Fritz took the only
flask we had, and Franz an old bottle.''
" Fritz, eh ? Well, follow me a little way."
So saying, the unicorn led Flans to the tree
in which his brothers were imprisoned and,
motioning him to be silent, cried out : —
"Ho! Master Count, throw out the flask
you have with you, if you please : it is
wanted."
"Sha'n't," growled Fritz's voice in reply,
"unless you promise to let me out."
" Oh, you won't, won't you ? " said the
unicorn ; " well, we'll see."
With that he drew back a few steps, and
then, running forwards, thrust his sharp horn
into the side of the hollow trunk from which
THIS IS THE CRYSTAL BALL !
Fritz's voice had issued. A loud yell came
from the spot, showing that the horn had
run into some tender part of Fritz's body,
and at the same instant, the flask appeared
flying out of the hole of the tree by which
Fritz and Franz had entered.
'' That's right," said the unicorn, " now we
shall do comfortably. Get on my back,
grasp my mane tightly, hold your breath, and
shut your eyes."
" If you please," said Hans, " will you set
Fritz and Franz free first ? "
The unicorn looked annoyed. " They
are doing very well there," he said; "why
should you disturb them ? But you're my
master, and I must do as you please. Only
take my word you'll be sorry for this after-
wards."
With that he went to the tree and, with
THE UNICORN.
351
time
one or two powerful blows with his horn,
made a hole large enough fur the unhappy
prisoners to creep out. Two more sheepish,
miserable wretches than those half-starved
brothers of his, Hans had never seen. They
fell at his feet and thanked him again and
again for delivering them. They promised
never to do anything unkind or selfish again,
and each assured Hans that he had always
liked him far more than he had liked the
other brother.
Their protestations of aftection rather dis-
gusted Hans, only, as he was a good-hearted
boy himself, he could not help being moved
by them. He then told his brothers in what
state he had left his mother, and how he was
to be taken by the unicorn to get
the sparkling golden water.
" Oh ! " cried the brothers, " can't
/ou take us, too ? "
The unicorn thought it
interfere. " No one can be
taken there, but the owner
of the crystal ball," he said.
" Come, master, it is time
for you to mount."
Hans clambered
nimbly into his seat
on the unicorn's back.
"A\'ait for me here,"
he called out to his
brothers. " I shall not
be long." Then Hans
shut his eyes, held his
breath, and grasped
the unicorn tightly by
the mane. It was as
well that he did so,
for the unicorn gave
a bound that carried
him over the tops of
the highest trees, and
would certainly have
thrown hirn off unless
he had been very
firmly seated.
Three such bounds
did he take, and
then he paused and
said to Hans,
" Now you may
open your eyes." Hans found himself in
a desolate, rocky valley, without a trace of
vegetation — unless the forest of dead trees,
which clothed the valley on every side, might
be taken as vegetation. In the midst of the
valley there sprang up a fountain of water,
which sparkled with such intense brilliancy
that Hans was unable at first to look upon it.
^(¥--
"There, master," said the unicorn, turning
his head, '" this is the fountain of sparkling
golden water. Dismount and fill your flask.
But take care that you do not allow your
hand to touch the water. If it does, it will
be turned into gold and will never become
flesh and blood again."
Hans slipped from his seat and, flask in
hand, approached the fountain. The ground
on which he walked was sand, but as he
drew nearer the fountain, he noticed that the
sand kept growing brighter until he felt that
he was walking upon what he guessed rightly
to be veritable gold dust. Hans thrust a
handful of this dust into his pocket, and
also one or two moderate-sized stones that
he found,
which, like the
sand, had been
changed, by
the spray com-
ing from the
fountain, into
pure gold. He
tried to be r.s
careful as pos-
sible in filling
the flask ; but,
notwithstand-
^ ■ ing all his care,
the top joint of
his little finger touched
the water, and in an
instant became gold.
However, he had his
flask full of sparkling
golden water, the flask
itself now of course
golden, and he felt that
the top joint of his little finger
was a small price to pay for
all this.
" Now, master," said the uni-
corn, when Hans got back, " do
you still intend to return to
brothers of yours ? Or
shall I put you out of the f(?rest
at some other point ? "
" Certainly," replied Hans ;
" I intend to return to thtm.
You heard them say how
sorry tliey were for all the unkindness they
had shown to my mother and me. I know
they mean to do better for the future.
Besides, I promised them to come back."
The unicorn said nothing but grunted, in
an unencouraging manner, and motioned to
Hans to get on his back. When he was
seated the unicorn said : — -
CAKKKlll. AS I'OSSlliI.E
352
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
" Since this is your wish, you must have it.
I have, however, three pieces of advice to
give you : On your way home your brothers
will offer to carry the flask — do not let them
do so ; also, do not let them get behind you
for a moment ; and, thirdly, guard the crystal
ball with the utmost care. I can't go with
you beyond the verge of the forest of dead
trees. One visit, and only one, is permitted
to the fountain. You therefore can never
come here again. But if ever you need me
sorely, crush the crystal ball, and I will be
with you. Now shut your eyes, we must be off. " .
Three bounds brought them to the side of
Fritz and Franz, and Hans having thanked
the unicorn warmly for his kindness, the three
brothers began to retrace their steps home-
wards. Now, during Hans' absence at the
fountain, Fritz and Franz had been devising
how they might rob him of the flask of
sparkling golden water.
" It is disgusting," they said to one
another, "that this wretched little Hans
should beat us both. He will only waste the
water in buying things for his mother, while
it would make us Count and Burgomaster."
As soon, therefore, as they were out of sight
of the unicorn, Fritz and Franz begged and
prayed Hans to allow one of them to carry
the flask.
" You've had all the trouble of getting the
water," they said, " we ought at least to be
allowed the honour of helping you to carry
it. Besides, are we not your servants now
that you are so rich ? It is not suitable for
you to do all the work." But Hans remem-
bered the unicorn's words, and held firmly to
his flask.
" No," he said, " thank you ; but I'll carry
it myself." Then Fritz and Franz pretended
to get sulky and tried to drop behind, but
Hans would not allow this either. The con-
sequence was, that the three made very slow
progress homeward. Towards the evening
they came to a deep stream, which they had to
recross. It was only fordable at one point, as
they all knew, because they had, of course,
already crossed it before. Hans stood aside to
allow Fritz and Franz to go on first, but each
of them went in a little way, and ran back,
saying that they were afraid of being drowned.
" W^hat nonsense," said Hans, who was
getting a little impatient at the delay. " It's
quite shallow," and, forgetting the unicorn's
warning, he entered the stream first. Fritz
and Franz did not miss the opportunity.
Each took a large stone and struck Hans
violently on the head. Then as he fell back
senseless into the water, Fritz snatched the
flask from off his belt to which it was attached,
and Franz thrust with his foot Hans' body
further into the river, so that the current
should carry it away, and, laughing at their
own cleverness, the two proceeded to cross
the ford. Now, naturally enough, people
like Fritz and Franz do not care to trust one
another very far.
As soon, therefore, as they reached the
other side of the stream, Franz produced his
bottle, and demanded of Fritz his share of
the sparkling golden water. Fritz, who in-
tended to keep it all himself, proposed that
they should put off sharing it till later. Franz
would not hear of this. He knew, only too
well, what Fritz was up to. This led to a
wrangle, which ended in a fight between the
two, in which the sparkling golden water
was spilled, partly over Fritz's right hand,
and the remainder over Franz's left
foot. The brothers first realized what had
happened to them by Fritz finding that he
could not close his fist to strike, and Franz
finding that he could not raise his foot to
kick, ^rhe discovery sobered them in an
instant. There they stood, one with a hand
and the other with a foot of solid gold, and
the golden flask with them ; but the water,
the precious sparkling golden water, lost for
ever. Fritz was the first to recover himself
" Well," he said, " thank goodness I have
a couple of feet left me. I shall be off, I
can't wait for you. You must hobble on as
best you can, or stay. here and starve," and
he was on the point of leaving Franz to his
fate, when the latter caught him by the
collar.
" If I've only one foot I have two hands,"
cried he, "and I don't intend to let you leave
me behind. No, no, we must go together or
not at all."
Fritz was obliged to submit, as it was a
case of two hands against one, and he and
Franz, arm in arm, as though they were the
most affectionate brothers, made their way
slowly to the nearest town. 'Inhere they had
to submit to have hand and foot cut oft
The operation hurt them very much indeed,
but they sold the gold for a good sum of
money to the goldsmith. \\'ith that, and
with what they got for the flask, Fritz was
able to buy his Countship, although he could
never hunt owing to the loss of his right
hand, and Franz was able to buy his Burgo-
mastershij), although the loss of his foot
prevented his walking properly in processions.
Neither of them gave a thought to their
mother.
Now we must return to poor Hans, whom
THE UNICORN.
353
we left floating down the stream — senseless,
and to all appearance dead. He was not
dead, however, although the blows which his
brothers had inflicted were very severe ones.
He was only stunned, and fortunately he did
not float far enough to be drowned. His
body came into a back eddy of the stream
and drifted gently on to a shelving bank of
white sand. l"he cold water soon had the effect
of bringing him to his senses so far as to en-
able him to crawl on to the land. It was,
however, some hours before he was able to
recall these past events. ^Vhen he remembered
them he gave way to despair. All the pains
he had taken to win the sparkling golden
water were thrown away. He might not
return to get more — the unicorn had told
him that. His mother would be as badly
off as ever. Above all, he had the bitter
disappointment of feeling that his brothers
had deceived him. Then he bethought him
of the crystal ball. Taking it from his
pocket, he placed it on a large stone, and
taking another stone struck it with all his
force. A report like that of a cannon
followed, and at the same instant the unicorn
stood before him.
" I warned you of what would happen,"
he said to Hans. '' You would have done
much better if you had left your brothers in
the tree. Now let me see what can be done
for you. First of all, rub that dockleaf,
which is touching your right hand, on the
wound in your head." Hans did as he
was told, and his head became as sound as
ever. " Now," said the unicorn, " you must
go straight home to your mother and bring
her to the city of White Towers, and stay
there till you hear from me again."
" But," said Hans, with tears in his eyes,
" how can I do this ? My mother is much
too ill to move, and I have lost the sparkling
golden water which was to have made her
well and strong."
" Did not I see you," asked the unicorn,
" put some sand and stones of pure gold into
your pocket as you went to the fountain ?
There will be more than enough to meet all
yom expenses. Do as I tell you," and the
unicorn, saying this, disappeared.
Hans, greatly cheered, set off once more
and finished his journey home without any
further adventures. The gold that he had
with him not only enabled him to pro\ide
the comforts and necessaries which his mother
required, but he was also able to reward
Uncle Stoltz for his kindness. When his
mother was strong enough to travel, Hans
hired a waggon, and they set off by easy
Vol. ix -46.
stages for the city of White Towers, there to
await further news from the unicorn.
Now, the city of White Towers was at
that time attracting from far and wide every-
one who wanted to make his fortune. The
Princess of the city was the loveliest Princess
in the world, and the richest and the most
powerful. She had given out that she would
marry anyone, whoever it might be, king or
. SS- ,:^- -4 •■■•■■ hi 1 !■:
"the city ok white towers."
beggar, who would tell her truly in the
morning the dreams that she had dreamed
in the night. But whoever should coni^^ete
and fail was to forfeit all his fortune, be
whipped through the streets and out of the
city gate, and banished from the town on
pain of death. If, however, he had no
fortune to forfeit, he was to be whipped
back again and sold into slavery. The
terms were hard, but many tried and
failed, and many more, undeterred by this
punishment which they constantly saw
being inflicted- on the others, were wait-
ing their turn to compete. Among these
latter were Count Fritz and Burgomaster
354
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
Franz. These two met very often in the
streets of the city, but they could never
forget their quarrel over the sparkling golden
water, and when they met they always looked
in opposite directions. Now, Fritz and
I'Vanz had made themselves hated by all with
whom they had to deal : Fritz by his tyranny
over the poor in the district in which his
property lay, and Franz by his injustice as
Burgomaster. The former used to grind
down his people so as to extract the last
penny from them. The latter used to make
his judgments depend on the amount of bribe
he received from the suitors. Everybody,
therefore, hoped that both Fritz and Franz
would fail to tell the Princess her dreams,
and would have to pay the penalty.
Hans and his mother arrived at the city of
AVhite Towers on the evening before the day
on which Fritz was to try his fortune. They
heard on all sides that the " one-armed
Count," as he was called, so generally
detested, was to be the next competitor, but,
of course, they had no idea that this " one-
armed Count " was Fritz. The consequence was
that when they found themselves next day in
the great square, where the whole population
of the city assembled to see the trial, they were
amazed beyond measure to see Fritz march-
ing jauntily along, quite confident of success,
dressed in his very smartest clothes, to the
platform on which the Princess and her
ladies and her courtiers were assembled.
Fritz felt sure that he would win for this
reason : There was an old woman living in a
cottage near his castle, who was said to be a
witch. Fritz had ordered her to be seized
and put to the most cruel tortures, in order to
force her to say what the Princess was going
to dream on the night before the day fixed
for his trial. This was very silly of him,
as the old woman might lie a witch ten
times over, and yet not be able to tell him
that. But cruel, wicked people often are
silly. This poor old woman screamed out
some nonsense in her agony, which Fritz took
to be the answer he required. He smiled,
therefore, in a self-confident fashion as he
bowed low before the Princess and awaited
her question. She asked it in a clear, bell-
like voice, which somehow caused Hans'
heart, when he heard it, to beat a good deal
quicker than before.
" Sir Count — what did I dream last night ? "
"Your Highness dreamt,'' was the reply,
"that the moon came down to earth and
kissed you."
The Princess gently shook her head, and
in a moment Fritz found himself in the hands
of her guards, with his coat stripped off his
back, and his hands bound behind him.
The first lash made him cry for mercy, but
the Princess had already gone, and the
soldiers, whose duty it was to inflict the
whipping, were not much disposed to show
mercy to the " one-armed Count." They laid
on their blows well, driving the unlucky Fritz
through the streets till the gate was reached,
through which, with a final shower of blows,
he was thrust, with the warning not to return
thither, but to beg his way henceforth through
the world. Of all who watched the pro-
ceedings, none seemed so delighted with the
result as Franz. He followed, hobbling after
his unhappy brother as close as the soldiers
would allow, and kept jeering and laughing
at him all the way. This was easy for him
to do, notwithstanding the fact that he
had to go on crutches, because good care
was taken to make Fritz's progress through
the streets as slow as possible. In addition,
therefore, to the blows, Fritz had to endure
the sight of Franz's grinning face, and to
listen to such remarks as : "^Vho thought he
was going to win the Princess?"- — "Will your
Highness remember your poor brother the
Burgomaster ? " — " Who lost the sparkling
golden water ? "- — and so on.
With very different feelings had Hans
watched the proceedings. A\'hen he saw his
brother stripped for beating, he forgot all
about the wrongs he had sustained, and only
thought what he could do to help the
sufferer. He tried to bribe the soldiers to
deal gently with Fritz, but when he found
that that was of no avail, he hastened to the
city gate so as to meet his brother outside
and comfort him when the punishment was
over. Hans found Fritz, as indeed was
natural under the circumstances, more surly
and ill-tempered than ever. He appeared
startled for a moment at seeing Hans, whom
he thought dead, alive and well, but he set
to work blubbering again immediately, and
rubbing his back with his one hand. Hans
gave him what money he could afford, which
Fritz took without saying " Thank you," and
went his way.
Next day it was Franz's turn to try and
win the Princess. Franz felt just as certain
of succeeding as Fritz had been. A certain
necromancer in Franz's town had been a party
in a suit which came before the Burgo-
master's court. All the evidence which was
brought forward told against him, but the
necromancer promised Franz, as a bribe, if
he would decide in his favour, to tell him by
means of his art the true secret of the
THE UNICORN.
Princess's dream. Franz swallowed the bait
greedily, and gave his unjust decision. Now,
in order that the necromancer might not
same result. When Hans had got back to
the inn where he and his mother were staying,
he was met with the news that a stranger was
waiting to see him. He
went in and found the
huntsman who had given
hmi the pellet which
turned into the crvstal
ball.
" Hans,'' said the
huntsman, as soon
""^'^ f-'^n as Hans entered the
V
fail him, Franz had deter-
mined not to let him out of
his sight till the day of trial.
Very early in the morn-
ing of that day the necro-
mancer came to Franz and said : " Last night
the Princess dreamed so-and-so — will your
worship allow me to go away now ? '' Franz
on hearing the dream skipped with delight,
forgetting about his one foot, and tumbled
down on the floor. However, he did not
mind that, and gave the necromancer leave
to depart, which the necromancer did in
great haste. Franz was so impatient that he
was in his place, in front of the platform, long
before the Princess arrived. He could hardly
wait for her to put the formal question before
he blurted out : —
"Your Highness dreamt that you were
walking in your garden, and that all the
trees and shrubs bore gold and silver leaves."
The Princess shook her head. " A very
pretty dream," she said, " but it v,as not
mine." So Franz had to suffer the same
punishment as Fritz, and nobody was at all
sorry. He was likewise thrust out at the city
gate, bawling between his howls for someone
to bring him the necromancer. Hans found
him there, and tried to comfort him, as he
had tried to comfort Fritz, and with about the
' : iir:v laid on thkir iu.ows wf.i.i..
room, " the unicorn has sent me to you. It's
your turn now to try to win the Princess."
Hans turned pale at the thought.
" I would give my life to win her," he said,
earnestly ; " but I am certain to fail, and
then what will my poor mother do ? I have
no property to be confiscated, and, of course,
I shall be sold into slavery."
" Don't talk of failure," said the huntsman,
cheerily ; " the way to success is to forget that
there is such a word as failure. Now Fll tell
you my plan. The Princess, as you know, or
as you very likely don't know", is devotee^ to
curious animals of all kinds. I will change
you into a white mouse with a gold claw, and
will offer you to the Princess for sale. She
has never seen or heard of such a creature
as a white mouse with a gold claw before,
and will be sure to buy you. I'hen it will
be your fault if matters don't go smoothly
with you. You have only to keep your ears
open and use your wits. Now", first of all, we
must enter you for to-morrow's competition."
Hans longed to tryhis luckwith the Princess,
and as this plan seemed a promising one-
356
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
indeed, it was the only one he could think of
— he agreed to try it. However, he deter-
mined not to tell his mother anything about
the matter, as he knew how terrified she
would be at the thought of his failure. The
first thing, as the huntsman had said, was for
him to present himself to the Princess as
candidate for her hand. He accordingly did
so, and found her seated on her throne,
surrounded by the lords and ladies of her
Court, glittering in jewels and dressed
in magnificent apparel. Hans felt rather
sKy as he marched up the splendid room,
amongst all these grandly-dressed people, in
his shabby old clothes; but he put as good a
face on it as he could, and when he stopped
before the throne and looked into the
Princess's eyes, all his shyness vanished. He
was conscious of nothing but a strong deter-
mination to win her for himself or to perish in
the attempt. The Court usher announced
his name and purpose in a loud tone.
" This is Hans, the charcoal-burner, who
has undertaken to tell the Princess her dream
to-morrow morning, or to pay the penalty."
When the Princess looked at Hans and
saw what a nice, open-faced boy he was,
she did all she could to persuade him to give
up the attempt. She pointed out to him how
many had tried and failed — how little chance
there was of his succeeding. She could not
bear, she said, to think of his being whipped
publicly and sold into slavery. She offered
him, if he would withdraw, the important
l)ost of general manager of the Court
menagerie. But neither this offer nor the
pra^'ers of the Princess could move Hans.
" Now that I have seen you face to face,
Princess," said he, " I would rather die
twenty times over than give up the under-
taking."
The Princess was obliged to allow Hans
to enter his name for to-morrow's trial,
although it made her very unhappy. Her
heart told her that he was the one of all her
suitors whom she would most wish to succeed,
but she felt that he would be certain to fare
as the others had done ; and so when the
formality was over, and Hans had left, she
dismissed the Court, shut herself up in her
room, and said she would be at home to
nobody for the rest of the day.
As soon as Hans got back, the huntsman
took a cup of water, muttered some strange
words over it, and sprinkled Hans with the
contents. He was conscious of a curious
change taking place in him, and before he
could quite make out what it was, he found
that he was a white mouse with a gold claw.
The huntsman put him in a box and carried
him to the palace to sell him to the Princess.
AV hen he arrived there the porter refused to
admit him.
" Nol " he said, "the Princess had given out
that she would see no one that day. It was
more than his place was worth to admit the
stranger." However, by: dint of flattering
words and a handsome present slipped into
his hand, the porter was persuaded to send
for one of the Princess's ladies. AMien she
cime and saw the white mouse with the
gold claw, she said she was sure that her
mistress would be so delighted with this
beautiful little curiosity, that she would
pardon having her orders disobeyed for
once. Only, the huntsman must remain
where he was ; she would take the white
mouse to the Princess herself. To this the
huntsman consented, and the long and short of
it was that the Princess sent him a handsome
sum for the mouse, and Hans found himself
established as her newest favourite. The
Princess was so pleased with her pet that,
when she went to bed, she placed him in a
cabinet in her room, the door of which she
left open — because he was so tame that she
had no fear of his attempting to run away.
Hans was wondering how he was to find out
the Princess's dream in this situation, when
his mistress woke up, laughing heartily, and
called for her lady in waiting to come to her.
" Pve had such a curious dream," she said.
" I dreamt that I was married to a man with
a golden top-joint to his little finger. I sup-
pose that it was the white mouse with the
gold claw which put the idea into my head.
But," and here the Princess's voice grew very
sad, " how will that poor boy ever guess this
dream to-morrow?"
Hans waited impatiently for all to be quiet,
then he slipped out of his cabinet, and,
finding the door shut, ran up the curtain of
the window, which was fortunately open, and
getting on a rose which clambered up out-
side the wall, ran down it and made the
best of his way to the inn. There he fownd
the huntsman waiting for him, to whom he
told all that had taken place, and who in a
few seconds changed him back to his own
shape.
An enormous concourse of people were
assembled next day to see the trial. \'er)'
pale and sad the Princess looked as she
sat prepared to put the question to Hans.
He waited respectfully till she had spoken,
and then, without saying a word, held out
his hand to her. Her eye fell on the golden
top-joint of his little finger. She cried out
THE UNICORN.
357
with delight, and, seizing his hand in hers,
turned to the people and said : " Hans has
guessed right, and he shall be my husband."
W^"'"^^''h
^''y /,
l\\V\\\^'
" A mighty magician, the enemy of our
family, condemned me, because I would not
give him my sister in marriage, to take the form
of a unicorn, and to guard the spark-
ling golden water. Twice every year,
for a fortnight at a time, I was allowed
Y to resume my human shape. It was
f.'^ then that I came to your hut in the
" "c:- f<)rc>3t and ga\e }0U the token by
^ which to wm \our way to the foun-
tnu I he spell laid upon me was
onh to be raided when someone
guessed aright m} sister's dream,
^— and so won her to wife. Thanks to
■[\^^^^,
" SHE CKIEI) OUT \V1 IH UKI.UiHT.
And all the people raised a glad shout,
" Long live Prince Hans ! "
" Oh ! " said the Princess to Hans, " how
I wish my brother were here to share our
happiness."
" He is here," said the huntsman, who had
thrust his way to the front ; and, throwing
off his huntsman's disguise, he appeared
dressed as a Prince. Then, turning to Hans,
he said : —
you, brother Hans,
the magician's power
is at an end."
Hans and the
Princess were mar-
ried, and after the
ceremony the Prince
went off to his own
kingdom. Hans'
mother had a beauti-
ful suite of apartments in the palace assigjied
to her, and Uncle Stoltz was not forgotten,
but was provided for comfortably for life,
and they all lived happily ever afterwards.
As for P>itz and Franz, they were so selfish
and cruel, that there was nothing to be done
with them but to send them back into the
forest again to burn charcoal, and for all
I know they are burning charcoal there
Still.
IHE LION AND THE
CUB.
I.— A I.IOX-CUB, OF SORDID MIND,
A\OIDED ALL THE LION KIND ;
vJ.e)'t>
2. — FOND OF APPLAUSE, HE SOUGHT THE FEASTS
OF VIH.GAR AND IGNOBLE PKASTS ;
FABLES.
359
3. — WITH ASSES ALL HIS TIME HE SPENT,
THEIR club's PERPETUAL PRESIDENT.
1^m^Vlr\ ^:x
'^^:^%^&
4. — HE CAUGHT THEIR MANNERS, LOOKS, AND AIRS ;
AN ASS IN EVERYTHING, BUT EARS I
IF e'er his highness MEANT A JOKE,
THEY GRINn'd APPLAUSE BEFORE HE SPOKE ;
BUT AT EACH WORD, WHAT SHOUTS OF PRAISE .'
GOOD GODS ! HOW NATURAL HE BRAYS 1
360
THE STRAND MAGAZINE.
fUPFV, THAT CURS D VOCIFERATION
liF.TRAYS THY LIFE AND CONVERSA TKJN :
COXCOMBS, AN" EVER-XOISV RACE,
AR"; TRUMPETS OF .THEIR OWN 01S(;KAC1':
WHY SO SEVERE.' THE CUP, REPLIES:
"our senate always held ME WISE."
"how weak is pride I" RETURNS PHE SIRF, ;
" ALL FOOLS .-^RE VAIN, WHEN FOOLS AUMIKE !
I'.ur KNOW WH.\ r spuiid asses prize,
LIONS AND NOi'.LE P,E.\STS DESPISE."
J.*S-b