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p  i^/S-  G 


HARVARD 
COLLEGE 
LIBRARY 


THE 


Windsor  Magazine 


AN   ILLUSTRATED    MONTHLY 


FOR 


MEN   AND    WOMEN 


VOL  XXII 

JUNE    TO   NOVEMBER,  1905 


LONDON 

WARD,    LOCK    &    CO.,    LIMITED 

WARWICK     HOUSE,     SALISBURY     SQUARE,    E.C 

•905 


A 


LONDON : 

PRINTED  BY  WILLIAM  CLOWES  AND  SONS,  LIMITED, 

DUKB  STREBf,  STAMFORD  STRSBT,  S.B.,  AND  GREAT  WINDMILL  STREET,  W. 


WINDSOR    MAGAZINE. 


VOLUME  XXII.,  JUNE  TO  NOVEMBER,  1905, 


r 

\  Andeesox,  Karl.    Illustrations  to  "  Mrs.  Cromwell's  Heart "         .... 

wfy  Abchbishop'b  Ezperiubnt,  The.    Illustrated  by  Gyrus  Guneo  W,  A.  M.  Ooode 

Armand— Au  Kbvoir  I    Illustrated  by  G.  G.  Wilmrfiurst  .     L.  Q.  Moberly 

Aenaux  :  The  Chronicle  of  a  Homikg  Pigeon.  Illustrated  by  the  Author.  Ernest  Thompson  Seton 
Art  of  Albert  Moore,  The.   -Illustrated  from  the  Artist's  pictures     .  .    Austin  Chester 

Art  or  Maude  Goodman,  The.    Illustrated  from  the  Artist's  pictures  .    Austiji  Chester 

Art  of  Mr.  Fred  Morqan,  The.  Illustrated  from  the  Artist's  pictures  .  .  John  Oldcastle 
Art  of  Mr.  G.  A.  Storey,  A.R.A.,  The.  Illustrated  from  the  Artist's  pictures.  Adrian  Margaux 
Art  of  Mr.  6.  D.  Leslie,  R.A.,  The.  Illustrated  from  the  Artist's  pictures  Wilfrid  Meynell 
Art  of  Mr.  G.  Hillyard  Swinstead,  R.B.A.,  The.    Illustrated  from  the  Artist's  pictures. 

B.  A,  Clarke 
Ayesha:  The  Return  op  "  She."— Chapters  XV.  to  End.    Illustrated  by  Maurice  Greiffenhageu. 

H,  Rider  Haggard    41.  169,  299,  406,  539 
Bailey,  H.  C.     "  Sir  Bertram's  Tryst " 365 


page 
463 
428 
183 
198 
369 
247 
3 
618 
125 

491 


"  The  Men  in  Buckram  "... 
Bargain-Rumhagbrs,  The.    Illustrated  by  L.  Raven-Hill 
Bare,  Robert.     "  The  Speculations  of  Jack  Steele  " 
Bkll,  Walter  George.    "  Things  that  Fall  from  the  Sky  " 

"  Bettbr  Land,  The." From  the  picture  by 

Bioelow,  Poultney.     *'  The  Human  Side  of  the  German  Emperor  " 
Boese,  B.     "  Left  Behind  in  a  Hurry  "... 
"Who  Goes  There?"  .... 

Bondage.     Illustrated  by  J.  Taylor       .... 
BowLEY,  A.  L.     "  Come  unto  these  Yellow  Sands  " 
Bunkhum.    Illustrated  by  L.  Raven-Hill 

Call  of  the  Sands,  The.    Illustrated  from  photographs 
Cameron,  John.    Illustrations  to  "  Lady  Anne's  Trustee  " 
Cardinal's  Comedy,  The.    Illustrated  by  Fred  Pegram 
Chsstbr,  Austin.     **  The  Art  of  Albert  Moore  "    . 

"  The  Pictures  of  Maude  Goodman  " 
Clarke,  B.  A.    "  The  Art  of  Mr.  G.  Hillyard  Swinstead,  R.B.A." 

"  The  Fascination  of  the  Free  Pass  "  . 
Coke,  Dssmond  F.  T.  *'  The  Bargain-Rummagers  "  . 
"Comb  unto  these  Yellow  Sands"  .... 

Concerning  "  Common  Sense."    Illustrated  by  Hilda  Cowham 
Concerning  "  Coolness."    Illustrated  by  Hilda  Cowham 
Concerning  "  Cricket."    Illustrated  by  Hilda  Cowham 
Concerning  "  Literary  Taste."    Illustrated  by  Hilda  Cowham 
Concerning  "  Other  Fellows."    Illustrated  by  Hilda  Cowham 

Cowham,  Hilda.     "  A  Warning " 

Illustrations  to  "  Concerning  *  Common  Sense 

"  Concerning  *  Coolness '  " 
"  Concerning  •  Cricket '  " . 
**  Concerning  *  Literary  Taste ' " 
"  Concerning  *  Other  Fellows '  " 
"  The  Tale  of  the  Tiny  House  " 

Crow,  O.    "  Private  Bell,  Signaller  " 

CcNCO,  Cyrus.     Illustrations  to  "Sir  Bertram's  Tryst " 

"  The  Archbishop's  Experiment " 
"  The  Disappointing  Prisoner  "    . 
"  The  Last  of  the  Dorias  "  . 
"  The  Men  in  Buckram  "     . 


.  446 
Desmond  F.  T.  Coke  480 
19,  141,  268,  383,  696,  690 

.     421 

Q.  Hillyard  Swinstead    490 

513 
151 
326 
109 
60 
202 


Justus  Miles  Forman 

•  m  •  9 

Frank  RicJia/rdson 
Frances  Rivers 

•  •  ■  • 

Hamilton  Drummand 


A.  L.  Bowley 
Mrs.  H.  H.  Penrose 
Mrs.  H.  H.  Penrose 
Mrs,  H.  H.  Penrose 
Mrs.  H.  H.  Penrose 
Mrs.  H.  H.  Penrose 


472 
653 
721 
369 
247 
491 
731 
480 

60 
439 
189 

67 
564 
287 
609 
439 
189 

57 
554 
287 
678 
628 
365 
428 

90 
634 
446 


Dorothea  Deakin 


290 
90 
612 
211 
721 
290 


119,  241,  363,  485,  607,  731 

.     612 


B.  A.  Clarke 


IV  INDEX. 

1*AQK 

Curious  Survivals  op  Ancient  Customs.    Illustrated  from  photographs  and  drawings. 

Eustace  Walker    557 
Dartmoor  Farmer,  The.    Illustrated  from  photographs         ....  Eden  Phillpotts    897 

Deakin,  Dorothea.     ••  The  Duck  pond  " 

Disappointing  Prisoner,  The.    Illustrated  by  Cyrus  Cuneo         .         .  Walt^^r  E.  Grogan 

**  Divided  Affection  "         .         .         .         .  .  From  the  picture  by  Arthur  J.  Elsie)/ 

DoBSON,  John.     "  Jake  Webster's  Pal  " 
Drummond,  Hamilton.     "  The  Cardinal's  Comedy  " 
DucKPOND,  The.    Illustrated  by  Fred  Pegram 

Editor's  Scrap-Book,  The  .... 

Elsley,  Arthur  J.     "  Divided  Affection "   . 

Fascination  op  the  Free  Pass,  The 
Forman,  Justus  Miles.     "  A  Recruit  in  Diplomacy  " 

"  Bondage  " 

"  Mrs.  Cromwell's  Heart  " 
"  The  French  Maid  "    . 
French  Maid,  The.    Illustrated  by  Penrhyn  Stanlaws 
Frontispieces.    "  Divided  Affection  " 

''  Lightning  and  Light  '*      . 

"  Many  Happy  Returns  of  the  Day  " 

**  OfE  for  the  Honeymoon  " 

"  The  Better  Land  "  . 

"  The  Rose  Queen  "    . 

Games  one  can  Practise  in  a  Room.    Illustrated  from  photographs 
GoBLE,  Warwick.    Illustrations  to  "  Jake  Webster's  Pal " 
GooDE,  W.  A.  M.     **  The  Archbishop's  Experiment "    . 
Goodman,  Maude.     **  Many  Happy  Returns  of  the  Day  " 

*•  The  Pictures  of  Maude  Goodman  " 
Greipfenhagen,  Maurice.    Illustrations  to  '•  Ayesha :  The  Return  of  '  Slie '  " 


731 
229 
109 
463 
319 
Justus  Miles  Forman  319 
Arthur  J.  Elsley    612 

Albert  Moore 

Maude  Ooodmdn 

Fred  Morgaxf. 

O.  Hillyard  Swinstead 

G.  D.  Leslie 


368 
246 
2 
490 
124 


Eustace  Miles 


Griffith,  M.  Dinorben,  and  Dr.  Sawyer.     "  The  Sponge-Fishing  Industry " 
Grinling,  Charles  H.    "  Railway  Employment " 

**  Railway  Towns  " 
Grogan,  Walter  E.     "  The  Disappointing  Prisoner 


lis 

.      '  .     211 

.     428 

.     246 

,     247 

41,  169,  299,  406,  639 


»> 


Haggard,  H.  Rider.     "  Ayesha :  The  Return  of  *  She '  " 
Hardy,  Norman.    Illustrations  to  "  The  Lion  and  the  Unicom  " 

HoDDER,  Reginald,  and  Edgar  Turner.    **  The  Lion  and  the  Unicom  " 

"Home  Lessons" Prom  the  picture  by  ^ra  iioos 

Hope,  Anthony.     "  Love's  Logic  "............ 

How  Soldiers  are  Fed.    Illustrated  from  photographs       ....        Uoraxx  Wyndham 

Human  Side  of  the  German  Emperor,  The.    Illustrated  from  photographs       Poultney  Bigeloio 

Ingram,  Lady.     **My  Friends,  in  Feather  and  Fur"     . 


.     687 
.     219 

,  .  .  .  kTvl 

.  41,  169,  ^,  405,  689 

.      443 

642 

806 

61 

613 


Jake  Webster's  Pal.    Illustrated  by  Warwick  Goble  . 
Jerome  K.  Kbrome.     **  The  Soul  of  Nicholas  Snyders  " 


Florence  Warden     653 

W.  G.  Simnwnds     108 

Eden  Phillpotts 

A  study  by  B.  Botse 


If 


From 


.   George  Lorimer 
the  picture  by  Albeit  Moore 


Kellett,  E.  E.    "  A  Lost  Opportunity  "... 

KiESEL,  Conrad.    "Reverie" 

King,  C.  J.     "  Some  Experiences  of  a  Wave  Photographer  " 

Lady  Anne's  Trustee.    Illustrated  by  John  Cameron 
"Last  Long  Mile  that  Makes  the  Journey's  End,  The 
Last  of  the  Dorias,  The.    Illustrated  by  Cyrus  Cuneo 

"Left  Behind  in  a  Hurry" 

Leslie,  G.  D.     "  The  Rose  Queen  "     . 

"  The  Art  of  Mr.  G.  D.  Leslie,  R.A, 
Lighthouses.    Illustrated  from  photographs,  etc. 

"Lightning  and  Light" 

LiLLiNGSTON,  LEONARD  W.     "  Localised  Eatables  " 

LiNSON,  CoRwiN  Knapp.     "  A  Little  Pilgrimage  " 

Lion  and  the  Unicorn,  The.    Illustrated  by  Norman  Hardy 

Little  Love-God,  The 

Little  Pilgrimage,  A.    Illustrated  by  the  Author 

Little  Warhorse  :   The  Story  of  a  Jack-Rabbit.    Illustrated  by  the  Author 

Ernest  Thompson  Seton 
Localised  Eatables.    Illustrated  from  photographs    ....       Leonard  W.  Lillingston    681 

Lorimer,  George.    "Lighthouses" 275 

Lost  Opportunity,  A.    Illustrated  by  L.  Raven-Hill E.  ^.  Kellett    701 

Love's  Logic.    Illustrated  by  Penrhyn  Stanlaws Anthony  Hope    606 

"  Many  Happy  Returns  of  the  Day  "  .  From  the  picture  by  Maude  Goodman  246 

Margaux,  Adrian.     "  The  Art  of  Mr.  G.  A.  Storey,  A.R.A.  " 613 

Men  in  Buckram,  The.    Illustrated  by  Cyrus  Cuneo H.  C.  Bailey  446 

Mbynell,  Wilfrid.     "  The  Art  of  Mr.  G.  D.  Leslie,  R.A.  " ^ .  125 


John  Dobson 


643 

211 
837 

701 

97 

327 


Edgar  Turner  and  Beginald  Hodder 
From  the  picture  by  G.  von  C.  Zewy 
Corwin  Knapp  Linson 


634 
151 
124 
125 
275 
368 
681 
161 
443 
152 
161 

31 


Miles,  Eustacs. 
mobsblt,  l.  g, 


E. 


Nesbit 


INDEX. 

"  Games  one  can  Practise  in  a  Boom  "      .         4        .         «         . 

"  Armand — Au  llevoir  I  " 

**  A  Beputation  " 

"At  Sunset  Time" ■         .         . 

"  ApWish  at  Parting  " 

Molly,  thb  MsASiiES,  and  the  Missing  Will.    Illustrated  by  Penrhyn  Stanlaws 

MoNTBJLRD,  G.     Illustrations  to  "Private  Bell,  Signaller" 

MooB£j  Albebt.     "  Lightning  and  Light  "........ 

"  The  Art  of  Albert  Moore  " 

MoBGAN,  Fbed.     "  Off  for  the  Honeymoon  " 

"  The  Art  of  Mr.  Fred  Morgan  " 

Mb.  Jessop*s  Experiment.    Illustrated  bv  Bertha  Newcombe       ....      Ethel  Turner 

Mrs.  Cbomwell*8  Heart.     Illustrated  by  Karl  Anderson      ....  Justus  Miles  Farman 

Mdntio,  Alice.     "  The  Unknown  Quantity  "  .......... 

My  Friends,  in  Feather  and  Fur.    Illustrated  by  CoUingwood  Ingram  and  from  photographs 

Lady  Ingram 

Nesbit,  E.    "  Molly,  the  Measles,  and  the  Missing  Will " 

Newcombe,  Bertha.      "  In  Praise  of  Thrift "        . 

Illustrations  to  "  Mr.  Jessop's  Experiment "        . 

"  Opp  FOR  the  Hone YMOON  " From  the  picture  by  FrccZ  Jlfor^/aji 

Oldcastle,  John.     "  The  Art  of  Mr,  Fred  Morgan  " 
OoB  Daily  Bread.    Illustrated  by  F.  H.  Townsond 


Panelled  Boom,  The.    Illustrated  by  L.  Campbell  Taylor 
Peqram,  Fred.     Illustrations  to  "The  Gardiuai's  Comedy  " 

"  The  Duckpond  " 
Pbnbose,  Mbs.  H.  H.     "  Concerning  *  Common  Sense  '  " 

"  Concerning  '  Coolness '  " 
"  Concerning  *  Cricket '  " 
"  Concerning  *  Literary  Taste ' " 
"  Concerning  *  Other  Fellows '  " 
Pebcivad,  Harold.    "  The  Bose  of  Yesterday  "    . 
Phillips,  Henry  Wallace.     "Bed  Saunders  at  Big  Bend 
Phillpotts,  Eden.    "  The  Dartmoor  Farmer  "     . 

"  The  Last  of  the  Dorias  "    . 
Pictures  of  Maude  Goodman,  The.    Illustrated  from  the 
Private  Bbll,  Signaller.    Illustrated  by  G.  Montbard 


Robert  Barr 
Halliwell  Sutcliffe 


>> 


Artist's  pictures 


Austin  Chester 
.     O.  Crow 


PAGE 
153 

183 
168 
630 
638 
668 
628 
368 
369 
2 
3 
569 
463 
621 

643 

668 
610 
569 

2 

3 

141 

73 
721 
290 
439 
189 

67 
664 
287 
708 
680 
397 
634 
247 
628 


Charles  H.  Orinling 


.  Justus  Miles  Forman 

Henry  Wallace  Phillips 

Adam  R.  TJiomson 

From  the  picture  by  Conrai  Kiesel 

•  ■  ■  •  • 

Robert  Bair 


98 
219 
701 
202 
480 

83 
337 
229 
580 

83 

97 
202 
690 
472 

80 


Railway  Articles.    "  Bail  way  Employment "     . 

"  Bailway  Towns  "... 
Raven-Hill,  L.    Illustrations  to  "  A  Iiost  Opportunity" 

"  Bunkhum  "    . 

"  The  Bargain-Bummagers  " 

"  The  Besult  of  an  Accident  "    . 

"  The  Soul  of  Nicholas  Snyders  " 
Recruit  in  Diplomacy,  A.    Hlastrated  by  Adolf  Thiede 
Red  Saunders  at  Bio  Bend.    Illustrated  by  A.  B.  Frost     . 
Result  of  an  Accident,  The.    Illustrated  by  L.  Baven-Hill 

XbEVKBIE  ......... 

Richardson,  Frank.    "Bunkhum" 

Richest  Woman  in  the  World,  The.    Illustrated  by  F.  H.  Townsend 

Rivers,  Frances.     "  The  Call  of  the  Sands  " 

Roberts,  C.  G.  D.     "The  Terror  of  the  Air  " 

Roos,  Eva.    "  Home  Lessons " 642 

Rose  op  Yesterday,  The Harold  Percival    708 

"  Rose  Queen,  The  " From  the  picture  by  G,  D.  Leslie 

Sawyer,  Dr.,  and  M.  Dinorben  Griffith.     "  The  Sponge-Fishing  Industry  " 

Seton,  Ernest  Thompson.    "Amaux" ' 

"  Little  Warhorse  " 

"  The  Winnipeg  Wolf  " 

"Woodcraft" 

SiMMONDS,  W.  G.     "  The  Last  Long  Mile  that  Makes  the  Journey's  End  " 
Sir  Bertram's  Tryst.    Illustrated  by  Cyrus  Cuneo  .       ' . 

Some  Experiences  of  a  Wave  Photographer.    Illustrated  from  photographs 
Soul  op  Nicholas  Snyders,  The.    Illustrated  by  L.  Raven-Hill 
Speculations  of  Jack  Steele,  The.    I.  "  The  Station-^Ia-ster  " 

n.  "  Our  Daily  Bread  " 
in.  "A  Sweet  Problem" 
IV.  "  A  Square  Meal" 
V.  "Third  and  Last  Time 
VI.  "  The  Richest  Woman 
SposQE-FiBHiNG  Industry,  The.  Illustrated  from  photographs.  M, 
Square  Meal,  A.     Illustrated  by  F.  H.  Townsend 


124 


.     587 
.     193 
.       81 
.     847 
466,  531,  709 
.     108 
H.  C.  Bailey 
C.  J.  King 
Jerome  K.  Jerome 
Robert  Barr 


-Gone"    . 
in  the  World  " 
Dinorben  Griffith  and  Dr.  Sawyer 

Robert  Ban' 


355 
327 
337 
19 
141 
263 
383 
596 
690 
587 
383 


VI 


INDEX. 


Stanlaws,  Pknrhyn.     Illustrations  to  "  Love*8  Logic  " 

*'  MoUy,  the  Measles,  and  the  Missing  Will  '* 
"The  French  Maid" 
Station-Masteb,  The.     Illustrated  by  F.  H.  Townsend 
Storey,  G.  A.     "The  Art  of  Mr.  G.  A.  Storey,  A.R.A." 
Sullivan,  Somerset.    Illustrations  to  *'  The  Unknown  Quantity" 
SuTCLiPFE,  Halliwell.     *'  The  Panelled  Room  "  .... 

Sweet  Problem,  A.    Illustrated  by  F.  H.  Townsend    .... 
SwiNSTEAD,  G.  HiLLYARD.     "  The  Art  of  Mr.  G.  Hillyard  Swinstead,  R.B.A." 

••  The  Better  Land  "  .... 

"Sympathy"        ........... 


»» 


t» 


pagk 
506 
676 
819 

Bohert  Barr  19 
613 
521 
73 
263 
491 
490 
228 


Robert  Barr 


A,  J,  Wall 
Ethel  Turner 


C.  G.  D.  RoberU 


Robert  Barr 


Tale  of  the  Tiny  House,  The.    Illustrated  by  Hilda  Cowham  . 

Taylor,  J.    Illustrations  to  "  Bondage  " 

Taylor,  L.  Campbell.    Illustrations  to  "  The  Panelled  Room  "   . 

Terror  of  the  Air,  The.    Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull 

Thiede,  Adolf.    Illustrations  to  "  A  Recruit  in  Diplomacy  " 

Things  that  Fall  from  the  Sky.   Illustrated  from  drawings  and  photographs.    Walter  George  Bell 

Third  and  Last  Time — Gone 

Thomson,  Adam  R.     "  The  Result  of  an  Accident "       .... 
Townsend,  F.  H.    Illustrations  to  "  The  Speculations  of  Jack  Steele  " 
Turner,  Edgar,  and  Reginald  Hodder.    "  The  Lion  and  the  Unicom  " 
Turner,  Ethel.    "  Mr.  Jessop's  Experiment "... 

"  The  Tale  of  the  Tiny  House  " 

Unknown  Quantity,  The.    Illustrated  by  Somerset  Sullivan 

Verse.    "Alice"  .... 

"An  Antidote" 
"  Anniversary  "       . 
"  At  Sunset  Time  " 
"  Autumnal "  ... 

"Ballad  of  Strange  Parties,  A  " 
"Bracken"    .... 
"Candle-Time" 
"Castle,  The" 
'     "  Dreamer,  The "     . 
"  Fishy  Affair,  A  "  . 
"  Good  Turn,  A  "     . 
"  Her  Colour  "... 
"  If  I  but  Knew  "    . 
"  In  a  Young  Lady's  Album  "  . 
"Key,  The"   .... 
"  Little  More,  A  "    . 
"Logic"  .... 

"  Meditation,  A  "     . 
"Nature"       .... 
"  Our  Neighbours  " 
"  Philosophical  Earwig,  The  " 
"Phyllis"       .... 
"  Physician,  The  "   . 
"  Rain-Charm."    Illustrated  by  Ruth  M.  Hallock 

"  Reputation,  A  " 

"  Robin  in  the  Rain,  A  " 

"  Rose-Wreck,  A  " 

"  Sheep-Bell,  The  " 

"  Song  for  Summer,  A  " 

"Star-Trysts" 

"Stone-Chat,  The" 

"  Tale  of  the  Tiny  House,  The."    Illustrated  by  Hilda  Cowham 

"  Throstle,  The  " 

"  Voice,  A  "     . 

"  Weed,  A  "     . 

"  Wish  at  Parting,  A 

W^alker,  Eustace.     "  Curious  Survivals  of  Ancient  Customs  " 

Wall,  A.  J.     "Sympathy" 

Warden,  Florence.     "  Lady  Anne*s  Trustee  " 

"Who  Goes  There?" 

Wilmshurst,  G.  C.    Illustrations  to  "  Armand — Au  Revoir 
Winnipeg  Wolf,  The.    Illustrated  by  the  Author 
Woodcraft.      I. — "  Tracks  " 

TI. — "  Archery  and  *  Freezing '  " 
III.—"  Playing  *  Injun '  " 
Wyndham,  Horace.     "  How  Soldiers  are  Fed  " 

Zkwy,  G.  von  C.     "  The  Little  Love-God  " 


678 
109 
73 
80 
299 
421 
596 

19,*  141,  263,  383,  696.  690 

.  443 

.  569 

678 

521 

679 
609 

79 
580 
720 
610 
553 
4S4 
218 

72 
120 
730 
119 
486 
608 
210 
362 
734 
241 
520 
488 
364 
442 
298 
427 
168 

82 

96 
677 

40 
606 
192 
678 
118 

30 
182 


Alick  Munro 

Herbert  Bashford 

Jessie  Pope 

Arthur  Ketchum 

L.  G,  Moberly 

Rosamund  Marriott  Watsofi 

Hazel  Phillips  Hanshew 

Charles  Inniss  Bowen 

Agnes  Grozier  Herbertson 

Agnes  Grozier  Herbertson 

.  Burges  Johnson 

Hazel  Phillips  HaTishew 

Jessie  Pope 

Charles  Ffoulkes 

Porter  Emerson  Brovon 

Herbert  S.  Sweetland 

Charles  Ffoulkes 

Charles  Ffoulkes 

.  Herbert  S.  Sweetland 

.    H.  S.  Sinclair 

W.  Wilfred  Campbell 

Rosamund  Marriott  Watson 

Hazel  Phillips  Hanshew 

.     Eily  Esmonde 

.  M.  S.de  Wolfe  Howe 

Burges  Johnson 

.     L.  G.  Moberly 

Myrtle  Reed 

Charles  Inniss  Bowen 

Charles  Inniss  Bowen 

Ralph  E.  Gibbs 

.     Thomas  Walsh 

May  Byron 

Ethel  Turner 

May  Byron 

Theodosia  Garrison 

Charles  Inniss  Bowen 

.    L,  G.  Moberly    633 

.....     Ou7 

228 

653 
826 
183 
847 
455 
531 
709 
61 

152 


A  study  by  B.  Boese 


Ernest  Thompson  Seton 
Ernest  Thompson  Seton 


■    )^J  fl">*«ii  OltUfit  UBUlf  -t^        f^ 

'I  HE  RETURN  OF  'SHE,"h.  RiDER'HACGAlbt 


.•^/^ 


f 


PEOPLE,BE  STRONG! 

The  Strang  Man  Witts  in  the  Battle  at  life. 

Do  you  want  to  be  alroni  ? 
1  you  want  tn  (eel  ibe  Fire  and  Vifoar  ol  roaih 
ilnf  Ibrongb  yonr  lelna? 

t  you  waat  to  ibRke  off  (bit  lininld,  drowsy  (nllnj 
dcpreiMf  you? 
I  sborl.  Do  you  want  to  be  "made  over  isain?" 
■0|  Iberc  li  onl)'  one  way.    ''  Dmttlni?"  )<iu  say.    ^'o  ! 

-EOTRICITY  IS  THE  REMEDY, 

"Electiicily  is  life."  It  is  Nature's  own  help.  Nothing 
relieve  pain  so  easHy,  so  (juickiy,  v>  ifFcclivdy,  as  ft  fifnile 
im  of  eleclrie  waimth  infused  bio  the  nervrs.  The  I'uher- 
her  Electric  Helt  does  this  every  time  it  is  worn.  It  assi^ls 
N*lure  by  a  general  reinforcemenl  of  the  vital  energy — it 
supplies  the  sysleni  with  the  very  es>ence  of  nerve  vigour 
and  nerve  sircnglh  white  you  are  asleep. 

THE  FREE   BOOK   EXPLAINS   IT. 

Have  you  rrail  this  aieat  work?  It  is  a  triif  "Guide  lo 
lieallh  and  Strength."  All  tho  e  who  are  sick,  weary,  and 
weak  should  read  il— 90  pagra  of  physiological  "fact,  and 
free.      Vou  cant  ffo   on   in   the   old   way. 

You  have  tried  drugs,  and  they  have  failed.  Consult  us. 
We  can  tell  you  what  electricity,  the  World's  ^eateit 
power,  will  do  for  you.  Don't  liise  your  opporluniiy. 
Call  or  write  for  the  book  to-day. 

J.   L,   PULVERMAOHER  CO..    Ltd., 

10  Vulcan  Home,  56  iiidgate  Hill,  tnm/on,  E.C.     Offa  Haart,  6U/9.' 


2S  f»er  cent.  Discount  for  Cash,  or 
14s.  6d.  per  month  (second-hand, 
los.  M.  per  month)  on  the  Three 
Years'    System.    —    Lists    free    of 

C.    STILES    &    CO.,    74  and  76,   Southampton    Row,    London,  W.  C.    (Removed   from  40  and   42, 

Southampton  Row.)     PIANOS  EXCHANGED. 

These  magnificent 
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Southampton  Row,  London,  W.C.     (Removed  from  40  and  42,  Southampton  Row.) 


BORD'S  PIANOS 

C.    STILES    &    CO.,    74  and  76,   Southampton    Row,    London, 
Southampton  Row.)     PIANOS  EXCHANGED. 

BEGHSTEIN  PIANOS 


ROWLAND'S 

MACASSAR    OIL 

FORtheHAIR 


UMSURPASSED. 
UNEQUALLED. 

Use  it  for  your  own  and  your  children's 
hair,  and  you  will  Eind  it  Preserves, 
Nourishes,  Enriches  and  Restores  it 
more  effectually  than  anything  else. 
Golden  Colour  for  fair  or  giey  hair. 
internal  medicines  which  cause  a  nausea 
and  irritation  cuinnt  po^'^ibly  have  any 
effect  of  Preserving  and  Slrengthen- 
ing  the  hair.  Bottles,  3/6,  7/-, 
10/6.  Sold  by  Stores,  Hairdressers,  and 
RO  WL  A  N  D'S.  67.  Halton  Oarden,  Loadon. 


XCbe  Minbsor  ^aaasine. 


CONTENTS    FOR    JUNE.    1906. 

AU  right*  reserved. 


"OFF  FOR  THE  HONEYMOON"    

THE  ART  OP  MR,  FRED  MORGAN  

TUuMtraisd  from  the  Artist't  pieturei, 
THE  SFF-CULATIONS  OF  JACK  STEELE.     I.— The  Station-Master 

Ittustrated  by  F.  H.  TovmsetuL 

J^       ▼  V/AVyASl  •••  ••■  •*•  ••«  •••  •••  •••  •••  •-• 

LITTLE  WARHORSE :   The  Story  of  a  Jack-Rabbit 

lUuatrated  by  the  Author. 

A  SONG  FOR  SUMMER 

AYESHA.    Chapters  XV.  and  XVI 

lUtutnUed  by  Maurtee  OrHffenhagen. 
CONCERNING  "CRICKET"        

lUtutraAed  by  Hilda  Cowham. 

"COME  UNTO  THESE  YELLOW  SANDS" 

HOW  SOLDIERS  ARE  FED        

Illtuitrated  from  photographs, 
I  liti  X/KEA M EK         ...         •••         •••         .«•         •••         «•*         ...  ... 

THE  PANELLED  ROOM 

lUuatrated  by  L.  CampbeU  Taylor. 
ASi  Pi  M.  \  CtSMti  Arm.  ...         •••         ...         .••         •••         ••■         ...  ... 

THE  TERROR  OF  THE  AIR       

lUuttrated  by  Charles  Lwingston  BfUl. 

A  ROBIN  IN  THE  RAIN 

THE  RESULT  OF  AN  ACCIDENT        

lUtutrated  by  L.  Ravetv-HQl. 
THE  DISAPPOINTING  PRISONER      

Ilhutrated  by  Cyrus  Cuneo. 

A   KUo £/- VT  Kl!<v. iv  •••  ...  •>•  ••.  •••  •••  ••«  >*• 

HJD>V  £iKl  Ci         •••  •••  ••>  «••  •••  «•.  ••• 

RAILWAY  EMPLOYMENT  

Illustrated  from  photographs. 
"THE  LAST  LONG  MILE  THAT  MAKES  THE  JOURNEY'S  END" 

A'" ^4^  m^A!a\JM1m  •••  •••  •••  •••  ••■  ••■  •■•  ••• 

lUuatraUd  by  J.  Taylor. 
1  rll!«    X nnC'!^ X Lib        •••  •.•  •••  •«.  •••  •••  •••  ••• 

THE   EDFTOFrs  SCRAP-BOOK 

1  i{E    1^ KaJvS Vv  KtvA.m^K      ■••  •■•  ■••  ••■  •••  •••  ••• 

xiKxC   v/OLOLf fv  ■••  •••  ••■  •••  •••  •••  •••  ■•• 

What's  in  a  Name? 

Circumstantial  Evidence 

^^    JF  X S H X    ^Vf^l^  A 1 K  ••■  •••  >••  ••»  •••  •*•  *•• 

A  Minor  Consideration       

Nick  for  the  Nervous  Temperament 

Not  an  Everyday  Affair 

X  H£    U KL BUAL        •••  •••  .••  ...  ..•  >••  •••  ••• 


From  the  picture  by  Fred  Morgan    Frontifpiece 
John  Oldcastle 


Robert  Barr 


PAGE 

3 
19 


•  •• 

•  •  • 


Theodosia  Garrison  30 

Ernest  Thompson  Seton  31 

Ralph  E.  Gibbs  40 

H.  Rider  Haggard  4\ 

By  A  Boy  who  Plays  It  67 

A.  L.  Bow  ley  60 

Horace  Wyndham  61 

...   Burges  Johnson  72 

...    Halliwell  Sutcliffe  73 

Arthur  Krtchum  79 
C.  G.'D.  Roberts  80 

Myrtle  Reed  82 

Adam  R.  Thomson  83 

Walter  E.  Grogan  90 


Charles  Inniss  'Bowen      96 

...  From  the  picture  by  Conrad  Kiesel      97 
Charles  II.  Grinlino      98 


W.   G.    SlMMONt>S  108 

...    Justus  Miles  Forman  109 
May  Byron  118 

•  ••  •••  ■••  •••  •••  X   M.V 

F.  O'Neill  119 

Charles  Fkoulkks  119 
G.  H.  Jalland  120 

■  ■■  •••  •••  ■••  •••  X.  jC\} 

Ha/il  Phillips  Hanshew  120 

Geo.  Phoenix  120 

Thomas  M.\ybank  121 

122 
James  Greig  122 


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y»»iy 


CONTENTS  OF  THE  WORK. 

AulTib  at  BwNT— Beoulir  m  pouiUg  usimiiait— The  wi|r 
w«  pvkc  ov  own  ticei  Sccwto  dr  Ebcc  tnuvfonaMiioa — Oung^ 
mblcneu  cf  beanTy  and  iu  oiue* — SodH  Hrui|«  fHCU  cooara- 

^_  .V i.vi -f   b«uty— "OddiiKrf"  baimy— Th« 

_,    .i_    nix!  _  Ho-    pleuju 

paiDii't  babitiu]  look 


ra  — Woodm    _. 

,    a  Ihe  ikin  — Bid 

har  wib  uid  dwi  ibai 

id  woodvTi  of  ibe  hair — Why  biur  fa 


blackhEada— Oily  >kin,  dij  ^in,  a: 


ailnbi  ii — KDuad  alunild&v 
aquiit  a  full  chal— Ptrfect 

Ibe  hanla — Caic   of 


cu  cuue  dyapniu — KBoa  at 
heart — Hdv  ml  dim«i  cAcd 


ioi  t/  ihougbl  lo  Ibe 
upon  fandrd  ailnenlt 


Professor  Laynard  Gives  His 
Book  to  tlie  Nation. 


SALE  EXPECTED  TO  REACH 

5,000,000 

The  Publishers  of  Professor  Boyd  I^ynard's 
great  work,  "  SECRETS  OF  BEAUTY, 
HEALTH,  AND  LONG  LIFE,"  have  much 
pleasure  In  announcing  Chat  the  famous  author 
has  most  generously  surrendered  all  royalties 
upon  his  book,  and  has  thus  made  it  possible  to 
issue  the  work  at  a  price  within  the  reach  of  alL 

This  work  has  already  gone  into  forty-six 
editions,  and  has  been  translated  into  many 
foreign  languages.  The  book  has  been  pro- 
nounced    by    the    Press    TO    BE    the    most 

REMARKABLE  WORK  Of  THE  CENTITRV.  The 
edition  now  offered  at  the  small  suEit  of 
NINEPENOE  (post  free),  which  may  be  for- 
warded in  stamps,  is  identical  in  every  particular 
with  that  sold  for  the  last  six  years  al  one 
shilling  and  six  peace. 

To  those  readers  of  the  Windsor  Magazine 
who  are  not  acquainted  with  the  contents  of 
this  woi  Id-renowned  work,  the  following  list  of 
subjects  will  give  son:ve  slight  idea  of  its  scope. 
A  complete  sylUbus  showing  the  contents  of 
the  whole  of  the  127  OHAPTERS,  enumerating 
upwards  of  BOO  SUBJECTS  and  divisions  of 
subjects,  can  be  had  free  on  application  to  the 
Publishers,  It  should  be  thoroughly  understood 
the  complete  work,  entirely  unabridged,  will  be 
forwarded  for  NINEPENOE  in  stamps,  no 
charge  being  made  for  postage. 


I  uipervemr  upon  fandi 
pawioni  injuie  bealtlfr^Lauffhlcr  at 
— Ailmenu  amd  bjrluichtii — Waodon  o(  dioiDon— Relalin 
viklucio  our  bodies  of  Ibe  priodpal  ardclet  ofTood— Fniiu  and 

vegetabka  aa    medicilXfl:     thrir     vannuft     inllufncca    auin    thm 

phyiKil  ijiiBm— Heillb  p 

Did  bvouraUe  to  mental  eieriioo  ud  inirlbctiaJ  a 

lafllKDCe  t£  varioua  foods  upon  ot 

The  inllucDce  owned  by    Ihe  i .,„ ^, 

djgeauofi— Some   periloua  articlea    of  food — Excrciae 
rdalkn  lo  bealth— Bilh         ■   ■     ■  -  .... 

beallh—Tbe  way  m  br. 


d    bathing :    (bar  influem 


JIE 


the  compUHlivc  Yitaliiy  of  ouuried  aud  til 

I  upon  beallb  and  Iood  Life — Sleep,  and 
:.  ..J  :.. 1— The  e;— 


nfcemory — RuIq  for  cullivAtiu 
attaining  kneevity— Hdv  to 


PRESS    OPINIONS. 

FBBE    LANCE.-"  MoU   bterealing   and  vxluabk.     Tben 


CHRISTIAN  OLOBB.— "  The  moH  leiuriuible  work  of  Ihe 


ORDER   FORM. 


98762. 


To  HAMMOND,  HAMMOND  ft  CO., 
la.  Paternoster  Row,  London, 

Pleue  forward  me  ProfesHir  Boyd  Laynard'i  ccenpiHe 
work.  "SECRETS  OF  BEAUTV,  Hfej\LTH,  AND 
LONG  l.IFE"(p«tfreet,  for  wbkb  I  endise  the  uin  of 


Faam^  it*  S//UU. 


;    THK    lIUStYMOOS."       UY    FUKl)    MDTiCAS. 


'HARVAHO  college  lIBRAttV 

FROM  THE  ESTATE  Of 

CHARLES  S.   DIXWELL 

MARCH  B,   I93S 


THE    ART    OF    MR.    FRED    MORGAN. 

By  JOHN    OLDCASTLE. 


POPULARITY  was  not  long  agoalluded 
to  iu  tliL-  IiiD^ui^^  o!  fKinidox  aa  ud 
"  insult" — -the  oniy  " insult"  not 
theo  offered  to  Mr.  Wiiistler  — an  artist 
whom,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Fred  Morgan,  with 
far  different  methodB  and  aims,  very  lieiirtily 
admirea.  But  since  itU  the  wQrld  and  Ida 
wife  Mid  daughter  bave  flocked  to  Recent 
Street,  not  even  Wliistlerians— and  everyliody 
is  now  a  WhJBtleri.in  —can  speak  of  pnhlic 
appreciation  as  a  stigma.  One  la  quite  sure 
tliut  ail  artist  like  Mr.  Fred  Morgan  never 
needed  any  persuasion  on  that  [Ktint.  He 
did  not  flout  appreciation.  He  never  wished 
fur  a  public  to  astonish,  only  for  a  public  to 
pleaae.  That  he  lias  sncceedcd  in  finding 
what  he  wanted  is  daily  attested  by  tlie 
gronpa  that  gather  ijefore  his  canvases  in 
eihibitious  and,  above  all,  iiefore  the  repro- 
ductions of  hia  works  that  hail  the  passer-liy 
(rom  the  windows  of  the  printeellers  in  the 

Jl-.ik,  1905. 


(;ity"s  MLirciiig  thoroughfares  and    in    tliose 
havens  -the  street*  of  uomitrj'  towns. 

Not  long  ago,  civic  authority  r.iised  a  finger 
of  menace  against  the  outer  shelf  of  the 
second-hand  booksellers  iu  Charing  Cross 
Road.  Tlieir  trespass  on  the  street  was  an 
admitted  offence  agitinst  the  hy-liiws ;  but  it 
was  one  which  the  public  eu.'^ily  condoned. 
Defenders  of  the  threatened  tnide  recalled 
how,  iu  the  past,  one  celebrity  afk'r  another 
had  found  his  first  academy  of  literature  in 
the  book-barrow :  and  how,  in  the  present, 
the  offered  books  upon  the  outer  shelves  in 
Cliaring  Cross  Road  wei'e  weekly  handle<l  by 
authors  of  mark,  by  students  to  whom  library 
fees  and  honra  were  prohibitive,  by  the  Prime 
Minister  of  England  himself  I  Assuredly 
the  printaeller  seconds  his  neighbour,  the 
oid-ljookseller,  as  an  educator,  and  with  a 
more  immediate  appeal  to  the  emotions. 
The  early  history  of  American  art  shows  us, 


4  THE   WINDSOR  MAO  AX  INF.. 

veritable  Uaaters  of 
Arte  ;  »ud  of  that, 
lucky  number  is  the 
pitiutei'  whose  name 
Btandn  at  the  bead 
of  this  article. 

Mr.  Fred  Moi^u 
was  "horn  in  a 
studio,"  us  the 
ikdapted  s:iyii]<r  goes; 
for  his  fatht'i-  was 
an  artist,  and  from 
his  father  he  learned 
all  that  he  knows. 
That  father's  train- 
ing was,  therefore, 
in  some  sense  bis 
son's;  and  it  was 
gained  in  Paris. 
Coutnre,  the  master 
of  so  many  pnpils, 
was  the  master  of 
Mo(^n  jme  among 
the  rest.  John 
Moi'gan  was  a  inein- 
l>er  of  the  Society 
of  British  Artiste, 
as  well  as  a  constant 
exhibitor  at  the 
Royal  Academy. 
He  was  popularly 
known  as  "Jury 
Morgan,"  owing  to 
his  success  with 
a  picture,  "The 
Gentlemen  of  the 
Jury,"  published  as 
an  engraving  by 
Messrs.  Henry 
Graves. 

Bom  in  London, 
Fred  Mor^'an  spent 
liis  youth  in  County 
Bucks.     His  father 

»EAI>OW-BWKET.  KV     KBKO     MORGAN.  j^^    ^    StfOng    belief 

Ktyraduad  bii  ptnnumn  af  Mmn.  Arthur  Tooth  and  Sont.  Haymarlut,  S-W.,  mmen  of         ,i      ,  ni-tiotin 

career     must     he 

moruovef,  how  all -influential  was  a  single  begun  early,  if  at  all,  so  he  took  his  son  away 

imported  ])icture  of  merit  in  the  formation  from  school  at  fourteen  and  himself  su|wr- 

of  II  nation's  school.     If  it  was  at  sight  of  a  intended  the  boy's  studies  from  the  anti<]ue. 

Cimabne  that  Giotto  cried  ;  "  I,  too,  am  a  Morgan  the  elder  decided  to  give  Moigau 

paintor!"and  if  onrovvn  Sir  Joshua's  powers  the  younger  a  chance  at  the  Arte.     He  put 

were  evoked   by  a  \iBit  to  Venice,  it  is  no  him  on  his  mettle  to  produce  something  that 

very  far  cry  to  say  that  the  window  of  the  would  justify  the  choice.     The  yonth  entered 

prinUellei'  in  a  proviniHal  town  may  become  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing.      He  saw  his 

the  nii^ic  mirror  in  which  the  draughtsman  opportunity  and  lie  took  it.     He  had  never 

of  to-morroiv  discovers  himself.     The  artistH  worked  bo  hard  before  ;   he  has  never  since 

whose   works    predominate    those   windows  worked  so  hard ;  and  no  Dickens,  dropping 

can  thenceforth  include   themselves  among  his  first  article  into  the  letter-box  of  a  news- 


THE  ART  OF  MR.  FRED  MORGAN. 


paper,  awaited  the  result  with  greater  unxielv,  ship  to  the  craft  of  piiiuter  bet^aD.     A  course 

with  more  hope  at  one  moment,  more  fear  itt  of  leBsons  in  Edinbm^'h  was  ttiken  ;  hut  that 

another.than  this  young  artistawaited  the  ver-  it  had  no  great  influence  on  his  cai-eer  may 

diet  of  hia  father,  a  vyrdict  to  be  governed  by  be  judged  by  tlie  abounding  measure  of  his 

^e  traditions — no  mean  ones — ^inherited  in  acknowledgment  to  the  training  he  had  from 

the  studio  of  the  classic  Couture.  The  decision  his  father:    "He  taught  me  'low  to  make 

WM  in  big  favour  ;  and  his  serious  apprentice-  a  picture,"  Mr.  Fred  Morgan  has  said  ;  and 


SUNNY    HOURS,"       BY    FKKD    MOKUAX. 

Stmt,  London, 


lltynxttiCHl  bi/  pjrmiMftm  of  lir  BerKn  PAotognip/iie  Contpanu,  UttB  1 


8  TBE  mNDSOR  MAGAZTNS. 

thai,  out!  may  add,  is  just  what  many  a  he  cunsultt;d  hJH  friend  Sinmiuiidii,  whu  n- 
Btiiduiit  of  the  Acadeiuy,  for  inRtun<!(i,  lea\L'H  prodiicfd  '  The  Li^ht  of  the  World,"  Iw 
the  Schools  without  having  learned  to  do.  Holnian  Hnnt;  but  Siramonds  rtqnin^ 
The  father  lived  to  see  how  well  the  lessons       £400    with   au  apprentice,  which   put  the 

matter  quite  out  of 
■■       ■  So 


he  (rave  had   been  taken  to   heart— happy  ouc;ht  to  have  made  mor 

fallier  and  Imppy  son  !  but,  perhaps,  Ix'iiiir  the  o 

The  nest  Bt«K«  i"  his  career  is  thus  re-  Aylesbury   following    the    profession,    thns 

called  by  tlie  artist:    "My  father  hojH'd  to  lackinfr  emulation,  and  also  not  being  verv 

nmke  me  au  engraver,  and  with  tliat  object  robust  in  health,  I  seemed  to  loee  heart,  and 


"WATCHING   AND   WAITING."      BY   FRED   MORGAN. 
JUprodvced  by  pemittion  of  thf  Rtrtin  Photographic  Ctanpany,  jV/t  Bond  S(rett,  London, 
Copj/ri^hi  bp  PhoU^fntphUc/u  QttKutthaJl^ 


PI 


H 


'J 


12  THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZTNE. 

was  Imrdly  KuriiriHwl  when  at  niiit'tjx^n  my  warelioiiseH  and  offices  in  ivhicli  tlieif  wag  a 
Ttitlier  decidt-d  that  I  should  never  be  worth  hint  of  a  vacaiicv.  Somehow,  there  wa«  no 
my  salt  tib  painting,  and  intimated  that  I  lutd  room  for  him  in  tlie  Oiby.  When  he  joined 
hetter  try  aoniu  othLT  wcniiutioii."  the  qiwtif  of  np|jliciintB,  the  attitude  <if  those 

about  him  pro- 
claimed him  an 
alien ;  and,  as  be 
ascended  the  steps 
down  which  others 
were  retreating, 
they  shook  their 
heads  at  hint  and 
eiciaimed  :  "No 
nse  your  climbing 
up  there."  Looking 
back  now,  Mr.  Fred 
Morgan  can  no 
doubt  blees  the 
hands  that  rejected 
him;  for  to  him 
it  was  given,  in 
his  own  measure,  to 
exercise  the  Napo- 
leonic faculty  of 
evolving  a  victory 
ont  of  a  ilufL'iit. 

But  defeat  it 
seemed  to  !«  for 
the  moment.  The 
young  man  had  to 
return  home  aa  one 
of  the  unemployed, 
and  at  a  family 
council  it  was  de- 
cided that  be  must 
once  more  try  to 
)>ecome  a  successful 
artist.  And  then  a 
small  opening  arose 
out  of  local  circum- 
Ktance.  A  photo- 
grapher in  Aylea- 
hury  wanted  some 
portraits  paiuted 
for  cliente  who  were 
not  content  with 
family  photograplis 
only.  The  young 
artist  was  offered 
the  work,  and 
,.       ,  ..  ,  easterly  accepted   it. 

«,».«*«.«<  ly  p,JZL/l2.\u,»HH^ *  c...  «^J;;//;».,  e.c..  ,.»,«       '^'J'^  '-^-^^to his early 

>,f  the  cnpyright  and  piiUMtri  0/  the  large  platt.  KtUTn     tO     London 

with  specimens  of 
With  this  end  in  view,  Mr.  Morgan's  his  work,  which  lie  showed  to  various  photo- 
father  sent  him  to  town,  after  giving  him  graphic  fii-ms,  with  the  happy  result  of  many 
hisA)/— a  five-pound  note;  and  the  youth,  a'munerabive  portrait  commissions.  For  three 
while  it  lasted,  hunted  the  advertisement  ywirs  he  fonnd  a  busy  Ufe  and  sufficient  in- 
columns  of    newsjjapers   and    haunted   the       come  in  this  work,  and  at  the  same  time  was 


THE  ART  OF  MR.   FRED  MORGAiV. 


15 


able  to  paiut  sundry  "subject"  pictures  ae 
well  as  the  poitraits.  Gradnallj  he  was  able 
to  relioqaish 
the  work  for 
the  photo- 
fjraphera,  bnt 
tu  this  day 
he  h»s  never 
looked  npoD 
those  three 
T  ea  r  fl  as 
wasttid  time. 
The  work  iu 
hand  taught 
him  to  ol»- 
sene  closely 
and  to  give 
the  greatest 
attention  to 
dt'tail,  and 
the  EUL-ceaaf  ul 
artist  of  to- 
day cousiders 
that  he  could 
hardly  have 
had  a  l>ett«r 
trainiug  at 
that  age,  since 
he  does  not 
i^reewith  the 
engraver, 
Thomas 
Landscer, 
that  "photo- 
graphy is  the 
foe  to  graphic 
art." 

In  1874, 
Mr.  Morgan 
received  the 
kindest  en- 


Agnew  and 
Sons,  who 

Eurchased  all 
e  coold  do 
for  several 
yeats ;  and 
dnring  this 
period  he  pro- 
dnced  many 
of  his  most 
a{>preciated 

pictures,         '  "/.mdon,  W.    kopyriglit  6v  ' 

"The  Hay- 
makers," "Emigrante'  I>eparture,"  "After  the 
Reftperg'  Work  is  Done,     "School  Belles," 
"  Charity."  These  were  all  painted  in  or  near 


the  village  of  Shere,  near  Oiiildford.a  favourite 
artists'  haunt.  Here  he  had  the  good  fortune 
to  meet  such 
men  as  Frank 
Walton, 
P.R.I.,  John 
Reid,  John 
White,  and 
J.  L.  Picker- 
ing- 
Si  nee  those 
days   he   has 

Sniuted  in 
orinandy, 
producing 
•'Midday 
Rest,"  "  An 
Apple  Gather- 
ing,' '  and 
"Meadow- 
Sweet."  He 
has  lived 
three  years  at 
Veutnor,  in 
the  Isle  of 
Wight,  where 
he  painted 
"The  Sun- 
shine  of  his 
Heart," 
"The  First 
Birthday," 
"Don't  be 
Frightened," 
"Steady," 
"A  Willing 
Hand,"  "  Off 
forthe  Honey- 
moon," and 
many  others ; 
but  for  the 
most  part  the 
geography  of 
his  pictures, 
sea-shore, 
woodland,  or 
village  green, 
has  been  the 
result  of 
assimilation 
rather  than  of 
actual  repro- 
duction. 

BV     KKED     HOKGAN.  Old      AS  6 

'ftodwropAie  COinnonu,  A'nr  Bond  Stretl,  j  .,    " 

jofoprapAwrie  QoMiehaft.  and  youtu  are 

extremes  that 

often    meet,   and   always  in  amity,  on    the 

canvas  of  Mr.  Fred  Mot^n.    The  burden  of 

the  tears  of  children  is  one  of  the  bitterest 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


to  be  borne  in  coutomiiovary  life  :  there  are 
tbose  HKiong  social  workers  wlio  hear  even  in 
their  dreams  the  wail  of  uiicavod-for  infancy. 


They  have  never  se«n  the  BUDohinc ;  nor  the  t(lory 
Which  ii  liriubter  than  the  sun. 

Is  it  well  or  ill  that  no  echo  of  Mrs. 
Browning's  poem  comes  to  us  from  the 
Ktudios   tliut  witness  the   making;  of    such 

fictures  UB  "  lleadow-Sweot,"  "  Oranges  and 
rcmonB,"  "  Hide  and  Seek,"  or  "Watching 
and  Waiting  "  ?^all  pictures  of  happy  child- 


life.  Mr.  Fred  Morgran's  "  Tired  Gleaners  " 
are  not  tired  in  heart  or  brain  ;  and  his 
"  Heavy  Load  "  is  nothing  more  burdenBonie 
than  a  basket  of  apples.  The  art  that  is 
idyllic  may  have  its  weak  point  in  ethics  ;  it 
may  be  conceived  iu  that  Paradise  that  is  the 
Fool's.  But  another  reading  is  perhttps  the 
truer.  The  ideal  of  the  sliop-window  may 
liecome  the  reality  of  the  stre«l.  Such 
pictures  may  at  least  set  a  fashion  ;  they  may 
be  a  declaration  of  the  child's  right  to  bappi- 
nesH  far  more  eloquent  than  any  that  is  made 
by   the  dull    people    who  want   to    go    to 


"A    HEAVY    LOAD."      BY    FRED   MORGAN. 

HrjiTBdiu^  in  permiaion  of  1A<  Utrlln  PhaUgraphie  Companv,  New  Bond  , 
Cvpyriyht  by  PhotographitAi  Gti^uaiBtfl, 


18 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


Parliament  and  are  pniiinlied  by  getting  tbere. 
We  may  hold  our  belief  in  this  apo8tol»te  of 
the  priiitselier'a  window  firmly  and  yet  siiuely, 
though  the  tlicory  has  ite  obvions  pitfalls. 

Mr.  Fred  Morgan  does  not  come  out  aa 
a  coDHciuus  combatant ;  his  studio  is  not 
already  a  camp  at  Anniigeddon.  But  nolxxly 
can  mistake  the  ensign  he  tiles  \a  the  inarket- 
placea  of  Art,  or  doubt  to  which  army  it 
belongs.  If  evil  can  be  ultimately  best 
described  in  the  line  of  Wordsworth,  as,  "  all 
that  is  at  eumity  with  joy,"  we  have  in  his 
pictures  only  such  good  as  is  on  terms  with 
happiness.  ITie  gardens  of  his  ehoosiiig  are 
not  those  wherein  the  serpent  lurks  ;  in  his 
"  Roses  and  Thorns,"  it  is  but  the  unsentient 
raiment  of  the  maiden  that  is  pierced  ;  and 
such  canvases  as  "The  Willing  Hand,"  or 
"  (irandfather's  Birthday,"  show  old  i^^e  with 
no  terrors,  and  youth  as  the  heir  of  ages  that 
leave  no  legacy  of  regret.  We  get  enough  of 
the  reveree  of  the  medal  in  our  art,  in  our 
literature,  in  our  lives,  to  be  grateful  to  the 
painter  who  will  put  np  for  the  popuhir  eye 
a  very  different  pattern.  Of  old,  the  ballad- 
maker,  no  great  poet  either,  was  the  maker, 
too,  of  the  emotions  of  men.  The  ballad- 
maker  is  banished  from  modem  pavements  ; 
in  every  direction  we  see  that  the  appeal  is 
made  now  to  the  eye  rather  than  to  the  ear  : 
the  thing  seen  prevails  and  is  influential, 
rather  than  the  thing  heard. 

Of  all  the  great  diwoveries — or  redis- 
coveries—of the  last  centnry,  the  child  is 
surely  the  greatest.  The  eighteenth  wntury 
saw  his  cenotaph  in  literature  ;  but  the  child 
was  not  really  l)uric-d  ;  he  sallied  toith  in  the 
poetry  of  Wordsworth  and  of  Blake.  Art — 
the  art  of  Gainsborough  and  of  Reynolds — 
had  led  the  way;  and  theehildrcn  wlio  bloomed 
upon  their  canvases  have  proved  to  be  the 
parents  of  an  immortal  brood.  They  were 
the  first  of  "  the  darliug  young  "  in  English 
art ;  but  their  race  is  still  renewed  on  the 
earth.  The  child  is  the  favourite  model, 
despite  his  disqualifications  as  a  sitter. 
Mr.  Fred  Morgan  has  found  sittera  among 
his  own  children,  and  he  has  found  them 
outride  his  own  circle  wlierever  he  has 
worked — in  town,  at  Norwood  once,  and 
now  at  Broadstairs.  An  artist  of  his  era 
in  his  choice  of  child-subjectH,  he  is  also  of 
his  generation  in  his  methwla,  leminding  ns 
in  his  sympathies  now  of  this  contemporary, 
now  of  that.  Yet  he  has  kept  to  his  own 
chosen  way  with  the  vigilance  of  a  palmer, 
the  shrine  of  chihlhood  always  before  him 
as  his  goal.  Where  is  the  child,  )iis  Holy 
Land  is  there.    On  that  heavenly  city  he  has 


kept  n  single  eye.  And  the  painter  who 
acknowledges  his  debt  to  bis  own  father  has 
to-day  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  one  of  his 
own  sons  emerge  from  the  roh  of  model  in  his 
father's  pictures  into  that  of  successful  artist. 
For  the  painter  known  as  Val  Havers,  who 
has  l)een  represented  by  several  idyllic  land- 
scapes and  figure  subjects  at  the  Royal 
Acadeniv,  is  none  other  than  the  eldest  son 
of  Mr.  Fred  Morgan, 

Though  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Oil 
Painters,  Mr.  Morgan's  snei^esses  have  been 
made  mostly  at  Burlington  House.  Towards 
the  Royal  Academy  lie  looks  with  more  hope 


and  appreciation  than  is  common.  And 
he  !ws  exhibited  no  less  than  fifty-seven 
pictures  on  its  walls. 

Mr.  Morgan  much  admires  the  work  of 
Mr.  Clansi'ii  and  Mr.  La  Tliangne,  the  latter 
lieing  the  best  talker  on  art  that  he  knows. 
The  artist  "  lives  by  admiration "  quite 
as  much  as  on  it;  and  two  of  Mr.  Fred 
Morgan's  special  admirations  are  given 
to  Raphael  and  Ludwig  Knaus.  Some  of 
the  piiintiiigs  of  children  made  by  the 
Director  of  tlte  German  Academy,  Mr.  Fred 
Moi^n  considers  equal  to  anything  of  the 
kind  that  Raphael  nimself  ever  did.  The 
Knaus  influence  on  his  work  is  apparent — if 
not  to  rtiiera,  at  any  rate  to  Mr.  Morgan 
himseh. 


The  speculations  of  JACK    STEELE 


By    ROBERT    BARR. 


I.  — THE     STATION-MASTER. 


STATION-MASTER 
said  noDchalantlj 
that  he  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  and 
from  out  the  tele- 
graph-office he 
brought  a  stout, 
wooden  chair  which 
he  set  down  in  the 
dark  strip  of  shade 
which  ran  along 
the  pine  platform  under  the  eaves  of  the 
station.  The  hack  of  this  chair  being  tOted 
against  the  building,  the  station-master  sat 
down  in  it,  put  his  heels  on  the  wooden 
round,  took  from  his  pocket  a  jack-knife, 
and  began  to  whittle  a  stick,  an  occupation 
which  the  momentary  pausing  of  the  express 
seemed  to  have  interrupted.  There  was 
nothing  of  the  glass  of  fashion  or  the  mould 
of  form  about  the  station-master.  He  was 
dressed  in  weather-worn  trousers,  held  to  his 
thin  frame  bj  a  pair  of  suspenders  quite 
evidently  home-made,  which  came  over  his 
shoulders,  and  underneath  this  was  a  coarse, 
woollen  shirt,  open  at  the  throat  because  the 
button  had  gone.  On  top  of  all  this  was  a 
three-year-old,  dilapidated  straw  hat  which 
bad  once  poss^sed  a  wide  brim,  but  was  now  in 
a  state  of  disrepair  in  thorough  keeping  with 
the  costume.  Yet  in  spite  of  appearances  he 
was  a  capable  young  man  who  could  work  a 
telegraphic  macnine  at  reasonable  speed,  was 
well  up  in  the  business  pertaining  to  Slocum 
Junction,  and  had  definite  opinions  regarding 
the  manner  in  which  the  affairs  of  the  nation 
should  be  carried  on.  Indeed,  at  that 
moment  he  was  an  exemplification  of  the 
independence  for  which  nis  country  had 
fouciit  and  bled.  No  one  knew  better  than 
he  that  the  Oreased  Lightning  Express  would 
never  have  halted  for  an  instant  at  Slocum 
Junction  unless  it  did  so  to  put  off  a  person  of 
some  importance.  But  that  important  person 
had  begun  to  give  his  opinion  of  the  locality 
m  language  that  was  painful  and  free,  the 
moment  he  realised  the  situation,  and  the 

*  Copjnght,  1905,  by  Robert  Barr,  in  the  United 
States  or  America. 


19 


station-master  signified  his  resentment  by 
sitting  down  in  the  chair  and  assuming  a 
careless  attitude,  which  told  the  stranger 
plainer  than  words  that  he  could  go  to  the 
devil  if  he  wished.  For  all  he  knew,  the 
obstreperous  person  who  had  stepped  from 
the  express  might  be  his  chief,  but  the 
station-master  made  no  concession  to  that 
possibility. 

Opposite  him  in  the  blazing  sunlight  stood 
a  dapper  young  man  grasping  a  neat  hand- 
bag. He  might  have  posed  as  a  tailor's 
model,  and  he  offered  a  striking  contrast  to 
the  unkempt  station-master.  He  cast  an 
almost  despairing  look  at  the  vanishing 
express,  now  a  mere  dot  in  the  horizon,  with 
a  trail  of  smoke,  as  if  it  were  a  comet  that 
had  run  aground.  Then  he  turned  an 
exasperated  face  upon  the  complacent  station- 
master. 

"  You  are  not  responsible  for  the  situation, 
eh  ?    You  don't  seem  to  care  much,  either." 

**  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  stranger,  I  don't." 

"  You  mean  to  tell  me  there's  no  train  for 
two  hours  and  a  half  on  the  branch  line  ?  " 

"  I  never  said  anything  of  the  sort,  because 
there  isn't  any  branch  line." 

**  No  branch  line  ?  Why,  there  it  is 
before  my  eyes  !  There's  a  locomotive,  of  a 
kind,  and  a  composite  passenger  and  freight- 
car  that  evidently  dates  from  the  time  of  the 
Deluge.  Noah  used  that  car !  "  cried  the 
angry  stranger. 

"  Well,  if  Noah  was  here,  he  wouldn't  use 
it  for  two  hours  and  a  half,"  said  the  station- 
master  complacently. 

**  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean," 
protested  the  stranger.  "  Is  there,  or  is 
there  not,  a  train  in  two  hours  and  a  half  ?  " 

"  Of  course  there  is." 

"  You  said  a  minute  ago  there  wasn't." 

"  I  didn't  say  anything  of  the  kind  ;  and  if 
you  weren't  adding  your  own  natural  heat  to 
the  unnatural  heat  of  the  day,  you'd  learn 
something.  You  were  talking  about  branch 
lines  ;  I  said  there  is  no  branch  line.  That's 
all." 

"  Then  what's  the  meaning  of  those  two 
lines  of  rust  running  to  the  right  ?  " 

c 


20 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


"  There's  five  or  six  thousand  people," 
droned  the  station-master,  "who'd  like  to 
know  what  that  object  you're  referring  to 
really  ig.  Leastways,  tney  used  to  want 
to  know,  but  lately  they've  given  up  all 
curiosity  on  the  subject.  They're  the  share- 
holders, who  put  up  good  money  to  have 
that  road  made.  We  call  it  the  Farmers' 
Road,  and  it  isn't  a  branch,  but  as  independent 
as  the  main  line." 

"  Or  as  yourself,"  hazarded  the  young  man. 

"Well,  it's  independent,  anyhow,"  con- 
tinued the  station-master,  "  and  I've  nothing 
to  do  with  it." 

"  Haven't  the  cursed  fools  who  own  it  the 
sense  to  make  it  connect  with  anything  on 
the  main  line  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  we're  all  fools  unless  we  come 
from  Chicago,"  said  the  station-master 
imperturbably. 

"I  didn't  say  that,"  commented  the 
stranger. 

"No,  /  did.  If  your  dome  of  thought 
was  in  working  order,  I  shouldn't  need  to 
explain  these  things ;  but  as  I've  nothing 
particular  to  do,  I  may  as  well  teach  a  man 
from  Chicago  his  A  B  C.  You  stepped  off 
the  express  just  now  owning  the  whole 
country,  populated  with  fools,  according 
to  you.  I've  been  station-master  here  for 
eighteen  montlis,  and  I  never  saw  that 
express  stop  before.  Now,  I'm  not  such  a 
fool,  but  I  know  that  a  man  who  steps  off 
the  Greased  Lightning  is  one  of  two  things. 
He  is  either  a  big  bug  with  pull  enough  on 
the  railway  company  to  get  them  to  stop  the 
Greased  Lightning  for  him,  or  else  he's  a 
tramp  who  can't  pay  his  fare,  and  so  is  put 
off." 

"  Oh,  you've  sized  me  up,  have  you  ? 
Well,  which  am  I  ?  The  millionaire  or  the 
tramp  ?  " 

"When  you  stepped  off,  I  thought  you 
were  the  millionaire ;  but  the  moment  you 
opened  your  mouth,  I  knew  you  were  the 
tramp." 

Jack  Steele  laughed  with  very  good- 
natured  heartiness. 

"Say,  old  man,  that's  aU  right.  The 
drinks  are  on  me,  if  there  was  a  tavern  near, 
which  there  doesn't  seem  to  be.  I  suppose 
there's  no  place  in  this  forsaken  hole  where 
on  a  hot  day  like  this  a  man  can  get  a 
cooling  drink  ?  " 

"  Stranger,  you're  continually  jumping  at 
conclusions  and  landing  at  the  wrong  spot. 
Allow  me  to  tell  you  " — here  he  lowered  his 
voice  a  bit — "  that  you  don't  raise  no  blush 
to  my  cheeks  by  anything  you  can  say ;  but 


there's  a  lady  in  the  waiting-room,  and  if  I 
were  you,  I'd  talk  accordingly." 

The  change  in  the  coc^ure  attitude  of 
Jack  Steele  was  so  sudden  and  complete  that 
it  brought  a  faint  smile  of  gratification  to 
the  gaunt  face  of  the  station-master. 

"  Great  Heavens  I "  whispered  the  crest- 
fallen young  man,  "  why  didn't  you  tell  me 
that  before  ?  " 

"  Well,  you've  been  kind  of  monopolising 
the  conversation,  and  I  haven't  had  much 
chance  to  speak  up  to  now.  One  would 
suppose  that  if  a  man  had  a  thinking-machine 
in  his  head  at  all,  he  would  know  that  the 
little  road  couldn't  connect  with  a  train  that 
never  stopped  here." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  Jack  hurriedly, 
his  mind  running  on  the  language  he  had 
used  in  the  first  moments  of  chagrin  at 
finding  himself  marooned  at  this  desolate 
junction,  which  might  have  been  heard  by 
the  unseen  lady  in  the  waiting-room.  He 
hoped  his  voice  hadn't  carried  through  the 
pine  wall. 

"  Well,  station-master,  I  apologise.  And 
now,  if  you  will  kindly  teU  me  what  the 
Farmers'  Road  does  connect  with,  I'll  be 
very  much  obliged." 

"The  Farmers'  Road  runs  two  trains  a 
day,"  said  the  station-master  sententiously, 
as  if  he  were  speaking  of  some  mighty 
empire.  "  The  train  consists,  as  you  see,  of 
a  locomotive  and  a  mixed  car.  The  first 
train  comes  in  here  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  connecting  with  the  local  going 
east,  ft  then  returns  to  Bunkerville,  and 
reaches  here  in  the  afternoon  at  three  o'clock, 
to  connect  with  the  local  going  west.  That 
little  train  doesn't  know  there  are  any 
fiyers  on  our  line  ;  all  it  knows  is  that  the 
eastern  local  comes  in  somewhere  about  nine 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  the  western  local 
arrives  anywhere  between  three  and  five  in 
the  afternoon.  So  a  Chicago  man  can't 
step  jauntily  off  the  express  he  has  managed 
to  stop,  and  expect  to  get  a  train  to  Bunker- 
ville whenever  he  chooses." 

"Admirably  stated,"  said  Jack  Steele. 
"  And  if  you  will  condescend  further  to  en- 
lighten a  beclouded  intellect,  would  you  mind 
explaining  what  the  deuce  the  little  train  is 
doing  here  at  this  hour  ?  If  I  follow  your 
argument,  it  should  have  returned  to  Bunker- 
ville after  the  nine  o'clock  local  came  in,  and 
should  not  have  arrived  here  until  just  before 
three  o'clock." 

"  Your  befogged  brain  is  waking  up,"  said 
the  station-master  encouragingly.  "  The 
phenomenon    to    which    you    have    called 


THE  STATION-MASTER. 


sttention  happens  once  or  twice  a  week. 
If  70a  ca8t  your  eye  to  the  other  end  of 
the  platform,  joa  will  see  piled  there  an  ac- 
camnktion  of  miscellaneous  freight.  The 
Farmera*  Boad  has  just  dumped  that  upon 
lis,  and  to  do  so  baa  taken  a  special  trip. 
That  stuff  will  go  east  on  Nnmber  Eight, 
which  is  a  freight  train  that  will  stop  here 
some  time  in  the  afternoon  when  it  sees  the 
signal  aet  against  it." 

"  I  comprehend,"  said  Jack ;  "  and  I  ven- 
ture on  my  next  proposition  with  great  dilli- 
dence,  caused  by  increasing  admiration  of 
yonnelf  and  the  lucid  mind  you  bring  to  bear 
on  Western  railway  procedure.  If  I  have 
followed  your  line  of  argument  as  unerringly 
as  the  farmcra'  train  follows  the  FannerB* 
Boad,his  nibs  the  engineer  must  take  the 
tniu  back  to  Bnnkerville  so  that  he   may 


return  here  on  his  regular  trip  to  meet  the 
three  o'clock  western  local.  If  I  am  right, 
what  is  to  prevent  him  from  going  now,  taking 
me  with  him,  and  giving  me  an  opportunity  at 
Bunkerville  to  transact  my  business  and  catch 
the  regular  train  back  ?  for  I  am  going  further 
west,  and  would  like  to  intercept  the  local, 
which  would  save  me  spending  an  unneces- 
sary night  at  Bunkerville,  and  wasting  most 
of  to-morrow  as  well." 

"  The  reasons  are  as  follows.  His  nibs,  as 
you  call  him,  is  engineer,  conductor,  brakes- 
man, and  freight  handler.  When  he  came  in, 
he  had  to  carry  that  freight  from  his  car  to 
the  platform  where  you  see  it.  That  takes 
time,  even  if  the  day  were  not  bo  oppressively 
hot  as  it  is.  So,  instead  of  keeping  up  hu 
fire  under  the  boiler,  and  burning  naelees 
coal,  he  banks  the  famace  as  soon  as  he 


22 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


arrives.  Then  he  bakes  his  time  bringing? 
the  boxes  to  the  platform.  If  he  returned 
to  Bankerville,  they  would  give  him  some- 
thing to  do  there  :  here  he  is  out  of  reach  ; 
besides,  he  would  have  to  draw  his  fires,  and 
start  anew  about  two  o'clock,  and  that  he 
doesn't  want  to  do.  He  has,  therefore,  curled 
himself  up  in  the  passenger  car,  put  a  news- 
paper over  his  face  to  keep  off  the  flies,  and 
has  gone  to  sleep.  When  the  proper  moment 
arrived,  he  will  stir  up  his  fire,  go  to  Bunker- 
ville,  and  then  be  ready  to  make  the  return 
trip  on  one  expenditure  of  coal.  Now  do  you 
understand  ?  " 

'*  Yes,  thank  you,  I  do  ;  and  this  has  given 
me  an  idea." 

"  That's  a  good  thing,  and  I  can  easily 
guess  what  your  idea  is.  But  before  putting 
it  into  operation,  I  should  like  to  mitigate  a 
slight  you  have  put  on  Slocum  Junction. 
You  made  a  sarcastic  remark  about  cool 
drinks.  Now,  I  beg  to  inform  you  that  the 
nine  o'clock  local  from  the  west  slides  off  on 
this  here  platform  every  morning  a  great  big 
square  cold  chunk  of  ice.  That  chunk  of 
ice  is  growing  less  and  less  in  a  big  wooden 
pail  in  the  telegraph-office,  but  the  water  that 
surrounds  it  is  as  cold  as  the  North  Pole. 
If  you  have  anything  in  your  hip  pocket  or 
in  that  natty  little  valise  which  mitigates  the 
rigour  of  cold  water,  there's  no  reason  why 
you  shouldn't  indulge  in  a  refreshing  drink." 

"  Station-master,"  said  Jack,  laughing, 
**  you  ought  to  be  superintendent  of  this 
road,  instead  of  junction  boss.  You're  the 
wisest  man  I've  met  in  two  years." 

Saying  this,  he  sprang  the  catch  of  the 
handbag  and  drew  fortJi  a  bulky,  wicker- 
covered,  silver-topped  flask. 

"  I  propose  we  adjouni  to  the  telegraph- 
office,"  he  added,  "and  investigate  that 
wooden  pail." 

The  station-master  led  the  way  with  an 
alacrity  that  he  had  not  heretofore  exhibited. 
The  result  of  the  conference  was  cheerful  and 
refreshing. 

**  Now,"  said  the  station-master,  drawing 
the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  lips,  "  what 
you  want  is  a  special  train  to  Bunkerville. 
A  man  from  the  city  would  get  that  by  tele- 
graphing to  the  superintendent  at  the  ter- 
minus and  paying  twenty  dollars.  A  man 
from  the  country  who  had  some  sense  would 
go  to  Joe  the  engineer  and  pereuade  him  he 
ought  to  wake  up  and  return  to  Bunkerville 
at  once." 

"  How  much  would  be  required  to  influence 
Joe  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  couple  of  doUars  would  be  wealth. 


(( 


t4 


A  silver  dollar  in  front  of  each  eye  wiU 
obscure  the  whole  western  prairie  if  placed 
just  right." 

Very  weU,  I'll  go  out  and  place  'em." 
You.  are  forgetting  your  flask,"  said  the 
station-master,  as  Mr.  Steele  snapped  shut 
his  valise. 

"  No,  I'm  not.  That  flask  and  its  contents 
belong  to  you,  as  a  reward  for  being  patient 
and  instructive  when  a  darned  fool  let  loose 
from  the  city  happened  your  way." 

And  this  showed  Jack  Steele  to  be  a  reader 
of  his  fellow-man ;  for  while  the  engineer 
might  accept  the  two  dollars,  the  inde- 
pendent station-master  certainly  would  not 
have  done  so.  That  glib  official,  however, 
seemed  to  have  no  particular  words  for  this 
occasion,  so  he  changed  the  subject  and  said — 

"  If  you  persuade  Joe  to  go,  I  wish  you'd 
remember  the  lady  in  the  waiting-room. 
She's  a  Miss  Dorothy  Slocum,  and  a  power- 
ful nice  girl,  that  teaches  school  in  Bunker- 
ville. Fact  is,  this  junction  was  named  after 
her  father.  Used  to  be  the  principal  man 
round  these  parts  ;  but  he  lost  his  money,  and 
now  his  girl's  got  to  teach  school.  I  never 
knew  him — he  was  dead  long  before  I  came 
here.  She's  been  visiting  relatives.  This  is 
vacation  time,  you  know." 

"  All  right.  You  tell  her  there's  a  special 
leaving  in  a  few  minutes,  and  that  she's  very 
welcome  to  ride  upon  it." 

With  that  Jack  Steele  went  out  into  the 
furnace  of  the  sun  across  the  dusty  road  and 
entered  the  composite  car.  The  Farmers' 
Road  did  not  join  rails  with  the  main 
line,  and  so  caused  much  extra  handling  of 
freight.  The  engine  stood  there  simmering 
in  the  heat,  both  external  and  internal,  a 
slight  murkiness  of  smoke  rising  from  its 
funnel,  shaped  like  an  inverted  bell. 

"  Hallo,  Joe  !  "  cried  Steele,  as  he  entered 
the  car.  "  Don't  you  yearn  for  home  and 
friends  ?  " 

The  man  was  sprawling  on  two  seats,  'with 
a  newspaper  over  his  head,  as  the  station- 
master  had  predicted. 

**  Hallo ! "  he  echoed,  sitting  up  and 
shaking  away  the  sheet  of  paper,  "  what's  the 
matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  except  that  if  the  spirit  should 
move  you  to  get  over  to  Bunkerville  with 
this  ancient  combination,  five  dollars  will  be 
transferred  from  my  pocket  into  yours." 

"  'Nough  said,"  cried  Joe,  rising  to  his 
feet.  "  It'll  take  me  about  twenty  minutes  to 
get  the  pot  boiling  again.  You  don't  happen 
to  have  the  fiver  about  you,  I  suppose  ? 
I  haven't  seen  one  for  a  cotiple  of  years." 


THE  STATION-MASTER. 


23 


"  Here  tou  are,"  replied  Steele,  drawing  a 
criRp  bill  from  his  parse. 

The  engineer  thrust  it  into  the  pocket  of 
his  greasy  OTeiaU. 

"  I'll  toot  the  whistle  when  I'm  ready,"  he 
said. 

I'his  financial  operation  accomplished, 
John  Steele  retmned  to  the  station.  The 
station  -master  was  standing  by  the  door  of 


the  waiting-room  conversing  pleasantly  with 
someone  within.  Jack  Steele  pushed  ptst 
him  and  niis  amazed  to  see  so  pretty  a  girl 
gitti[ig  on  the  bench  that  ran  roand  the  lure 
walls  of  the  uninviting  room. 

"Will  TOO  introduce  me?"  inquii-cd  the 
city  man,  banding  his  card  to  the  station- 
master. 

"  Miss  Slocum,"  said  the  latter,  "  this  is 
Mr.  Jdin  Steele,  of  Chic^o," 

The  young  niian  removed  his  fashionable 
straw  lut. 


"  Miss  Slocum,"  he  said,  "  I  desire  to 
apologise  to  you.  I'm  afraid  that  when  I 
fomid  myself  stranded  on  the  platform  out- 
side, I  naed  language  which  can  hardly  be 
justified,  even  in  the  circumstances.  But  I 
had  no  idea  at  the  time  that  there  was  a  lady 
'  within  miles  of  us." 

"  I   was  much   interested   in  my   Itook," 
replied  the  girl,  with  a  smile,  "  and  was  not 
paying  attention  to  what  was 
going  on  outside." 

She  held  up  a  book,  between 
whose  leaves  her  forefinger  was 
placed. 

"Well,  Miss  Slocum,  it  must 
have  been  a  pretty  absorbing 
story,  and  I  am  deeply  grat«f i3 
to  it  for  acting  as  a  non- 
conductor between  my  im- 
pulsive observations  and  your 
hearing.  Nothing  excuses  in- 
temperate language,  as  the 
station -master  nere  has  taught 
me  through  the  force  of  a 
benign  example.  Still,  if  any- 
thing could  exculpate  a  man,  I 
should  think  it  would  be  the 
exasperating  conduct  of  this 
Farmers'  Railroad,  as  they  cull 
it." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Miss  Dorothy 
arehly,  "  the  book  had  really 
no  right  to  interfere,  because 
I  am  one  of  the  owners  of  the 
railway,  and  so  perhaps  it  was 
my  duty  to  listen  to  complaints 
of  a  passenger.  Not  tJiat  I 
have  anything  to  do  with  the 
management  of  the  line  ;  I  am 
compelled  to  pay  my  fare  just 
like  the  rest." 

"  I   should   be  delighted   if 

you  would   accept  a  ride  on 

your  own  road  as  free  as  if 

you  carried  a  superintendent's 

v^  pass.     I  am  going  to  Bunker- 

ville  in  my  own  private  car,  as 

it  were,  and  shall  feel  honoured  if   I  may 

eictend  the  courtosies  of  the  same." 

"  The  station-master  has  just  told  me  you 
were  kind  enough  to  offer  a  poor  vagrant 
a  lift  to  Bunkerville.  I  wished  to  buy  a 
ticket,  but  this  haughty  official  of  the  main 
Hue  so  despises  our  poor  little  road  that  he 
will  uot  sell  me  one." 

"Indeed,"  said  the  station-master,  "I 
haven't  the  power,  nor  the  tickets.  They 
don't  entrust  me  with  any  business  so  tre- 
mendous.     Joe    starts  his  rickety    engine 


24 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


going,  then  leaves  it  to  jog  along  as  it  likes, 
and  comes  through  the  car  to  collect  the 
fares.  They  have  no  tickets,  and  perhaps 
that's  why  the  road  has  never  paid  a  divi- 
dend." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  say  that  1 "  protested  the 
girl.  "  Poor  Joe  has  not  got  rich  out  of  his 
occupation,  any  more  than  the  shareholders 
have  made  money  on  their  shares.  If  you 
will  permit  me  to  pay  my  fare  to  Joe, 
Mr.  Steele,  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  take 
this  early  opportunity  of  getting  to  Bunker- 
viUe." 

"  I  couldn't  think  of  it.  Miss  Slocum  ;  in 
fact,  I  must  prohibit  any  communication 
between  Joe  and  yourself,  fearing  you,  as 
an  owner  of  the  road,  may  learn  by  what 
corrupt  practices  I  induced  Joe  to  make 
the  trip." 

The  girl  laughed,  but  before  she  could  reply, 
a  wheezy  "  Toot-toot  1 "  outside  announced 
that  Joe  had  already  got  steam  up. 

"I'll  carry  your  valise  across,"  said  the 
obliging  station-master,  while  Miss  Dorothy 
Slocum  picked  up  her  lighter  belongings  and 
accompanied  Mr.  John  Steele  to  the  shabby 
little  passenger-car.  Joe  was  leaning  out 
with  a  grin  on  his  smeared  face,  which 
was  there  probably  because  of  the  five- 
dollar  bill  in  his  trousers  pocket.  The 
station-master  placed  the  valise  in  the  bag- 
gage section  of  the  car,  and  raised  his  tattered 
hat  as  the  little  train  started  gingerly  out  for 
the  open  country. 

It  was  a  pretty  landscape  through  which 
they  passed,  with  little  to  indicate  that  the 
prairies  were  so  near  at  hand.  The  line  ran 
along  a  shallow  valley,  well  wooded,  especially 
by  the  banks  of  the  stream  that  wandered 
through  it,  which  even  at  this  parched  sea- 
son of  the  year  was  still  running  its  course 
with  clear  water  in  it,  and  Miss  Slocum  in- 
formed the  Chicago  man  that  it  flowed  from 
a  never-drying  spring  some  ten  miles  on  the 
other  side  of  the  main  line.  The  little 
road  was  as  crooked  as  possible,  for  the 
evident  object  of  its  constructors  had  been 
to  avoid  bridging  the  stream,  piling  up 
any  high  embankments,  or  excavating  deep 
cuttings.  The  pace,  therefore,  was  exceed- 
ingly slow  ;  nevertheless,  John  Steele  did  not 
find  the  time  hang  heavily  on  his  hands.  At 
first  the  girl  seemed  somewhat  shy  and  em- 
barrassed to  find  herself  the  only  passenger 
except  this  gallant  young  business  man  ;  but 
he  tactfully  put  her  at  her  ease  by  pre- 
tending much  interest  in  the  history  of  the 
road,  with  which  he  soon  learned  she  was 
somewhat  unfortunately  familiar. 


"  Yes,"  she  said,  *'  the  building  of  this  road 
was  the  greatest  financial  disaster  that  ever 
occurred  in  this  section  of  the  country.  My 
father  was  one  of  its  chief  promoters.  When 
the  Wheat  Belt  Line,  by  which  you  came 
here  from  Chicago,  was  surveyed  through 
this  part  of  the  State,  those  interested  in 
the  neighbourhood  expected  that  it  would  run 
through  BunkerviUe,  which  would  become  a 
large  town.  The  railway  people  demanded 
a  large  money  bonus,  which  Bunker  county 
refused,  because  BunkerviUe  was  in  the 
direct  line,  and  they  thought  the  railway 
must  come  through  there,  whether  a  bonus 
were  paid  or  not.  In  fact,  the  first  survey 
passed  just  north  of  BunkerviUe.  But  our 
poor  little  village  was  not  so  important  as 
its  inhabitants  imagined,  and  the  next  line 
surveyed  was  twenty  miles  away.  For  once 
the  farmers  were  too  shrewd.  They  thought, 
as  they  put  it,  that  the  new  line  was  a  blafiF, 
and  did  not  realise  their  mistake  until  too 
late.  My  father  had  been  in  favour  of 
granting  the  bonus,  but  he  was  out-voted. 
Perhaps  that  is  why  the  railway  people  caUed 
their  station  Slocum  instead  of  BunkerviUe, 
which  was  twenty  nules  distant.  The  next 
nearest  raUway  line  was  forty-five  miles 
away,  and  two  years  after  the  Wheat  Belt 
Line  began  operations,  it  was  proposed  to 
organise  a  local  company  to  construct  a  rail- 
way from  Slocum,  through  BunkerviUe  to 
Jamestown,  on  the  other  line.  Bonuses  were 
granted  all  along  the  route,  and  l)esides  this 
the  State  legislature  gave  a  subsidy,  and, 
furthermore,  passed  a  Bill  to  prevent  com- 
petition, prohibiting  any  railway  to  paraUel 
the  Farmers'  Road  for  sixty  miles  on  either 
Bide." 

**  Does  that  law  still  stand  on  the  statute 
hooks  of  the  Stiite  ? "  asked  Steele,  with 
increasing  interest. 

"  I  think  so.  It  has  never  been  repealed 
to  my  knowledge." 

"  WeU,  I  should  doubt  its  being  constitu- 
tional. Why,  that  ties  up  more  than  seven 
thousand  square  mUes  of  the  State  into  a 
hard  knot,  and  prevents  it  from  having  the 
privilege  of  further  raUway  communication." 

"  In  a  measure  it  does,"  said  the  girl. 
"You  may  run  as  many  lines  as  you  like 
north  and  south,  but  not  east  and  west." 

"  It's  a  wonder  the  Wheat  Belt  Line  didn't 
contest  that  law,"  said  Steele. 

"Well,  I've  been  told  that  this  law  is 
entirely  in  the  interests  of  the  Wheat  Belt 
Line,  although  the  farmers  didn't  think  bo 
when  they  voted  for  the  BiU.  You  see,  the 
Wheat  Belt  Line  was  already  in  operation 


THE  STATION-MASTER. 


25 


east  and  west,  and  could  not  be  affected  by 
that  Act,  and,  of  course,  the  same  Bill  which 
prevented  competition  tx)  the  Farmers*  Boad 
also,  in  a  measure,  protected  the  Wheat  Belt 
Line  through  the  same  district." 

"  By  Jove  I "  said  Steele,  his  eyes  glisten- 
ing, ^^  this  is  a  proposition  which  contains 
some  peculiar  points.  Well,  go  on,  what 
happened  ?  " 

**  Oh,  disaster  happened.  In  spite  of  the 
l^islation  and  bonuses,  the  road  was  a 
complete  failure,  and  ruined  all  who  were 
deeply  interested  in  it.  The  farmers  subr 
scribed  stock  to  the  amount  of  something 
like  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  but  this 
money,  with  the  sum  of  the  legislative  grant 
and  the  bonuses,  was  all  swallowed  up  in 
the  first  twenty  miles,  and  in  getting  the 
rolling-stock  and  equipment,  such  as  it  is. 
The  Ime  was  never  pusned  through  to  James- 
town, and  there  arose  litigation  about  some  of 
the  bonuses  that  had  been  paid,  and,  all  in 
all,  it  was  a  most  disastrous  business.  It 
was  hoped  that  the  Wheat  Belt  Line  would 
come  to  the  rescue  and  buy  the  unfinished 
road,  but  they  would  not  look  at  it.  This 
section  has  never  paid  a  dividend,  and  is 
supposed  to  be  doing  well  when  it  produces 
enough  money  for  expenses  and  repairs. 
The  shares  can  now  be  bought  for  five  cents 
on  the  dollar,  or  less.** 

"  How  much  of  it  do  you  possess,  Miss 
Slocum  ?  ** 

*'  I  have  a  thousand  shares,  and  my  father 
told  me  not  to  part  with  them,  because  he 
was  certain  that  some  day  they  would  be 
valuable.*' 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence  in 
the  car,  and  the  girl,  glancing  up  at  her 
companion,  found  his  ardent  gaze  fixed  upon 
her  with  an  intensity  that  was  embarrassmg. 
She  flushed  slightly  and  turned  her  head  to 
look  out  of  the  window  at  the  familiar  scenery 
they  were  passing.  It  would  have  surprised 
the  young  man  could  he  have  read  the 
thoughts  that  occupied  the  mind  of  this 
extremely  pretty  and  charmiDgly  modest  girl 
who  sat  opposite  him.  Here  is  practically 
what  she  said  to  herself — 

'*  I  am  tired  of  this  deadly  dull  village  in 
which  I  live,  and  here,  at  last,  is  a  way  out. 
I  read  in  his  eyes  the  beginning  of  admira- 
tion. He  shall  be  the  youthful  Moses  to 
lead  me  into  the  Promised  Ijand.  Through 
this  lucky  meeting  I  shall  attain  the  city  if  I 
but  play  my  cards  rightly." 

It  would  have  astonished  the  girl  if  she 
had  known  what  was  in  the  man*s  mind. 
The  ardent  gaze  was  not  for  her,  as  she 


had  supposed.  Although  he  appeared  to 
be  looking  directly  at  her,  he  was  in  reality 
almost  ignorant  of  her  presence,  and  saw 
unfolded  before  him  a  scene  far  beyond  her — 
the  whole  range  of  the  eastern  States.  The 
power  that  enabled  him  to  stop  the  fast 
express  at  Slocum  Junction  gave  a  hint  of 
Steele's  position  in  the  railway  world  to  the 
station-master,  but  it  conveyed  no  meaning 
to  the  girl.  It  was  his  business  to  be 
intimately  acquainted  with  the  railway 
situation  in  north-western  America,  and  that 
involved  the  knowledge  of  what  was  going 
on  in  the  eastern  States.  He  knew  that  the 
Eockervelt  system  was  making  for  somewhere 
near  this  point,  and  that,  ultimately,  it 
would  need  to  cross  the  State,  in  spite  of  the 
opposition  it  must  meet  from  tne  Wheat 
Belt  Line.  Whoever  possessed  the  Farmers* 
bankrupt  road  held  the  right  of  way  across 
the  State,  so  far  as  a  belt  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  was  concerned.  It  seemed 
incredible  that  Rockervelt,  this  Napoleon  of 
the  railway  world,  should  be  ignorant  of  the 
obstacle  that  lay  in  his  path.  Rockervelt 
was  in  the  habit  of  buying  legislatures  and 
crushing  opposition ;  still,  he  never  spent 
money  where  it  was  not  required,  and  it  would 
be  infinitely  cheaper  to  buy  the  Farmers' 
Road,  and  thus  secure  the  privileges  pertain- 
ing to  it,  than  to  purchase  the  repeal  of  the 
obstructing  law.  At  that  moment  Jack 
Steele  determined  to  camp  across  the  path  of 
the  conqueror.  If  Napoleon  axjcepted  battle, 
Jack  was  under  no  delusion  as  to  the  result. 
The  name  of  Steele  would  disappear  from  the 
roll  of  rising  young  men  in  Chicago,  and  he 
would  have  to  begin  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ladder  again.  However,  he  knew  that  Napo- 
leon's eye  was  fixed  on  the  Pacific  coast,  and 
that  he  never  wasted  time  in  a  fight  if  a 
reasonable  expenditure  of  money  would  cause 
the  enemy  to  withdraw.  Steele  calculated 
that  he  could  control  the  road  for  something 
under  three  thousand  dollars,  which  would 
give  him  the  majority  of  the  stock  at  the 

Ci  the  girl  had  named.  That  was  a  mere 
telle.  Then  he  would  withdraw  from 
Rockervelt's  front  for  anything  between  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars  and  half  a  million. 

A  sigh  from  the  girl  brought  him  to  a 
realisation  of  his  neglect  of  social  duties,  and 
the  brilliant  vision  of  loot  faded  from  his  eyes. 

"  What  pretty  scenery  we  are  passing  1 "  he 
said.  "  The  wooded  dell,  and  the  sparkling 
litde  rivulet  running  through  it.  It  is 
sweet  and  soothing  after  the  rush  and 
turmoil  of  a  great  city.  It  must  be  a  delight 
to  live  here.** 


THE   WIXDSOH  MAOAZINE. 


a  thnuund  iham,  and  m;  Father  tnid  Tn«  not  to  part  with  them.'" 


"  Indeed  it  ian't !  "  cried  the  girl ;  "  it  is 
horrid  !  Deadly  dull,  utterly  commonplace, 
with  little  chance  of  improving  the  mind, 
aod  none  at  all  for  advancing  one's  material 
condition.  I  loathe  the  life  and  yeam  for 
the  citv." 

As  sue  said  this,  she  iMsstoned  upon  him  a 
fascinating  glimpse  of  a  pair  of  lovely  eyes, 
and  veiled  within  them  he  saw  what  he  took 
to  be  a  tender  appeal  for  sympathy  and, 
perhaps,  for  help.  After  all,  he  was  a  young 
man,  and  perhaps  that  glance  had  carried  a 
hypnotic  suggestion  to  his  very  aonl ;  and. 
added  to  all  this,  the  girl  was  undoubtedly 
beautiful. 

"  Really,"  he  said,  leaning  forward  to- 
wards her,  "  I  think  that  might  be  managed, 
you  know." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  him  full 
in  the  face. 

At  that  interesting  moment  the  car  slowly 
came  to  a  standstiU  at  a  wooden  platform, 
and  Joe  thrust  open  the  door  and  shouted — 

"  Here  you  are  I     Bunkerville  1 " 


Dorothy  Slocnm  held  oat  her  hand  shyly 
to  John  Steele  as  she  bade  him  "  Good-bye." 
She  thanked  him  once  more  for  allowing  her 
to  ride  on  the  special  train,  and  added— 

"  If  you  ever  come  to  Bunkerville  again, 
I  hope  yon  will  not  forget  me." 

"  Foi^et  you  1 "  cried  the  enthusiastic 
young  man.  "  I  think  you  entirely  underrate 
the  attractions  of  Bunkerville.  It  seems  to 
me  a  lovely  village.  Bub  I  shall  visit  it 
again — uot  because  of  itself,  but  for  the 
reason  that  a  certain  Miss  Dorothy  lives 
here." 

To  this  complimentary  speech  Miss  Slocnm 
made  no  reply,  but  she  laughed  and  blushed 
in  a  manner  very  becoming  to  her,  and 
somehow  managed  to  leave  an  impression 
on  Mr.  Steele's  mind  that  she  was  far  from 
being  displeased  at  the  words  he  had  ottered. 

^V  nen  she  had  gone,  the  traveller  asked  Joe 
where  the  office  of  Mr.  Hazlett,  the  lawyer,  was 
situated;  and  being  directed,  be  was  speedily 
in  the  presence  of  the  chief  legal  functionary 
that  Bunkerville  possessed.     Steele  had  a 


THE  STATION-MASTER, 


27 


oonsiderable  amount  of  money  lent  upon 
Bunkerville  business  property,  and  his  lawyer 
had  written  him  that  as  times  were  back- 
ward, there  was  some  difficulty  in  persuading 
the  debtors  jbo  meet  the  requirements  of  the 
mortgages.  If  the  mortei-ges  were  foreclosed 
and  Sie  property  sold,  Hazlett  did  not  think 
it  would  produce  the  money  that  had  been 
bonx)wed  upon  it,  and  so  Steele  had  informed 
him  that  he  would  drop  off  at  Bunkerville  on 
his  way  west,  and  see  his  security  for  himself. 

The  lawyer  had  been  expecting  him  on  the 
r^Iar  train,  and  so  was  not  at  the  station 
to  meet  him.  If  Hazlett  had  expected  a 
visit  from  a  hard  old  skinflint,  resolved  on 
having  his  pound  of  financial  flesh,  he  must 
have  been  somewhat  surprised  to  greet  a 
smiling  young  fellow  who  seemed  to  be 
thinking  of  anything  but  the  property  in 
question. 

"  We  will  just  walk  down  the  street,"  said 
the  lawyer,  "and  I'U  show  you  the  buildings." 

**A11  right,"  said  Steele,  "if  it  doesn't 
take  too  long ;  for  I  must  catch  the  three 
o'clock  local  at  Slocum  Junction." 

During  their  walk  together,  Steele  paid 
but  the  scantest  interest  to  the  edifices 
pomted  out  to  him,  and  the  lawyer  soon 
found  he  was  not  even  listening  to  the 
particulars  he  so  circumstantially  gave. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  the  Farmers' 
Railway  ? "  was  the  question  Steele  shot  at 
him  in  the  midst  of  a  score  of  reasons  why 
it  was  better  not  to  foreclose  at  the  present 
moment. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  the  lawyer. 
"  I  have  done  the  l^al  business  of  the  road 
from  its  commencement." 

"  Have  you  a  list  of  the  shareholders  ?  " 

"I  hold  a  partial  list;  but  shares  have 
changed  hands  a  good  deal,  and  sometimes 
DO  notification  has  been  given  me,  which  is 
contrary  to  law." 

"I  was  told  to-day  that  shares  can  be 
bought  at  five  cents  on  the  dollar.  Is  that 
true?" 

"Many  shares    have  been   sold  at  that 
price  ;  some  for  less,  some  for  more." 
What  is  the  total  number  of  shares  ?  " 
A  hundred  thousand." 

"  Gould  fifty  thousand  and  an  odd  share 
be  bought  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  get  control  of  the  road  ? 
Yes,  I  suppose  it  might  be  done  if  you 
weren't  in  a  hurry,  and  it  was  gone  about 
quietly.  Some  farmers  in  the  outlying 
districts  refuse  to  seU,  thinking  the  price 
of  the  stock  will  rise,  which  of  course  it 
won't  do.     Nev^ertheless,  I  imagine  there 


u 


4t 


should  be  no  difficulty  in  collecting  the 
fifty-one  thousand  shares." 

"  What  would  it  cost  ?  " 

"  Anywhere  between  three  and  five  thou- 
sand dollars — ^all  depending,  as  I  said,  on  the 
thing  being  done  circumspectly,  for  in  these 
rural  communities  the  wildest  rumours  get 
afloat,  and  so,  if  it  became  known  that 
someone  was  in  the  market,  prices  would 
go  up." 

"Well,  I  have  in  my  mind  exactly  the 
man  to  do  the  trick  with  discretion,  and  his 
name  is  Hazlett.  I  will  lodge  in  the  bank 
here  five  thousand  dollars  in  your  name, 
and  I  depend  on  you  to  get  me  at  least  one 
share  over  the  fifty  thousand,  although,  to 
be  on  the  safe  side,  you  may  purchase  at 
least  a  thousand  in  excess.  Send  the  shares 
to  me  in  Chicago  as  fast  as  you  get  them, 
and  I'll  take  care  of  them." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Steele,  I  shall  do  the 
best  I  can." 

"  We  wiU  return  to  your  office  now, 
Hazlett,  and  I'U  give  you  the  cheque.  In 
these  matters  it's  just  as  well  not  to  lose 
any  time." 

"  There's  another  building  I  want  to  show 
you,  about  five  hundred  yards  down  the 
street." 

"We  won't  mind  it  to-day.  I  have 
determined  to  take  your  advice  and  not 
foreclose  at  the  present  moment.  Let's 
get  back  to  your  office,  for  I  mustn't  miss 
Joe's  train." 

After  Steele  had  returned  to  Chia^o, 
shares  in  the  Farmers'  Railroad  began  to 
drop  in  on  him  in  bulky  packages,  which 
he  duly  noted  and  placed  in  a  safe  deposit. 
Presently  the  packages  became  smaller  and 
smaller,  but  as  the  total  had  already  reached 
forty-nine  thousand  six  hundred  and  thirty, 
Steele  was  not  alarmed  until  he  received  the 
following  letter  from  Hazlett : — 

"Dear  Mr.  Steele, — 

"About  two  weeks  ago  I  became 
suspicious  that  somebody  else  was  buying 
shares  of  the  Farmers'  Road.  I  came  across 
at  that  time  several  people  who  had  sold, 
although  they  did  not  know  to  whom ;  and 
a  few  days  ago  a  young  man  called  upon  me 
to  know  if  I  had  any  shares  for  sale.  I  told 
him  I  had  none,  and  as  I  showed  very  little 
interest  in  the  matter,  I  got  some  informa- 
tion, and  find  that  a  man  named  Dunham, 
of  New  York,  is  the  buyer,  and  apparently 
he  has  agents  all  over  the  country  trying 
to  purchase  shares.  I  would  have  telegraphed 
this  information  to  you  were  it  not  for  the 


28 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


fact  that  our  telegraph-oflSce  is  a  little  leakj, 
and  also  because  I  thoaght  I  had  the  game  in 
my  own  hands.  A  young  woman  in  this  town, 
a  teacher,  Dorothy  Slocum  by  name,  possesess 
a  thousand  shares,  which  I  felt  certain  I 
could  purchase  for  a  reasonable  figure.  I 
began  at  ten  cents,  but  she  refused,  and 
finally  raised  to  fifty  cents,  and  then  a  dollar. 
Higher  than  that  I  could  not  take  the  re- 
sponsibility of  going  without  direct  authority 
from  you.  To  my  amazement,  she  has  in- 
formed me  to-day  that  she  has  been  offered 
ten  thousand  dollars  for  her  stock.  I  ob- 
tained her  promise  that  she  will  not  sell  for 
a  week.  She  telegraphed  her  decision  to 
Dunliam,  and  has  received  an  answer  from 
him  saying  he  is  on  his  way  to  see  her.  I 
learn  from  Miss  Slocum  that  she  is  acquainted 
with  you,  and  I  surmise,  without  being 
certain,  that  you  personally  will  prove  the 
successful  negotiator  if  you  are  on  the  spot. 
This  letter  should  reach  you  in  time  to 
enable  you  to  reach  here  at  least  as  soon 
as  Dunham,  and  I  advise  prompt  action  on 
your  part  if  we  are  to  secure  that  thousand 
shares.  If  you  cannot  come,  telegraph  me 
any  one  of  the  following  words,  and  I  shall 
understand  I  am  authorised  to  offer  the 
amount  set  down  opposite  that  word. 

"  Yours  most  sincerely, 
"Jambs  P.  Hazlbtt." 

There  followed  this  a  dozen  words,  signify- 
ing amounts  from  ten  thousand  dollars 
upwards. 

Lawyer  Hazlett  received  a  tel^ram :  "  Will 
reach  Slocum  Junction  at  twelve  to-morrow. 
Arrange  special  train  on  the  Farmers'  Road 
to  Bunker\^ille  to  be  at  Junction. — Steele." 

The  moment  Dunham's  name  caught  Jack 
Steele's  eye  in  the  lawyer's  letter,  he  knew 
he  had  to  deal  with  the  most  unscnipulous 
man  in  the  railway  business,  which  is  saying 
much.  Dunham  was  in  the  employ  of  the 
Rockervelt  system,  and,  as  far  as  money  was 
concerned,  could  outbid  him  a  thousand  to 
one. 

When  the  Greased  Lightning  Express 
stopped  at  Slocum  Junction  on  this  occasion, 
John  Steele  had  ample  time  to  reach  the 
platform,  because  the  express  detached  itself 
from  a  sumptuous  private  car  before  it 
pursued  its  journey  further  west. 

'*  Aha  I "  said  Jack  to  himself,  "  friend 
Dunham  travels  in  style." 

The  station-master  greeted  Steele  with  the 
cordiality  of  an  old  friend. 

"Here  is  a  letter  which  lawyer  Hazlett 


sent  out  to  be  handed  to  you  as  soon  as  yoa 
arrived,  and  wished  you  to  read  it  at  once." 
Steele  tore  open  the  envelope  and  read :  — 

"  I  am  sorry  about  the  special  train,  but 
Dunham  had  telegraphed  from  New  York 
ordering  it  before  your  wire  came.  I  have 
arranged,  however,  that  Joe  will  return  at 
once  for  you,  as  soon  as  he  has  landed  Dan- 
ham  in  Bunkerville.  This  will  make  no 
difference  in  the  negotiations  ;  Miss  Slocum 
has  promised  to  be  away  from  home  when 
Dunham  calls,  and  will  see  yon  first.  I  think 
you've  got  the  inside  track,  although  I  sur- 
mise the  young  woman  is  well  aware  that  she 
holds  the  key  to  the  situation.  I  don't  know 
if  she's  after  all  the  money  she  can  get,  or 
whether  there  is  something  of  friendliness  in 
her  action.  I  rather  suspect  the  latter,  and 
I  think  you  can  conclude  negotiations  before 
she  sees  Dunham  at  all. 

"Yours  most  sincerely, 

"  James  P.  Hazlett." 

Jack  Steele   gave  no  expression   to  the 
annoyance  he  felt  at  missing  the  special.   He 
distrusted  the  lawyer's  optimism,  and  like  a 
flash  resolved  to  be  in  Bunkerville  as  soon  as 
his  antagonist.     Dunham  had  stepped  down 
from  his  private  car,  asked  the  station-master 
where  the  special  was  to  be  found,  and  quickly 
ordered  his  car  to  be  placed  on  a  side  ti^ack. 
When  he  had  entered  the  Bunkerville  com- 
position car,  and  Joe  liad  started  up  his 
wheezy  engine,  Steele  darted  from  the  shadow 
of  the  station,  caught  the  car,  and  sat  down 
on  the  rear  steps  outside,  well  concealed  from 
the  sight  of  anyone  unless  that  person  stood 
by  the  end  window.     All  went  well  until 
they  were  about  five  miles  from  Bunkerville, 
when  Steele  thought  he  recognised  a  lady's 
figure  on  the  highway  ahead,  and  forgetting 
that  he  might  expose  himself  to  the  sharp 
eyes  of  Dunham,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  clutched 
the  stanchions,  and   leaned  forward.      An 
instant  later  the  rear  door  was  thrown  open, 
a  foot  was  planted  energetically  in  the  small 
of  Steele's  back,  and  that  young  man  went 
hurtling  over  the  embankment,  head  over 
heels.    There  were  no  half  measures  with 
Dunham.     Steele  sat  up  bruised  and  daxed, 
not  knowing  whether  he  was  hurt  seriously, 
or  had  escaped  practically  unscathed,  which 
latter  proved  to   be  the  case.      It  seemed 
to    him,  as  he  fell    through    the   air,  he 
heard    a  woman's  scream.      When  he  was 
somewhat  stupidly  debating  whether  this  was 
real  or  imaginary,  his  doubts  were  solved  by 
a  voice  he  recognised. 


t  wf  talk  Umii: 


t>^^ 


after '/ '  Hid  the  girl." 


30 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


"  "  Oh,  Mr.  Steele,  are  you  hurt  ?  What 
a  brutal  thing  for  that  villain  to  have 
done  ! " 

"  Why,  Miss  Dorothy,  you  of  all  persons  ! 
And  here  was  I  trying  to  sneak  into  Bunker- 
ville  to  see  you  first.  I  thought  you  were 
teaching  school  ?  " 

"  Not  on  Saturdays,  Mr.  Steele,"  said  the 
girl,  laughing.  "  I  see,  after  all,  you  are  not 
very  much  hurt." 

"  I'm  aU  right,  I  think.  Fortunately  Joe 
doesn't  nm  sixty  miles  an  hour.  Dorothy,  I 
want  you  to  marry  me  and  come  to  Chicago." 

Again  the  girl  laughed. 

"  Dear  me,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  you  had 
come  to  buy  my  stock.  I  couldn't  think  of 
taking  advantage  of  a  proposal  that  had  been 
literally  shaken  out  of  a  man.  I'm  afraid 
your  mind  is  wandering  a  bit." 

"  My  mind  was  never  clearer  in  its  life. 
What  is  your  answer,  Dorothy  ?  " 

She  sat  down  beside  him,  still  laughing  a 
little.  The  rivulet  was  at  their  feet,  the 
railway  embankment  behind  them,  the  high- 
way, shrouded  by  trees,  in  front. 

"  Suppose  we  talk  business  first,  and  in- 
dulge in  sentiment  after  ? "  said  the  girl, 
with  a  roguish  twinkle  in  her  eye.  "  I  have 
been  offered  ten  thousand  dollars  for  my 
shares.   Are  you  prepared  to  pay  as  much  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"I  imagine  Mr.  Dunham  would  never 
have  come  all  the  way  from  New  York  to 
see  me  if  he  were  not  prepared  to  pay  a  much 
larger  sum.      I  have  therefore  two  further 


provisos  to  make.  You  will  pay  me  ten 
thousand  down.  Proviso  number  one  is  that 
you  will  give  me  ten  per  cent,  on  the  profits  you 
make  in  this  transaction.  Of  course,  in  spite 
of  Mr.  Hazlett's  caution,  I  know  there  is 
something  very  large  going  on,  and  naturally 
I  wish  to  profit  by  it." 

"  You  are  quite  right.  Miss  Slocum,  and  I 
agree  to  the  ten  per  cent,  suggestion  ;  in  fact, 
I  offered  you  a  hundred  per  cent,  in  the 
beginning,  and  myself  into  the  bargain,  which 
proposal  you  have  ignored.  What  is  the 
second  proviso  ?  " 

"  I  am  told  you  have  a  great  deal  of  influ- 
ence in  railway  circles  in  Chicago." 

"  Yes,  I  have." 

"  Can  you  get  a  good  place  for  a  capable 
and  deserving  young  man  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.  Does  he  understand  rail- 
roading ?  " 

*'  Yes,  he  is  the  station-master  at  Slocum 
Junction." 

"  Oh,  the  station-master  1  Certainly.  I 
should  be  delighted  to  offer  him  a  good 
position.  He  is  a  splendid  fellow,  and  I 
like  him  exceedingly." 

"  I  am  charmed  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said 
Dorothy,  with  downcast  eyes,  pulling  a  flower 
and  picking  it  to  pieces ;  "  for  that  brings 
us  to  the  sentiment,  and  I  show  my  confi- 
dence in  you  and  the  great  esteem  in  which 
I  hold  you,  by  telling  you  this  strict  secret 
—that  I  am  engaged  to  be  married  to  the 
station-master,  and  am  anxious  to  get  to 
Chicago." 


A    VOICE. 

RUMMER  8lng5  at  the  door!    Oh,  it's  up  my  heart  and  away 
^^    Prom  this  empty  house  of  Love  with  its  dust  of  yesterday ! 
Abroad  is  a  glad,  wild  wind  and  riot  of  blossoming, 
And  the  room  where  we  sit  is  dull,  a  cheerless  and  sunless  thing; 
Now  throw  we  the  casement  wide  and  hear  and  heed  and  obey. 

Life  is  loud  on  the  hills,  and  the  harlequin  blooms  are  gay. 

Let  us  out  from  this  shrouded  place  as  long-caged  birds  may  wing; 
The  Winter  hath  known  our  tears,  but  now,  in  the  steps  of  Spring, 

Summer  sings  at  the  door. 

For  mourner  of  Love  no  more,  but  lover  of  Life  I  stay. 
Till  the  red  blood  fails  to  leap  and  Joy  is  a  thing  gone  grey, 

I  come  from  a  haunted  house— my  grief  to  your  winds  I  fling; 

Oh,  Earth  of  the  mother-heart,  be  good  to  the  soul  I  bring: 
I  hear  your  peace  in  her  voice,  your  call  in  her  roundelay- 
Summer  sings  at  the  door ! 

THEODOSIA    GARRISON, 


LITTLE   WARHORSE: 


THE    STORY    OF    A    JACK-RABBIT 


By  ERNEST  THOMPSON  SETON.* 


THE  Little  Warhorse  knew  practically 
all  the  dogs  in  town.  First,  there 
was  a  very  large,  -brown  dog  that 
had  pursued  him  many  times,  a  dog  that 
he  always  got  rid  of  by  slipping  through  a 
small  hole  in  a  board  fence.  Second,  there 
was  a  small,  active  dog  that  could  follow 
through  that  hole,  and  him  he  baffled  by 
leaping  a  twenty-foot  irrigation  ditch  that 
had  steep  sides  and  a  swift  current.  The 
dog  could  not  make  this  leap.  It  was  sure 
medicine  for  him,  and  the  boys  still  call 
that  place  "Jacky's  Jump."  But  there 
was  a  greyhound  that  could  leap  better  than 
the  jack,  and  when  he  could  not  follow 
through  a 
fence,  he  could 
jump  over  it. 
He  tried  the 
Warhorse's 
mettle  more 
than  once,  and 
the  jack  only 
saved  himself 
by  his  quick 
dodging,  till 
they  got  to  an 
OsagQ  hedge, 
and  here  the  greyhound  had  to  give  it  up. 
Besides  this  there  was  in  town  a  rabble  of 
big  and  little  dogs  that  were  troublesome, 
but  easily  left  behind  in  the  open. 

In  the  country  there  was  a  dog  at  eagh 
fannhouse,  but  only  one  that  the  Warhorse 
really  feared — that  was  a  big,  fierce  half- 
greyhound,  a  creature  so  swift  and  per- 
tinacious that  he  had  several  times  forced 
the  Warhorse  to  his  final  shifts  to  escape. 

For  the  town  cats  he  cared  little  ;  only 
once  or  twice  had  he  been  threatened  by 
them.  A  huge  tom-cat,  flushed  with  many 
victories,  came  crawling  up  to  where  he 
fed  one  moonlit  night.  The  Warhorse  saw 
the  black  creature  with  the  glowing  eyes, 
and  a  moment  before  the  final  rush  he 
faced  it,  raised  up  on  his  haunches — 
his  hind-legs — ^at  full  length  on  his  toes, 
with  his  broad  ears  towering  up   yet  six 

*  Copjriglit,  1905,  br  Erneet  Thomp0on  ^ton,  in  the 
United  States  of  America. 


-/ 


—  ^T* 


81 


inches  higher ;  then  letting  out  a  loud 
^^Chvrir — churrr'''' — his  best  attempt  at  a 
roar — he  sprang  five  feet  forward  and  landed 
on  the  cat's  head,  driving  in  liis  sharp  hind- 
nails,  and  the  old  torn  fled  in  terror  from 
the  weird  two-legged  giant.  This  trick  lie 
had  tried  several  times  with  success,  but  twice 
it  turned  out  a  sad  failure — once  when  the 
cat  proved  to  be  a  mother  whose  kittens  were 
near — then  Jack  Warhorse  had  to  flee  for  his 
life ;  and  the  other  time  was  when  he  made 
the  mistake  of  landing  hard  on  a  skunk. 
•  «  «  «  * 

But  the  greyhound    was  the   dangerous 
enemy,  and   in   him    the   Warhorse  might 

have  found  his 
^JSy  fate  but  for  a 

**^  ''  curious  adven- 

ture with  a 
happy  ending 
for  the  jack. 

He  fed  by 
night;  there 
were  fewer 
enemies  about 
then,  and  it 
was  easier  to 
hide ;  but  one 
day  at  dawn  in  winter  he  had  lingered  long 
at  an  alfalfa  stack,  and  was  crossing  the  open 
snow  towards  his  forest  form,  when,  as  ill- 
luck  would  have  it,  he  met  the  greyhound 
prowling  outside  the  town.  With  open  snow 
and  growing  daylight  there  was  no  chance 
to  hide — nothing  but  a  run  in  the  open,  with 
soft  snow  that  hindered  the  jack  more  than 
it  did  the  hound. 

Away  they  went — superb  runners  in  fine 
fettle.  How  they  skimmed  across  the  snow, 
raising  it  in  little  puff — puff — puffs  each 
time  their  nimble  feet  went  down  !  This 
way  and  that,  swerving  and  dodging,  went 
the  chase.  Everything  favoured  the  dog; 
his  empty  stomach,  the  cold  weather,  the 
soft  snow  ;  while  the  rabbit  was  also  handi- 
capped by  his  heavy  meal  of  alfalfa.  But 
his  feet  went  puff — puff  so  fast  that  a  dozen 
of  the  little  snow-jets  were  in  view  at  once. 
The  chase  continued  in  the  open,  no 
friendly  hedge  was  near,  and  every  attempt 


Little  Warhorse  knew  practically 
all  the  dogs  iu  town.** 


32 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


to  reach  a  fence  was  cleverly  stopped  by 
the  hound.  Jack's  ears  were  losing  their 
bolt  np-cock,  a  sure  sign  of  failing  heart 
or  wind,  when  all  at  once  these  flags  went 
boldly  up,  as  under  sudden  renewal  of 
strength.  The  Warhorse  put  forth  all  his 
power,  not  to  reach  the  heage  to  the  north, 
but  over  the  open  prairie  eastward.  The 
greyhound  followed,  and  within  fifty  yards 
the  jack  dodged  to  foil  his  fierce  pursuer ; 
but  on  the  next  tack  he  was  on  his  eastern 
course  again  ;  and  so,  tacking  and  dodging, 
he  kept  the  line  direct  for  the  next  farm- 
house, where  was  a  very  high  board  fence 
with  a  hen-hole,  and  where  also  there  dwelt 
his  other  hated  enemy,  the  big,  black  dog. 
An  outer  hedge  delayed  the  greyhound  for 
a  minute,  and  gave  Jack  time  to  dash 
through  the  hen-hole  into  the  yard,  where 
he  hid  to  one  side.  The  greyhound  rushed 
around  to  the  low  gate,  leaped  over  that 
among  the  hens,  and  aa  they  fled  cackling 
and  fluttering,  some  lambs  bleated  loudly, 
and  their  natural  guardian,  the  big,  black 
dos;,  ran  to  the  rescue,  and  Warhoi^se  slipped 
out  again  by  the  hole  at  which  he  had 
entered.  Horrible  sonnds  of  dog  hate  and 
fury  were  heard  behind  him  in  the  henyard, 
and  how  it  ended  he  did  not  know,  but  it 
was  remarkable  that  he  never  afterwards  was 
troubled  by  the  swift  greyhound  that  one 
time  lived  in  Newchusen. 

Newchusen  was  a  ramshackle  Western 
town.  The  surrounding  region  of  Kaskado 
had  been  settled  very  quickly  a  few  years 
before,  and  the  railroad  coming  through  had 
caused  a  gathering  of  about  one  hundred 
miserable  shanties,  that  sheltered  a  population 
whose  main  idea  seemed  to  be  to  leave  as 
soon  as  possible.  The  only  beauty  of  the 
place  was  a  few  lines  of  hand-planted  trees. 

The  country  about  was  more  interesting. 
It  was  cut  up  into  small  farms  with  their 
windmill  pumps  and  Osage  orange  hedges  in 
all  directions.  The  changes  made  by  the 
settlement  had  brought  a  great  change  to 
the  jack-rabbits.  Their  natural  enemies 
were  driven  out  by  unwise  laws,  the  hedges 
and  ditches  helped  to  protect  them,  and  they 
increased  yearly  in  numbers.  Their  natural 
home  was  the  open  prairie,  but,  relying  on 
their  speed,  the  bolder  ones  did  not  hesitate 
to  enter  the  barnyards  and  even  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town. 

The  national  colour  of  the  jacks  is  the 
black-and-white  marks  on  ears  and  tail. 
These  marks  are  very  large  and  bright  in 
the  finest  jacks.  Little  Warhorse  was  one 
of  those  rare  and  gifted   individuals  that 


sometimes  appear.  He  was  often  in  the 
town,  because  the  best  forage  was  there,  and 
his  powers  were  high  enough  to  justify  his 
boldness,  while  his  coat  and  markings,  so 
dull  in  his  duller  kindred,  shone,  as  he  ran 
like  charcoal  on  drifted  snow. 


Next  summer  was  a  wonderful  year  for  the 
jack-rabbits.  A  foolish  law  had  set  a 
bounty  on  hawks  and  owls,  and  had  caused  a 
general  massacre  of  these  feathered  poh'ce- 
men  ;  consequently  the  rabbits  had  multi- 
plied in  such  numbers  that  they  now  were 
threatening  to  devastate  the  country. 

The  farmers,  who  were  the  sufferers  from 
the  bounty  law,  as  well  as  the  makers  of  it, 
decided  on  a  great  rabbit-drive.  All  the 
county  was  invited  to  come  on  a  given 
morning  to  the  main  road  north  of  the 
county,  with  the  intention  of  sweeping  the 
whole  region  upwind,  and  at  length  driving 
the  rabbits  into  a  huge  corral  of  close  wiie 
netting.  Dogs  were  barred  as  unmanageable, 
and  guns  as  dangerous  among  a  crowd,  but 
every  man  and  boy  carried  a  couple  of  long 
sticks  and  a  bagful  of  stones.  Women  came 
on  horseback  and  in  buggies  ;  many  carried 
rattles  or  horns  and  old  tins  to  make  a  noise. 
A  number  of  the  buggies  trailed  a  string  of 
old  cans  or  tied  some  laths  to  scrape  on  the 
wheel  spokes,  and  thus  add  no  little  to  the 
deafening  clatter  of  the  drive.  As  rabbits 
have  marvellously  sensitive  hearing,  a  noise 
that  is  distracting  to  mankind  is  likely  to 
prove  bewildering  to  them.  The  weather 
was  favourable,  and  at  eight  in  the  morning 
the  word  to  advance  was  given.  The  line 
was  about  five  miles  long  at  first,  and  there 
was  a  man  or  a  boy  every  thirty  or  forty 
yards.  The  buggies  and  riders  were  almost 
entirely  kept  to  the  roads,  but  the  drivers 
were  supposed  to  face  everything  and  keep 
the  front  right  as  a  point  of  honour.  The 
advance  was  roughly  in  three  sides  of  a 
square.  Each  man  made  as  much  noise  as 
he  could,  and  threshed  every  bush  in  his 
path.  A  number  of  rabbits  hopped  out, 
some  low  skimming,  some  soaring  high  every 
few  yards. 


Ordinarily  a  jack  running  from  danger 
makes  one  hop  in  four  or  five — straight  up, 
so  as  to  give  a  view  over  all  near  herbage. 
This  is  called  an  observation  or  sky-bop. 
The  clever  jacks  took  only  one  observation 
in  eight  or  ten  hops  ;  the  little  fools  waited 
time  by  making  one  hop  in  three  a  sky-hop. 


■*  X  number  of  labbtU  hopped  oul,  i 


84 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


Some  seemed  to  suspect  the  danger  ahead, 
ii^me  made  for  the  lines,  to  be  at  once 
assailed  by  a  shower  of  stones  that  laid  many 
low.  One  or  two  did  get  through  and 
escape,  but  the  majority  were  sw^ept  ahead  of 
the  drive.  At  first  the  number  seen  was 
small,  but  before  three  miles  were  covered  the 
rabbits  were  running  ahead  in  every  direc- 
tion. After  five  miles — and  that  took  about 
three  hours — the  word  for  the  wings  to  close 
in  was  given.  The  space  between  each  man 
was  closed  up  till  it  was  less  than  ten  feet, 
and  the  whole  drive  converged  ou  the  corral 
within  its  two  long  guide- wings,  or  fences  : 
the  end  lines  joined  these  wings,  and  the 
surround  was  complete.  The  drivers  closed 
in  rapidly  now,  and  scores  of  the  rabbits 
were  killed  as  they  ran  too  near  the  drivers. 
Their  bodies  strewed  the  ground,  but  the 
swarms  seemed  to  increase,  and  in  the  final 
move  before  the  victims  were  cooped  up  in 
the  corral,  the  two-acre  space  surrounded  was 
a  whirling  mass  of  driving,  jumping,  bound- 
ing rabbits.  Bound  and  round  they  circled 
and  leaped,  looking  for  a  chance  to  escape  ; 
but  the  inexorable  crowd  grew  thicker  as 
the  ring  grew  steadily  smaller,  and  the 
whole  swaim  was  forced  along  the  chute 
into  the  tight  corral,  some  to  squat  stupidly 
in  the  middle,  some  to  race  around  the  outer 
wall,  some  to  seek  hiding  in  corners  or 
under  each  other. 

And  the  Little  Warhorse — where  was  he 
in  all  this  ?  The  drive  had  swept  him  along, 
and  he  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  enter  the 
corral.  But  a  curious  sort  of  selection  had 
been  established.  The  pen  was  to  be  a 
death-trap  for  the  rabbits,  except  the  best, 
the  soundest — and  many  were  those  that 
were  unsound.  Those  that  think  of  all  wild 
animals  as  pure  and  perfect  things  would 
have  been  shocked  to  see  how  many  halt, 
maimed,  and  diseased  there  were  in  that  pen 
of  four  or  five  thousand  jack-rabbi te.  It 
was  a  Boman  victory — the  rabbits  of 
prisoners  were  to  be  butchered.  The 
choicest  were  to  be  reserved  for  the  arena. 
The  arena  ?    Yes ;  that  was  the  coursing-park. 


"■"•^•J!^ 


"  Rabbits  Uke  their  troubleB  lightly." 


In  that  corral  trap,  prepared  beforehand 
for  the  rabbits,  were  placed  a  number  of 
small  boxes  along  the  wall — a  whole  series  of 
them,  five  hundred  at  least,  each  large 
enough  to  hold  one  jack. 

In  the  last  rush  of  the  drive  the  swiftest 
jacks  first  reached  the  pen.  Some  were  swift 
and  silly ;  they  got  to  the  pen  and  rushed 
wildly  round  and  round  ;  some  were  swift 
and  wise :  they  at  once  sought  the  hiding 
afforded  by  the  little  boxes,  all  now  full. 
Five  hundred  of  the  swiftest  and  wisest  had 
been  selected  thus — not  by  any  means  an 
infallible  way,  but  the  simplest  and  readiest. 
These  five  hundred  were  destined  to  be  run 
by  greyhounds.  The  surging  mass  of  over 
four  thousand  were  ruthlessly  given  to 
slaughter. 

Five  hundred  little  boxes  with  five 
hundred  bright-eyed  jack-rabbits  were  put 
on  the  train  that  day,  and  among  them  was 
Little  Jack  Warhorse. 


Babbits  take  their  troubles  lightly,  and  it 
is  not  to  be  supposed  that  any  great  terror 
was  felt  by  the  boxed  jacks,  once  the  uproar 
of  the  massacre  was  over;  and  when  they 
reached  the  coursing-park  near  the  great 
city  and  were  turned  out  one  by  one,  very 
gently — yes,  gently ;  the  Boman  guards 
were  careful  of  their  prisoners,  being  re- 
sponsible for  them— -the  jacks  found  little 
to  complain  of,  a  big  enclosure  with  plenty 
of  good  food,  and  no  enemies  to  annoy  them. 
The  very  next  morning  their  training 
began.  A  score  of  little  doors  were  opened 
into  a  much  larger  field — the  park.  After  a 
number  of  jacks  had  wandered  out  through 
these  doora,  a  rabble  of  boys  appeared  and 
drove  them  back,  pursuing  them  noisUy 
until  all  were  again  in  the  great  pen,  caUed 
the  haven.  A  few  days  of  this  taught  the 
jack-rabbits  that  when  pursued  their  safety 
was  to  get  back  by  one  of  the  hatches  into 
the  haven.  Now  the  second  lesson  began. 
The  whole  band  was  driven  by  a  side  door 
into  a  long  lane  which  led  around  three 

sides  of  the  park  into 
another  pen  at  the  far 
end.     This   was    the 
fir^  starting-pen.  Its  door 

1^  into  the  arena — that 

is,   the    park — was 
,      u  -<jS?^  opened,    tne    rabbite 

^-  -       -    '..y^"^    driven  forth,  and  then 

a.  mob  of  boys  and 
dogs  in  hiding  burst 
forth  and  pursued 


LITTLE  WARHORSE. 


86 


them  acroes  the  open.  The  whole  army  went 
bobbing  and  bounding  away,  some  of  the 
younger  ones  soaring  in  a  sky-hop  as  a 
matter  of  habit ;  but  low  skimming  ahead 
of  them  all  was  a  goi^eous  black-and-white 
one ;  clean-limbed  and  bright-eyed,  he  had 
atti*acted  attention  in  the  pen,  but  now  in  the 
field  he  led  the  band  with  easy  lope  that  put 
him  as  far  ahead  of  them  all  as  they  were 
ahead  of  the  rabble  of  common  dogs. 

"Lnk  at  that,  would  ye — but  ain't  he  a 
Little  Warhorse  ? "  shouted  a  villainous- 
looking  Irish  stable-boy,  and  thus  the  rabbit 
was  named. 

When  half-wav  across  the  course,  the 
jacks  remembered  the  haven,  and  all  swept 
to  it  and  in,  like  a  snow-cloud  over  the  drifts. 

This  was  the  second  lesson — to  lead 
straight  for  the  haven  as  soon  as  driven 
from  the  pen.  In  a  week  all  had  learned  it 
and  were  ready  for  the  great  annual  meet  of 
the  coursing  club. 

The  Little  Warhorse  was  now  well  known 
to  the  grooms  and  hangers-on ;  his  colours 
usually  marked  him  clearly,  and  his  leader- 
ship was  in  a  measure  recognised  by  the 
long-eared  herd  that  fled  with  him.  He 
figured  more  or  less  with  the  djgs  in  the 
tdk  and  betting  of  the  men. 

."Wonder  if  old  Dignam  is  going  to  enter 
Minkie  this  year  ?  " 

"  Faix,  an'  if  he  does,  I  bet  the  Little 
Warhorse  will  take  the  gimp  out  av  her  and 
her  running  mate.'' 

"I'll  bet  three  to  one  that  my  old  Jen 
will  pick  the  Warhorse  up  before  he  passes 
the  grand-stand,"  growled  a  dog-man. 

"An'  it's  meself  will  take  that  bet  in 
dollars,"  said  Mickey ;  "  an'  moore  than 
thot,  Oi'U  put  np  a  hull  month's  stuff  thot 
there  ain't  a  dog  in  the  mate  that  kin  turrn 
the  Warhorse  wunst  on  the  hull  coorse." 

So  they  wrangled  and  wagered,  but  each 
day  as  they  put  the  rabbits  through  their 
paces  there  were  those  that  believed  that 
they  had  found  a  wonderful  runner  in  the 
Little  Warhorse,  one  that  would  give  the 
be^  greyhounds  something  that  is  rarely  seen 
— a  straight^  stem  chase  from  start  to  grand- 
stand and  haven. 


The  first  morning  of  the  meet  dawned 
bright  and  promising.  The  grand-stand  was 
fill^  with  a  city  crowd.  The  usual  types  of 
a  racecourse  appeared  in  force.  Here  and 
there  were  to  be  seen  the  dog-grooms  lead- 
ing in  leash  single  greyhounds  or  couples, 
shrouded  in  blsmkets,  but   showing    their 


>>^^^ 


"The  dogs  are  paired  oflF." 


sinewy  legs,  their  snaky  necks,  their  shaply 
heads  with  long,  reptilian  jaws,  and  tneir 
quick,  nervous  yellow  eyes  —  hybrids  of 
natural  force  and  human  ingenuity,  the 
most  wonderful  running  machines  ever  made 
of  flesh  and  blood.  Their  keepers  guarded 
them  like  jewels,  tended  them  like  babies, 
and  were  careful  not  only  to  keep  them 
from  picking  up  odd  eatables,  but  also  to 
prevent  their  smelling  unusual  objects  or 
allowing  strangers  to  come  too  near.  Large 
sums  were  wagered  on  these  dogs,  and  a 
cunningly  placed  tack,  a  piece  of  doctored 
meat — ^yes,  an  artfully  compounded  smeU — 
has  been  known  to  turn  a  superb  young 
runner  into  a  lifeless  laggard,  and  to  the 
owner  this  might  spell  ruin.  The  dogs 
entered  in  each  class  are  paired  off,  as  each 
contest  is  supposed  to  be  a  duel ;  the  winners 
in  the  first  series  are  then  paired  again.  In 
each  trial  a  jack  is  driven  from  the  starting- 

Sen ;  close  by  in  one  leash  are  the  rival 
ogs,  held  by  the  slipper.  As  soon  as  the 
rabbit  is  well  away,  the  man  has  to  get  the 
dogs  evenly  started  and  slip  them  together. 
On  the  field  is  the  judge,  scarlet-coated  and 
well  mounted.  He  follows  the  chase.  The 
rabbit,  mindful  of  his  training,  speeds  across 
the  open  towards  the  haven  in  full  view  of 
the  grand-stand.  The  dogs  foUow  the  jack ; 
as  the  first  one  comes  near  enough  to  be 
dangerous  the  rabbit  baulks  him  by  dodging. 
Eetch  time  the  rabbit  is  turned  scores  for  the 
dog  that  did  it,  and  a  final  point  is  made  by 
the  kill. 

Sometimes  the  kill  takes  place  within  one 
hundred  yards  of  the  start — that  means  a 
poor  jack  ;  sometimes  it  happens  in  front  of 
the  grand-stand ;  but  sometimes,  on  rare 
occasions,  it  happens  that  the  jack  goes 
sailing  across  the  open  park  a  good  half- 
mile,  and  by  dodging  for  time  runs  to  safety 
in  the  haven.  Four  finishes  are  possible : 
a  speedy  kill ;    a  speedy  winning  of    the 

D 


S6 


TUE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


haven  ;  new  dogs  to  relieve  the  first  runners, 
who  would  suffer  heart  collapse  in  the  terrific 
strain  of  the  pace  if  kept  up  many  minutes 
in  hot  weather  ;  and  a  final  resort  for  rabbits 
that  by  continued  dodging  defy  and  jeopardise 
the  dogs  and  yet  do  not  win  the  haven.  This 
fourth  fate  is  a  loaded  shot-gun. 

There  is  just  as  much  jockeying  at  a 
Kaskado  coursing  as  at  a  Kaskado  horse- 
race ;  just  as  many  attempts  at  fraud,  and  it 
is  just  as  necessary  to  have  the  judge  and 
the  slipper  beyond  suspicion. 


The  day  before  a  meet,  a  man  of  diamonds 
saw  Irish  Mickey — by  chance.  A  cigar  was 
all  that  visibly  passed,  but  it  had  a  green 
wrapper  that  was  slipped  off  before  lighting. 
Then  a  word :  "  If  you  wuz  slipper  to-morrow, 
and  it  so  came  about  that  Dignam's  Minkie 
gets  done,  well,  it  means  another  cigar." 

"  Faix,  an'  if  I  wuz  slipper,  I  could  load 
the  dice  so  Minkie  would  niver  score  a  pMnt, 
but  her  runnin'  mate  would  have  the  same 
bad  luck." 

"  That  so  ?  "  The  diamond  man  looked 
interested.  "  All  right,  fix  it  so  ;  it  means 
two  cigars." 

Slipper  Slyman  had  always  dealt  on  the 
square— had  scorned  many  approaches  ;  that 
was  well  known.  Most  men  believed  in 
him,  but  there  were  some  malcontents  ;  and 
when  a  man  with  many  gold  seals  approached 
the  steward  and  formulated  charges,  serious 
and  well  backed,  they  must  perforce  suspend 
the  sHppor  pending  an  inquiry  ;  thus  Mickey 
Doo  reigned  in  his  stead. 

Mickey  was  poor  and  not  over-scrupulous. 
Here  was  a  chance  to  make  a  year's  pay  in  a 
minute  ;  nothing  wrong  about  it — no  harm 
to  the  dog,  or  the  rabbit,  either. 

All  jack-rabbits  are  much  alike— every- 
body knows  that.  It  was  simply  a  question 
of  choosing  your  jack. 

The  preliminaries  were  over.  Fifty  jacks 
had  been  run  and  killed.  Now  came  the 
final  for  the  cup — the  cup  and  the  enormous 
stakes. 

Mickey  had  done  his  work  satisfactorily — 
a  fair  slip  given  to  every  leash. 

There  were  the  couples  in  the  fields. 
Minkie  and  her  rival  were  first.  Everything 
had  been  fair  so  far,  and  who  can  say  that 
what  followed  w^as  unfair?  Mickey  could 
free  which  jack  he  pleased. 

"  Number  three ! "  he  called  to  his  partner. 

Out  leaped  the  Little  Warhorse.  Black  and 
white  his  great  V  ears,  easy  and  low  his  five- 
foot  bounds ;  gazing  wildly  at  the  unwonted 


crowd  about  the  park,  he  leaped  high  in  one 
surprising  sky-hop. 

*'  Hrrri-rr  1 "  shouted  the  slipper,  and  his 
partner  rattled  a  stick  on  the  fence.  The 
Warhorse's  bounds  inci-eased  to  eight  or  nine 
feet. 

"  Hrrrrrr  ! " — and  they  were  ten  or  twelve 
feet.  At  thirty  yards  the  hounds  were 
slipped — an  even  slip  :  some  thought  it  could 
have  been  done  at  twenty  yards. 

"  Hrrrrrr  1  Hrrrrrr  ! "  and  the  Warhorse 
was  doing  fourteen-foot  leaps,  not  a  sky-hop 
among  them. 

"  Hrrrrrr  !  " — wonderful  dogs  :  how  they 
sailed  1  But  drifting  ahead  of  them  like  a 
white  sea-bird  or  flying  scud  was  the  War- 
horse. Away  past  the  grand-stand.  And 
the  dogs — were  they  closing  the  gap  or 
start  ?     Closing  !     It  was  lengthening  ! 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  that 
black-and-white  thistledown  had  drifted 
away  through  the  haven  door — the  door  so 
like  that  good  old  hen-hole — and  the  grey- 
hounds pulled  up  amidst  a  roar  of  derision 
and  cheers  for  the  Little  Warhoi-se. 

How  Mickey  did  laugh  I  How  Diguam 
did  swear !  How  the  newspaper-men  did 
scribble — scribble — scribble  ! 

Next  day  there  was  a  paragraph  in  aU  the 
papers : 

WONDERFUL    FEAT    OF   A   JACK-RABBIT. 

TIic  Little  Wsrhoree,  as  he  has  been  styled,  com- 
pletely skunked  two  of  the  most  famous  dogs  cm  the 
turf,  etc. 

There  was  a  fierce  wrangle  among  the 
dog-men.  This  was  a  tie,  since  neither  of 
them  had  scored,  and  Minkie  and  her  rival 
were  allowed  to  run  again,  but  that  half-mile 
had  been  too  hot,  and  they  had  no  show  at 
all  for  the  cup. 

Mickey  met  "  Diamonds "  next  day — by 
chance. 

"  Have  a  cigar,  Mickey  ?  " 

"  Oi  wiU  thot,  sor ;  faix,  thim's  so  foine 
I'd  loike  tw^o — thank  ye,  sor." 

That  was  the  beginning  of  Warhorse's 
fame.  From  that  time  he  became  the  pride 
of  the  Irish  boy.  Slipper  Slyman  had  been 
honourably  reinstated,  and  Mickey  reduced  to 
the  ranks  of  jack-starters,  but  that  merely 
helped  to  turn  his  sympathies  from  the  do^ 
to  the  rabbits — or,  rather,  to  the  Warhorse, 
for  of  all  the  five  hundred  that  were  brought 
in  from  the  drive,  he  alone  had  achieved  a  real 
fame.  There  were  several  Uiat  crossed  the 
arena  to  run  again  another  day,  but  he  alone 
had  crossed  the  course  without  getting  even 
a  turn.    Twice  a  week  the  meets  took  place; 


■'Mickey  could  aet  that  Jsck's  ears  were  ginking." 


38 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


fortj  or  fifty  jacks  were  killed  each  time, 
and  the  five  hundred  ia  the  pen  had  been 
nearly  all  eaten  in  the  arena. 


The  Warhorse  had  run  every  day,  and  eacn 
time  had  made  the  haven.  Mickey  became 
wildly  enthusiaatic  about  his  favourite's 
powers.  He  begot  a  positive  affection  for 
the  clean-limbed  racer,  and  stoutly  main- 
tained against  all  that  it  was  a  positive 
honour  to  a  dog  to  be  disgraced  by  such  a 
jack. 

It  is  a  rare  thing  for  the  rabbit  to  cross 
the  track  at  all ;  so  when  the  jack  did  it  six 
times  without  having  to  dodge,  the  papers 
took  note  of  it,  and  after  each  meet  there 
would  appear  a  notice  :  **  The  Little  War- 
horse  crossed  again  to-day  :  old-timers  say  it 
shows  how  our  dogs  are  deteriorating." 

After  the  sixth  time  the  rabbit-keepers 
grew  enthusiastic,  and  Mickey,  commander- 
in-chief  of  the  brigade,  became  intemperate 
in  his  admiration  I  *'  Be  jabers  I  he  has  a 
right  to  be  torned  loose.  He  has  won  his 
freedom  loike  ivery  Amerikin  done,"  he 
added  by  way  of  appeal  to  the  patriotism  of 
the  steward  of  the  race,  who  was,  of  course, 
the  real  owner  of  the  jacks. 

"  All  right,  Mick ;  if  he  gets  across 
thirteen  times,  you  can  ship  him  back  to  his 
native  land,"  was  the  reply. 

**  Shure,  now,  and  won't  you  make  it  tin, 
Bor  ?  " 

"  No,  no  ;  I  need  him  to  take  the  conceit 
out  of  some  of  the  new  dogs  that  are 
coming." 


"  Thirteen  toimes,  and  he  is  free,  sor  ;  it's 
a  bargain." 

A  new  lot  of  rabbits  arrived  about  this  time, 
and  one  of  these  was  coloured  much  like 
Little  Warhorse.  He  had  no  such  speed,  but 
to  prevent  mistakes  Mickey  caught  his 
favourite  by  driving  him  into  one  of  the 
padded  shipping-boxes,  and  proceeded  with 
the  gatekeeper's  punch  to  "earmark"  him. 
The  punch  was  sharp  ;  a  clear  star  was  cut 
out  of  the  thin  flap,  when  Mickey  exclaimed  : 
"  Faix,  and  Oi'll  punch  ivery  time  ye  cross 
the  coorse."    So  he  cut  six  stars  in  a  row. 

"  Thayer  now,  Warhorse,  shure  it's  a  free 
rabbit  ye'U  be  when  ye  have  yer  thirteen 
stars  loike  our  flag  of  liberty  had  when  we 
got  free." 

Within  a  week  the  Warhorse  had  van- 
quished the  new  greyhounds  and  had  stars 
enough  to  go  round  the  right  ear  and  begin 
on  the  left.  In  a  week  more  the  thirteen 
runs  were  completed,  six  stars  in  the  right  ear 


and  seven  in  the  left,  and  the  newspapers 
had  new  material. 

"  Whoop  !  "  How  Mickey  hoorayed  ! 
"And  it's  a  free  jack  ye  are,  Warhorse! 
Thirteen  always  wuz  a  lucky  number.  I 
never  knowed  it  to  fail." 


"Yes,  I  know  I  did,"  said  the  steward. 
"  But  I  want  to  give  him  one  more  run.  I 
have  a  bet  on  him  against  a  new  dog  here. 
It  won't  hurt  him  now ;  he  can  do  it.  Oh, 
well.  Here,  now,  Mickey,  don't  you  get 
sassy.  One  run  more  this  afternoon.  The 
dogs  run  two  or  three  times  a  day.  Why 
not  Jack  ?  " 

"  They're  not  shtakin'  thayre  loives,  sor." 

"  Oh,  you  get  out !  " 

Many  more  rabbits  had  been  added  to  the 
pen,  large  and  small,  peaceful  and  warb'ke, 
and  one  big  buck  of  savage  instincts,  seeing 
Jack  Warhorse's  hurried  dash  into  the 
haven  that  morning,  took  advantage  of  the 
moment  to  attack  him. 

At  another  time  Jack  would  have  thumped 
his  skull  as  he  once  did  the  cat's,  and  settled 
the  affair  in  a  minute,  but  now  it  took 
several  minutes,  during  which  he  himself  got 
roughly  handled  ;  so  when  the  afternoon 
came,  he  waa  suffering  from  several  bruises 
and  stiffening  wounds  —  not  serious,  but 
enough  to  lower  his  speed  quite  a  little. 

The  start  was  much  like  those  of  previous 
runs— the  Warhorse  steaming  away  low  and 
lightly,  his  ears  up,  and  the  breeze  whistling 
through  his  thirteen  stars. 

Minkie,  with  Fango,  the  new  dog,  bounded 
away  in  eager  pursuit,  but,  to  the  surprise  of 
all,  the  gap  grew  smaller.  The  Warhorse 
was  losing  ground,  and  right  before  the 
grand-stand  old  Minkie  turned  him,  and  a 
cheer  went  up  from  the  dog-men,  for  all 
knew  the  runners.  Within  fifty  yards 
Fango  scored  a  turn,  and  the  race  was 
right  back  to  the  start.  There  stood  Sly- 
man  and  Mickey.  The  rabbit  dodged,  the 
greyhounds  plunged ;  Jack  could  not  get 
away,  and  just  as  the  final  snap  seemed  near, 
the  Warhorse  leaped  straight  for  Mickey, 
and  in  an  instant  was  hidden  in  his  arms, 
while  the  starter's  feet  flew  out  in  energetic 
kicks  to  repel  the  furious  dogs.  It  is  not 
likely  that  the  jack  knew  Mickey  for  a 
friend  ;  he  only  yielded  to  the  old  instinct 
to  fly  from  a  certain  enemy  to  a  neutral  or 
a  possible  friend,  and,  as  luck  would  have  it, 
he  had  wisely  leaped  and  well.  A  cheer 
went  up  from  the  benches  as  Mickey  hurried 
back  with  his  favourite.    But  the  dog-men 


LITTLE  WARHORSE. 


89 


protested.  "  It  wasn't  a  fair  nin  ;  we  want 
it  finished."  They  appealed  to  the  steward. 
He  had  backed  the  jack  i^inst  Fango. 
He  was  sore  now,  and  ordered  a  new  race. 


An  hour's  rest  was  the  best  Mickey  could 
get  for  him,  and  he  went  as  before,  Fango 
and  Perez  behind  him.  He  seemed  less 
stiff  now ;  he  ran  more  like  himself,  but  a 
little  past  the  stand  he  was  turned  by  Fango, 
and  again  by  Perez,  and  back  and  across 
and  here  and  there,  leaping  frantically,  but 
failing  to  catch  him.  For  several  minutes 
it  lasted.  Mickey  could  see  that  Jack's  ears 
were  sinking.  The  new  dog  leaped ;  Jack 
dodged  almost  under  him  to  avoid  him, 
and  back  to  meet  the  second ;  and  now 
both  ears  were  flat  on  his  back.    But  the 


\ 


"  Star-spmigled  eurs.** 

hounds  were  suffering,  too.  Their  tongues 
were  lolling  out,  their  jaws  and  heaving 
sides  were  splashed  with  foam.  The  War- 
horse's  ears  went  up  again.  His  courage 
seemed  to  revive  in  their  distress.  He 
made  a  straight  dash  for  the  haven ;  but 
the  straight  dash  was  just  what  the  hounds 
could  do,  and  within  a  hundred  yards  he 
was  turned  again,  to  begin  another  desperate 
piXOLt  of  zigzag.  Then  the  dog-men  saw 
danger  for  their  dogs,  and  two  new  ones 
were  slipped — two  fresh  hounds — surely  they 
could  end  the  race.  But  they  did  not. 
The  first  two  were  vanquished — gasping — 
out  of  it,  but  the  next  two  racing  near, 
the  Warhorse  put  forth  all  his  strength. 
He  left  the  first  two  far  behind — was 
nearly  to  the  haven  when  the  second  two 
came  up. 
Nothing  now  but  dodging  could  save 
•  him.  His  ears  were  sinking  now  ;  his  heart 
was  pattering  on  his  ribs,  but  his  spirit  was 


strong.  He  flung  himself  in  wildest  zigzags. 
The  hounds  tumbled  over  each  other.  Again 
and  again  they  thought  they  had  him.  One 
of  them  snapped  off  the  end  of  his  long, 
black  tail,  yet  he  escaped  ;  but  he  could  not 
get  to  the  haven.  The  luck  was  against 
him.  He  was  forced  nearer  to  the  grand- 
stand. A  thousand  ladies  were  watohing. 
The  time  limit  was  up.  The  second  dogs 
were  suffering  now,  when  Mickey  came 
running,  yelling  like  a  madman-r-words — 
imprecations — crazy  sounds — 

"  Ye  blackguard  hoodlums !  Ye  dhirty, 
cowardly  bastes  I "  and  rushed  furiously  at 
the  dogs,  intent  to  do  them  bodily  harm. 

Officers  came  running  and  shouting,  and 
Mickey,  shrieking  hatred  and  defiance,  was 
dragged  from  the  field,  reviling  dogs  and 
men  with  every  horrid,  insulting  name  he 
could  think  of  or  invent. 

"  Fair  play !  whayer's  yer  fair  play  ?  ye 
liars  !  ye  dhirty  cheats  I  ye  cowards  !  "  and 
they  drove  him  from  the  arena.  The  last 
he  saw  of  it  was  the  four  foaming  dogs 
feebly  dodging  after  a  weak  and  worn-out 
jack-rabbit,  and  the  judge  on  his  horse 
beckoning  to  the  man  with  the  gun. 

The  gate  closed  behind  him,  and  Mickey 
heard  a  "  bang — hang !  "  an  unusual  uproar 
mixed  with  yelps  of  dogs,  and  knew  that 
little  Jack  Warnorse  had  been  served  with 
finish  number  four. 


All  his  life  he  had  loved  dogs,  but  his 
sense  of  fair  play  was  outraged.  He  could 
not  get  in  nor  see  in,  where  he  was.  He  raced 
along  the  lane  to  the  haven,  where  he  could 
get  a  good  view,  and  arrived  in  time  to  see 
— Little  Jack  Warhorse  with  his  half-masted 
ears  limp  into  the  haven,  and  realised  at 
once  that  the  man  with  the  gun  had  missed, 
had  hit  the  wrong  runner,  for  there  was  the 
crowd  at  the  stand  watohing  two  men  who 
were  carrying  a  wounded  greyhound,  while 
a  veterinary  surgeon  was  ministering  to 
another  panting  on  the  ground. 

Mickey  looked  about,  seized  a  little 
shipping-box,  put  it  at  the  angle  of  the 
haven,  carefully  drove  the  tired  thing  into 
it,  closed  the  lid  ;  then,  with  the  box  under 
his  arm,  he  scaled  the  fence  unseen  and  was 
gone. 

It  didn't  matter ;  he  had  lost  his  job 
anyway.  He  tramped  away  from  the  city. 
He  took  the  train  at  the  nearest  station  and 
travelled  some  hours,  and  now  he  was  in 
rabbit  country  again.  The  sun  had  long 
gone  down  ;  the  night  with  its  stars  was 


40 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


over  the  plaia  when,  among  the  farms,  the 
Osage  aiiu  alfalfa,  Mickey  Doo  opeaed  the 
box  and  gently  put  the  Warborse  out. 

Grinning  as  be  did  bo,  he  said  :  "  Sbure 
an'  it's  ould  OireUnd  that's  proud  to  set 
the  thirteen  etars  at  liberty  wanue  more  I  " 

For  a  moment  tbe  little  Warhorse  gazed 
in  doubt,  then  took  three  or  four  long  leaps 
and  a  sky-bop  to  get  his  bearitige.  Now, 
spreading    his    national    colours    and    bis 


honour-marked  ears,  he  bounded  into  his 
hard-won  freedom,  strong  ob  ever,  and  mett«d 
into  the  nij^bt  of  bis  native  plain. 

He  has  been  seen  many  times  in  Kaskado, 
and  there  have  been  many  rabbiKlrives  in 
that  region,  but  be  seems  to  know  some 
means  of  baffling  them  now,  for  in  all  tbe 
thousands  that  have  been  trapped  and 
corralled,  they  never  have  sinoe  seen  tbe 
star-spai^led  eats  of  Little  Jack  Warhorse. 


npHE  meadow-lark  ripples  out  o'er  the  fresh  stubble 
'      A  bugle-note  merry  to  herald  the  Sun,— 
Come  wander,  O,  wander  I    A  truce  to  all  trouble. 
Sing  Hey,  nonny  aonn},~the  Summer's  begun  I 

Sing  Hey,  nonny  nonny  1    The  scent  of  the  baying,— 
The  dew  of  the  mornlng,-the  aweet  of  the  year. 

The  hearts  of  us  now  are  too  blithe  for  the  saying 
Of  aught  but  "Hey-ei-ol    The  Summer  is  here." 

A-perch  on  the  lence-po«t  the  squirrel  sits  sentry; 

The  rabbit  runs  skipping  j  -the  creek  sparkles  by ; 
Small  folk  of  the  hill,- the  shy  woodland  gentry,— 

Sing,  each  in  his  way,  "O,  the  Summer  and  11" 

5lng  Hey,  tor  the  dawning.    The  meadow  a-qulver 

With  dew-brushed  green  where  the  quail  trooped  past; 

The  haze  on  the  mountain,— the  glint  on  the  river,— 
Sing  Hey-o,  tbe  Summer  1— It's  Summer  at  iastl 


AYESHA 

THE    RETURN    OF    "SHE." 
By    H.   rider    haggard.* 

STNOPSTS  OF  FOREGOING  CHAPTKRS.— The  return  of  "  She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed "  is  recoided  by 
Ladwig  Horace  Hollv,  the  friend  of  that  I^eo  Vincey  whom  Ayesha  the  beautiful  loved  in  the  awful  tombs  of  Kdr. 
When  the  record  begins,  the  two  men  are  living  in  an  old  house  remote  upon  the  seashore  of  Cumberland,  where 


in  all  her  former  loveliness.  She  beckons  him,  and  in  a  vision  his  spirit  follows  her  into  a  realm  of  snowy  peaks 
£iir  beyond  the  furthest  borders  of  Thibet.  A  sign  in  the  clouds  at  dawn  is  repented  from  this  vision  to  both  Leo 
and  Holly,  and  together  they  start  for  Central  Asia.  Sixteen  years  of  toil,  struggle,  and  strange  adventure  pass, 
and  thev  are  still  searching  for  **  a  mountain  peak  shaped  like  the  Symbol  of  Life.  After  many  wanderings  they 
find  themselves  in  a  country  where  no  European  has  ever  set  foot,  on  one  of  the  spurs  of  the  vast  Cherga 
mountains,  far  eastward  from  Turkestan.  Sheltered  awhile  in  a  Buddhist  monastery,  they  hear  of  the  recent  visit 
of  a  stranger  who  has  told  the  Lamas  that  his  countryfolk,  "dwelling  beyond  the  Far  Mountains,"  worship  a 
priestefls  called  Hes,  or  the  Hesea,  and  upon  persuasion  the  abbot  of  the  monastery  tells  them  that  in  a  former 
mcanuttion  be  himself  has  seen  the  great  priestess,  who  was  "  all  loveliness."  A  perilous  ascent  into  the  unexplored 
moimtain  fastness  leads  them  to  the  revelation  of  "  the  ci'ux  ansata,  the  Symbol  of  Life  itself."  Rescued  from 
drowning  by  a  beautiful  woman  and  an  aged  man,  they  are  conducted  through  "  The  Gt  te "  into  the  kingdom 
and  city  of  Kaloon.  Their  saviours,  they  learn,  are  the  Khania  or  Queen  of  Kaloon,  and  a  venerable  physician 
of  inafpcal  powera.  Is  this  woman  Ayesha?  No;  they  conjecture  her  rather  to  be  Ameiartas,  who  wrote  the 
"sherd"  of  the  former  chronicle.  She  faUs  in  love  with  I^o.  and  he  and  Holly  learn  that  her  husband,  the 
Khan,  is  a  inadman.  Simbri,  the  magician,  and  Atene,  the  Khania,  have  already  received  a  solemn  chaige 
from  the  Hesea  of  the  "  College  "  in  the  Mountain  of  Fire  to  receive  two  strangera  and  bring  them  safely  to  the 
Mountain.  But  Atene's  love  for  Leo  makes  her  detain  the  travellers  awhile  in  Kaloon,  and  she  even  proposes 
that  the  Khan  shall  be  murdered  so  that  she  can  wed  Leo.  To  this  the  Englishman  replies:  *'I  go  to  ask  a 
certain  question  of  the  Oracle  on  yonder  mountain  peak.  With  your  will  or  without  it,  I  tell  you  that  I  go, 
and  afterwards  you  can  settle  which  is  the  stronger — the  Khania  of  Kaloon  or  the  Hesea  of  the  House  of  Fire." 
The  Khan  himself  assists  the  escape  of  the  traveUera  for  their  further  journey,  but  his  jealousy  has  been  aroused, 
and  after  they  have  set  out  on  their  journey  to  the  fire-crowned  Mountain  he  pureqes  them  with  his  death-hounds. 
After  a  long  chase,  a  few  of  the  brutes,  and  the  Khan,  overtake  them,  and  a  terrible  struggle  ensues,  in  whidi 
Leo  and  Holly  eventually  prove  the  victors,  and  the  Khan  is  slain.  Not  long  afterwards  the  Khania  and  Simbri 
overtake  them  and  seek  to  persuade  them  to  return,  but  they  refuse.  The  Khania  leaves  them,  saying :  "  We 
do  not  part  thus  easily.  Tou  havu  summoned  me  to  the  Mountain,  and  even  to  the  Mountain  I  will  foUow  you. 
Aye,  and  tiiere  I  will  meet  its  spirit.  ...  I  will  match  my  strength  and  magic  against  here,  as  it  is  decreed 
that  I  shall  do."  Preserved  by  priestly  intervention  from  death  at  the  hands  of  a  strange  people,  they  realise 
that  they  are  nearing  the  sphere  of  influence  of  the  mysterious  Hesea.  And  on  the  Mountam  itself,  conducted 
by  the  veiled  form  of  a  strange  woman,  they  meet  a^in  with  Atene,  who  brings  thither  her  dead  husband  to  Hie 
bnrying-place  of  the  rulen  of  Kaloon.  From  a  pnest,  Oros,  who  ^roes  with  wem,  they  learn  that  for  thousands 
of  years  this  Mountain  has  been  the  home  of  a  peculiar  fire-worship,  of  which  the  head  hierophant  is  a  woman. 
To  the  veiled  figure  of  Hes,  on  her  throne,  the  two  Englishmen  tell  of  their  wandering  search;  but  before  they 
can  learn  whether  she  is  really  the  Ayesha  of  their  former  knowledge,  they  are  witnesses  of  the  solemn  judgment 
of  the  dead  Khan  and  the  consignment  of  his  corpse  to  **  the  Fiery  Gutf." 

CHAPTER    XV.  whom  I  have  waited  these  many  years,  as  is 

THE    SECOND   ORDEAL.  well  known  to  you.    NoF  Can  I  tell  the  issue, 

.  smce  to  me,  to  whom  power  is  given  so 

{Conttnued.^  ireely,  foresight  of   the  future    is  denied. 

11  HE  Hesea  sat  brooding  on  her  rocky  It  well  may  happen,  therefore,  that  this  seat 

throne.    She  also  knew  that  the  hour  will  soon  be  empty  and  this  frame  but  food  for 

had  come.    Presently  she  sighed,  then  the  eternal  fires.     Nay,  grieve  not,   grieve 

motioned  with  her  sceptre  and  spoke  a  word  not,  for  I  do  not  die  ;  and  if  so,  the  spirit 

or  two,  dismissing  the  priests  and  priestesses,  shall  return  again. 

who  departed  and  were  seen  no  more.     Two  "  Hearken,    Papave.      Thou   art   of    the 

of  them  remained,  however — Oros  and  the  blood,  and  to  thee  alone  have  I  opened  all 

head  priestess,  who   was  called  Papave,  a  the  doors  of  wisdom.     If  I  pass  now  or  at 

young  woman  of  a  noble  countenance.  any  time,  take  thou  the  ancient  power,  fill 

"  Listen,  my  servants,"  she  said.     "  Great  thou  my  place,  and  in  all  things  do  as  I  have 

things  are  about  to  happen,  which  have  to  instructed   thee,   that  from  this  Mountain 

do  with  the  coming  of  yonder  strangers,  for  light  may  shine  upon  the  world.     Further,  I 

^-  Copvright,  1906,  hy  H.  Rider  Haggard,  in  the       command   th^,  and    thee    also,   Oros    my 
United  States  of  Ameriwu  priest,  that  if  I  be  summoned  hence,  you 

41 


42 


THE    WINDSOR   MAGAZINE. 


entertain  these  strangers  hospitably,  until  it 
is  possible  to  escort  them  from  the  land, 
whether  by  the  road  they  came  or  across  the 
northern  hills  and  deserts.  Should  the 
Khania  Atene  attempt  to  detain  them 
against  their  will,  then  raise  the  Tribes  upon 
her  in  the  name  of  the  Hesea ;  depose  her 
from  her  seat,  conquer  her  land  and  hold  it. 
Hear  and  obey." 

"  Mother,  we  hear  and  we  will  obey," 
answered  Oros  and  Papave  as  with  a  single 
voice. 

She  waved  her  hand  to  show  that  this 
matter  was  finished  ;  then  after  long  thought 
spoke  again,  addressing  herself  to  the 
Khania. 

*'  Atene,  last  night  thou  didst  ask  me  a 
question  —why  thou  dost  love  this  man,"  and 
sue  pointed  to  Leo.  "  To  that  the  answer 
would  be  easy,  for  is  he  not  one  who  might 
well  stir  passion  in  the  breast  of  a  woman 
such  as  thou  art  ?  But  thou  didst  say  also 
that  thine  own  heart  and  the  wisdom  of 
yonder  magician,  thy  uncle,  told  thee  that 
since  thy  soul  first  sprang  to  life  thou  hadst 
loved  him,  and  didst  adjure  me,  by  the 
Power  to  whom  I  must  give  my  account,  to 
draw  the  curtain  from  the  past  and  let  the 
truth  be  known. 

"  Woman,  the  hour  has  come,  and  I  obey 
thy  summons — not  because  thou  dost 
command,  but  because  it  is  my  will.  Of  the 
beginning  I  can  tell  thee  nothing,  who  am 
still  human  and  no  goddess.  I  know  not 
why  we  three  are  wrapped  in  this  coil  of  fate  ; 
I  know  not  the  destinies  to  which  we  journey 
up  the  ladder  of  a  thousand  lives,  with  grief 
and  pain  climbing  the  endless  stair  of 
circumstance  ;  or,  if  I  know,  I  may  not  say. 
Therefore  I  take  up  the  tale  where  my  own 
memory  gives  me  light." 

The  Hesea  paused,  and  we  saw  her  frame 
shake  as  though  beneath  some  fearful  inward 
effort  of  the  will.  "  Look  now  behind  you  !  " 
she  cried,  throwing  her  arms  wide. 

We  turned,  and  at  first  saw  nothing  save 
the  great  curtain  of  fire  that  rose  from  the 
abyss  of  the  volcano,  whereof,  as  I  have  told, 
the  crest  was  bent  over  by  the  wind  like  the 
crest  of  a  breaking  billow.  But  presently,  as 
we  watched,  in  the  depths  of  this  red  veil, 
Nature's  awful  lamp-flame,  a  picture  began  to 
form  as  it  forms  in  the  seer's  magic  crystal  I. 

Behold  !  a  temple  set  amid  sands  and 
washed  by  a  wide  palm-bordered  river,  and 
across  its  pyloned  court  processions  of  priests, 
who  pass  to  and  fro  with  flaunting  banners. 
The  court  empties  ;  I  could  see  the  shadow 
of    a  falcon's  wings    that    fled    across    its 


sunlit  floor.  A  man  clad  in  a  priest's  white 
robe,  shaven-headed,  and  barefooted,  enters 
through  the  southern  pylon  gate  and  walks 
slowly  towards  a  painted  granite  shrine,  in 
which  sits  the  image  of  a  woman  crowned 
with  the  double  crown  of  Egypt,  surmounted 
by  a  lotus  bloom,  and  holding  in  her  hand 
the  sacred  sistrum.  Now,  as  though  he 
heard  some  sound,  he  halts  and  looks  towards 
us,  and  by  the  heaven  above  me,  his  face  is 
the  face  of  Leo  Vincey  in  his  youth,  the  face, 
too,  of  that  Eallikrates  whose  corpse  we  had 
seen  in  the  Caves  of  Kdr  I 

"  Look,  look  I "  gasped  Leo,  catching  me 
by  the  arm  ;  but  I  only  nodded  my  head  in 
answer. 

The  man  walks  on  again,  and  kneeling 
before  the  goddess  in  the  shrine,  embraces 
her  feet  and  makes  his  prayer  to  her.  Now 
the  gates  roll  open,  and  a  procession 
enters,  headed  by  a  veiled,  noble-looking 
woman,  who  bears  offerings  which  she  sets 
on  the  table  before  the  shrine,  bending  her 
knee  to  the  effigy  of  the  goddess.  Her 
oblations  made,  sue  turns  to  depart,  and  as 
she  goes  brushes  her  hand  against  the  hand 
of  the  watching  priest,  who  hesitates,  then 
follows  her. 

When  all  her  company  have  passed  the 
gate,  she  lingers  alone  in  the  shadow  of  the 
pylon,  ryhispering  to  the  priest  and  pointing 
to  the  riv  r  and  the  southern  land  beyond. 
He  is  disturbed  ;  he  reasons  with  her,  till 
after  one  swift  glance  round,  she  lets  drop 
her  veil,  bending  towards  him  and— their 
lips  meet 

As  she  flies,  her  face  is  turned  towards  ns, 
and  lo  !  it  is  the  very  face  of  Atene,  and 
amid  her  dusky  hair  the  ur9Bus  rears  itself  in 
jewelled  gold,  the  symbol  of  her  royal  rank. 
She  looks  at  the  shaven  priest ;  she  laughs  as 
though  in  triumph;  she  points  to  the 
western  sun  and  to  the  river,  and  is  gone. 

Aye,  and  that  laugh  of  long  ago  is  echoed 
by  Atene  at  our  side,  for  she  also  laughs  in 
triumph  and  cries  aloud  to  the  old  Shaman — 

"  True  diviners  were  my  heart  and  thou  I 
Behold  how  I  won  him  in  the  past  I  " 

Then  like  ice  on  fire  fell  the  cold  voice  of 
the  Hesea. 

"  Be  silent;  woman,  and  see  how  thou 
didst  lose  him  in  the  past." 

Lo  !  the  8cene  changes,  and  on  a  couch  a 
lovely  shape  lies  sleeping.  She  dreams  ;  she 
is  afraid  ;  and  over  her  bends  and  whispers 
in  her  ear  a  shadowy  form  clad  with  the 
emblems  of  the  goddess  in  the  shrine,  but  now 
wearing  upon  her  head  the  vulture  cap.  The 
woman  wakes  from  her  dream  and  looks 


"  Alone  in  the  shadoir  of  tb«  pylon.' 


u 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


round,  and  oh  !  the  face  is  the  face  of  Ajesha 
as  ib  was  seen  of  us  when  first  she  loosed  her 
veil  in  the  Caves  of  K6r. 

A  sigh  went  up  from  us  ;  we  could  not 
speak  who  thus  fearfully  once  more  bsheld 
her  loveliness. 

Again  she  sleeps,  again  the  awful  form 
bends  over  her  and  whispers.  It  points,  the 
distance  opens.  Lo  I  on  a  stormy  sea  a  boat, 
and  in  the  boat  two  wrapped  in  each  other's 
arms,  the  priest  and  the  royal  woman,  while 
over  them  like  a  Vengeance,  raw-necked  and 
ragged-pinioned,  hovers  a  following  vulture, 
such  a  vulture  as  the  goddess  wore  for  head- 
dress. 

That  picture  fades  from  its  burning  frame, 
leaving  the  vast  sheet  of  fire  empty  as  the 
noonday  sky.  Then  another  forms.  *  First 
a  great,  smooth-walled  cave  carpeted  with 
sand,  a  cave  that  we  remembered  well.  Then, 
lying  on  the  sand,  now  no  longer  shaven,  but 
golden-haired,  the  corpse  of  the  priest  staring 
upwards  with  his  glazed  eyes,  his  white  skin 
streaked  with  blood,  and  standing  over  him 
two  women.  One  holds  a  javelin  in  her 
hand  and  is  naked  except  for  her  flowing  hair, 
and  beautiful,  beautiful  beyond  imagining. 
The  other,  wrapped  in  a  dark  cloak,  beats  the 
air  with  her  hands,  casting  up  her  eyes  aa 
though  to  call  the  curse  of  Heaven  upon  her 
rival's  head.  And  those  women  were  she  into 
whose  sleeping  ear  the  shadow  had  whispered, 
and  the  royal  Egyptian  who  had  kissed  her 
lover  beneath  the  pylon  gate. 

Slowly  all  the  figm'es  faded ;  it  was  as 
though  the  fire  ate  them  up,  for  first  they 
became  thin  and  white  as  ashes,  then 
vanished.  The  Hesea,  who  had  been  leaning 
forward,  sank  backwards  in  her  chair,  as  if 
weary  with  the  toil  of  her  own  magic. 

For  a  while  confused  pictures  flitted  rapidly 
to  and  fro  across  the  vast  mirror  of  the  flame, 
such  as  might  be  reflected  from  an  intelligence 
crowded  with  the  memories  of  over  two 
thousand  years  which  it  was  too  exhausted  to 
separate  and  define. 

Wild  scenes,  multitudes  of  people,  great 
caves,  and  in  them  faces,  amongst  others  our 
own,  starting  up  distorted  and  enormous,  to 
grow  tiny  in  an  instant  and  depart ;  stark 
imaginations  of  Forms  towering  and  divine  ; 
of  Things  monstrous  and  inhuman ;  armies 
marching,  illimitable  battlefields,  and  corpses 
rolled  in  blood,  and  hovering  over  them  the 
spirits  of  the  slain. 

These  pictures  died  as  the  others  had 
died,  and  the  fire  was  blank  again. 

*  «  *  «  * 

Then   the   Hesea  spoke  in  a  voice  very 


faint  at  first,  that  by  slow  degrees  grew 
stronger. 

"  Is  thy  question  answered,  0  Atene  ?  " 

"I  have  seen  strange  sights.  Mother, 
mighty  limnings  worthy  of  thy  magic,  but 
how  know  I  that  they  are  more  than  vapours 
of  thine  own  brain  cast  upon  yonder  fire  to 
deceive  and  mock  us  ?  "* 

"Listen,  then,"  said  the  Hesea  in  her 
weary  voice,  "to  the  interpretation  of  the 
writing,  and  cease  to  trouble  me  with  thy 
doubts.  Many  an  age  ago,  but  shortly  after 
I  began  to  live  this  last,  long  life  of  mine, 
Isis,  the  great  goddess  of  Egypt,  had  her 
Holy  House  at  Behbit,  near  the  Nile.  It 
is  a  ruin  now,  and  Isis  has  departed  from 
Egypt,  though  still  under  the  Power  that 
fashioned  it  and  her  :  she  rules  the  world, 
for  she  is  Nature's  self.  Of  that  shrine  a 
certain  man,  a  Greek,  Kallikrates  by  name, 
was  chief  priest,  chosen  for  her  service  by 
the  favour  of  the  goddess,  vowed  to  her 
eternally  and  to  her  alone,  by  the  dreadful 
oath  that  might  not  be  broken  without 
punishment  as  eternal. 

"  In  the  flame  thou  sawest  that  priest,  and 
here  at  thy  side  he  stands,  re-born  to  fulfil 
his  destinv  and  ours. 

"  There  lived  also  a  daughter  of  Pharaoh's 
house,  one  Amenartas,  who  cast  eyes  of  love 
upon  this  Kallikrates,  and,  wrapping  him 
in  her  spells — for  then  as  now  she  practised 
witcheries — caused  him  to  break  his  oaths 
and  fly  with  her,  as  thou  sawest  written  in 
the  flame.    Thou,  Atene,  was  that  Amenartas. 

"  Lastly,  there  lived  a  certain  Arabian, 
named  Ayesha,  a  wise  and  lovely  woman, 
who,  in  the  emptiness  of  her  heart  and  the 
sorrow  of  much  knowledge,  had  sought 
refuge  in  the  service  of  the  univei-sal  Mother, 
thinking  there  to  win  the  true  wisdom  which 
ever  fled  from  her.  That  Ayesha,  as  thou 
sawest  also,  the  goddess  visited  in  a  dream, 
bidding  her  to  follow  those  faithless  ones, 
and  work  Heaven's  vengeance  on  them,  and 
promising  her  in  reward  victory  over  death 
upon  the  earth,  and  beauty  such  as  had 
not  been  known  in  woman. 

"She  followed  far ;  she  awaited  them  where 
they  wandered.  Guided  by  a  sage  named 
Noot,  one  who  from  tlie  beginning  had  been 
appointed  to  her  service,  and  that  of  another 
— thou,  0  Holly,  wast  that  man — she  found 

*  Considered  in  the  light  of  sabsequent  reveJatao&s, 
vouchsafed  to  us  by  Ayesha  herself,  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  that  Atene*s  shrewd  surmise  was  accurate,  and 
that  these  fearful  pictures,  although  founded  on  events 
that  had  happened  in  the  past,  were  in  the  main 
"vapours"  cast  upon  the  crater  fire — visions  raised  in 
oar  mindi  to  '^  deceive  and  mock  us.*' — L.  U.  U. 


ATESHA. 


45 


eesenoe  in  which  to  bathe  is  to  outlive 
Generations,  Faiths,  and  Empires,  saying— 

"  •  I  will  slay  these  guilty  ones.  I  will 
8lay  them  presently,  as  I  am  commanded/ 

**  Yet  Ayesha  slew  not^  for  now  their  sin 
was  her  sin,  since  she,  who  had  never  loved, 
came  to  desire  this  man.  She  led  them  to 
the  Place  of  Life,  purposing  there  to  clothe 
him  and  herself  with  immortality,  and  let 
the  woman  die.  But  it  was  not  so  fated,  for 
then  the  goddess  smote.  The  life  was 
AyeshaX  aB  had  been  promised,  but  in  its 
first  hoar,  blinded  with  jealous  rage  because 
he  shrank  from  her  unveiled  glory  to  the 
mortal  woman  at  his  side,  this  Ayesha 
brought  him  to  his  death,  and  alas !  alas  I 
left  herself  undying. 

"Thus  did  the  angry  goddess  work  woe 
upon  her  faithless  ministers,  giving  to  the 
pri^t  swift  doom,  to  the  priestess  Ayesha 
long  remorse  and  nusery,  and  to  the  royal 
Amenartas  jealousy  more  bitter  than  life  or 
death,  and  the  fate  of  unending  effort  to  win 
back  that  love  which,  defying  Heaven,  she 
had  dared  to  steal,  but  to  be  bereft  thereof 

again. 

•  •  «  •  * 

^  Ijo  !  now  the  ages  pass,  and  at  the  time 
appointed,  to  that  undying  Ayesha  who, 
whilst  awaiting  his  re-birth,  from  century  to 
century  mourned  his  loss,  and  did  bitter 

Eenance  for  her  sins,  came  back  the  man, 
er  hearths  desire.  Then,  whilst  all  went  well 
for  her  and  him,  again  the  goddess  smote 
and  robbed  her  of  her  reward.  Before  her 
lover^s  living  eyes,  sunk  in  utter  shame  and 
misery,  the  beautiful  became  hideous,  the 
undying  seemed  to  die. 

"  Yet,  O  Kallikrates,  I  tell  thee  that  she 
died  not.  Did  not  Ayesha  swear  to  thee 
yonder  in  the  Caves  of  K6r  that  she  would 
come  again  ?  for  even  in  that  awful  hour 
this  comfort  kissed  her  soul.  Thereafter, 
Leo  Vincey,  who  art  Kallikrates,  did  not  her 
spirit  lead  thee  in  thy  sleep  and  stand  with 
tnee  upon  this  very  pinnacle  which  should 
be  thy  beacon  light  to  guide  thee  back  to 
her  ?  And  didst  thou  not  search  these  many 
years,  not  knowing  that  she  companioned 
thy  every  step  and  strove  to  guard  thee  in 
every  danger  till  at  length  in  the  permitted 
hoar  thou  camest  back  to  her  ? '" 

She  paused,  and  looked  towards  Leo,  as 
thoogh  awaiting  his  reply. 

"  Of  the  first  part  of  the  tale,  except  from 
the  writing  on  the  sherd,  I  know  nothing, 
Lady,*'  he  said  ;  "  of  the  rest,  I — or,  rather, 
we — know  that  it  is  true.  Yet  I  would  ask  a 
question,  and  I  pray  thee  of  thy  charity  let 


thy  answer  be  swift  and  short.  Thou 
sayest  that  in  the  permitted  hour  I  came 
back  to  Ayesha  ?  Where,  then,  is  Ayesha  ? 
Art  thou  Ayesha  ?  And  if  so,  why  is  thy 
voice  changed  ?  Why  art  thou  less  in 
stature  ?  Oh  !  in  the  name  of  whatever 
god  thou  dost  worship,  tell  me  art  thou 
Ayesha  ?  " 

" /  am  Ayesha^''  she  answered  solemnly, 
"that  very  Ayesha  to  whom  thou  didst 
pledge  thyself  eternally." 

"She  lies,  she  lies  1 "  broke  in  Atene.  "  I 
tell  thee,  husband — for  such  with  her  own 
lips  she  declares  thou  art  to  me — that  yonder 
woman  who  says  that  she  parted  from  thee 
young  and  beautiful,  less  than  twenty  years 
ago,  is  none  other  than  the  aged  priestess  who, 
for  a  century,  at  least,  has  borne  rule  in  these 
halls  of  Hes.     Let  her  deny  it  if  she  can." 

"  Oros,"  said  the  Mother,  "  tell  thou  the 
tale  of  the  death  of  that  priestess  of  whom 
the  Khania  speaks." 

The  priest  bowed,  and  in  his  usual,  calm 
voice,  as  though  he  were  narrating  sqme 
event  of  every  day,  said  mechanically,  in  a 
fashion  that  carried  no  conviction  to  my 
mind — 

"  Eighteen  years  ago,  on  the  fourth  night 
of  the  first  month  of  wintw  in  the  year  2333 
of  the  founding  of  the  worship  of  Hes  on 
this  Mountain,  the  priestess  of  whom  the 
Khania  Atene  speaks  died  of  old  age  in  my 
presence,  in  the  hundred  and  eighth  year  of 
her  rule.  Three  hours  later,  we  went  to  lift 
her  from  the  throne  on  which  she  died,  to 
prepare  her  corpse  for  burial  in  this  fire, 
according  to  the  ancient  custom.  Lo !  a 
muTicle,  for  she  lived  again,  the  same,  yet 
very  changed. 

"  Thinking  this  a  work  of  evil  magic,  the 
Priests  and  Priestesses  of  the  College  rejected 
her  and  would  have  driven  her  from  the 
throne.  Thereon  the  Mountain  blazed  and 
thundered,  the  light  from  the  fiery  pillars 
died,  and  great  terror  fell  upon  the  souls  of 
men.  Then  from  the  deep  darkness  above 
the  altar  where  stands  the  statue  of  the 
Mother  of  Men,  the  voice  of  the  living 
goddess  spoke,  saying — 

" '  Accept  ye  her  whom  I  have  set  to  rule 
over  you,  that  my  judgments  and  my 
purposes  may  be  fulfilled.' 

"  The  voice  ceased,  the  fiery  torches  burnt 
again,  and  we  bowed  the  knee  to  the  new 
Hesea,  and  named  her  Mother  in  the  ears  of 
all.  That  is  the  tale  to  which  hundreds  can 
bear  witness." 

"Thou  hearest,  Atene,"  said  the  Hesea. 
"  Dost  thou  still  doubt  ? " 


a  aod  kUaed  ber  i 


AYESHA. 


47 


"  Aye/'  answered  the  Khania,  "  for  I  hold 
that  OroB  also  lies  ;  or  if  he  lies  not,  then  he 
dreams,  or  perchance  that  voice  he  heard  was 
thine  own.  Now,  if  thou  art  this  undying 
woman,  this  Ayesha,  let  proof  be  made  of  it 
to  these  two  men  who  knew  thee  in  the  past. 
Tear  away  those  wrappings  that  guard  thy 
loveliness  thus  jealously.  Let  thy  shape 
divine,  thy  beauty  incomparable,  sMne  out 
upon  our  dazzled  sight.  Surely  thy  lover 
will  not  forget  such  charms ;  surely  he  will 
know  thee,  and  bow  the  knee,  saying :  '  This 
18  my  Immortal,  and  no  other  woman.' 

"Then,  and  not  till  then,  will  I  believe 
that  thou  art  even  what  thou  declarest  thy- 
self to  be,  an  evil  spirit,  who  bought  undying 
life  with  murder,  and  used  thy  demon  loveli- 
ness to  bewitch  the  souls  of  men." 

Now  the  Hesea  on  the  throne  seemed  to  be 
much  troubled,  for  she  rocked  herself  to  and 
fro,  and  wrung  her  white-draped  hands. 

"  Kallikrates,"  she  said  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  like  a  moan,  '^  is  this  thy  will  ?  For 
if  it  be,  know  that  I  must  obey.  Yet  I  pray 
thee  command  it  not,  for  the  time  is  not  yet 
come ;  the  pronuse  unbreakable  is  not  yet 
fulfilled.  /  am  somewhat  changed^  Kalli- 
krates,  since  I  kissed  thee  on  the  brow  and 
named  thee  mine,  yonder  in  the  Caves  of 
Kdr." 

Leo  looked  about  him  desperately,  till  his 
eyes  fell  upon  the  mocking  face  of  Atene, 
who  cried— 

"  Bid  her  unveil,  my  lord.  I  swear  to 
thee  ni  not  be  jealous." 

At  that  taunt  he  took  fi:e. 

"  Aye,"  he  said,  "  I  bid  her  unveil,  that  I 
may  learn  the  b^t  or  worst,  who  otherwise 
must  die  of  this  suspense.  Howsoever 
changed,  if  she  be  Ayesha,  I  shall  know  her ; 
and  if  she  be  Ayesha,  I  shall  love  her." 

"Bold  words,  Kallikrates,"  answered  the 
Hesea ;  "  yet  from  my  very  heart  I  thank 
thee  for  them  :  those  sweet  words  of  trust 
and  faithfulness  to  thou  knowest  not  what. 
Learn  now  the  truth,  for  I  may  keep  naught 
back  from  thee.  When  I  unveil,  it  is  decreed 
that  thou  must  make  thy  choice  for  the  last 
time  on  this  earth  between  yonder  woman, 
my  rival  from  the  beginning,  and  that 
Ayesha  to  whom  thou  art  sworn.  Thou 
canst  reject  me  if  thou  wilt,  and  no  ill  shall 
come  to  thee,  but  many  a  blessing,  as  men 
reckon  them — power  and  wealth  and  love. 
Only  then  thou  must  tear  my  memory  from 
thy  heart,  for  then  I  leave  thee  to  follow  thy 
fate  alone,  till  at  the  last  the  purpose  of  these 
deeds  and  sufferings  is  made  clear. 

**  Be  warned.     No  light  ordeal  lies  before 


thee.  Be  warned.  I  can  promise  thee 
naught  save  such  love  as  woman  never  gave 
to  man,  love  that  perchance — I  know  not — 
must  yet  remain  unsatisfied  upon  the  earth." 

Then  she  turned  to  me  and  said  :  "  Oh  I 
thou.  Holly,  thou  true  friend,  thou  guardian 
from  of  old,  thou,  next  to  him  most  beloved 
by  me,  to  thy  clear  and  innocent  spirit 
perchance  wisdom  may  be  given  that  is 
denied  to  us,  the  little  children  whom  thine 
arms  protect.  Counsel  thou  him,  my  Holly, 
with  the  counsel  that  is  given  thee,  and  I 
will  obey  thy  words  and  his,  and,  whatever 
befalls,  will  bless  thee  from  my  soul.  Aye, 
and  should  he  cast  me  off,  then  in  the  Land 
beyond  the  lands,  in  the  Star  appointed, 
where  all  earthly  passions  fade,  together  will 
we  dwell  eternally  in  a  friendship  glorious, 
thou  and  I  alone. 

"  For  thou  wilt  not  reject ;  thy  steel, 
forged  in  the  furnace  of  pure  truth  and 
power,  shall  not  lose  its  temper  in  these 
small  fires  of  temptation,  and  become  a  misted 
chain  to  bind  thee  to  another  woman's  breast 
— until  it  canker  to  her  heart  and  thine." 

"  Ayesha,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  words,"  I 
answered  simply,  "and  by  them  and  that 
promise  of  thine,  I,  thy  poor  friend — for 
more  I  never  thought  to  be — am  a  thousand- 
fold repaid  for  many  sufferings.  This  I  will 
add — that  for  my  part  I  know  that  thou  art 
She  whom  we  have  lost,  since,  whatever  the 
lips  that  speak  them,  those  thoughts  and 
words  are  Ayesha's,  and  hers  alone. 

Thus  I  spoke,  not  knowing  what  else  to 
say,  for  I  was  filled  with  a  great  joy,  a  calm 
and  ineffdble  satisfaction,  which  broke  thus 
feebly  from  my  heart.  For  now  I  knew  that 
I  was  dear  to  Ayesha  as  I  had  always  been 
dear  to  Leo ;  the  closest  of  friends,  from 
whom  she  never  would  be  parted.  What 
more  could  I  desire  ? 


We  fell  back ;  we  spoke  together,  whilst 
they  watched  us  silently.  What  we  said  I 
do  not  quite  remember,  but  the  end  of  it  was 
that,  as  the  Hesea  had  done,  Leo  bade  me 
judge  and  choose.  Then  into  my  mind  there 
came  a  clear  command,  from  my  own  con- 
science or  otherwhere,  who  can  say  ?  This 
was  the  command,  that  I  should  bid  her  to 
unveil,  and  let  Fate  declare  its  purposes. 

"  Decide,"  said  Leo.  "  I  cannot  bear  much 
more.  Like  that  woman,  whoever  she  may 
be,  whatever  happens,  I  will  not  blame  you, 
Horace." 

"  Good,"  I  answered.  "  I  have  decided  "  ; 
and    stepping  forward,  I  said :  "  We  have 


48 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


taken  counsel,  Hes,  and  it  is  our  will,  who 
would  learn  the  truth  and  be  at  rest,  that 
thou  shouldst  unveil  before  us,  here  and 
now." 

"  I  hear  and  obey,"  the  Priestess  answered 
in  a  voice  like  to  that  of  a  dying  woman  ; 
"  only,  I  beseech  you  both,  be  pitiful  to  me, 
spare  me  your  mockeries  ;  add  not  the  coals 
of  vour  hate  and  scorn  to  the  fires  of  a  soul 
in  hell,  for  whatever  I  am,  I  became  it  for 
thy  sake,  Kalhkrates.  Yet,  yet  I  also  am 
athirst  for  knowledge ;  for  though  I  know 
all  wisdom,  although  I  wield  much  power, 
one  thing  remains  to  me  to  learn — what  is 
the  worth  of  the  love  of  man,  and  if,  indeed, 
it  can  live  beyond  the  horrors  of  the  grave  ?" 

Then,  rising  slowly,  the  Hesea  walked — or, 
rather,  tottered — to  the  unroofed  open  space 
in  front  of  the  rock  chamber,  and  stood  there 
quite  near  to  the  brink  of  the  flaming  gulf 
beneath. 

"Come  hither,  Papave,  and  loose  these 
veils,"  she  cried  in  a  shrill,  thin  voice. 

Papave  advanced,  and  with  a  look  of  awe 
upon  her  handsome  face  began  the  task. 
She  wiis  not  a  tall  woman,  yet  as  she  bent 
over  her  I  noted  that  she  seemed  to  tower 
above  her  mistress,  the.  Hesea. 

The  outer  veils  fell,  revealing  more  within. 
These  fell  also,  and  now  before  us  stood  the 
mummylike  shape,  although  it  seemed  to  be 
of  less  stature,  of  that  strange  being  who 
had  met  us  in  the  Place  of  Bones.  So  it 
would  seem  that  our  mysterious  guide  and 
the  high  priestess  Hes  were  the  same. 

Look  I  Length  by  length  the  wrappings 
sank  from  her.  Would  they  never  end  ? 
How  small  grew  the  frame  within  ?  She 
was  very  short  now,  unnaturally  short  for  a 
full-grown  woman,  and  oh  !  I  grew  sick  at 
heart.  The  last  bandages  uncoiled  themselves 
like  shavings  from  a  stick ;  two  wrinkled 
hands  appeared,  if  hands  they  could  be  called. 
Then  the  feet — once  I  had  seen  such  on  the 
mummy  of  a  princess  of  Egypt,  and  even 
now,  by  some  fantastic  play  of  the  mind,  I 
remembered  that  on  her  coffin  this  princess 
was  named  "  The  Beautiful." 

Everything  was  gone  now,  except  a  shift 
and  a  last  inner  veil  about  the  head.  Hes 
waved  back  the  priestess  Papave,  who  fell 
half  fainting  to  the  ground  and  lay  there 
covering  her  eyes  with  her  hand.  Then 
uttering  something  like  a  scream,  she  gripped 
this  veil  in  her  thin  talons,  tore  it  away,  and 
with  a  gesture  of  uttermost  despair,  turned 
and  faced  us. 

Oh  I  she  was — nay,  I  will  not  describe  her. 
I  knew  her  at  once,  for  thus  had  I  seen  her 


last  before  the  Fire  of  Life,  and,  strangely 

enough,   through  the  mask  of  unutterable 

age,  through  that  cloak  of  humanity's  last 

decay,  still  shone  some  resemblance  to  the 

glorious  and  superhuman  Ayesha  :  the  shape 

of  the  face,  the  air  of  defiant  pride  that  for 

an  instant  bore  her  up — I  know  not  what. 

Yes,  there  she  stood,  and  the  fierce  light 

of  the  heartless  fires  beat  upon  her,  revealing 

every  shame. 

*  *  «  *  » 

There  was  a  dreadful  silence.  I  saw  Leo^s 
lips  turn  white  and  his  knees  begin  to  give  ; 
but  by  some  eflFort  he  recovered  himself,  and 
stayed  still  and  upright  like  a  dead  roan  held 
by  a  wire.  Also  1  saw  Atene—  and  this  is  to 
her  credit — turn  her  head  away.  She  had 
desired  to  see  her  rival  humiliated,  but  that 
horrible  sight  shocked  her  ;  some  sense  of 
their  common  womanhood  for  the  moment 
touched  her  pity.  Only  Simbri — who,  I  think, 
knew  what  to  expect — and  Ores  remained 
quite  unmoved  ;  indeed,  in  that  ghastly 
silence  the  latter  spoke,  and  ever  afterwards 
I  loved  him  for  his  words. 

"What  of  the  vile  vessel,  rotted  in  the 
grave  of  time  ?  What  of  the  flesh  that 
perishes  ?  "  he  said.  "  Look  through  the 
ruined  lamp  to  the  eternal  light  which  burns 
within.  Look  through  its  covering  carrion 
to  the  inextinguishable  soul." 

My  heart  applauded  these  noble  sentiments. 
I  was  of  one  mind  with  Oros ;  but  oh,  Heaven  I 
I  felt  that  my  brain  was  going,  and  I  wished 
that  it  would  go,  so  that  I  might  hear  and 
see  no  more. 

That  look  which  gathered  on  Ayesha's 
mummy  face !  At  first  there  had  been  a  little 
hope,  but  the  hope  died,  and  anguish,  anguish, 
anguish  took  its  place. 

Something  must  be  done — this  could  not 
endure.  My  lips  clave  together,  no  word 
would  come  ;  my  feet  refused  to  move. 

I  began  to  contemplate  the  scenery.  How 
wonderful  were  that  sheet  of  flame  and  the 
ripples  which  ran  up  and  down  its  height ! 
How  awsome  its  billowy  crest !  It  would  be 
warm  lying  in  yonder  red  gulf  below  with 
the  dead  Rassen,  but,  oh  1  I  wished  that  I 
shared  his  bed  and  had  finished  with  these 
agonies. 

Thank  Heaven !  Atene  was  speaking.  She 
had  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  naked-headed 
Thing,  and  stood  by  it  in  all  the  pride  of  her 
rich  beauty  and  perfect  womanhood. 

"  Leo  Vincey,  or  Kallikrates,"  said  Atene — 
"  take  which  name  thou  wilt — thou  thinkest 
ill  of  me,  perhaps,  but  know  that  at  least  I 
scorn  to  mock  a  rival  in  her  mortal  shame. 


iiuj^le  ny  of  upward -apringiiiK  ligfat." 


50 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


She  told  ns  a  wild  bale,  but  now,  a  tale  true 
or  false,  but  more  false  than  true,  I  think,  of 
how  I  robbed  a  goddess  of  a  votary,  and  of 
how  that  goddess — Ayesha's  self,  perchance — 
was  avenged  upon  me  for  the  crime  of 
yielding  to  the  man  I  loved.  Well,  let 
goddesses — if  such  indeed  there  be — take 
their  way  and  work  their  will  upon  the 
helpless,  and  I,  a  mortal,  will  take  mme  until 
the  clutch  of  doom  closes  round  my  throat 
and  chokes  out  life  and  memory,  and  I,  too, 
am  a  goddess — or  a  clod. 

"  Meanwhile,  thou  man,  I  sname  not  to 
say  it  before  all  these  witnesses,  I  love  thee, 
and  it  seems  that  this — this  woman  or  god- 
dess— loves  thee  also,  and  she  has  told  us 
that  now,  now  thon  must  choose  between  us 
once  and  for  ever.  She  has  told  us,  too,  that 
if  I  sinned  against  Isis — whose  minister,  be  it 
remembered,  she  declares  herself — herself  she 
sinned  yet  more.  For  she  would  have  taken 
thee  both  from  a  heavenly  mistress  and  from 
an  earthly  bride,  and  yet  snatch  that  guerdon 
of  immortality  which  is  hers  to-day.  There- 
fore, if  I  am  evil,  she  is  worae,  nor  does  the 
flame  that  bums  within  the  casket  whereof 
Oros  spoke  shine  so  very  pure  and  bright. 

"  Choose  thou,  then,  Leo  Vincey,  and  let 
there  be  an  end.  I  vaunt  not  myself  ;  thou 
knowest  what  I  have  been  and  seest  what  I 
am.  Yet  I  can  give  thee  love  and  happiness 
and,  mayhap,  children  to  follow  after  thee, 
and  with  them  some  place  and  power.  What 
yonder  witch  can  give  thee  thou  canst  guess. 
Tales  of  the  past,  pictures  on  the  flame,  wise 
maxims  and  noneyed  words,  and  after  thou 
art  dead  once  more,  promises,  perhaps,  of  joy 
to  come  when  that  terrible  goddess  whom  she 
serves  so  closely  shall  be  appeased.  I  have 
spoken.     Yet  I  will  add  a  word  : 

"  0  thou  for  whom,  if  the  Hesea's  tale  be 
true,  I  did  once  lay  down  my  royal  rank  and 
dare  the  dangers  of  an  unsailed  sea ;  0  thou 
whom  in  ages  gone  I  would  have  sheltered 
with  my  frail  body  from  the  sorceries  of  this 
cold,  self-seeking  witch  ;  0  thou  whom  but 
a  little  while  ago  at  my  own  life's  risk  I  drew 
from  death  in  yonder  river,  choose,  choose  !  " 


To  all  this  speech,  so  moderate  yet  so  cruel, 
so  well-reasoned  and  yet  so  false,  because  of 
its  glosses  and  omissions,  the  huddled  Ayesha 
seemed  to  listen  with  a  fierce  intentness. 
Yet  she  made  no  answer,  not  a  single  word, 
not  a  sign  even  ;  she  who  had  said  her  say 
and  scorned  to  plead  her  part. 

I  looked  at  Leo's  ashen  face.  He  leaned 
towards  Atene,  drawn  perhaps  by  the  passion 


shining  in  her  beauteous  eyes,  then  of  a 
sudden  straightened  himself,  shook  liis  head, 
and  sighed.  The  colour  flamed  to  his  brow, 
and  his  eyes  grew  almost  happy. 

**  After  all,"  he  said,  thinking  aloud  rather 
than  speaking,  '^  I  have  to  do  not  with  un- 
knowable pasts  or  with  mystic  futures,  bat 
with  the  things  of  my  own  life.  Ayesha 
waited  for  me  through  two  thousand  years  ; 
Atene  could  marry  a  man  she  hated  for 
power's  sake,  and  then  could  poison  him,  as 
prhaps  she  would  poison  me  when  I  wearied 
her.  I  know  not  what  oaths  I  swore  to 
Amenartas,  if  such  a  woman  lived.  £1  re- 
meml>er  the  oaths  I  swore  to  Ayesha.  If  I 
shrink  from  her  now,  why,  then  my  life  is  a 
lie  and  my  belief  a  fraud  ;  then  love  will  not 
endure  the  touch  of  age  and  never  can  survive 
the  grave.^I 

r"  Nay,  remembering  what  Ayesha  was,  I 
take  her  as  she  is,  in  faith  and  hope  of  what 
she  shall  be.  At  least  love  is  immortal ;  and 
if  it  must,  why,  let  it  feed  on  memory  alone 
till  death  sets  free  the  soul.'^ 

Then  stepping  to  where  stood  the  dreadful, 
shrivelled  form,  Leo  knelt  down  and  kiflsed 
her  on  the  brow. 

Yes,  he  kissed  the  trembling  horror  of  that 
wrinkled  head,  and  I  think  it  was  one  of  the 
greatest,  bravest  acts  ever  done  by  man. 

"  Thou  hast  chosen,"  said  Atene  in  a  cold 
voice,  "  and  I  tell  thee,  Leo  Vincey,  that  the 
manner  of  thy  choice  makes  me  mourn  my 
loss  the  more.  Take  now  thy — thy  bride 
and  let  me  hence." 

But  Ayesha  still  said  no  word  and  made 
no  sign,  till  presently  she  sank  ui)oq  her 
bony  knees  and  began  to  pray  aloud.  These 
were  the  words  of  her  prayer,  as  I  heard 
them,  though  the  exact  Power  to  which  it 
was  addressed  is  not  very  easy  to  determine, 
as  I  never  discovered  who  or  what  it  was  that 
she  worshipped  in  her  heart — 


"  0  Thou  Minister  of  the  Almighty  WQl, 
Thou  sharp  Sword  in  the  hand  of  Doom,  Thou 
inevitable  Law  that  art  named  Nature ;  Thon 
who  wast  crowned  as  Isis  of  the  Egyptians, 
but  art  the  goddess  of  all  climes  and  ages : 
Thou  that  leadest  the  man  to  the  maid,  and 
layest  the  infant  on  its  mother's  breast,  that 
bringest  our  dust  to  its  kindred  dust,  that 
givest  life  to  death,  and  into  the  dark  of 
death  breathest  the  light  of  life  again  ;  Thon 
who  causest  the  abundant  earth  to  bear, 
whose  smile  is  Spring,  whose  laugh  is  the 
ripple  of  the  sea,  wliose  noontide  rest  is 
drowsy  Summer,  and  whose  sleep  is  Winter's 


AYESHA. 


51 


night,  hear  Thon  the  supplication  of  thy 
choBen  child  and  minister  : 

"  Of  old  Thon  gavest  me  Thine  own  strength 
with  deathless  days,  and  beauty  above  every 
daughter  of  this  Star.  But  I  sinned  against 
Thee  sore,  and  for  my  sin  I  paid  in  endless 
centuries  of  solitude,  in  the  vileness  that 
makes  me  loathsome  to  my  lover's  eyes,  and 
for  its  diadem  of  perfect  power  sets  upon 
my  brow  this  crown  of  naked  mockery.  Yet 
in  Thy  breath,  the  swift  essence  that  brought 
me  light,  that  brought  me  gloom,  Thou  didst 
vow  to  me  that  I  who  cannot  die  should 
once  more  pluck  the  lost  flower  of  my 
immortal  loveliness  from  this  foul  slime  of 
shame. 

"Therefore,  merciful  Mother  that  bore 
me,  to  Thee  I  make  my  prayer.  Oh,  let  his 
true  love  atone  my  sin  ;  or,  if  it  may  not  be, 
then  give  me  death,  the  last  and  most  blessed 
of  Thy  boons  I  " 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE  CHANGE. 

Shb  ceased,  and  there  was  a  long,  long 
mlenoe.  Leo  and  I  looked  at  each  other  in 
dismay.  We  had  hoped  against  hope  that 
this  beautiful  and  piteous  prayer,  addressed 
apparently  to  the  great,  dumb  spirit  of  Nature, 
would  be  answered.  That  meant  a  miracle, 
but  what  of  it?  The  prolongation  of  the 
life  of  Ayesha  was  a  miracle,  though  it  is 
tree  that  some  humble  reptiles  are  said  to 
live  as  long  as  she  had  done. 

The  transference  of  her  spirit  from  the 
Caves  of  Kdr  to  this  temple  was  a  miracle — 
that  is,  to  our  Western  minds,  though  the 
dwellers  in  these  parts  of  Central  Asia  would 
not  hold  it  so.  That  she  should  reappear 
with  the  same  hideous  body  was  a  miracle. 
But  was  it  the  same  body  ?  Was  it  not  the 
body  of  the  last  Hesea  ?  One  very  ancient 
woman  is  much  like  another,  and  eighteen 
years  of  the  working  of  the  soul  or  identity 
within  might  well  wear  away  their  trivial 
differences  and  give  to  the  borrowed  form 
some  resemblance  to  that  which  it  had 
left. 

At  least  the  figures  on  that  mirror  of  the 
flame  were  a  miracle.  Nay,  why  so  ?  A 
hundred  clairvoyants  in  a  hundred  cities  can 
produce  or  see  their  like  in  water  and  in 
crystal,  the  difference  being  only  one  of  size. 
They  were  but  reflections  of  scenes  familiar 
to  the  mind  of  Ayesha,  or  perhaps  not  so 
much  as  that.  Perhaps  they  were  only 
phantasms  called  up  in  ow  minds  by  her 
mesmeric  force. 


Nay,  none  of  these  things  were  true 
miracles,  since  all,  however  strange,  might 
be  capable  of  explanation.  What  right,  then, 
had  we  to  expect  a  marvel  now  ? 

Such  thoughts  as  these  rose  in  our  minds 
as  the  endless  minutes  were  born  and  died 
and — nothing  happened. 


Yes,  at  last  one  thing  did  happen.  The 
light  from  the  sheet  of  flame  died  gradually 
away,  as  the  flame  itself  sank  downwards  into 
the  abysses  of  the  pit.  But  about  this  in 
itself  there  was  nothing  wonderful,  for,  as 
we  had  seen  with  our  own  eyes  from  afar, 
this  fire  varied  much,  and,  indeed,  it  was 
customary  for  it  to  die  down  at  the  approach 
of  dawn,  which  now  drew  very  near. 

Still,  that  onward-creeping  darkness  added 
to  the  terrora  of  the  scene.  By  the  last  rays 
of  the  lurid  light  we  saw  Ayesha  rise  and 
advance  some  few  paces  to  that  little  tongue 
of  rock  at  the  edge  of  the  pit  off  which  the 
body  of  Kassen  had  been  hurled  ;.  saw  her 
standing  on  it  also,  looking  like  some  black, 
misshapen  imp  against  the  smoky  glow  which 
still  rose  from  the  depths  beneath. 

Leo  would  have  gone  forward  to  her,  for 
he  believed  that  she  was  about  to  hurl  herself 
to  doom,  which,  indeed,  I  thought  was  her 
design.  But  the  priest  Oros  and  the  priestess 
Papave,  obeying,  I  suppose,  some  secret 
command  that  reached  them  I  know  not 
how,  sprang  to  him  and,  seizing  his  arms, 
held  him  back.  Then  it  became  quite  dark, 
and  through  the  darkness  we  could  hear 
Ayesha  chanting  a  dirgelike  hymn  in  some 
secret  holy  tongue  which  was  unknown 
to  us. 

A  great  flake  of  fire  floated  through  the 
gloom,  rocking  to  and  fro  like  some  vast 
bird  upon  its  pinions.  We  had  seen  many 
such  that  night,  torn  by  the  gale  from  the 
crest  of  the  blazing  curtain  as  I  have 
described.     But — but 

"  Horace,"  whispered  Leo  through  his 
chattering  teeth,  "  that  flame  is  coming  up 
against  the  wind !  " 

"Perhaps  the  wind  has  changed,"  I 
answered,  though  I  knew  well  that  it  had 
not,  that  it  blew  stronger  than  ever  from 
the  south. 

Nearer  and  nearer  sailed  the  rocking  flame, 
two  enormous  wings  was  the  shape  of  it, 
with  something  dark  between  them.  It 
reached  the  little  promontory.  The  wings 
appeared  to  fold  themselves  about  the 
dwarfed  figure  that  stood  thereon — illuminat- 
ing it  for  a  moment.     Then  the  light  went 

E 


52 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


out  of  them  and  tbcy  vanished — everything 
vanished. 


9U 


A  while  passed,  it  may  have  been  a  minute 
or  an  hour,  when  suddenly  the  priestess 
Papave,  in  obedience  to  some  summons  which 
we  could  not  hear,  crept  by  me.  I  knew 
that  it  was  she,  because  her  woman's  sfarments 
touched  me  aa  she  went.  Another  space  of 
silence  and  of  deep  darkness,  during  which 
I  heard  Papave  return,  breathing  in  short, 
sobbing  gasps  like  one  who  is  very  frightened. 

Ah !  I  thought,  she  has  cast  hereelf  into 
the  pit !     The  tragedy  is  finished  ! 

Then  it  was  that  the  wondrous  nmsic 
came.  Of  course,  it  may  only  have  been  the 
sound  of  the  priests  chanting  beyond  us,  but 
I  do  not  think  so,  since  its  quality  was  quite 
different  from  any  that  I  heard  in  the  temple 
before  or  afterwards — to  any,  indeed,  that 
ever  I  heard  upon  the  earth. 

I  cannot  describe  it,  but  it  was  awful  to 
listen  to,  yet  most  entrancing.  From  the 
black,  smoke- veiled  pit  where  the  fire  had 
burned,  it  welled  and  echoed — now  a  single, 
heavenly  voice,  now  a  sweet  chonis,  and  now 
an  air-shaking  thunder  as  of  a  hundred 
organs  played  to  time. 

That  diverse  and  majestic  harmony 
seemed  to  include,  to  express  every  human 
emotion,  and  I  have  often  thought  since 
then  that  in  its  all-embracing  scope  and 
range,  this,  the  song  or  paean  of  her  re-birth, 
was  symbolical  of  the  infinite  variety  of 
Ayesha's  spirit.  Yet,  like  that  spirit,  it  had 
its  master  notes — power,  passion,  suflFering, 
mystery,  and  loveliness.  Also  there  could 
ije  no  doubt  as  to  the  general  significance 
of  the  chant,  by  whomsoever  it  was  sung. 
It  wajB  the  changeful  story  of  a  mighty  soul ; 
it  was  worship,  worship,  w^orship  of  a  queen 
divine ! 

Like  slow  clouds  of  incense  fading  to  the 
bannered  roof  of  some  high  choir,  the  bursts 
of  unearthly  melodies  grew  faint ;  in  the 
far  distance  of  the  hollow  pit  they  wailed 
themselves  away. 

4t  *  *  *  « 

Look !  from  the  east  a  single  ray  of 
upward-springing  light. 

"  Behold  the  dawn  I  "  said  the  quiet  voice 
of  Oros. 

That  ray  pierced  the  heavens  above  our 
heads,  a  very  sword  of  flame.  It  sank 
downwards,  swiftly.  Suddenly  rt  fell — not 
upon  us,  for  as  yet  the  rocky  walls  of  our 
chamber  warded  it  away,  but  on  to  the  little 
promontory  at  its  edge. 

Oh  !  and  there— a.  Glory  covered  with  a 


single  garment— stood  a  shape  celestial.  It 
seemed  to  be  asleep,  since  the  eyes  were 
shut.  Or  was  it  dead,  for  at  first  that  face 
was  a  face  of  death  ?  Look,  the  sunlight 
played  upon  her,  shining  through  the  thin 
veil,  the  dark  eyes  opened  like  the  eyes  of  a 
wondermg  child  ;  the  blood  of  life  flowed 
up  the  ivory  bosom  into  the  paUid  cheeks ; 
the  raiment  of  black  and  curling  tresses 
wavered  in  the  wind ;  the  head  of  the 
jewelled  snake  that  held  them  sparkled 
beneath  her  breast. 

Was  it  an  illusion,  or  was  this  Ayesha 
as  she  had  been  when  she  entered  the  rolling 
flame  in  the  caverns  of  Kdr  ?  Our  knees 
gave  way  beneath  us,  and  down,  our  arms 
about  each  other's  necks,  Leo  and  I  sank 
till  we  lay  upon  the  ground.  Then  a  voice, 
sweeter  than  honey,  softer  than  the  whisper 
of  a  twilight  breeze  among  the  reeds,  spoke 
near  to  us,  and  these  were  the  words  it 
said— 

'''Come  hWier  to  me,  Kallikrafss,  t/iat  I 
may  pay  tliee  back  tliat  redeeming  kiss  of 
faith  and  Jove  thou  gavest  me  but  now  !  " 

*  4B  *  *  • 

Leo  struggled  to  his  feet.  Like  a  drunken 
man  he  staggered  to  where  Ayesha  stood ; 
then  overcome,  sank  before  her  on  his  knees. 

"  Arise  !  "  she  said.  "  It  is  I  who  should 
kneel  to  thee,"  and  she  stretched  out  her 
hand  to  raise  him,  whispering  in  his  ear  the 
while. 

Still  he  would  not,  or  could  not  rise ;  so 
very  slowly  she  bent  over  him  and  touched 
him  with  her  Ups  upon  the  brow.  Next 
she  beckoned  to  me.  I  came,  and  would 
have  knelt  also,  but  she  suffered  it  not. 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  in  her  rich,  remembered 
voice,  "  thou  art  no  suitor ;  it  shall  not  be. 
Of  lovers  and  worshippers  henceforth  as 
before  I  can  find  a  plenty  if  I  will,  or  even 
if  I  will  it  not.  But  where  shall  I  find 
another  friend  like  to  thee,  0  Holly,  whom 
thus  I  greet  ? "  and  leaning  towMxls  me, 
with  her  lips  she  touched  me  also  on  the 
brow — just  touched  me,  and  no  more. 

Fragrant  was  Ayesha's  breath  as  roses, 
the  odour  of  roses  clung  to  her  lovely  hair  ; 
her  sweet  body  gleamed  like  some  white  sea- 
pearl  ;  a  faint  but  palpable  radiance  crowned 
her  head  ;  no  sculptor  ever  fashioned  -such 
a  marvel  as  the  arm  with  which  she  held 
her  veil  about  her  ;  no  stars  in  heaven  ever 
shone  more  purely  bright  than  did  her 
calm,  entranced  eyes. 

Yet  it  is  true,  even  with  her  lips  upon 
me,  all  I  felt  for  her  was  a  love  divine  into 
which  no  human  passion  entered.    Once,  I 


h  her  li|iB  ujion  tbe  trow." 


54 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


acknowledge  to  my  shame,  it  was  otherwise  ; 
but  I  am  an  old  man  now,  and  have  done  with 
such  frailties.  Moreover,  had  not  Ajesha 
named  me  Guardian,  Protector,  Friend,  and 
sworn  to  me  that  with  her  and  Leo  I  should 
ever  dwell  where  all  earthly  passions  fail  ?  I 
repeat :  What  more  could  I  desire  ? 

Taking  Leo  by  the  hand,  Ayesha  returned 
with  him  into  the  shelter  of  the  rock-hewn 
chamber,  and  when  she  entered  its  shadows, 
shivered  a  little  as  though  with  cold.  I 
rejoiced  at  this,  I  remember,  for  it  seemed 
to  show  me  that  she  still  was  human,  divine 
as  she  might  appear.  Here  her  priest  and 
priestess  prostrat^  themselves  before  her,  but 
she  motioned  to  them  to  rise,  laying  a  hand 
upon  the  head  of  each  as  though  in  blessing. 

"  I  am  a'  cold,"  she  said ;  "give  me  my  man- 
tle," and  Papave  threw  the  purple-broidered 
garment  upon  her  shoulders,  whence  now  it 
hung  royally,  like  a  coronation  robe. 

" Nay,"  she  went  on,  "it  is  not  this  long- 
lost  shape  of  mine,  which  in  his  kiss  my  lord 
gave  back  to  me,  that  shivers  in  the  icy 
wind ;  it  is  my  spirit's  self  bared  to  the 
bitter  breath  of  Destiny.  0  my  love,  my 
love,  oifeuded  powers  are  not  easily  appeased, 
even  when  they  appear  to  pardon  ;  and 
though  I  shall  no  more  be  made  a  mockery 
in  thy  sight,  how  long  is  given  us  together 
upon  the  world  I  know  not — but  a  little 
hour  perchance.  Well,  ere  we  pass  other- 
where, we  will  make  it  glorious,  drinking  as 
deeply  of  the  cup  of  joy  as  we  have  drunk 
of  those  of  sorrows  and  of  shame.  This 
place  is  hateful  to  me,  for  in  it  I  have 
suffered  more  than  ever  woman  did  on 
earth  or  phantom  in  the  deepest  hell.  It 
is  hateful — ^it  is  ill-omened.  I  pray  that 
never  again  may  I  behold  it. 

"Say,  what  is  it  passes  in  thy  mind, 
magician  ? "  and  of  a  sudden  she  turned 
fiercely  upon  the  Shaman  Simbri,  who  3tood 
near,  his  arms  crossed  upon  his  breast. 

"  Only,  thou  Beautiful,"  he  answered,  "  a 
dim  shadow  of  things  to  come.  I  have 
what  thou  dost  lack,  with  all  thy  wisdom — 
the  gift  of  foresight ;  and  here  I  see  a  dead 
man  lying " 

"  Aiiother  word,"  she  broke  in,  with  fury 
bom  of  some  dark  fear,  "  and  thou  shalt  be 
that  man  I  Fool  I  put  me  not  in  mind  that 
now  I  have  strength  again  to  rid  me  of  the 
ancient  foes  I  hate,  lest  I  should  use  a 
sword  thou  thrustest  to  my  hand,"  and  her 
eyes,  that  had  been  so  calm  and  happy, 
blazed  upon  him  like  fire. 

TThe  old  wizard  felt  their  fearsome  might, 
-nd  shrank  from  it  till  the  wall  stayed  him. 


"  Great  One !  now  as  ever  I  salute  thee. 
Yes,  now  as  at  the  fii-st  beginning  whereof 
we  know  alone,"  he  stammered.  "  I  had  no 
more  to  say  ;  the  face  of  that  dead  man  was 
not  revealed  to  me.  I  saw  only  that  some 
crowned  Khan  of  Kaloon  to  be  shall  lie 
here,  as  he  whom  the  flame  has  taken  lay 
an  hour  ago." 

"  Doubtless  many  a  Khan  of  Kaloon  will 
lie  here,"  she  answered  coldly.  "  Fear  not, 
Shaman,  my  wrath  is  past ;  yet  be  wise, 
mine  enemy,  and  prophesy  no  more  evil  to 
the  great.    Come,  let  us  hence." 

So,  still  led  by  Leo,  she  passed  from  that 
chamber  and  stood  presently  upon  the  apex 
of  the  soaring  pillar.  The  sun  was  up  now, 
flooding  the  Mountain  flanks,  the  plains  of 
Kaloon  far  beneath,  and  the  distant,  misty 
peaks  with  a  sheen  of  gold.  Ayesha  stood 
considering  the  mighty  prospect,  then 
addressing  Leo,  she  said — 

"  The  world  is  very  fair  ;  I  give  it  all  to 
thee." 

Now  Atene  spoke  for  the  first  time. 
■  "  Dost  thou  mean,  Hes — if  thou  art  still 
the  Hesea,  and  not  a  demon  from  the  Pit — 
that  thou  offerest  my  territories  to  this  man 
as  a  love-gift  ?  If  so,  I  tell  thee  that  first 
thou  must  conquer  them." 

"  Ungentle  are  thy  words  and  mien," 
answered  Ayesha,  "  yet  I  forgive  them  both, 
for  I  also  can  scorn  to  mock  a  rival  in  my 
hour  of  victory.  When  thou  wast  the  fairer, 
thou  didst  proffer  him  these  very  lands  ;  but 
say,  who  is  the  fairer  now  ?  Look  at  us,  all 
of  you,  and  judge,"  and  she  stood  by  Atene 
and  smiled. 

The  Khania  was  a  lovely  woman.  Never 
to  my  knowledge  have  I  seen  one  lovelier, 
but  oh !  how  coarse  and  poor  she  showed 
beside  the  wild,  ethereal  beauty  of  Ayesha 
born  again !  For  that  beauty  was  not 
altogether  human — far  less  so,  indeed,  than 
it  had  been  in  the  Caves  of  Kdr ;  now  it 
was  the  beauty  of  a  spirit. 

The  little  light  that  always  shone  upon 
Ayesha's  brow ;  the  wide-set,  maddening 
eyes  which  were  filled  sometimes  with  the 
fire  of  the  stars  and  sometimes  with  the  blue 
darkness  of  the  heavens  wherein  they  float ; 
the  curved  lips,  so  wistful  yet  so  proud  ;  the 
tresses  fine  as  glossy  silk  that  still  spread  and 
rippled  as  though  with  a  separate  life ;  the 
general  air,  not  so  much  of  majesty  as  of 
some  secret  power  hard  to  be  restrained, 
that  strove  in  that  delicate  body  and  pro- 
claimed its  presence  to  the  most  careless ; 
that  flame  of  the  soul  within  whereof  Oros  had 
spoken,  shining  now  through  no  "  vile  vessel," 


"  Id  b  Mcond  Uie  kUempt  h. 


56 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


but  in  a  vase  of  alabaster  aud  of  pearl — none 
of  these  things  and  qualities  were  altogether 
human.  I  felt  it  and  was  afraid,  and  Atene 
felt  it  also,  for  she  answered — 

"I  am  but  a  woman.  What  thou  art, 
thon  knowest  best.  Still,  a  taper  cannot 
shine  midst  yonder  fires,  nor  a  glow-worm 
against  a  fallen  star ;  nor  can  my  mortal 
flesh  compare  with  the  glory  thou  hast 
earned  from  hell  in  payment  for  thy  gifts 
and  homage  to  the  Lord  of  111.  Yet  as 
woman  I  am  thy  equal,  and  as  spirit  I  shall 
be  thy  mistress,  when,  robbed  of  these 
borrowed  beauties,  thou,  Ayesha,  standest 
naked  and  ashamed  before  the  Judge  of  all 
whom  thou  hast  deserted  and  defied  ;  yes,  as 
thou  stoodest  but  now  upon  yonder  brink 
above  the  burning  pit  where  thou  yet  shalt 
wander,  wailing  thy  lost  love.  For  this  I 
know,  mine  enemy,  that  man  and  spirit 
cannot  mate,'''*  aud  Atene  ceased,  choking  in 
her  bitter  rage  and  jealousy. 

Now,  watching  Ayesha,  I  saw  her  wince  a 
little  beneath  these  evil-omened  words,  saw 
also  a  tinge  of  grey  touch  the  carmine  of  her 
lips,  and  her  deep  eyes  grow  dark  and 
troubled.  In  an  instant  it  had  gone,  and 
she  was  asking  in  a  voice  that  rang  clear  as 
silver  bells — 

'*Why  ravest  thou,  Atene,  like  some 
shprt  -  lived  summer  torrent  against  the 
barrier  of  a  seamless  cliff.''  Dost  think, 
poor  creature  of  an  hour,  to  sweep  away  the 
rock  of  ray  eternal  strength  with  foam  and 
bursting  bubbles  ?  Have  done  and  listen. 
I  do  not  seek  thy  petty  rule,  who,  if  I  will 
it,  can  take  the  empire  of  the  world.  Yet 
leani,  thou  boldest  it  of  my  hand.  More — 
I  purpose  soon  to  visit  thee  in  tliy  city — 
choose  thou  if  it  shall  be  in  peace  or  war ! 

"  Therefore,  Khania,  purge  thy  Court  and 
amend  thy  laws,  that  when  I  come  I  may 
find  contentment  in  the  land  which  now  it 
lacks,  and  confirm  thee  in  thy  government. 
My  counsel  to  thee  also  is  that  thou  choose 
some  worthy  man  to  husband ;  let  him  l)e  whom 
thou  wilt,  if  only  he  is  just  aud  upright,  and 
one  upon  whom  thou  mayest  rest,  needing 
wise  guidance  as  thou  dost,  Atene. 

"Come,  now,  my  guests,  let  us  hence," 
and  she  walked  past  the  Kbania,  stepping 
fearlessly  upon  the  very  edge  of  the  wind- 
swept, rounded  peak. 

*  «  «  *  « 

In  a  second  the  attempt  had  been  made 
and  failed  ;  so  quickly,  indeed,  that  it  was  not 


until  Leo  and  I  compared  our  impressions 
afterwards  that  we  could  be  sure  of  what 
had  happened.  As  Ayesha  passed  her,  the 
maddened  Ehania  drew  a  hidden  dagger  and 
struck  with  all  her  force  at  her  rival's  back.  I 
saw  the  knife  vanish  to  the  hilt  in  her  body, 
as  I  thiought ;  but  this  cannot  have  been  so, 
since  it  fell  to  the  ground,  and  she  who  should 
have  been  dead  took  no  hurt  at  all. 

Feeling  tbat  she  had  failed,  with  a 
movement  like  the  sudden  lurch  of  a  ship, 
Atene  thrust  at  Ayesha,  proposing  to  hurl 
her  to  destruction  in  the  depths  beneath. 
Lo  I  her  outstretched  arms  w^ent  past  her, 
although  Ayesha  never  seemed  to  stir.  Yes, 
it  was  Atene  who  would  have  fallen,  Atene 
who  already  fell,  had  not  Ayesha  put  out  ber 
hand  and  caught  her  by  the  wrist,  bearing 
all  her  backward-swaying  weight  as  easily  as 
though  she  were  but  an  infant,  and  without 
effort  drawing  her  to  safety. 

"  Foolish  woman ! "  she  said  in  pitying 
tones.  "Wast  thou  so  vexed  that  thou 
wouldst  strip  thyself  of  the  pleasant  shape 
which  Heaven  has  given  thee  ?  Surely  this 
is  madness,  Atene  ;  for  how  knowest  thou  in 
what  likeness  thou  mightest  be  sent  to  tread 
the  earth  again  ?  As  no  queen,  perhaps, 
but  as  a  peasant's  child,  deformed,  un- 
sightly;  for  such  reward,  it  is  said,  is  given 
to  those  that  achieve  self-murder.  Or  even, 
as  many  think,  shaped  like  a  beast — a  snake, 
a  cat,  a  tigress !  Why,  see,"  and  she  picked 
up  the  dagger  from  the  ground  and  cast 
it  into  the  air,  "that  point  was  poisoned. 
Had  it  but  pricked  thee,  now  ! "  and  she 
smiled  at  her  and  shook  her  head. 

But  Atene  could  bear  no  more  of  this 
mockery,  more  venomed  than  her  own  steel. 

"  Thou  art  not  mortal ! "  she  wailed.  "  How 
can  I  prevail  against  thee  ?  To  Heaven  I 
leave  thy  punishment,"  and  there  upon  the 
rocky  peak  Atene  sank  down  and  wept. 

Leo  stood  nearest  to  her,  and  the  sight  of 
this  royal  woman  in  her  misery  prov^  too 
much  for  him  to  bear.  Stepping  to  her 
side,  he  stooped  and  lifted  her  to  her  feet, 
muttering  some  kind  words.  For  a  moment 
she  rested  on  his  arm,  then  shook  herself 
free  of  him  and  took  the  proffered  hand  of 
her  old  uncle  Simbri. 

"  I  see,"  said  Ayesha,  "  that,  as  ever,  thou 
art  courteous,  my  lord  Leo ;  but  it  is  best 
that  her  own  servant  should  take  charge  of 
her,  for — she  may  hide  more  daggers.  Come, 
the  day  grows,  and  surely  we  need  rest." 


{To  he  continued.) 


|jOUtl?y\N6 


THE  worst  of  cricket 
OD  a  half-holiday 
is  that  it  comes  go 
ttxin  after  dinner.  On 
ordinary  dars  one  has 
limy  to  8ul»ide  (I  think 
that  is  putting  it  very 
nicely),  bat  on  half-holi- 
davH  you  start  playing  with 
your  belt  let  out  to  the  first 
hule,  if  it's  a  leather  one,  and 
yiiu  pnibably  aren't  able  to 
draw  it  in  to  the  fourth  or  fifth 
hole  until  after  you've 
had  yonr  inninfpi— whicli 
is  apt  to  be  disastrons. 
Of  course,  when  I  siy  this, 
I  speak  in  a  general  fvay 
cf  iKiys  who  liave  good  ap- 
petites. ThoBB  who  haven't 
are  poor  creatures,  and  don't 
count ;  and,  whatever  they 
may  think,  it  isn't  in  any  way 
to  their  credit  that  they  don't 
swell  at  inconvenient  times. 
My  own  appetit*  might  be 
described  as  normal  (1  found  out  the  meaning 
of  that  word  from  the  nurse  who  took  my 
temjieruture  when  I  had  measles),  so  it  is 
fair  to  regard  my  own  sensations  and  opinions 
on  the  same  as  likely  to  be  shared  by  others. 

Our  half-holidays  are  Wednesdays  and 
Siturdays  (which  also  T  believe  to  be  normal), 
and  I  wish  to  take  this  opportunity  of  saying 
that  the  dinners  provided  for  as  on  these 
days  are  moat  injudiciously  chosen.  Kor 
iiMance.  we  nearly  always  have  roly-ply  on 
^^ednesdays,  and  fruit  tart  on  Satuniays — a 
practice  which  might  almost  be  descrilied  as 
sinfnl. 

I  liave  nothing  to  say  gainst  rolv-poliis 
and  fruit  tarta  in  themselves.  Far  from  it. 
Bat  there's  a  great  deal  to  Iw  said  agaijist 
them  in  me  on  these  occasions.  Any  fair- 
minded  pereon  can  understand  the  difficulty 
—I  might  say  the  impossibility — of  re<»ivirij: 
those  blessings  with  moderation ;  and  it  seenis 
to  me  that   there   are   enough    miavuidablu 


I    temptations    in    life    with- 
/  out    having     them     deliber- 
ately pnt  in  cue's  way. 

Now,  there  is  not  the 
smallest  temptation  hidden  iu 
sngo  puddings  or  rice  moulds. 


By  a  boy  who 
PLAYS   IT. 


Tnesdays  and  TbursduyR,  and 
only  the  well-known  contrari- 
ness of  grown-up  people  could 
have  arranged  things  in  this 
manner.  Reasonable  beiugs 
^such  as  boys — would  give 
us  the  unattractive  things  on 
lialf-holidaysandtheattractive 
on  all  the  other  days.  They 
might  even  go  further  than 
this :  they  might  abolisli  milk 
puddings  altogether,  and 
sulKtitute  something  equally 
harmless  hut  much  nicer,  snch 
US  jelly.  Anvone  could  play  cricket  after  jelly, 
no  mutter  what  the  qnantity,  and  there  cuTi 
bo  no  question  as  to  its  attractiveness.  It 
has  a  nice,  sloshy  feeling,  when  yon  sc|UiiHh 
it  lietween  your  timgue  and  the  Ui]>  of  your 
mouth,  that  has  ii  great  fa.' cinationfor people 
of  refined  tastes,  who  do  not  measure  enjoy- 
ment by  chewing.  I  should,  myself,  certainty 
give  jelly  twice  a  week  if  I  kept  a  school. 

Talking  of  refinement,  of  course  I  admit 
some  boys  haven't  got  any.  In  fact,  some 
boys  are  pigs.  If  you  doubt  it,  I  can  tell 
you  of  something  tliat  happened  at  our 
school  the  other  day.  There  was  a  chocolate 
lying  in  the  yard.  Some  amless  ass  had 
drojijied  it  there.  And  Mr.  Carden's  dog. 
Skittles,  came  up  and  sniffed  at  it.  I'm  not 
sure  that  he  didn't  lick  it.  Anyway,  whether 
it  was  the  smell  or  the  taste  that  put  him 
against  it,  T  don't  know  ;  but  he  didn't  like 
it,  and  he  moved  off,  looking  eontemptnous 
and  disappointed  all    in  one— the  way.  yon 


THE   WINDSOR   ilAOAZINE. 


know,  a  dog  does  when  lie  gets  a  sell  of  that 
kind.  Smith  minor  and  some  more  of  ns 
saw  it  happen ;  and  when  Skittlee  moved  on, 
Smith  minor  made  a  dive  for  the  chocolate 
and  picked  it  up.  He  hod  no  shame  about 
it.  He  even  Buid  to  Skittles ;  "  Well,  if  you 
won't  have  it,  I  will."  And  he  meant  it.   I'm 


ready  to  swe&rtothat.  But  when  Mr.Oarden 
(who  saw  it  all,  too)  came  up  l)ehind  him 
and  called  him  a  dirty  little  l^east,  he  said  : 
"  Of  course,  I  was  oidy  j'okin},',  sir."  If 
Mr.  Garden  believed  that,  he  must  have  lieen 
greener  than  lettnci-,  I  saw  Smith  minor 
slip  the  choc,  into  his  pocket,  and  I  heard 
him  ask  one  of  the   big   boys  immediately 


afterwards  if  it  would  kill  a  penion  to  eat 
something  a  Aog  had  sniffed  at,  suppoaing 
the  dog  were  to  develop  hydrophobia  later 
on.  He  just  kept  the  choc,  in  his  pocket 
"  pending  inquiries,"  aa  the  newspapers  say  ; 
and  I'll  bet  anything  yon  like  that  he  ate  it 
l.tter  on,  when  no  one  was  looking.  If  this 
doesn't  convince  yon  that 
Smith  minor  is  a  boy  without 
refinement,  it  must  be  because 
yon  don't  want  to  I*  con- 
vinced. 

But  to  return  to  cricket, 
from  which  I  have  been 
wandering.  It  is  a  very  poor 
show  on  half-holidaya,  for  the 
reaflon  I  hare  just  mentioned, 
und  yet  it  is  always  on 
Saturdays  that  our 
relations  and  frienda 
choose  to  come  and 
look  on.  This  is  quite 
enough  to  give  the 
school  a  bad  name,  for 
of  course  they  are  bound 
to  take  away  with  them 
the  impression  that  they 
have  seen  us  at  onr 
best,  or  at  least  at  oor 
average,  which  is  very 
far  from  being  the  case. 
Talking  of  our  aver- 
age reminds  me  of 
something  else  about 
Smith  minor.  One  day, 
in  the  small  boys' 
reading-class,  that  word 
came  in,  and  Mr.Carden 
asked  him:  "AVhat  is 
an  average  ?  " 

"  A  sort  of  nest,  sir," 
said  Smith  minor. 

"  A  sort  of  iihat ?  " 
said  Mr.  Garden. 

"  Well,  perhaps  it's  a 
liox  with  straw  in  it," 
said  Smith  minor, "  the 
sort  we  have  in  our  hen- 
house at  home." 

ende  phnow  U>  crrnie."  He    had    got    Very 

red  by  this  time,  aud 
was  fidgeting  like  mad,  as  he  always  does 
when  he  thinks  there's  a  chance  of  someooe's 
lau<;hing  at  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  follow  your  tratu  of 
thonght,"  said  Mr.  Garden  very  politely. 
"  Take  your  time,  and  try  to  explain  why  t«u 
think  an  avera^^e  is  either  a  nest  or  a  Imx 
with  straw  in  it." 


COI^CERNINO  "  CRICKET." 


b9i 


"  Bocuiise — because,"  aaid  Smith  minor, 
nearly  blubbing.  "  it's  Bomething  that  hens 
lay  on.  I  don't  know  anything  about  it 
mf9«^lf,  but  I've  heard  our  mau  say  that  our 
heus  laid  three  dozen  eggs  a  week  on  an 
averse,  and-  and " 

But  Mr.  Garden  was  howling  ho  loud  that 
if  Smith  minor  had  anything  dfie  to  Bay,  he 
didn't  hear  what  it  wtia ;  and  presently  Smith 
minor  was  howling,  too,  only  in  a  different 
way.  And  then  Mr.  Garden  pretended  to  be 
sorry  for  him,  and  told  the  otbere  not  to 
kngh— which  was  beastly  unfair. 

However — to  get  back  to  the  subject  of 
this  article — I  must  Bay  that,  although  Mr. 
Garden  can  be  an  awfnl  beast  in  school,  he 
(an  be  jolly  decent  in  the  playing-field,  and 
is  just  as  keen  on  games  as  we  are  ourselves 
—specially  cricket.  He  makes  very  scathing 
remarks  sometimes,  but  they  are  only  intended 
to  improve  our  play  ;  and  one  should  make 
allowances  when  one  remembers  that  almost 
everyone  has  a  besetting  sin,  and  the  chief 
fault  in  Mr.  Cardcn'«  character  ia  a  want  of 
cooaideration  for  the  feelings  of  boys. 

To  prove  this,  I  can  tell  you  another  thing 
aboat  Smith  minor;  but  I  must  apologise  for 
going  back  to  such  a  long  time  ago  as  when 
the  last  Census  was  taken.  Smith  minor 
wasn't  quite  seven  then,  and  bad  only  just 
b^n  sent  to  school.  He  was  obliged  to  face 
the  troaUcs  of  life  at  an  early  age,  because 
his  people  had  gone  to  India. 


You  know  that  column  at  the  end  of  the 
Census  paper  where  you  are  directed  to  make 
an  entry  if  anyone  is  deaf,  dumb,  blind,  or 
imbecile  ?  Well,  after  we  had  all  handed  up 
our  ages  and  so  forth  (1,  myself,  being  very 
young  at  the  time),  Mr.  Garden  turned  to 
Smith  minor  and  said  — 

"  Now,  this  ia  a  very  important  i>api;r,  and 
the  penalties  are  heavy  if  it  is  not  correctly 
filled  in  ;  BO  be  careful  about  your  answer. 
Are  you  deaf,  dumb,  blind,  or  imbecile  ? " 

Of  course  the  poor  little  beggar  took  for 
granted  that  he  was  bound  to  be  one  of  the 
four.  He  was  sure  enough  that  he  was 
neither  deaf,  dumb,  nor  blind,  and  he  didn't 
know  what  imbecile  whs,  so  he  thought  he'd 
be  safe  if  he  fastened  on  that. 

"  Please,  sir,  I'm  only  imbecUe,"  said  he, 
and — Imt  I  think  it  is  kinder  to  draw  a  veil 
over  the  scene  that  followed,  and  I  shall  not 
even  try  to  descrilje  Smith  minor's  feelings, 
as  I  im^ine  them  to  have  been. 

On  r^ing  over  what  I  have  written,  I 
find  that  I  have  aaid  very  littlealxiut  cricket, 
and  a  good  deal  about  gruband  Smith  minor; 
but  it  is  now  too  late  to  make  alterations, 
and  I  have  come  to  the  end  of  my  paper. 
(It  18  dangerous  to  bag  more  than  half-a- 
dozen  sheets  of  my  father's  foolscap  at  a 
time,  and  I  write  an  unfortunately  large 
hand.)  Therefore,  I  must  let  my  article  go 
as  it  is,  hoping  in  a  future  one  to  make  up 
for  my  omissions  concerning  cricket. 


:^;^ 


cfex 


I'r 


m 


"COME    UNTO   THKSK   YKr.LOW    SANDS!' 
KiuiH  A  DiiAWiN.i  m    A.  L.  Itowi.KV. 


[Arymt  Arefifr,  KeiminyUfit. 


HOW    SOLDIERS    ARE    FED. 

By    HOEACB    WYNDHAM. 


THE  commissariat  BTstem  obtaining  in 
the  British  Army  at  the  present  dat£ 
is  of  comparatively  recent  growth. 
Xot  BO  very  long  i^o  there  was  no  system  at 
all— that  is,  it  was  regarded  as  no  one's 
^tal  bosiaees  to  supply  the  lighting  man 
■itli  food.  The  sotaler  lived  chiefly  by 
plunder,  levyin;^  contributions  on  the  country 
geaerailT.  If  these  were  withheld,  he  called 
big  sword  into  rcqntsition,  whereupon  the 
supplies  demanded  soon  became  forthcoming. 
Of  conree,  this  practice  led  to  great  abuses, 
and  many  and  bitter  were  the  complaints  it 
occasioned. 

For  a  long  time,  however,  they  fell  on  deaf 
(an.  The  Government  continued  to  neglect 
its  obligationg,  and  the  soldier  preyed  npon 
liis  fellows  unchecked.  It  was  Good  Queen 
It«s«  who  put  a  stop  to  this  state  of  things. 
ThiE  BJie  brought  about  by  appointing  a 
"Provient  Master  to  the  Troops,"  an 
officer  who  occupied  much  the  same  position 
that  the  Quarter- Master  General  does  non'a- 
da.TB.  The  functions  of  this  individual  were, 
according  to  Sir  James  Turner— an  historian 
of  the  period — somewhat    varied    in    their 


nature.  Thus,  in  addition  to  furnishing 
rations,  it  was  laid  down  that "  He  hath  the 
inspection  of  them  and  should  see  them 
equally  and  proportionately  divided  to  the 
raiments.  He  uatli  the  ordering  of  all  the 
luagazines  for  victuals,  and  to  him  belongs 
the  care  of  seeing  the  garrisons  and  fortifi^ 
places  sufficiently  provided  with  such  meats 
and  drinks  as  are  most  fit  to  preserve ;  these 
are  com,  grain,  and  meal  of  several  kinds  ; 
stock  fiBb  and  all  other  salted  Jisbes  ;  salt«d 
and  hung  fleshes,  especially  beef  and  l;acon  ; 
cheese,  butter,  almonds,  chestnute,  uud  hazel- 
nuts ;  wine,  beer,  malt,  honey,  vinegar,  ojl, 
tobacco,  wood  and  coal  for  firing ;  and  as 
many  living  oxen,  cows,  sheep,  and  stvine, 
hens  and  turkeys  as  can  be  conveniently  fed  ; 
for  which  purpose,  as  also  for  horses,  he  is  to 
provide  straw,  hay,  and  oaU."  The  daily 
allowance  for  a  soldier  of  these  spacious  days 
was,  it  may  be  remarked,  two  pounds  of 
bread  and  half  this  quantity  of  either  meat 
or  cheese  ;  with  two  Dottles  of  beer  or  one 
of  wine,  to  wash  it  down  with. 

Liberal  though  this  scale  sounds,  it  is  to 
be  feared  that  the  troops  of  the  sixteenth. 


iArgetU  Arthtr,  Krrttingtan. 


THE   W/N^DSOR  MAGAZINE, 


Beventeeth,  and  eighteenth  centuries  never- 
theless fared  Ixtdly.  The  "  Provient 
Master,"  it  seems,  did  not  take  bis  dnties 
Heriouslj.  After  a  time,  accordingly.  Lis 
ofBce  was  alwilJRhed.     Short  commons  then 


became  genera),  for 
"certain  covetong 
men  of  wane  "  (as 
an  old  writer  calls 
them)  thought  it  no 
shame  to  rob  the 
soldiers  of  their 
allowance.  Atlength 
the  evil  arrived  at 
such  a  pitch  that  a 
fiovemment  ollicial 
was  specially  ap- 
pointed to  supervise 
all  provision  con- 
tractii.  This  brought 
about  a  marked 
improvement,  but  a 
good  many  abuses 
still  flourished,  with 
the  result  that  the 
troops  were  fre- 
quently half  starved. 
It  was  not  until 
after  the  Indian  i'hou,bg\ 
Mutiny  that  the  cooks,  1st  ci 

commissanatdepart- 

ment  was  formally  taken  over  by  the  War 
Office.  The  preliminary  efforts  of  the  new 
Bteff  were  devote"!  to  rtficuinfr  it  from  the 
state  of  chaos  into  which  it  had  fallen.  Some 
years  were  «t».'upied  in  this,  and  many  changes 
liad  to  l>e  iiitmdnced  into  the  administrative 
system.     The  time,  howuvcr,  was  well  spent. 


for  it  has  resulted  in  giving  England   the 

best-fed  army  in  the  world. 

On    the  importance  of    supplying  troops 

with  good  food  and  cJenty  of  it,  every  general 

— from  Moses  to  Kitebener — has  insisted. 
Napoleon's  aphorism,  "  An 
army  marches  on  its 
stomach,"  is  nniversally 
accepted  withont  deroor. 
Tents  and  transport  can  be 
dispensed  with  at  a  pinch, 
but  not  rations.  Bread, 
indeed,  is  of  far  more  service 
in  the  fleld  tbati  bullets.  It 
is  said  of  Picten  that  be 
inclined  to  this  view  to  such 
an  extent  that  be  once  had 
a  soldier  shot  for  throwing 
away  a  sack  of  flour  in  orda 
to  make  room  for  ammuni- 
tion. The  Iron  Duke,  too, 
held  very  strong  views  on 
the  necessity  for  feeding  his 
BondftL,  i*™mt.  troops  Well,  and  during  the 
Peninsidar  camp:tign  would 


I'.  Gn^stv  and  Co.,  Stramd. 


never  commence  a  day's  operations  until  be 
had  first  satislied  himself  that  the  comuiis- 
Bariat  arrangements  were  in  proper  working 
order. 

One  of  the  principal  charges  gainst  the 
War  Office  in  the  conduct  of  the  Crimean 
war  was  that  it  paid    no  attention   to   the 


HOW  SOLDTERS  ARE  FED. 


68 


food  supply  of  the  Army.  Thie  accusatioa, 
bowev«r,  is  au  uiijust  one,  for,  although  tlie 
Arrangements  were  improperly  carried  out 
aud  thereby  occasioned  great  suffering,  tlie 
matter  was  given  considerable  attention. 
The  great  Soyer  himself,  the  famons  cliff  of 
the  Beform  Club,  was  speciaUy  despatched  to 
the  seat  of  hostilities  for  the  purpose  of 
BuperinteDdiDg  the  culinary  department.  He 
took  himself  very  seriously,  and  invented  a 
patent  stove  for  the  preparation  of  meals  in 
a  short  time.  He  also  drew  np  a  series  of 
menus  for  use  in  the  field.  These  were  after- 
wards reprinted  in  an  official  "  Manual  of 
Military  Cooking,"  which  became  a  standard 
work  in  the  Service,  Some  of  Soyer's  recipes 
were  of  a  most  elaborate  description — more 
suitable,  in  fact,  for  a  Lord  Mayor's  banquet 
than  a  htirrach-room^but  his  intentions  were 


undoubtedly  good.  While,  however,  giving 
particulars  for  the  preparation  of  various 
dainty  plf^g  that  soldiers  are  never  likely  to 
become  acquainted  with,  the  distinguished 
(htf  did  not  disdain  to  furnish  instinctions 
for  making  snch  simple  dishes  as  rice- 
poddings.  He  also  wrot«  learnedly  on  the 
art  of  boiling  potatoes. 

Ib  Bddition  to  the  Soyer  manual  already 
refflrred  to,  three  or  four  others,  dealing  with 
such  kindred  subjects  as  meat  inspection  and 
the  care  of  utensils,  have  since  been  published. 
These  form  part  of  the  equipment  of  present- 
day  military  "  cook-honsee  "  (as  kitchens  in 
buracks  are  always  termed). 

The  first  rule  of  such  eetablishmente  is : 
■■  Everything  must  he  scrupulously  clean." 
This  is  rigidly  insisted  upon,  as  is  also  a 
second  rule :  "  Skim,  simmer,  and  scour." 
Smoking  is  forbidden  on  the  premises^x- 
«pt  as  regards  the  chimneys — the  sergeant- 


cook  (who  rules  the  roasts  in  barracks)  being 
held  strictly  responsible  that  these  matters 
are  attended  to.  Should  he  neglect  any  of 
them,  he  is  liable  to  all  sorts  of  penalties. 

One  or  two  of  the  official  handbooks  on 
military    cooking    appear  to   be   somewhat 
humorously  compilea,  for  they  give  minute 
directions  for  the   making  of  many  dishes 
that  never  by  any  chance  figure  in  barrack- 
rooms.     Among  such  are  omelettes  with  fine 
herbs,  blauc-mange,   jellies,    pancakes,   and 
muffins.     However,   there   is  nothing  like 
being  prepared   for   contingencies,  and  the 
soldier  is  accordingly  provided  with  recipes 
for  these  dainties,  as  well  as  for  the  simpler 
dishes  in  daily  use.    The  commonest  among 
these  latter  are,  after  plain  roasts  and  boils, 
those  known  as  "sea-pie  "  and  "  toad-in-the- 
hole."    The  former  is  made  of  meat  mixed 
with   v^etables  and  fiour, 
and  steamed  for  three  houre ; 
while  the  latter  is  a  succulent 
preparation    of    meat,    egg- 
powder,  flonr,  and  milk.     In 
either  case,  the  allowance  of 
meat  is  45  lb.  for  every  sixty 
men.    Another  popular  item 
in  the  bill  of  fare  is 
"Turkish   pillau,"   the    in- 
gredients of  which  are  meat, 
rice,  flour,  herbs,  and  onions, 
seasoned    with    cayenne 
pepper.      In    India,   curry 
„  looms  largely  in   the  daily 

memi. 
Tchtr,  Kemingim.  The  allowance  of  meat  in 

the  British  Army  has  been 
filed  for  many  years  post  at 
3  lb.  per  head  per  diem.  This  with  ordinary 
care  is  found  to  lie  ample,  and,  when  eked  out 
with  vegetables  and  pudding,  serves  for  a  good 
square  meal  at  midday.  Refrigerated  beef, 
in  lieu  of  the  fresh  variety,  may  be  issued 
in  a  proportion  not  exceeding  sixty  per 
cent,  of  the  total  weekly  issue.  This  is 
aitt'ays  of  excellent  quality,  while  it  is  also  in 
all  probability  much  better  than  that  which 
tlie  average  recruit  has  been  accustomed  to, . 
Nevertheless,  Mr.  Atkins  is  rather  inclined 
to  turn  up  his  nose  at  it,  and  when  it  appeare 
on  the  dmner-tabie,  affects  to  see  in  it  the 
remains  of  dead  and  gone  commissariat  mules. 
However,  he  seldom  has  much  difficulty  in 
getting  outeide  his  share. 

With  a  view  to  ensuring  that  the  meat 
issued  for  troope  shall  be  of  the  quality 
stipulated  for  in  the  contract,  every  joint  is 
inspected  by  trained  experts  before  it  is 
accepted.     Nowadays  it  is  very  seldom  that 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


any  jiiat  cause  for  compluiiit  arises,  but  at 
one  time  purveyors  were  not  too  serupulouB. 
A  fuvourite  device  on  their  part  in  certain 
slatione  abroad  was  to  palm  off  goat-fleali  for 
mutton.  A  zealous  (juartenn aster  in  the 
Ionian  Islands,  suspecting  this  pmctice  on  a 
certain  occasion,  thought  he  would  assuredly 
defeat  it  by  ordering  that  all  tlie  legs  of 
muttoii  sent  in  by  the  butchers  should  have 
the  tails  attached.  The  Greek  contractor 
smiled  knowingly,  bnt  promised  compliance, 
and  for  the  next  few  days  every  joint  was 
delivered  in  the  manner  required.  The 
quality  of  the  meat,  liowever,  did  not  im- 
prove ;    on    the    contrary,    it   had   a  more 


\ATftM  Arclirr,  KtnrtKglait. 


"goaty"  flavour  than  ever,  and  load  and 
bitter  were  the  complainta  of  its  conaumerK 
At  last  the  mystery  was  solved.  One  day 
when  the  insp^ing  officer  picked  up  a  le^ 
of  mntton  to  weigh  it,  the  joint  fell  to  the 
gronnd,  leaving  Uie  tail  in  hts  hand.  Sub- 
sequent investigation  showed  that  it  had 
merely  been  sewn  on  with  thread. 

The  "  Advantj^ca  of  the  Army  "  inclnde 
three  meals  a  day — breakfast,  dinner,  and 
tea — but  in  most  battalions  a  light  supper 
is  also  provided.  A  soldier's  official  ration- 
allowance  consists  of  1  lb.  of  bread  and 
J  lb.  of  meat  per  diem ;  t«a,  coffee,  vegetable!), 
and  "extras"  (such  as   butter,   jam,  a^g». 


[Argrnl  ArehfTf  Ktnnmfflon. 


HOW  SOLDIERS  ARE  FED. 


Gab,    etc.)    being    provided     regimen  tally.  them    rush  off    to   tlie  oook-huuau,   "  tlmt 

Bruikfast   ia  aen'ed  at  8  a.m.,   dinner  at  and  the  pay-bugle  are  about  the  only  two 

1  p.m.,  and  tea  at  4  p.m.     The  different  calls    some    of    you'll    ever     man^e    to 

bogle  calls  that  aunnnon  the  troops  to  these  learn  ! " 

are  learned  by  even  the  moat  unmusical  of  To  moat  of  the  bugle-calls  aoldierB  have 

recruits  with  a  promptitude  that  calls  down  attached  words  of  their  own.    Those  for  the 

upon  them  the  scorn  of  the  sergKiut-major.  dinner-one,  for  example,  are— 

;'Ah:';    he    bbscrves  sarcastically,   m    the  Pkk  W  up!  P«k 'em -pi  Hot  poutoe.! 

loapintJng  notes  of  the  dinner-bugle  make  Hot  potatoes  O! 


«««:»;-*.■■,  ■ 


iBT  COLDHTREAM   G 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


While  for  the  evening  mess-bugle  there  is 
the  couplet — 

The  officFn'  wivrg  have  puddini^a  ftnd  piei, 
But  poor  Tommy  Alkins  bu  ikilly  \ 

— a  Btutemetit  which,  by  the  way,  is  quite 
nnfounded. 
Bread  for  the  use  of  the  troope  is  neurly 


purchased  from  the  canteen  out  of  tbe 
"grocery  allowance."  This  only  amounts  to 
twopence  a  day,  but  as  it  is  drawn  for  a 
considerable  number  of  men  in  a  battalion, 
it  is  quite  enough  to  provide  a  good  supply. 
Dinner  is,  of  couree,  the  chief  meal  of  the 
day  in  barracks.  It  consists  mainly  of  the 
roast  beef  of  Old 
>  ■    England  (or,  as  has 

.    "■  "  been    explained,    of 

-  "^  ^  New  Zealand),  with 
potatoes.  On  most 
days  in  a  week,  a 
pudding  or  jam-roll 
IS  add»l.  A  highly 
prized  delicacy  is 
"  plum  -  duff."  It 
generally  makes  its 
appearance  oa  a 
Sunday,  and  is  a 
most  solid  and  sub- 
stantial affair.  It 
takes  an  experienced 
man,  indeed,  to 
tackle  a  second 
helping.  Abroad, 
when    it    is    hoth 

(.'a    strand.  '    I'lsit'f"'      and 


always  baked  by 
the  Army  Service 
Corps.  It  is  com- 
monly referred  to 
in  barrack  -  room 
parlance  by  its 
Hindustani  name, 
ruti.  The  loaves 
weigh  -Z  lb.  each, 
and  are  made  from 
a  quality  of  flour 
known  in  the  trade 
aa  "  best  seconds." 
For  hospital  con- 
sumption, however, 
the  "best  house- 
hold" variety  is  -■  — - 
furnished.  The 
issue  takes  place  nMo  ajfj 
every  morning  cokckk-bak, 
about    7.-10    a.m., 

the  regulation  allowance  being  1  lb.  for 
each  man.  A  part  of  this  is  eaten  at 
breakfast-time,  the  remainder  being  saved 
for  dinner  and  tea.  As  bread  in  itself 
is  not  particularly  appetising,  various 
"relishes,'  such  as  fish,  bacon,  eggs,  or 
fried  liver,  with  either  butter  or  jam,  are 


cheap,  fruit  often  figures    in    the   bill   of 
fare. 

At  both  breakfast  and  dinner  attendance 
is  compulsory,  and  a  roll-call  is  held  to  see 
that  everyone  is  present.  An  ofBcer  also 
comes  ronnd  the  barrack-rooms  at  these 
times  toinquire  if  thereare  "Any  complaints?" 


BOW  SOLDIERS  ARE  FED. 


Tea,  however,  jb  an  informal  meal,  and  the 
men  pre^nt  tbemst'lves  for  it  or  not  aa  they 
pimse.  It  is  served  at  four  o'clock,  and 
consists  of  tea  and  brtad-aiid-biitter.  By  tlie 
war,  teapots,  bojfether  withciips  and  saucers, 
arc  apparently  cotiaiderud  as  effeminate 
Iniiiries,  for  tliev  have  no  place  in  barrack- 
rooiiia.  The  tea  is  miide  in  large  tin  pails 
(.ready  mjjed  n  ith  milk  and  suj^r),  and  each 
^D  8  alloivance  is  poured  oat  for  him  into  a 
™in.    It  is  not  until  a  soldier   wins  his 


three  stripes,  and  accordingly  hiut  the  entree 
of  the  sei^eanis'  mess,  that  he  sees  either  a 
t«acup  or  a  table-eloth. 

In  the  Britiah  Army,  the  cup  that  cheers 
is  brewed  of  Congou,  obtained  from  China. 
The  quality  is  officially  descrilied  as  "  ^ooA 
medium,"  A  mixture  of  this  with  Assam 
and  Orange  Pekoe  is  also  recommended  by 
the  authorities,  as  being  both  economical  and 
refreshing. 

Supper,  like  tea,  is  not  a  recognised  meal 


THE    WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


in  tliat  attendance  thereat  ifi  insisted  iiiwn. 
If  a  uian  likes  to  go  out  of  baiTHcks  and  get 
snpper  elsewhere,  lie  is  quite  at  liberty  to  do 
so.  With  tliose  remaining  in  liamicks,  the 
r^imental  coffee-siiop  usually  drives  a 
roariug-tnule  between  7.3(1  and  9.30  p.m. 
SoWiers  who  patronise  tliese  establishments, 
as  well  as  teetotalers  (for  nothing  more 
intoxicating  tliaii  lemonade  is  allowed  to  be 
sold  therein),  are  called  by  those  who  prefer 
the  dubious  delights  of  the  canteen,  "  liun- 
strangtein."  The  food  in  the  coffee-shop  is 
sold  at  Hs  nearly  cost  price  as  possible,  and 
a  man  can  make  a  gootl  meal  for  threepence. 
A  varied  menu  is  always  arranged,  the 
favourite  it«m8  therein  being  liver  and  bacon, 
fried  eggs,  and  sausages  and  poUtoes.  For 
l)eveii^e9,  there  are  tea,  coffee,  and  cocoa,  or 
mineral  waters. 

In  the  "  Manual  of  Military  Cooking,"  it 
is  laid  down  that  "  to  cook  nipidly  and  well 
is  a[i  art  wliich  can  be  easily  acquired  and 
which  eveiy  soldier  should  learn,"  It  has 
long  been  recognised,  however,  that  cooking 
does  not  come  by  nature,  aud  that  even  its 
rndimcnt«  cannot  Iw  act]uired  until  they  have 
first  been  trtught.  The  principal  place  where 
this  imitortiint  matter  is  attended  to  is  Alder- 
shot,  "here  the  Army  School  of  Cookery  li;is 
been  in  existence  fcir  moi-e  than  thirty  years 


past.  Tlie  establishment  is  under  the  charge 
of  a  filaff-otticer,  with  a  sergeaut-major  and 
four  N.C.O.'s  as  instmctors.  It  is  conducted 
as  a  training -school  for  soldiers  desirous  of 
qualifying  for  the  post  of  sei^tant-cook. 
About  forty  of  these  prospccti^'e  rlisfs  are 
under  tuition  at  a  time,  the  course  extending 
over  a  period  of  sixteen  weeks.  The  training 
is  of  Ixith  a  practical  and  theoretical  nature, 
and  embraces  the  whole  subject,  from  the 
cashing  up  of  dishes  to  the  constructiou 
of  field -kitchens,  with  work  at  the  range 
and  lectures  in  classrooms.  Certificates  are 
awarded  to  those  who  reach  the  proper  stan- 
dard of  proficiency.  The  holders  of  these 
then  rejoin  their  regiments,  and,  as  oppor- 
tunity offei-s,  are  promoted  to  the  ^xwt  of 
sergeant-cook,  and  as  such  take  chaise  of 
the  kitchen  arrangements  in  their  own 
battalions. 

Roughly  speaking,  these  arrangements  are 
as  follows  :  A  battalion  of  infantry  cousisu 
of  eight  companies.     For  each  of  these,  two 

E fixates  are  employed  as  cooks,  and  have 
etweeii  them  to  prepare  their  comrades' 
meals.  The  number  of  men  for  whose  bene- 
fit they  expend  their  skill  is  about  ninety. 
It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  their  post 
is  no  sinecure.  Upon  the  sergoant-cook 
devolves    the    general    supervisiou    of    rliis 


'!>  soil  Ca.,  SlmtuL 


HOW  SOLDIERS  ARB  FED. 


\  . 


lAryrnt  ArcJier,  Km. 


Etaff  of  sixteen.  He  is  also  required  to  in- 
etnict  his  snbordinates  (some  of  whom  are 
rather  raw,  as  they  ixmie  straight  from  the 
barrack- room)  and  see  that  they  make  the 
hest  of  the  materials  at  hand ;  to  vary  the  daily 
menu  as  much  as  possibii! ;  and  to  keep  a 
H-atchfiil  )iye  on  the  fuel  consumption.  His 
work  commences  at  half  past  sii  (or  earlier) 
iu  the  morning  and  finishes  with  the  ser\'inv 
Dp  of  tea  at  four  p.m.  For  his  labours  he 
draws  sixpence  a  day  in  aihlition  to  his  pay 
as  sergeant. 

As  space  is  limited  in  a  military  cook- 
house, and  a  great  many  meals  have  to  be 
prepared  at  the  same  time,  a  nnmber  of  in- 
genious laluur-saving  appliances  are  in  use. 
The  principal  among  these  is  known  as  a 
•■  Warren's  Apparatus."  It  lakes  the  form 
of  a  close  steam  boiler,  oven,  and  plate- 
warmer  combined,  and  is  so  constructed  tliat 
roasting,  baking,  boiling,  and  frying  opera- 
tions can  be  carried  out  in  it  simultaneously. 
It  also  ensures  great  economy  of  f  nel. 

At  twenty  minutes  to  one  every  day,  the 
cook-house  is  visited  by  the  orderly-officer. 
Il  is  part  of  this  individual's  duty  to  inspect 
the  dinners  and  certify  that  they  are  properly 
cooked  or  otherwise.  .\11  the  dishes,  accord- 
iogly,  are  withdj-awn  from  the  ovens  at  his 
approach  and  placed  in  rows  on  the  floor. 
The  sergeant-cook  then  submits  each  coin- 
[Htny's  mfiiu  and  awaits  the  verdict  on  his 
effort*.  AVhile  the  inspection  is  supposed  to 
safeguard  the  soldier's  interests,  it  is  not 
very  easy  to  sec  its  value.     The  fact  is,  until 


cooking  is  included  in  the  Sandhurst  curri- 
culum, a  newly  joined  snlmltern  can  sraircely 
be  expected  to  say,  by  merely  looking 
at  it,  whether  meat  is  properly  roasted 
or  not. 

Sergeants  and  officers  have  their  meals 
prepared  in  the  kitchens  attached  to  their 
own  messes.  The  officers'  mess  c/ii>/  is  nearly 
always  a  civilian  (very  often  a  Frenchman), 
who  is  paid  anything  from  £10i)  a  year 
upwards.  In  the  sergeants'  mess,  the  cook 
is  a  private  soldier,  specially  ap|)ointed  for 
his  superior  skill. 

In  citmp  and  on  manueuvres,  as  also  on 
active  service,  "field-kitchens"  have  to  be 
constructed  as  the  troops  move  from  place 
to  place.  The  patterns  in  common  use  are 
two  in  numl)er.  The  simplest  kind  is  merely 
a  shallow  trench,  liued  with  brushwood,  and 
cut  if  possible  on  a  slope.  At  one  end  is  a 
rough  chinmey,  made  out  of  sods  of  turf. 
"  Service  kettles,"  of  a  holding  capacity  of 
three  gallons  each,  are  the  vessels  m  which 
the  food  is  cooked.  Three  of  these  trenches 
suffice  for  an  entire  battjilion. 

When  a  fairly  long  lialt  is  contemplated, 
a  "  gridiron  "  kitchen  is  made  use  of.  This 
is  a  somewhat  elaborat*  piece  of  work,  and 
occupies  a  non-commissioned  officer  and 
twelve  men  eight  hours  to  construct.  It 
consists  of  nine  parallel  trenches,  twelve  feet 
in  length,  running  from  a  thiity-sis  feet 
transverse  trench.  The  opposite  ends  are 
conducted  inio  a  flue,  from  which  rises  a 
pyramid -shaped  chimney,  sis  feet  iu  height. 


70 


THE   WINDSOR   MAGAZINE. 


This  IB  built  of  turf  and  nishefl,  pUietered 
with  clay. 

As  evidence  of  the  ingenuity  of  soldiere, 
it  may  be  mentioriod  thiit  when  In  the  field, 
bfcr-biirrels  are  often  converted  into  BeiA-ice- 
ablc  ovens.  All  that  is  nt-cessnry  ia  to  set 
the  barrel  upri|jht  on  a.  trencU  and  knock 
out  OTie  end.  The  interior  is  then  filled 
with  fuel,  and  the  tup  and  sides  thickly 
covered  with  day.  AVhen  the  fire  is  lit,  the 
woodwork  burns  ;  the  clay,  however.  Is 
held  together  by  the  iron  bands,  and  the 
resulting  sliell  tlms  forms  the  oven. 


Murphy,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  tell  tne  tlie 
truth,  and  I'll  let  you  off  lightly.  Were 
you  drnnk  yesterday  ? "  "  Certainly  not, 
sorr,"  Wiis  the  indignant  reply.  "  Oh,  come," 
returned  the  other,  "  you  don't  mean  to  tell 
me  yon  didn't  drink  any  beer  at  all?" 
"  Well,  your  Honour,"  answered  Mnrphv 
candidly,  "  I  wasn't  what  you  would  call 
sqniffy,  but  I  don't  mind  admitting  /  did 
have  a  feu-  quarts." 

Sir  E\'olyn  Wood,  perhaps  more  than  any 
other  officer,  has  always  taken  a  special 
interest  in  the  soldier's  feeding.     When  he 


Beer  in  camp  is  issued  very  sparingly. 
The  canteens  are  only  open  for  its  sale 
during  certain  houti),  and  no  man  is  allowed 
to  jniivhase  more  than  a  couple  of  pinto  a 
day.  This  is  generally  found  to  be  enongh ; 
soruc  soldiers,  however,  seem  to  have  an 
ostraonlinary  capacity  for  drinking,  or  else 
nianfcnvriug  is  provocative  of  extreme  thirst, 
an  they  have  no  difticnlty  in  disjHMiing  of 
six  times  the  regulation  allowance.  A  story 
is  told  of  a  private  who,  patronising  the 
canteen  too  freely,  was  bronght  np  the 
next    morning   for    drunkeuuesa.      "  Now, 


[IT.  OrtgoTV  and  Co.,  Strand. 

was  in  command  at  Aldershot^  he  issued  a 
pamphlet  showing  how  the  troojis'  mtions 
could  be  made  the  most  of.  Before  the 
appearance  of  this  brorfiure  the  amount  of 
waste  that  went  on  unchecked  in  barnicka 
would  have  made  the  aien^e  honscnifo'B 
hair  stand  on  end.  Bones,  for  example, 
were  often  thrown  away  wholesale,  while  a 
great  deal  of  meat  and  vegetabU<s  that  should 
have  furnished  stock  for  soup  went  to 
feed  the  contractor's  pigs.  Sir  Evelyn, 
however,  soon  put  a  stop  to  this  state'  of 
things,  and,  unaer  his  rigimt,  waste  came  to 


HOIV  SOLDIERS  ARE  FED 


be  reganlcd  as  only  slijrlitly 
k-Bi  criminal  tbau  luck  of 
cleanliuess  in  Ibc  cook  ' 
houses.  Aa  Eliowing  what 
small  economiea  will  do,  it 
may  bu  nicDtioned  that  the 
value  of  the  dripping  (which 
at  one  time  was  not  con- 
sidertd  worth  keeping)  saved 
br  a  elngle  battalion  now 
amounts  to  £1C0  per  annum. 
When  iroope  are  employed 
on  uctive  service,  a  large 
amount  of  food  has  to  be  sent 
out  to  the  Best  of  war  from 
this  country,  for  depend- 
ence can  seldom  l>e  placed 
on  local  supplies.  Huge 
<]uantitics  of  military  rations 


are  kept  for  this 
purpose  at  Wool- 
wich and  de- 
spatched anywhere 
at  very  short  notice. 
The  storts  are  of 
all  descriptions, 
dome  of  the  sheds 
lieing  full  of  no- 
ihing  but  jam, 
while  others  are 
crammed  from 
floor  to  ceiling 
with  preserved 
vegctabiea,  "Bully 
beef "  (i.*.,  tiimed 
meat)  is  also  greatly 


evidei 


at 


[IT.  Grrgary  and  Co.,  Strand. 

lishment  for  distribu- 
tion to  various  gani- 
sons  both  at  home 
and  abroad  every 
week.  As  for  bis- 
cuits, the  amount 
handled  is  even 
greater,  while  tons 
upon  tons  of  flour, 
si^ar,  salt,  and  spices, 
etc.,  etc.,  aiii  also 
received  and  issued 
throughout  the  year. 
The  scale  of  la- 
tlons  in  the  field  is 
always  more  literal 
I,  than  the  one  obtain- 
ing in  time  of  peace. 


WfHslwich,  over  a  million  pounds  weight  of 
iJiis  commodity  passing  tlirough  the  estab- 


During  the  late  campaign  in  South  Africsi, 
the  daily  allowance  for  each  soldier  was  as 


THE   WINDSOR  MAOAZINE. 


>*■  GriavTy  and  Co.,  Strand. 


foilowa  :  \\  lb.  of  brfail,  or  1  lb.  of  bisciiiw  ; 
1  lb.  of  mtukt ;  \  lb.  of  v^elabk's  ;  4  oz.  of 
jam  ;  3  oz.  of  sugar ;  one-sixth  oz.  of  tea  ; 
out! -third    ok.    of   coffee,    with    salt    and 

"  emct^ncy 
ration,"  cti(isi»ting  of  4  oz.  of  cocoii  paste 
iind  4  oz.  of  coriceiitriited  beef,  packed  in  a 
tin.  As  for  tlic  horses  and  uinlcs,  they 
consumed  nearly  9i)0  tons  of  forage  dally. 
Ill  six  months  the  British  force  bad  sent 
ont  to  it  from  this  country  : 


Preserved  meat  and  biscuit  32,00UtonB. 
Vegetables  .....     8,000 

Jam 4,001) 

Siipar 3,000 

Coffee 340 

Tea "II 

In  round  tmmU-rs,  »o,{)ii()  tons  of  food 
are  required  every  thirty  days  for  a  force  of 
50.000  men,  with  the  necessary  proportion 
of  horses  and  mules.  Tlie«e  figures  may, 
perhaps,  help  to  show  the  taipaycr  why  the 
late  war  in  South  Africa  was  so  expensive. 


THE   DREAMER. 

rvREAMS,  dreams  I    Though  the  world  lg  all  about  thee, 
'-^      Hidden  In  mists  where  gleama  no  sun  of  ours, 
Passion  and  pain  have  lost  the  power  to  rout  thee, 
Happy  amid  dream  sunshine  and  dream  (lowers. 

Sleep  deepl— what  gain  Is  In  the  waking? 

Some  plainer  goal  to  guide  thy  groping  feet? 
Some  skill  to  spare  a  heart  from  galnless  aching? 

Better  the  dreams  that  keep  thy  nature  sweet  1 

Dream  thy  dreams  I    Who  knoweth  If  they  be  not 
Real  as  this  man-wrought  mirth  and  sorrow  seem? 

Men  made  the  earth-scars  that  thy  closed  eyes  see  not.— 
Qod  made  the  soul  that  fashloneth  the  dream. 

BURQES    JOHNSON. 


THE    PANELLED    ROOM. 


By  HALLIWELL   SUTCLIFFE. 


ENNIS  BYRNE 
had  not  gone  tx) 
the  meet  to-day. 
One  of  his  honfcera 
was  lame,  the 
other  had  had  a 
stiff  dayyesterday ; 
so  Dennis,  per- 
force, had  taken 
his  gun  and  had 
shot  till  the  sun 
went  down,  and  now,  at  five  in  the  afternoon, 
he  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire 
and  was  smoking  a  cigar  with  great  apparent 
content. 

Indeed,  if  one  came  to  think  of  it,  he  had 
reason  for  content.  The  cosy  hall  in  which 
he  stiood  was  part  of  the  cosiest,  if  the  most 
rambling,  house  in  Tipperary  ;  it  had  secret 
panels  and  a  ghost ;  and  house  and  secret 
doors  and  ghost  were  all  at  the  service  of 
Dennis  Bynie,  so  long  as  he  observed  one 
condition. 

But  tliat  one  condition  was  the  drop  of 
bitter.  He  was  thinking  of  it  now.  He  had 
thought  of  it  a  good  deal  during  the  past 
month. 

''Grandfathers  are  a  nuisance,  a  con- 
founded nuisance  !  "  he  muttered,  "  particu- 
larly when  they're  both  stiff-necked  and 
sentimental." 

He  was  roused  by  a  tap  at  the  door  and 
the  entry  of  his  discreet  manservant. 
"  Miss  O'Rourke  to  see  you,  sir." 
Dennis  Byrne  was  young,  and  he  was 
ardent;  he  scarcely  gave  his  man  a  decent 
interval  in  which  to  retire  before  he  had 
rushed  at  his  visitor  and  caught  her  in  a 
wild  embrace. 

"  Dennis,  Dennis,  don't  eat  me  up ! " 
pleaded  his  guest. 

He  set  her  free  at  last,  and  as  she  stood 
away  from  him  and  turned  her  face  towards 
the  lamplight,  there  seemed  excuse  for 
Dennis  Byrne.  Small,  slender,  supple  as  a 
wild  thing  of  the  woods  in  her  close-fitting 
riding-habit,  she  had  the  eyes  and  hair  and 
wonderful  soft  skin  that  only  Ireland  knows. 

•  Copyright,  1906,  by  HalliweU  SutclifFe,  in  the 
United  Stitefl  of  America. 


"  So  you've  dropped  in  for  tea,  Molly  ?  " 
he  cried.  "  It's  terribly  improper,  and  we'll 
snatch  a  fearful  joy  from  it  while  we  have 
the  chance.  Molly  O'Rourke,  do  you  know 
just  how  good  it  is  to  see  you  ? " 

Miss  O'Rourke  slowly  took  off  her  gloves  ; 
then  stood  before  the  fire,  much  as  I)ennis 
had  been  doing  awhile  since,  and  tapped  her 
boot  with  her  riding-whip. 

"  We've  had  a  splendid  run,  Dennis,  and  a 
splendid  kill  at  the  finish ;  and  my  way 
home  lay  past  your  gate ;  and  so,  as  I  was 
thirsty " 

"  Thank  you,  Molly.  Of  course,  you  only 
aime  for  the  tea.  Two  poached  eggs  with 
it,  eh  ? " 

"If  you  won't  think  me  greedy.  I'm 
dreadfully  hungry,  as  well  as  thirsty." 

He  was  watching  her  presently  as  she  sat 
and  literally  gobbled  down  her  eggs ;  it 
seemed  very  good  that  Molly  O'Rourke 
should  come  like  a  streak  of  sunlight  into 
the  old  house. 

"  It  is  lucky  you  did  not  arrive  two  hours 
or  so  later,"  said  Dennis. 

*'  And  pray,  why  ?  "  demanded  Miss 
O'Rourke,  attacking  the  dish  of  muffins. 

"Because  my  revered  grandfather — Sir 
Patrick  Byrne,  no  less— does  me  the  honour 
to  dine  with  me  to-night.  He  has  travelled 
from  Dublin  for  the  privilege  of  seeing  his 
heir." 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  Would  he  whip 
me,  Dennis,  or  carry  me  off  to  his  ogre's 
cave,  or " 

"  You  don't  understand,  Molly,"  broke  in 
the  other,  a  frown  of  perplexity  across  his 
forehead.  "  When  I  asked  you  to  many  me 
— and  I  just  couldn't  help  myself,  mavour- 
neen— I  did  not  tell  you  all.  They  think 
that  I  shall  be  the  old  man's  heir — and  so  I 
shall,  on  one  condition." 

"  And  the  condition  is  ?  " 

"  It  sounds  so  daft,  Molly.  He — he  is  old, 
you  see,  and  nurses  some  old  love  affair  that 
went  wrong  in  his  youth.  The  lady  was  the 
belle  of  Tipperary,  if  Sir  Patrick  is  to  be 
trusted ;  and  she  married  someone  else,  as  Sir 
Patrick  himself  did  ;  and  it  seems  she  has  a 
grand -daughter  as  beautiful  as  herself.  Now, 
Molly,  don't — don't  trouble  about  the  old 


73 


74 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


man's  whim,  for  the  wliole  thing  is  too 
absurd.  He  wants  me  to  marry  this  grand- 
daughter, and  that  is  the  condition  he  has 
made  ?  " 

Molly  O'Rourke  flicked  a  crumb  or  two 
from  her  habit.  "  And  you,  Dennis  ?  Will 
you  care  to  lose  all  this  ?  "  she  sjiid,  with  a 
glance  round  the  hall. 

**  Yes,  I  shall  care,"  he  answered  hotly — 
"for  your  sake.  I  can  give  up  my  hunters, 
after  a  bit  of  heart-ache,  but  I  can't  let  you 
share  that  sort  of  heart-ache." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  can,  Dennis,  if  I  make  you. 
But  this  is  all  so  strange  ;  I  cannot  grasp  it. 
Is  Sir  Patrick  in  his  dotage,  or  is  this  his 
sober  wish  ?  " 

"Well,  he  still  rides  to  hounds,  and  he 
talks  like  the  Blarney  Stone  when  the 
humour  is  on  him,  and  they  say  he  is  the 
wittiest  man  in  Dublin.  No,  he  is  scarcely 
in  his  dotage  ;  but  on  this  point  he  is  simply 
mad." 

"  And  the  grand-daughter  ?  Have  you 
seen  her,  Dennis  ? "  asked  Miss  O'Rourke 
slowly. 

Dennis  laughed  ruefully.  "I  don't  even 
know  her  name.  That  is  part  of  the  ridicu- 
lous scheme.  The  grandmother,  it  seems, 
was  twenty  when  she  declined  Sir  Patrick's 
hand  ;  the — the  girl  I  am  supposed  to  marry 
is  only  nineteen  yet,  and  he  has  a  whim  that 
w^e  should  be  betrothed  on  the  day  he  was 
refused.  Molly,  it  is  too  stupid  I  That  a 
hard-drinking,  hard -riding  old  buck  like  Sir 
Patrick  should  even  think  of  such  nonsense 
seems  outrageous.  Yet,  there's  his  plan  cut 
and  dried  :  I  am  to  be  presented  to  the  lady 
on  a  certain  day,  to  offer  my  hand  in  half 
an  hour  or  so,  and  the  two  of  us  are  to 
receive  a  w^ell-earned  blessing." 

"There  are  two  difficulties  in  the  way," 
said  Molly  O'Rourke,  still  more  slowly : 
"  One  is  that  you  mai/  not  offer  your  hand 
at  all." 

"  Extremely  likely.     And  the  other  ?  " 

"That  she  may  not  accept  it.  Oh,  yes, 
Dennis,  you  needn't  think  that,  just  because 
I  hap[)en  to  think  you  a  pretty  boy " 

They  laughed,  like  the  youngsters  they 
were,  and  as  suddenly  grew  grave  again. 

"That  is  the  reiison  of  his  coming  here 
to-day,"  said  Dennis.  "  I  wrote,  intimating 
that  I  was  in  love,  and  that  I  renounced  all 
further  claims  on  his  kindness.  He  is  going 
to  try  persuasion." 

There  was  a  line  light  of  tenderness  in  the 
blue  eyes  of  Molly  O'Rourke  as  she  came 
and  rest/cd  both  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  Dennis,  I  will  not  let  you  do  this  thing," 


she  said.  "You  shall  not  ruin  vourself 
for  me." 

"Will  you  wait  for  me,  if  I  go  out  and 
work— work  for  you,  Molly  ?  There  will 
never  be  anyone  else  in  my  life,  dear ;  you 
know  that." 

"  But  see  this  other  first,  Dennis ;  she 
may  be " 

"  She  will  never  be  Molly  O'Rourke." 

And,  somehow,  they  were  in  each  other's 
arms  again,  until  at  last  the  girl,  to  cover 
her  confusion,  began  to  wander  round  the 
hall,  with  its  trophies  of  the  chase  and 
battlefield. 

"  Do  you  know,  Dennis,"  she  said  whimsi- 
cally, "  I  should  regret  that  secret  chamlier 
more  than  anything,  if  you  were  to  lose  the 
old  place.  It  is  so  full  of — of  Ireland,  you 
know.  When  Cromwell  came,  good  men 
have  sheltered  there ;  long  before  Cromwell's 
time,  your  people  have  found  refuge  behind 
this  wainscot.  All  the  battles  and  the  love- 
tales  of  the  past  seem  to  have  stolen  here, 
too,  for  shelter." 

She  pushed  back  the  sliding  panel  absently 
and  looked  into  the  little  chamber,  with  its 
table  and  its  cupboard,  which  had  baffled 
many  a  search. 

"  I  wonder  what  it  felt  like,  Dennis,  to  be 
shut  up  in  there,  and  to  listen  to  Cromwell'.^ 
ruffians  as  they  tramped  about  the  floor  on 
the  outside,  and  to " 

She  stopped  on  a  sudden,  for  Dennis  had 
clutched  her  by  the  arm. 

"Molly,  do  you  hear  that  voice?"  he 
whispered. 

Miss  O'Rourke,  still  with  one  hand  on  the 
secret  panel,  turned  towards  the  door.  "  Yes ; 
what  of  it,  dear  ?  It  sounds  a  pleasant  voice, 
with  a  touch  of  the  old  brogue  in  it." 

"That  is  the  man  who  can  talk  like  the 
Blarney  Stone — that  is  Sir  Patrick — he  has 
come  before  his  time,"  said  Dennis  tragicallj. 
"  Listen,  he  is  talking  to  my  man ;  he  will 
be  here  in  a  moment." 

The  girl  paused  for  awhile,  then  laughed 
softly.  "  I  shall  learn  what  it  feels  like  to  be 
hidden  in  the  secret  chamber.  Close  the 
panel,  Dennis,  and  when  the  ogre  leaves  you 
for  a  moment,  come  and  let  me  out." 

She  had  slipped  into  the  room  already, 
after  securing  gloves  and  riding-whip.  Sir 
Patrick's  voice  came  nearer,  along  the  narrow 
passage  that  led  from  the  hall  to  the  main 
door.  In  a  moment  Dennis  had  slipped  the 
panel  into  place  and  had  turned  to  greet  his 
grandfather. 

A  fine  figure  of  a  man  was  Sir  Patrick 
Byrne,  and  he  entered  with  a  certain  spacious 


76 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


self-assurance  which  was  a  relic  of  a  genera- 
tion oroue. 

"  You  are  very  welcome,  sir,"  said  Dennis, 
advancing  with  outstretched  hand. 

"  Not  so  sure  of  that,  my  boy.  I  have  come 
to  talk  to  you.  So  you've  been  hunting  ?  " 
he  added,  with  a  glance  at  the  remnants  of 
Molly's  tea. 

"  No  ;  shooting,  sir." 

"Well,  it  seems  to  have  given  you  an 
appetite.  For  my  part,  I  like  a  drop  of 
good  liquor  at  this  time  of  day,  and  a  dinner 
sharp  to  the  hour." 

Dennis  hastened  to  mix  his  grandfather  a 
stiffish  glass  of  whisky,  and  weakly  beckoned 
him  into  a  seat.  He  was  feeling  strangely 
ill  at  ease,  and  his  eyes  would  keep  wandering 
towards  the  secret  panel. 

"  You  have  had  a  good  journey,  sir  ?  "  he 
asked,  as  soon  as  they  were  seated,  one  on 
each  side  of  the  hearth. 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  looked  to  reach  here  two 
hours  later,  but  the  saints  looked  after  me  at 
the  junctions.  Now,  Dennis,  we'll  just  talk 
over  this  business  and  then  we'll  enjoy  our- 
selves, my  boy." 

There  was  certainly  nothing  of  the  dotard 
about  Sir  Patrick  Byrne.  His  air  was  crisp, 
and  suggested  that  Dennis,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  would  yield  to  the  stronger  will.  Per- 
haps it  was  this  assumption  of  the  stronger 
hand  which  brought  out  the  boy's  latent 
stubbornness. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  there  is  nothing  te  talk  over," 
he  said,  quietly.  "  I  am  pledged  to  another 
lady,  and  in  any  case " 

"  Bedad,  and  what  are  you  going  to  keep 
her  on  ?  " 

'*  My  wits  and  my  hands,  sir,  if  I  can  find 
work  for  them  to  do." 

Sir  Patrick  chuckled,  as  if  he  liked  the 
temper  of  the  reply  ;  then  his  face  hardened 
again. 

"  See  you,  Dennis,"  he  said,  "  I'm  an  old 
man,  and  you're  a  callow  one.  I  have  chosen 
your  wife  for  you,  and  it  is  a  pony  to  a 
shilling  that  I  have  made  a  better  choice 
than  you.  I  have  seen  the  world  and  its 
women,  my  boy,  and  I  tell  you  you'll  win  the 
sweetest  girl  in  Ireland." 

"  I  have  done  that  already,  sir,"  said 
Dennis,  with  great  outward  calm,  and  great 
inward  misgiving  as  he  glanced  towards 
the  panel  and  remembered  that  Molly  must, 
perforce,  hear  all  that  Sir  Patrick  might 
have  to  say. 

"  Wait  until  you  have  seen  her  grandchild. 
I  haven't  had  the  heart  to  see  her  myself, 
but  they  tell  me  that  she  is  just  her  grand- 


mother grown  young  ;  and  that's  enough  for 
Patrick  Byrne." 

"  Sir,  there  is  no  question  of  choice." 

'*  That  means  you  think  this  beggar-maid 
of  yours  is  better  than  the  other.  Bedad, 
sir,  twenty  years  ago  I  would  have  called  you 
out  for  that  and  put  a  bnllet  in  you  at 
twenty  paces." 

Dennis  was  still  calm,  though  wrath  was 
eating  inwards.  "  She  is  not  a  beggar-maid ; 
her  birth  is  better  than  gw[  own." 

"  There's  another  bullet  for  you,  my  boy. 
The  Byrnes  were  old  in  Tipperary  before  the 
rest  were  heard  of.  By  the  sjiiuts  !  even 
to-day  I'd  fight  any  man  but  you  who  said 
the  contrary." 

Molly  O'Rourke,  listening  from  her  hidiuji- 
place,  was  conscious  only  of  a  great  desire  to 
laugh.  It  seemed  to  her — what  Dennis,  in 
his  wrath,  was  slow  to  see — that  this  self- 
willed  Sir  Patrick  was,  after  all,  an  Irishman, 
and  not  one-half  so  ogrelike  as  he  would  fain 
appear.  Then,  too,  the  thought  of  Dennis 
with  two  imaginary  bullets  in  him,  gained  in 
affairs  of  honour,  was  one  to  rouse  her  mirth. 

"  You  are  fond  of  the  old  place  ?  "  said  Sir 
Patrick,  changing  to  a  fresh  key. 

"  It  is  part  of  my  life,  sir." 

"So  am  I,  but  I  dare  not  live  here, 
Dennis.  It  holds  too  many  memories.  No 
thanks  to  me  that  you  have  free  run  of  the 
house ;  I  never  lived  here  after  Molly  said 
her  *No'  and  sent  me  racketing  to  Dublin. 
So  you  will  let  all  go  ?  You  will  be  a  beggar 
in  a  ditch,  and  all  for  a  lad's  love-fancv  ?  " 

"  I  will,  sir." 

Molly,  in  her  retreat,  no  longer  wished  to 
laugh.  It  was  pleasant  to  hear  Dennis  tried, 
and  not  found  wanting. 

"  It  is  an  old  wish  of  mine,  Dennis." 

For  the  first  time  the  youngster  softened. 
The  sadness  in  Sir  Patrick's  voice  was  un- 
mistakable, and  there  was  something  oddly 
pathetic  in  this  devotion  which  had  siirviveil 
his  marriage  and  here,  which  had  lain  in 
lavender,  as  it  were,  through  all  the  racket 
and  the  stress  of  yeara.  The  whim  might  be 
absurd,  but  the  romance  that  underlay  the 
whim  was  not  laughable  at  all. 

"I  know  it  is  an  old  wish,  sir,"  said 
Dennis  gently  ;  "  it  hurts  me  to  refuse  you." 

One  keen  glance  Sir  Patrick  ga>'e  him, 
then  glanced  away  from  the  topic,  as  if  he 
were  willing  to  wait  for  a  more  yielding 
mood  in  Dennis. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  respected  my 
wishes  in  one  thing,  boy,"  he  said,  looking 
round  the  hall  again.  '*  You  have  made  no 
changes  of  any  sort.    Why,  the  room — even 


'"Itiere  will  never  be  uiyoae  elae  in  my  lite,  dear;  }'ou  know  tl 


THK    WINDSOR  UACiZIXK. 


>^?^ 


"As  they  played  with  tlieir  ,le»sei 

to  the  positiou  of  tlie  oak  clmirs  tliurt;  -  i:^ 
jnst  an  it  was  when  Molly  cuiiie,  tive-and- 
forty  jt'are  afio — cuuie  after  lumtirig,  to  nsk 
for  refrushintiiit  and  to  tense  me  iis  she  loved 
to  do.  I  can  see  her,  sbiiiiliiig  on  the  left 
of  the  hearth  there,  with  her  little  figure 
in  its  ridhig-habit -" 

Dennis  was  staring  at  his  graudfathor. 
Hiul  the  old  man  j«;eped  through  the  window 
awhile  ago,  and  seen  ItoUy— the  real  Molly 
^standing  in  juBt  sucii  an  attitude  beside 
the  hearth?  Was  he  poking  fnii  at  him? 
But  that  suHpicioii  died,  for  there  was  no 
mistaking  the  earnest,  far-off  look  ujion  Sir 
Patrick's  face. 

"  My  plans  fov  you  have  some  escuse,  after 
all,"  went  on  the  elder.  "  It  wtis  here  that  I 
t<)ld  Molly  of  my  love,  here  that  she  refused 
me  ;  and  I  had  hojied— liad  hojwd  —well,  to 
see  yoQ,  my  Iwy,  happy  with  lier  grandchild 
in  tdis  Bttnie  room,  and  to  sit  and  watch  you, 
and  to  live  ^ntin  in  the  fanc7  that  l^folly  and 
I  had  ci>nie  together,  after  all.  Heigho !  We 
will  talk  of  this  g^rain.  Dennis,  my  hoy,  do 
yon  know  the  oild,  creepy  feeling  it  gives  you 
to  return  to  an  old  house  after  deserting  it 
for  years  ?    The  very  panels  seem  tfi  sjieak," 

Deuuis    began    to    fidget    uuiuistukably. 


There  wa^  one  pincl  which  could  sptak 
disastrocisly,  and  ^ir  Patrick  was  looking  ai 
it  now,  VV'onld  the  old  man  never  jro  to  liis 
room  and  give  Molly  a  chance  of  estape 
from  her  ini  prison  men  t  ? 

"  There  was  a  secret  room  just  to  the  li-fl 
of  the  portrait  there,"  went  on  Sir  PaUick. 
noiiding  to  indicate  its  situation.  "Gud. 
what  games  I  ha<l  there  as  a  yoniigster !  1 
nmat  have  a  peep  into  it,  if  only  for  (*ld 
times'  sake," 

"Sir,  it  is— it  is  impossible  !  "  Btummereil 
Del  mis. 

"ludeed  ?"  put  in  Sir  Patrick,  with  good- 
h  union  red  irony. 

"The— the  seiTants,  yon  understand,  sir, 
were— were  afraid  of  the  ghost ^conldn't 
(Tet  them  to  stay  on  any  acconnt — they  saiil 
the  ghost  pushed  open  the  secret  {lanel  ami 
entered  the  hull  that  way." 

Sir  Patrick  was  eyeing  him  distrustfiiltr. 
and  Alolly,  laughing  quietly  in  Iht  retrtai, 
decided  that  Dennis,  poor  boy,  was  not  gifuJ 
as  a  romancer. 

"  Humph  !  I  never  heard  of  a  glicel 
before  that  conld  o]K'n  a  solid  panel,"  {rrowltd 
Sir  Patrick.  "  Thouglit  they  slipped  through 
without  furUier  trouble." 


THE  PANELLED  ROOM, 


79 


Dennis  was  gripping  the  arms  of  his  chair. 
"  There  is  no  accounting  for  servants'  super- 
stitions, sir — particularly  Irish  servants.  I 
had  to — to  screw  up  the  secret  panel,  just  to 
satisfy  them." 

Sir  Patrick  rose  and  crossed  the  hall. 
"  That  was  a  pity,  Dennis,"  was  all  be  said. 

Dennis  watched  as  he  idly  felt  the  panel  — 
watched  the  panel  slide  back — watched  the 
sudden  straightening  of  Sir  Patrick's  figure, 
as  if  someone  had  thrust  at  him  from  the 
secret  chamber. 

The  lamplight  shone  full  upon  the  opening 
— full  upon  Molly  O'Rourke,  sUmding  with 
her  riding-switch  and  gloves  in  one  hand, 
while  the  other  rested  daintily  on  her  hip. 
And  Molly  O'Rourke,  do  as  she  would,  could 
not  subdue  the  radiant  look  of  gaiety  that 
brightened  eyes  and  cheeks. 

"Molly— Molly  O'Rourke!"  gasped  Sir 
Patrick,  with  a  break  in  his  voice. 

"At  your  service.  Sir  Patrick,"  she 
answered,  with  a  curtsy. 

Pure  comedy  the  scene  had  been  till  now ; 
hut  suddenly  the  old  man  staggered  to  the 
table  and  bowed  his  head  upon  it,  and 
sobbed  as  men  do  just  once,  perhaps,  in  their 
old  age. 

^ilolly  and  Dennis  Byrne  looked  helplessly 
at  one  another ;  but,  by  and  by,  Sir  Patrick 
rose  and  pulled  himself  together,  and  changed 
his  mood  with  a  quickness  that  was  truly 
Irish. 

"Molly  O'Rourke,"  said  he,  "I  claim  a 
kiss  on  the  ground  where  your  grandmother 
refused  one  five-and-forty  years  ago." 


She  lifted  her  cheek  to  him,  in  a  pretty 
way  of  her  own,  and  Sir  Patrick  drew  her  to 
him. 

"  How — how  did  you  know  my  name  ?  " 
she  asked,  bewildered  by  the  quick  progress 
of  the  drama. 

"How?  Why,  you're  Molly  O'Rourke 
herself — the  Molly  I  have  loved  my  life 
through — not  aged  by  a  day,  bedad,  while  I 
shall  soon  be  going  on  crutches." 

A  light  broke  in  on  Dennis.  The  girl  of 
his  heart  was  the  girl  of  Sir  Patrick's  choice, 
and  all  had  been  a  playing  at  cross-purposes 
until  the  lucky  opening  of  the  panel. 

"  Molly — Molly  came  to  have  tea  with  me, 
sir,"  he  put  in  ;  "  and  then  you  came,  and — 
and  I  thought " 

"You  thought  I  might  bully  Miss 
O'Rourke  ?  "  chuckled  Sir  Patrick.  "  Well, 
so  I  should,  if  she  had  hapi)ened  to  be  any- 
one hut  Molly  O'Rourke.  As  it  is,  she  can 
twine  me  round  her  finger  at  any  moment 
of  the  day." 

They  dined  together  a  few  evenings  later,  and 
Sir  Patrick's  eyes  kept  stealing  with  a  strange 
wistfulness,  to  the  face  and  figure  which  were 
those  of  his  lost  love.  Yet  the  humour 
would  crop  out,  and  as  they  played  with 
their  dessert  the  old  man  glanced  at  Dennis. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  "  it's  a  big  relief,  all 
this.  If  you'd  married  to  please  me,  you 
see,  you'd  have  gained  a  fortune  and  lost  my 
respect ;  if  you'd  married  against  my  will, 
you'd  have  gained  ray  respect  and  lost  the 
fortune.  Molly  O'Rourke,  you've  won  him 
both ! " 


ANNIVERSARY. 


IT  seems  the  year  remembers  and  it  ht\n%s 
*    Across  the  hillsides  a  familiar  li^ht. 
The  orchard -lands  put  on  accustomed  white. 
And  all  old-time  beloved  springtide  things 
Come  back  for  welcome :  flower  and  bird  and  leaf, 
Each  in  its  place,  cry  out  against  my  heart. 
As  if  the  very  springtime  guessed  the  part 
it  held  in  this  dear  festival  of  grief. 
Ah,  yoa,  that  for  a  year  have  been  with  Ood ; 
Must  the  soft  splendour  of  this  wistful  day 
And  I  keep  faith— alone  remembering? 
Your  daffodils  blaze  in  the  garden  sod. 
Your  apple  boughs  drift  white  in  their  old  way- 
Is  Heaven  so  far  you  do  not  know  it*5  spring  ? 

ARTHUR  KETCH UM. 


THE    TERROR    OF   THE    AIR. 


By  C.   G.   D.   ROBERTS. 


FROM  all  the  lonely  salt-flats  and  tide- 
washed,  reedy  shores  of  the  wide 
estoarr,  the  flocks  of  the  sea-ducks 
had  flown  south.  After  feeding  for  days 
toscether  amicably,  Golden-eve  and  Red-head, 
Broad-bill  and  Dipper,  all  hobnobbing  and 
bobbing  and  guttering  in  company,  without 
regard  to  difference  of  kin,  they  had  at  last 
assorted  themselves  into  flocks  of  the  like 
species  and  wing  power,  and  gone  off  in 
strong-flving  wedges  to  seek  milder  tides  and 
softer  skies. 

Nevertheless,  though  the  mai-shy  levels 
were  now  stiffened  with  frost,  and  ice-fringes 
lingered  thin  and  brittle  l)ehind  each  retreat- 
ing tide,  and  white  flurries  of  snow  went 
drifting  over  the  vast,  windy  spaces  of  wave 
and  plain,  some  bold,  persistent  waifs  of  life 
clung  to  these  bleak  solitudes.  Here  and 
there  a  straggler  from  the  flocks,  or  a  belated 
arrival  from  farther  north,  fed  solitary  and 
seemed  sufficient  to  himself ;  while  here  and 
there  a  few  hardy  coots,  revelling  in  the  lone- 
liness and  in  the  forbidding  harshness  of  the 
season,  swam  and  dived  among  the  low, 
leaden-coloured  waves. 

Across  ten  level  miles  of  naked  marshland 
another  estuary  made  in  from  the  sea.  On 
the  shore  of  this  estuary,  so  shallow  that  for 
leagues  along  its  edge  it  was  impossible  to 
distinguish,  at  high  tide,  just  where  the  water 
elided  and  the  solid  land  began,  a  solitiiry 
surf  duck  dabbled  among  the  grey,  half- 
frozen  grasses.  Of  a  didl  black  all  over, 
save  for  a  patch  of  clear  white  on  his  head 
and  another  on  the  back  of  his  neck,  he 
made  a  sharp,  conspicuous  spot  against  the 
pallid  colouring  of  the  marshes.  For  all  his 
loneliness,  he  seemed  to  be  enjoying  himself 
very  well,  active  and  engrossed,  and  to  all 
appearances  forgetful  of  the  departed  flocks. 

Suddenly,  however,  he  stopped  feeding, 
and  sat  with  head  erect  and  watchful  eves, 
rising  and  falling  gently  with  the  pulse  of 
the  sedge-choked  flood.  Either  some  unusual 
sight  or  sound  had  di8turl)ed  him,  or  some 
drift  of  memory  had  stirred  his  restlessness. 
For  several  minutes  he  floated,  forgetful  of 
the  savoury  shelled  and  squirming  creatures 
which  his  discriminating  bill  had  been 
gathering  from  among  the  oozv  sedge-roots. 
Then,  with  an   abrupt   rquawk,  he  flapped 


noisily  along  the  surface  of  the  water,  rose 
into  the  air,  and  flew  straight  inland,  mount- 
ing as  he  went  to  a  height  far  above  gunshot. 

The  flight  of  the  lonely  drake  was  towards 
the  shores  of  the  other  estuary,  ten  miles 
southward,  where,  in  all  likelihood,  he  had 
some  hope  of  finding  the  companionship  of 
his  kin,  if  not  a  better  feeding  -  ground. 
Though  his  body  was  very  heavy  and  mas- 
sive, and  his  wings  ridiculously  short  for  the 
bulk  they  had  to  sustain,  he  flew  with  tre- 
mendous speed  and  as  straight  as  a  bullet 
from  a  rifle.  His  wings,  however  small,  were 
mightily  muscled  and  as  tough  as  steel 
springs,  and  they  beat  the  air  with  such 
lightning  strokes  that  the  sturdy  body,  head 
and  neck  and  legs  and  feet  outstretched  in 
a  rigid  line,  was  hurled  through  the  air  at 
a  speed  of  something  like  a  hundred  miles 
an  hour.  As  he  flew,  the  flurries  of  snow 
gathered  into  a  sqrnall  of  whirling  flakes, 
almost  obscuring  tiie  waste  of  marshlaDd 
that  rushed  past  beneath  its  flight,  and 
shutting  him  off  alone  in  the  upper  heights 
of  sky. 

Alone  indeed  he  imagined  himself,  while 
the  cold  air  and  the  streaming  snowflakes 
whistled  past  his  flight.  But  keen  as  were 
his  eyes,  other  eyes  keener  than  his  had 
marked  him  from  a  loftier  height,  where  the 
air  was  clear  above  the  storm-strata.  A 
great  Arctic  goshawk,  driven  by  some  un- 
known whim  to  follow  the  edge  of  winter 
southward,  was  sailing  on  wide  wings  through 
the  high,  familiar  cold,  when  he  saw  the 
l)lack  drake  far  below*  him.  Shooting  through 
the  snowflakes  like  a  missile,  his  fierce  eyes 
flamed  and  narrowed,  his  wings  gave  one 
mighty  beat  and  then  half  closed,  and  he 
dropped  into  the  cloudy  mirk  of  the  storm- 
belt. 

The  drake  was  now  about  a  hundred  yards 
ahead  of  the  great  hawk,  and  flying  at,  per- 
haps, ninety  miles  an  hour  under  the  mere 
impulse  of  his  desire  to  reach  the  other 
estuary.  When  he  caught  sight  of  the  white 
terror  pursuing  him,  his  sturdy  little  wings 
doubled  the  rapidity  of  their  stroke,  till  lie 
shot  forward  at  a  rate  of,  perhaps,  two  miles 
a  minute,  his  w^edge-shaped  body  and  hard, 
oiled  plumage  offering  small  resistance  to  the 
air  even  at  that  enormous  speed.     His  only 


80 


82 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


chance  of  escape,  as  he  well  knew,  was  to 
reach  the  water  and  plunge  beneath  it.  But 
he  could  not  turn  back,  for  the  terror  was 
behind  hira.  Straight  ahead  lay  his  only 
hope.  There,  not  more  than  two  or  three 
minutes'  distant,  lay  his  secure  refuge.  He 
could  see  the  leaden  grey  expanse,  touched 
by  a  gleam  of  cold  and  lonely  sunlight  which 
had  pierced  the  obscurity  of  the  squall. 
Could  he  reach  it  ?  If  he  could,  he  would 
drop  into  the  slow  wave,  dive  to  the  bottom, 
and  hold  to  the  roots  of  the  swaying  weeds 
till  the  teiTor  had  gone  by. 

A  hundred  yards  behind  came  the  hawk, 
moving  like  a  dreadful  ghost  through  the 
swirl  and  glimmer  of  the  snow.  His  plumage 
was  white,  but  pencUled  with  shadowy  mark- 
ings of  pale  brown.  His  narrowed  eyes,  fixed 
upon  the  fugitive,  were  fiercely  bright  and 
hard  like  glass.  His  hooked  beak,  his  flat 
head,  his  strong,  thick,  smoothly  modelled 
neck,  were  outstretched  in  a  rigid  line  like 
those  of  the  drake. 

The  long,  spectral  wings  of  the  great  hawk 
beat  the  air,  but  not  with  haste  and  violence 
like  those  of  the  fleeing  quarry.  Swift  as  his 
wing-beats  were,  there  was  a  surging  move- 
ment about  them,  an  irresistible  thrust,  which 
made  them  seem  slow  and  gave  their  working 
an  air  of  absolute  ease.  For  all  this  ease, 
however,  he  was  flying  faster  than  the  fugi- 
tive. Slowly,  yard  by  yard,  he  crept  up  ;  the 
distance  from  his  victim  grew  narrower. 
The  drake's  wings  wliistled  upon  the  wind, 
a  strange,  shrill  note,  as  of  terror  and  despair. 
But  the  wings  of  the  pursuing  destroyer  were 
as  noiseless  as  sleep.  He  seemed  less  a  bird 
than  a  spirit  of  doom,  the  embodiment  of  the 
implacable  Ajctic  cold. 


The  astounding  speed  at  which  the  two 
were  rushing  through  the  sky  on  this  race  of 
life  and  death,  brought  the  gleam  of  the 
estuary  water  hurrying  up  from  the  horizon 
to  meet  them.  The  terrible  seconds  passed. 
The  water  was  not  half  a  mile  ahead.  The 
line  of  the  drake's  flight  l)egan  to  slope 
towards  earth.  A  few  moments  more,  and  a 
sudden  splash  in  the  tide  would  proclaim 
that  the  fugitive  was  safe  in  a  refuge  Avhere 
the  destroyer  could  not  follow.  But  the 
noiseless  wings  were  now  just  behind  him— 
just  behind  and  above. 

At  this  moment  the  fugitive  opened  his 
beak  for  one  despairing  squawk,  his  acknow- 
ledgment that  the  game  of  life  was  lost. 
The  next  instant  the  hawk's  white  body 
seemed  to  leap  forward  even  out  of  the  mar- 
vellous velocity  with  which  it  was  already 
travelling.  It  leaped  forward  and  changed 
shape,  spreading,  and  hanging  imminent  for 
the  least  fraction  of  a  second.  The  head, 
with  slightly  open  beak,  reached  down.  A 
pair  of  great,  bhick  talons,  edged  like  knives, 
open  and  clutching,  reached  down  and  for- 
ward. 

The  movement  did  not  seem  swift,  yet  it 
easily  caught  the  drake  in  the  midst  of  his 
flight.  For  an  instant  there  was  a  slight 
confusion  of  winnowing  and  flapping  wingF, 
a  dizzy  dropping  through  the  sky.  Then  the 
great  hawk  recovered  his  balance,  steadied 
himself,  turned,  and  went  winging  steadily 
inland  towards  a  crag  which  he  had  noted, 
where  he  might  devour  liis  prey  at  ease.  In 
his  claws  was  gripped  the  body  of  the  black 
drake,  its  throat  toni  across,  its  long  neck 
and  webbed  feet  trailing  limply  in  the 
air. 


A    ROBIN    IN    THE    RAIN. 

THE  sprin^me  rains  have  beaten  on  the  trees 
And  taken  fragrant  tribute  from  them  all ; 
Crushed  apple  blossoms  lie  upon  the  wall, 
Forsaken  by  the  faithless  honey-bees. 
The  saddest  of  the  vernal  days  are  these— 
With  every  passing  wind  wet  petals  fall, 
The  birds  forget  their  tender  mating  call 
And  sing  no  more  their  joyous  melodies. 

Nay,  listen  I    Like  the  voice  of  silvered  flute. 

In  brave,  sweet  cadence  ever  rippling  on, 

A  hidden  robin  pipes  his  cheery  strain  I 

Ah,  Love  1    Thy  lips  and  mine  are  sadly  mute 

When  for  the  moment  sun  and  hope  are  gone— 

We  have  not  faith  to  sing  amid  the  rain  t 

MYRTLE    REED, 


ADAM   R.    THOMSON. 


ONE  warm  Saturday  afternoon  in  the 
early  autumn,  I,  Arthur  Rouncely, 
waa  riding  my  bicycle  leisurely  along 
a  little-frequented  croeB-rwid  near  Uighgate, 
when  a  cyclist  of  the  opposite  eex  flew  past 
me.  She  was  young  and  pretty,  and  wore 
a  red  tie  on  a  whit«  blouse,  with  a  hat 
and  ribbon  to  match.  I  noted  these 
details,  because  I  have  always  considered  red 
rary  becommg — to  a  good-looking  girl, 
"  Love\j  ! "  Imormured  involuntarily  as  she 
shot  ahead  ;  but  the  word  had  hardly  passed 
my  lipa  when,  with  a  feeling  of  horror— not, 
perhape,  nnmingled  with  a  certain  subtle 
satisfaction — I  saw  her  fall  heavily  from  her 
machine.  A  few  moments  bronght  me  to 
where  she  lay  motionless  on  the  duaty  road- 
way, and,  hastening  to  dismount,  I  picked 
up  her  damaged  cycle,  propped  it  and  my 
own  against  the  hedge,  and  turned  to  her 
■ssistance. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  I  asked  simply,  glad  to 
observe  tnat,  at  all  events,  she  1^  not  lost 
consciousness. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  replied,  rising  to  a  sit- 
ting poatare.  "  not  mncn ;  at  least,  that  is,  I 


put  out  my  right  foot  to  try  and  save 
myself,  and  it — it  feels  rather  limp  somehow. 
I  ought  to  have  avoided  that  large  flint.  I 
hope  my  tyre's  not  punctured." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  say  it  is — rather  badly,  too. 
But  never  mind,  I've  got  a  repairing  outfit 
with  me,  and  I  dare  say  I  can  mend  it.  Do 
Ton  think,  if  I  help  you,  you  can  get  up  ?  " 
I  added  sympathetically. 

"  I'll  try," she  responded  gratefully,  taking 
my  proffered  hand,  but  tte  effort  proved 
a  failure. 

"  If  yon  wouldn't  mind,"  I  ventured  ten- 
tatively, "  I  think  you'd  have  a  better  chance 
with  my  arm  round  your  waist." 

"Should  I?"  she  inquired  demurely; 
"are  you  sure  ?" 

"  Positive,"  I  said,  with  decision. 

"  Very  well,  then." 

In  this  way  I  managed  to  raise  her  to  an 
erect  position,  but  she  had  no  sooner  let  her 
right  foot  touch  the  ground  than  she  gave  a 
sharp  cry  and,  but  for  my  support,  woidd 
have  again  fallen.  At  this  I  carried  her 
without  further  ceremony  to  a  patoh  of  grass 
which  skirted   the  road,  and,  putting  her 


84 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


down  aa  gentlj  as  I  could,  remarked  bUat  she 
liad  probably  sprained  her  ankle. 

Then  for  the  first  time  alie  loat  heart  and 
b^an  to  cry. 

"  Oh,  come,"  I  protested,  pained  by  her 
distress,  "  you  mustn't  do  that,  you  know — 
you  mustn't,  really.  You^you  should  be 
thankful  it's  no  worse." 

"No  worse  !     Why,  it's  simply  fatal." 

"  Fatal — a  sprained  ankle  !  Good  gra- 
eioiia  1 " 

She  dried  her  eyes 
and  glanced  at  me 
aoomfully,  "  Fata!  to 
my  plans — perhape  to 
my  future  happiness," 
she  explained. 

I  expressed  my 
sorrow,  and  then,  as 
she  did  not  reply,  I 
suggested  that  I  ^oald 
ride  to  the  nearest 
hostelry  and  try  to 
oblnin  a  carriage  in 
which  she  might  be 
conveyed  to  her  home. 

"That  is  the  last 
thing  in  the  world  I 
should  permit  yon  to 
do  ! "  she  cried,  doubt- 
less without  reflecting 
that  she  was  powerless 
to  prevent  me  from 
carrying  out  the  first 
part  of  the  prc^ramme, 
at  least. 

"  May  I  ask  why  ?  " 
I  inquired. 

"  Why,  because— be- 

eauae "she  glanced 

at  me  suspiciously.  "  I 
supposeyoM  don'tknow 
mynameandaddresa?"  ' 

she  asked  quickly. 

"  I  am  not  ao  fortu-  ■<  l  cBrtied  her  without 

nate." 

"OhI  I'm  glad  of  that;  I  thought  perhaps 
vou  might.  My  father  ia  a  public  man — 
he's  on  tiie  Hrghgate  BoaiJ  of  Health.  I've 
occasionally  been  with  him  at  functions,  and 
it  strnck  me  as  just  possible  you  bad  seen  ua 
together." 

"  I'm  not  a  reaident  in  Highgate,"  I  said ; 
"  I  lodge  at  Canonbury.  But  now  may  I 
point  out  that  yon  can't  sit  here  all  day  ?  I 
shall  have  to  do  something  to  get  you  home." 

She  remained  silent  for  a  short  time. 
Then  she  said  suddenly :  "  I  sec  there's  no 
help  for  it,  I  shall  have  to  trust  you " 


"  I  shall  not  betray  your  confidence,"  ! 
exclaimed  emphatically. 

" — to  a  certain   extent,"   she   went  on, 
ignoring  the  interruption. 

"  One  muat  be  thankful  for  small  mercies," 
I  remarked  humbly. 

"  Well,  then,  you   can't  tAke  me  home, 
because  I'm  off." 
"  Obviously."     I  glanced  at  her  bicyde. 
"  I  mean  I've  left  home,  and  I  can't  go 
back." 

"  Not  the  way  yon 
came,  but  in  a  car- 
riage  " 

"  I  can't  go  back  at 
all." 

"  Why  not  ? 
She  paosed.  "  I 
don't  think  I  need  t«ll 
you,"  she  said  at  last, 
"  but  I've  the  be^  of 
reasons." 

"  You  don't  trort 
me  very  far,"  I  remon- 
strated. 

"No,"  she  assented 
laconically. 

"  And  yet  I  think  I 

merit " 

"Oh  I  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you  for  pick- 
ing up  my  bicycle,  if 
that's  what  you  meanl" 
she  cried  hastily. 

It  wasn't  exactlv 
what  I  meant,  but  1 
didn't  say  ao.  1 
merely  bowed. 

"  But,"  she  went  on, 
"I'm  afraid  yon  can 
be  of  no  further  serNice 
X  to  me." 

y^  "  Oh,  nonsense  1 "  I 

,'  exclaimed.     "  I  cant 

further  ceremony,"  go    away    and    leave 

you  like  this— it's  pre- 
posterous! If  you  won't  go  home— and  I 
supfwse  I  can't  make  you — you'll  have  to 
go  somewhere,  won't  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  no  doubt  I"  She  looked  np  at  me 
thoughtfully,  then  she  suddenly  asked  the 
time. 

"  Half  past  tivo,"  I  replied,  consulting  my 
wateli. 

"  As  lat«  as  that,  is  it  ?  I  wonder,  now, 
if  you  could  get  to  Olissold  Park,  Stoke 
Newington,  before  three  ?  " 

"I'm  sure  I  could.  I  can  get  there  in 
twenty  minutes." 


THE  RESULT  OF  AN  ACCIDENT. 


35 


"  All  right,  then ;  I'll  trust  you  a  little 
further,  after  all.     You  shall  go  as  fast  as 

you  can  to  No.  46 Road  and  ask  to 

Bee  Miss  Penelope  Price." 
I  started.     "Penelope  Price  ! "  I  cried. 
"  Yes,  do  you  know  her  ?  " 
"  I  have  met  her.    Like  myself,  she  is  a 
journalist." 

"  Yes,  and  my  cousin.  I  have  just  spent 
three  weeks  with  her.  I  only  returned  home 
on  Thursday." 

"  Indeed  !    She  is— ah — a — a  young  lady 

of  advanced  ideas,  is  she  not  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  reformer,  certainly." 

"Put    it    that    way    if  you   like.      She 

belongs     to    the     London     Demolitionist 

Alliance,  a  hody  which  objects  to  things  in 

general,  and  to — ^ah — ^marriage  in  particular." 

"  It  is  true.      Penelope  never    tires   of 

telling  me    how  much  sue  disapproves  of 

marriage.     I  don't  agree   with  her    there, 

but  I  do  agi'ee  with  another  of  her  theories." 

"Which  is ?" 

"  That  whatever  a  person  honestly  thinks 
to  be  right,  is  right." 

"  Oh  I  It's  a  convenient  notion,  and  a 
pretty  old  one.  I  can't  accept  it  myself, 
though." 

"Neither  can  my  father.  But  we — we 
haven't  time  to  talk  about  it  now.  Penelope's 
attitude  on  the  marriage  question  makes  it  all 

the  more  kind  of  her  to — to "  She  broke 

oflF  abruptly.  "  Well,"  she  continued,  "  my 
cousin  will  be  at  the  address  I've  given  you, 
np  till  three,  waiting  for  me.  After  that  I 
don't  know  where  she'll  be,  she  has  so  many 
engagements.  But  if  you  start  at  once, 
you're  bound  to  catch  her;  and — and  you 
can  tell  her  what's  happened  to  me,  and  that 
U  will  have  to  be  put  off,  and  that  she  must 
console  him — she'll  know  what  *  it '  refers  to 
and  who  '  him '  is.  Say,  too,  please,  that  she 
must  oome  here  with  a  cab  to  fetch  me  to 
her  rooms,  where  I  propose  to  stop  till — till 
*  it '  can  be  brought  oflF." 

**  I'U  carry  out  your  instructions,"  I  said  ; 
"  bat  what  name  shall  I  give  Miss  Price  ?  " 

**  Name  ?  Oh  !  Florrie  will  be  enough. 
Now  good-bye.  You  can  describe  this  place 
to  lifias  Price,  but  you  needn't  come  back 
youraelf ,  of  course  ;  so,  as  we  shall  probably 
never  meet  again,  let  me  repeat  that  I  am 
Terr  grateful  to  you  for  your  kindness." 

1  was  not  entirely  satisfied  with  this  dis- 
miflsal,  but  I  durst  not  delay  my  start  any 
longer,  so  without  further  ado  I  jumped  on 
mj  bicycle  and  pedalled  towards  the  main 
road  for  all  I  was  worth. 

I  arriYed  at  the  house  she  had  mentioned 


just  five  minutes  before  three,  dismounted, 
and,  glancing  at  a  four-wheeled  cab  standing 
by  the  kerb,  went  forward  to  the  gate  of 
the  house  and  placed  my  bicycle  in  front  of 
the  adjoining  railings.  Then  I  paused  in 
front  of  a  brass  plate  fixed  to  the  gate,  on 
which  were  inscribed  the  words — 

"  Office  of  the  Superintendent  Registrar 
for  North-East  London." 

"Why,"  I  reflected,  "my  fair  friend 
Florrie  must  have  actually  been  on  her  way 
to  get  married  I     Evidently  she " 

But  before  I  got  any  further,  I  was  seized 
from  behind  by  two  men,  who,  thrusting  me 
forcibly  into  the  cab  I  had  just  noticed,  fol- 
lowed themselves  and  held  me  down,  while 
the  cabman  hauled  my  bicycle  on  to  the  roof 
of  the  vehicle.  The  next  instant  we  were 
being  borne  rapidly  northwards. 

II. 

Overwhelmed  with  astonishment  and  indig- 
nation at  the  sudden  and  inexplicable  attack 
to  which  I  had  been  subjected,  I  sat  for  a 
long  time  absolutely  incapable  of  speech. 
I  could  only  gaze  stupidly  at  my  captors, 
both  of  whom  were  totally  unknown  to  me. 
There  seemed  a  considerable  difference  in 
their  respective  social  positions,  for  the  man 
seated  by  my  side  at  the  rear  of  the  vehicle 
was  a  big,  burly  fellow  who  looked  like  a 
porter  of  some  kind,  while  the  individual 
opposite,  who  was  also  of  a  stout  build,  was 
dressed  in  the  style  usually  affected  by  the 
successful  City  man.  A  damask  rose  decorated 
his  frock-coat,  and  a  heavy  gold  chain  glit- 
tered on  his  expansive  white  waistcoat.  I 
judged  him  to  be  about  fifty  years  of  age. 

It  was  he  who  at  length  broke  the  silence 
by  remarking  in  a  self-satisfied  tone  to  my 
companion — 

"  You've  assisted  me  well,  Tyler,  and  1 
shall  not  forget  it.  Between  us  we  have 
succeeded  in  frustrating  a  miserable,  dis- 
honourable, and  unscrupulous  rascal."  And 
he  was  good  enough  to  indicate  by  a  wave 
of  his  hand  that  he  applied  these  compli- 
mentary epithets  to  me. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Tyler  briefly.  "But 
how  about  the  young  ladv,  sh-  ?  We  ain't  seen 
her." 

"  No,"  replied  the  other ;  "  but  that's  of 
little  consequence.  She  can't  make  an  idiot 
of  herself  now  we've  got  this  fellow  safe. 
She'll  be  back  home  by  to-night,  and  then — 
I  shall  know  how  to  deal  with  her." 

"You  can't  marry  in  them  places  after 
three,"  remarked  Tyler  meditatively,  "  and  I 


THE    WINDSOR    MAGAZINE. 


jnst  heard  it  Btrike.  It  moBt  have  been 
close  on  the  time  when  this—"  Le  hesitated 
a  moment — "  this  gent  came  up.  Funny  he 
was  so  iate." 

"  Not  too  late  for  us — for  me,  Tyler.  Not 
too  late  for  the  explanation  we're  going  to 
have  by  and  by.  Loot  you,  sir" — for  the 
first  time  he  addressed  himself  to  me—"  we 
don't  part  till  we  have  had  a  very  full  ex- 
planation indeed.  I  intend  to  render  a 
repetition  of  this  farce  an  impossibility." 

"  An  explanation,"  I  said  faintly,  "  is 
exactly  what  I  most  wish  for.  This  out- 
rage  " 

"  Outrage  1  Yon  are  right  in  terming  it 
an  outrage.  To  think  that  you  should  dare 
to  delude  my  motherless  daughter  iuto^ 
into Oh  I  I  can't  find  words  to  express 


rf-fn'^ 


•■Thnnting  me  forcibly 


my  abhorrence  of  sucb  conduct  as  you  have 
been  guilty  of,  Mr,  Sydney  Belmont ! " 

"  There  has  been  some  mistake,"  I  began, 
but  he  interrupted  me  fiercely. 

"  There  has  been  a  very  great  one.  Not 
hnt  what  it  would  have  been  greater  if  the 
outrage  you  spoke  of  just  now  bad  been 


actually  perpetrated.     Id  that  case  I  Bhoold 

have  cut  off  my  daughter  without  a  penny." 

"  I  don't  understand  how  all  this  concemB 

me.     I " 

"  Oh  1  you  shall  be  enlightened  before  I've 
done  with  you,"  he  sneered.  "  You  shall  be 
made  fully  acquainted  with  my  views;  and 
so,  for  that  matter,  shall  Florrie." 

"  Florrie  1 "  I  gasped,  with  a  start  which 
prompted  Tyler,  who  imagined  I  meditated 
escape,  to  push  roe  back  in  my  seat. 

"Yes,  sir,  Florrie  I"  he  cried  angrily— 
"  Florence  Grimley,  whom  you  hoped  no 
doubt  to  have  made  Florence  Belmont  tsa 
this." 

I  made  no  reply,  but  the  indignation  I  had 

hitherto  cherish^  gave  place  to  a  feeling  of 

amusement.     It  now  seemed  apparent — first, 

that  the  young  lady  I  had  met  earlier  in 

ffas  IfiBB  Florence  Grimley; 

liss  Grimley  had  set  out  from 

'.  intention  of  contracting  a 

age ;   and  diirdly,  tJiat  Min 

tr  had  mistaken  me  for  her 

band.    Well,  for  a  little  while 


fou  wonder  how  I  found  yon 
out  ? "  said  Grimley  after  a 
few  moments'  silence. 
I  nodded  assent. 
"  Oh,  well,  I'll   tell    you 
that  at  once :  I  was  warned 
by  my  niece." 
"  Your  niece  ?  " 
"  Yes.      Yon    seem    sur- 
prised ;  but  you  most  know 
very   well   I  refer   to   Miss 
Penelope  Price.  Yon  thought 
her  your  friend,  didn't  you  ?" 
"  I — I  certainly  was  nndet 
that  impression,"  I  said  with 
unfeigned  surprise. 

"  You  might  have  known 
better  than  to  trust  a  young 
woman  who,  to  the  horror  M 
her  relatives,  adopts  views 
subversive  of— of  every 
generally  accepted  priDcij>le. 
She's  betrayed  yon,  Mr. 
.    .       ,  „  Belmont." 

,to  the  »b.  J  f„„„^     «  How  base!" 

I  exdaimed. 
"  Base  I  It's  the  best  action  she  ever  pra- 
formed,  I  should  say." 

"We  needn't  ai^ue  the  point,"  I  rejoined 
depiecatingly.  "  Bnt  what  has  she  told  yon, 
pray  ?  " 

"  Everything,  Mr.  Belmont.  A  letter 
from  her  delivered  at  my  office  just  before 


"  When  Floirie  u<r  u 


88 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


two  o'clock  gave  me  full  details.  In  it 
she  intimated  that  while  mj  daughter 
had  been  staying  with  her — ^a  visit,  by 
the  way,  to  which  I  consented  with  much 
reluctance — she — Florrie,  that  is — had  made 
your — ^your  confounded  acquaintance,  and 
that,  in  short,  you  had  arranged  tx)  be 
married.  Then  the  letter  went  on  to  explain 
that  Florrie  thought  it  better  that  I,  her 
/dther,  should  not  be  informed  until  after  the 
event,  forsooth,  and  for  this  reason  the 
heathenish  wedding  had  been  fixed  to  take 
place  at  a  quarter  to  three  to-day,  at  the 
Registry  Office  we  have  just  left.  Finally, 
Penelope  said  she  had  intended  assisting  at 
the  precious  function,  but  had  repented." 

"  But  how,  how  did  you  know  me  ?  "  I , 
asked. 

"That  was  easy.  Penelope  mentioned 
that  your  " — he  laughed — "  your  honeymoon 
was  to  be  spent  cycling,  and  that  you  were 
going  to  ride  to  the  Registry  Office  on  your 
bicycles,  and  go  straight  away  when  the 
affair  was  over." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  and  now  what  are  you 
going  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

"  Do,  sir  ?  Why,  this.  I  am  going  to 
take  you  to  my  house  and  make  you  swear 
solemnly  on  my  family  Bible,  in  the  presence 
of  witnesses,  that  you'll  never  marry  my 
daughter  Florrie." 

"  And  if  I  refuse  ?  " 

"Then  I  shall  administer  personal  chas- 
tisement." 

"  The  deuce  I  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
Habeas  Corpus^  Mr.  Grimley  ?  " 

"  Pooh  I  The  law  has  no  terrors  for  me, 
sir.  In  my  early  days  I've  knocked  about 
in  parts  of  the  world  where  each  man  learnt 
to  be  a  law  to  himself.  Besides,  you  are 
forgetting  that  your  conduct  has  been  so 
infamous  that  I  have  only  to  publish  it  to 
justify  the  strong  measures  I  am  taking." 

By  this  time  the  cab  avjis  crawling  up 
Highgate  Hill,  and  I  thought  the  moment 
had  arrived  for  setting  matters  straight— so 
far  as  I  was  concerned,  at  least.    So  I  said — 

"  You'd  better  direct  the  cabman  to  turn 
off  to  the  left  when  we  get  to  the  Gatehouse 
Tavern." 

"  Why  should  I  do  that  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you."  And,  speaking  as  quickly 
as  I  could,  for  fear  he  should  interrupt,  I 
managed  to  acquaint  him  with  his  daughter's 
accident,  my  own  tnie  identity,  and  the 
message  with  which  I  had  been  entrusted  to 
Miss  Penelope  Price. 

I  never  saw  a  man  more  taken  aback  in 
my  life.    He  turned  pale,  fidgeted  in  his  seat, 


and  eventually,  as  if  glad  to  get  a  breath  of 
air,  pulled  down  the  cab  window  and,  pat- 
ting out  his  head,  gave  the  driver  the 
requisite  instructions.  Then  he  maintained 
a  stolid  silence  until  the  vehicle  pulled  up  at 
a  spot  near  which  Miss  Grimley  was  to  be 
seen,  still  seated  on  the  grass. 

"  You  go  first,"  he  murmured  hurriedly,  as 
we  all  rose.  "  I — I  don't  know  how  it  is, 
but  though  I  can  be  as  hard  as  uails  with 
men,  I — I  am  not  so  successful  with  women. 
Florrie  is  sure  to  be  very  angry,  and— and 
anger  in  a  woman  always  makes  me  nervons. 
It's  this  feeling  of  mine  that  determined  me 
to  go  for  you — ^for  the  other  fellow,  I  mean 
— rather  than  Florrie  herself  this  afternoon." 

"  Oh  I  you  want  me  for  a  sort  of  buffer, 
do  you  ?  "  I  laughed.  Bit  I  jumped  out  of 
the  cab  and  led  the  way  towards  the  disabled 
girl,  Grimley  and  Tyler  following. 

When  Florrie  saw  us,  she  gave  a  little  cry 
and,  turning  to  me,  exclaimed  reproach- 
fully^ 

"  Oh  !  then,  after  all,  you  were  a  spy  of 
father's  !     I  might  have  known  it." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Grimley  softly,  "  my 
dear,  you  are  wrong.  But  before  I  tell  you 
how  I  have  been  able  to  thwart  you,  Florrie 
— ^you  must  forgive  me  for  that,  my  pet— 
you'd  better  let  us  help  you  to  the  cab." 

*'  As  you  please,"  she  said  coldly,  and  hei 
father  and  I  managed  to  get  her  into  the 
vehicle,  while  Tyler  attended  to  her  bicycle, 
and  at  a  sign  from  his  master  mounted  on 
the  box  beside  the  driver.  I  thought  the  time 
had  now  come  to  Siiy  "Farewell,"  and  hinted 
as  much.  Grimley,  however,  took  me  aside, 
apologised  profusely  for  the  manner  in  which 
he  had  treated  me,  and  pleaded  earnestly 
that  I  would  accompany  him  home  to 
dinner.  "I — I  can't  be  left  alone  in  the 
cab  with  her,"  he  urged. 

Well,  I  had  neither  the  heart  nor,  to 
speak  the  truth,  the  inclination  to  refuse,  so 
I  got  into  the  cab  beside  them. 

The  explanation  which  ensued  left  us  in 
the  dark  on  one  point  only — this  was,  what 
had  become  of  the  intending  bridegroom, 
Mr.  Sydney  Belmont  ?  Mr.  Grimley  had 
seen  nothing  of  him,  although  he  had  been 
in  waiting  with  the  cab  outside  the  R^istry 
Office  from  twenty  minutes  past  two  until 
my  appearance  just  before  three. 

When  we  arrived  at  Grimley's  residence, 
there  was  a  letter  for  Florrie,  which  she 
instantly  read.  Then  she  gave  a  scream  and 
went  off  into  a  dead  faint.  She  was  removed 
to  her  bedroom,  and  medical  assistance  was 
speedily  obtained.     I  did  not  see  her  again 


THE  RESULT  OF  AN  ACCIDENT. 


that  night,  but  before  I  left  I  heard  that  she 
iraa  better. 

Her  sprained  ankle  confined  her  to  the 
boose  for  some  weeks,  during  which  time  it 
ms  the  merest  politeness  to  make  frequent 
inquiries  be  to  her  welfare.  It  was  not  till 
a  certain  day  nearly  a  year  afterwards, 
howerei',  that,  having  in  the  meantime 
become  the  editor  of  an  important  evening 
newspaper,  and  having  likewise  been  long 
aware  that  Mr.  Sydney  Belmont  had  proved 

false,  I  ventured  to But  never  mind 

that,  1  was  going  to  say  that  on  the  day  in 
question  she  permitted  me  to  peruse  the 
commnnication  which  had  given  lier  such  a 
shock  on  the  afternoon  of  her  accident. 
Here  it  is  : — 

" Road, 

"Clissold  Park, 
"  Sept.,  1902. 

"My   DEiB  OODSIN,^- 

"If  you  have  been  disappointed  to- 
day at,  Sydney  Belmont  not  turning  up,  I 
htroe  you  won't  be  angry  with  me  when  I 
tell  you  the  truth  about  his  absence.  The 
fact  is,  dear,  the  poor  felloe  came  to  me 
yesterday  in  great  distress  to  ask  my  advice. 
He  said  he  had  fonnd  that  he  had  made  a 
terrible  mistake;  that — in  a  word,  that  he 
loved  me  and  not  yon,  after  all.  Should  he 
go  on  with  the  marriage  ?  he  asked.     Well, 


dear,  I  gave  him  the  only  possible  answer^ 
I  told  bim  he  must  be  guided  by  bis  feelinp 
and  marry  me  instead  of  yon.  This  he 
promised  to  do  ;  hot  as  I  know  the  poor  man 
is  rather  fickle  in  his  affections  (you,  love, 
were  the  fourth  girl  he  has  fancied  himself 
fond  of  iu  three  months  —I  am  the  fifth),  I 
deemed  it  prudent  to  give  your  father  an 
opportunity  of  being  at  tlie  Kegistry  Office 
this  afternoon,  in  case  he  should  think  he  had 
changed  his  mind.  If  you  are  inclined  to 
reproach  me,  I  can  only  remind  you  that 
you  have  often  assented  to  the  theory  by 
which  I  am  always  guided— namely,  that 
whatever  a  person  honestly  thinks  to  be  right, 
M  right. 

"  With  best  love, 

"  Your  affectionate 

"  Penelope  Price. 

"P.S.— I  contiime  a  Demolitionist,  for  I 
still  object  to  marriage — in  the  abstract." 

"Cool,"  I  observed,  handing  the  letter 
back  to  Florrie,  "  very  cool.  Did  she  marry 
him,  then  ?  I  haven't  heard  anything  of 
her  lately,  so  I  suppose  she  did." 

Florrie  laughed  merrily.  "Yes,"  she 
replied,  "and  I  wish  them  both  joy.  I — I 
can  afford  to  now,"  she  added  softly  a  moment 
lat«r. 


■^v'(  \,    '/f^^y 


"I— I  can  afford  to  n 


THE    DISAPPOINTING   PRISONER. 


By   WALTER    E.    GROGAN.* 


HERE   are   few  men 

in  His  Majesty's 
Anuj  who  do  not 
know  me,  Jack 
Netlierton,    of     the 

th   Light  Dra- 

gooDB.     In  the  hot 

time  of  the  PeninBO- 

\  lar  war  I  saw  many 

'  things  and  did  many 

actions  that  are  worth 

setting   down.       In 

truth  we   had   a  free  time  of    it    iu    the 

Peninsula — a  hard  life,  it  may  be,  but  for  a 

man  with  a  stout  heart  it  was  none  amiss. 

The  lustre  of  the  British  arms   was  never 

greater  than  when  the  Iron  Duke  played  his 

big  game  of  cheaa  on  the  Peninsular  board 

and  swept  it  clean  at  the  last. 

It  was  my  luck,  as  I  said,  to  see  much  of 
the  game ;  and  an  adventure  which  befell 
me  I  will  relate  now.  They  were  rough  times, 
and  some  of   the   stories   of    my    life  are 

rongh  also ;  bnt  we  of  the  th  took  all 

things  with  a  smile,  which  in  tmth  is  tlie 
best  way  in  which  to  meet  life  or  death. 

A  man  six  feet  in  his  stockings,  fair  hair,  a 
moustache,  a  beard  when  hardly  worked,  a 
clean  chin  when  iu  decent  quarters,  a  quick 
eye,  a  firm  seat,  a  more  than  common  know- 
ledge of  fence,  some  quickness  with  pistols,  a 
light  hearty  an  adorer  of  the  sex,  a  man  to 
fight  or  to  make  love  with  equal  zest — so  was 

I,  Jack  Netherton,  lieutenant  in  the th 

Light  Dragoons,  when  in  tlie  cold  grey  of  a 
May  morning  I  received  the  command  of 
Brigadier-General  Stewart  to  report  myself 
immediately. 

It  was  me  day  after  our  passt^c  of  the 
Doaro,  when  we  surprised  the  French  so 
mightily.  By  Mars  !  'twas  a  pretty  affair, 
and  we  light  horse  carried  ourselves  very 
dashingly.  That  last  affair,  which,  annoyed 
at  General  Murray's  dilatoriness,  we  carried 
ont  ourselves,  was  as  smart  an  affair  as  any 
light  cavalry  man  might  wish  to  see ;  and 
we  are  greedy  fellows,  we  horsemen,  I  can 
warrant  von. 
But,  tKen,  to  my  tale. 


I  dressed  myself  quickly  and  was  out  in 
the  cold  of  the  morning,  clattering  up  the 
stones  of  the  street,  twirling  my  mouBtacbe, 
and  bringing  my  spurred  heels  down  smartiy, 
as  a  cavalryman  should.  At  the  house 
of  a  functionary  of  Oporto,  I  halted  and 
rapped  loudly  at  the  door  with  the  hilt  (rf 
my  sword.  An  orderly  admitted  me  witlioat 
delay  and  ushered  me  into  a  large  room 
where  the  General  and  some  olSceis  of  hia 
staff  were  breakfasting.    I  saluted. 

"  A  cold  morning  for  May,"  the  General 
said  affably. 

"We  of  the  th  find  it  so  after  the 

warmth  of  that  last  affair,  General." 

"  Ah  !  draw  np,  Lieutenant.  Major,  pass 
the  Burgundy." 

I  sat  down  and,  nothing  loth,  helped 
myself  to  a  bumper.  Some  knowledge  of 
campaigns  gave  me  the  wisdom  of  never  re- 
fusing good  liquor,  for  the  presence  of  the 
nest  bottle  was  ever  a  matter  of  some  hazard. 

Besides,  in  those  days  a  man's  life  was  a 
mere  chance,  and  it  might  well  be  that, 
refusing  the  first,  he  should  get  no  other 
offer. 

"  You  are  a  good  horseman.  Lieutenant  ? " 
the  General  inquired,  looking  at  me  closely. 

"  They  say  so  in  the  raiment,  General. ' 

"  Yon  are  not  averse  to  some  risk  ?  " 

"  I   belong  to  the  th,"  I  answered 

proudly. 

"  Good."  General  Stewart  nodded  to  hia 
staff,  and  they  nodded  back  at  him  vei^ 
solemnly.  "  I  have  sent  for  you  to  under- 
take a  matter  of  considerable  peril." 

"  I  am  infinitely  obliged  to  yon,  sir." 

"  It  is  imperative  that  General  Beresford 
should  receive  despatches  immediately.  You 
are  to  lake  them.  Sir  Arthur  Welleeley  has 
entrusted  the  choice  of  the  officer  to  roe.  I 
have  chosen  you." 

"  Again,  General,  I  am  obliged  to  you. 
General  Beresford  shall  have  them." 

"  Yon  know  the  way  ? " 

"  To  some  extent.  Be  assured  I  shall 
find  it." 

"  You  are  confident." 

"  I  know  myself  and  my  horse,  General." 

"  The  peril  lies  in  the  scattered  bodies  of 
the  enemy.     Besides,  the  country  is   very 


THE  DISAPPOINTING   PRISONER.  91 

much  disturbed.  The  natives  are  not  to  be 
trusted," 

"  I  trust  only  in  my  sword  and  my  horse," 

"Should  yon  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
enemy,  remember  they  must  not  capture  the 
despatches." 

"  They  shall  not." 

"  But  risk  much  to  get  through  with 
them." 

"  If  a  man  can  do  it,  I  will  do  it." 

"  When  yon  have  delivered  them,  return 
here  and  report  yourself.  General  Beresford 
will  entrust  his  answer  to  you.  How  long 
will  you  be  ? " 

"  If  in  four  days  I  am  not  back,  yon  will 
know  that  I  am  dead," 

"  Or  a  prisoner," 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  said  rather  stiffly,  "  I  do 
not  like  to  think  of  that  chance.  These 
French  prisons  leave  much  to  he  desired." 

"  Gocw,"  said  General  Stewart.  "  Here  is 
a  rough  map  of  yonr  route.  There  are  the 
despatches.     Remember,  we  rely  upon  you," 

I  saluted  and  returned  to  my  quarters 
whistling. an  air.  " Here,"  thought  I,  "is 
my  first  chance.  I  have  been  specially 
selected  for  an  enteiprise  that  recjuires 
course  and  brains.  If  I  carry  it  through 
successfully,  it  will  be  a  great  feather  in  my 
cap.  It  will  serve  to  show  that  I  have 
resource,  ability,  enterprise.  I  will  carry  it 
through." 

It  was  still  early  when  I  clattered  out  of 
Oporto.  My  horse  was  in  excellent  fettle, 
well  fed  and  well  groomed  ;  the  air  was  cool 
and  exhilarating,  and  I  had  no  doubt  of  my 
ability  to  find  Beresford's  brigade. 

That  night  I  spent  in  a  village  whose 
inhabitants  were  well  disposed,  and  from 
whom  1  gathered  valuable  information  con- 
cerning the  whereabouts  of  the  colunm  for 
which  I  was  looking.  The  landlord  of  the 
inn  joined  me  after  dinner,  and  we  drank 
confusion  to  the  French  in  a  couple  of  bottles 
of  wine  that  dishonoured  in  no  way  the 
King's  health. 

The  next  morning  I  mounted  ^ain  and 
reached  General  Beresford,  having  met  with 
no  adventure. 

Beresford  was  in  hot  pursuit  of  Loisson's 
Corps.  He  read  my  despatches  with  attention 
and  immediately  indited  a  reply  to  Sir  Arthur. 
This  he  gave  me. 

"  Return  as  speedily  as  you  can,"  he  said  ; 
"  but  be  wary,  for  our  scouts  report  the 
presence  of  scattered  bodies  of  the  French 
between  as  and  Sir  Arthur's  army." 

I  reined  back  and  watched  General  Beres- 
foid's  column  march  past. 


I  cotunokccd  to  lead  tbe  brnlc  on  tb«  rougti  truck 


92  THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 

Tliey  were  a  well-Beasoned,  soldierly  lot  of  jolt  sent  me  forward  in  the  saddle.  I 
men,  and  I  felt  mj  heart  beat  with  pride  ae  gathered  the  reins  np  short,  and  my  hone 
they  swung  by,  eager  to  presa  on  the  retreat-  tried  to  recover  himself,  pinnged  forward, 
log  French.  stru^led,  stumbled  again,  and  nearly  came 

The  night  was  closiug  in  when  I  shook  to  the  gronnd.  When  I  pulled  him  np,  he 
my  reins  and  clapped  spurs  into  my  horse's       was  dead  lame. 

flanks.     I  was  in  the  midst  of  wild,  moun-  Here  was  a  mess.     I  was  awakened  in  the 

tainoug  scenery — very  heantiful,  no  doobt,  midst  of  all  mv  fine  dreams,  to  find  myself 
to  the  traveller,  but  disconcerting  to  one  with  a  lame  horse  the  devil  knew  where, 
carrying  important 
despatches.  Owing 
to  the  warning  of 
General  Beresford,  I 
determined  to  make 
a  deiouT  so  as  to  avoid 
all  p<«sibilitj  of  fall- 
ing in  witn  a  de- 
tached body  of  the 
French  or,  what  I 
dreaded  e<{aally,  a 
party  of  brigands. 

For  four  or  five 
miles  I  rode  stead  Uy 
over  very  rough 
ground,  keeping  a 
short  rein  on  my 
hrnte.  Twice  I 
handled  the  pistols  in 
my  holsters,  thinking 
I  detected  some 
movement  in  the 
black  shadows  a 
ragged  moon  threw 
across  my  way.  These 
suspicions  came  to 
naught,  however,  and 
as  I  rode  forward 
mv  spirits  rose.  I 
whistled  to  myself,  ' 
I  rode  more  easily,  I  , 
dreamed  of  the  Ttnr- 
gnndy  I  should  find 
when  I  rejoined  my 
regiment,  and  mv 
heart  warmed  as  I 
conjured  np  its  gener- 
ous taste.  „.|.^^  ^^^^1  koeelinb-  before  me  »nd  promUiu;'  U>  do  uiythiug  Ii.r  me 

"  Netherton,        my  if  l  would  spare  hii  life." 

boy,"  I  cried,  "  you 

are  excellent  I    To-morrow  yon  will  have  ac-  The  night  was  growing  overcast  and   the 

coraplished  your  mission.    My  boy,  there  are  moon  showed  more  rarely.     I    disniounted 

few  who  would  have  carried  it  out  so  sue-  and,  drawing  the  bridle-rein  over  my  arm, 

cessfuUy.     There  has  not  been  the  smallest  commenced  to  lead  the  brute  on  the  rough 

hitch.    This  little  affair  will  single  you  out  track  the  natives  call  a  road.     I  wandered 

as  a  man  in  a  thousand.     There  are  plenty  forward    in   the  darkness,  cursing   my   ill- 

of  fools  who  would  have  mined  it ;  but  not  fortune,  for  some  hour  or  so,  when  I  caught 

you,  my  boy,  not  you."  sight  of  a  light  ahead.      By  the  side  of  a 

As  I  muttered  this,  my  bnit«  stumbled.  road  was  a  mean-looking  hostel.    In  the  dim 

1  was  riding  easy  at  the  time,  and  the  sudden  light  I  made  it  ont  to  be  a  two-storeyed 


THE  DISAPPOINTING   PRISONER, 


98 


building.  The  place  was  in  darkness,  for, 
indeed,  the  hour  was  near  midnight,  but 
there  was  no  choice  left  for  me.  I  beat  upon 
the  door  with  my  sword-hilt. 

For  a  time  there  was  no  reply.  I  kept  on 
knocking  and  shouting.  Presently  a  window 
was  opened  abruptly  just  over  my  head,  and 
a  face  peered  down  at  me. 

"  Come,  my  good  man,"  I  cried,  "  I  want 
abed!" 

The  man  answered  in  fluent  Portuguese,  a 
language  totally  unintelligible  to  me.  For  a 
moment  I  was  nonplussed.  But  I  am  not  a 
man  without  ideas. 

"  If  I  can't  speak  your  infernal  language 
and  yon  can't  speak  mine,  I  have  a  friend 
who  can  speak  both  I "  I  cried,  and  taking 
one  of  my  pistols,  I  cocked  it  at  the  villain's 
head,  at  the  same  time  going  through  the 
motion  of  opening  the  door  with  my  dis- 
engaged hand. 

The  rascal   popped  his  head   back,   and 

fresently  appwired  at  the  door,  very  pale,  as 
saw  by  the  light  of  his  lantern,  and  bowing 
most  profusely.  We  stood  thus  for  a  moment, 
I  in  my  long  cavalry  cloak,  and  he  in  a  dis- 
reputable nightcap,  an  old  jacket,  patched 
here,  gaping  open  there,  all  in  a  grievous 
plight,  and  a  pair  of  breeches  that  had 
changed  colour  many  times.  Between  us  he 
held  his  misty  lantern,  that  wabbled  with  the 
extreme  teiTor  of  its  master.  All  the  while 
he  kept  on  bowing  and  uttering  a  continual 
stream  of  Portuguese,  which  may  have  been 
complimentary,  but  which  sounded  rough 
and  villainous  enough  for  the  most  awful 
threats.  I  confess  I  liked  but  little  the  look 
of  the  man,  but  I  was  in  such  a  sorry  plight 
with  mv  lamed  horse  that  any  chance  was 
1)etter  than  none. 

Suddenly  I  thought  to  myself :  "  Does 
the  rascal  understand  French  ? "  I  had  a 
fair  smattering  of  the  language,  so  I  tried 
him  with  it.  The  first  words  I  uttered  were 
electrical.  Down  went  the  lantern  on  the 
floor,  and  the  rascal  followed  it,  kneeling  be- 
fore me  and  promising  to  do  anything  for 
me  that  I  wished  if  I  would  spare  his  life. 

It  flashed  upon  me  at  once  that  he  took 
me  for  a  French  officer.  It  was  but  recently 
that  we  British  had  landed — our  uniforms 
were  not  yet  familiar  to  the  natives  ;  besides, 
mj  long  cloak  hid  mine,  and  there  is  little 
diiference  between  cloaks,  whatever  the  army 
to  which  they  belong. 

His  fright  decided  me.  I  would  be  a 
French  officer  for  the  nonce.  To  an  English- 
man, the  natives  might  well  he  surly,  for 
report  had  painted  us  as  models  of  long- 


suflFering.  We  were  allies ;  therefore  no 
Portuguese  would  put  himself  out  of  the  way 
for  us.  With  the  French  it  was  diflPerent. 
There  was  no  tale  of  their  cruelty  too  dread- 
ful to  obtain  ready  credence  from  the  natives. 
Thinking  thus  rapidly,  I  determined  to  be 
French. 

"  Come  !  "  I  cried  in  that  language,  "  pick 
up  the  lantern  and  show  me  the  stabling  ! " 

This  he  did  with  a  profusion  of  protest- 
ations that  all  he  had  was  mine,  that  I  was 
noble  and  high  bom,  and  that  his  life  was  a 
poor  thing  and  of  no  account,  but  that 
others  depended  upon  his  exertions  for  a 
scanty  living,  so  that  I  would  most  surely 
spare  it,  for  was  I  not  a  great  officer  ?  At 
the  door  of  the  stabling,  which  was  small  and 
in  bad  repair,  my  host  was  so  overcome  by  his 
emotions  that  I  had  to  take  him  by  the 
scruflf  of  his  neck  and  shake  him  violently 
before  I  could  persuade  him  to  attend  to  the 
comfort  of  my  horse. 

By  the  light  of  the  lantern  I  investigated 
the  brute's  hurt  and  found  it  but  a  sprain. 
I  bandaged  it  as  best  I  could  with  the  help 
of  my  host,  whose  readiness  to  assist  had 
been  considerably  enhanced  by  my  rough 
treatment,  and  saw  that  it  had  food  and 
bedding. 

Then  I  strode  back  to  the  little  hostel 
and  into  the  parlour. 

"  Come  !  "  I  cried,  "  a  bottle  of  your  best 
wine  ;  I  care  not  what  it  is,  so  long  as  it  be 
good." 

"Your  Excellency,"  he  answered  in  as 
good  French  as  he  could  muster — which, 
after  all,  was  plaguey  bad — "  shall  be  served. 
A  rare  wine,  a  beautiful  wine,  a  grand 
wine  1 " 

"  I'd  rather  learn  its  beauties  on  my  own 
tongue  than  from  yours,  rascal  I "  I  cried. 

"  Your  Greatness,  I  will  be  speedy.  And 
there  is  a  bedroom  above  that  is  poor 
indeed  for  one  so  distinguished,  but  is 
clean,  as  I  can  swear." 

"Nay,"  I  answered,  "I  pass  the  night 
here.  My  friend,  I  am  a  soldier,  and  I  prefer 
to  meet  my  enemies  on  an  equality.  A  room 
above  is  too  high ;  an  old  campaigner 
always  has  an  eye  to  a  retreat." 

I  sat  down  in  the  most  comfortable  of  the 
chairs  and  stretched  my  legs  out.  I  kept 
my  cloak  carefully  wrapped  round  me,  so 
that  mine  host  might  catch  no  glimpse  of 
my  uniform.  In  five  minutes  I  was  alone, 
with  a  bottle  at  my  elbow,  blinking  at  the 
light  of  the  evil-smelling  lamp  that  poured 
filthv  smoke  upwards  towards  the  ceiling. 
My  host  had  disappeared.     I  coi^ld  hear  him 


94 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


moving  about  in  the  passage,  grambling 
to  himself.  His  noise,  filtered  through  the 
heavy  door,  increased  the  drowsy  feeling 
which  was  stealing  over  me.  I  leant  against 
the  rough,  massive  table  at  my  side.  I 
blinked  again  and  again  at  the  winking  li^ht. 
The  wine  was  full  and  generous.  A  delicious 
feeling  of  warmth  and  comfort  stole  over  me. 
I  pinched  myself  to  keep  awake.  I  looked 
at  my  pistols  lying  on  the  table,  to  make 
sure  that  they  were  within  easy  reach.  I 
stretched  out  my  hand  half-way  towards 
them.  The  light  winked  solemnly,  my  arm 
felt  heavy  and  paused  in  the  act  of  touching 
the  pistols.     I  fell  back  in  a  doze. 

My  next  conscious  moment  was  when  a 
very  hazy  dream  disappeared  at  a  loud  noise 
close  to  my  head.  I  sprang  hun-iedly  to 
my  feet,  although  yet  but  half  awake.  The 
lamp  was  still  winking,  but  the  door  of  the 
room  was  wide  open,  and  before  me,  under 
the  light,  was  a  slim,  beardless  youngster  in 
the  uniform  of  a  French  lancer.  Behind 
him  was  the  host. 

"  Pardon,  your  Excellency  !  "  cried  the 
villain,  "here  is  a  comrade  of  yours  who 
has  missed  the  way."  And  with  that  he 
slammed  the  door,  leaving  us  fronting  each 
other  across  the  table.  On  the  table 
between  us  were  my  pistols. 

"  Bonjour !  "  said  I,  with  my  eyes  riveted 
on  the  barkers  lying  like  a  bone  between  two 
dogs. 

"  A  little  late,  sir ;  the  day  is  somewhat 
distant."  The  youngster  had  a  most 
effeminate  voice  and,  had  he  not  been  in  the 
uniform  of  a  sotcs-officier  of  the  French 
lancers,  I  would  have  sworn  that  he  had  a 
villainous  accent.  With  all  his  swagger  of 
bearing,  I  could  swear  to  a  tremor  of  the  lip. 
He  had  his  right  hand  on  the  butt  end  of  a 
pistol. 

"  Come,  Netherton,"  said  I  to  myself, 
"a  moment  more,  and  the  boy  knows  you 
for  an  Englishman.  It  is  imperative  to 
obtain  your  pistols  ;  but  you  must  be  wary, 
for  the  youth  may  be  handy  with  his 
barker." 

"  A  glass  of  wine  to  our  good  fellowship  I  " 
I  cried,  stretching  my  hand  towards  the 
bottle  that  stood  by  the  pistols. 

"Sir,  permit  me,"  the  youth  answered 
quickly,  at  the  same  time  stretching  forth  his 
arm  towards  the  bottle. 

I  saw  his  game  in  a  moment.  He  meant 
to  seize  my  pistols.  He  had  already  noticed 
the  minute  difference  between  the  British  and 
the  French  cloaks.  He  had  penetrated  the 
thin  disguise.     I  was  discovered. 


To  know  was  to  act.  As  his  hand  came 
groping  towards  the  pistols,  I  seized  his 
wrist.  I  am  a  strong  man.  The  wrist  of 
the  boy  was  small,  slim,  girlish.  My  fingers 
closed  upon  it  like  a  vice.  The  boy  gasped 
with  pain.     He  cried  out. 

"  Ah  1  you  hurt,  monsieur  I "  he  said,  his 
small,  oval  face  distorted  with  efforte  to  con- 
ceal the  evidence  of  the  anguish  he  felt. 

"  I  was  first,  monsieur ! "  I  cried  with  some 
exultation.  Holding  his  hand  thus  firmly, 
I  seized  a  pistol  and  levelled  it  at  his  head. 

"Come,"  I  said  banteringly,  "you  have 
one  arm  free.  Use  it,  I  entreat  you,  mon- 
sieur, on  my  behalf.  Slip  that  pistol  out  of 
your  belt  and  place  it  butt-end  foremost  on 
the  table  within  my  reach.  Don't  raise  it,  for 
I  am  a  quick-tempered  man  and  shall  most 
certainly  shoot  you  at  the  first  attempt  yon 
make  to  turn  the  tables  on  me.  '  Ah  !  that's 
right.    And  now  undo  your  sword-belt." 

I  watched  the  boy  curiously.  He  was 
trembling  a  little  and  would  not  look 
straightly  at  my  pistol.  Besides  this,  he 
fumbled  greatly  at  the  buckle  of  his  belt,  a 
matter  which  caused  me  to  believe  that  he 
had  but  recently  joined.  In  truth,  I  was  not 
a  little  sorry  for  him,  for  he  was  but  a 
schoolboy. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  you  are  my  prisoner." 
I  released  his  arm,  still  covering  him  with  my 
pistol,  and  came  round  the  table,  gathering 
up  his  weapons  and  placing  them  beyond  his 
reach.  As  I  passed  by  the  window  I  caught 
a  gleam  of  dawn  streaking  the  blackness. 

"Yes,  Fm  your  prisoner,"  the  boy 
answered.  "  That  being  established,  monsieur, 
may  I  remind  you  that  the  glass  of  wine 
remains  unpoured  ?  " 

I  laughed  heartily.  The  boy  had  some 
spirit. 

"Come,  here's  a  bumper,"  I  said,  and 
slipping  the  pistol  in  my  belt,  poured  the 
wine  into  a  metal  cup.  As  I  was  thus 
busied,  the  boy  hastily  drew  something  from 
his  breast  and  held  it  to  the  flare  of  the 
lamp.     It  was  a  paper  closely  written. 

At  such  times  a  man  of  quick  resource  is 
invaluable.  It  is  such  moments  that  stamp 
the  born  commander.  Quick  to  reason  and 
quick  to  act  I  ever  was.  Without  a  second's 
delay  I  dashed  the  lamp  over.  It  fell  with 
a  splutter  and  was  extinguished  by  the 
veriest  good  luck  on  the  floor.  Had  it 
ignited  the  hostel,  the  consequences  might 
have  been  serious.  In  the  darkness  I 
caught  the  boy,  and  luckily  by  the  hand 
which  contained  the  paper.  I  seized  it. 
The  boy  leant  down  suddenly  and,  while  I 


96 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


was  forcing  open  his  fingers,  fumbled  in  the 
breast  of  his  tunic.  A  moment  later  I  felt 
a  sharp  sting  in  my  left  side.  He  had 
stabbed  me ;  but,  fortunately,  the  point  of 
the    knife    caught  in   my  swoi-d-belt,  and 

5 lancing  off,  gave  me  a  mere  flesh  wound, 
wrest^  the  knife  from  him,  and  a  moment 
later  was  in  possession  of  the  paper. 

"  Come  !  "  I  cried  angrily,  "  I  have  had 
enough  of  this  child's  play.  March  !  You 
came  on  horseback.  I  shaU  borrow  your 
horse  for  my  return." 

Day  was  now  breaking  quickly.  I  forced 
the  boy  into  the  open  and  so  to  the  stabling. 
My  own  brute  was  far  too  lame  to  admit  of 
my  riding  him.  To  my  surprise,  however, 
I  found  another  beast  beside  the  boy's,  as 
ill-conditioned  and  raw-boned  a  beast  as  any 
I  have  ever  seen.  This  I  took  to  be  mine 
host's  ;  and  seeing  that  he  had  been  none  so 
civil,  I  took  the  liberty  of  borrowing  it  for 
the  advantage  of  King  George. 

On  it  I  placed  the  boy,  while  I  myself 
rode  the  French  brute.  The  boy  bore 
himself  very  dejectedly. 

"  Come  I "  I  cried,  when  we  were  gone 
four  miles,  "  'tis  the  fortune  of  war.  Don't 
be  so  overborne.  In  truth,  you  did  hand- 
somely." 

**  I  would  not  have  you  come  by  that 
paper  for  all  the  wealth  of  the  Indies." 

"Blame  not  me,  but  your  own  luck,"  I 
laughed.  "  Gad  1  had  your  knife  not  happed 
upon  my  belt,  I  should  have  gone  under." 

"  You  are  wounded  ?  "  the  boy  inquired. 

"  A  scratch — sore  enough,  but  of  no 
consequence." 

We  rode  steadily  on.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  the  boy  look^  at  me  compassionately 
from  time  to  time. 

"  You  are  in  pain,"  he  said  once  when  I 
winced  at  the  rubbing  of  my  wound. 


"  A  mere  bagatelle,"  I  answered.  "  We  men 
of  the  — th  Light  Dragoons  r^ard  scratches 
as  the  merest  trifles." 

I  began  to  take  an  interest  in  the  lad. 
He  was  so  young  and  so  girlish  that  he 
seemed  all  out  of  place  in  the  uniform  of  a 
lancer. 

"  You  have  not  been  in  the  service  long?" 
I  asked. 

The  boy  stared  at  me. 

"  You  are  pleased  to  jest,"  he  said. 

The  answer  appeared  to  me  exceedingly 
unintelligible.  Possibly,  I  thought,  the  lad 
is  boorish.  Children  cannot  be  expected 
to  acquire  the  sang-froid  of  an  experienced 
soldier. 

With  but  few  sentences  we  rode  the  rest 
of  the  way.  Towards  the  set  of  sun  I  caught 
the  glitter  of  the  Douro  shimmering  on  its 
way  between  the  clinging  hills. 

"  Now,"  cried  I,  "  you  shall  see  the  greatest 
general  of  the  day,  for  these  papers  of  yours 
must  go  into  his  hands." 

"  Soult  may  be  a  great  general,"  the  boy 
answered  '*  but " 

"  Soult  I "  I  cried.  "  What  have  I  to  do 
with  Soult  ?  A  thousand  devils  I  'Tis  Sir 
Arthur  Wellesley  of  whom  I  speak." 

"  Sir  Arthur  Wellesley  I "  tne  boy  cried 
in  a  voice  of  amazement.  Then  he  burst 
into  a  laugh,  "  Then — then  you  are  not  a 
French  dragoon." 

"  By  Mars,  no  I  You  saw  at  the  hostel 
that  I  was  no  comrade  of  yours." 

"  Of  mine  ?  "  Again  the  boy  laughed 
merrily.  "I  am  no  Frenchman.  I  am  a 
Spanish  girl  who  has  sought  this  disguise  for 
safety,  and  the  papers  you  hold  are  from  the 
Spanish  junta  and  for  Sir  Arthur  Wellesley, 
your  general.     I  am  called  Donna  IsabeUa." 

Thus  it  was  that  I  brought  home  a  Spanish 
woman  as  prisoner  of  war. 


A    ROSE -WRECK. 


r^AIR,  on  her  heaving  breast,  with  fragrance  fraught, 
^      Its  graclle  sails  her  zephyr  breath  once  caujrht : 
Poor  craft  I  now  derelict,  dark,  crushed,  reft  apart,— 
Lost,  even  so  nigh  the  hariH>ur  of  her  heart  I 

CHARLES    INNISS    BOWEN. 


■'  REVERIE." 

Fhoh  thk  Picture  bv  Conhad  KieaRL. 

JItj/nduCHi  Irtt  prrmuniDn  n/  tiuitae  Seliautr,  Berlia,  owner  0/  lit  enpyrinht. 


RAILWAY    EMPLOYMENT. 


By  CHARLES    H.   GRINLING. 


ACCORDING  lo  the  Census  of  1901, 
the  number  of  peraons  employed 
"  on  railways  "  is  320,514,  but  this 
total  excludes  platelayers,  gangers,  packers, 
and  railway  labourere.  Moreover,  aa  we 
have  seen  in  previous  articles  of  this  series, 
the  railway  companies  of  the  United 
Kingdom  by  no  means  confine  their  activities 
to  the  conveyance  of  passengers  and  goods 
by  rail.  They  are  also  road-carriers,  ship- 
owners, dock-owners,  and  harbour-masters, 
canai-owners,  hotel-keepers,  and  general 
caterers,  besidea  being  mauufacturers  on  a 
lai^e  scale  of  locomotives,  carriages  and 
wagons,  sigualliug  apparatus,  and  many  other 
artides  necessary  for  their  bnginess.  The 
lat«st  return  made  by  the  railway  companies 
to  the  Board  of  Trade  gave  the  total  of 
persons  employed  by  them '  as  575,834, 
classified  as  follows  : — 


Station-masters 


Permanent- way  men 
Gatekeepers     . 
Engiae-driverB 
Porters 


Firemen  . 
Inspectors 
Passenger-guards 


8,108 

16.708 
66,621 
3,507 

25,566 
55,276 
10,841 

24,083 
6,772 


Signalmen       .      . 

.     28,496 

Labourers 

.     53,282 

Ticket-eiaminers  . 

8,642 

Mechanics       .      . 

.     81,440 

Other  clasees  .     . 

.    185,216 

Taking  600,000  as  the  approiiuiate  total 
of  the  railway  employis  of  the  United 
Kingdom  at  the  present  date,  it  is  probable 
that  rather  more  than  one-half — 1.«.,  abont 
the  number  given  in  the  Census  retom — 
constitate  the  man^erial  and  operating  staff 
of  the  lines.  About  200,000,  or  one-thiid 
of  tJie  total,  are  engaged  in  connection 
with  the  maintenance  and  renewal  of  the 
permanent-way  and  rolling-stock,  and  tlte 
remaining  80,000  are  em^oyed  in  lookup 
after  the  various  side-shows  carried  on  bjonr 
rai  1  way  companies,  Bucli  as  hotels,  refreahmcoit- 
rooms,  doclu,  steamships,  canals,  etc. 

It  will  be  seen  that  "mechanics"  form 
the  largest  of  the  clasees  of  railway  tinpUya 
separately  enumerated  in  the  above-quoted 
Board  of  Trade  return.  Generally  sp^tkin^. 
every  railway  company  ia  the  United 
Kingdom  has  fonnd  it  advantageons  to  hare 
ite  own  repair-shops  for  locomotives, carriages, 
and  wagons ;  ana  when  repairs  have  to  be 


RAILWAY  EMPLOYMENT. 


eiecDted  on  a  large 
scale,  necessitating 
the  provisiou  of 
Urge  and  costly 
plant,  it  is  economi- 
cal to  m&nafactiire 
uen  rolling  -  stock 
HI  well.  The  bi^er 
companies  make 
IHWticaliy  all  their 
own  locomotives, 
carriages,  aud 
wagons.  The 
gm^er  onee  do  bo 
np  b>  the  capacity 
of  plant  primarily 
provided  for  repaira 
and  renewals,  cod- 
liacting  ivith  out- 
«de  works  for  the 
balance  of  their 
reqairernents.       A  " 

number    of    the  th*in  and  inMNti-cA 

companies  maiiu- 

factore  their  own  signal  apparatus,  including 
cabins,  signals,  and  locking.  At  Crewe,  for 
example,  about  forty  sete  of  signals  and  6,000 
yardsof  poi  nt-roddi  rig  are  turned  out  monthly. 
At  the  same  place  the  London  and  North- 
Westem  has  its  on-ii  steel-works,  capable  of 
prodneing  50,000  tons  of  steel  per  annum, 
with  "  cogging  "  and  rail-rolling  mills,  from 
which,  after  passing  through  a  variety  of 
processes,  the  ingots  finally  emerge  In  tbc 
form  of  60-ft.  rail  sections,  weighing  90  lb. 
per  yard.  Quantities  of  steel  girders  are 
also  made  at  Crewe  for  warehouses,  roofs, 
footbridges,  etc. ;  and  on  one  occasion,  when 
a  viadact  was  washed  away  and  had  to  be 


hun'iedly  replaced,  no  less  than  forty-two 
girders,  each  32  ft.  long,  were  made  within 
seven  days.  Alt  this  is  in  addition  to  turning 
out  about  two  hundred  new  locomotives  per 
annum,  and  executing  the  necessary  repairs 
to  the  Btud  of  over  a,UO0  engines  employed 
by  the  North- Western  Company. 

The    (juestion    whether    British    railway 
companies  do  not  go  somewhat  too  far  in 
manufacturing  for  their  own   i-eqnii-ements 
is  one  which  is  often  debated.     The  most 
serious  objection  taken  to  the  present  system 
is  that  it  is  a  handicap  to  "  standardising," 
and  consequently  not  so  economical  to  the 
railway  interest  as  a  whole,  aa  if  a  few  very 
large  firms,  like  the 
well-known     Bald- 
win Locomotive 
Company    of 
America,   were    to 
supply  the  wants  of 
all   the   companies 
from   plant  laid 
down  on  the  largest 
possible  scale  with 
a   special   view  to 
the  production  of  a 
number   of   gener- 
ally    acceptable 
types.      On    the 
other   hand,   it   is 
obvious  that  the 
English    system 
allows  of   a  closer 
adaptation   of   the 


[P.  (?.  ti«* 


ino 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


locomotives  and  other  machinery  to  the  work 
which  they  have  to  do,  as  the  rolling-stock 
of  each  company  is  designed  and  huilt  nnder 
the  direct  personal  supervision  of  the  man 
who  is  responsible  for  its  anbsoqiienfc  efficiency 
in   working.     Regarded  from   the  workers' 
point  of  view,  there  are,  as  we  shall  see,  sub- 
stantiul  advantages  accruing  to  the   people 
employed,  from  the  fact  that  they  are  directly 
the  servants  of  the  niilway  companies.     On 
the  other  hand,  it  is  somewhat  of  a  handicap 
to  locomotive-building  as  a  national  industry 
to  have  the  bulk  of  the  home  trade  carried 
on  at  private  works,  for  this  makes  it  in- 
creasingly difficult  for  British  makers  to  hold 
their  own  with  their  American  and  Uerman 
competitors   in    the    foreign   and    Colonial 
marketa,   where    the    latter   can,  at   times, 
" dump" 
the  surplns    | 
of    their 
mnch  lai^er 
home  pro- 
duction. In 
case,  too,  of 
a  sndden 
"boom"  in 


il« 


'7 


traffic,  sucli 
as  occurred 
a  few  years 
ago,  it  is 
perhaps 
more  diffi- 
cult for  our 
railway 
companies 
to  get  their 
roll  ing- 
Btock  re- 
qnirements 
promptly 
met  under 
the  present 
system,  than 
if  they  al- 
ways placed 
the  major- 
ity of  their 
orders  with 

contaBCtorB,        phou,ba\  \p.  Q.  Lvek. 

As  regards       an  isspkctor,  l.  awu  s.  w.  h. 
the  con  - 

strcotion  of  new  railways,  stations,  etc., 
the  employment  of  contractors  is  general 
throughout  the  United  Kingdom,  though 
occasionally  small  johe  are  carried  out  by 
the  companies'  engineering  departments  with 
their  pwn  staff  and  plant.     When  the  work 


is  of  any  mi^nitude,  the  engineers  on  the 
staff  of  tne  companies  have  sufficient  respoo- 
sibility  in  regard  to  design  and  supervision, 
so  that  the  employment  of  a  contractor  who 
provides  "  navvies,"  cranes,  and  other  plant, 
makes    lx)th    for   efficiency   and    economy. 
There  are 
at    least 
10,000  men 
regularly 
employed  in 
the  carrying 
.   out  of  rail- 
way  con- 
strucUmi  in 
the    United 
Kingdom, 
in  addition 
to      the 
66,000  "per- 
manent-way 
men"onliie 


companies 
who  look 
after  the 
mainten- 
ance and 
renewal  of 
the  tracks. 

Phuta  by]  [F.  a.  LuA  It    W  i  11 

A     RAILWAY     POLICEMAN,  bC  SCCn  that 

r-  AND  N.  w.  B.  laUway  em- 

ployment 

embraces  an  immense  variety  of  occnpations. 

In  its  higher  grades  it  demands  the  servica 
of  professional  men  of  very  varied  training, 
whilst  in  the  lower  branches  there  is  room  for 
all  degrees  of  skill  in  clerical  and  manual 
labour.  I  have  before  me  a  complete  list  of 
the  various  classes  of  emphyex  in  the  sennce 
of  the  London  and  North-Western  Railway 
Company,  and  I  find  that  the  number  of 
different  kinds  of  employnient  amounts  to 
no  less  than  801.  In  the  Traffic  Department 
there  are  135  classes,  including  such  nn- 
cxpected  denominations  as  "  boitk-carrieis," 
"  branders,"  "  bullockmen,"  "  chain  -  boys," 
"deliverers,"  "hookers  -  on,"  "iron- 
counters,"  "rope  -  shippers,"  "slippers," 
"  tariff  men,"  and  "  winchmen."  The 
Permanent  Way  Department  employs  114 
classes,  amongst  them  being  "  asphalterB," 
"  french  -  polishers,"  "  grainers,"  "  holdere- 
up,"  "rammermen,"  "  saw-sharpen ers,"  and 
"  wallers."  Then  there  are  sixteen  more 
sorts  in  the  Permanent  Way  Stores  Depart- 
ment, including    " liallasl^gnanfe,"    "chair- 


RAILWAY  EMPLOTMBNT.  101 

gangera,"  and  "sawyers."    The  Canal  Staff  may  lie  mentioned  as  illngtrating  the  demand 
is  another  sab-department  of  the  chief  en-  in  the  railway  service  for  various  orders  of 
gineer,  and  its  twenty-aix  classes  of  tmployh  talent.     The  outdoor  section  of  the  Locomo- 
inclnde    " bank-rangera,"   "divers,"   "lock-  tive  DepBrtraent  employs  thirty-six  clasaea  of 
attendants,"  and  "water -agents."    In  the  men,  ranging  from  " blackBmittis "  to  " weU- 
Electiical  and  Signal  Department — which  sinkera,"    whilst    the   G-as  section    requires 
comes    midway    between    the    jarisdictionB  f  i  f  t  e  e  n 
of  the  chief  engineer  and  the  locomotive  other  kinds, 
enperintendent  —  we  find  sixty- five  kinds  amongst 
of   men    employed,    amongst    them    being  whom"gae- 
"diatgemen,    "strikers,"  "carboners,"  and  fitters  "and 
"moulders."     The  Estate  Department  has  "meter- 
fifteen  denominations  for  ite  staff,  of  which  inspectors  " 
"  saperintendent  of  labonrii^-claEs  honsea"  are  natnr- 
wonld   be  difficult  to  understand,  did   one  allytfaemost 
not  know  that  railway  companies  have  been  prominent. 
»lled  upon,  in  a  number  of  instances,  to  The    Carri- 
provide  model  dwellings  for  labouring  people,  age  as  well 
whose  former  habitations  have  been  removed  as     the 
b)  make  way  for  new  lines  and  stations.  Locomotive 
The  Locomotive  Department,  which   in-  Department 

dudes   the  boasts    a 

Plant  chemist  and 

Works,    is  a   photo- 

tbe  largest  g  r  a  p  h  e  r 

employer  amongstthe 

of  labour  eighty 

of   all  the  classes   of  '  " 

sections  empUyittoT      photom  \P.  a.  /-«ti. 

into     which  Wh  i  C  b      it       .,  PAWENOER-GUARO,   r,.   AND  N,  W.  B. 

railway  finds  ser- 

service  is  vice,  and  in  the  Wagon  Department  there 

divided.  are  fifty-seven   more  denominations,  inclu- 

In  the  case  ding  "  scrap-^lers  "  and   "  wheel-gl utters." 

of    the  The  Marine  Department  naturally  requires 

London  a  staff  ashore  as  well   as    a    staff   ^oat, 

and  North-  and   there   are  forty-one   classes  of  persons 

Western,  employed  in  the  former,  as  against  twenty- 

tbe  staff  of  two    in    the    latter.      The  General  Stores 

thisdepart-  and  Sheeting  Department  contributes  thirty- 

ment    in-  two  classes  to  the  total,  and  there  are  nine 

eludes  no  denominations  on   the   roll    of    the    Hot«l 

less  than  Department,  which  requires  a  carpenter,  an 

2  1,817  electrician,  and  a  gardener,  as  well  as  a  small 

persons.  army  of  domestic  servants.     Altogether,  the 

There   is,  London  and  North- Western  Railway  Company 

first  of  all,  gives  employment  to   no  less  than  82,835 

the  IjOco-  peiBons,  of  which  the  following  isaconvenient 

motive  general    classification,    although,    as   above 

Works  De-  shown,  it  does  not  take  account  of  very  many 

''*^iv\  IP. «,  ttttt.       partment,  subdivisions  ;— 

*  Ti<w«T-«XA«»KR,  !„  AND  «.  w.  R.     whlchgives  Number 

employ-  Occupation.  ^j  g^ 

mentto  fifty-eight  claases  of  people,  including  Principal  officers 110 

mechanics  of  aU  kinds.    Then  there  is  the  Brakesmen 2,189 

Ronmng  Department,  including,  besides  the  Oapatan-men HUB 

eiw^ie-drivers   and    firemen,    over   seventy  Capstan-lads 17 

other   denominations  of  umployh,  amongst  Carmen  (adult) 3,657 

which  "  fire-carrierB "  and   "fire-droppers"  Carmen(junior— (.«.,vttn-guards,cU;.)     1,316 


102 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


ri^^,„r^n„^  Number 

Cttiriage-cleaners  (adnlt)       .     .      .  l/iso 

Uarriage-cleaoers  (junior)      ...  54 

Carriage-  and  wagon -eiaminers  .  !i6$ 

Checkei-8  (adult) 1,875 

Checkers  (junior) 45 

CLeckers,    chain-boyB,  and   slippers 

(adult) 20 

Checkers,    chain-boys,  and    slippere 

(junior)       .           51 

Clerks  (adult) 7,320 


Occupation.  --- 

Inspectors  (others) 55i 

Labourers  (adult) 9,290 

Labourers  (junior) 548 

Lampmen iiil 

Ijamp-lads 8 

Loaders  and  Sheet^jrs 67S 

Mechanics  (adult) 10,91S 

Mechanics  (junior) 2,138 

Messengers  (adult) 110 

Messengers  (junior) 495 

Number-takers  (adult)     ....  42 

Number-takers  (junior)  ....  95 

Permanent-way-men 7,276 

Pointsmen  (ground) 18 

Policemen 103 

Porters  (adult) G,151 

Porters  (junior) 1,135 

Shunters 1,348 

Sigual-iitterB  and  telegraph-wiremeii  115 

Signalmen 3,025 

Signal- bos-lads e7 

Statiou-mastem  and  goods-agents  N77 

Ticket-collectors  and  examiners  .  i65 

Watchmen 72 

Yardsmen 102 

Foremen  (permanent- way)  14 

Foremen  (others) 1,775 

'Busdrivera iA 

Point-cleaners 58 

Stablemen  and  horsekeepers        .      .  327 

MiBcolianeous  (adults)      ....  3,067 

Miscellaneous  (junior)     ....  395 

82,835 


OccupatioL 
Clerks  (junior) 
Engine-cleaners  (adult) 
Engine-cleaners  (junior) 
Engine-drivers     . 
Firemen    .... 
Oatekecpera 
Greasers  (adult)    . 
Greasers  (junior)  . 
Guards  (passenger)    . 
Horsedrivere  (shunting) 
Inspectors  (pennaneot-way) 


I  may  add  that  the  numl)er  of  female 
enytloijis  of  the  London  and  North-Westem 
is  1,542,  of  which  about  300  are  clerks  selected 
from  daughters  of  company's  servants. 

The  one  general  characteristic  of  railway 

employment,  which  is  also  its  chief  attraction, 

is  its  permanency.     There  are,  it  is  true,  a 

good   many  "supernumeraries"   and   "pro- 

Vationers "  in  the   service  ;    hut  when  ODce 

Number      placed  upon  the  regular  staff,  a  man,  if  he 

of  St»H.      keepssteadyandworkswithmodcrateefficiencT, 

1,953       is  usually  retained  until  incapacitated  by  age, 

2,448      and   in   many  grades  he  can  reckon  npoii 

533       receiving  a  pension  upon  retirement.     Even 

4,085       the  men    employed   in  the  workshops  are 

2,868       seldom    discharged   except   for    misconduct. 

249       The  worst  that  befalls  the  railway  mechanic 

97       who  is  on  the  regular  staff  is  to  !>e  placed  on 

30      "  short  time,"  and  the  men  engaged  in  wort- 

629      ing  the  tnitflc  and  in  the  offices  have  not 

180       even    this   to   fear.     The  difference  in  the 

68       staff  requirements  of  busy  and  slack  times  v 


RAILWAY  EMPLOYMENT. 


108 


adjusted  bv  engaging  or  dischsi^iDg  supemu- 

meiaries.   The  men  whose  numee  Bbtnd  on  the 

regular  pay-rolls  know  pnicticaUy  nothing  of 

what  depression  of  trade  means  to  the  gener- 

aUty  of  those  who  work  for  wt^es  ;  nor  do  the 

higher  oHiciala  feel  that  sense  of  insecurity  in 

bad  times  which  furrowB  the  brows  of  salaried 

servants  in  some 

other  spheres  of 

employment. 

For  permanency, 

railway  service 

in  the  United 

Kingdom    is 

practically    as 

good   as    the 

service  of  the 

Government. 

But   railway 

companies,  uu- 

hke  Government 

departments, 

have    dividends 

toeam,  and  tittle 

or  no  "slack- 

nEaB"i8  tolerated 

amongst  the  em- 

pimjit.       Whilst 

the  pay  of  the 

railway    servant 

is  secure,  and  the  — 

employment  last-    ph^to  by\  \p.  a.  luo. 

ing.  the  work  is      cobr.oor-traw  attek-ant, 

hard   and   the  uakdk.  w.  b. 

houra  not  light. 

"  The  humblest  milvray  servant,  if  he  does 
nrt,  like  one  of  Napoleon's  corporals,  carry  a 
marshal's  Ixiton  in  his  knapsack,  may  at  least 
oontemplate  a  field  of  possible  promotion  of 
almost  as  wide  a  scope."  This  statement  of 
the  late  Sir  (Jeorge  Findlay  in  his  book, 
"The  Woriiing  and  Management  of  an 
English  Railway,"  has  been  exemplified  in 
the  careers  of  many  leading  British  railway- 
men.  Two  of  our  present  railway  chairmen, 
Sir  Charles  Scottcr,  of  the  London  and  Sonth- 
Westem,  and  Sir  James  Thompson,  of  the 
Caledonian,  have  risen  from  the  ranks,  as 
also  did  Mr.  G.  B.  Wieland,  the  lately  de- 
ceased chairman  of  the  North  British,  and 
Mr.  JamcB  Staats  Forbes  and  Sir  Edward 
Watkin,  both  of  whom  held  several  chairman- 
ships at  the  zenith  of  their  careers.  Quite 
a  nnmber  of  general  managers  and  other  high 
oGBcials  have  entered  the  service  as  lads  in 
very  humble  capacities  ;  and  even  the  highest 
engineering  posts  have  in  former  days  oecn 
recruited  from  the  lowest  grades.  But  the 
tendency  of  the  present  day  is  to  require  a 


considerable  amount  of  technical,  as  well  as 

f)ractical,  knowledge  from  candidates  for  tiie 
eading  positions  in  the  various  departments, 
and  the  avenues  of  promotion  are  not  so  free 
as  they  once  were.  Moreover,  the  number  of 
high-planed  positions  is  proportionately  very 
small.  There  aie,  for  instance,  only  110 
principal  oifioerB  employed  by  the  London 
and  North- Western  Railway  Company  out  of 
a  total  staff  of  nearly  88,000.  Under  such 
circumstances,  whilst  promotion  to  high  rank 
and  a  big  salary  are  possible  to  everyone  who 
enters  the  railway  service,  they  are,  to  say  the 
least,  improbable  of  attainment.  For  the 
vast  majority  railway  employment  means  a 
steady  and  rather  monotonous  "  grind,"  not 
at  all  magnificently  remunerated  ;  and  not  a 
few  leave  it  to  seek — but  not  always  to  find 
— their  fortune  in  other  spheres. 

Undoubtedly  one  of  the  chief  advantages 
of  railway 
employ- 
ment in  the 
eyes  of  the 
hi  gb  e  r 
grades  of 
the  staff  is 
the  cer- 
tainty of  a 
superannu- 
ation allow- 
ance on  the 
attainment 
of  sixty 
years  of 
age,  if  re- 
t  irement 
then  bc- 
comes 
necessary. 
Each  of  the 
la  t^r  com- 
panies has 
Its  separate 
superannu- 
ation fund, 
under  its 
,    -,  -_ _.  Q^^jj    man. 

agemcnt, 
noto^i  iP.o.Lud=.    whilst   the 

AbSlSTAHT   BTATrON-MASTKR      KVBTOS  r  Cq  U  1  T  e  - 

L,  AMU  K.  w.  R. '  '     ments   of 

the  officials 
of  the  smaller  lines  arc  met  by  the  Railway 
Clearing  House  Superannuation  Fund  Corpor- 
ation, which  is  open  to  the  sen'ants  of  any  rail- 
way affiliated  to  the  Clearing  House,  as  well  as 
to  the  clerks  employed  at  that  institution.  The 
North- Western  Superannuation  Fund,  which 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZTNf:. 


may  be  taken  hs  typical  of  these  iiiHtitiitiooH, 
has  a  memberahip  of  alxmt  9,000,  whi)  wntri- 
butc  2i  percent,  ou  their  salaries,  the  company 
subecnbing  the  Bamu  amount  per  member. 
All  the  sakried  staff  under  twenty-eight  yeara 
of  age  are  obliged  to  become  menil>ers,  and  ■ 
their  contributions  arc  deducted  monthly  on 
the  pay-sheets.  After  ten  years'  membership 
a  sulecriber  becomes  entitled  to  a  retiring 
allowance  equal  to  22J  per  cent,  of  his 
average  salary,  and  this  increases  with  thj 
length  of  his  membership,  until  after  forty- 
five  years  of  contributing  he  becomes  entitled 
to  109  per  cent.,  which  is  the  mazimam. 
Thus,  if  a  person  joins  the  fund  at  fifteen 
yetffB  of  age,  he  becomes  eligible  for  the 
maximum  retiring  allowance  at  the  age  of 
sixty.  Many  railway  companies  make  retire- 
ment on  superannuation  compulsory  at  the 
age  of  sixty-five,  unless  a  special  exemption 
is  granted  bj  the  Board.  In  cases  of  in- 
capacitation through  breakdown  of  health, 
the  benefits  of  superannuation  are  olitainable 
at  an  earlier  age.  In  the  event  of  the  death 
of  a  meml)er  before  superannuation,  his  re- 
presentatives receive  eitner  the  equivalent  of 
half  a  year's  average  salaiy,  calculated  over 
the  whole  term  of  his  contributions,  or  the 
gum  of  his  own  contribntions  and  those  of 
the  company  on  his  behalf,  whichever  be  the 


greater.  Any  member  retiring  from  the 
service  of  his  own  accord  before  enperau- 
nuation,  or  whose  engagement  is  terminated 
by  the  company  from  any  cause  other  than 
fraud  or  dishonesty,  receives  back  the  whde 
of  his  contributions  to  the  fund  ;  bnt  if  he 
be  dismissed  for  dishonesty,  he  may  forfeit 
the  whole.  There  is  also  a  society  for  pro- 
viding pensions  for  widows  and  orphans  of 
members  of  the  salaried  staff. 

For  the  benefit  of  the  "  wages  staff,"  as 
distinct  from  the  salaried  servants,  the 
London  and  North-Westem  Railway  Com- 
pany has  a  Provident  and  Pension  Society 
and  a  Supplemental  Pension  Fund.  Under 
the  former,  men  become  entitled  to  weekly 
pensions  ranging  from  seven  shillings  to 
twcl\'e  shillings  per  week  on  retirement  afttf 
the  age  of  sixty-five,  or  after  the  age  of  Mity 
if  disqualified  for  work,  with  hau-pensions 
of  three  shillings  and  sixpence  and  five  shil- 
lings per  week  if  incapacitated  under  sixty 
after  twenty  years'  service.  Under  the  snp- 
plumental  fund  an  additional  pension  of  five 
shillings  per  week  can  be  obtained.  The 
society  also  provides  allowance  in  case  of 
disablement  due  to  sickness  or  accident  when 
not  on  duty ;  an  allowance  at  death  of  a 
member  from  other  causes  than  accident  on 
duty ;  an  allowance  at  death  of  a  member's 


Phou>bg] 

Thin  iAotogTnjik  ir 


\P.  a.  tuat 

ttf  the  departurf  frotn  Kn»ton  of  the  drteaatef  appointed  by  the  aUHpan^ 
mat  Raiimiy  Congreu  at  IfuAfivlan,  Mag,  18W. 


RAILWAY  EMPLOYMENT. 


u  rf^r€teniing  Uit  principal 


wife  ;  and  a  retiring  gratuity,  which,  however, 
IB  beiog  merged  in  t£e  pension  Bcheme.  For 
these  benefits  the  member's  contribution  is 
Bixpenoe  or  sevenpence  per  week.  This  com- 
pany has  also  an  Insurance  Society,  the  object 
of  which  is  to  provide  an  allowance  for  the  first 
two  weeks  of  disablement  arising  from  acci- 
dents incmred  in  discharge  of  dnty,  and  other 
benefits  supplemental  to  those  obtainable 
nnder  the  Workmen's  Compensation  Act, 
1897.  Prior  to  the  passing  of  this  Ad;,  the 
insarance  society  of  the  London  and  North- 
western—and  the  similar  institntion  con- 
nected with  the  London,  Brighton  and  South 
Coost  Railway — had  a  larger  scope,  and  it 
may  be  remembered  that  many  of  the 
tmployes  of  these  two  companies  wished  to 
retain  those  societies  as  they  were,  and  to 
"contract  ont"  of  the  Act,  but  Parliament 
decided  otherwise.  The  passing  of  the  Act, 
it  may  be  remarked,  has  lai^ely  increased  the 
hardens  upon  railway  companies'  insurance 
Mid  sick  fnnda  by  encouraging  "malingering," 
owing  to  the  very  generous  allowances  which 
accrue  in  cases  of  disablement.  The  London 
and  \orth- Western  has  a  separate  pension 
fond  for  the  foremen  in  its  locomotive  depart- 
ment. Several  of  the  other  companies  are  now 
taking  steps  to  provide  pension  funds  for  the 
sections  of  their  staffs  who  are  in  receipt  of 
weekly  wages,  but,  generally  speaking,  the 
security  of  a  retiring  allowance  is  limited  to 
ffilaried    servants— >.«.,    the    higher    grade 


officials  and  clerks.  The  Great  £asbem  has 
lately  established  an  Employees  Sick  and 
Orphan  Society,  the  objects  of  which  are  to 
provide  rehef  and  medical  attendance  for 
members  during  sickness,  and  also  payment  of 
money  on  the  death  of  a  member  or liis  wife, 
and  to  his  orphan  children  nnder  the  age 
of  fourteen  years.  In  this  connection,  a 
reference  should  be  made  to  the  work  of  the 
Railway  Benevolent  Society,  the  object  of 
which  IB  to  provide  help  in  time  of  need  for 
disabled  railwayinen,  and  for  the  widows 
and  orphans  of  those  who  fall  in  the  service. 
This  excellent  institution  fills  up  gaps  in 
the  provision  made  by  the  companies,  who 
officially  recc^nise  its  work  and  assist  its 
operations  in  eveiy  ixissible  way.  Its  offices, 
as  I  have  already  taken  occasion  to  state 
in  the  course  of  these  articles,  are  at 
133,  Seymour  Street,  Eiaiton  Square,  Lon- 
don, N.W. 

On  account  of  the  great  variety  of  the 
duties  which  fall  to  the  lot  of  railway 
employes,  any  standardised  course  of  training 
for  all  who  enter  the  service  is,  of  course, 
out  of  the  question.  There  is  a  choice  of 
many  doora  of  entry  into  railway  work,  and 
the  nature  of  the  apprenticeship  served  differs 
widely.  In  the  workshops,  the  word  appren- 
ticeship is  applicable  in  itB  usual  meaning 
to  the  lads  who  learn  to  become  skilled 
mechanics  and  crafUmen  in  the  service  of 
the  companies  ;  and  in  this  department  every 


loe 


rtte  wmosoR  ma&azwe. 


care  is  taken  to  give  the  aspirant  opportunity 
for  theoretical  as  well  as  practical  education, 
attendance  at  classes  at  the  nearest  technical 
college  being  practically  made  compulsory 
upon  lads  working  in  the  shops.  In  the 
traffic  department,  the  training  necessary  to 
make  a  nian  a  skilled  workman  has  mainly 
to  be  picked  up  during  the  couree  of  a  steady 
progress  through  the  various  grades.  It  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  engine-drivers 
are  very  carefully  trained  before  being 
entrusted  with  the  charge  of  a  locomotive. 
They  usually  commence  service  as  lads  in 
the  engine-sheds,  where  they  are  employed 
as  cleaners  ;  after  a  time  they  are  promoted 
to  be  firemen  ;  then  to  be  drivers  of  goods 
trains  ;  next  to  be  drivers  of  slow  or  local 
passenger  trains,  and  ultimately  the  most 
experienced  and  intelligent  men  are  selected 
to  drive  the  "  crack  "  expresses. 

The  most  scrupulous  attention  is  paid  to 
the  training  of  signalmen,  on  account  of  the 
difficult  and  highly  responsible  nature  of 
their  employment.  The  period  of  probation 
differs  according  to  the  importance  of  the 
posts  to  which  they  are  assigned,  but  no  ap- 
pointment of  a  man  to  the  charge  of  a  cabin 
is  confirmed  until  the  district  superintendent 
has  certified  the  candidate  to  possess  every 
needful  qualification,  including  freedom  from 
colour-blindness,  which  is  a  fatal  defect  in 
an  aspirant  for  promotion  in  the  operating 
department  of  a  railway.  The  guards  of 
passenger  trains  are  usually  chosen  from  the 
ranks  of  porters,  and  the  goods  guards,  or 
brakesmen,  from  amongst  shunters,  banks- 
men, and  men  of  that  class  ;  but  all  these 
men  are  subjected  to  careful  examination 
before  their  appointment  to  the  trains,  due 
regard  being  had  not  only  to  their  knowledge 
and  experience,  but  to  their  general  intelli- 
gence, capacity,  and  character. 

Every  railway  company  has  a  manual  of 
"  Rules  and  Regulations  to  be  observed  by 
all  pei-sons  in  the  Service,"  which  takes  the 
form  of  a  handy  volume  of  some  hundreds 
of  pages,  carefully  revised  from  time  to  time. 
A  copy  of  this  manual  is  supplied  to  every 
station-master,  inspector,  engine-driver,  fire- 
man, guard,  brakesman,  signalman,  policeman, 
ganger,  foreman,  shunter,  yardman,  and 
gateman,  and  also  to  every  clerk  and  porter 
connected  with  the  working  of  the  railway, 
and  he  is  required  to  have  it  with  him  when 
on  duty  and  produce  it  when  required.  He 
must  also,  of  course,  make  himself  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  contents,  as  he  is  held 
responsible  for  compliance  therewith,  and  in 
case  of  accident  or  other  mishap,  ignorance  or 


neglect  of  any  rule  contained  in  the  book 
entails  serious  consequences  upon  the  servant 
at  fault.  It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that 
the  task  of  mastering  the  contents  of  the 
rule-book  is  not  easy,  as  the  regulations  have 
necessarily  to  be  framed  to  meet  all  conceiv- 
able combinations  of  circumstances.  To 
meet  this  difficulty,  the  Great  Western  Rail- 
way Company  has  recently  established  classes 
at  all  important  centres  for  the  study  of 
railway  working  arrangements,  the  rule-book 
being  adopted  as  the  text -book  for  the 
students,  and  the  instructors  being  chonen 
from  amongst  the  officials  of  the  company 
who  are  best  acquainted  with  the  details 
of  railway  operation.  At  the  termination 
of  each  course,  an  examination  is  held,  and 
certificates  are  awarded  to  successful  students. 
The  equipment  of  the  classes  includes 
a  model  of  a  miniature  double-line  junction, 
with  signal-box,  signals,  points,  sidings, 
rolling-stock,  and  all  other  apparatus  in 
full  working  order,  and  constructed  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  company^s  latest  standards, 
so  that  actual  demonstrations  can  be  given  of 
the  conditions  provided  for  in  the  rule-book. 

Candidates  for  railway  clerkships  have  to 
undergo  an  entrance  examination  in  writing, 
spelling,  arithmetic,  etc.,  the  usual  age  for 
entering  the  service  by  this  door  being  about 
fifteen — ».«.,  immediately  after  leaving  school. 
Of  late  years  the  problem  of  gi\nng  oppor- 
tunities to  railway  clerks  to  acquire  know- 
ledge of  the  theory  of  railway  management, 
in  addition  to  what  they  am  pick  up  daily 
in  the  offices,  has  received  a  good  deal  of 
attention.  In  London,  lectures  have  been 
arranged  in  connection  with  the  London 
School  of  Economics  ;  in  Manchester,  under 
the  auspices  of  the  Faculty  of  Commerce  of 
the  Victoria  University  ;  and  at  Dublin,  in 
connection  with  the  Rathraines  School  of 
Commerce  ;  whilst  at  Cardiff,  York,  and  other 
centres,  lecture  and  discussion  societies  have 
been  formed  amongst  the  clerks  themselves, 
without  affiliation  to  any  teaching  body. 
The  directors  of  the  various  companies  are 
doing  all  they  can  to  encourage  this  healthy 
movement,  the  further  development  of  which 
is  very  necessary  if  the  avenue  is  to  be  kept 
open  by  which  in  the  past  many  railway 
clerks  have  risen  to  high  positions  in  the 
more  technical  and  responsible  grades  of 
the  service. 

In  addition  to  the  various  courses  of  training 
already  mentioned,  most  railway  etnploy^ 
who  care  to  do  so  can  obtain  instruction  in 
"  first  aid  "  and  ambulance  work  at  one  or 
other  of  the  numerous  "centres"  of   the 


RAILWAY  EMPLOYMENT. 


107 


St.  John  Ambiilanci!  Associutioii,  vrliicli  the 
diiectore  of  the  companies  have  nBBisted  that 
orgBDisation  to  establish  throughout  the 
kiugdom.  The  Great  Eastern,  for  example, 
has  DO  less  than  forty  such  centres  on  ite 
mtem,  aud  during  1904, 393  men  presented 
uiemaelvee  for  examination  for  certificates 
of  pruficiencj,  of  which  nnmber  360  satisfied 
the  examiners.  Competitions  between  ambu- 
laace  teams  representing  various  centres  are 
organised  b^  most  of  the  companies,  in  con- 
junction with  the  Chapter  of  the  Order  of 
St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  and  everf  year  an 
inter-railway  competition  is  held,  the  first 
prise  in  which  is  a  very  handsome  shield, 
p."?%nted  by  the  King  (when  Prince  of 
Wales)  and  the  Chapter,  in  celebration  of  the 
longest  reign  in  English  history.  Eight  of 
these  yearly  contestA  have  been  held  up  to 
the  time  of  writing,  and  on  no  less  than  four 
occasions  the  team  representing  the  Qreat 
Eastern  Railway  has  carried  off  the  trophy. 

In  many  cases,  as  is  well  known,  railway 
aen'ants  are  provided  with  their  working 
clothes.  The  nnmber  of  complete  uniforms 
Bnpplied  by  the  London  and  Korth-Westem 
Company  in  a  year  is  about  15,000,  which 
nmnber  does  not  include  those  grades  which 
are  only  partially  supplied  with  uniform 
clothing.  The  uniforms  of  railway  police- 
men, it  may  be  stated,  do  not  imply  any 
connection  with  the  r^nlar  constabulary, 
and  the  wearers  thereof  have  no  jurisdiction 
off  the  premises  of  the  companies  they 
serve. 

The  payment  of  their  wages  to  the  em- 
ployes of  a  great  railway  company  is  natur- 
ally a  difficult  business,  necessitating  great 


care  aud  systematic  checking.  The  principle 
most  carefully  observed  is  that  the  clerks 
who  compile  the  wages  biUs  and  abstracts 
shall  have  no  connection  with  the  pay-clerks 
who  handle  the  money.  In  some  of  the 
lai^e  workshops  mcclianical  timekeepers  are 
used,  by  means  of  which  the  men  themselves, 
as  they  enter  and  leave  the  works,  register 
the  time  for  which  they  are  entitled  to  be 
paid.  The  average  amount  paid  weekly  in 
wages  over  the  North-Western  system  is 
about  £87,000.  The  salaried  staff  of  this 
company  is  paid  monthly ;  of  some  others, 
fortnightly. 

Whilsti  as  above  stated,  railway  employ- 
ment has  the  great  attraction  of  permanency 
and  security  of  pay,  it  also  has,  so  far  as  the 
operating  staff  is  concerned,  a  sericua  draw- 
back— risk  of  accident.  It  is  fair  to  the 
authorities  to  say,  however,  that  more  than 
half  of  the  accidents  which  occur  on  railways 
are  found  by  the  Board  of  Trade  inspecting 
officers  to  be  due  to  want  of  common  care 
and  caution  on  the  part  of  the  sufferers 
therefrom.  Nor  is  railway  employment  by 
any  means  the  most  dangerous  occupation 
carried  on  amongst  us.  The  percentage  of 
fatal  accidents  amongst  miners  and  quarry- 
men  is  considerably  higher  than  amongst 
railway  servants,  and  the  risks  inciured  ny 
seamen  are  estimated  to  be  nearly  nine  times 
greater  than  those  of  railway  employes. 

In  next  mouth's  Windsor  I  intend  to 
deal  with  the  social  life  of  railway  ^m^Zo^^, 
with  special  reference  to  the  "railway  towns" 
which  exist  in  connection  with  tlie  great 
companies  such  as  Crewe,  Swindon,  Horwich, 
Wolverton,  and  Eastlcigh. 


By   JUSTUS    MILES  FORMAN.' 


"  "13 UT  I  don't  want  to  many  you,"  said 
Wy  the  gill,  "  I  don't  want  to  man? 
UDTone — nob  for  a  long  time,  that 
is.  Why  should  I  ?  It's  very  stupid,  I'm 
told,  and  one  can't  have  a  lot  of  other 
men  about,  for  fear  of  scandal.  Besides, 
it's  all  so  horribly  inexorable !  One  can't 
change  one's  mind  abont  it,  once  it's 
done ;  one's  life  is  ho  finally  cnt  oat  and 
nailed  down.  No,  I  don't  think  I  should 
like  it." 

"  It  is  reasonably  evident,"  said  Mr.  P^et, 
"that  you  have  never  been  in  love  with 
anyone," 

"  N'o,"  said  she,  "  I've  never  been  in  love 
with  anyone  —  not  really,  that  is,  I've 
fancied  a  lot  of  people,  and  flirted  with  them 
and  all,  but — no,  I've  never  loved  anyone,  I 
think.  Oh  ! "  she  cried  after  a  little,  "  if 
I  ever  should  love  anyone,  he'd  have  to  be  a 
1^,  though,  a  real  man  1  He'd  have  to  be 
bigger  Uian  the  people  about  him.  He'd  have 
to  have  done  bigger  things.     He'd  have  to 


have  a  braver  soul  and  a  greti^er  hearty 
and — and — oh  I  I've  dreamed  of  him  some- 
times! I  think  he's  living  somewhere,"  She 
raised  her  head  quickly,  looking  into  Piiget's 
eyes. 

"  Do  I  look  the  sort  to  many  a  common 
man,"  she  demanded^"  an  ordinary,  nice, 
domestic,  every-day  man  ? " 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Paget  gently,  and  shook 
his  head  with  a  little  sigh.  "  No,"  said  he 
again;  "you  look  the  sort  to  marry  a 
king." 

But  the  girl  left  her  chair  by  the  fireplace 
and  moved  restlessly  about  the  room,  touch 
ing  the  books  that  lay  on  a  little  bible 
near,  and  straightening  the  chairB  in  their 
places. 

"Why  should  I  marry  you,  of  all  people?" 
she  said,  with  acertain  resentment  in  lier  tone. 
"  What  are  you  that  other  men  aren't  ?  You 
tell  a  girl  that  you  love  her,  that  yon  love 
her  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world ; 
and  if  you  are  romantically  inclined,  you  go 
down  on  one  knee  and  tell  her  there's  nothing 
in  all  the  world  you  wouldn't  do  for  her. 
But  what  would  yon  really  do  ?  What  wonld 


110 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


any  of  you  properly  brought-up  men  do  ?    I 
tell  you  I'm  enmtyie  of  '  this  ghastly  thin- 
faced   time  of  ours.'    There's  no  genuine 
devotion    or    chivalry    left.       Love    is    a 
decorously  miid  emotion  nowadays.     It's  no 
longer  a  reckless  passion.    Once,  when  a  man 
loved  a  girl,  he  tied  a  glove  or  ribbon  of  hers 
about  his  arm,  and  went 
oat  to  do  something  fine, 
just  by  way  of  proving 
tliat    be    loved    her   as 
much  as  he  said  he  did. 
Now  ho  doesn't  do  any- 
thing  bub  say   it.      He 
doesn't  storm  castles  or 
kill   brigands  or  win       ' 
tournaments  for  the  gill's 
sake !  he  seuds  her  flowers 
and    gives    her   cotillon 
favours.     How  is  a  girl 
going  to  know  that  he's 
telling   the  truth  ?     He 
can't  or  won't  prove  it. 

How    is    she   going    to 

know  ? " 
She    turned    towards 

him  for  an  instant  with 
a  little  laugh,  a  certain 

softening  of  the  face. 

"  Ah  !  don't  think  T  f" 

am  trying  to  be  nasty," 

said  siie ;   "don't  think 

I'm  silly  aud  absurd, 

though  perhaps    1    am. 

It's   such  a   big   thing, 

isn't  it,  this  loving  and 

marrying  ?    It  means  all 

one's    life,    doesn't    it  ?  ^ 

Oue  must  be  very  certain, 

I  should  think.     I— like 

you — tremendously.  Yon 

know  that,  don't  you  ? 

Sometimes    I     think    I 

could — ^  marry    you    and 

be  very  happy.      You've 

many  of  the  things  abont 

you  that  the  man  I  love         "To""™^ 

must  have.     Perhaps  akinc,'" 

you've  them  all.     Once 

or  twice  I've  thought  so 

— but     I     don't     kiiow. 

How  can  I  know  ?  What 

would  you  do  for  me  to  prove  that  yon'\'e 

been  telling  the  truth,  that  I'm  deaiest  to 

you  ? " 

"  Anything,"  said  young  Mr.  Paget  simply. 

"  Anything  in  the  world."  But  the  girl  turned 

away  from  him  with  a  little  exclamaticu  of 

imf»tience. 


"  Ah  t  that  is  what  they  all  say,"  said  she. 

"  It's  so  easy  and  indefinite.     '  Anything ! '  ' 

She  went  over  to  one  of  the  long  French 

windows  and  stood  there  with  ber  fingers 

beating  idly  against  the  glass. 

From  the  window  at  which  she  stood  one 
saw  the  great  semicircle  of  glaciers  aud  snow- 
peaks    from     the    Dent 
d'Aigent  on  the  left  to 
the  Drei  Briidem  on  the 
right.    Just  beyond  the 
gardens  of  the  little  villa 
the  yellow  glacier  stream 
.      that   is  called  the  KaU 
,     plnnged  down  the  vbUct 
/     towards  the  village,  with 
its    hotels   and    carred 
wood  booths  below,  and 
across  the   Eatz    the 
meadows,  green    and 
dotted  with  ch&Mg,  rose 
swiftly  to  the  snowfields 
that   seemed    almost  to 
hang  over  one's  head. 

The  valley  was  already 
in  evening  shadow,  but 
the  great  peaks  gleamed 
rose  and  saffron,  blue  aud 
gold,   from    the   hidden 
^     sun.     Montparnasae,  the 
Oima  di  Sant'  Agata,  the 
Kaiserhorn,    the    three- 
headed     Briidem  ;    and, 
against     their     dazzling 
glory,  black  and  sinister 
and  evil,  the  Aiguille  da 
Damn^,  a  mere  spear- 
head  of  rock,  rent  and 
fissured    and    worn,    so 
Bt«ep  that  only  a  litJJe 
snow  might  cling  to  its 
flanks.      It  was  shaped 
like  the  Matterhom,  but 
sharper,  with  less  bulk, 
and  it  rose  like  a  dark 
and  slightly  crooked 
finger    from    the    great 
field  of  virgin  snow  above 
the  Sant'  Agata  glat.'ier. 
A  very  long  time  ago, 
when    Huss    and    his 
followers  were   rampant 
in  the  land,  certain  prieate  of   the  Roman 
Church,  being  hunted  up  the   valley,  and 
Bfl  far  as  the  little  village,  lost  heart   and 
recanted.     But  afterwards,  being  overcome 
by  horror   for  what   they  had   done,   and 
certain  of    eternal  damnation,   went  quite 
mad  and  fled  to  the  mountains,  where,  some 


BONDAGE, 


111 


weeks  later,  their  bodies  were  found  on 
the  slopes  of  the  spearhead  of  rock  above 
the  Sant'  Agata  glacier.  Wherefore  the 
eril-looking  peak  took  its  name,  Aiguille  des 
Damn^,  and  was  for  ever  reported  haunted. 
Even  to-daj  it  is  impossible  to  find  a  guide 
in  the  valley  who  will  venture  the  ascent  of 
the  Xeedle.  Once  a  party  of  Englishmen, 
climbing  with  two  strange  guides  from  Zer- 
matt,  fell,  some  distance  from  the  top,  and 
were  duly  buried.  Again,  a  certain  Altesse 
from  Vienna  met  the  same  prompt  end.  But 
a  Frenchman,  climbing  with  but  one  imported 
guide,  was  said  to  have  planted  a  small  1^  rench 
banner  in  a  cleft  at  the  summit.  The  tricolour 
was  seen,  through  glasses,  by  the  party  which 
found  the  remains  of  the  Frenchman  and 
his  guide  some  distance  above  the  glacier. 
They  had  fallen  something  over  a  thousand 
feet  on  the  descent. 

The  girl  stood  for  a  long  time  by  the 
window,  beating  her  finger-tips  against  the 
glass,  and  staring  out  at  the  pearly  snows  to 
the  west ;  and  young  Paget  watched  her,  and 
the  great  love  that  he  bore  her  beat  in  his 
breast  and  swelled  there,  shaking  him  from 
head  to  foot  with  a  mingled  delight  in  her 
wonderful  beauty,  and  utter  wretchedness 
for  that  the  wonderful  beauty  was  as  far  out 
of  his  reach  as  the  rainbow  snows  on  Sant' 
Agata  yonder. 

She  was  very  tall  and  of  a  sumptuous 
figure,  for  she  was  not  a  particularly  young 
girl,  quite  three-  or  four-and-twenty.  She 
had  the  dark  type,  with  a  great  deal  of  black 
hair,  and  an  olive  skin  that  tanned  in  summer 
to  golden  tints,  very  lovely.  And  she  had 
ey€«  of  a  green-brown,  great  even  for  her 
type,  and  changing  strangely  in  colour  with 
her  mood — full  of  shadows.  For  a  mouth 
like  hers  men  have  died.  Further,  she  had 
a  certain  slow  grace  of  movement,  quite 
Southern,  for  her  mother  had  been  Italian- 
one  of  the  Borromei. 

Then,  all  at  once,  as  she  stood  looking  out 
&t  the  snows  and  at  the  evil  black  finger 
drawn  sharply  against  their  whiteness,  she 
broke  into  a  scornful  little  laugh. 

**  Anything  ? "  she  asked,  turning  a  bit 
towards  the  man. 

**  Anything,"  said  young  Mr.  Paget 
gravely. 

"Bring  me  the  tricolour  from  the  top 
of  the  Aiguille  des  Damnes,"  said  the  girl, 
with  a  certain  sparkle  of  interest  in  her 
eyes. 

Young  Paget  looked  at  her  under  lowered 
brows. 
"  Do  you  mean  that  ?  "  said  he,  after  a 


moment.   "  You'd  actually  send  me  up  there 
—to  the  top  of  the  Needle  ?  " 

"Did  you  mean  *  anything'?"  inquired 
the  girl,  still  laughing  gently,  "or  did  you 
mean  *  anything  '  with  reservations  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  meant  it  right  enough ! "  said 
young  Paget,  nodding.  "  Fll  go — or  try  to 
go,  if  you  ask  me  to.  It's  believed  to  be 
certain  death,"  he  said  presently.  "  Xo 
one  has  come  down  alive.  You  can't  get  a 
guide  to  try  the  climb  for  love  or  money." 

"  Ah  I  "  said  she.     "  A  bit  afraid  ?  " 

There  was  a  short  laugh  from  young 
Paget. 

"No,"  said  she,  "  not  afraid,  I  expect;  just 
discreet."  But  Mr.  Paget  looked  her  in  the 
eyes  so  steadily  that  after  a  time  she  turned 
her  gaze  away  and  fell  once  more  to  staring 
out  of  the  window  and  beating  upon  the 
glass  with  her  finger-tips. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  it's  all  very  mad," 
said  she  resentfully,  "very  mad  and  theatrical 
and  reckless.  I  suppose  you're  thinking  that 
I  am  like  the  woman  in  the  poem,  the  woman 
who  threw  her  glove  down  among  the  lions 
and  dared  her  lover  to  fetch  it.  Well,  maybe 
I  am  like  her.  Maybe  I  am  mad  and  reck- 
less. Do  you  think  I  want  you  to  be  killed, 
that  I  send  you  on  such  an  errand  ?  Ah !  I 
don't,  I  don't !  But  if  you're  the  right  man, 
you  won't  be  killed.  It's  a  test  of  you,  can't 
you  see  ?  If  you're  willing  to  risk  your  life 
for  me,  you're  worth  loving.  If  you're  not 
willing,  you're  like  all  the  other  men  of  these 
times, of  ours,  full  of  brave  words,  but  craven 
inside.  Ah,  yes!  I  dare  say  I'm  mad.  Pro- 
bably you'd  best  not  go.  Probably  I'm  not 
worth  the  risk." 

Young  Mr.  Paget  took  a  few  steps  towards 
the  door.  He  was  smiling  a  little,  and  his 
bearing  seemed  greatly  to  have  changed. 
There  was  none  of  the  surge  and  swell  of 
love  in  him  now,  none  of  the  signs  of  love 
on  his  face,  only  a  certain  quiet  determina- 
tion, a  quiet  confidence  that  somehow  became 
him. 

"  I  don't  know."  said  he  thoughtfully, 
"  how  long  the  thing  should  take  me.  I'm 
rather  afraid  I  shan't  be  able  to  get  even 
one  guide,  for  they're  all  foolish  about  the 
Needle.  If  I  have  to  go  alone,  it  will  be  a 
bit  more  complicated.  Still,  I  should  say  in 
about  three  days  at  the  most,  you  shall  have 
the  tricolour,  Miss  Eliot,  except  in  one  event. 
Ah !  now,  I  expect  I  must  go  and  dress 
for  dinner.  Lady  Billy  hates  to  have  us 
late." 

But  the  girl  came  swiftly  across  the  room 
to  him  and  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm  to 


112 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


check  him.  The  arm  shook  a  very  little 
under  her  touch. 

"  You — ^you're  reallj — going  ? "  she  said, 
in  a  wondering  tone,  and  her  eyes,  very  wide 
and  dark,  searched  his  face.  "  You're  really 
— going  up  that  peak  .^  You're  going  to  risk 
your — your  life  because  I  asked  you  to  ?  Are 
yeu  actually  serious  ?  " 

Young  Paget's  eyebrows  rose  a  trifle. 

"  Going  ?  "  said  he  coldly.  "  Going  ?  I 
thought  that  was  understood.  Yes — oh,  yes, 
I'm  going." 

But  the  girl  seemed  not  to  hear  him.  Her 
eyes  still  searched  his  face,  very  wide  and 
shadowy,  and  her  cheeks  had  flushed  a  bit. 

"  But  you  may  be — you  may  never  come 
back  alive  ! "  said  she  in  her  wondering  half- 
whisper. 

"  That  is  most  probable,"  said  Mr.  Paget 
dbmposedly.  "  We  shall  be  late  for  dinner 
if  we  don't  look  sharp." 

The  girl's  hand  dropped  from  his  arm  and 
her  eyes  from  his  eyes. 

"You're — ^a  very  brave — man,"  said  she 
under  her  breath.  "  I — didn't  know — I 
didn't  understand.  You're  a  very  brave — 
man,"  said  she  again.  "  If  you  are  killed,  I 
shall  probably  die,  too.  Somehow,  I  think 
you'll  come  back — with  the  tricolour.  It 
seems  more  like  you.  I  didn't — understand." 

She  turned  slowly  back  to  her  window,  not 
meeting  his  eyes  again,  and  stared  out  at  the 
paling  snows  and  at  the  sinister,  black  finger 
crooked  against  them. 

"  You  shall  have  the  tricolour.  Miss  Eliot," 
said  young  Paget  once  more,  and  went  very 
quietly  out  of  the  room. 

But  just  outside  the  door,  in  the  dim  light 
of  the  hall,  he  ran  into  and  nearly  bowled 
over  Miss  Janet  McCleod,  who  was  one  of 
his  fellow-guests  at  the  villa,  a  little  Scots 
girl  with  jolly  eyes  and  a  jolly  smile  and  an 
angel's  voice,  and  withal  one  of  the  best 
mountain-climbers  in  Switzerland — a  born 
climber,  not  made. 

The  girl  seized  Paget  by  the  arm  and 
dragged  him  into  the  light. 

"I  heard  the  last  part  of  what  you  two 
were  saying  in  there,"  said  she.    "  I  listened." 

"  That  wasn't  at  all  nice  of  you,"  said 
young  Paget  severely.  "  Not  at  all  nice.  I 
shaU  tell  Lady  BiUy." 

But  the  girl  shook  her  head  anxiously, 
looking  up  into  his  face,  and  held  still  to 
his  arm. 

"  Never  mind  all  that,"  said  she.  "  That 
doesn't  matter.  I  heard — her  dare  you  to 
go  up  the  Needle  after  that  silly  little  flag, 
just  to  satisfy  her  silly  little — no,  it  isn't  little 


— vanity.      So  I   listened.      I   knew 
you'd  do.      You're  going,   aren't  you?    I 
heard  you  say  so." 

"  Yes,"  said  Paget ;  "  oh,  yes,  I'm  going, 
Janet." 

"  In  spite  of  the  danger  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  in  spite  of  the  danger. 
I  shall  probably  not  come  back." 

The  girl  turned  her  face  away  very 
quickly,  and  her  hand  tightened,  all  at  once, 
upon  his  arm. 

'*  You — love  her  as — as  much  as— that  ? " 
she  said  presently,  very  low.  But  Mr.  P^et 
made  no  answer,  and  she  did  not  ask  again. 

Then,  after  a  moment,  she  looked  up  onoe 
more,  giving  a  little  tug  at  his  arm,  as  if  she 
would  recall  his  wandering  attention. 

"Listen!"  she  said  swiftly.  "That's 
settled,  then.  You're  going  to  try  to  make 
that  climb,  and  it  will  be  hard  work.  I  want 
yon  to  let  me  help.  Do  you  understand? 
I  want  to  make  the  ascent  with  you." 

"  You — you  want  to  make  the  ascent  with 
me  ?  You  !  "  he  cried,  with  a  little,  incredu- 
lous laugh.  "  You  go  up  that  peak,  indeed ! 
1  should  think  not— let  me  go,  child,  I  must 
dress  for  dinner." 

"Wait,"  said  the  girl  eagerly.  "Jnst 
wait  a  bit.  There's  no  hurry  about  dinner. 
Why  shouldn't  I  go  with  you  1  I'm  not 
such  a  bad  climber,  am  I  .^  I'm  no  novice, 
am  I  ?  " 

"  You're  almost  the  best  climber  I  ever 
knew,"  said  he.  "  You're  a  bom  climber. 
But  I  tell  you  that  peak  is  another  matter. 
It's  almost  certain  death.  I  shan't  be  able 
to  find  a  guide,  in  the  first  place,  and  it's  too 
dangerous,  anyhow.  Indeed,  you  shan't  go." 
He  peered  down  curiously  into  her  face  with 
puzzled  eyes.  "What  do  you  want  to  go 
for?"  he  demanded.  "Why  should  yon 
risk  your  life — probably  lose  it  ?  Where  do 
you  come  into  tne  thing,  anyhow  ?  " 

But  the  girl  shook  her  brown  head  and 
would  not  meet  his  eyes. 

"  Never  mind  why  I  want  t»o  go,"  said  she. 
"Maybe  I'd  like  to  do  something  really 
difficult.  Maybe  I've  a  fancy  to  see  if  the 
peak  is  really  uncanny.  Maybe— oh,  never 
mind  why  I  want  to  go.  No,  of  course  I 
don't  come  into  the  thing.  I  know  that 
well  enough.  Still — well,  still,  I'd  like  to 
help  bring  that  tricolour  down.  Please  lei 
me  go.  Jack.  I  could  help,  really.  We're 
lK;th  experts,  and  two  experts  are  better  than 
one.  No  one  person  can  climb  a  difficult 
mountain.     It's  impossible." 

"  Well,  one  person  is  going  to  climb  this 
one,"  said  Paget  stubbornly.     "You  shan't 


gu,  Janet.  Yoa*re  a  dear,  and  I'd  like  to 
take  you,  bnt  I  won't  let  yon  throw  away 
yonr  life  in  any  such  casnal  fashion.  Yon'll 
come  to  an  end  soon  enough  on  the  Lyakamm 


"Wbcre  jamg  FDhrer  nt  imokJDg  his  pipe 


or  the  Eiger,  or  Bome  of  those.     You  shan't 
go,  and  that's  all  there  a  of  it." 

"Oh,    very   well,"  said   the  girl.      "Be 
nasty  nbout  it  if  you  like.     I  shan't  quarrel 


with  you.  Only — "  said  she,  as  vonng  Paget 
started  up  the  stairs—"  try  the  younger 
Fuhrer,  Johann  Fiihrer,  when  yon  look  for 
your  guide.  He's  not  so  silly  about  the 
Needle  as  some  of  the  others.  He  went 
half-way  up  once.  And — well,  I  don't  think 
the  peak  is  half  so  difficult  as  they  say.  I 
think  all  the  talk  is  just  because  the  guides 
and  the  vill^ers  are  superstitious.  I've 
looked  at  it  from  the  arete  at  the  base  of  the 
peak,  and  it  seemed  quite  possible.  Just 
remember  that." 

On  the  second  day  after  this,  very  early  in 
the  moming^before  it  was  light,  indeed — 
young  P^et  came  downstairs  into  the  lower 
hall,  pulling  the  coil  of  rope  closer  over  hia 
shoulders,  and  adjusting  the  ice-axe  which 
hung  at  his  belt.  He  had — thanks  to  Janet 
MoCleod's  hint— at  last  found  a  guide,  the 
young  Fiihrer,  who  made  pretence  of  scorn- 
ing the  general  superstition  attached  to  the 
Needle.  And  he  bad  planned,  in  a  rough 
way,  the  rout«  he  meant  to  attempt  from  the 
Sant'  Agata  glacier  to  the  summit  of  the  peak. 
He  calculated  that  the  ascent  from  the  glacier 
should  take  a  matter  of  four  hours,  and  the 
descent  as  long.  To  reach  the  glacier  from 
the  Katz  valley,  one  cUmbed  a  wooded  slope 
and  a  dry  watercourse  for  an  hour  or  more. 

Someone  was  waiting  in  the  shadows  of  the 
lower  hall. 

"Janet,"  said  young  Pi^t  severely,  "what 
are  you  doing  in  climbing  things  at  this 
hour  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  make  an  ascent,"  said  the 
girl,  turning  a  sullen  countenance. 

"  Well,  if  you  think  you're  going  with  me," 
continued  Mr.  P^et,  "  you  might  as  well  go 
back  to  bed.     I  won't  have  you  along." 

"Then  I'll  follow,"  said  she;  "and  you 
can't  stop  me.  I'll  follow  and  probably  be 
killed.  You'd  best  be  sensible  about  it  and 
take  me  along.  You  needn't  talk  any  non- 
sense about  my  being  in  the  way  or  hindering 
or  anything,  for  I'm  a  better  climber  than 
you,  and  you  know  it.  If  I  didn't  think 
three  people  stood  a  better  chance  of  making 
the  summit  than  two,  I'd  stop  at  home.  I 
want  to  help  bring  down  that  tricolour." 

Mr.  Paget  said  several  things  under  his 
breath  which  the  girl  anxiously  endeavoured 
to  hear,  but  with  poor  success.  Then  they 
went  out  through  the  gardens  of  the  viUa  and 
into  the  narrow  street,  where  young  Fuhrer 
sat  anioking  his  pipe  and  waiting.  At  the 
outergate  Paget  turned  for  an  instant  to  look 
back  through  the  dim  lialf -light,  and  ashutter 
in  the  upper  part  of  the  vil£  clicked. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  the  three  reached 


114 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


the  top  of  the  wooded  slope  above  the  valley 
and  set  foot  upon  the  twisted  glacier,  and 
twenty  minutes  later  when  they  put  on  the 
ropes  and  unslung  their  ice-axes  at  the  base 
of  the  Aiguille  des  Damn^. 

Now,  there  is  an  article  among  the  laws  of 
mountain  climbing  which  says :  If  you  become 
frightened  or  suffer  a  shock  early  in  the  day's 
climbing,  go  back  to  your  hotel  and  read  a 
book,  for  your  nerve  will  be  shaken  for  the 
whole  day,  and  your  confidence  clean  de- 
stroyed. 

Young  Fiihrer,  the  guide,  had,  in  spite  of 
bravado,  undertaken  a  thing  which  he  knew 
no  one  of  his  fellows  in  the  valley  would 
have  dared,  and  it  is  to  by  supposed  that  his 
nerves  were  rather  keenly  on  q^^q^  ill-pre- 
pared to  withstand  a  shock.  Half  an  hour 
above  the  glacier,  during  a  bit  of  very  nasty 
rock-climbing,  he  slipped  and  fell  down  a 
cJiemines  to  the  length  of  his  rope.  He  was 
not  hurt,  merely  bruised  a  little,  but  his 
nerve  was  quite  gone,  and  at  the  end  of 
another  half -hour  Paget  un  roped  him  and 
sent  him  back  alone  to  the  village. 

"  You'd  best  go  with  him,  Janet,"  said 
Paget.     "  I'd  rather  go  on  alone." 

But  the  girl  set  her  teeth  and  dug  her 
heels  stubbornly  into  the  tiny  shelf  where 
they  stood. 

*'  I  won't  go,"  she  cried,  "  and  that's  all 
there  is  of  it.  It's  no  good  your  talking. 
If  you  go  on  up,  I  go  with  you." 

"  You're  a  trump  I  "  said  young  Paget, 
with  a  certain  sparkle  in  his  eyes.  "  And  a 
dear,"  he  said  an  hour  later,  when  she  had 
very  cleverly  saved  his  life  on  a  snow-saddle. 

The  girl  sniffed. 

"  I  could  teach  you  a  lot  about  climbing, 
anyhow,"  she  said  rudely. 

The  route  which  Paget  had  chosen  for  his 
attempt  ascended  the  northern  face  of  the 
peak.  It  followed  a  tortuous  and  irregular 
couloir y  snow-filled,  which  zigzagged  from 
base  to  summit.  As  matters  turned  out,  it 
proved  far  the  easiest  route  which  could  have 
Deen  picked,  for  snow-climbing,  which  at  its 
worst  is  but  a  matter  of  cutting  steps,  is 
practically  as  safe  for  two  people  roped 
together  as  for  three,  while  the  scaling  of 
precipitous  and  overhanging  rock  is  often 
downright  impossible  for  less  than  three 
climbers.  The  snow  in  the  great  crevasa  was 
old  and  firm  and,  since  it  faced  the  north, 
unweakened  by  the  sun.  There  were  many 
steep  slopes  where  steps  must  be  cut,  and 
not  a  few  moments  of  imminent  peril,  but 
both  Paget  and  the  girl  were  experts  and 
had  solved  in  their  time  a  score  of  harder 


problems.  Indeed,  as  the  girl  had  predicted, 
the  peak  was  vastly  overrated  through  its 
sinister  history  and  the  superstition  of  the 
villagers. 

They  halted  for  an  hour,  towards  noon,  on 
a  little  snow-plateau  sheltered  from  the  wind 
by  a  buttress  of  rock,  and  they  ate  the  food 
which  Paget  had  brought  in  his  knapsack, 
and  drank,  each,  a  little  brandy  from  his  fiask. 

Above  them  the  peak  soared  black  and 
smooth  and  free  from  snow  to  its  crest.  It 
should  be  less  than  an  hour's  work,  bat 
terribly  difficult,  since  there  were  but 
straggling  crevices  for  a  finger-hold,  and 
scattered  bosses  of  rock  for  one's  foot.  The 
wind,  as  always  on  a  mountain-top,  tore 
past  in  a  silent,  fierce  gale,  bitter  cold  and 


unceasing. 


Young  Paget  unfastened  the  rope  from  the 
girl's  waist  and  wrapped  it  carefully  about 
him. 

"Here  I  go  alone,  Janet," said  he.  "You'll 
wait  for  me.     Two  can't  climb  that  spear." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  little  sigh.  "  Yes, 
you  go  alone  now.  I  can  help  no  longer. 
Be  careful.  Jack.  Oh,  be  careful  I  Don't 
forget  the  wind.  Yes,  I'll  wait  here  in  the 
shelter."  She  turned  a  little  wav  from  him, 
not  meeting  his  eyes,  but  young  Paget  put 
out  his  two  hands,  red  and  rough  and  torn 
from  the  day's  work,  and  took  her  face  be- 
tween them,  looking  down  into  it  with  his 
grave  smile.  And  the  face  went  i-ed  and 
white  by  turns. 

"  If  it— comes,  child,"  said  he,  "  it  must 
come  now.     I  think  I  shall  do  the  trick,  but 

if  not Nonsense  !     I  shall  do  it    Oh, 

Janet,  child,  you're  the  bravest  little  girl 
that  ever  smiled  -  and  the  dearest !  Do  you 
know,  I  think  I  see  a  great  lot  of  things 
differently  up  here.  One  does  on  a 
mountain-top.      Perhaps  I've  been  a  fool, 

Janet— I  wonder Ah,  yes  !    I  see   a 

lot  of  things  differently." 

*'  Do  you  ?  "  she  cried  very  low.  "  Ah  I 
do  you  ?  "  and  the  hands  shook  that  she 
lifted  to  his  arm. 

Then  all  at  once,  before  he  realised  what 
he  was  doing,  young  Paget  bent  forward,  still 
holding  her  head  between  his  two  hands,  and 
kissed  her,  and  the  girl  broke  from  him  with 
a  little  sobbing  laugh  and  dropped  down 
beside  the  sheltering  rock,  covering  her  face 
with  her  arms. 

A  moment  later  he  began  the  final  ascent. 
slow  and  careful,  but  ready  with  all  his  great 
strength  for  a  moment's  need,  flattened 
against  the  rock,  fingers  searching  ever  for 
a  safe  hold,  and  foot  following  them. 


'  I  think  i  Me  B  gnat  lot  ot  tbings  diffenntlj  ap  hen.' " 


116 


THE   WINDSOR  ilAGAZTXE. 


And,  aft«r  a  little,  the  girl  raised  lier  bead 
from  her  arms  aud  crept  a  bit  oat  from  Uer 
shelter  to  watch.  Shu  made  no  sound — 
seemed  scarcely  to  breathe — called  ont  no 
advice  for  the  wind  to  bear  away— only 
watched. 

But  presently  she  hid  her  face  again  with 
a  sudden,  low,  tierce  cry,  and  something  came 
slipping  and  scraping  down  the  dark  rock, 
twisting  as  it  fell,  and  dropped  heavily  beside 
her  in  liie  snow. 

-For  one  awful  moment  every  muscle  in 
her  iHxiy  waa  paralysed,  helpless,  and  her 
brain  burned  with  fire,  Imt  in  the  next  she 
was  cool  and  ready  and  swift.  Paget  had 
left  his  knapsack  beside  the  shelter.  She  tore 
it  open  with  quick  fingers  and  found  the  half- 
emptied  flask.  Then  she  turned  the  man  upon 
his  back— he  had  fallen  on  one  side -and 
forced  some  of  the  spirit— nearly  all  of  it- 
between  his  set  teeth.  Also  slie  raised  his 
head  a  little  upon  her  knees  and  fell  to  chafing 
his  brow  and  wriste.  He  was  not  much 
bniised,  only  bis  bands,  somewhat,  and  one 
cheekbone  where  it  had  scraped  against  the 
rock  in  falling.  The  ellwws  of  his  jacket  were 
a  bit  torn,  and  the  knees  of  bis  breeches. 

And  after  a  few  momenta  he  began  to  stir, 
and  his  lips  to  move  ;  and  presently  he  sat  np, 
winking  and  Htariii;;,  for  he  bad  been  only 
stunned,  and  not  actually  hurt  at  all. 

"Thank  God  !  "  said  the  girl  in  a  little 
shaking  voice.  "  Oh,  thank  God  I  I  thought 
— I  thought  you  were— done  for,  Jack !  " 
She  pulled  his  head  back  upon  her  knce» 
aud  rubbed  it  gently  with  a  bit  of  snow, 
holding  the  snow  against  it  so  that  he  might 
feel  the  cold  ;  and  after  a  few  momenta  be 
Btnigjslcd  to  bis  feet,  putting  away  her  re- 
straining hand,  and  walked  about,  slretching 
his  bruised  arms  and  stamping  on  the  hard 
snow  to  make  sure  that  bo  bad  taken  no 
harm. 

He  laughed  a  little,  turning  towards  her 
where  she  sat  huddled  against  the  rock 
shelter. 

"  Close  call,  that,  child  !  "  said  he.  And 
he  frowned  down  at  her,  moving  his  head 
experimentally  from  side  to  side. 

"  Did  you  give  me  much  of  tliat  cognac  ? " 
he  demanded.  "  Jly  head's  all  swimming — 
most  scandalous  !  "  He  laughed  ^aiu  rather 
foolishly.  Indeed  he  had  hod,  during  the 
hour,  nearly  the  whole  of  a  lan?e  flask  of 
liqueur  brandy. 

"Now,  then!"  he  cried.  "Now  for  it 
again !     This  time  I  do  the  trick ! " 

The  girl  started  up  with  a  frightened  cry. 

"  No,  no,"  she  b^ged.     "  Ah,  no,  Jack  I 


'-  He  lay  ptuting  and  lircntlileM." 

yon — mustn't  1  You'll  be  killed  !  I  won't 
let  you  go.  Not  again.  For  my  sake,  not 
^ain  I " 

But  he  pushed  her  rudely  away  and  turned 
to  the  steep  slope. 

"  Lemme  'lone!"  said  he.  "Lemme 
'lone !  Wha'd'you  mean  by  interferin'  ? 
"S  all  right.     Safe  enough.     iJemme  'lone ! " 

It  never  occurred  to  her  that  he  was  half 
drunk.  8he  thought  that  the  fall  had  made 
his  head  a  bit  queer.  Indeed,  it  was  doubt- 
less half  the  fall  and  half  the  brandy. 

.She  dropped  back  upon  the  snow, 
frightened  at  his  fierce  eyes,  and  crouched 
there  once  more,  watching. 

Then  began  the  most  wondei-ful  feat  of 
climbing  that  she  liad  ever  seen,  probably 
one  of  the  most  wonderful  that  ever  iivas 
accomplished.  For  the  man  seemed  literally 
to  crawl  up  the  side  of  the  wind-swept  rodt 
with  an  incredible  swiftness,  careless  of  hand 
and  foot,  rising  where  there  appeared  no 
hold  at  all. 

Half-cra7^  men  endowed  witli  the  sublime 
confidence  of  dnmkenness  have  done  mar* 
vcllous  acts  of  reckless  daring,  have  gone 
whei-c  no  sober  human  being  would  venture, 
and  have  come  forth  quite  unharmed. 

This  is  altogether  natural,  for  a  man  st  a 
cert^iin  stage  of  intoxication  sees  no  danger ; 
and  once  rid  of  the  sense  of  peril,  any  of  os 
could  jierform  wonders. 

It  seemed  to  young  Paget  that  mountain- 
climbing  bad  all  at  once  become  moA 
ridiculously  easy  -  {(uite  absurd.  He  fitted 
his  lingers  into  the   tiny  crevices  of    the 


BONDAGE, 


117 


scarred  rock  and  drew  himself  up  to  a  foot- 
hold. If  there  was  no  crevice  within  reach, 
he  leaped  for  one,  and  laughed  at  the 
aocanicj  with  which  it  slid  down  to  meet  his 
hand.  He  had  a  strong  desire  to  sing,  bnt 
battled  with  it,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that 
singing  would  be  a  bit  out  of  place. 

Ue  thought  he  might  have  been  climbing 
about  five  minutes — in  reality  it  was  half  an 
hoar,  when  at  last  he  pulled  himself  over  an 
ontwardlv  inclined  ledge  to  a  little  sloping 
plateau,  and  knew  that  he  was  on  the  summit 
of  the  Aiguille  des  Daumes. 

He  lav  panting  and  breathless  for  a  few 
moments,  sobered  a  trifle  by  his  exertion, 
and  then  crawled  across  the  summit,  where 
the  wind  tore  viciously  by. 

In  one  place  the  I'ock  was  broken  and 
crumbled  in  a  deep  fissure,  and  a  bit  of  snow 
had  lodged  there.  Something  red  and  blue 
gleamed  under  the  snow,  and  Paget  thrust 
down  a  hand  with  a  choking  cry.  It  was 
the  Frenchman's  banner,  a  little  silken  i^hing 
six  inches  by  twelve,  faded  and  stained  and 
tattered  by  that  ever-blowing  wind,  but 
cUnging  bravely  to  its  tiny  staff. 

lU)uug  Paget  thrust  the  thing  into  an 
inner  pocket  of  his  jacket.  Then,  after  a 
moment,  he  pulled  it  out  again. 

"  No,"  said  he.  "  He  was  a  brave  man 
and  a  gallant  climber,  that  Frenchman.  It's 
his  monument — sort  of."  He  took  his 
pocket-knife  and  cut  off  a  narrow  strip  of 
the  tattered  silk — red,  blue,  and  white.  Then 
he  fixed  the  little  staff  firmly  in  the  crevice 
again^  and  put  the  strip  away  in  his  pocket. 

At  the  edge  of  the  summit  he  looked  over 
and  down.  He  could  see  the  tiny  plateau 
far  below,  150  feet — 200  possibly — ^and  the 
girl  huddled  at  one  side  of  it.  He  could  see 
the  almost  perpendicular  face  of  rock  up 
which  he  had  climbed,  but  the  brandy  still 
swam  in  his  brain,  and  the  sight  filled  him 
with  no  terror.  He  started  the  descent  with 
all  his  old  buoyant  confidence. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  between  five 
and  six,  when  the  two  crossed  the  Sant' 
Agata  glacier  and  reached  the  top  of  the 
wooded  slope  that  hangs  over  the  Katz 
valley.  They  sat  down  to  rest  for  a  few 
minntes,  and  young  Paget  unfastened  the 
ropes  and  coiled  them  over  his  shoulder. 
The  girl  wearily  laid  her  head  back  against 
the  tnink  of  a  tree  and  dropped  her  hands 
into  her  lap. 

She  raised  her  eyes  from  the  valley,  and 
they  rested  upon  the  man  before  her. 

"Ah,  well!"  she  said,  "you've  done  it, 
Jack. 


"  And  now  you  can  keep  your  word,  can't 
you  ?  Now  you  can  take  the  tricolour  to — 
to  A«r,  and  say :  *  Here's  the  proof  of  how 
much  I  love  you.  Here's  the  proof  that  I've 
put  my  life  into  the  deadliest  peril  to  gratify 
your  whim.'  Then  she'll  be  pleased,  I  ex- 
pect, and  you — why,  you'll  be  very,  very 
happy,  won't  you  ?  " 

Young  Paget  rose  to  his  feet  from  the 
fallen  tree  and  took  the  little  strip  of 
tattered  silk  from  his  inner  pocket. 

"  A  brave  man  set  this  nag  up  yonder," 
said  he,  "and  a  fool  brought  it  down — a  silly 
fool,  a  most  pitiful  fool ;  but  he'll  be  a  fool 
no  longer.  I'm  going  to  tear  this  up, 
Janet.  Do  you  hear  ?  We've  been  on  a 
climb  to  the  Briidern,  do  you  understand  ? 
We've  not  been  near  the  Aiguille  des 
Damn6s.  We  never  seriously  thought  of  it 
for  a  moment.  I'm  going  to  tear  this 
thing  up." 

But  the  girl  sprang  to  his  side  with  a 
sudden  cry  and  caught  his  arm. 

"  Tear  it  up  ?  "  she  said.  "  No,  no  !  ah, 
no !  You're  not  going  to  tear  it  up.  Do 
you  know  what  you're  going  to  do  ?  You're 
going  down  to  the  villa,  where— s^^  is  wait- 
ing, and  you're  going  to  throw  :hat  bit  of 
silk  at  her  feet,  and  say  what  you've  just 
said — that  a  brave  man  put  it  on  the  Needle's 
summit,  and  a  fool  brought  it  down,  but  that 
the  fool  is  going  to  be  a  fool  no  longer. 
That's  all.  That's  what  you're  going  to 
do  and  say.  You'll  have  kept  your  word. 
You'll  have  proved  that  you  weren't  afraid, 
and  you'll  have  shown  her  what  you  think 
of  a  woman  who  will  wantonly  put  a  man's 
life  into  peril  to  gratify  her  miserable  vanity. 
Jack,  Jack,  if  you  had  been  killed  I " 

An  hour  later,  Paget  and  Janet  McCleod 
slipped  into  the  villa  unseen.  A  footman  in 
the  hall  said  that  Miss  Eliot  was  alone  in  the 
west  drawing-room.  Young  Paget  turned 
to  the  girl  at  his  side. 

"Will  you  come  in  with  me,  Janet?" 
said  he.    But  the  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  I  shall  be  waiting  here  for  you,"  said  she. 
"  I  won't  go  in." 

Then  young  Paget,  soiled  and  dishevelled 
and  bruised  and  torn,  opened  the  door  of  the 
west  drawing-room  and  went  in. 

Miss  Eliot  was  sitting  alone  in  a  big,  stuffed 
chair  before  the  fire.  She  did  not  see  him 
at  first,  and  turned  with  a  little  start  as  he 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  But  when  she 
saw  who  he  was,  she  rose  very  slowly  from 
the  big  chair,  and  her  face  flushed  all  at  once 
crimson,  and  paled  again,  and  the  hand  that 
she  raised  to  her  breast  shook  uncontrollably. 


118 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


Yonng  Paget  took  a  step  forward  with  the 
bit  of  red  and  blue  and  white  silk  in  his 
hand.  He  was  ready  with  the  little  speech 
he  meant  to  make ;  the  words  were  on  his 
tongue  to  tell  her  how  he  despised  her  for 
sending  him  to  almost  certain  death,  and 
how  he  despised  himself  for  going ;  bu6 
somehow  his  tongue  would  not  obey,  and  all 
he  could  say  was,  stammering — 

"  How  ill  you  look  !  You — ^you  must  be 
— suffering.  How  veiy  ill  you  lookl"  For 
the  girl  was  deathly  pale  and  very  worn-look- 
ing. There  were  great  circles  under  her 
eves.  She  seemed  even  thinner,  as  though 
she  had  passed  through  a  severe  illness  all  in 
a  day. 

"I — didn't  sleep,"  said  she,  "and  IVe 
had — certain  things  to  worry  about.  Oh  !  " 
she  cried  fiercely,  with  her  face  in  her  hands, 
"  I've  nearly  gone  mad  1  You  came  here  to 
throw  that  tricolour  in  my  face,  and  to  tell 
me  how  you  despise  me,  didn't  you  ?  like 
the  man  in  the  poem  !  And  you're  right.  I 
am  despicable.  I  know  it  better  than  you 
do,  b3tter  than  you  could  tell  me.  I've  been 
heartless  all  my  life.  I've  loved  power  over 
men  better  than  anything  in  the  world,  and 
I've  used  it  without  scruple.    Why  don't  you 


throw  what  you  have  in  your  hand  into  my 
face,  and  go  ? " 

But  young  Pa^et  stepped  forward  a  little 
and  held  out  a  bit  of  faded  silk. 

"  Here  is  your  tricolour,"  said  he  gently. 
"  I  brought  it  to  you  as  I  promised  I  would." 

She  shrank  away  from  him,  holding  her 
hands  to  her  breast,  so  that  the  silk  fell  upon 
the  floor  at  her  feet.  Then  very  saddenlj 
she  stooped  to  it  with  a  low  cry  and  caught 
it  up  in  her  two  hands  and  laid  her  face 
upon  it,  sobbing. 

After  a  long  time  she  raised  her  eyes  «^n 
to  his,  very  dark  and  shadowy  and  tragic. 

"  I've  sent  you  nearly  to  your  death,"  said 
she,  "  and  you  will  despise  me  as  long  as  yon 
live ;  but  now,  when  it  is  too  late,  I  know 
that  I  love  you  more  than  anything  in  the 
world,  and  I  shall  never  love  anything  else. 
Of  course  it's  too  late,  I  know  that.  Yoa'd 
best  go  back  to — her^  to  Janet  McCleod," 
she  said  after  a  little.  "She  loves  you. 
She'd  make  you  happy.  You'd  best  go  back 
to  her." 

"  Yes,"  said  young  Paget,  "  I  fancy  Fd 
best  go  back  to  her — but  somehow,  I  can't. 
I'm  afraid  I  love  you  too  much,"  said  he,  "in 
spite  of  everything.     I'm  afraid  I  can't  go." 


THE    THROSTLE. 


plEAR  Throstle  on  the  birchen  bough, 
^^  You  sing  each  song  twice  over,— 
''Blue  violets  now!"— "Blue  violets  now!" 
••White  clover!"— and  •White  clover!" 
With  silver  flute  you  strive  to  show 

The  countless  Joys  of  May, 
The  tender  notes  come  clear  and  slow, 
With  a  Fa  la  la,  and  a  Fa  la  la, 

Like  a  sweet  old  roundelay. 


O,  well  and  well  may  you  be  blithe, 

Your  happy  forecast  flinging  1 
Between  the  sickle  and  the  scythe 

No  space  is  left  for  singing. 
When  eager  nestlings  try  their  note 

Amid  the  Joys  of  May, 
You  needs  must  guide  each  little  throat. 
With  a  Fa  la  la,  and  a  Fa  la  la. 

Like  a  sweet  old  roundelay. 


Dear  Throstle  on  the  birchen  spray. 

Brown  singer  kind  and  willing, 
Your  prophecies  of  yesterday 

Have  met  with  glad  fulfilling. 
For  round  your  feet  a  thousandfold 

Spring  all  the  Joys  of  May, 
In  rose  and  blue  and  green  and  gold. 
To  a  Fa  la  la,  and  a  Fa  la  la. 

Like  a  sweet  old  roundelay. 

MAY  BYRON. 


Duld   iHisBibly  hive  loved  yvu 


THE    EDITOR'S    SCRAP-BOOK. 


HER   COLOUR. 


In  palest  heliotrope; 

That  this  )s  gracefully  expressed 

Indeed  I  hope. 

I  like  you  best.  I  think. 

In  pink. 

Of  softly  blushing  rose, 

Or  clouds  that  watch  the  sun  to  sink 

As  home  he  goes. 

You're  also  charming  quite 

In  white. 

Or  black,  or  red ; 

In  fact,  all  colours  suit  you.  day  or 

night. 
If  truth  b^  said. 

But  of  them  all.  most  true 

la  blue. 

The  colour  of  the  sea. 

Or  the  still   lake  we  watched,  when 

Sat  there  with  me. 


So  wear  them  all,  but  be. 

For  me, 

Nor  more  nor  less 

Than  just  yourself,  for  this  will 

Vour  fairest  dress. 

Chart f  Ffoulkrt 


BoBBV  (weeping):  A  doR  come  a-wngfrin'  nfl 
me  when  I  vins.  coiiiin'  home. 

P>PA  :  Why  fire  yuii  crying?  Pun't  you  km 
llint  when  n  <lof!  wAggles  liis  tail,  he  nlwnvH  wnii 
10  play  V 

Bobby:  Hut  llii"  <!«s,  jiapa,  look  hulil  of  n 
trou»ef>i  and  wagglei  bis  head. 


w.   What  is  the  i: 
R  :  'I'o  hollow  out. 


I  xentence  in  nhlch  the 


wheD  the  le-uher  licks  hiti 


/•Km:-?  .  1 


:    Oh,"  he   f»n't   b«   Uine ;    we 
iTh:  Ah  I  just  it  Imil  Unbit.  tlieu ! 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL    EVIDENCE. 

>  newspaper  boj'B  were  leokoning  iip  I 


"Herel"B»id  the  first  boy  ftlHni.edly.  "  IIiik 
won't  do!     I'm  b  iieiniy  nl"irt," 

"Well,"  remarked  the  other,  cracking  «  nut, 
"wlnaof  that?" 

'■  1  moat  certninly  am  a  penny  nhort,"  decliireil 
the  first  boy,  coiinling  his  coppers  again. 

"What  on  earih'H  the  ubc  of  keeping  un 
ftrguing?"  denmnded  the  other  lieniwlly.  "You 
don't  think  I've  took  it,  do  you  ?  " 

"  1  don't  «ay  yen  h:ive  look  it,  old  man,"  raid 
the  firnt  boy  carefully.  "1  don't  say  you  have 
took  it.  But  there  you  are  I  I'm  a  penny  short, 
and  yo\t,  you  know,  you're  a-eating  nutii!  " 


Mrs.  Verb  db  Vkiib:   Why  didn't  you  nlop, 
sir,  when  you  nsw  me  wave  mv  hand  ? 
'Bu8  CoNUUCTOB :  I  thought  you  were  throwing 


Mistrem:  Did  you  tell  the  lady  that  I  \ 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 

A  FISHY  AFFAIR. 
:'  -T'HE  WlMle,  the  B»t,  the  Pofqr, 

;' ,(i''"   ^|(i,  ■  ■  One  summer  mora  at  three, 

•'"     .    *    ^  Held  a.  coaveiw^one 

Beside  the  ailTcr  aea ; 
All  the  boxes  beins  taken. 

The  Sardines  took  a  tlit; 
The  Pnwns  hroivht  little  pasty  p 
To  put  the  V 


The  Limpet  played  the  kettledrum. 

The  Smelt  sang  songs  of  P&n 
So  feelingly  that  scalding  tears 

Adowa  the  Crab's  cheeks  ran ; 
The  Pony  read  "A  Bridal  Tale" 

(He  was  too  hotna  to  sing) ; 
The  Whiting,  a  contortionist, 

Made  of  hunself  a  ring. 

The  Lobster  <in  his  salad  d«ys\ 

His  entree  made  in  state ; 
Selections  from  "A  Winter's  Tale" 

Were  giTen  by  the  Skate. 
It  was  a  meny  gathering, 

And  when  at  laat  it  ceased, 
A  wtAVbred  Sun  was  shining 

In  the  bright  and  Pom'rj  i/)e»tt. 

Hotel  FklUtpt  Hmtu^ar. 


Sbbvant:  Tep.  ma'am. 
MiBTRBsa :  Did  she  ha\ 
Servant;     No,    nia'aj 
kuowed  you  wimn'i. 


any  doubts? 

—  slie    just    said    nhe 


A    MINOH   CONSIDERATION. 

"  Mt  good   man,    vou   are  wutiug  dl 
whiBtlinE— tlie  cnj{iiie''B  oot  on  y*!." 

whietle  at  the  rit[hC  hoot ;  and  if  the  enein 
that's  the  traiu'a  lookout." 


122  THE   WINDSOR  MAOAZTNE. 

NOT  AN    EVERYDAY    AFFAIR.  "  GoiKO  to  put  him  hi  the  ihow  ?' 

A  TR&VELLEB  wBB  overtaken  by  night  in  a  little  Man  with  l>oa :  "  Well,  I'm  not  quite  tan  yt/LT . 

villa^  in  Nebraska.    He  Btnyed  at  ihe  locel  hotel  "Jest  to — little  douhtful  yet  whether  t 

In  the  morning  he  wanted  to  take  n  hitlh,  and  'iin  an  n  di^  or  a  nthbit  1 " 
consulted  the  landlord  about  it. 

The  landloid  shouted   back   to  the  kitchen; 

«  Pad   .Tim  I  ihU  liniY.  crnnt  wnntji  tn  tnkn  n  lul.h. 
Rri 


ji,'ii"aiaii:.;3pp#ni'j'^i 


Edith  :   My  drsumaliei— Madame  Mautaliiii — inu»t  lie  Inins  all  ber  trade 
EbtTH  :    Sbe  leat  my  new  dresi  liom«  the  day  it  was  pnimiaed. 


HARVANO  miEeE  LimiAlY 

rflE  RETURN  OF  SHE,  h.  rider  haggard. 


x-^-    •  ■*»,»■'■ 


THE   BEST  LIFE   POLICY 

Is  obviously  that  which  yields  the  largest  sum  when  it  becomes  due, 

with    the  greatest    conveiiience    and   advantage    to    its    holder  till   that 

time.     The  Bonus  Policies  issued  by 

THE    SCOTTISH    WIDOWS'    FUND 
Life  Assurance  Society, 

In  ■which  the   Whole  Profits  arc  divided  among  the  Pohcy/iolders, 
Fully  answer  that  description,  in  proof  of  which  the  results,  both  during 
their  lifetime  and  at  death,  of  practically  every  participating  Policy  issued 
during  the  last  hfty  years,  are  published   in   the  Society's   Prospectus. 
The  results  clearly  show  that  the  Society's  Policies  are  not  only 

EXCEPTIONALLY    PROFITABLE 
From  the  Life  Assurance  point  of  view,  but  also  that,  being  of  known 
Cash  Value,  they  are   Negotiable    Documents  always    available  for    all 
purposes  of  Family  and  Business  Security,  and  open 

Funds  of  Credit  to  their  Holders 
At  any  time  that  suits  their  convenience. 


HEAD  OFPIOB:   9  ST.   ANDREW  SQUARE,  EDINBUR&H. 
l,ONDON  OFFICE :   28  COBNHILL,   E.G.,  &  5  WATERLOO  PLACE.   Q.VT. 


2;  [iLT  ccni.  niscoiiiit  for  C;i=h,  ^-r 
14s.  6d.  |)tT  munlli  (sucorKJ-li.ntd, 
10s.  6d.  per  moiilli)  on  tlio  Thixt 
Years'    Systtiii,    —    Lists     free   rf 

C.    STILES   &   CO.,    74  and  ;6,    Soullmmplon    Row,   London,  W.C.    (RemovL-d  from    40   and  42, 

Southampton  Row.)    IMAKOS  EXCHANGED. 


BORD'S  PIANOS 

C.    STILES   &   CO.,    74  and  ;6,    Soullmmplon    Row,   London 
Southampton  Row.)    IMAKOS  EXCHANGED. 

BECHSTEIN  PIANOS 

lageous  prices  and    terms,  —  Lists  and    piinicul.irs  free  of  CHAS.    £TILES   &   CO.,     74    and  76, 

Southampton  Roiv,  London,  W.C.     (Removed  from  41  and  43,  Southampton  Row.) 


These  m.ignificeat 
Pianos  for  Hire  on 
the     Three     Years' 


REMOVES^FRKOKLBB,'  sTuNBURN. 

Un,  MdncJ,  iind  ™iighTi<!w.  of  lh«  tkin,  csiiud  by  the  uk  of  hard  wxici;  ssaihe;:  pricLU- 
\xia,  ulngs  of  inKds,  a-:. :  k«ps  ihe 

SKIN     COOX^    &    REFRSSXIESD 

•iuritigths  MKAT  OF  SUMMER,  .nd 
RliNDERS  THE  SKIN  SOFT.  SMOOTH,  Bnd  DELICATE. 

Sold  in  2/3  and  4/fl  OoIIIm  by  Sloms,  Chtmisu,  kmI  A.  ROWLAND  &  SONS. 


Zhc  TDtainbsor  ^aaasine. 


CONTENTS    FOR    JULY,    1905. 


"THK  ROSE  QUF.>:N  "        Fmai  Uie  i,icture 

THE  ART  OF  MR.  (i.  D.  LESLIE,  R.A 

llitutraUdfmnt  tkt  Artul'i  pietum. 
THK  SPECULATIONS  OF  JACK  STEELE.    II.— Our  Duly  Hmd 

lUurmted  ty  F.  J!  Tinmuul 

"LEFT  BEHIHD  IN  A  HUitRY'  

THE  UTTLK  LOVF^GOD 

GAUES  ONE  CAN  PRACTISE  IN  A  ROOM 

A  UTTLE  FILURlMAIiE 

lauttntti  Iv  Oie  Autlior. 

A  REPUTATION        

ATE8UA.    Cbapten  XTII.  and  XVm 

lUiutraUd  bj/  MtKtriet  OrnfetAagak. 

A  WEED  

ARUAND— AD  BETOIRI 

COSCERKING  "COOLNESS-      

laattraud  tw  Hilda  CVnMUm. 

THE  STONE-CHAT 

AKHAUX:  The  CfaroDiclfl  of  B  Homing  Pigenn 

iDtutroeal  bv  On  AvOor. 
BUNKHDU      

ntaftrottd  ty  L.  lUnti^Bitt. 

THE  SET  

JAKE  WEBSTER'S  PAL     

Ittwtrttd  by  WarviA  OMt. 

THE  CASTLE 

RULVAT  TOWNS 

lUiutraUd  Jhm  pAobignlpAi. 

"  8TMPATHT  "         

A  RECKUIT  IN  DIPIXJMACY      

nUatraUd  bg  Aduff  nitde. 

THE  EDITOR'S  SCilAP-lMXiK 

Thr  Sympathy  imat  Failed  

A  Meditation 

A  Hattkb  of  Cahtb 

LkURK  Till  ClHCUHHTAltOKa 


fioHKRT    UaHR 

itudy  li)'  B.  BoKsE 


..  CoawiM  Khapf  Likhdn 

L.    U.    MOHKHI.y 


...       H.  Km 


.  II.  PknkOsk     1H9 


Ernkst  Tiiomiio 
FuAHK  tire 


John  Dobsoh    !1I 


n.  E.  Minus    241 

II.  S,  SiNri..iiK    241 

M.  S.  W1I.I.MMH  J42-:t 

R.  W.  Bai.hki(    m 

Staiik  Wood    KH 


TEABLY  SUBSCRIPTION  ^  lie  "  Windsor  Hagtuine," 


■o  any  pari  of  Ikr  leorld,  i 


E»ttnd  as  Sicond-Clau  MaUrr  at  tbt  Nob  York,  N.Y.,  Pott  C 


[m  3fSS.  (r*tol  ffcWd  bt  tfpr-wrilltit)  nnd  D- 
tnieri,  and  be  accomjianiad  by  stamjtf;  alt        '      ■' 
ntfoaiAUfor  tkt  ta/tty  i^  aay  coiU-^  '' - - 
■•  Tie  EdUoT,  '  H'indMw  Magaxine,' 


nbmittrd  vmit  bear  the  nana  awl  addrfiut  nf  Ihr 

......  ..~,  - «  be  conri.Itred.     The  KdUor  don  not  hold  i.m.f.lf 

ibatioHt  furaiardcd  for  hit  inlptclion.     AU  ammumcariunl  mml  be  addmHil, 
Waraict  Bome,  Saluhary  Sgiutre,  E.C"} 


THE    OLDEST   AND    BEST. 

^:^^^  FURNITURE 
POLISH. 


Fietaria  Park    Worka,  ShegMO, 


AS    PUMCHASKD    BV    ROYALTY    AND    THK    aillATCST    MUSrdANS. 


Angelas    Piano-Player 


The    Original    Invcnlion 

he  potJ"' «  th»  PimSiFK™   fT 


;^ 


Imitated  bat  Never  Equalled. 

Ill  unlqofl  ijitviu  of  iwumMl^^  b«ijif_invtfcl«d  hr 
niUnU  ;  ImlilH  irli<i3i  tlu  '•ANaBUm  "  ifiio 
lU  InnnUciii  hiu  ooilcriijiie  loniUiit  lUPHdVE- 
KKKT  BV  nn  INVKXniKlt.  Nunc  ut  lu  nuiHnii 


The  Phrasing  Lever  £t°f^dl°L^ 

III  HUB!  of  vlg^  Ifcayytf  411  nUae  ILaocoobipb 


^J.     HERBERT     MARSHALL,    „"6aiSi^,»,"EE5l? 


'SSx*o,  "WHBLPXON'S  PILLS. 

THEV   CURE 

HEADACHE,     INDIGESTION.    BILE.    CONSTIPATION 


IFtOMeiaeie/fUU. 


"THE    BOSE    QUEEN." 

Bi  G.  D.  Leslie,  R.A. 

ArpmliicMl  Itt  pfrmiinim  tj  Ifii  Sirlin  rAoCcurapAic  Csmpany.  Svx  Bmd.  Stmt,  Vmim,  IP. 


HAHVAHD  COLLEGE  LIBfiARY 
FRO*   THE   EST»Tt  OF 
CHARLES  S.  DIXWELL 


The  Art  of  Mr.  G.  D.  Leslie,  R.A. 


Itv   WILFRID    MEYNKLL. 


"T   CAME  u}ion   tlie  piclmo   early,   and 
I      n-as  so  ddi^lilotl  with  it  tliat  it  iiiwle 
me  like  evciytliing  else  I  euw  tlitit 
morning.       It    is    ulto<^ether    esqnisite    in 
rendering  Bomc   of  the  sweet  qualities   of 
English  girlhood."   So  wrote 
Mr.  Rn^in  of   the  pictiire, 
"  School    Revisited,"   which 
represented   Mr.  George 
Dnnlop  Leslie,  R.A.,  in  the 
Royal   Academy    Exhibition 
of  a  year  that  is  now  some 
thirty  years  Iwbind  ub.    How 
one  envied  Mr.  Leslie !   How 
one  envied  tlic  critic  himself 
his  overflowing  wells  of  good- 
temper!- —  and    envied,    too, 
the  painters  of  ueiglibouritig 

Eictures  that   profited  by  it 
eyond  all  reasonable  cove- 
nanting. 

Looking  at  that  group  of     ^«i*'%) 
gay  and  gentle  schoolgirls  in  ""■  "■  f-  ' 

the  garden,  receiving  the  call 
of  a  Iat«Iy  married  companion,  whose  woman- 
of-tbe-world  toilet  perhaps  forces  them  also 
into  the  ranks  of  the  nnembitt«red  envionH, 
we  can  ratify  Riiskin's  tribute  to  the  "  easy 
vn<l  graceful  composition."  Of  the  youngest 
figure  in  all  the  young  group  he  says:  "The 
liule  thing  on  the  estreme  left,  with  the 
hoop,  is  as  pleasant  a  shadow  of  Nature  as 

JULT,  1906.  1 


can  be  conceived  in  tliis  kind,  and  I  have  no 
words  "—adds  this  Master  of  AVorda, "  to  say 
how  {)retty  she  is.''    Then  he  tells  us,  in  Lis 
aboanding  way,  that  this  picture,  with  three 
others,   led  to  his  own   reappearance  as  a 
writer  of  those   "  Notes  on 
the  Royal  Academy  "  he  had 
discontinued  fifteen  years  be- 
fore under  ciroumstanees  that 
are  tolerably  familiar.  Finally 
he    praises   Mr.    Leslie    for 
his    "  English    girls    by   an 
English    painter,"    and     he 
adds :    "  Whether   you    call 
them  Madonnas,  or  KtiintA,  or 
what  not,  it  is  the  law  of  art 
life— your    own    people,    as 
they  live,  are  tlie  only  ones 
you  can  uiidei-stimd." 

Thus  did  Ruskin,  a  critic, 

rich  in   intuitions,  almost  a 

inrumm.      divincr,  reach   right  out  to 

»UE,  K.A.  tlie  point ;   and   though  the 

paint«r  under  review  has  put 

upon  canvas  other  persons  and  scenes  than 

girls  and  gardens,  it  is  with  these  that  we 

first  and  last  and  most  admiringly  associate 

liim.     First,  with  the  "  Hope  "  ~a  name  of 

good  augury— lie  painted  in  IM;'),  while  still 

a  student  in  the  Royal  Academy  liife  School, 

and  exhibited  at  the  British  Institution — a 

picture  which  led  his  father,  an  artist  of 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


experience,  to  say  to  the  yoiinR  iirtisl : 
"  \Vyll,  lit  aiij'  rate,  jou  need  never  sWrve, 
for  you  can  paint  u  pretty  face";  and 
nhicli  WHS,  til  fact,  iteelf  instantly  bought  by 
Lord  Hon^hton.  Last,  with  the  "  Thaiuex- 
side    flurden,"     which     caught,     with    an 


ahnost  surprised  delight,  many  a  viBiWr  to 
the  last  Spring  esliibition  at  Burlington 
House. 

George  Uunlop  Leslie  was  born  in  London 
in  July,  1835  ;  and  there  iR  an  intornational 
interest  in  the  fact  that  this  painter  of 
Eiijrlish  and  exclusively  English  girlliood 
wae  tlie  deKceudant  of  several  generations  of 
Marylanders  (name,  again,  of  good  omen), 


sprung  from  a  Leslie  who  had  settled  there 
at  tlic  beginning  of  the  eightoenth  cenlniT. 
The  grandfather  of  the  pnint«r  of  girliiood 
came  from  America  to  England  in  1786, and, 
eight  years  later,  bis  son  was  born  in  LundoD. 
Tlie  return  to  America  was  made  wlien 
that  son,  Chitrles 
Roliert  Ix-slie,  tbe 
future  father  of 
George,  was  five 
years  old.  Educated 
in  Philadelphia, 
and  deciding  on  the 
career  of  an  artist, 
Charles  Robert 
Leslie  recrossed  the 
aeas  nud  presented 
himself  in  Loudon 
to  bis  compatriot, 
Benjamin  West. 
He  entered  the 
Academy  Schools, 
ill  which  Geor«e 
was  to  follow  him; 
found  friends  in 
Constable,  Tnnier, 
and  Charles  Iiatub, 
and  a  buyer  in  Lord 
"       mont,  whow 

Ey  at  I'etworcii 
leinsomenort 
his  school.  After 
working  in  England 
for  over  twenty 
years,  be  revisiUtd 
his  native  land— 
a  "pioneer"  in 
this  respect  of 
Mr.  Henry  James, 
that  creator  of 
"pioneers":  hut 
only  to  be  confirmed 
in  the  opinion  that 
London  was  his  riiT 
of  Destiny,  whereto 
he  therefore  re- 
turned, practising 
his  art  with  success, 
lY  o.  D.  Lh^ii.iK,  R.A.  and  passing  away  in 

1859,  after  taking 
rank  as  one  of  the  most  popular  of  Royal 
.\cndemiciane. 

At  the  time  of  his  father's  death,  George 
Dunlop  Leslie  was  beginning  bis  career. 
He  bttti  sold  the  "  Hope  "  four  yeare  before 
his  father's  death,  and  under  circumstances 
that  made  for  the  father's  confidence  in  his 
son's  future.  Though  the  son  was  at  work 
at  the  Academy  Schools,  where  his  father 


il 

n 
':l 

il 

I 


128  THE   WINDSOR   MAGAZINE. 

taught,  he  paiuted  the  pic- 
ture secretly  and  sent  it  off 
to  the  British  Institution,  ia 
very  much  the  same  spirit, 
perhaps,  as  that  which  made 
Adelaide  Anne  Procter  send 
her  verses  without  a  word, 
and  under  a  pen-name  only, 
to  the  magazine  edited  by 
her  father's  friend,  Charles 
Dickens.  That  is  not,  as 
Dickens  said,  a  sensitivcneBS 
very  commonly  found  in  the 
genus  contributor.  In  young 
Leslie's  case,  it  was,  perliaps, 
Biipplemeated  by  a  suspicion 
that  Leslie  ji^e  would  find 
the  work  a  little  too  Pre- 
Raphaelite  for  his  tast«.  Into 
the    Schools    one    morning        —  ^  ,  , 

strolled    Charles    Landseer,  ur.  i'.  u.  Leslie's  studio  at  "KivtKsiDi 

who  offered  coi'dial  congratu- 
lations to  the  student  on  the  sale  of  his  pictnre.  Four  years  later,  "The  Reminiscences  of 
"What  picture?"a8ked  theastonishedfatlier.  the  Ball "  was  ready  to  go  to  the  Academy; 
Explanations  followed ;  class  was  deserted ;  but  this  time,  as  George  Leslie  well  re- 
and  the  three  hurried  round  to  the  British  members,  his  father  saw  it  before  it  went  in. 
Institution— the  father,  one  may  suppose.  For  that  father  then  lay  in  mortal  sickness ; 
the  most  proud  and  eager  of  the  three.                and  the  picture,  so  incongruous  in  subject, 


THE  ART  OF  MR.  Q.  t>.  LESLIE,  R.A. 


but  BO  congruous  111  its  talente  to  the  dying  no  doubt  iinagiuL-d  them  when  he  saw  the 

father's   aspirations   aad   itiiiieties    for    his  picture   und    wroU;   of   it    in    \m    Actulcm; 

son's    future,    was    bronght  to   his  l)L'dside.  "  Notes  "  a  sort  of  prelude  to  those  pniiHts  of 

Hia    praises    are     not    remembered  ;     but  a  later  day  we  haie  already  tiiken  as  a  text. 

Buskin,  himself  the  most  attached  of  sons,  "  It  must  be  a  great  delight  to  Mr.  Leslie  to 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


see  bis  son  do  such  work  as  this.  There  is 
uot  a  prettier  little  piece  of  painting  upon 
the  waJla,  and  very  few  are  half  so  pretty. 
All  the  accessories,  too,  are  quaint  and 
graceful,  showing  an  enjoyment  of  elegance 
in  form  (even  down  to  the  design  of  the 


RtpTodiutd  bv  permi 


n  <if  Wtlf  Uarrii,  Btq. 


frame  of  the  picture  and  the  bare  of  the 
chair)  which  is  very  rare  among  the  young 
paintere  of  the  rising  school.  This  grace  of 
fancy  ia  shown  no  less  in  the  little  Chinese 
subject  by  the  same  artist ;  which,  however, 
is  not  quite  80  thoroughly  ]Miinted,  I 
ahatl  look  anxiously  for  Mr.  Ijcslie's  work 
nest  year,  for  lie  seems  to  have  truly  the 


power  of  composition  ;  and  that  is  the  gift 
of  gifts,  if  rightly  used.     He  colours  very 
well  already."    Alas  !  Ruskin  did  not  writ« 
his  "  Notes  "  next  year,  nor  for  fifteen  years 
to  come.     Then  it  was  he  wrote  of  "  School 
Revisited"  what  haabeen  already (juoted,  and 
more  besides :  "  Mr. 
Leslie  is  in  the  very 
crisis  of  an  artist's 
life.   His  earlier  pic- 
tures were  finer  in 
colour,    and    colour 
is-  the  soul  of  painb- 
ifig  "  —  colour,  you 
perceive,had  become 
in   the   meantime 
the  "gift  of  gifts," 
as  you  suspected  it 
to  be  when  yon  first 
heard  the  critic  pay 
his  supreme  homage 
to  composition. 

Not  in  print  only 
was  Ruskin  the 
encourager,  if  also 
the  critic,  of  the 
•young  painter.  The 
counsel  of  perfection 
given  him — to  })aint 
only  the  people,  and 
particularly  tlie  girls, 
he  saw  al)out  liim, 
dressed,  too,  in  the 
fashion  of  the  hoar 
—  he  found  hard  to 
follow.  His  dear 
friend,  Dora  Green- 
well,  was  at  his 
elbow  to  suggest  the 
grandmother  period 
of  dress,  Bo  that  the 
mob-cap  became  his 
before  it  was  Kate 
Grecuaway's  —  wit- 
ness "The  Grassy 
Path,"  exhibited  in 
186  5,  and  now 
possessed  by  Sir 
iMi.Tv.  HA.  William    Agnew. 

Then  the  classic 
came  to  compete 
with  the  homely.  Ruskin's  complaisance  in 
presence  of  these  opposing  influences  was 
agreeably  expressed  in  a  private  letter  which 
tlie  painter  still  ranks  among  his  treasures. 
"  If  you  love  classic  subjecta,  you  will  do 
something  good  for  somel>ody  else— never 
mind  what  I  say."  The  same  letter  wonders 
"whether  there  are  any  other  nice  Acade- 


^i 
s* 


is 


TUB   WIXDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


BrfTadattd  by  pmniu 


pvblMtn 


micianB  bc-sidtfl  MurkB  and  j'ou  ! "  Another 
littlt!  sentence  may  be  quoted  from  another 
letter.  "  h(^uve  it  to  other  people  to  find 
fault,"  had  been  Sir  Edwin  Laiidseer's  in- 
junction to  Leslie  one  day  when  Leslie  was 
mentioning;  something  which  might  have 
l)cen  bettered  in  his  own  work.  The  phrase 
was  <]uotcd  by  Leslie  to  Ruskin,  and  that 
maker  of  luuny  confessions  gave  answer :  "  I 
don't  like  that  advice  of  Landseer's.  It  is 
a  very  ungenorons  office  "  (that  of  criticism) 
"  to  leave  to  one's  friends,  and  a  much  too 
ngrecabic  one  to  leave  t<i  one's  foes."  Land- 
seer,  one  may  remark,  had  an  ally  in 
Stevenson's  heroine  who  reproached  Prince 
Otto  with  his  willingness  to  bear  reproof. 
and  who  carried  the  war  into  the  enemy's 
camp.     "Now,  if  anyone  accuses  me,  get  up 


''  Iht  eapi/righl  cmt 

and  give  it  them  "  (in  bad  gmmtuar,  if  uot 
ill  bad  langn^e  ! )  "  Oh,  I  defend  lutself. 
I  cannot  take  a  fault  at  another  person's 
hands — no,  not  if  I  hud  it  on  my  forehead." 
The  new  need  for  strenuous  effort,  once 
his  father's  prosperous  studio  was  darkened, 
found  young  Leslie  unflinching.  "  Matilda" 
and  "Betlilehem"  were  exhibited  at  the 
Royal  Academy  in  18firt  ;  "  Fast-day  at  the 
Convent"  in  1861  ;  "  A  Summer  Song"  in 
1802!  "The  War  Summons"  in  IrtfiS: 
"  The  Flower  and  the  Leaf "  and  "  Say 
Tal"  in  18C4  ;  "The  Defence  of  LatUom 
House"  in  ISfi'i  ;  "Clarissa"  in  1868; 
"  Willow,  Willow,"  "  The  Country  Cousins." 
and  "Ten  Hiuutes  to  Decide"  in  18117; 
"Home  News"  in  1868,  the  year  of  his 
election  as   Associate ;    and   "  The   Empqr 


Il 


THE  AHT  OF  MR.  0.  D.  LESLIE,  R.A.  135 

ere"  in  1869.     At  the  Dudley  Gallery  was  au  hereditory  happiness ;  for  the  diary 

i^dnringthe  'sixties,  was  exhibited  "  The  of   his  father,  Charles   Rubert  Leslie,  has 

e  Hani^ti,"  showing  an  English  garden  been  described  as  the  happiest  ever  given 

K,  a  ^ap  of  women    ia    eighteenth  to  the  world.    Art  and  love,  the  mother  and 

buy  dresa,  and  roses — red,  white,   and  the  child,  were  there  united  in  life  as  they 

OK— gathered    into   bowls   of    blue-aud-  have  since  been  on  the  canvases  of  the  boy 
ite  china. 

.lie  next  decade 
gan     with 


It    was    not 

ntiuinflaence  "bahbaba."     nv  a.  \,.  leslik,  h.a. 

le  next  year's 

fflR,    which     saw    Mr,    Leslie    a    full  who  looked  on  at  the  serene  living  picture 

tnician.  of  his  parents'  conjugal  affection,  took  it  all 

!   mere  names    provoke    memories    of  in,  and  was  himself  one  of  those  "  babes"  of 

ticiiies    dear    to    English     hcarU—  his  father's  loving  references  in  letters  and 

ries  of  a  sweetness  that   never  palled  diaries.      "  My  father   worked,"  says    Mr. 

Eeata's    "  too     much    sweet."      The  GeoT^e    Leslie,    looking    backward,    "  very 

len  of  the   painter's  own   household  steadily  and  cheerfully,  keeping  up  a  sort  of 


186  THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 

whistling  at  times.     He  had  a  pretty  habit  tember    Sunshine "    in    1890  ;    and    li 

of  goini:;  into  the  garden  t^efore  breakfast  years  have  seen  him  still  a  practitioDer 

and  picking  either  a  honeysuokle  or  a  rose  that  department — a  department  in  wliich 

— bis    favourite    flowers — and    putting    it  liaa  won  the  praise  of  artiste,  and  that 

in  his  pain  tins-room.     He  always   rmd  a  what    really  counts  with    Mr.   Leslie— ' 

cl 

ai 

di 

fi 


works  give  the  clue  to  all  that  was  to  follow  friends ;  and  his  riverside  house  at  Vi\ 

for  the  next  fifteen  years,  and  then,  when  a  ford  contains  the  best  memorial  of  tl 

cliange  oime,  it  was  a  change  of  topic  rather  some  of    their   own    handiwork,     ffh 

than  of  manner.    That  is  to  say,  he  exhibited  may   have   been    the   acting    and   rt 

in    181).')    his  first    landscape,   "November  influences  of  these  two  paiiitcra   upq 

Sunshine."      It  was   succeeded    by   "  Sep-  Lcsbe,  he  has  observed  them,  and  uU 


THE  ART  OF  MR.  0.   D.    LESLIE,   R.A.                         137 

r  mater  predeceaaoni,  not  copied  tliem.  happily   composed.      Old    red   brick   walls, 

eea,  his  stndies  have  been  confined  to  with  suggcsbious  of  fruit-trees  and  flower- 

geriod  or  place.     Thej  have  been  carried  beda  beyond,  bound  tlie  road  that  leads  to 

in  the  schools  of   the  great  Masters  of  the  spacious  edifice,  which  is  old  in  stractnre 


*y   of    all    timea  —  from    Raphael    to  but  new  in  so  far  as   it  has  been  p;irtly 

mey;  while  the  chaste  line  of  Flaxman,  relmilt  and  enlai^ed  by  its  present  happy 

innocent   ^rac«    of   Stothard,  and    the  inlialiitant.     If  Mr,  Leslie's  subjects  are  to 

nit   artificiality    of    Watteau,  have   all  be  found  anywlicre  in  Nature,  it  is  here,  at 

their  share  in  influcncrn)?  his  taste.  his  very  door  and  in  bis  very  ^rden,  that 

he  approach  to  Mr.  Leshe's  bouse  is  itaelf  they  must  be  sought.     Very  English  is  tliu 


THE    WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


spirit  of  tliiH  abode  of  an  Eni;liRh  artist. 
Lverytliing  is  in  order ;  and  tlioiijili  tlic 
painter  would  not,  like  Sir,  Ke Vinson's 
pastor,  request  Pan  not  to  tread  on  the  gnifls, 
Nature  heraelf  liae  here  learnt  to  be  circum- 
spect. She  bad  tidied  herself  even  where  slie 
might  have  gone  about  in  tatters,  ber  hair 
down.  The  very  river  seems  to  be  curl)ed 
by  the  lines  of  the  trim  lawn.    The  flowers 


are  predestined — shall  we  say  foredoom 
to  vases,  even  vafien  upon  the  conncil^ 
of  the  Royal  Academy,  wbitlier  BomeKH 
went,  as  we  gather  from  one  of  tbe  W 
in  Mr.  Leslie's  interesting  coliectiiffl 
autc^rupliB  -a  grateful  letter  from  Lcigli 
As  lie  has  painted,  so  has  he  wriiten- 
lightful  booka  of  domesticity  in  field 
garden,  on  the  water  and  in  'the  air-" 


THE  ART  OF  MR.    G.   I).    LESLTE,   R.A. 


Rtprodtvei  bj/  periB 


1  n/  La4y  H'anloiw,  /rvn 


River,"  "  Letters  to  Marco  "  (liis  old  friend, 
Stacy  Marks),  atid  "  Riverside  Letters."  Tlie 
first  of  these  was  publislied  in  1881,  wheu 
he  had  been  a  ye:ir  in  his  present  home— a 
moving  from  London  to  the  ]and  which  long 
preceded  that  turn  towur<ls  hin<isu<ipc  we 
have  noted  in  his  paiut.    The  Ixtoks  are  the 


a  pbolegravh  by  F.  WtUitrman  i  Co.,  En/Uld. 

books  of  a  lover  of  ordered  Nature,  Mr. 
Leslie  miftht  have  been  lonely  with  Thoreau  ; 
his  own  euvironment,  with  the  creatures  who 
frequent  it,  has  fitted  him  perfectly,  ae  all 
readers  of  his  af^eeable  natnral-history  gossip 
must  know  ;  Ima  fitted  him  so  exactly  that 
one  feels  he  has  come  round  at  last  to  the 


ittprorfHOHf  bg  ptmuttion  aj  Mtim.  Frnti  and  Xted,  Fine  A 


140 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


old  injunction   of  Rnskin   tliat  he  should 

paint  the  thing  sueu  about  him.  "That  is 
best  which  lieth  nearesb—Bhape  from  that 
thy  work  of  art,"  is  tlie  verse's  easy  rendering 
of  a  truth  that  lies  deep  as  the  human  heart. 
And  the  word  of  Rusk  in,  himself  the 
obedient,  sometimes  the  drifting,  creature  of 
circumstance,  the  child  of  the  moment  as  well 
as  the  child  of  the  ages,  can  fitly  end,  as  it 
U^an,  this  record  of  the  painter  and  the 
writer.  It  is  an  unpublished  letter  that 
he  wrote  after  reading  "  Onr  River  "  :  "I 
have  been  pouncing  delightedly  on  bits" 
[atbicking]  "  new  weirs  and  stciim  launches. 
I  have  Ijeen  twice  driven  stark  crasy  aljout 
tliese  things  and  the  meaning  of  them— t^ 


boiler  of  me  bursting  on  the  brain'  for  ihe 
time.  But  I  get  it  soldeTtd  up  nearly  as 
new,  and  go  on  more  cautiously  ...  I 
should  have  liked  to  know  how  you  were 
pleased  with  the  woodcuts.  Although  the 
Thames  does  lie  flat  mostly,  you  might  have 
given  us  a  dump^or  dumpling — of  chalk  here 
and  there.  And  I  must  say  that  I  like  my 
swans  white,  and  not  French  grey  ;  and  have 
seen  resplendencies  and  glows  sometimes 
from  Richmond  Hill  which  can't  be  quite 
given  with  Quaker  tints  of  modem  fashion. 
But  you  know  .  .  .  the  best  of  Thames  to 
me  ia  a  buttercup  meadow  with  a  clover  one 
next  it."  "  Very  good  taste,  too  ;  but  you 
can't  do  that  in  woodcuts,"  says  Mr.  Leslie. 


Rtyrodactd   bn  ftrmiaioii  of  A.    MUttr-BatitU,    Eiq. 


The  speculations  of  JACK   STEELE. 


By  ROBERT    BARR.* 


II.  — OUR     DAILY     BREAD. 


OCKERVELT  settled 
with  Jack  Steele  by 
drawing  his  cheque 
for  three  hundred 
and  ninety-eight 
thousand  six  hun- 
dred and  seventy 
dollars,  and  it  was 
the  imperturbable 
Dunham  himself 
who  carried  through 
the  negotiations. 
Steele  asked  half  a  million  at  the  beginning, 
bat  had  made  up  his  mind  he  would  take 
three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  As 
he  wished  to  have  this  sum  clear,  he  added 
to  it  the  amount  he  paid  for  the  stock, 
including  Miss  Slocum's  ten  thousand  dollars, 
and  the  percentage,  which  came  to  nearly 
forty  thousand  more.  Then  he  informed 
Dunham  he  was  forced  to  add  ten  thousand 
dollars  for  that  kick,  which  he  did.  He  told 
Dunham  that  he  remembered  the  kick  on  an 
average  of  once  a  day,  and  that  this  thought 
humiSated  him.  Therefore  he  would  be 
compelled  to  charge  one  hundred  dollars  a 
day  for  thinking  of  the  assault  while  nego- 
tiations were  pending.  Whether  this  time- 
penalty  hastened  negotiations  or  not  mH 
never  be  known,  but  it  accounts  for  the  odd 
figures  on  the  Rockervelt  cheque. 

The  station-master  of  Slocum  Junction 
was  given  the  position  of  travelling  man  on 
the  Wheat  Belt  Line,  at  a  salary  of  fifty 
dollars  a  week,  which  seemed  to  him  princely. 
^liss  Dorothy  Slocum  insisted  on  finishing 
her  year  at*the  Bunkerville  school,  but  during 
the  Christmas  holidays  she  married  the 
station  -  master,  and  they  set  up  house- 
keeping in  Chicago  with  the  nice  little 
bonk  account  of  nearly  fifty  thousand 
dollars.  The  young  lady's  dream  of  life  was 
now  realised.  She  was  an  inhabitant  of 
the  western  metropolis,  in  comfortable 
cinnunstances,  with  everything  at  her  dis- 
posal that  a  large  city  had  to  offer  her.   Jack 


♦  Copyright,    1905,  by  Robert  Barr,  in  the  United 
States  of  America. 


Steele,  in  the  New  Year,  had  the  pleasure  of 
escorting  the  young  woman  to  a  matinee^  and 
when  he  asked  her  if  the  few  weeks'  experience 
of  Chicago  had  changed  her  mind  regarding 
the  delights  of  the  place,  she  replied  that 
Chicago  was  heavenly  ;  which  called  up  a 
smile  to  the  young  man's  lips  as  he  remem- 
bered the  story  of  a  Chicago  man  who  had 
died  and  gone  to  the  other  place,  and  told  an 
inmate  thereof  that  his  new  residence  was 
preferable  to  Chicago.  But  Jack  didn't  tell 
the  story  to  his  companion.  He  complained 
pathetically  that  she  had  broken  his  heart 
by  marrying  the  station-master,  but  she 
laughed  and  said  she  had  broken  his  heart 
no  more  than  Dunham  had  broken  his  neck 
by  precipitating  him  down  the  railway  em- 
bankment from  the  running  train — which,  by 
the  way,  was  true  enough. 

As  time  went  on,  he  saw  less  and  less  of 
his  Bunkerville  friends.  He  was  rising 
rapidly  in  the  financial  world,  had  resigned 
his  position  on  the  Wheat  Belt  Line,  im- 
portant as  it  was,  and  had  set  up  an  office 
for  himself.  The  newspapers  made  a  great 
deal  of  his  encounter  with  old  Rocker- 
velt and  his  victory  over  that  magnate,  but 
Jack  was  a  clear-headed  man  who  had  no 
delusions  on  the  score  of  that  episode.  He 
had  spent  some  very  anxious  days  while 
negotiations  were  pending,  and  no  one  knew 
better  than  he  that  if  Rockervelt  had  decided 
to  fight,  it  might  have  cost  the  great  railway 
king  more  than  he  had  paid,  but  Jack  Steele 
would  have  been  wiped  out  when  the  battle 
was  ended.  He  resolved  never  again  to 
combat  a  force  so  many  thousand  times 
stronger  than  himself.  He  would  be  content 
with  a  smaller  game  and  less  risk.  Jack 
attributed  the  few  grey  hairs  at  his  temple 
to  those  anxious  days  while  Rockervelt  was 
making  up  his  mind,  keeping  silent  and 
giving  forth  no  sign. 

But  grey  hairs  do  not  necessarily  bring 
wisdom,  and  so  little  does  a  man  suspect  what 
is  ahead  of  him,  that  a  few  tears  from  a 
pretty  woman  sent  him  into  a  contest  with- 
out knowing  who  his  adversary  was,  to  find 
himself  at  last  face  to  face  with  the  most 


141 


142 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


formidable  financial  foe  that  the  world  could 
offer. 

He  had  almost  forgotten  his  friends  from 
the  west,  when  one  day  the  young  woman's 
card  was  brought  up  to  him  as  he  sat  in 
his  office,  planning  an  aggression  which  was 
still  further  to  augment  his  ever-increasing 
bank  account.  He  looked  up  with  a  smile 
as  Dorothy  entered,  but  it  was  stricken  from 
his  lips  when  he  saw  how  changed  she  was. 
All  colour  had  left  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes 
were  red  as  if  with  weeping. 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  he  cried,  springing  to 
his  feet,  "  what  is  the  matter  ?  Have  you 
been  ill  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice, 
sinking  into  the  chair  he  offered,  "  but  I  am 
nearly  distracted.  Oh,  Mr.  Steele  !  you  said 
once  that  the  country  was  sweet  and  soothing 
after  the  turmoil  of  the  city,  and  I  told  you 
I  was  tired  of  the  country's  dulness.  It  was 
a  foolish,  foolish  remark.  1  wish  we  were 
back  there,  and  done  with  this  dreadful 
town ! " 

"  Why,  what  has  happened  ?  Is  it  your 
husband,  then,  who  is  ill  ?  " 

"  No — ^yes,  he  is — or,  rather,  yes  and  no  ; 
for,  like  myself,  he  is  at  his  wits'  end  and 
doesn't  know  what  to  do ;  therefore  I  have 
come  to  seek  your  advice,"  and  with  this  she 
broke  down  and  wept. 

Jack  thought  at  first  that  her  husband  had 
been  dismissed ;  and  if  that  were  the  case, 
Steele,  being  no  longer  connected  with  the 
railway,  would  be  powerless  to  aid.  Still,  he 
did  not  see  why  such  an  event  should  cause 
so  much  distress,  for  a  young  couple  in  good 
health,  with  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  the 
bank,  are  not  exactly  paupers,  even  in 
Chicago. 

"  My  husband,"  sobbed  the  woman  at  last, 
"  has  invested  everything  we  possess  in  wheat, 
and  since  that  time  the  price  of  wheat  has 
been  falling  steadily.  Now  we  are  on  the 
verge  of  rum." 

"  What  on  earth  did  he  meddle  with  wheat 
for  ?    It  is  more  dangerous  than  dynamite." 

"  I  don't  know,"  wept  the  young  woman  ; 
"  but  Tom  thought  it  was  sure  to  rise." 

"Yes.  They  always  think  that.  How 
much  did  he  purchase  ?  " 

"  One  million  bushels." 

"  Good  gracious  !  Do  you  happen  to 
know  the  price  ?  " 

"  Yes,  seventy-eight  cents." 

"  Great  Scott !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  two  silly  young  people  took  on  an 
obligation  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars,  when  you  possess  less  than 


fifty  thousand  ?     When  he  made  the  deal, 
how  much  of  a  margin  did  he  put  up  ?  " 

"  You  mean  the  money  he  gave  the  broker  ? 
Ten  thousand  dollars." 

"  Ah  1  then  a  decline  of  a  cent  a  bushel 
would  wipe  that  out." 

"  Yes,  it  did,  and  ever  since  wheat  has  been 
falling,  until  now  it  is  seventy-four  and  a 
quarter.  We  have  given  the  brokers  so  far 
tnirty-seven  thousand  five  hundred  dollars, 
and  if  wheat  drops  another  cent,  we  have  not 
the  money  to  meet  the  call  and  will  lose 
everytliing.  These  last  three  weeks  have 
been  the  most  anxious  time  of  my  life." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it.  Now,  what  do  you 
want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Steele,  I  want  you  to  take  over  thb 
wheat.  It  can't  possibly  go  much  low^er,  and 
Tom  says  it  is  bound  to  rise.  This  time  last 
year  it  was  eighty-nine,  and  if  it  went  up  to 
that  now,  we  would  net  over  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  You  see,  you  would  not 
need  to  take  the  risk  we  have  done,  for  we 
bought  at  seventy-eight,  and  you  will  be 
buying  at  seventy-fom*  and  a  quarter." 

"  But  I  don't  see  how  my  taking  it  over 
would  help  you." 

"  Why,  if  it  went  up  to  over  eighty — and 
Tom  says  it  is  sure  to  do  that  before  many 
weeks  are  past — ^you  would  make  a  good  profit 
and  could  give  us  back  our  money." 

Serious  as  was  the  situation,  Jack  could 
scarcely  refrain  from  a  smile  at  such  a 
beautiful  specimen  of  feminine  logic.  Of 
course,  if  he  wished  to  dabble  in  ^eat,  he 
could  buy  at  seventy-four  now,  and  if  it  went 
to  eighty,  secure  the  whole  profit  without 
paying  anything  to  anyone. 

"  Is  Tom  at  Some  just  now  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

''  Well,  you  ask  him  to  call  this  afternoon, 
and  we  will  talk  the  situation  over." 

The  young  woman  rose  and  beamed  od 
him  through  her  tears. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  you  two  will  hit  upon  a 
plan.  When  I  told  Tom  this  mojning  of  the 
scheme  I  have  just  outlined  to  you,  he  aooffed 
at  me  ;  but  you  see  its  f easibilty,  don't  you  ?  ** 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  do.  Anyhow,  Tom  and  1 
will  consult  this  afternoon  about  it,  and  hell 
let  you  know  at  what  decision  we  arrive." 

He  shook  hands  with  his  visitor  and  was 
very  glad  to  see  her  depart. 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  he  said  to  himself  when 
the  door  was  shut,  "  how"  fatuouslv  sillv  she 
is  !  And  to  think  that  a  little  more  than  a 
year  ago  I  proposed  to  her  !  Poor  girl ! 
Beauty  almost  gone,  too,  at  the  first  whiff  of 
trouble.    Still,  the  situation  is  serious  enousrh : 


II  waold  make  a  good  jiroi 


144 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


but  it  is  easier  to  refuse  a  man  than  a  woman. 
I'll  tell  Tom  what  I  think  of  him  when  he 
comes.  Imagine  the  cursed  fool  marching  into 
Chicago  like  a  hayseed  from  the  backwoods, 
and  losing  fifty  thousand  dollars  inside  of 
three  weeks  !  What  he  needs  is  a  guardian  ; 
yet  I'd  like  to  help  the  little  woman,  too, 
although  I  don't  see  how  I  can.  I  wonder 
if  wheat's  going  any  lower.  Hold  up.  Jack, 
my  boy,  don't  get  thinking  about  the  price 
of  wheat.  That  way  madness  lies.  No,  I'll 
confine  myself  to  giving  Tom  a  piece  of  my 
mind  when  1  see  him  which  will  make  him 
angry,  so  we'll  quarrel,  and  then  it'll  be  easy 
to  refuse  him." 

At  three  o'clock  the  ex-station-master  of 
Slocum  Junction  was  shown  into  John 
Steele's  private  office.  His  face  was  so  gaimt 
and  haggard  that  for  a  moment  Steele  felt 
sorry  for  him  ;  but  business  is  business,  and 
sympathy  has  no  place  in  the  wheat -pit. 
Tom  shook  hands  and  sat  down  without  a 
word  ;  all  his  old  jauntiness  had  left  him. 

"  Well,  my  Christian  friend,"  began  Steele 
in  his  severest  manner,  "when  I  was  the 
means  of  getting  you  transferred  from  Slocum 
Junction  to  Chicago,  and  also  had  something 
to  do  towards  endowing  your  wife -that - 
was-to-be  with  nearly  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
hang  me  if  I  thought  you  would  act  the 
giddy  farmer-come-to-town  and  blow  it  all 
away  in  the  wheat-pit  I  Grod  bless  my  soul ! 
haven't  you  sense  enough  to  know  that  the 
biggest  men  in  Chicago  have  been  crampled 
up  in  the  grain-market  ?  How  could  you 
expect  to  win  where  the  richest  and  shrewdest 
men  in  the  city  have  failed  ?  Don't  you 
read  the  papers  ?  Haven't  you  any  brains  in 
your  head  at  all  ?  Is  it  only  an  intellectual 
bluff  that  you  are  putting  up  before  the 
public,  pretending  to  be  a  man  of  sense  ? 
Why,  a  ten-year-old  boy  bom  in  Chicago 
would  know  better  !  Wheat  may  be  the  staff 
of  life  when  it  leaves  the  flour-mill,  but  it's  the 
cudgel  of  death  in  the  speculative  market !  " 

"  So  I've  been  told,"  said  Tom  quietly. 

"  Well,  you  haven't  profited  much  by  the 
telling.  What  in  the  name  of  all  the  saints 
made  you  speculate  in  wheat  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  speculate." 

"  I  understand  you  bought  a  million 
bushels  ?  " 

« I  did." 

"  What's  that  but  speculating,  then  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Steele,  are  you  quite 
done  with  vour  abuse  of  me  ?    Isn't  there 



some  things  more  that  you  could  say  ?  That 
I  wear  a  woollen  shirt,  and  haven't  any  collar; 
that  my  trousers  are  turned  up,  and  there's 


mud  on  my  shoes  ?  Do  you  see  any  sbaw 
out  of  the  farmyard  on  my  hair  ?  If  yon  do, 
why  don't  you  mention  it  ?  " 

Jack  Steele  laughed. 

"  Bravo,  Tom ! "  he  said ;  "  that's  quite  your 
Slocum  Junction  manner.  I  supposed  voa 
were  up  a  tree — that  you  had  bought  a  million 
bushels  of  wheat,  spent  thirty  thousand 
dollars  odd  upon  margins,  and  that  now  yon 
couldn't  carry  it  any  longer.    Am  I  right  ? " 

"  Quite  right.  That's  exactly  the  situation. 
Now,  are  you  in  the  frame  of  mind  to  listen 
to  the  biggest  thing  that  there  is  in  America 
to-day  I  Are  you  in  a  financial  position  to 
take  advantage  of  an  opportunity  that  maj 
not  recur  for  years  ?  If  you  are,  I'll  talk  to 
you.  If  not,  I'll  bid  you  '  Good-bye,'  mid  go 
to  someone  else." 

"  All  right,  Tom,  I'm  ready  to  listen,  and 
willing  to  act  if  you  can  convince  me." 

"  I  can  convince  you  quick  enough ;  but  are 
you  able  to  act,  as  well  as  ready  ?  '* 

"Well,  to  tell  you  the  tnith,  Tom,  if 
you  mean  going  in  for  a  big  wheat  specola- 
tion,  I'm  able,  but  not  willing." 

"  I  told  you  I  wasn't  speculating.  Wheat 
will  be  over  a  dollar  a  bushel  before  three 
months  are  past." 

"  Is  there  going  to  be  a  war  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  this  I  do  know,  that 
the  wheat  crop  of  the  entire  west  is  prac- 
tically a  failure — that  is  to  say,  late  frosts  this 
spring,  and  the  wet  weeks  we  have  had  since, 
will  knock  off  anywhere  from  thirty  to  forty 
per  cent,  of  the  output.  The  Chicago  wheat- 
pit  is  a  prettv  big  thing,  but  it  isn't  the 
Almighty,  neither  is  it  the  great  and  growing 
west.  It  can  do  many  thmgs,  but  it  can't 
buck  up  against  Nature.  Wheat  now,  we'll 
say,  is  seventy-five  cents  a  bushel,  because  of 
the  belief  that  there's  going  to  be  an  abas- 
dant  crop;  but  if  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  that 
crop  fails,  it  means  that  twenty-five  per  cent 
is  going  to  be  added  to  the  present  price  of 
wheat.  It  means  dollar  wheat,  that's  what 
it  means,  and  a  man  who  knows  this  fact 
to-day  can  make  unlimited  millions  of  monej 
if  he's  got  the  capital  behind  him.  W 
,  course,  my  mistake  was  in  biting  off  more 
than  I  could  chew.  If  I  had  gone  in 
modestly,  1  could  have  carried  it,  and  would 
have  made  a  moderate  profit;  but  I  was  too 
greedy,  and  too  much  afraid  Chicago  would 
learn  the  real  state  of  the  crops.  I  expected 
the  news  to  be  out  long  before  now;  but 
instead  of  that,  the  papers  are  blowing  about 
full  crops,  which  either  shows  that  they 
don't  know  what  they  are  talking  about,  or 
there's  a  nigger  in  the  fence  somewhere." 


OUR  DAILY  BREAD. 


145 


"  What  makeB  you  bo  very  sure  the  crop's 
a  partial  failure  ?  ' 

"  Because  it's  my  business  to  know,  for 
one  thing.  I  have  travelled  from  Chicago 
clear  through  to  the  Pacific  coiut ;  south  as 
far  as  wheat  is  grown  ;   and  up  north  into 


'"Tom,  that'i  prettj'  Btrugtat  talk.'" 

Canada.  I  don't  need  to  ask  a  farmer  what 
crop  he  expects ;  I  can  see  with  mj  own  eyes. 
I  was  brought  up  on  wheat ;  I  ploughed  the 
fields  and  sowed  the  grain,  and  I  may  say 
I  was  cradled  in  wheat,  if  roa'Il  forgive  a 
fanner'a  pun.  Wheat  ?  Wny,  I  know  all 
abont  wheat  on  the  field,  even  if  I  don't 
recc^aiK  it  in  the  Chicago  pit.  Tou  see,  my 
basiDem  is  looking  after  freight,  and  the 
chief  freight  of  our  road  is  wheat.  Tliere- 
fore,  wberever  wheat  grows,  I  must  visit 
t^  spot,  and  I  have  done  so.  I  give  you 
my  oath  that  wheat  is  bound  to  be  a  dollar 
a  bushel  before  two  months  are  past.  It's 
under  aeventy-five  cente  now,  aud  it  doesn't 


take  much  figuring  to  show  the  possibilities 
of  the  situation.  Three  things  are  wanted  ; 
knowledge,  courage,  money.  I  have  given 
you  the  knowledge  :  do  you  possess  the  other 
two  requisites  F " 

"  Tom,  I  esteem  you  very  much — more  ao 
now  than  when  yon  came  in  ;  but,  after  all's 
said  and  done,   I'd  be  simply  banking  on 
one   man's  word.     Suppose   1    go  in  lialf  a 
million   dollars  P    Yon  say  that  knowledge 
■'"  "■"  ""*  -equiaite.     Have  I  got  that  know- 
have  not.     I    have   merely   your 
ow  have  the  knowledge." 
at's  a  good  point  to  make,"  said 
turbably.     "  You  don't  know  me 
1  to   risk  it.      That's  all    right, 
on  your  wall  the  big  map  of  our 
TQoA,  which  I  suppose  yon  have 
kept  as  a  relic  of  your  connection 
with  the  Wheat  Belt  Line.    It's 
a  lovely  map,  with  the  Wheat 
Belt  Line  in  neavy  black  as  the 
great    thing,   and    the   United 
States  sort  of  hung  around   it 
as  a  background.     There,"  con- 
tinned   Tom,  waving  his  hand 
towards  the  huge  map  on   the 
wall,  "coloured  yellow  by  Rand 
McNally  and  Co.,  are  the  wheat- 
producing  districts  of  the  United 
.  States  and  Canada.     Now,  I've 
I   been  all  over  that  yellow  ground. 
I  assert  that  in  no  part  of  it  is 
the  wheat  crop  normal.      You 
pick  out  at  random  five  or  six 
spots  in  that  yellow  ground,  and 
111  tell  you  jnst  what  percentage 
of  failure  there'll   !«  in  those 
places  joa  select.     Then  get  on 
the  tram  and  visit  them,  qnestion 
the  fanneiB,  and  find  out  if  they 
corroborate  my  statement.  Iftliey 
do,  the  chances  are  strong  I  am 
right  about  every  other  district." 
Jack  Steele  got  up  and  began  pacing  the 
floor,  his  hands  thrust  in  his  trousers  pockets, 
his  forehead  wrinkled  with  a  frown. 

"  Tom,  that's  pretty  straight  talk,"  he  said 
at  last.  "  I  haven't  been  following  the  wheat- 
market — it's  out  of  my  line  ;  but  I  dimly 
rememljer  seeing  in  the  papers  not  very  long 
ago  an  estimate  that  we  were  going  to  have 
the  most  profitable  wheat  crop  of  recent 
years.  Of  course,  that  may  be  newspaper 
talk ;  but  if  recoUection  serves,  it  was  backed 
up  by  telegrams  from  all  over  the  west. 
How  do  you  account  for  that  ?  " 

"I  don't  account  for  it.  I  am  merely 
stating  what  f  know.     If  the  papers  made 


146 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


such  an  estimate,  they're  wrong,  that's 
all." 

Steele  stopped  in  his  walk  and  touched  an 
electric  button  on  his  desk.  A  young  man 
appeared  in  response. 

"  Holmes,"  said  Steele,  "  there  was  an 
account  of  the  wheat  crop  all  over  the 
country  in  the  papers  the  other  day — occupied 
a  page,  I  think.  Go  to  the  nearest  news- 
paper office  and  get  a  copy.  As  you  go  out, 
tell  Brouson  to  come  in  here." 

When  Bronson  appeared,  Steele  said  sharply: 
"  Find  out  for  me,  from  some  reliable  source, 
the  lowest  price  of  wheat  for  the  last  ten 
years." 

In  an  amazingly  short  space  of  time 
Holmes  reappeared  with  a  newspaper  a  week 
old,  and  laid  it  on  Mr.  Steelels  desk,  and 
Bronson  brought  in  an  array  of  figures. 

"  Here  we  are ! "  cried  Steele,  jerking  open 
the  crackling  sheet.  " '  Wonderful  harvests 
ahead!  Tremendous  wheat  crops  I '  Of  course, 
it  must  be  remembered  that  prophesying 
prosperity  is  always  popular,  and  newspapers 
like  that  sort  of  news.  Now,  I  shall  select 
twenty-five  places  named  in  this  paper.  The 
useful  Bronson  will  find  out  for  me  a  reliable 
man  in  each  place,  and  I  will  telegraph  him. 
By  to-morrow  we  should  have  replies  from 
some  fifteen  or  twenty  of  them ;  and  if  the 
majority  say  that  the  wheat  crop  is  a  failure, 
then  I  think  we  may  rely  on  your  forecast. 
Now,  let  us  see  what  Bronson's  figures  are. 
Sixty-five,  sixty-two  and  a  half,  sixty-four 
and  an  eighth,  fifty-three  and  five-eighths, 
forty-eight  and  three-quarters — gee-Whilli- 
kins,  that's  getting  down  to  bedrock  ! — fifty, 
fifty-four  and  nine-eighths,  sixty-nine  and 
one-eighth,  eighty-five — ah  1  that's  something 
like — seventy-  four  and  a  quarter,  and  so  on. 
Why,  it  seems  from  this  that  no  man  is  safe 
in  buying  for  a  rise  if  he  pays  more  than 
half  a  dollar  a  bushel,  while  you  come  sailing 
in  at  seventy-eight  I  Septimus  Severus ! 
I  admire  your  nerve,  but  not  your  judgment. 
Well,  drop  in  to-morrow,  about  two,  and 
we'll  see  what  the  telegrams  bring  us." 

"  Suppose,  meanwhile,  wheat  falls  another 
cent  or  two,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  can't  hurt  you  to-day — it's  after 
four  o'clock;  and  to-morrow  we'll  see  what 
is  best  to  be  done.  It  is  useless  to  conceal 
from  you  the  fact  that  there  is  an  unholy 
gulf  between  seventy-eight,  at  which  you 
bought,  and  fifty,  to  which  wheat  has  on 
more  than  one  occasion  fallen.  That  means 
a  little  deficit  of  two  hundred  and  eighty 
thousand  dollars  on  your  gentle  flutter." 

"The  truth  must  come  out    soon,   Mr. 


Steele,  and  it  may  be  published  any  momiog. 
When  that  happens,  wheat  will  go  up  like  a 
balloon." 

"  All  right,  Tom,  I  can  say  nothing  further 
just  now.  To-morrow  you  will  find  me 
brimful  of  information,  and  quite  decided 
as  to  the  course  I  shall  take." 

With  this  the  visitor  had  to  be  content. 
Next  day  he  arrived  at  Steele's  office  in  a 
more  cheerful  frame  of  mind.  "VVTieat  had 
closed  the  day  before  one-eighth  stronger 
than  it  was  in  the  morning.  The  conference 
this  time  was  short,  sharp,  and  decisive. 
Steele  was  thoroughly  the  man  of  bosiness. 

"I  received  seventeen  replies,"  he  said, 
"and  they  all  corroborate  your  forecast. 
Now,  what  do  you  wish  me  to  do  with  the 
little  parcel  of  wheat  standing  against  yonr 
name  ?  " 

"  I  thought  that  in  return  for  the  tip 
you  might  relieve  me  of  three-quarters 
of  it." 

"  I'll  relieve  you  of  all  of  it.  I've  given 
orders  to  my  brokers  to  buy  a  pretty  large 
slice  of  the  wheat  crop.  This  purchase  may 
perhaps  send  up  the  price  to  the  seventy- 
eight  at  which  you  purchased  it.  If  it 
does,  I'll  sell  out  your  lot  and  send  you 
the  money,  which  I  advise  you  to  invest  in 
gilt-edged  securities  and  leave  wheat  alone." 

"  All  right,"  said  Tom.  "  I  know  when 
I've  had  enough.  Nevertheless,  it's  a  sure 
thing,  and  I  hate  to  let  go." 

"  If  it's  a  sure  thing,"  said  Steele,  "  ITl 
hand  over  to  you  a  percentage  of  what  I 
win,  in  return  for  the  information  you  have 
given  me.  You  go  straight  home  ajid  take 
this  newspaper  with  you.  Write  out  a 
report  similar  in  length  to  these  Press 
Alliance  telegrams,  giving  name  of  locality 
and  the  actual  state  of  the  crop  in  each  district. 
Let  nobody  know  what  you  are  doing,  and 
work  all  night,  if  necessary,  nntil  the  report 
is  complete.  Then  bring  it  to  me,  and  I'll 
have  it  typewritten  in  this  office.  Now,  tiiifl 
is  my  busy  day.    Clear  out.    Good-bye." 

Steele's  buying  took  the  market  by  snr- 
prise.  No  one  knew,  of  course,  who  the 
purchaser  was,  but  the  price  rose  rapidly, 
point  by  point,  until  seventy-eight  was 
again  reached,  and  then  Steele  mstantlT 
gave  orders  for  the  sale  of  the  million 
bushels  that  stood  in  Tom's  name,  for  the 
double  purpose  of  getting  the  man  his 
money,  and  lowering  the  price  so  that  his 
own  purchases  might  be  accomplished  at  a 
less  figure  than  seventy-eight.  The  sale 
took  place  an  hour  before  the  closing  of 
business,  and  turned  out  to  be  just  in  the 


OUB   DAILY  BREAD. 


"■Who  p»y»  yOD  for  diueminatiDg  falae  n. 

nick  of  time.  Orders  to  sell  came  in  from 
somewhere  —  Bupposedly  from  Xew  York, 
and  whent  was  offered  in  any  quantiU  at 
practically  any  price  the  buyers  liked  to 
pay.  Someone  was  hammering  down  the 
market.  A  fight  was  on  between  two  nn- 
knowns,  and  pandemonium  was  let  loose  in 
rhicaffo.  The  pit  went  wild,  and  prices 
came  down  with  a  ron.  Steele  had  already 
stoppe<l  his  hnyere,  and  he  stood  from  under. 
Closing  prices  for  wheat  were  sixty-five  three- 
eighths.  Jack  Steele  did  some  deep  thinking 
and  cloee  figuring  that  night.  In  spite  of 
his  purchases  of  the  day,  he  had  still  a 
million  dollars  left  to  gamble  with. 

"  My  friend  the  bear,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"is  very  likely  to  keep  up  his  antics  to- 
morrow, so  as  to  frighten  the  opposition. 
If  he  squeezes  down  prices  to  sixty,  I'll 
buy  fiv>;  million  bushels.  Evctj  cent  of  a 
drop  will  mean  a  loss  of  fifty  thousand 
dotUr^.  It  reached  fifty  in  '94,  and  next 
rear  a  cent  and  a  quarter  less,  but  this  price 
luB  never  on  any  other  occasion  been  touched 


ews  in  the  newspipera  of  this  conntiy?'" 

in  the  last  forty  years.  Even  if  it  drops  to 
that,  I'll  have  lost  half  a  million  or  so,  bnt 
I'll  still  hang  on.  I'm  not  trying  to  comer 
the  market,  so,  Mr.  Bruin,  go  ahead,  and  let 
us  sec  what  happens." 

Nest  day  the  panic  and  the  slump  con- 
tinned.  Wheat  fell  to  fifty-nine,  and 
between  that  price  and  sixty -one,  John 
Steele  secured  his  five  million  bushels. 

Who  were  the  operators  ?  That  was 
what  the  papers  wanted  to  know.  Was  it, 
as  surmised,  S,  contest  between  New  York 
and  Chicago  ?  All  the  well-known  dealers 
were  interviewed,  but  each  and  every  one 
insisted  he  was  merely  an  bterested  spectator, 
holding  an  umbrella  over  his  head.  There 
was  going  to  be  a  blizzard,  so  everybody  had 
his  eye  on  the  cyclone-cellar.  It  was  a  good 
time  to  seek  cover,  they  said. 

Of  course.  Jack  Steele  might  have  rested 
on  his  oare.  He  was  reasonably  safe — in 
fact,  he  was  perfectly  safe  if  he  merely  held 
on,  which  was  a  good  position  to  he  in. 
But  he  had  a  plui  of  bis  own,  although 


148 


THE   WiNDSOk  AfAGAZrNh\ 


he  resolved  not  to  buy  further  unless  wheat 
reached  the  low  limit  of  half  a  dollar.  In 
that  case  he  feared  he  would  plunge.  This 
night,  however,  he  proceeded  to  carry  out 
his  plan,  which  led  to  amazing  results.  He 
put  Tom's  report  of  the  wheat  crop's  condi- 
tion, now  nicely  typewritten,  into  his  inside 
pocket,  and  locked  up  his  office. 

All  the  upper  windows  of  a  commodious 
business  block  were  aglow  with  electric  light. 
It  was  the  home  of  tne  Press  Alliance,  with 
telegraphic  nerves  reaching  to  the  further- 
most parts  of  the  earth.  Its  business  was 
to  gather  news  which  it  furnished  to  news- 
papers belonging  to  the  Alliance.  Jack 
Steele  knew  Simmonds,  the  manager,  and 
resolved  to  pay  him  an  evening  call  at  what 
was  certainly  a  most  inopportune  moment. 
The  great  hive  was  a-hum  with  activity.  The 
wild  day  on  the  Stock  Exchange  was  enough 
of  itself  to  keep  it  throbbing.  Simmonds 
was  a  busy  man,  but  he  received  Jack  Steele, 
who  came  in  cool  and  self-possessed,  with 
courtesy  and  respect. 

"Well,  Simmonds,  I  suppose  you're  just 
rushed  to  death,  so  I'll  not  keep  you  a 
moment.  I  want  to  see  one  of  your  men  who 
is  less  busy,  if,  indeed,  he  is  here  to-night," 

"  We're  all  here  to-night,  Steele.  I  hope 
you've  not  been  dabbling  in  wheat  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  No  fear.  Wheat's  rather  out  of 
my  line." 

"Somebody's  going  to  get  badly  hurt 
before  the  week  is  out." 

"So  I  understand,"  said  Steele  non- 
chalantly, as  if  it  were  none  of  his  affair. 
"  By  the  way,  talking  of  wheat,  you  gather 
statistics  of  the  crops  from  all  over  the 
country,  don't  you  —  your  company,  I 
mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  several  times  a  year." 

"  From  what  office  is  that  done,  New  York 
or  Chicago  ?  " 

"  Chicago,  of  course." 

"  Who  is  in  charge  of  that  department  ?  " 

"  Nicholson.    Why  ?  " 

"  I  would  like  to  have  a  chat  with  him  if 
he's  not  too  busy." 

"Well,  you've  struck  the  one  man  who 
isn't  busy  to-night.  You  see,  his  work  Ls  a 
daylight  job." 

"  What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  he  ?  " 

"He's  a  new  man— at  least,  he's  been 
with  us  only  six  months— that  is,  at  this 
office.  He  came  on  from  New  York. 
Splendid  fellow,  though,  and  well  up  to  his 
work." 

"  Good,     Can  I  see  him  ?  " 

"  I'll  find  out  if  he's  in  his  room." 


Simmonds  spoke  throogh  a  telephone  and 
then  said — 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Nicholson  will  see  you  ;  but  I 
say,  Steele,  don't  meddle  with  wheat.  If 
you  want  any  information  from  him,  re- 
member he  can't  give  it  out,  except  to  the 
morning  papers." 

"Oh,  I  shan't  buy  a  bushel  of  wheat; 
don't  be  frightened." 

"  This  boy  will  take  you  to  Mr.  Nicholson's 
room.     Good  night." 

Nicholson  proved  to  be  a  man  of  uncer- 
tain age.  His  hair  was  closely  cropped,  his 
face  smoothly  shaven,  and  bore  a  look  of 
determination  and  power  which  one  might 
not  have  expected  to  find  in  a  mere  sub- 
ordinate." 

"Is  this  Mr.  John  Steele,"  he  asked 
pleasantly,  "the  Napoleon  of  finance  who 
stood  out  against  Rockervelt  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  about  the  Napoleon 
part  of  it,  Mr.  Nicholson,  but  Rockervdt  and 
I  had  a  little  n^otiation  awhile  ago  which 
I  trust  ended  in  our  mutual  advantage. 
Now,  Mr.  Nicholson,"  continued  Steele, 
sitting  down  in  the  chair  oflFered  him,  "if 
you  are  not  too  busy,  I  should  like  to  ask  yon 
a  few  questions." 

"  I  am  not  very  busy,  Mr.  Steele,  and  shall 
be  pleased  to  answer  any  question  you  like 
to  ask,  so  long  as  the  information  sought 
belongs  to  me,  and  not  to  my  employers." 

"  Who  is  your  employer,  Mr.  Nicholson  ? " 

"  My  employer  ?  Why,  the  Press  Alliance, 
of  course." 

"The  Press  Alliance  is  one  of  your  em- 
ployers, I  know.  Your  nominal  employer, 
let  us  say.  It  pays  you  to  collect  aocuiatie 
information.  Wno  pays  you  for  disseminat- 
ing false  news  in  the  newspapers  of  this 
countn^  ? " 

If  Jack  Steele  expected  a  start  of  guilty 
surprise  or  a  flash  of  anger  or  a  demand  for 
explanation,  he  was  disappointed.  The 
impassive  face  remained  impassive.  The 
piercing  eyes  narrowed  a  little,  perhaps,  but 
he  could  have  sworn  that  the  faint  glimmer 
of  a  smile  hovered  about  the  firm  lips.  The 
voice  that  spoke  was  under  perfect  control. 

"They  say  that  all  things  come  to  him 
who  waits,  and  here  is  an  illustration  of  it 
The  man  for  whom  every  reporter  in  Chicago 
is  searching,  and  whom  I  am  most  dedroos 
to  meet,  walks  right  into  my  office.  How 
many  million  bushels  of  wheat  did  you  buy 
to-day,  Mr.  Steele  ?  " 

Jack  Steele  was  a  much  more  genial  person 
than  this  man  from  New  York.  He  threw 
back  his  head  and  laughed. 


OUR   DAILY  BREAD. 


"  Mr.  Nicholson,  I  am  delighted  to  have 
made  your  acqnaiatance.  Your  wild  guess 
that  I  am  the  buyer  of  wheat  is  really  flattering 
to  me.  Yet  your  own  reference  to  my  little 
contest  with  Rockervelt  ahonld  have  reminded 
you  that  I  deal  in  railways,  and  not  in  grain." 

"  The  reason  I  wished  to  meet  you,"  went 
tm  Mr.  Nicholson,  as  if  the  other  had  not 
fipoken,  "  is  because  I  have  a  message  to  you 
from  my  chiefs." 


"  Yes,  but  you  have  not  mentioned  who 
your  chiefs  are." 

"There  is  no  need  to  mention  them,  Mr, 
Steele.  When  1  tell  you  they  own  banks  in 
evei7  city  in  the  United  Stut«8 ;  that  the 
income  of  the  head  of  our  combination  ia 
fifty  miUion  dollars  a  year  from  merely  one 
branch  of  his  activity ;  that  we  have  em- 
pUyis  in  the  United  States  Treasury  power- 
ful enot^h  to  have  the  funds  of  this  country 
placed   for  safety  in  our   banks ;   that  my 


principals  can,  if  they  wish,  gamble  with  the 
savings  of  the  people  of  tlw  United  States 
deposited  in  their  Keeping ;    that  we  have 
agents  in  every  part  of  the  world,  and  there 
is  not  a  country  in  Europe,  Asia,  or  Africa 
that  does  not  pay  tribute  to  them  :   when  I 
have  said  all  this,  Mr.  Steele,  I  think  two 
things  may  be  taken  for  granted — iirst,  that 
no  names  need  be  mentioned  ;    second,  that 
jou  realise  yon    are   opposed   to  a   power 
infinitely  greater 
than   that  of    Mr. 
Rockervelt  or  any 
other  financial  force 
that  the  world  con- 
tains." 

"You  are  right 
in  both  surmises, 
Mr.  Nicholson,  and 
I  experience  that 
keen  joy  which 
warriors  feel  with 
foemen  worthy  of 
their  steel— if  you 
will  excuse  the  ap- 
parent pun  on  my 
own  name.  I  am 
really  quoting  from 
Scott — not  the  rail- 
way man  of  that 
name,  but  the  poet. 
And  now  for  your 
mess^e,  Mr.  Nichol- 
son." 

"  You  admit, 
then,  that  you  are 
the  buyer  ?  " 

"I'll  admit  any- 
thing in  the  face  of 
such  a  formidable 
rival," 

"  Veiy  well.  My 
chiefs  are  the  moat 
generous  of  men." 

"  Oh,  we  all  know 
that." 

"  If  yon  have  lost 
money  these  last  two 
days,  they  will  refund  it.  They  are  even 
willing  to  allow  you  a  reasonable  profit,  and 
I  am  empowered  to  n^otiate  regarding  the 
figures." 

"  And  all  this  for  pure  philanthropy,  Mr. 
Nicholson  ? " 

"  All  this  if  you  will  merely  stand  aside 
and  not  interfere  in  a  market  you  do  not 
understand,  and  complicate  a  situation  that  is 
already  somewhat  delicate." 

"  And  if  I  refuse  to  stand  aside  ? " 


160 


THE    WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


"  If  you  refuse,  they  will  crush  you,  as 
they  have  crushed  many  a  cleverer  man." 

"  Ah  I  that's  not  tactful,  Nicholson,  and 
I'm  sure  it  would  not  meet  the  approval  of 
your  employers.  Your  last  remark  is  apt  to 
provoke  opposition  rather  than  compliance. 
Would  it  surprise  you  to  know  that  I  possess 
a  more  potent  backer  than  even  your  distin- 
guished chief  ?  " 

"  More  potent  ?  Yes,  it  would  surprise 
me.  Have  you  any  reluctance  in  mentioning 
the  name  ?  " 

"  Not  the  slightest- it's  a  lady." 

"A  lady?" 

"  Yes,  Dame  Nature — a  charming  old 
woman  if  you  stand  in  with  her,  a  blue  terror 
if  you  go  against  her.  Wheat  in  America 
this  year  will  be  only  three-quarters  of  a 
crop,  if  it  is  that  much.  You  can  joggle 
with  the  fact  for  a  little  time,  but  you  can't 
conceal  it.  Even  the  great  firm  on  Broad- 
way cannot  make  a  blade  of  wheat  grow 
where  one  has  been  killed  by  the  frost — not 
in  the  same  year,  at  least.  So  you  may  tele- 
graph to  your  distinguished  principals  and 
tell  them  that  Jack  Steele  and  Dame  Nature 
are  going  to  dance  a  minuet  with  those  two 
Corsican  brothers  of  New  York,  and  your 
fraternal  friends  will  find  some  difficulty  in 
keeping  pace  with  the  music.  And  so  good- 
bye, Mr.  Nicholson." 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Steele.  I  am  very  sorry 
we  cannot  come  to  terms." 

Once  outside,  Jack  Steele  hailed  a  cab  and 
drove  to  the  Chicago  Daily  Mail  building. 
Here,  as  at  the  Press  Alliance,  everyone  was 
hard  at  work  ;  but  Steele's  name  was  good  for 
entrance  almost  anywhere  in  Chicago,  and 
the  managing  editor  did  not  keep  him 
waiting. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Stoliker,"  Steele 
began.  "  I  have  got  in  my  pocket  the  greatest 
newspaper  '  beat '  that  has  ever  been  let  loose 
on  Chicago  since  the  Brooklyn  Theatre  fire." 

"  Then,  Steele,  you're  as  welcome  as 
flowers  that  bloom  in  the  spring.  Out  with 
it." 

"  There's  been  a  gigantic  conspiracy  to 
delude  the  Press  and  people  of  the  United 
States." 

"  Oh,  they're  always  trying  that,"  said 
Stoliker  complacently. 

"  Yes,  but  this  time  they've  succeeded,  up 
to  this  evening.  Just  cast  your  eye  over 
this  document." 

A  managing  editor  is  quick  to  form  an 
accurate  estimate  of  the  proportions  of  a 
piece  of  news  submitted  to  him. 

'^  If  anyone  else  had  brought  this  in,"  said 


Stoliker  slowly,  "  do  you  know  what  I  should 
have  thought  ?  " 

''  Yes,  you  would  think  it  an  attempt  of 
the  bulls  to  get  in  out  of  the  rain." 

"  Exactly.  You've  hit  it  the  first  time. 
Can  you  vouch  for  the  accuracy  of  this  ?  " 

"  I  can." 

"  You  won't  be  oflFended,  Steele,  if  I  ask 
you  one  more  question,  and  only  one  ?  " 

**  I  know  what  the  question  is." 

"  W^hat  is  it  ?  " 

"  You  are  going  to  ask  if  I  have  been 
buying  wheat  ?  " 

"Well,  you  seem  to  know  exactly  what's 
in  my  mind.  Conversation  is  rather  super- 
fluous with  so  sharp  a  man  as  you.  Hav€ 
you  been  buying  wheat  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  the  person  that  has  caused  the 
flutter  in  the  market  these  last  two  days." 

"  If  I  publish  this,  the  price  of  wheat  will 
instantly  jump  up." 

"  No,  it  won't." 

"Oh,  that's  the  evident  object  of  the 
whole  thing.  If  I  prove  that  the  wheat  crop 
of  America  is  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  per 
cent,  short,  up  goes  the  pnce  of  wheat." 

"  My  dear  Stoliker,  your  paper  will  sell  like 
hot  cakes,  but  no  one  will  believe  a  word  you 
say.  Everyone  on  'Change  will  think  exactly 
as  you  do — that  this  is  a  device  of  the  bulk, 
and  so  the  price  of  wheat  is  likely  to  remain 
stationary  for  some  hours.  But  this  sensa- 
tional statement  is  bound  to  make  everybody 
uneasy,  and  there  will  be  a  good  deal  of 
telegraphing  going  on  during  the  forenoon. 
By  the  time  the  evening  papers  are  out,  it 
will  begin  to  dawn  on  commercial  Chicago 
that  you've  done  the  biggest  thing  that's 
been  done  for  years.  After  that,  every 
moment  will  enhance  your  reputation." 

"  Quite  so,  (/"-—and  that  *  if '  is  the  biggest 
word  in  the  dictionary  just  now — if  this 
article  is  accurate.  If  it  isn't,  then  the 
reverse  of  all  you  have  predicted  will  happen." 

"  My  dear  Stoliker,  I  was  quite  prepared 
for  this  unbelief.  I  therefore  took  the  pre- 
caution before  the  bank  closed  to  get  a 
certified  cheque  for  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  and  here  it  is.  Pay  that  into  your 
bank  to-morrow,  and  offer  in  your  papers 
hundred  thousand  dollars  to  anyone  wno  will 
prove  the  report  inaccurate.  I  don't  mean 
in  a  detail  here  or  there,  but  the  general 
truthfulness  of  the  statement.  It  h^  been 
compiled  by  a  man  I  can  vouch  for,  in  the 
employ  of  the  WTieat  Belt  Line,  who  has 
visited  every  spot  mentioned  in  the  report. 
Now,  time  is  precious ;  I  give  you  five  minutes 
in  which  to  make  up  your  mind." 


OUR  DAILY   BREAD. 


151 


"  I  don't  need  them ;  mj  mind  is  made  up. 
I'll  print  it." 

Nest  day,  events  proved  that  Steele  was  no 
false  propuet.  Wheat  wobbled  for  a  time  np 
and  down,  tbea  began  to  rise  steadily,  and  at 
last  shot  up  like  a  rocket,  ending  at  eighty- 
three  and  a  quarter.  Before  the  week  was  out, 
it  was  well  over  the  dollar  mark,  and  Jack 
Steele  was  richer  by  more  than  two  million 
dollars.  The  night  of  the  day  in  which  be  sold 
oat,  he  BtroUed  into  the  Press  Alliance  offices 
and  visibed  his  perturbed  friend  Simmonds. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  Mr.  Nicholson  again," 
be  said. 

"  Oh,  cnrse  bim  1 "  cried  Simmonds,  "  he's 
gone  to  New  York ;  and  I  wish  he  bad  never 
left  there.     I  suppose  you  don't  know  what 


a  bole  he  put  us  into,  because  yon're  not 
interested  in  wheat." 

"  Really  ?  Why,  I  was  tremendously  im- 
pressed by  Nicholson's  manner  and  appear- 
ance 1 " 

"  Oh,  hia  manner  and  appearance  were  all 
right.  He  came  here  with  the  very  highest 
recommendations — in  fact,  he  was  the  one 
man  in  our  employ  of  all  the  hundredB  here 
that  I  bad  orders  from  headquarters  not  to 
dismiss  on  any  account.  I  was  as  much 
taken  with  bis  looks  as  yon  were.  I  would 
have  sworn  he  was  true  to  bis  employers,  yet 
I  have  not  the  sUgbtest  doubt  he  sold  us  out 
as  if  we  were  a  flock  of  sheep." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Simmonds.  He  was 
perfectly  true  to  bis  employers." 


/ 


/oy- 


THE   LITTLE   LOVE-GOD. 

FhOM      THB      PiCTUKB      BT      y.       VOB      C.      ZEVfT. 

•n  nfJ-  Lowy,  runno. 


Games  One  can 
Practise  in  a  Room. 


By    EUSTACE    MILES. 

PlioUigr(^hs  by  Mason  and  Basebe, 
Cambridge. 

IN  wet  or  cold  weather,  or  when  the 
evening  is  longer  than  Uie  afternoon, 
thoosandB  miee  the  play  which  they 
enjoy  out  of  doors.  And  for  many  it 
may  often  be  U>o  dark  for  them  to  get 
their  games  before  or  after  their  day 'is 
work,  except  od  Saturday  or — in  case  I 
shock  anyone,  I  quote  from  the  old  English 
song — "  the  day  tnat  comea  betwixt  a  Satur- 
day and  Monday."  For  the  other  dajB 
they  may  be  too  busy  in  the  City  and 
too  lazy  or  tired  before  and  after  their 
btuinesB.  It  is  at  week-ends  that  they  have 
their  chance  of  outdoor  eiercifle.     On   the 


week-days  themselves,  what  can  they  do 
that  wiU  not  bore  or  overtire  them,  and  yet 
will  keep  them  fairly  healthy  and  in  training 
and  practice  for  the  week-end  recreation  ? 
It  would  be  a  thousand  pities  if  they  dropped 
this  because  they  did  not  enjoy  it  enough, 
because  they  were  not  up  to  the  mark ;  for 
with  them  it  may  be  a  case  of  auf  Indus 
aut  nihil.  Let  others  substitute  Swedish 
or  Swiss,  or  German  or  British,  or  dumb- 
bell or  club  or  other  drill.  We  must 
recc^nise  their  common  sense.  But  these 
peo^e  of  whom  we  are  speaking  want  play, 
or  else  something  as  near  to  play  as  they 
can  get. 

It  is  not  every  reader  of  this  magazine 
who  has  a  ground  for  football  or  hockey  or 
lacrosse  or  other  sport,  or  who  would  care  to 
play  on  it  by  artificial  light  or  with  luminous- 
painted  balls  and  implements  and  opponents ; 
bat  almost  eveiy  reader  of  this  m^iazine  has 
a  bedroom  or  sitting-room  in  whicn  a  space 
of  a  square  couple  of  yards  or  more  can  be 
cleared.  I  will  try  to  cater  for  him,  asking 
him  to  modify  freely  and  to  add  freely  to 
this  brief  account  of  games  that  he  can 
practise  in  that  space. 

I  wish  Emerson's  famous  remark,  "  To  be 
great  is  to  be  misimdcrstood,"  were  true,  for 
then,  whenever  I  wrote  about  practice  for 
play,  I  should  feel  sure  that  someone  was 
doing  his  or  her  level  best  to  make  me  great. 
There  are  many  who  seem  to  go  through  the 
dailies  and  monthlies  with  a  lot  of  abusive 
labels  in  their  minds,  lai^e   labels  of  con- 


154  THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 

demnatioo  readf  gummed,  bo  as  to  be  fastened  at  once  over 

the  whole  of  any  article  that  shall  dare  to  suggest  any 

sensible  training  for  play.    Sometimes  under  the  heading  of 

"  Over- Athleticism :  Neglect  of  Serious  Work,"  is  a  proverh ; 

"  Work  while  you  work,  play  while  you  play,"  or  a  platitnde : 

"  Games  are  all  very  well  as  a  recreation ;  indeed,  they  are 

very  hygienic  "  (or  some  such  awful  word  intended  to  put 

people  off  the  practice),  "  but  they  must  not  be  regarded  as 

importiint." 

Fortunately  there  are  readers  who  know  better.     They 

regard  games  as  essential  ;   they  could   justify  their  plav 

from  a  round  dozen  points  of  view,  not  the  least  of  whicfi 

is  that  it  interests  and  attracts  them,  whereas  "  a  good  brisk 

walk  in  the  country  "  generally  docs  not,  especially  in  the 

dark.     Neither  does  the  ordinary  physical  culture  course 

satisfy  all  their  physical  cravings.    It  is  common  to  imagine 

that  dipsomania  is  a  hard  diseaae  to  overcome ;  the  passion 

for  stimulants  certainly  is  a  powerful  master.  But  the 
passion  for  play  or  some 
other  form  of  competition 
is  scarcely  less  powerful 
to  many  ;  we  might  call 
it  ludo-mania.  It  demands 

to  be  satisfied  ;  unsatis-  

fied,  it  brings  discomfort.  a  klvks  stbokk  uow  i>owk. 

I  hope  here  to  do  a  little 

satisfying,  to  train  the  imngination,  to  keep  up  the  everyday 
fitness,  to  raise  the  standard  of  skill,  and,  last,  but  not  least, 
to  relieve  the  mind  during  play  itself,  by  giving  it  an 
apparatus— feet,  legs,  trunk,  arms,  hands,  neck,  eye — working 
more  ejisjly,  working  at  the  c()mmaiids  of  that  most  iisefm 
sen'antofonrs, the  trained 
under-mind,  the  snb-con- 


FirBt  secure,  with  the 

maximum  of  clear  space 

and    uir    and    light,    the 

uEFuuK  A  KivK>.  sTiTOKE.  niinimuiu    of    Cramping 

clothes.      Then     attend 

occasionally  and  not  fussily  to  the  general  rules— chin  in, 

small  of  tlie  l»ack  hollow,  trunk  inclined  slightly  forward 

from  the  hips  and  evenly  balanced  on  the  halls  of  the  feet 

(which  need  not  be  t<^ether). 

The  apparatus  will  consist  of  a  soft  ball  (a  ping-pong 
ball  is  not  bad),  a  stick,  a  light  club  or  racquet-handle  or 
ratiquet,  and  a  soft  hanging  ball  (a  lawn  tennis  ball  in  » 
string  bag  will  do),  not  fastened  to  the  floor  lielow,  two  or 
three  pieces  of  white  tape,  and  some  drawing-pins.  In 
Hume  of  the  llliistrutions  will  appear  a  handkerchief  rolled 
up  as  a  ball,  and  having  an  elastic  band  round  it.  This  can 
be  suspended  by  a  string  from  a  picture-fastener  in  the 
ceiling.  The  other  end  of  the  string  can  be  pulled  or  let 
loose,  so  as  to  regulate  the  height  of  the  ball. 

One  of  the  l^st  games  to  practise  in  a  bedroom  is  Fives 
withouta  ball.  It  is  fine  exercise,  since  it  in\'ol\es  activity, 
healthy  trunk-movements  (stooping,  turning,  twisting,  etc.), 
and  not  t«o  violent  exercise  for  the  right  and  left  sides 
alternately  and  independently.  It  is  good  to  ima^ne  oneself 
playing  through  a  rally  or  two,  and  playing  very  well  I   The 


GAMES  ONE  CAN  PRACTISE  IN  A   ROOM.  155 

UloBtrationB  sbow  a  high  voile;  with  a  full  follow -through  ; 
then  a  low  stroke  also  with  a  full  follow-through.  It  is 
important  to  do  the  exercise  left-banded  as  well  as  right- 
handed,  and  to  get  into  the  alert  position  after  each  stroke. 
The  "  play  "  requires  scarcely  any  space. 

It^  is  easy  to  add  the  hanging  ball.  The  photc^rraph 
shows  the  moment  just  before  the  hand  has  reached  tnc 
ball.  It  is  difficult  to  describe  the  stroke.  There  is  plenty 
of  snap  about  it,  and  a  little  body  and  trunk-movement  as 
well.    It  is  not  at  aU  nnlike  the  action  of  throwing. 

Absurd  as  it  may  sound,  the  imagination  of  a  vigorous 
game  of  Fives  or  anything  else  that  attracts  the  individual 
will  tend  to  put  him  in  a  good  temper.  Whereas  the 
ordinary  drill  might  be  dull,  such  an  exercise  as  thle,  while 
not  claiming  scientific  perfection,  may  yet  be  valuable 
all-round,  especially  if  yoii  relax  the  side  which  you  are  not 
using ;  this  gives  raort' 
independent    control    of 

the  two  sides,  more  physi-  i 

cal  economy. 

A  Cricket  series  needs 

ROKE  WITH  TiBD  oT         ^^  descfiption.     You  can 

HAKDEEBCHiEF.  pTBteud   to    bow! ;    thcD 

get  ready  for  the  ball  to 

be  returned ;   imagine  it  to  be  returned ;    field  it ;   then 

throw  in  (we  shall  come  to  the  throwing  directly).     Be  sure 

to  practise  left-handed  a&  well.    It  seems  to  be  fairly  certain 

that,  by  increasing  the  skill  of  your  left  hand,  you  increase 

the  skiil  of  your  right  hand  also.    Numerous  experiments 

made  in  America  appear  to  establish  this  point. 

Then,  with  a  stick  or  a  light  chib,  or  a  bat  if  you  have 

room,  get  ready  to  play  an  im^inary  ball.  Suppose  it  is  a 
ball  to  which  you  should 
play  forward.  Then  play 
well  and  straight  forward 
(the  tape  hne  on  the  floor 
wiU  be  useful),  with  full 
extension  of  the  left  hand, 
and  with  yonr  weight 
coming  well  over  your 
left  foot  and  your    bat  winr  a  kol 

going  near  to  your  left 

foot.  After  the  stroke,  get  ready  again,  run  out,  and,  if 
you  have  space  and  not  too  much  valuable  fnrniture  about, 
make  a  drive  along  the  ground  to  the  on  boundary. 
Recover ;  come  back ;  get  ready  ;  put  your  leg  across,  and 
cut.  Then  prepare  to  run.  Kun  one  step  and  come 
back.      Get   ready ;   imagine  a  ball  to  which  you  should 

Slay  back;  play  back;  and  so  on.  Then  do  this  left- 
anded. 
Here,  again,  it  is  easy  to  use  the  hanging  ball. 
Mr.  C.  B.  Fry  improved  his  batting  by  practising  with  a 
swinging  ball  in  a  barn.  One  has  to  be  content  with  a 
modification  of  this  in  a  small  bedroom,  but  the  illustration 
of  this  suggests  how  it  can  be  managed. 

Another  eiercise  might  be  to  take  that  rolled-up  hand- 
kerchief, which  gives  a  greater  variety  of  angles,  or  else  a 
lawn-tennia  or  ping-pong  ball,  and  bowl  it  at  a  mark  on  the 
.-icE  AT  RAcini.      wall,  then  oaten  it. 


156 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


The  illuBtratioDs  show  another  series.  You 
atoop  to  pick  up  the  handkerchief  or  tnli ; 
you  then  throw  it  at  the  mark ;  jou  get 
rwidy  to  cateh  it  on  its  return.  Notice  how 
this  throw  has  hit  rather  to  the  right  of  the 
mark.  In  the  next  throw  I  shall  exaggerate, 
and  aim  slightly  to  the  left  of  the  mark. 
Here,  once  more,  there  will  be  the  left-hand 
practice  as  well.  It  is  singular  how  clnmsr 
one's  left  hand  is  for  throwing.  There  seema 
a  certain  point  at  which  it  is  extra  weak. 
But  that  is  soon  remedied. 

Next  may  come  Football.  A  kick  at  a 
ball  near  to  the  ground  is  illustrated.  This 
I  find  a  vciT  vigorous  movement  for  bed- 
room drill.  The  result  of  a  ball  kicked  from 
somewhat  higher  is  shown  in  the  other  illus- 
tration. Of  ooorBe,  all  sorts  of  heights  may 
be  tried,  and  you  can  imagine  not  only  a 
"  place  "  or  an  ordinary  kick  or  a  "  punt," 
but  abo  a  "  drop."    Be  sure  to  practise  with 


easily    practise    dribbling,     shooting,     ajid 
passing. 

Then,  if  you  have  room,  you  can  im^ine 
yourself  heading,  dodging,  perhaps  even 
tackling  someone.  The  Americana  have  a 
special  apparatus  for  this,  a  dummy  swinging 
from  a  rope.  The  Japanese  Jujitsa  system 
has  a  good  exercise  for  this  also. 


both  feet  in  turn.  Mr.  C.  H.  Fry  says 
that  he  leamt  a  good  deal  of  his  kicking 
by  practice  with  a  small  Ijull.  It  en- 
courages a  finer  accuracy.  Certainly  that 
is  likely  to  be  better  for  the  bedroom, 
unless  you  adapt  a  puneh-liaU  for  bedroom 
use,  setting  it  crossways  instead  of  up 
and  down.     With  a  small  hall   vou  could 


If  you  like,  laugh  during  the  practice. 
Certainly  stop  if  you  begin  to  fee!  out  of 
breath ;  do  a  few  breathing-exercises.  The 
less  you  use  your  muscles  not  reqaired  for 
any  given  movement,  the  more  valuable  the 
practice  will  be  from  the  point  of  view  of 
gracefulness,  economy,  and  health. 

It  would  be  quite  easy  to  add  Hock^ 
practice,  including  a  few  Gt«pe  of  numtng 
sideways,  and  so  on. 

Then  Lawn  Tennis  can  be  practised,  es- 
pecially the  mechanism  of  the  high  service. 
which  I  have  described  elsewhere.  lliiB 
could  be  followed  by  a  back-hand  stroke,  and 
this  by  a  fore-hand  stroke,  this  by  a  smash 
overhead.  Once  more,  let  the  practice  be 
left-handed  sometimes. 

Golf  needs  a  larger  space  if  you  are  to  me 
the  driver.  Needless  to  say,  putting  is  easy 
enough,  and  so  are  certAin  approach-sbotx. 
But  you  can  get  some  practice  for  the  drive 
by  using  a  light  Indian  club.  As  to  the  hall. 
you  can  have  a  mark  on  the  floor — for 
instance,  a  piece  of  paper  or  a  cotton-wool 
ball,  or  you  can  use  a  captive  1»11,  or  have  an 
ordinary  ball  and  a  padded  wall.  As  Mr.  E, 
F.  Benson  says,  this  bedroom  practice  of  a 
certain  stroke  again  and  again,  till  yon 
get  it  more  and  more  correct,  may  be  beUvr 
for  your  play,  may  help  to  remove  yoot 


GAMES  ONE  CAN  PRACTISE  IN  A   ROOM.  157 

taalto,  with  leas  trouble  than  if  yon  relied  simply  on  a  round  of  golf,  in  which  you 
practise  manv  Btn)ko8,  but  do  not  get  consecutive  practice  of  one,  wliich  is  really  what 
yon  want.  Then,  during  the  game,  of  course,  you  must  think  of  the  game  rather  than  of 
the  mechanisni. 

And  another  word  here  :   if  you  are  a  genius  and  play  well  by  natnre,  then  it  may  be  a 

mistake  to  think  of   the 

mechanism  at  all ;  it  may 

even  spoil  that  mechanism. 

Those    freaks    who    have 

madewonderful  lightning- 
calculations  in  mathe- 
matics, without   knowing 

how,  may  lose  their  power 

when    someone    tries    to 

teach  ihem  the  elements 

of  mathematics  ;  but  that 

is    no    reason    why    the 

elements  of  mathematics 

should  not  be  taught  to 

ordinary  people. 

And  there  is  this  point 

as  well.     I  do  not  profess 
■  icEHANi)  8TKOKK,  EX  \<iuEHATEii      to  1)6  au  espcrt,  and  so 

TOLLOWIMO  A   USE  L-POHt'mbitixWk!  WOUM     advlse      VOU     tO     get  AND   THUS. 

very  good  models.     You 
can  see  them  for  yourself,  or  buy  papers  with  instantaneous  photc^rapha  ;  most  of  the  papers 
have  these  to-day. 

I  hope  no  one  will  think  that  I  wish  to  confine  people  to  only  a  few  games  if  I  now 
come  to  my  own  favourites— llackets  and  Tennis.     The  cscrcises  are  worth  practising,  not 
only  for  the  sake  of 
t]ae   game,   but   also 
■  because    they    are 
healtliy. 

The'  first  illustra- 
tion shows  a  back- 
hand stroke,  much 
exaggerated.  First 
the  racquet  is  lifted, 
the  body  being,  of 
course,  in  the  side- 
ways position.  Then 
attention  is  paid  to 
the  beginning  of 
the    stroke,  then   to 

the    end    of     it,    the  mtuow  TiiKovoir  (esaghbhatbd). 

follow-through.    The 

white  line  (the  tape)  shows  how  much  or  how  little  youl 

deviate  from  this.     Clearly,  the  longer  you  keep  to  that 

line,  the  more  chance  yon  will  have  of  meeting  the  b^l. 

Th3  ball  is  going  to  travel  nearly  along  that  line.     If  your 

racquet  only  touches  that  line  for  five  inches   instead  of 

ANOTHER  POSITION.  scvcral  feet,  you  are  unlikely  to  give  yourself  the  best  chance 

of  hitting  it  fair  and  square.     Then,  during  the  game  in 

the  court,  you  will  probably  find  that  your  stroke,  which  you  do  not  think  about  now,  has 

improved  itaelf.     I  find  that  a  hundred  strokes  is  quite  enough  for  a  single  practice.      It 

takes  me  a  few  minutes  to  do  them.     I  begin  with  the  backhand  as  here  ;  I  proceed  to  the 

forehand.     Then  I  do  a  few  forehand  and  backhand  services,  which  are  also  shown  in  the 

illostrationB. 

In  another  article  I  hope  to  show  that  the  backhand  stroke  done  left-handed  is  excellent 


The   WINDSOIt  MAGAZINE. 


practice 
not  only 
for  Golf, 
but  also  for 
CrickL't. 
The  foru- 
haod  drive 
at  Golf  iii- 
volveB  a 
biickhand 
stroke  with 
the  left 
baud,  aH 
vol!  aa  a 
forehand 
stroke  with 
the  right. 

This  line 
along  the 
floor  (it 
may  be 
tape,  as 
here,  or 
chalk,  or 
1  Bomething 
el9e)willbe 
useful  as 
practice  for  Bowk.  You  can  imagine  the 
call,  or  you  can  get  something  to  represent 
it.  It  will  be  useful  also  for  Ci-oquet  prac- 
tice, and  for  putting  at  Golf,  and  so  on. 

Every- 
one  knows 
the  value 
of  a  Punch- 
Ball.  The 
p  h  o  t  o  - 
graph 
shows  how 
you  can  use 
the  roUcd- 
up  liaud- 
kerchief  aa 
a  I'unch- 
Itall.  It 
makes  no 
noise  ;  it 
returns  at 
various 
unfiles.  It 
I  adapts    it- 

self also  for 
I  the  prac- 

I  tice     of 

I  fencing- 

I  lunges. 

I  Boxing 

THK  TIKI.-UP    IfANIlKKItClltKI''    AS    A  "^"^    feUC- 

I'u.Ncii-uAi.i..     '  ing  are  not 


exactly  games.  When  once  we  corae  off  the 
ground  of  games,  we  open  np  too  vast  a  field. 
Gymnastics,  for  instance,  can  easily  be  prac- 
tised with  the  help  of  a  chair  or  two,  the 
bed,  the  wall,  the  inevitable  floor,  and  so  od. 
Each  should  choose  his  own  games.  To 
some,  gymnastics  are  games ;  to  others,  they 
are  sheer  drudgery. 

Some  may  prefer  tight-rope-walking.  I 
know  Americans  who  practised  it.  They 
had  a  strong  rope  stretched  from  one 
solid  piece  of  furniture  to  another.  If 
this  is  too  much  to  ask,  then  yon  can 
practise  walking  along  the  line  on  the  floor, 
pretending  it  is  a  rope.  There  is  skipping 
also,  in  its  many  varieties.  There  are  the 
athletic  sports — the  high  jump,  the  vault, 


and  putting  the  shot  and  throwing  the 
hammer.  The  imitation  of  putting  the 
shot  gives  magnificent  movements  if  you 
pi-actise  it  with  each  side  in  turu  ;  in  fact,  I 
am  not  sure  that  these  are  not  among  the 
very  best. 

The  walk-iind-nm  can  he  imitated  in  a 
space  about  a  yard  square.  Swimming  move- 
ments— you  can  imitate  the  leg-stroke  by 
crouching,  though  this  is  not  very  satiafuctory 
^require  a  larger  space.  Mr.  h.  F.  Benson 
has  practised  some  exercises  for  skating  in 
his  bedroom,  imagining  himself  to  have 
skates  on.  Others  would  like  to  practise 
mountaineering,  perhaps  up  an  inclined  plank. 
The  rowiug-macuinc  is  familiar  to  everyoue. 


G.AMES  ONE  CAN  PRACTISE  IN  A   ROOM. 


Wi 


The  practice  of  fly-fiwhing  is 
poBsible,  too.  So  ia  ahootiug, 
VTherever  it  is  feasible,  these 
exercisefl  should  be  done  with  the 
left  side  instead  of  with  the  right, 
as  a  chan^. 

The  object  of  these,  and  any 
olher  exercises  you  hke,  is  not  to 
spoil  the  game  itet-lf,  but  the 
very  reverse  —  to  improve  its 
mechaaisms  and  to  keep  you  in 
some  training  and  some  practice 
if  yon  are  going  to  piny  th;  game 
at  uU.  Nu  one  gmd^res  time  fur 
piano-practice,  for  step-dancing. 


Its  object  is  to  improve  piay 
and  to  give  good  exercise  -not 
ideal,  not  strictly  scientific,  bub 
healthy,  and,  what  is  more  im- 
portant, exerci  Be  that  many  people 
*(■*//  do  because  there  is  a  savour 
of  play  about  it,  and,  perhaps, 
the  memory  of  some  of  the  purest 
pleasures  in  life.  Although  a 
Swedish  drill  might  have  many 
advant^ea  over  these  move- 
ments, comparatively  few  game- 
players  care  to  go  through  it,  for 
they  find  that  it  docs  not  attract 
them.     Such  drill  as  I  suggest 


for  famping,  if  they  are  going  to 
do  these  things  afterwards.  They 
do  not  PD joy  the  piano  less  because 
they  have  practised  chords  and 
scales ;  they  do  not  enjoy  the 
waltzing  less  because  they  have 
piBctised  the  steps.  Tlie  result  of 
the  practice  is  to  make  them  less 
conaciousof  the  steps,  to  give  them 
better  tools  for  use  during  the  play. 
They  no  longer  need  to  think  of 
them;  tools  at  all ;  they  should  find 
their  games  less  serious  and  more 
enjovaUe. 

By  the  way,  some  games  uati  be 
played  in  a  bedroom.  I  find  Hop- 
■cotch  a  good  example,  but  this 
article  does  not  deal  with  actual 
jramoB.  It  only  deals  with  practice  _^„^ 
for  them.  M.ki(K 


may  make  up  for  what  it  lacks  in 
science  by  its  effects  as  a  tonic  and 
as  an  outlet  for  pent-up  energy.  It 
is  not  commanded  to  all  ;  it  is 
simply  offered  to  many.  It  must 
be  judged,  like  everything  else,  by 
its  all-roimd  results. 

There  are  "  practical "  people 
who  find  fault  with  us  because  we 
"  run  after  a  piece  of  leather  or 
hit  a  piece  of  in<liarubber  " — this 
is  how  they  regard  play.  It  is 
time  we  exposed  their  folly.  They 
can  analyse  the  football,  and 
classify  it  as  leather,  indiarubber, 
thread,  and  air ;  but  that  is  jnst 
where  these  "practical "materialists 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


fail.  For  any  gi;'en  thing — be  it  a  food  or  a 
football  -ifl  not  wbat  it  ix,  but  what  it  is  not. 
It  is  to  yon  what  you  t.liiiik  that  it  is.  It 
should  be  to  yoQ  what  you  can  wiih  most 
udvaiit^e  think  that  it  is.  In  a  game  of 
football,  then,  the  ball  certainly  is  not  to 
you  mere  leather,  indiarubber,  thread,  and 
air ;  exactly  what  it  is  I  fail  to  be  able  to 
describe,  but  at  least  it  has  in  it  one  essential 
which  escapes  the  notice  of  the  "  matter-of- 
fact  "  critic— and  we  can  call  that  romance. 

Now,  anyone  with  a  fair  amount  of  health 
or,  on  the  other  hand,  a  fair  anionnt  jpf 
morbidness,  can  see  and  feel  romance  in 
the  sea  or  lake  or  river,  the  moon  or  stars, 


the  fields  or  woods  or  hill.  Hut  what  we 
want  is  to  see  romance  in  common  tfaintn 
made  by  man  or  by  machinery.  Our  cities 
and  our  rooms  are  packed  full  of  thingx 
not  beautiful  to  look  at — perhapa  even  uglj. 
The  supreme  art  is  to  see  in  them  a  sotoe- 
thing  not  dry  and  depressing  and  unlielpfol, 
but  the  very  reverse. 

What  the  city-dweller  needs  is  tn  be 
taken  far  oftener  out  of  his  existence  and 
surrobudi^gs,  as  his  awfully  barren  "ednca- 
tion"-^)Dt  veiled  these  from  him,  and  tosw 
in  Uiem.  not  so  many  combinations  nf 
elements,  hut  so  many  possible  instrumeDU 
for  health  and  imagination. 


A  Little    Pilgrimage. 


Bt  ooewin  knapp  linson.* 


THE  romance,  of  Palestine  is  of  com- 
peUiug  iutcrest;  its  constaDbstitnnliis 
to  the  imagination  is  one  of  its 
chiefest  cbamis.  It  has  been  called  "the 
high-road  of  civilisations  and  the  battlefield 
of  empires — an  open 
channel  of  war  and 
commerce  for  nearly 
the  whole  world  ;  the 
vantage  -  ground  of 
tlie  world's  highest 
religions." 

An  obecnre  little 
village  three  hours 
north  from  Jeru- 
salem, in  nowise 
remarkable  save  that  it«  vouth  reaches  hack 
into  the  days  of  myth  and  fable,  which  was 
old  wbcD  Greece  was  emeiging  from  the 
prehistoric  shadows,  has  been  made  an 
example  of  this  afLergrowtli  of  story  on  more 
solid  fact.  Beeroth,  retaining  its  ancient 
name  of  Bl-Bireh,  is  not  mentioned  in  the 
New  Testament,  and  yet  in  some  manner  on 
LnkeV  narrative  of  the  losing  of  the  boy 
Jesns  bos  grown  the  Itelief  that  at  Beeroth 
Mary  missed  her  child,  and  with  Joseph 
returned  to  the  city  to  find  him.  And 
tboagh  this  story  was  not  pnt  on  record  untU 
the  foarteenth  centuir,  a  church  had  been 
built  here  two  hundred  years  earlier. 


I  was  living  within  ten  minutes'  walk  of 

the  walls  of  Jenisalem,  on  the  veneruble 
highway  leadiiig  from  the  Damascus  Gate 
straight  to  Nazareth,  the  pathway  trodden  by 
Abrdiam,  by  Jacob,  and  by  comitlesa  others 
before  the  Son  of  Man  travelled  its  weary 
length. 

And  since  our  sentiment  has  twined  at>ont 
the  plaee  lilie  a  tender  vine,  let  it  not  he 
bruised  by  the  rough  hand  of  fact.  Surely 
the  matter  is  not  essential,  and  enough  is  the 
certainty  that  Beeroth  is  the  first  watering- 
place  northward  from  Jerusalem  on  the  way 
to  Galilee.  This  villi^e,  then,  was  a  worthy 
objective  point  for  a  little  pilgrimage,  in  the 
month  wlien  the  Feast  of  the  Passover  was 
celebrated.  I  was  to  be  ready  in  the  small 
hours,  and  it  was  tlie  ghostly  hour  of  three 
when  my  rehictant  eyes  opened  to  the  wan 
glimmer  visible  through  tlie  window.  Into 
my  small  room  the  light  filtered,  gradually 
revealing  the  arched  ceiling  and  whitened 
walls.  The  stars  were  melting  into  the  grey 
infinity  when  1  joined  my  two  companions 
in  the  open  court,  into  which  streamed  the 
languid  tight  of  the  moon.  And  even  now 
the  brightening  sky  in  the  east  heralded  the 
coming  of  the  sun  as  we  mounted  horse  and 
started  briskly  off. 

It  is  the  sweetest  time  in  the  Oriental  day 
when  "the  mountains  and  the  hills  break 
forth  into  singing,  and  all  the  trcfs  of  the 
field  clap  their  hands."     For  it  is  as  though 


1G2 


THE   WINDSOR   MAGAZINE. 


the  earth  ivere  bom  iitiew,  and  in  the 
delicious  cooiiices  Nuture  realises  her  oppor- 
tunity and  luxuriates  in  the  heavj  niglit-dews, 
fortifj-ing  herself  against  the  oncoming  day. 
The  joyons  spirit  of  the  moment  was  com- 
manicated  to  us  by  electric  currents,  and  the 
very  hoofs  of  the  hoi-ses  ran  miisic.illy  on 
the  stones,  those  stones  of  roseate  hue  that 
lie  so  tliickly  scattered  over  the  Judean  hills. 
For  two  hours  we  gaily  threaded  our 
devious  ways,  with  the  inspiriting  freRhness 
breathing  into  our  nostrils,  the  limpid  clear- 
ness of  the  morning  delighting  our  senses. 
Finally  we  approached  tlie  division  of  paths 


loading— the  left  to  Rdmaliah,  the  right  to 
El-Biieh,  or  Beeroth. 

Passing  us  occasionally,  going  to  Jerusa- 
lem with  butter  and  eggs  and  little  jars  of 
lebeii,'  that  showed  tlieir  thick,  creamy 
throats  as  they  were  held  up  to  as,  were 
small  companies  of  women  in  single  file. 
As  one  blue  procession  went  by,  the  leader 
called  to  us :  "  Why  should  yon  ride  and  we 
walk  ?  Why  is  your  lot  better  than  ours  ?  " 
Given  the  opportunity  for  leisurely  ai^ument, 
we  could  not  by  any  philosophy  have  made 
satisfactory  answer.  We  could  only  admit 
the  fact  as  they  saw  it,  and  recognise  the 
nuiversal  world-plaint  of  discontent. 

They  carry  themselves,  these  women,  like 
figures  on  antique  frieze.  As  they  stride 
along,  holding  in  sure  balance  on  tbe'ir  heads 


■  Tbickeued  milk. 


their  jars  and  baskets  of  homely  prodnce, 
they  tread  the  stony  paths  with  the  grace 
and  lai^eness  of  action  that  we  of  the  Ocd- 
dent  have  grown  to  regard  as  belonging  oaly 
to  the  age  of  Prasitelea. 

The  men  also  are  admirable  in  the  ^m- 
plicity  of  their  gestures,  the  hig  lines  of 
their  attitudes,  the  swing  of  their  draperies. 
I  saw  a  youth  fling  his  mantle  over  hii 
shoulder  and  fold  it  almut  him  exactly  in  the 
manner  of  the  classic  Greek,  sculptural  in  his 
finely  unconscious  pose.  Ood  save  tlie  day 
when  these  sons  of  Canam  clothe  their  liuibis 
in  our  ungainly  garments ' 

Before  us  rode  a  fellah  astride  his  donkey, 
whose  foal  ambled  at  her  heels,  stopping 
now  and  i^in  as  a  bit  of  herbage  tempted 
him,  and  tlien  galloping  on  in  infantile  nn- 
steadiness.  Its  coat  was  furry  as  a  cat's,  its 
diminutive  body  light  enough  to  carry  in 
one's  arms.  Behind  the  man  walk^  k 
woman,  upon  her  head  the  usual  burden,  ac- 
cepting her  position  with  the  nncom plaining 
apathy  of  the  Orienttil  inheriting  centuries 
of  BubraissioD,  plodding  on  after  her  loid, 
who  sat  unconcernedly  kicking  his  heels 
against  the  sides  of  his  other  lieast  of  burden. 

In  Palestine  the  mother  of  men  is  the  ser- 
vant of  men.  Being  a  part  of  the  household 
chattels,  she  is  sold  for  as  lai^c  a  sum  is 
her  father  can  extort  from  the  prospective 
bridegroom.  She  is  a  thing,  a  piece  of  goods. 
The  father  of  a  first-bom  son  proudly  calls 
himself  after  the  boy's  name,  but  his  girl 
Irnbe  is  not  reckoned  among  his  children. 
Her  infant  shoulders  learn  to  bear  the 
burdens,  her  little  feet  patter  their  way  to 
the  fountain  even  from  the  moment  Uicir 
tiny  strength  can  support  the  weight  of  lie 
jar.  Her  whole  life  is  one  of  grinding. 
baking,  fetching  water,  waiting  upon  others; 
at  twelve  she  is  sold  into  married  sen'ice; 
growing  old  in  middle  life,  she  may  see  her- 
self su])p[anted  by  a  younger  wife ;  often 
being  robbed  of  her  sons  by  the  military 
conscription  ;  and  finally  she  is  put  away  as 
the  last  breath  is  leaving  her  body.  So,  she 
who  accompanied  the  man  before  us  followed 
him  laboriously  over  the  stony  paths  like  an 
ol)edicTit  &o^. 

With  ever-increasing  intensity  the  son 
climbed  higher,  inexorably  higher,  and  tiie 
moisture  vanished,  licked  up  by  the  feverish 
tongues  of  light,  A  layer  of  healed  air 
quivered  in  dizzy  dance  over  the  earth. 
Nature  began  to  pant  and  languish  nnder 
the  relentless  tyranny  of  the  sky. 

The  path  glared  up  at  us  ferociously. 
Puffy  bzards,  hugging  the  rocks,  poked  tbeii 


"GOING   TO   JF.KUSALEM    WITH    BUTTEB   AND   EGGS,  AND   LITTLE   JARS    OF   I.EBEN, 
WERE   SMALL   COMPANIES   OF    WOMEN." 


IC4 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


heads  from  between  the  crevices.  Wheat- 
fields  liegan  to  disappear  aa  we  climbed  the 
hilis  towarde  Bucroth,  their  living  green 
giving  place  to  a  barren,  burnt  grey.  Kot  a 
tree,  not  a  spot  of  shade  anjwhcre,  nothing 
but  the  pitilesH  hammering  of  a  brassy  sun 


upon  the  earth,  and  the  blinding  reflection 
cast  into  our  faces  from  the  hfcless  fields. 

I  crouched  in  my  saddle,  Hstlesely  allowing 
the  horse  its  own  heiid.  My  ktifsiyeh'  was 
wrapped  loosely  al)unt  my  neck  and  face. 
The  sun's  rays  conld  not  iieiietrate  its  folds, 
though  thuy  l)eiit  upon  us  and  enveloped  ub 
in  a  blinding  brilliancy  with  uncompromising 
fierceness.  No  word  passed  Iwtween  us— each 
was  doing  battle  with  the  heat,  with  no 
energy  to  spare. 

Thus  we  were  carried  onward  over  the 
hills  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  until  the  |>ath 
meq^  into  the  lane  leading  to  the  fonntain 
at  the  village  entrance. 

We  had  been  three  and  a  half  hours  on 
the  niad,  and  the  horses  Ciigerly  tramped 
through  the  oveiflow  and  aronnd  to  the 
stone  reservoir  tlmt  held  the  cool  fin  id. 
How  quickly  their  noses  plunged  under  the 
rippling  surface  1  How  delicious  was  the 
sound  of  their  drinking,  champing  at  times 
at  the  hits !  For  very  sympithv  with  their 
joy  in  it,  we  prolonged  onr  halt  the  wliile 
they  pawed  tlie  wet  stones  and  nosed  the 
wat^^'r  again  and  again. 

The  two  or  three  women   there  regarded 

*  A  Mure  of  cloth  folded  dUgookU]  iwd  wom  on 
the  head. 


us  with  small  curiosity,  and  proceeded  with 
their  task  of  filling  the  water-jars,  balancing 
them  on  their  heads  with  long  -  pnictiara 
des:t«rity  as  tliey  walked  aw'ay. 

Tliey  also  wore  tlie  universal  charm-wjlour 
gainst  the  Evil  Eye.  If  the  garment  is  not 
blue,  the  colour  is  found  in  chains  of  glass 
heads,  or  on  their  arms  in  bracelets,  and  blue 
ornaments  deconite  the  head-dresti.  Even 
their  animals  are  prott^ted  by  tassels  of  blue 
beads  on  their  trappings. 

These  dangling  pyramids  of  lieads,  and 
triangled  bits  of  metal  with  the  blue  eye  in 
the  centre,  once  possessed  a  peculiar  sym- 
bolism now  lost  to  the  people.  AVe  know 
the  triangle  was  the  mystic  emblem  of  the 
Eternal  I)eity,  whose  unutterable  name  was 
written  within ;  and  this  simple  sign  of 
Majesty  has  fallen  to  the  stat«  of  a  supiT- 
stitiou,  a  charm  against  evil  spirita  and 
magic.  The  jewellerv  of  the  Arab  peoples 
repeats  the  triangle  with  the  central  eye,  and 
this  figure  is  noticeable  in  repetition  i»  their 
embroideries  and  in  the  tiled  openings  in  the 
low  walls  about  their  housetops.  It  has  I>eeii 
held  to  be  a  survival  of  a  very  ancient  idea, 
even  antediluvian,  having  a  common  origin 
with  similar  motives  used  by  the  prinkiiives 
of  America. 

The  rampant  traveller  leaves  Jcmsalem  at 
daybreak,  and,  after  ten  miles,  passes  Beeroth 
and  hastens  on  for  yet  another  t«D  miles 
to  camp.  But  the  Oriental,  who  harries 
leisurely,  will  depart  in  the  afternoon,  to  rest 
in  the  day's  decline  at  the  end  of  a  four-hour 
journey.  So  it  is  supposed  tliaC  Joseph 
started  his  little  family  homeward  iu  time  to 
stop  at.  nightfall  at  tlie  village,  there  to  enjoy 
its  fonntain  and  refresh  themselves  for  tlu 
longer  journey  on  the  morrow. 

As  1  looked  over  the  burning  waste  we 
had  traversed,  the  vision  of  tliat  far-away 
happening  rose  before  me.  At  the  Feast  of 
the  Passover,  multitudes  numbering  hnndn-ds 
of  thonsiuids  came  to  the  sacred  city  from 
the  farthest  reaches  of  Syria  and  IJcyond. 
The  highways  leading  into  the  city  were 
thronged  with  the  surging  host  for  days 
before  and  after  the  feast.  In  the  hnrly- 
hurly  of  tlie  swarming  myriads,  men  ii]-<>ii 
asses  beating,  kicking,  and  crying  their  way 
along;  trains  of  camels  moving  in  rhythmic 
di-file,  excited  luitigs  shouting  to  their  fellows, 
Itewildered  women  calling  to  their  children; 
atoms  of  the  crowd  pushing  here  and  there 
avoiding   collisions,   passing   and    repassing 

other  atoms in  the  bustle  and  tumultuous 

movement,  what  wonder  that  a  small,  eager 
boy   of   twelve,  agape   at   the   treueudoiu 


A   LITTLE  PILORTMAGE. 


poMa^  of  life,  sbonld  be  lost  in  the  flood, 
swallowed  up  in  the  tnrbiilent  river  ?  One 
of  the  currentg  had  swept  him  awaj  from  bia 
people,  and,  ae  on  the  crest  of  a  wave,  he  is 
carried  onward  and  tossed  hither  and  thither 
in  the  eddy.  Adrift  on  the  tide,  be  feels  his 
only  safety  to  lie  within  the  walls  of  the 
harbour  just  left,  and  so  finds  his  way  back 
into  the  city  and  the  Temple.  His  mother 
and  Joseph  easily  suppose  liim  to  be  with 
"their  kinsfolk  and  acquaintance"  in  the 
smaller  crowd  that  threads  its  way  northward 
from  among  the  hordes  before  the  gates. 
But  at  Beeroth  he  is  not  to  be  found,  and 
"they  returned  to  Jerusalem  seeking  for 
bim  .  ,  . ." 


We  left  our  horses  in  the  khan  adjoining 
an  earthen  hut  which  answered  to  the  village 
coffee-house,  and  which  was  filled  with  a  blue 
smoke  fram  the  brazier  of  coals  on  which  the 
coffee  was  heated.  In  the  streets,  narrow 
Ijetwoen  the  low  walls  over  which  we  could 
almost  see,  we  piisscd  processions  of  women 
going  to  and  coming  from  the  fountain, 
where  there  wei-e  now  others  Ixaiting  clothes 
under  the  full  sun,  laughing  and  gossiping, 
while  we  longed  for  relief  from  its  fervour. 

There  were  numerous  fig-trees,  Inxarious 
in  verdui'e,  noble  in  their  dimensions,  hut 
their  shade  was  for  the  patches  of  lentils  and 
barley,  and  the  tiny  gardens  scarcely  larger 
than  the  spread  of  the  branches.    Ah  !  those 


THE   WINDSOR  MAOAZINE. 


little  gardens  1  How  tantalisingly  cool  they 
looked  under  the  green  shade  !  Jialtn  to  the 
aching  eyes  were  tfaoee  havena  of  repoee  in 
that  scorching  environment  1  We  conld  not 
presume  to  enter  a  walled  enclosure,  though 
the  door  of  every  man's  house  stands  open 
to  the  stranger.  What  saith  the  gentle  Shep- 
herd ?  "  He  that  entereth  not  hj  the  door, 
but  climheth  up  some  other  way,  the  same 
is  a  thief  and  a  robber."  So  these  cases  being 
denied  us,  and  the  houses  evil  smelling  by 
reason  of  the  pungent  smoke,  we  wandered 
to  and  fro  through  the  baking  street*.  And 
then  we  came  sud'lenly  upon  a  scene  that 
transported  us  to  the  days  of  the  Patriarchs, 
^  It  was  BA  thoi^h  time 

-^  had   not  been  since 

the  days  of  Abraham. 
A  half-dozen  men 
were  seated  on  the 
ground  spinning  long 
threads  of  black  wool, 
twisting  and  turning 
it  by  means  of  curious 
circular  spindles  that 
wero  held  suspended 
from  their  rapidly 
working  fingers.  In 
their  postures  and  the 
ensemble  of  their 
draperies  and  fcroup- 
ing  they  were  aii:baic, 
realising  perfectly  the 
sentiment  of  the  long 
ago  of  sacred  story. 

But  the  stones  of 

Reeroth    are    hoary 

with  age.    When  the 

Israel ttisb  hosts  beat 

I  at  its  doors,  the  place 

was  one  of   the 

"cities"  of  the  wily 

Gilwonites  (Josh,  ix.),  and  was  seized  for  the 

tribe  of  Benjamin.      And  this  was  noArly 

three  hundred  years  before  the  Trojan  War, 

and  seven  centuries  before  the  beginnings 

of  Rome ! 

We  felt  the  breath  of  ancient  things  in  the 
sluggish  air.  Where  the  path  to  feraall&h 
leaves  the  main  track,  Afaroth  (Josh.  xvi. 
5-7)  lies  on  a  height.  A  little  to  the  south 
is  Ramah  (2  Chron.  xvi.  1),  fortified  by  King 
Baasha  of  Israel  against  Asa  of  .ludali. 
flibeah  (1  Sam.  xv.  34),  the  home  of  Saul, 
and  Sha'fat — "Nob  {1  Sam.  xsii.  19),  the 
city  of  the  priests  " — are  on  the  highway  and 
conspicuouB  from  Jerusalem. 

So  that  the  ruin  of  a  Ci-uaadera'  church, 
though  little  short  of  eight  centuries  old,  is, 


by  comparison,  quite  modern.  It«  battered, 
roofless  walls  ana  painted  arches  stand  amid 
the  native  huts  like  something  alien  to  the 
soil,  eloquent  of  another  epoch  when  amted 
knights  Knelt  within  it  and  the  solemn  Man 
echoed  to  its  peak.  Its  stones  have  heaid 
the  clanking  of  long  swords  and  seen  the 
flashing  of  bright  helmets ;  but  they  no« 
listen  to  the  fig-leaves  whispering  id  the 
breezes,  or  lie  in  their  crumbling  beajn 
under  the  silent  stars.  The  great  seas  and 
the  naked  hills  alone  endure,  themselves 
ephemeral  to  Him  in  whose  s^ht  a  "  iban- 
sand  years  are  as  a  watch  in  the  night." 
The  pendulum  of  the  ages  sways  fortli 
and  bick,  ticking  off  the  succession  of  the 
nations,  their  great  monuments  left  subject 
to  the  elements,  and  their  kings  in  turn 
snuffed  out  like  a  candle-light  in  a  strong 
wind, 

()ne  people  after  another  using  the  same 
material,  the  great  ones  of  the  earth  treadiiig 
on  their  predecessors'  lieeb,  and  the  Greets, 
Romans,  Arabs,  and  Franks  building  with 
the  debris  left  behind 

The  open  spaces  of  the  ruin  are  given 
over  to  filth  and  refuse,  and  little,  broiiKd 
descendants  of  the  Canaanites  mount  its  tot- 
tering Willis,  and  creeping  things  dart  in  and 
out  of  the  masonrj'. 

While  resting  in  the  shadow  of  a  near-by 
rock,  an  old  woman,  passing,  stopped  and 
looked  into  our  faces  with  painful  Gcnitiny 
from  under  a  withered,  trembling  hand. 
Then,  laboriously,  she  climbed  the  httle 
slope  and  crouched  beside  us.  When  she 
had  regained  her  bi'eath,  slie  told  of  her  only 
son  taken  from  her  for  the  Army,  He  had 
been  her  only  support  in  her  old  age,  and  she 
had  nearly  wept  her  sight  away  for  the  WMit 
of  him.  He  had  never  been  heard  from 
since.  It  was  not  a  long  tale,  hut  to  her  it 
had  the  sense  of  a  tn^edy.  At  last  she  arose, 
and  including  us  in  a  final,  searching  gaie 
as  though  one  might  by  chance  be  lie,  she 
hobbled  away. 

It  had  been  my  hope  to  get  a  picture  here. 
But  never  had  I  found  a  more  unresponsive 
spot;  and  though  we  lingered  until  welt  on 
into  the  aftei-noon,  lunching  in  the  shade  vi 
a  friendly  olive-tree,  studying  the  details  of 
houses  and  walls  and  the  owners  of  them,  I 
finally  abandoned  the  idea.  So  we  scan.'h«d 
out  our  horecs  and  left  the  villf^'e  sevthing 
in  the  heat,  to  return  by  way  of  Ramallah, 
twenty  minutes  away.  ITie  odour  that  bangs 
over  every  assemblage  of  abodes  in  Palestine. 
tlie  acrid  smell  of  burning  from  their  ovens, 
filled  our  nostrils  until  we  were  well  out  in 


"8BEPHBR08   WERE   TAKING   BOUE   THEIR   FLOCKS." 


168 


THE    WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


the  fields,  only  to  be  met  with  again  at 
Ramallah. 

Just  before  entering  the  village  we  reached 
a  point  from  which  we  could  view  the  "  Great 
Sea"  glittering  in  the  west.  When  I  had 
passed  here  earlier,  it  had  been  in  the  midst 
of  a  diaphanous  vapour  that  had  veiled  the 
world  in  mystery.  Now  the  air  was  mar- 
vellously clear,  and  the  thirty  odd  miles  of 
hill  and  plain  between  us  and  the  beautiful 
Mediterranean  appeared  but  half  the  distance. 
This  singular  deception  of  the  vision  is  not- 
able in  this  atmosphere.  In  the  same  way, 
from  the  summit  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  the 
Dead  Sea  appears  less  than  ten  miles  away, 
while  actually  it  is  more  than  twenty. 

Where  we  halted  is  established  a  bit  of 
what  we  deem  civilisation  :  a  line  house  fitted 
with  every  requirement  for  comfort,  a  garden 
wrested  from  the  rocks,  and,  bizarre  appari- 
tion, an  ximeriain  windmill.  It  is  the  Quaker 
mission,  and  its  kindly  head  received  us  with 
genial  hospitality.  Under  his  "vine  and 
fig-tree  "  we  were  in  a  proper  frame  of  mind 
to  appreciate,  with  fervour,  the  rest  and 
refreshment  so  generously  provided. 

And  so  at  last,  under  the  declining  sun, 
mercifully  hidden  behind  a  mass  of  clouds 
that  banded  the  western  horizon,  we  traversed 


the  paths  almost  lost  in  the  reaches  of  en- 
circling desert.  A  few  vineyards  terraced  on 
the  slopes,  a  slight  descent,  and  we  were  well 
on  our  way  before  the  hurrying  shadows 
overtook  us  and  raced  on  after  the  ever- 
fleeing  fierv  glory  in  the  east.  As  the  light 
faded,  the  hills  massed  together  as  a  phalanx 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  losing  their  distressing 
details,  becoming  more  and  more  royal, 
wearing  a  purple  mantle  under  a  cro\^n  of 
gold.  Shepherds  were  taking  home  their 
flocks,  crying  always  their  inimitable  calls, 
preceding  the  sheep  and  the  goats,  that  fol- 
lowed every  tone  and  gesture. 

As  w^e  passed  Sha'fat,  now  on  our  right, 
the  hamlet  became  a  silhouette  of  cubes 
against  the  west.  A  flock  larger  than  usual 
occupied  the  road  on  either  side  and  before 
and  behind  us,  filling  the  air  with  the  pat- 
pats  of  their  feet,  dodging  tinder  our  horses' 
noses  even.  Presently  they  were  all  assembled 
villageward,  their  mass  surrounding  the  shep- 
herd, who  stood  statuesque  against  a  bar  of 
light. 

The  village,  the  landscape  a-tremble  in 
the  magic  glow ;  the  shepherd,  the  flock,  a 
passing  woman  with  jar  aloft ....  it  was  a 
picture  of  Bible-land  to  carry  in  ray  memoir 
to  my  fast  approaching  journey's  end. 


A   REPUTATION. 

I-IIS  eyes  looked  bravely  out  on  life, 

^  ^    With  always  just  the  same  brig^ht  smile- 

Which  of  us  guessed,  that  all  the  while 
His  soul  was  full  of  storm  and  strife? 

His  voice  was  always  strong  and  glad, 
To  cheer  his  weary  fellow  men : 
We  learnt  fresh  courag:e  from  it  then, 

But  now  we  know  his  heart  was  sad. 

He  laboured  bravely  for  the  sake 

Of  other  souls  less  strong  than  he~ 
How  was  it  that  we  did  not  see 

His  own  brave  heart  was  like  to  break? 


L.  Q.  MOBERLY. 


AYESHA 

THE    RETURN     OF    "SHE." 
By    H.   rider    haggard.* 

SYNOPSIS  OF  FOREGOING  CHAPTERS.— The  return  of  " She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed "  is  recorded  by 
Ladwig  Horace  Hollv,  tiie  friend  of  that  Leo  Vincey  whom  Ayesha  the  beautiful  loved  in  the  awful  tombs  of  Kor. 
When  the  record  begins,  the  two  men  are  living  in  an  old  house  remote  upon  the  seashore  of  Cumberland,  where 
they  have  been  slowly  recovering  from  the  horror  of  the  passing  of  Ayesha  in  the  flames — a  doom  that  seemed  one 
of  complete  extinction,  yet  was  charged  with  the  strange  last  words:  *^I  die  not.  I  shall  come  a^in  and  shall 
oDce  more  be  beautiful.  I  swear  it — it  is  true."  On  a  sullen  August  night,  Leo  is  thrilled  by  a  vision  of  Ayesha 
in  all  her  former  loveliness.  She  beckons  him,  and  in  a  vision  his  spirit  follows  her  into  a  realm  of  snowy  peaks 
far  bevond  the  furthest  borders  of  Thibet.  A  sign  in  the  clouds  at  diawn  is  repeated  from  this  vision  to  both  Leo 
and  Holly,  and  together  they  start  for  Central  Asia.  Sixteen  yean  of  toil,  struggle,  and  strange  adventure  pass, 
and  they  are  still  searching  for  **  a  mountain  peak  shaped  like  the  Symbol  of  Life."  After  many  wandering»  they 
find  themselves  in  a  country  where  no  European  has  ever  set  foot,  on  one  of  the  spurs  of  the  vast  Cherga 
mountains,  far  eastward  from  Turkestan.  A  perilous  ascent  into  the  unexplored  mountain  fastness  leads  them 
to  the  revelation  of  **the  crux  ansatay  the  Symbol  of  Life  itself."  Rescued  from  drowning  by  a  beautiful 
woman  and  an  aged  man,  they  are  conducted  through  "The  Gate"  into  the  kingdom  and  city  of  Kaloon. 
Their  saviours,  they  learn,  are  the  Khania  or  Queen  of  Kaloon,  and  a  venerable  physician  of  magical  powers. 
Is  this  woman  Ayesha?  No;  they  conjecture  her  rather  to  be  Amenartas,  who  wrote  the  "sherd"  of  the 
former  chronicle.  She  falls  in  love  with  Leo.  and  he  and  Holly  learn  that  her  husband,  the  Khan,  is  a 
madman.  Simbri,  the  magician,  and  Atene,  the  Khania,  have  already  received  a  solemn  charge  from  the 
"Hesea"  of  a  "College"  in  the  Mountain  of  Fire  to  receive  two  strangers  and  bring  them  safely  to  the 
Mountain.  But  Atene's  love  for  Leo  makes  her  detain  the  travellers  awhile  in  Kaloon,  and  she  even  proposes 
that  the  Khan  shall  be  murdered  so  that  she  can  wed  Leo.  To  this  the  Englishman  replies :  "  I  go  to  ask  a 
certain  question  of  the  Oracle  on  yonder  mountain  peak.  With  your  will  or  without  it,  I  tell  you  that  I  go, 
and  afterwards  you  can  settle  which  is  the  stronger — the  Khania  of  Kaloon  or  the  Hesea  of  the  House  of  Fire." 
The  Khan  himself  assists  the  escape  of  the  travellers  for  their  further  journey,  but  his  jealousy  has  been  aroused, 
and  after  they  have  set  out  on  their  journey  to  the  lire-crowned  Mountain  he  pursues  them  with  his  death-hounds. 
After  a  long  chase,  a  few  of  the  brutes,  and  the  Khan,  overtake  them,  and  a  terrible  strugj^le  ensues,  in  which 
Leo  and  Holly  eventually  prove  the  victors,  and  the  Khan  is  slain.  The  Khania  and  Simbri  overtake  them  and 
seek  to  persuade  them  to  return,  but  they  refuse.  The  Khania  leaves  them,  saying :  "  We  do  not  part  thus 
easily.  You  have  summoned  me  to  the  Mountain,  and  even  to  the  Mountain  I  will  follow  you.  Aye,  and  there 
I  will  meet  its  spirit.  ...  I  will  matoh  ray  strength  and  magic  against  hers,  as  it  is  decreed  that  I  shall  do." 
On  the  Mountain  itself  thev  meet  again  with  Atene,  who  brings  thither  her  dead  huslHind  to  the  burying-place 
of  the  rulers  of  Kaloon.  ^rom  a  priest,  Oros,  who  goes  with  them,  they  learn  that  for  thousands  of  Vears  this 
Mountain  has  been  the  home  of  a  peculiar  fire-worship,  of  which  the  head  hieronhant  is  a  woman.  To  the  veiled 
figure  of  Hes,  on  her  throne,  the  two  Englishmen  tell  of  their  wandering  search.  In  answer  to  the  chnllenge 
of  Atene,  the  Hesea  shows  them  a  vision  of  events  which  happened  long  ago  in  the  Caves  of  Kor.  Picture 
succeeds  picture  until  all  is  blank,  and  then  she  tells  how  Ayesha  first  met  Kallikrates  in  the  early  ages. 
Suddenly  she  reveals  herself  as  Ayesha;  but  to  remove  all  doubt  she  unveils  l)efore  them,  revealing  herself  in 
ail  her  withered  age.  Atene  bids  Leo  choose  between  her  and  Ayesha.  I.ieo  then  kneels  down  and  kisses  the 
wrinkled  head.  At  which  Atene  savs:  "Thou  hast  chosen.  Take  now  thv  bride  and  let  me  hence."  Avesha 
then  begins  to  pray  aloud,  to  some  unseen  Power,  for  the  return  of  her  former  loveliness,  and  suddenly  she  is 
transfigured  into  radiant  beauty  once  again,  and  claims  Leo  for  the  man  whom  she  loved  of  old.  Atene  is 
baffled  in  a  sadden  attack  upon  the  mysterious  creature's  life. 

CHAPTER    XVII.  " Good-hye,"  she  said  to  us.    "Oroswi'J 

appointed  time.     Kest  you  well. 

TOGETHER  we  descended  the  mnlti-  So  she  went,  and  the'  priest  led  iis  into  a 

tudinous  steps  and  pasBed  the  endless,  beaut*  il  aptirtraent   that  opened   on   to  a 

rock-hewn  passages  till  we  came  to  sheltered    garden.     So  overcome   were  we 

the  door  of  the  dwelling  of  the  high-priestess  also  by  all  that  we  had  endured  and  seen, 

and  were  led  through  it  into  a  hall  beyond.  that  we  could    scarcely  speak,   much    less 

Here  Ayesha  parted  from  us,  saying  that  she  discuss  these  marvellous  events. 

was  outworn,  as,  indeed,  she  seemed  to  be  "  My  brain  swims,"  siiid  Leo  to  Oros.    "  I 

with  an  utter  weariness,  not  of  the  body,  but  desire  to  sleep." 

of  the  spirit.    For  her  delicate  form  drooped  He  bowed  and  conducted  us  to  a  chamber 

like  a  rain-laden  lily,  her  eyes  grew  dim  as  where  were  beds,  and   on   these  we  flung 

those  of  a  person  in  a  trance,  and  her  voice  ourselves  down  and  slept,  dreamlessly,  like 

came  in  a  soft,  sweet  whisper,  the  voice  of  little  children, 

one  speaking  in  her  sleep.  When  we  awoke,  it  was  afternoon.     We 

♦  Copyright,  1906,  by  H.  lU^^ui^r^^ the       ^ose  and  bathed,  then  saying  we  wished  to 
United  States  of  Axn^Aca.  be  alone.  Went  together  into   the  garden, 

169 


170 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZTNE, 


where  even  at  this  altitude,  now,  at  the  end 
of  August,  the  air  was  still  mild  and 
pleasant  Behind  a  rock  by  a  bed  of 
campanulas  and  other  mountain  flowers  and 
ferns,  was  a  bench  near  to  the  banks  of  a 
little  stream,  on  which  we  seated  ourselves. 

"  What  have  you  to  say,  Horace  ?  "  asked 
Leo,  layinj?  I  lis  hand  upon  my  arm. 

"  Sjiy  ?  "  I  answered.  "  That  things  have 
come  about  most  marvellously !  that  we  have 
dreamed  aright  and  laboured  not  in  vain  ; 
that  you  are  the  most  fortunate  of  men,  and 
should  be  the  most  happy." 

He  looked  at  me  somewhat  strangely  and 
answered — 

"  Yes,  of  course  ;  she  is  lovely,  is  she  not  ? 
But,"  and  his  voice  dropped  to  its  lowest 
whisper,  "  I  wish,  Horace,  that  Ayesha  were 
a  little  more  human,  even  as  human  as  she 
was  in  the  Caves  of  K6r.  I  don't  think  she 
is  quite  flesh  and  blood ;  I  felt  it  when 
she  kissed  me — if  you  can  call  it  a  kiss — for 
she  barely  touched  my  hair.  Indeed,  how 
can  she  be  who  changed  thus  in  an  hour  ? 
Flesh  and  blood  are  not  born  of  flame, 
Horace." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  she  was  so  born  ?  "  I 
aaked.  "  Like  the  visions  on  the  fire,  may  not 
that  hideous  shape  have  been  but  an  illusion 
of  our  minds?  May  she  not  be  still  the 
same  Ayesha  whom  we  knew  in  Kdr,  not 
re-born,  but  wafted  hither  by  some  mysteri- 
ous agency  ?  " 

"  Perhaps.  Horace,  we  do  not  know — I 
think  that  we  shall  never  know.  But  I 
admit  that  to  me  the  thing  is  terrifying. 
I  am  drawn  to  her  by  an  infinite  attraction  ; 
her  eyes  set  my  blood  on  fire,  the  touch  of 
her  hand  is  as  that  of  a  wand  of  madness 
hid  upon  my  brain.  And  yet  between  us 
there  is  some  wall,  invisible,  still  present. 
Or  perhaps  it  is  only  fancy.  But,  Horace,  I 
think  that  she  is  afraid  of  Atene.  Why,  in 
the  old  days  the  Khania  would  have  been 
dead  and  forgotten  in  an  hour  -you  re- 
member Ustane  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  she  may  have  grown  more 
gentle,  Leo,  who,  like  ourselves,  has  learned 
hard  lessons." 

"  Yes,"  he  answ^ered,  "  I  hope  that  is  so. 
At  any  rate,  she  has  grown  more  divine — 
only,  Horace,  w^hat  kind  of  a  husband  shall 
I  be  for  that  bright  being,  if  ever  I  get  so 
far  ? " 

"  Why  should  vou  not  get  so  far  ?  "  I 
asked  angrily,  for  his  words  jarred  upon  my 
tense  nerves. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  on 
general  principles,  do  you  think  that  such 


fortune  will  be  allowed  to  a  man  ?  Also, 
what  did  Atene  mean  when  she  said  that 
man  and  spirit  cannot  mate— and — other 
things  ?  " 

''  She  meant  that  she  hoped  they  oould  not, 
I  imagine  ;  and,  Leo,  it  is  useless  to  trouble 
yourself  with  forebodings  that  are  more 
fitted  to  my  years  than  yours,  and  probably 
are  based  on  nothing.  Be  a  philosopher, 
Leo.  You  have  striven  by  wonderful  ways 
such  as  are  unknown  in  the  history  of  the 
world  ;  you  have  attained.  Take  the  goods 
the  gods  provide  you — the  glory,  the  love 
and  the  power — and  let  the  future  look  to 
itself." 

Before  he  could  answer,  Oros  appeared 
from  round  the  rock,  and,  bowing  with  more 
than  his  usual  humility  to  Leo,  said  that  the 
Hesea  desired  our  presence  at  a  service  in 
the  Sanctuary.  E^joiced  at  the  prospect  of 
seeing  her  again  before  he  had  hoped  to  do 
so,  Leo  sprang  up,  and  we  aocompaiiied  him 
back  to  our  apartment. 

Here  priests  were  waiting,  who,  somewhat 
against  his  will,  trimmed  his  hair  and  beard, 
and  would  have  done  the  same  for  me  had  I 
not  refused  their  offices.  Then  they  placed 
gold-embroidered  sandals  on  our  feet,  and 
wrapped  Leo  in  a  magnificent,  white  robe, 
also  richly  worked  with  gold  and  purple ;  a 
somewhat  similar  robe,  but  of  less  ornate 
design,  being  given  to  me.  Lastly,  a  silver 
sceptre  was  thrust  into  his  hand,  and  into 
mine  a  plain  wand.  This  sceptre  was  shaped 
like  a  crook,  and  the  sight  of  it  gave  me 
some  clue  to  the  nature  of  the  forthcoming 
ceremony. 

"  The  crook  of  Osiris ! "  I  whispered  to 
Leo. 

"  Look  here,"  he  answered,  "  I  don't  want 
to  impersonate  any  Egyptian  god,  nor  to  be 
mixed  up  in  their  heathen  idolatries  ;  in  fact, 
I  won't." 

"  Better  go  through  with  it,"  I  suggested  ; 
"  probably  it  is  only  something  symbolical." 

But  Leo,  who,  notwithstanding  the  strange 
circumstances  connected  with  his  life,  re- 
tained the  religious  principles  in  which  I  had 
educated  him,  very  strongly  indeed,  refused 
to  move  an  inch  until  the  nature  of  this 
service  was  made  clear  to  him.  Indeed,  he 
expressed  himself  upon  the  subject  with 
vigour  to  Oros.  At  first  the  priest  seemed 
puzzled  what  to  do,  then  explained  that  the 
forthcoming  ceremony  was  one  of  betrothal. 

On  learning:  this,  Leo  raised  no  further 
objections,  asking  only,  with  some  nen'ous- 
ness,  whether  the  Khania  would  l)e  present. 
Oros  answered  '*  No,"  as  she  had  already 


"Wli«  h«ve  you  to  wy,  Hormce?'" 


172 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


departed  to  Kaloon,  vowing  war  and 
vengeance. 

Then  we  were  led  through  long  passages, 
till  finally  we  emerged  into  the  gallery 
immediately  in  front  of  the  great  wooden 
doors  of  the  apse.  At  our  approach  these 
swung  open,  and  we  entered  it,  Oros  going 
first,  then  Leo,  then  myself,  and  following 
us,  the  procession  of  attendant  priests. 

As  soon  as  our  eyes  became  accustomed  to 
the  dazzling  glare  of  the  flaming  pillars,  we 
saw  that  some  great  rite  was  in  progress  in 
the  temple,  for  in  front  of  the  divine  statue 
of  Motherhood,  white-robed,  and  arranged 
in  serried  ranks,  stood  the  company  of  the 
priests  to  the  number  of  over  two  hundred, 
and  behind  these  the  company  of  the  priest- 
esses. Facing  this  congregation,  and  a  little 
in  advance  of  the  two  pillars  of  fire  that 
flared  on  either  side  of  the  shrine,  Ayesha 
herself  was  seated  in  a  raised  chair  so  that 
she  could  be  seen  of  aU,  while  to  her  right 
stood  a  similar  chair,  of  which  I  could  guesc 
the  purpose. 

She  was  unveiled  and  gorgeously  ap- 
parelled, though,  save  for  the  white  beneath, 
her  robes  were  those  of  a  queen  rather  than 
of  a  priestess.  About  her  radiant  brow  ran 
a  narrow  band  of  gold,  whence  rose  the  head 
of  a  hooded  asp  cut  out  of  a  single,  crimson 
jewel,  beneath  which,  in  endless  profusion, 
the  glorious,  waving  hair  flowed  down  and 
around,  hiding  even  the  folds  of  her  purple 
cloak. 

This  cloak,  opening  in  front,  revealed  an 
under- tunic  of  white  silk  cut  low  upon  her 
bosom,  and  kept  in  place  by  a  golden  girdle, 
a  double-headed  snake,  so  like  to  that  which 
"She  "  had  worn  in  Kdr  that  it  might  have 
been  the  same.  Her  naked  arms  were  bare 
of  ornament,  and  in  her  right  hand  she  held 
the  jewelled  sistrum  set  with  its  gems  and 
bells. 

No  empress  could  have  looked  moie  royal, 
and  no  woman  was  ever  half  so  lovely,  for  to 
Ayesha's  human  beauty  was  added  a  spiritual 
gloiy,  her  heritage  alone.  Seeing  her,  we 
could  see  naught  else.  The  rhythmic  move- 
ment of  the  bodies  of  the  worshippers,  the 
rolling  grandeur  of  their  chant  of  welcome 
echoed  from  the  mighty  roof,  the  fearful 
torches  of  living  flame — all  these  things  were 
lost  on  us.  For  there,  new-born,  enthroned, 
her  arms  stretched  out  in  gracious  welcome, 
sat  that  perfect  and  immortal  woman,  the 
appointed  bride  of  one  of  us,  the  friend  and 
lady  of  the  other,  her  divine  presence 
breathing  power,  mystery,  and  love. 

On   we   marched    between   the  ranks  of 


hierophants,  till  Oros  and  the  priests  left  us, 
and  we  stood  alone  face  to  face  with  Avesha. 
Now  she  lifted  her  sceptre,  and  the  cbant 
ceased.  In  the  midst  of  the  following 
silence,  she  rose  from  her  seat  and,  gliding 
down  its  steps,  came  to  where  Leo  stood,  and 
touched  him  on  the  forehead  with  her  sistrum, 
crying  in  a  loud,  sweet  voice — 

"Behold  the  Chosen  of  the  Hesea!" 
whereon  all  that  audience  echoed  in  a  shout 
of  thunder — 

"  Welcome  to  the  Chosen  of  the  Hesea  1 '' 

Then  while  the  echoes  of  that  glad  cry  yet 
rang  round  the  rocky  walls,  Ayesha  motioned 
to  me  to  stand  at  her  side,  and  taking  Leo 
by  the  hand,  drew  him  towards  her,  so  that 
now  he  faced  the  white-robed  companj. 
Holding  him  thus,  she  began  to  speak  in 
clear  and  silvery  tones. 

"  Priests  and  priestesses  of  Hes,  sen'ants 
wnth  her  of  the  Mother  of  the  world,  hear 
me.  Now  for  the  first  time  I  appear  amon^ 
you  as  I  am,  yon  who  heretofore  have  looked 
but  on  a  hooded  shape,  not  knowing  its  form  or 
fashion.  Learn  now  the  reason  that  I  draw 
my  veil.  Ye  see  this  man,  whom  ye  l)elieved 
a  stranger  that  with  his  companion  had 
wandered  to  our  shrine.  I  tell  you  that  he 
is  no  stranger ;  that  of  old,  in  lives  forgotten, 
he  was  my  lord  who  now  conies  to  seek  his 
love  again.     Say,  is  it  not  so,  Kallikrates  ? " 

"  It  is  so,"  answered  Leo. 

"Priests  and  priestesses  of  Hes,  as  ye 
know,  from  the  beginning  it  has  been  the 
right  and  custom  of  her  who  holds  my  place 
to  choose  one  to  be  her  lord.    Is  it  not  so  ? " 

"  It  is  so,  0  Hes,"  they  answered. 

She  paused  awhile  ;  then,  with  a  gesture  of 
infinite  sweetness,  turned  to  Leo,  bent  towards 
him  thrice,  and  slowly  sank  ujwn  her  knee. 

"  Say,  thou,"  Ayesha  said,  looking  up  at 
him  with  her  wondrous  eyes,  "siiy  before 
these  here  gathered,  and  all  those  witnesses 
whom  thou  canst  not  Bee,  dost  thou  again 
accept  me  as  thy  affianced  bride  ?  " 

"  Aye,  Lady,"  he  answered,  in  a  deep  bnt 
shaken  voice,  "  now  and  for  ever." 

Then  while  all  watched,  in  the  midst  of  a 
great  silence,  Ayesha  rose,  cast  down  her 
sistrum  sceptre  that  rang  upon  the  rocky 
floor,  and  stretched  out  her  anns  towards  him. 

Leo  also  bent  towards  her  and  would 
have  kissed  her  upon  the  lips.  But  I  who 
watched  saw  his  face  grow  white  as  it  drew 
near  to  hers.  While  the  radiance  crept  from 
her  brow  to  his,  turning  his  bright  hair  to 
gold,  I  saw  also  that  this  strong  man 
trembled  like  a  reed  and  seemed  as  though 
he  were  about  to  faU. 


AY^SHA. 


173 


I  think  that  Ayesha  noted  it  too,  for  ere 
ever  their  lips  met,  she  throst  him  from  her, 
and  again  that  grey  mist  of  fear  gathered  on 
her  face. 

In  an  instant  it  was  gone.  She  had  slipped 
from  him,  and  with  her  hand  held  his  hand 
as  though  to  snpport  him.  Thus  they  stood 
till  his  feet  grew  firm  and  his  strength 
returned. 

Oros  restored  the  sceptre  to  her,  and 
lifting  it,  she  said  — 

"  0  love  and  lord,  take  thou  the  place 
prepared  for  thee,  where  thou  shalt  sit  for 
ever  at  my  side,  for  with  myself  I  give  thee 
more  than  thou  canst  know  or  than  I  will 
tell  thee  now.  Mount  thy  throne,  0  Affianced 
of  Hes,  and  receive  the  worship  of  thy 
priests."^ 

''Nay,**  he  answered  with  a  start,  as  that 
word  fell  upon  his  ears.  "  Here  and  now  I 
say  it  once  and  for  all.  I  am  but  a  man 
who  knows  nothing  of  strange  gods,  their 
attributes  and  ceremonials.  None  shall  bow 
the  knee  to  me  ;  and  on  earth,  Ayesha,  I  bow 
mine  to  thee  alone.*' 

Now  at  this  bold  speech  some  of  those  who 
heard  it  looked  astonished  and  whispered  to 
each  other,  while  a  voice  called — 

"  Beware,  thou  Chosen,  of  the  anger  of 
the  Mother  1  ** 

Again  for  a  moment  Ayesha  looked  afraid  ; 
then,  with  a  little  laugh,  swept  the  thing 
aside,  saying — 

"Surely  with  that  I  should  be  content. 
For  me,  O  Love,  thy  adoration  ;  for  thee  the 
betrothal  song,  no  more.** 

So,  having  no  choice,  Leo  mounted  the 
throne,  where  notwithstanding  his  splendid 
presence,  enhanced  as  it  was  by  those  glitter- 
mg  robes,  he  looked  ill  enough  at  ease— as, 
indeed,  must  any  man  of  his  faith  and  race. 
Happily,  however,  if  some  act  of  semi- 
idolatrons  worship  had  been  proposed,  Ayesha 
found  a  means  to  prevent  its  celebration,  and 
soon  all  such  matters  were  forgotten  both  by 
the  singers  who  sang,  and  we  who  listened 
to  the  majestic  chant  that  followed. 

Of  its  words,  unfortunately,  we  were  able 
to  understand  but  little,  both  because  of  the 
volume  of  sound  and  of  the  secret,  priestly 
language  in  which  it  was  given,  though  its 
general  purport  could  not  be  mistaken. 

The  female  voices  began  it,  singing  very  low, 
and  conveying  a  strange  impression  of  time 
and  distance.  Now  followed  bursts  of  glad- 
Deas  alternating  with  melancholy  chords 
suggesting  sighs  and  tears  and  sorrows  long 
endured,  and  at  the  end  a  joyous,  triumphant 
psan  thrown  to  and  fro  between  the  men 


and  women  singers,  terminating  in  one  united 
chorus  repeated  again  and  again,  louder  and 
yet  louder,  till  it  culminasted  in  a  veritable 
crash  of  melody,  then  of  a  sudden  ceased. 

Ayesha  rose  and  waved  her  sceptre,  where- 
on ail  the  company  bowed  thrice  ;  then  turned 
and,  breaking  into  some  sweet,  low  chant  that 
sounded  like  a  lullaby,  marched,  rank  after 
rank,  across  the  width  of  the  Sanctuary  and 
through  the  carven  doors,  which  closed 
behipd  the  last  of  them. 

When  all  had  gone,  leaving  us  alone,  save 
for  the  priest  Oros  and  the  priestess  Papave, 
who  remained  in  attendance  on  their  mistress, 
Ayesha,  who  sat  gazing  before  her  with 
dreaming,  empty  eyes,  seemed  to  awake,  for 
she  rose  and  said — 

*'  A  noble  chant,  is  it  not,  and  an  ancient? 
It  was  the  wedding  song  of  the  feast  of  Isis 
and  Osiris  at  Behbit  in  Egypt,  and  there  I 
heard  it  before  ever  I  saw  the  darksome 
Caves  of  Kdr.  Often  have  I  observed,  my 
Holly,  that  music  lingers  longer  than  aught 
else  in  this  changeful  world,  though  it  is  rare 
that  the  very  words  should  remain  unvaried. 
Come,  beloved — tell  me,  by  what  name  shall 
I  call  thee  ?  Thou  art  Kallikrates,  and 
yet *' 

"  CaU  me  Leo,  Ayesha,*'  he  answered,  "  as 
I  waa  christened  in  the  only  life  of  which  I 
have  any  knowledge.  This  Kallikrates  seems 
to  have  been  an  unlucky  man,  and  the  deeds 
he  did,  if  in  truth  he  was  aught  other  than  a 
tool  in  the  hand  of  Destiny,  have  bred  no 
good  to  the  inheritors  of  his  body — or  his 
spirit,  whichever  it  may  be — or  to  those 
women  with  whom  his  life  was  intertwined. 
Call  me  Leo,  then,  for  of  Kallikrates  I  have 
had  enough  since  that  night  when  I  looked 
upon  the  last  of  him  in  Kor." 

**Ah !  I  remember,'*  she  answered — "  when 
thou  sawest  thvself  lying  in  that  narrow  bed, 
and  I  sang  thee  a  song,  did  1  not,  of  the 
past  and  of  the  future?  I  can  recall  two 
lines  of  it ;  the  rest  I  have  forgotten — 

^*  Onward,  never  weary,  clad  with  splendour  for  a  robe ! 
Till  accomplished  be  onr  fate,  and  the  night  is  rushing 
down. 

"  Yes,  my  Leo,  now  indeed  we  are  *  clad  with 
splendour  for  a  robe,*  and  now  our  fate 
draws  near  to  its  accomplishment.  Then 
perchance  will  come  the  downrushing  of  the 
night  ** ;  and  she  sighed,  looked  up  tenderly, 
and  said  :  ''  See,  1  am  talking  to  thee  m 
Arabic.     Hast  thou  foigotten  it  ?  ** 

"  No.** 

"  Then  let  it  be  our  tongue,  for  I  love  it 
best  of  all,  who  lisped  it  at  my  mother's  knee. 
Now  leave  me  here  alone  awhile ;  I  would 


174 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


think.  Also,"  she  added  thoughtfully,  and 
speaking  with  a  strange  and  impressive  in- 
flexion of  the  voice,  "  there  are  some  to  whom 
I  most  give  audience." 

♦  ♦  »  ♦  ♦ 

So  we  went,  all  of  us  supposing  that 
Ayesha  was  about  to  receive  a  deputation 
of  the  Chiefs  of  the  Mountain  Tribes  who 
came  to  felicitate  her  upon  her  betrothal. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE  THIBD  ORDEAL. 

An  hour,  two  hours  passed,  while  we  two 
strove  to  rest  in  our  sleeping-place,  but  could 
not,  for  some  influence  disturbed  us. 

"  Why  does  not  Ayesha  come  ? "  asked 
Leo  at  length,  pausing  in  his  walk  up  and 
down  the  room.  "  I  want  to  see  her  again  ; 
I  cannot  bear  to  be  apart  from  her.  I  feel 
as  though  she  were  drawing  me  to  her." 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  ?  Ask  Oros  ;  he  is 
outside  the  door." 

So  he  went  and  asked  him  ;  but  Oros  only 
smiled  and  answered  that  the  Hesea  had 
not  entered  her  chamber,  so  doubtless  she 
must  still  remain  in  the  Sanctuary. 

"  Then  I  am  going  to  look  for  her.  Come, 
Oros,  and  you  too,  Horace." 

Oros  bowed,  but  declined,  saying  that  he 
WBfl  bidden  to  bide  at  our  door,  adding  that 
we,  "to  whom  all  the  paths  were  open," 
could  return  to  the  Sanctuary  if  we  thought 
well. 

"I  do  think  well,"  replied  Leo  sharply. 
"Will  you  come,  Horace,  or  shall  I  go 
alone  ? " 

I  hesitated.  The  Sanctuary  was  a  public 
place,  it  is  true,  but  Ayesha  had  said  that  she 
desired  to  be  alone  there  for  a  while.  Without 
more  words,  however,  Leo  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  started. 

"  You  will  never  find  your  way,"  I  said, 
and  followed  him. 

We  went  down  the  long  passages,  that  were 
dimly  lighted  with  lamps,  and  came  to  the 
gallery.  Here  we  found  no  lamps  ;  still  we 
groped  our  way  to  the  great  wooden  doors. 
They  were  shut,  but  Leo  pushed  upon  them 
impatiently,  and  one  of  them  swung  open  a 
little,  so  that  we  could  squeeze  ourselves 
between  them.  As  we  passed,  it  closed 
noiselessly  behind  us. 

Now  we  should  have  been  in  the  Sanctuary, 
and  in  the  full  blaze  of  those  awful  columns 
of  living  fire.  But  they  were  out,  or  we  had 
strayed  elsewhere  ;  at  least,  the  darkness  was 
intense.     We  tried  to  work  our  way  back  to 


the  doors  again,  but  could  not.    We  were 
lost. 

More,  something  oppressed  us ;  we  did  not 
dare  to  speak.  We  went  on  a  few  paoes  and 
stopped,  for  we  became  awaire  that  we  were 
not  alone.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  me  that  we 
stood  in  the  midst  of  a  thronging  multitiide, 
but  not  of  men  and  women.  Beings  pressed 
about  us  ;  we  could  feel  their  robes,  yet 
could  not  touch  them  ;  we  could  feel  their 
breath,  bat  it  was  cold.  The  air  stirred  all 
round  us  as  they  passed  to  and  fro,  paaaed  in 
endless  numbers.  It  was  as  though  we  had 
entered  a  cathedral  filled  with  the  vast 
congregation  of  all  the  dead  who  onoe  had 
worshipped  there.  We  grew  afraid — my  face 
was  damp  with  fear,  the  hair  stood  up  upon 
my  head.  We  seemed  to  have  wand^ed 
into  a  hall  of  the  Shades. 

At  length  light  appeared  far  away,  and  we 
saw  that  it  emanated  from  the  two  piUan  of 
fire  which  burned  on  either  side  of  the  Shrine, 
that  of  a  sudden  had  become  luminons.  So 
we  were  in  the  Sanctuary,  and  still  near  to 
the  doors.  Now  those  pillars  were  nofe 
bright ;  they  were  low  and  lurid  ;  the  lays 
from  them  scarcely  reached  us  standing  in  the 
dense  shadow. 

But  if  we  could  not  be  seen  in  them,  we 
still  could  see.  Look  1  Yonder  sat  Ayesha 
on  a  throne,  and  oh  1  she  was  awful  in  her 
deathlike  majesty.  The  blue  light  of  the 
sunken  columns  played  upon  her,  and  in  it  she 
sat  erect,  with  such  a  face  and  mien  of  pride 
as  no  human  creature  ever  wore.  Power 
seemed  to  flow  from  her ;  yes,  it  flowed  from 
those  wide-set,  glittering  eyes  like  light  from 
jewels. 

She  seemed  a  Queen  of  Death  receiving 
homage  from  the  dead.  More,  she  um 
receiving  homage  from  dead  or  living — I 
know  not  which — for,  as  I  thonght  it,  a 
shadowy  Shape  arose  before  the  throne  tuid 
bent  the  knee  to  her,  then  another,  and 
another,  and  another. 

As  each  vague  Being  appeared  and  bowed 
its  starry  h^,  she  raised  her  sceptre  in 
answering  salutation.  We  could  hear  Uie 
distant  tinkle  of  the  sistnim  bells,  the  only 
sound  in  all  that  place  ;  yes,  and  see  her  lips 
move,  though  no  whisper  reached  us  from 
them.    Surely  spirits  were  worshipping  her ! 

We  gripped  each  other.  We  shraiu:  back 
and  found  the  door.  It  gave  to  our  push. 
Now  we  were  in  the  passages  again,  and  now 
we  had  reached  our  room. 

At  its  entrance  Oros  was  standing  as  we 
had  left  him.  He  greeted  us  with  his  fixed 
smile,  taking  no  note  of  the  terror  written  on 


176 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


our  faces.  We  passed  him,  and  entering  the 
room,  stared  at  each  other. 

"What  is  she?"  gasped  Leo.  "An 
angel  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  something  of  that 
sort."  But  to  myself  I  thought  that  there 
are  doubtless  many  kinds  of  angels. 

"  And  what  were  those — those  shadows — 
doing  ?  "  he  asked  again. 

"  Welcoming  her  after  her  transformation, 
I  suppose.  But  perhaps  they  were  not 
shadows — only  priests  disguised  and  conduct- 
ing some  secret  ceremonial  1 " 

Leo  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  made  no 
other  answer. 

At  length  the  door  opened,  and  Oros, 
entering,  said  that  the  Hesea  commanded 
our  presence  in  her  chamber. 

So,  still  oppressed  with  fear  and  wonder — 
for  what  we  had  seen  was  perhaps  more 
dreadful  than  anything  that  had  gone  before 
— we  went,  to  find  Ayesha  seated  and  looking 
somewhat  weary,  but  otherwise  unchanged. 
With  her  was  the  priestess  Papave,  who  had 
just  unrobed  her  of  the  royal  mantle  which 
she  wore  in  the  Sanctuary. 

Ayesha  beckoned  Leo  to  her,  taking  his 
hand  and  searching  his  face  with  her  eyes, 
not  without  anxiety,  as  I  thought. 

Now  I  turned,  purposing  to  leave  them 
alone  ;  but  she  saw,  and  said  to  me,  smiling — 

"  Why  wouldst  thou  f oi-sake  us,  Holly  ? 
To  go  back  to  the  Sanctuary  once  more  ?  " 
and  she  looked  at  me  with  meaning  in  her 
glance.  "  Hast  thou  questions  to  ask  of  the 
statue  of  the  Mother  yonder,  that  thou  lovest 
the  place  'so  much  ?  They  say  it  speaks, 
telling  of  the  future  to  those  who  dare  to 
kneel  beside  it  uncompanioned  from  night 
till  dawn.  Yet  I  have  often  done  so,  but  to 
me  it  has  never  spoken,  though  none  long  to 
learn  the  future  more."  ., 

I  made  no  answer,  nor  did  she  seem  to 
expect  any,  for  she  went  on  at  once — 

"  Nay,  bide  here,  and  let  us  have  done  with 
all  sad  and  solemn  thoughts.  We  three  will 
sup  together  as  of  old,  and  for  a  while  forget 
our  fears  and  cares,  and  be  happy  as  children 
who  know  not  sin  and  death,  nor  that  change 
which  is  death  indeed.  Oros,  await  my  lord 
without.  Papave,  I  will  call  thee  later  to 
disrobe  me.    Till  then  let  none  disturb  us." 

The  room  that  Ayesha  inhabited  was  not 
very  large,  as  we  saw  by  the  hanging  lamps 
with  which  it  was  lighted.  It  was  plainly 
though  richly  furnished,  the  rock  walls  being 
covered  with  tapestries,  and  the  tables  and 
chairs  inlaid  with  silver  ;  but  the  only  token 
that  here  a  woman  had  her  home  was  that 


about  it  stood  several  bowls  of  flowers.  One 
of  these,  I  remember,  was  filled  with  the 
delicate  harebells  I  had  admired,  dug  up 
roots  and  all,  and  set  in  moss. 

"  A  poor  place,"  said  Ayesha,  "  yet  better 
than  that  in  which  I  dwelt  those  two  thousand 
years  awaiting  thy  coming,  Leo ;  for  see, 
beyond  it  is  a  garden,  wherein  I  sit,"  and  she 
sank  down  upon  a  couch  by  the  taUe, 
motioning  to  us  to  take  our  places  opposite  to 
her. 

The  meal  was  simple  ;  for  us,  eggs  boiled 
hard  and  cold  venison  ;  for  her,  milk,  some 
little  cakes  of  flour,  and  mountain  berries. 

Presently  Leo  threw  off  his  gorgeous, 
purple-broidered  robe,  which  he  stiU  wore, 
and  cast  upon  a  chair  the  crook-headed 
sceptre  that  Oros  had  again  thrust  into  his 
hand.     Ayesha  smiled  as  he  did  so,  saying— 

"  It  would  seem  that  thou  boldest  these 
sacred  emblems  in  but  small  respect." 

"Very  small,"  he  answered.  "Thou 
heardest  my  words  in  the  Sanctuary,  Ayesha ; 
so  let  us  make  a  pact.  Thy  religion  I  do  not 
understand,  but  I  understand  my  own,  and 
not  even  for  thy  sake  will  I  take  part  in  what 
I  hold  to  be  idolatiy." 

Now  I  thought  that  she  would  be  angered 
by  this  plain  speaking,  but  she  only  bowed 
her  head  and  answered  meekly — 

"  Thy  wiU  is  mine,  Leo,  though  it  will  not 
be  easy  always  to  ex^ain  thy  absence  from 
the  ceremonies  in  the  Temple.  Yet  thou  hast 
a  right  to  thine  own  faith,  which  doubtless  is 
mine  also." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  "  he  asked,  looking 
up. 

"  Because  all  great  Faiths  are  the  same, 
changed  a  little  to  suit  the  needs  of  passing 
times  and  peoples.  What  taught  that  of 
Egypt,  which,  in  a  fashion,  we  stUl  follow 
here  ?  That  hidden  in  a  multitude  of 
manifestations,  one  Power,  great  and  good, 
rules  all  the  universes :  that  the  holy  shall 
inherit  a  life  eternal,  and  the  vile,  eternal 
death  :  that  men  shall  be  shaped  and  judged 
by  their  own  deeds,  and  here  and  hereafter 
drink  of  the  cup  which  they  have  brewed : 
that  their  real  home  is  not  on  earth,  hot 
beyond  the  earth,  where  all  riddles  shall  be 
answered  and  all  sorrow  cease.  Say,  dost 
thou  believe  these  things,  aa  I  do  ?  " 

"  Aye,  Ayesha  ;  but  Hes  or  Isis  is  thy 
goddess,  for  hast  thou  not  told  us  tales  <rf 
thy  dealings  with  her  in  the  past,  and  did  we 
not  hear  thee  make  thy  prayer  to  her  ?  Who, 
then,  is  this  goddess  Hes  ?  " 

"  Know,  Leo,  that  she  is  what  I  named 
her — Nature's  soul;  no  divinity,    bat  the 


AYESHA. 


177 


secret  Spirit  of  the  World  ;  that  universal 
Motherhood  whose  symbol  thou  hast  seen 
yonder,  and  in  whose  mysteries  lie  hid  all 
earthly  life  and  knowledge." 

"Does,  then,  this  merciful  Motherhood 
follow  her  votaries  with  death  and  evil,  as 
thoa  sayest  she  has  followed  thee  for  thy  dis- 
obedience, and  me — and  another — because  of 
some  unnatural  vows  broken  long  ago  ?  ^' 
Leo  asked  quietly. 

Resting  her  arm  upon  the  table,  Ayesha 
looked  at  him  with  sombre  eyes  and 
answer^ — 

"In  that  Faith  of  thine  of  which  thou 
gpeakest  are  there  perchance  two  gods,  each 
having  many  ministers  :  a  god  of  good  and  a 
god  of  evil,  an  Osiris  and  a  Set  ?  " 

He  nodded. 

"I  thought  it.  And  the  god  of  ill  is 
strong,  is  he  not,  and  can  put  on  the  shape 
of  good  ?  Tell  me,  then,  Leo,  in  the  world 
tiiat  is  to-day,  whereof  I  know  so  little,  hast 
thou  ever  heard  of  frail  souls  who  for  some 
earthly  bribe  have  sold  themselves  to  that 
evil  one,  or  to  his  minister,  and  been  paid 
their  price  in  bitterness  and  anguish  ?  " 

"All  wicked  folk  do  as  much  in  this  form 
or  in  that,"  he  answered. 

"  And  if  once  there  lived  a  woman  who 
was  mad  with  the  thii*st  for  beauty,  for  life, 
for  wisdom,  and  for  love,  might  she  not — oh ! 
might  she  not  perchance " 

"  Sell  herself  to  the  god  called  Set,  or  one 
of  his  aDgels  ?  Ayesha,  dost  thou  mean  " — 
and  Ijeo  rose,  speaking  in  a  voice  that  was 
full  of  fear — "  that  thou  art  such  a  woman  ?  " 

''  And  if  so  ?  "  she  asked,  also  rising  and 
drawing  slowly  near  to  him. 

"  If  so,"  he  answered  hoarsely,  "  if  so,  I 
think  that  perhaps  we  had  best  fulfil  our 
fates  apart " 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  with  a  little  scream  of 
pain  as  though  a  knife  hsA  stabbed  her, 
"  wouldst  thou  awav  to  Atene  ?  I  tell  thee 
that  thou  canst  not  leave  me.  I  have  power 
— above  all  men  thou  shouldst  know  it,  whom 
once  I  slew.  Nay,  thou  hast  no  memory, 
poor  creature  of  a  breath,  and  I — I  remember 
too  well.  I  will  not  hold  thee  dead  again — 
III  hold  thee  living.  Look  now  on  my 
beauty,  Leo" — and  she  bent  her  swaying 
form  towards  him,  compelling  him  with  her 
glorions,  alluring  eyes — "  and  begone  if  thou 
canst.  Why,  thou  drawest  nearer  to  me. 
Man,  that  is  not  the  path  of  flight. 

**  Nay,  I  will  not  tempt  thee  with  these 
common  lures.  Go,  Leo,  if  thou  wilt.  Go, 
mj  loTe,  and  leave  me  to  my  loneliness  and 
my  sin.     Now  —at  once.    Atene  will  shelter 


thee  till  spring,  when  thou  canst  cross  the 
mountains  and  return  to  thine  own  world 
again,  and  to  those  things  of  common  life 
which  are  thy  joy.  See,  Leo,  I  veil  myself, 
that  thou  mayst  not  be  tempted,"  and  she 
flung  the  corner  of  her  cloak  about  her  head, 
then  asked  a  sudden  question  through  it — 

"Didst  thou  not  but  now  return  to  the 
Sanctuary  with  Holly  after  I  bade  thee  leave 
me  there  alone  ?  Methought  I  saw  the  two 
of  you  standing  by  its  doors." 

"Yes,  we  came  to  seek  thee,"  he  answered. 
"And  found  more  than  ye  sought,  as 
often  chances  to  the  bold — is  it  not  so  ? 
Well,  I  willed  that  ye  should  come  and  see, 
and  protected  you  where  others  might  have 
died." 

"  What  didst  thou  there  upon  the  throne, 
and  whose  were  those  forms  which  we  saw 
bending  before  thee  ?  "  he  asked  coldly. 

"  I  have  ruled  in  many  shapes  and  lands, 
Leo.  Perchance  they  were  ancient  com- 
panions and  ser^^itors  of  mine  come  to  greet 
me  once  again  and  to  hear  my  tidings.  Or 
perchance  they  were  but  shadows  of  thy 
brain,  pictures  like  those  upon  the  fire,  that 
it  pleased  me  to  summon  to  thy  sight,  to  try 
thy  strength  and  constancy. 

"  Leo  Vincey,  know  now  the  truth  :  that 
all  things  are  illusions,  even  that  there  exists 
no  future  and  no  past,  that  what  has  been 
and  what  shall  be  already  is  eternally. 
Know  that  I,  Ayesha,  am  but  a  magic 
wraith,  foul  when  thou  seest  me  foul,  fair 
when  thou  seest  me  fair ;  a  spirit-bubble 
reflecting  a  thousand  lights  in  the  sunshine 
of  thy  smile,  grey  as  dust  and  gone  in  the 
shadow  of  thy  frown.  Think  of  the  throned 
Queen  before  whom  the  shadowy  Powers 
bowed,  and  worship,  for  that  is  I.  Think  of 
the  hideous,  withered  Thing  thou  sawest 
naked  on  the  rock,  and  flee  away,  for  that  is 
I.  Or  keep  me  lovely,  and  adore,  knowing 
all  evil  centred  in  my  spirit,  for  that  is  I. 
Now,  Leo,  thou  hast  the  truth.  Put  me 
from  thee  for  ever  and  for  ever  if  thou  wilt, 
and  be  safe ;  or  clasp  me,  clasp  me  to  thy 
heart,  and  in  payment  for  my  lips  and  love 
take  my  sin  upon  thy  head  !  Nay,  Holly, 
be  thou  silent,  for  now  he  must  judge 
alone." 

Leo  turned,  as  I  thought,  at  first,  to  find 
the  door.  Bnt  it  was  not  so,  for  he  did  but 
walk  up  and  down  the  room  awhile.  Then 
he  came  back  to  where  Ayesha  stood,  and 
spoke  quite  simply  and  in  a  very  quiet  voice, 
such  as  men  of  his  nature  often  assume  in 
moments  of  great  emotion. 

"  Ayesha,"  he  said,  "  when  I  saw  thee  as 


178 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


thou  wast,  aged  and — ^thou  knowest  how — I 
dung  to  thee.  Now,  when  thou  hast  told 
me  the  secret  of  this  unholy  pact  of  thine, 
when  with  my  eyes,  at  least,  I  have  seen  thee 
reigning  a  mistress  of  spirits  good  or  ill,  yet 
I  cling  to  thee.  Let  thy  sin,  great  or  little 
— whatever  it  is — be  my  sin  also.  In  truth, 
I  feel  its  weight  sink  to  my  soul  and  become 
a  part  of  me  ;  and  although  I  have  no  vision 
or  power  of  prophecy,  I  am  sure  that  I  shall 
not  escape  its  punishment.  Well,  though  I 
be  innocent,  let  me  bear  it  for  thy  sake.  I 
am  content." 

Ayesha  heai"d,  the  cloak  slipped  from  her 
head,  and  for  a  moment  she  stood  silent  like 
one  amazed,  then  burst  into  a  passion  of 
sudden  tears.  Down  she  went  before  him, 
and  clinging  to  his  garments,  she  bowed  her 
stately  shape  until  her  forehead  touched  the 
ground.  Yes,  that  proud  being,  who  was 
more  than  mortal,  whose  nostrils  but  now 
had  drunk  the  incense  of  the  homage  of 
ghosts  or  spirits,  humbled  herself  at  this 
man^s  feet. 

With  an  exclamation  of  horror,  half- 
maddened  at  the  piteous  sight,  Leo  sprang 
to  one  side,  then  stooping,  lifted  and  led  her 
still  weeping  to  the  couch. 

"  Thou  knowest  not  what  thou  hast  done," 
Ayesha  said  at  last.  '*  Let  all  thou  sawest 
on  the  Mountain's  crest  or  in  the  Sanctuary 
be  but  visions  of  the  night ;  let  that  tale  of 
an  offended  goddess  be  a  parable,  a  fable,  if 
thou  wilt.  This  at  least  is  true,  that  ages 
since,  I  sinned  for  thee  and  against  thee  and 
another ;  that  ages  since,  I  bought  beauty 
and  life  indefinite  wherewith  I  might  win 
thee  and  endow  thee  at  a  cost  which  few 
would  dare ;  that  I  have  paid  interest  on 
the  debt,  in  mockery,  utter  loneliness,  and 
daily  pain  which  scarce  could  be  endured, 
until  the  bond  fell  due  at  last  and  must  be 
satisfied. 

"  Yes,  how  I  may  not  tell  thee,  thou  and 
thou  alone  stoodst  between  me  and  the  full 
discharge  of  this  most  dreadful  debt — for 
know  that  in  mercy  it  is  given  to  us  to 
redeem  one  another." 

Now  he  would  have  spoken,  but  with  a 
motion  of  her  hand  she  bade  him  be  silent, 
and  continued — 

"  See  now,  Leo  ;  three  great  dangers  has 
thy  body  passed  of  late  upon  its  journey  to 
my  side  :  the  Death-hounds,  the  Mountains, 
and  the  Precipice.  Know  that  these  were 
but  types  and  ordained  foreshado wings  of 
the  last  threefold  trial  of  thy  soul.  From 
the  pursuing  passions  of  Atene,  which  must 
have  undone  us  both,  thou  hast  fled  vic- 


torious. Thou  hast  endured  the  desert 
loneliness  of  the  sands  and  snows,  starving 
for  a  comfort  that  never  came.  Even  when 
the  avalanche  thundered  round  thee,  thy 
faith  stood  fast,  as  it  stood  above  the  Pit  of 
flame,  while  after  bitter  years  of  doubt  a 
rushing  flood  of  horror  swallowed  up  thy 
hopes.  As  thou  didst  descend  the  glader^s 
steep,  not  knowing  what  lay  beneath  that 
fearful  path,  so  but  now  of  thine  own  choice, 
for  very  love  of  me,  thou  hast  plunged  head- 
long into  an  abyss  that  is  deeper  far,  to 
share  its  terrors  with  my  spirit.  Doet  ihoa 
understand  at  last  ?  " 

"  Something ;  not  all,  I  think,"  he 
answered  slowly. 

"Surely  thou  art  wrapped  in  a  double 
veil  of  blindness,"  she  cried  impatiently. 
"  Listen  again : 

"Hadst  thou  yielded  to  Natore^s  crying 
and  rejected  me  but  yesterday,  in  that  fool 
shape  I  must  perchance  have  lingered  for 
uncounted  time,  playing  the  poor  part  of 
priestess  of  a  forgotten  faith.  This  me  the 
first  temptation,  the  ordeal  of  thy  fleA— 
nay,  not  the  first — the  second,  for  Atenc 
and  her  lurings  were  the  first.  But  thou 
wast  loyal,  and  in  the  magic  of  ti^  con- 
quering love  my  beauty  and  my  womaiibood 
were  re-born. 

"  Hadst  thou  rejected  me  to-night^  when, 
as  I  was  bidden  to  do,  I  showed  thee  that 
vision  in  the  Sanctuary  and  confoased  to 
thee  my  soul's  black  crime,  then  hopdesBand 
helpless,  unshielded  by  my  earthly  poiver,  I 
must  have  wandered  on  into  the  m^  and 
endless  night  of  solitude.  This  vas  the 
third  appointed  test,  the  trial  of  thj  ^rit ; 
and  by  thv  steadfastness,  Leo,  thou  hast 
loosed  the  hand  of  Destiny  from  ahottt  my 
throat.  Now  I  am  regenerate  in  lliee— 
through  thee  may  hope  again  for  aoniB  true 
life  beyond,  which  tnou  shalt  share.  And 
yet,  and  yet,  if  thou  shouldst  suffer,  w  well 

may  chance " 

"Then  I  suffer,  and  there's  an  end,'" 
broke  in  Leo  serenely.  "Save  for  a  few 
things,  my  mind  is  clear,  and  there  srail  be 
justice  for  us  all  at  last.  If  I  have  laofan 
the  bond  that  bound  thee,  if  I  havB  freed 
thee  from  some  threatening,  spiritoat  ill  bv 
taking  a  risk  upon  my  head,  well,  I  haV9  not 
lived  and,  if  need  be,  shall  not  die  in  tain. 
So  let  us  have  done  with  all  these  proifaieBis ; 
or,  rather,  first  answer  thou  me  one. 
Ayesha,  how  wast  thou  changed  upon  that 
peak?" 

"  In  flame  I  left  thee,  Leo,  and  in  flame  I 
did  return,  as  in  flame,  mayhap,  we  shaU 


180 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZIXE. 


both  depart.  Or  perhaps  the  change  was  ui 
the  eyes  of  all  of  you  who  watched,  and  not 
in  this  shape  of  mine.  I  have  atiswered. 
Seek  to  learn  no  more." 

"One  thing  I  do  still  seek  to  learn. 
Ayesha,  we  were  betrothed  to-night.  When 
wUt  thou  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet,"  she  answered  hurriedly, 
her  voice  quivering  as  she  spoke.  "  Leo, 
thou  must  put  that  hope  from  thy  thoughts 
awhile,  and  for  some  few  months,  a  year 
perchance,  be  content  to  play  the  part  of 
friend  and  lover." 

"Why  so?"  he  asked  with  bitter  disap- ' 
pointment.     "  Ayesha,  those  parts  have  been 
mine  for  many  a  day  ;    more,  I  grow  no 
younger,  and,  unlike  thee,  shall  soon  be  old.  _ 
Also,  life  is  fleeting,  and  sometimes  I  think 
that  I  near  its  end." 

"  Speak  no  such  evil-omened  words'! "  she 
said,  springing  from  the  couch  and  stamping 
her  sandalled  foot  upon  the  ground  in  anger 
born  of  fear.  "  Yet  thou  sayest  truth  : . 
thou  art  unfortified  against  the  accidents  6i . 
time  and  chance.  Oh  !  horrible,  horrible! 
thou  mightest  die  again,  and  leave  me 
living ! " 

"  Then  give  me  of  thy  life,  Ayesha." 

"That  would  I  gladly,  all  of  it,  couldst 
thou  but  repay  me  with  the  boon  of  death  * 
to  come. 

"  Oh,  ye  poor  mortals !"  she  went  on  with 
a  sudden  burst  of  passion  ;  "  ye  beseech  your 
gods  for  the  gift  of  many  years,  being 
Ignorant  that  ye  would  sow  a  seed  within' 
your  breasts  whence  ye  must  garner  ten 
thousand  miseries.  Know  ye  not  that  this 
world  is  indeed  the  wide  house  of  hell,  in 
whose  chambers  from  time  to  time  the 'spirit 
tarries  a  little  while,  then,  weary  and  aghast, 
speeds  w'ailing  to  the  peace  that  it  has 
won. 

"  Think,  then,  what  it  is  to  live  on  here 
eternally  and  yet  be  human  ;  to  age  in  soul 
and  see  our  beloved  die  and  pass  to  lands 
whither  we  cannot  hope  to  follow ;  to  wait 
while  drop  by  drop  the  curse  of  the  long 
C3nturies  falls  upon  our  imperishable  being, 
like  water  slow  dripping  on  a  diamond  that 
it  cannot  wear,  till  tney  be  born  anew,  forget- 
ful of  us,  and  again  sink  from  our*  helpless 
arms  into  the  void  unknowable. 

"  Think  what  it  is  to  see  the  sins  we  sin, 
the  tempting  look,  the  Avord  idle  or  unkind  — 
aye,  even  the  selfish  thought  or  struggle — 
multiplied  ten  thousandfold  and  more  eternal 
than  ourselves,  spring  up  upon  the  universal 
bosom  of  the  earth  to  be  the  bane  of  a 
million  destinies,  whilst  the  everlasting  Finger 


\vTites  it3  endless  count,  and  a  cold  voice 
of  Justice  cries  in  our  conscience-haunted 
solitiide  :  *  Oh,  soul  unshriven  !  behold  the 
ripening  harvest  thy  wanton  hand  did  scatter, 
and  long  in  vain  for  the  waters  of  forgetful- 


ness: 


» » 


"  Think  what  it  is  to  have  every  earthly 
wisdom,  yet  to  burn  unsatisfied  for  the 
deeper  and  forbidden  draught ;  to  gather  up 
all  wealth  and  power  and  let  them  slip  s^u, 
like  children  weary  of  a  painted  toy ; .  to 
sivoep  the  lyre  of  fame,  and,  maddened  by 
its  jangling  music,  to  stamp  it  small  beneath 
our  feet ;  to  snatch  at  pleasure's  goblet  and 
find  its  wine  is  sand ;  and  at  length,  outworn, 
t6  cast  us  down  and  pray  the  .pitiless  gods 
\4ith  whose  stolen  garment  we  have  wrapped 
oiiiisqlves,  to  take  it  back  again,  and  sujQFer  ns 
to  slink  naked  to  the  grave  1 

"  Such  is  the  life  thou  askest,  Leo.  Say, 
wilt  thou  have  it  now  ?  " 

"  If  it '  may  be  shared  with  thee,"  he 
answered.  "  These  woes  are  bom  of  loneli- 
ness, but  then  our  perfect  fellowship  would 
ttim  them  into  joy."  . 

"  Aye,"  she  said,  "  while  it  was  permitted 
to  endure.  So  be  it,  Leo.  In  the  spring, 
when  the  snows  melt,  we  wiU  journey 
together  to  Libya,  and  there  thou  shak  be 
bp,thed  in  the  Fount  of  Life,  that  forbidden 
Essence  of  which  once  thou  didst  fear  to 
drink.     Afterwards  I  will  wed  thee." 

", That  place  is  closed  for  ever,  Ayesha.'' 

"Not  to  my  feet  and  thine,"  she  answered. 
"  Fear  not,  my  love.  Were  this  mountain 
heaped  thereon,  I  would  blast  a  path  through 
it  w^ith  mine  eyes  and  lay  its  secret  bare. 
Oh  I  would  that  thou  wast  as  I  am,  for  then 
before  to-morrow's  sun  w^e'd  watch  the  rolling 
pillar  thunder  by,  and  thou  shonldst  taste 
its  glory. 

"  But  it  may  not  be.  Hunger  or  cold  can 
starve  thee,  and  waters  drown  ;  swords  can 
slay  thee,  or  sickness  sap  away  thy  strength. 
Hiid  it  not  been  for  the  false  Atene,  who 
disobeyed  my  words,  as  it  was  foredoomed 
that  she  should  do,  by  this  day  we  were 
across  the  mountains,  or  had  travelled  north- 
ward through  the  frozen  desert  and  the 
rivers.  Now  we  must  await  the  melting  of 
the  snows,  for  winter  is  at  hand,  and  in  it,  as 
thou  knowest,  no  man  can  live  upon  their 
heights." 

"Eight  months  till  April  before  we  can 
start,  and  how  long  to  cross  the  mountains, 
and  all  the  vast  distances  beyond,  and  the 
seas  and  the  swamps  of  K6r  ?  Why,  at  the 
best,  Ayesha,  two  years  must  go  by  before 
we  can  even  find  the  place";   and"  he  fell 


n  thit  than  trt  si 


182 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


to  entreating  her  to  let  them  be  wed  at  once 
and  journey  afterwards. 

But  she  said.  Nay,  and  nay,  and  nay,  it 
ahonld  oot  be  ;  till  at  length,  as  though  fear- 
ing bis  pleading,  or  that  of  ber  owu  heart, 
ebe  roee  and  diBmissed  us. 

"  Ah,  my  Holly  ! "  she  said  to  me,  ae  we 
three  paired,  "  I  promiaed  thee  and  mj'flelf 
some  few  hours  of  lest  and  of  the  happiness 
of  quiet,  and  thou  seest  how  my  desire 
has  been  fulfilled.  Those  old  Egyptians 
were  wont  to  share  their  feasts  with  one 
grizzly  skeleton,  but  here  I  counted  four 
to-night  that  you  both  could  see,  and  they 
are  named  Fear,  Buspense,  Foreboding,  and 
Love-denied.     Doubtless  also,  when  these 


are  buried,  oUiers  will  come  to  haunt  db  and 
snatch  the  poor  morsel  from  our  lips. 

"  So  hath  it  ever  been  with  me,  wboee 
feet  misfortune  di:^.  Yet  I  hope  on,  wi 
now  many  a  barrier  lies  behind  as ;  and 
Leo,  thou  hast  been  tried  in  the  appointed 
triple  fires,  and  yet  proved  true.  Sweet  be 
thy  slumbers,  0  my  love,  and  sweeter  stiD 
thy  dreams,  for  know,  my  soul  sh^  dure 
them !  I  vow  to  thee  that  to^norrow  veil 
be  happy— aye,  to-morrow  without  fail." 

"  Why  will  she  not  marry  me  at  ooce  ? " 
asked  lieo,  when  we  were  alone  in  oat 
chamber. 

"  Because  she  is  afraid,"  I  answered. 


(7"o  be  continued.) 


A  WEED. 

'X*HB  remnant  of  a  Roman  villa,  strown 
*     With  English  leaves,  from  straggling  chances  screened; 
Labelled  with  rust-crowned  letters ;  and,  grey-grown. 
An  elm,  on  whose  bole  many  a  lance  has  leaned. 


Pomp's  empty  nest  I    Shrunk  vault  where  stood  the  shrine  I 
Here  linger,  worldling  I    Warrior  weary,  read  I 

Lo,  In  this  frame  of  iron,  a  word  divine 
Shines  on  the  shattered  tessera— a  weed  1 

CHARLES  INNISA  BOWEN. 


ARMAND-AU    REVOIR! 


By   L.   G.   MOBERLY.* 


WAS  an  unwilling 
witness  of  that  most 
idyllic  of  love  scenes 
in  a  garden  that  was 
in  itself  an  idyll. 
Most  gladly  would  I 
have  shown  myself 
to  the  two  young 
things  unconscious 
of  my  presence,  but 
it  seemed  to  me  less  cruel  to  remain  quietly 
in  the  little  pergola  overhung  with  masses 
of  wisteria  and  banksia  roses  in  full  flower, 
than  to  break  out  upon  them,  to  their  em- 
barrassment and  annoyance. 

The  chance  which  had  brought  me  to  sit 
that  morning  in  the  fragrant  little  pergola 
helped  to  form  the  first  link  in  the  chain  of 
coincidences  that  gave  me  a  knowledge  of 
those  two  other  lives — lives  which  never 
touched  my  own,  yet  into  whose  innermost 
recesses  I  had  such  strange  glimpses. 

The  murmur  of  voices  from  the  path,  im- 
mediately outside  the  entrance  to  the  pergola, 
was  the  first  intimation  I  received  that  some- 
one besides  myself  had  discovered  thisf  ragrant 
corner  of  that  most  lovely  garden. 

It  was  a  man's  voice  that  spoke  first,  in 
French,  eager,  impetuous,  and,  as  I  imagined, 
youthful. 

C*  Beloved,"  he  said,  "  is  it  true  ?   Are  you 
sure  ?    Will  love  be  enough  ?  " 

"  Enough  ?  "  The  answer  evidently  came 
from  a  girl ;  the  tones  were  so  fresh,  so  clear, 
but  with  a  penetrating  sweetness  in  them 
which  gave  me  the  certainty  that  a  woman's 
soul,  strong  and  loving,  lay  behind  that  clear, 
young  voice.  "  If  you  knew  how  glad — how- 
glad  I  am  tiiat  I  am  free  to  choose  love,  to 
follow  my  heart !    Love  is  enough."!? 

The  last  words  were  very  simply  said,  but 
they  held  a  depth  of  meaning  that  made  my 
foolish  old  heart  give  a  leap  of  sympathy. 
Love  ? — enough  ? 

Yes,  surely,  in  a  world  that  sang  of  love 
and  youth :  where  the  spring  sunlight  touched 
the  vine  leaves  into  vivid  green  ;  where  the 
birds  sang  even  amongst  the  dark  cypresses  ; 


*  CoDTiight,  1906,  by  Waidj  Lock  and  Co.,  Limited, 
ID  kbe  United  States  of  Amenca. 


183 


where  the  scent  of  the  pale  wisteria  flowers 
and  of  the  banksia  roses  round  me  filled  the 
soft  air  with  fragrance. 

"Love  is  enough,"  she  repeated,  "with 
you,  Armand." 

"But  you  give  up  so  much,"  he  said 
doubtfully.  "  I  take  everything  ;  the  sacrifice 
is  all  yours." 

"  Sacrifice ! "  she  cried,  a  ring  of  glad  pride 
in  her  voice.  "  Do  you  think  I  care  for  rank 
and  all  that  rank  brings  ?  I  am  glad  I  was 
bom  too  late  to  have  to  wear  a  crown  that  is 
so  thorny— so  thorny,"  she  repeated  almost 
dreamily.  "  I  am  free  to  give  myself  to  you. 
Sacrifice?"  she  laughed  softly.  "There  is 
no  sacrifice  in  going  into  Paradise." 

As  she  spoke  those  words,  the  two  paused 
in  their  walk  along  the  path,  and  through 
the  delicate  wisteria  and  banksia  leaves  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  them  both. 

They  were  young,  but  there  was  no  imma- 
turity or  lack  of  purpose  in  either  face. 

The  man's  glowed  with  strong  feeling,  his 
eyes  never  left  the  face  of  the  girl  by  his  side. 
In  height  she  was  almost  his  equal,  and  the 
eyes  she  turned  on  him  were  nearly  on  a  level 
with  his  own.  Turned  thus,  I  could  see  her 
features  perfectly,  and  every  one  of  them  was 
indelibly  printed  on  my  memory,  never  again 
to  be  forgotten. 

Her  eyes  were  blue  as  the  deep  sky,  glimpses 
of  which  I  could  catch  through  the  waving 
leaves  above  me ;  they  shone  with  a  love-light 
which  might  well  have  made  proud  the  man 
for  whom  they  shone ;  her  delicately  cut 
nose  and  well-formed  mouth  bore  the  stamp 
of  high  breeding,  the  colouring  of  her  cheeks 
was  dainty  as  the  apple  blossom  in  the 
meadow  beyond  the  garden  ;  the  sunlight 
gleaming  in  her  hair  wove  it  into  a  coronet 
of  gold.  She  moved  with  the  stately  tread 
of  a  young  queen ;  yet  as  she  looked  at  the 
man,  there  was  a  beautiful  surrender  in  her 
eyes,  and  a  tremulous  smile  played  about  her 
mouth. 

He  took  her  hand  in  his  with  a  sort  of 
reverence  and,  stooping  his  dark  head,  kissed 
it  tenderly.  Looking  at  him,  I  felt  that  he 
was  worthy  of  the  love  even  of  such  a  woman 
as  this.  His  face  was  strong,  yet  gentle ;  there 
Avas  no  weakness  in  the  firm  mouth,  nothing 


184 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


bat  purity  and  manliness  in  the  straight- 
forward glance. 

"  Beloved,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  shook, 
"  will  you  never  regret  aU  that  you  will  lose 
if  you  come  into  Paradise  with  nie  ?  " 

'*  Never,"  she  said  quietly.  *^o  enter 
Paradise  with  you,  Armand,  that  is  enougEJ" 
And  she  turned  her  beautiful  face  to  ms 
and  let  him  kiss  her  softly  on  the  lips. 

I  caught  my  breath  as  they  turned  away. 
I  found  my  eyes  instinctively  watching  for 
the  last  glimpse  of  her  white  gown  as  it 
vanished  amongst  the  trees.  I  smiled  at  this 
sunny  picture  of  youth  and  joy. 

"  They  are  worthy  of  each  other,"  I  said. 


Standing  that  evening  on  the  terrace  of 
the  hotel  watching  a  rose-coloured  sunset 
behind  the  great  pile  of  Monte  Rosa,  I  saw 
the  girl  again.  She  was  walking  across  the 
garden,  an  elderly  lady  on  one  side  of  her, 
the  young  man  on  the  other. 

"  Do  you  see  that  girl  ?  "  a  hotel  acquaint- 
ance asked  eagerly. 

I  nodded. 

"  She  is  a  great  personage,  in  spite  of  her 
simple  dress  and  manners.  She  is  the  Princess 
Theresa,  daughter  of"  (and  he  named  the 
king  of  a  well-known  and  flourishing  little 
kingdom).  "  But  for  the  fate  which  has  given 
her  two  elder  sisters,  she  would  be  heir  to  the 
throne  ;  she  has  no  brothers.  As  it  is,  I 
fancy  it  looks  as  if  she  intended  to  renounce 
all  regal  rights  and  be  happy  in  her  own  way 
with  the  young  fellow  beside  her." 

I  also  fancied  that  she  had  found  a  road  to 
happiness  more  royal  perhaps  than  any  beaten 
track  along  which  convention  might  have  led 
her.  But  I  said  nothing,  only  watched  that 
white-clad  figure  bathed  in  the  rosy  sunset 
light,  and  smiled,  remembering  how  she  had 
entered  to-day  into  her  Paradise. 


Two  years  later,  as  I  was  journeying  home- 
wards from  a  long  tour  in  the  East,  which 
had  taken  me  far  out  of  reach  of  all  news- 
papers or  tidings  of  the  Western  world,  I 
resolved  to  stay  for  a  night  or  two  in  a  town 
on  my  route  which,  it  so  happened,  was  the 
capital  of  that  kingdom  where  the  Princess 
Theresa's  father  reigned  as  king. 

My  thoughts  naturally  enough  flew  back 
to  her  as  I  drove  through  the  quaint  and 
picturesque  town,  and  a  vivid  picture  of  her 
as  I  had  last  seen  her  rose  before  my 
eyes.  The  fragrant  garden,  the  great  snow 
mountains,  the  rosy  sunset  light  upon  her 


beautiful,  glad  face — ^all  these  flashed  before 
me,  shutting  out  for  a  moment  the  biuj 
streets,  the  thronging  people ;  and  I  wondered 
whether  she  and  Armand  were  happy  to- 
gether, far  away  from  cities  and  convention- 
ality, and  from  the  trammels  of  royalty  and 
Court  etiquette.  As  I  drove  on,  I  was  roused 
from  my  musings  by  the  increasing  crowds, 
and  I  now  became  aware  that  the  streets  were 
gaily  decorated  with  flags  and  flowers,  and 
that  people's  faces  wore  an  unusual  look  of 
festivity  and  rejoicing. 

"  What  is  happening  ?  "  I  asked  of  my 
driver.  "  Is  this  a  national  festival,  or  the 
anniversary  of  some  great  victory  ?  " 

He  laughed  good-humouredly. 

"  The  gentleman  does  not  know  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Our  Princess  is  to  be  married  to-morrow— 
the  Crown  Princess,  the  heir  to  the  throne, 
be  it  understood,"  he  went  on  for  the  fnrtlier 
enlightenment  of  my  dull  foreign  under- 
standing. "  She  marries  our  neighbour,  Prince 
Frederick,  and  we  rejoice." 

"  So,"  I  reflected,  "  the  Princess  TheresaV 
eldest  sister  was  to  be  married,  and  no  donbi 
the  younger  Princess  herself  would  be  at 
the  wedding."  I  then  and  there  resolved 
that  I  would  make  at  least  an  efiPort  to  see 
something  of  the  morrow's  ceremony. 

The  town  was  astir  betimes,  and  I  was 
astir  with  the  town  to  take  my  place  as  near  as 
might  be  to  the  steps  of  the  fine  cathedral  in 
which  I  learnt  the  wedding  was  to  take  place. 
I  found  a  small  crowd  already  there,  and 
by  the  time  fixed  for  the  ceremony  ^^ 
crowd  had  grown  to  a  big  one;  but  it  was 
gay  and  good-natured,  and  determined  to 
make  the  most  of  the  holiday  and  of  the 
wedding  of  a  princess  who  was  plainly  most 
deeply  loved. 

I  found  myself  well  amused  watching  the 
guests  stream  into  the  buiJding,  listening  to 
the  comments  of  the  populace,  and  learning 
from  my  neighbours  who  was  this  grandee, 
and  who  that.  Then  at  last  a  murmur  ran 
round :  "  The  royal  household  is  coming ! " and 
I  craned  forwani  with  the  rest  to  watch  the 
lords  and  ladies  in  waiting  pass  up  the  steps. 
Once  I  started  violently,  for  I  saw  a  face  I 
knew,  but  a  face  grown  from  youth  to  man- 
hood since  I  had  seen  it  last — the  face  of  the 
man  called  Armand.  And,  as  well  as  the 
youth,  all  the  gladness  had  gone  out  of  it ;  it 
was  strong  and  pure  as  ever,  but  infinitely 
sad  ;  and  I  wondered. 

Next  there  came  a  pause,  then  a  blare  of 
trumpets,  a  great  shout  from  the  multitude, 
a  pealing  volume  of  sound  from  the  organ, 
and  out  of  a  magnificent  state  carriage,  into 


Ut  took  hex  twnd  in  fail  with  a  tort  of  reverence  ■od,  lUiapiiig  bia  dark  head,  kiued  it  l«iidi:rJ\. 


186 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


the  sunshine  on  the  steps,  there  came,  leaning 
on  the  old  king's  arm,  a  tall  form  in  trailing 
white  garments,  her  diamonds  flashing  till  she 
seemed  to  move  in  a  blaze  of  light. 

And  when  I  saw  the  face  of  the  bride,  I 
caught  my  breath  and  uttered  a  low  exclama- 
tion, for  the  face  under  the  bridal  veil  was 
not  the  face  of  a  stranger.  I  looked  once 
again  upon  the  face  of  the  girl  I  had  seen 
walking  with  her  lover  in  the  garden  at 
sunset  time — the  girl  who  had  entered  into 
Paradise  with  Armand  ! 

The  same,  yet  not  the  same  1  The  exquisite 
contour  was  there  still ;  the  eyes,  blue  and 
deep  as  the  sky  overhead  ;  the  beautiful 
curves  of  mouth  and  chin  ;  the  gleaming 
hair.  But  the  colouring,  instead  of  making 
me  think  of  apple  blossoms  in  spring,  was 
white,  white  as  a  statue ;  and  the  radiance 
was  all  gone  I  The  face  was  set  and  still  as 
though  carved  out  of  marble,  lovely  beyond 
words,  but  cold  with  a  coldness  that  froze 
my  heart. 

She  passed  into  the  building  with  that  free, 
stately  step  I  remembered,  then  I  turned 
with  a  question  to  a  man  behind  me. 

"  Yes — that  is  the  Crown  Princess  now. 
Her  elder  sisters  both  died.  Yes — it  was 
sad,  very  sad.  They  said  the  young  Princess 
Theresa  had  been  about  to  resign  her  royal 
rank,  to  wed  for  love  ;  but — her  sisters  had 
died,  and  she  had  become  her  father's  heir — 
and — well,  of  course,  it  was  easily  to  be  seen 
that  she  must  wed  the  son  of  a  royal  house," 
and  so  on,  and  so  on. 

I  waited  to  hear  no  more.  I  could  not 
bear  to  see  that  beautiful  cold  face  again, 
nor  the  heart-break  I  had  noted  in  her 
eyes  :  I  struggled  out  of  the  seething  crowd, 
away  from  the  sound  of  the  pealing  organ, 
but  I  could  not  escape  from  the  thought 
of  those  two,  at  the  door  of  whose  Paradise 
an  angel  stood,  bearing  a  flaming  sword  in 
his  hand. 


It  was  a  tiny  churchyard  on  a  hillside  in 
Switzerland.  Below  it  the  waters  of  the 
lake  shimmered  in  the  sunshine,  above  its 
terraces  rose  vineyard  above  vineyard,  till 
they  were  lost  in  the  woods  that  hung  upon 
the  sides  of  the  great  brooding  mountains. 
I  walked  slowly  along  the  little  paths  among 
the  graves,  reading  the  names  of  the  dead 
who  lay  in  their  peaceful  resting-place  amongst 
the  roses.  For  round  the  graves  on  every 
hand,  and  over  the  grey  stone  terraces,  and 
along  the  steep  little  paths,  were  roses — roses 
everywhere,  pink  and  red,  orange  and  pale 


yellow,  snowy  white  and  deepest  crimson. 
Their  fragrance  filled  the  air,  their  petals 
strewed  the  ground  at  my  feet. 

All  at  once  my  slow  steps  were  arrested ; 
a  few  feet  in  front  of  me  I  saw  a  woman  in 
black  and  alone,  kneeling  beside  a  grave  over 
which  was  a  trelliswork  covered  with  white 
banksia  roses.  For  a  few  moments  she  knelt 
there  very  quietly,  then  she  rose  and,  stooping 
over  the  grave,  picked  a  bunch  of  the  white 
blossoms  and,  when  she  had  done  so,  laid 
them  against  her  lips. 

Something  in  the  eloquent  little  gesture 
brought  a  lump  into  my  throat ;  and  when  I 
saw  the  tall  form  turn  away  and  come  along 
the  path  towards  me,  I  instinctively  moved 
into  the  grass  beside  the  pathway.  She 
passed  me  quickly,  but  her  free  yet  stately 
tread  made  me  catch  my  breath  and  steal 
one  glimpse  at  her  face. 

Yes,  oh,  yes,  there  was  no  mistaking  her 
beautiful  features.  Though  years  had  gone 
by,  they  had  not  dimmed  her  loveliness  ;  and 
though  her  eyes  shone  through  a  mist  of 
tears,  their  colour  was  still  the  same  wonder- 
ful deep  blue.  But  her  face  was  more  than 
beautiful.  The  promise  of  the  Princess 
Theresa's  girlhood  liad  been  fulfilled  in  ber 
womanhood ;  strength,  sweetness,  purity — 
these  looked  out  of  the  face  I  saw,  as  she 
passed  swiftly  along  the  path  between  the 
roses,  the  bunch  of  pure  white  blossoms  in 
her  hand. 

Deeply  moved,  I  stood  motionless  long 
after  her  figure  had  vanished  from  my  sight 
into  the  road  below,  where,  as  I  now 
remembered,  I  had  seen  a  carriage  in  waiting. 
When  I  roused  myself  at  last,  it  was  to  go 
slowly  along  the  path  by  which  she  had 
come,  to  paustt  at  last  beside  the  little  grave 
over  which  the  banksia  roses  bloomed  so 
lavishly. 

The  grave  was  marked  only  by  a  simple 
stone.  No  date  was  upon  it ;  no  text ;  there 
were  no  wreaths  upon  the  simple  grass  plot 
Only  it  was  wrapped  about  by  the  trailing 
branches  of  the  rose,  whose  petals  had  made 
a  pure  white  mantle  upon  the  grass  ;  and 
the  three  words  upon  the  little  stone 
seemed  to  me  the  most  pathetic  I  had  ever 
read — 

^^  Armand — au  revoir! " 


I  have  seen  her  once  since  then,  a  crowned 
Queen  and  her  people's  idol.  She  was 
driving  along  the  streets  of  her  capital,  her 
little  son  by  her  side  ;  she  was  dressed  all  in 
white,  and  her  loveliness  was  sometliiDg  to 


I  into  the  building  wiUi  tLHt  trev,  atitcly  glcp." 


18« 


THK   WINDSOR  SIAdAXTKE. 


dream  of  and  remember.  I  thought  1  had 
never  seen  a  smile  more  inliDJtely  eweeb ;  and 
yet  the  sadDesa  in  her  eyeB  brought  a  mist 
before  my  own.  For  a  moment  the  street, 
the  people  about  me,  the  swiftly  rolling 
carriage,  faded  from  my  sight.  Instead  I 
saw  a  far-away  garden,  fragrant  with  the 
scent  of  pale  wisteria  flowers  and  banksia 
roses ;  radiant  with  sunshine,  fuU  of  the 
Bongs  of  birds — the  glory  of  spring.  I  saw 
the  face  of  a  girl,  glad  with  a  wonderful  new 
gladness ;  I  heard  a  voice,  the  most  soft  and 


musical  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  ht«r 
before  or  since,  say  gently— 

"  To  enter  Paradise  with  you,  Armand,  thail 
is  enough  ! "' 

The  vision  faded,  another  took  it«  place. 

A  hillside  cemetery  ;  the  deep,  still  \s^, 
the  brooding  mountains — "roees,  roses  all 
the  way  "—and  a  little  grave  amongst  them, 
a  grave  whose  simple  stone  bears  only  those 
three  short  words- 

^'Armand — aa  rtvoir !  " 


"  Sh*  picked  ■  buudi  uf  wbil«  liliMKinis  tod  laid  tbem  agaiiut  ber  lifa." 


ANYONE  who  liaa  read  my  accoiint  of 
the  disaster  consequent  on  an  out- 
break of  iufinenza  at  our  school  last 
Christmas  term  is  not  likely  to  have  foi^otten 
it.  I  know  I  have  a  power  of  vivid  description 
poseesned  by  few  chape  of  my  age.  I  have 
tested  it  by  describing  to  my  female  relations 
the  damage  we  do  to  each  other's  shins  at 
football,  and  the  result  was  all  that  conld  be 
desired  ;  therefore,  it  woald  be  mere  afTecta- 
tion  on  my  part  to  pretend  ignorance  of  the 
fact  that  I  can  tell  a  thing  in  a  manner 
calcnilated  to  keep  it  fresh  in  the  memory. 
Further  preamble  is  unnecessary. 
It  will  not  be  wondered  at  that  I  burned 
to  do  aomelhing  which  would  enable  me  to 
stand  ap  before  Dowsou  and  repeat  the 
whole  set  of  "sncks"  straight  off,  with 
appropriat*  gestures.  With  such  an  incen- 
tive, I  felt  that  I  had  it  in  me  to  achieve 
^reat  things ;  and  I  pestered  my  relations  to 
let  me  go  in  for  a  scholarship  offered  by  a 
acbool  which,  for  purposes  of  secrecy,  I  shall 
'  bo  call  St.  Uatthew's.     That  is  not 


its  right  name  ;  so,  no  matter  what  I  say,  it 
can't  bring  an  action  for  libel  agiiinst  me. 
(I  think  it  well  to  mention  this,  tn  case  the 
Editor  should  be  nervous.) 

Well,  I  said  I  would  go  in  for  this 
examination,  and,  of  my  own  free  will,  I 
offered  to  ewat  in  the  holidays ;  but  my 
father,  for  some  reason  he  might  perhaps  be 
able  to  explain  himself  (but,  also,  he  might 
not),  thought  proper  to  laugh  at  me.  I 
regret  to  say  he  sometimes  appears  to  be 
without  any  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things, 
and  allows  himself  to  be  led  beyond  "the 
limits  of  becoming  mirth  "  by  an  unseemly 
liking  for  jokes,  of  which  I  am  the  butt. 
He  said  I  had  an  uncommonly  good  opinion 
of  myself — an  absurd  statement,  which  I 
did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  deny — and 
asked  me  if  I  was  aware  that  the  scholarship 
was  open  to  boys  nearly  three  years  older 
than  I  was. 

I  said  I  didn't  care  a  broken  hockey-stick ; 
I  wanted  to  try. 

He  said  :  "  All  right ;  try  away.     And,  if 


190 


THE    WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


you  get  it,"  he  said,  "  yoa  ne 
talk  about  broken  Iiovkey-s 
I'll  give  you  the  beat  one  in- 
(He  named  a  local  repository,  v 
I  had  better  not  mention,  l 
should  be  wrongfully  accused 
desire  to  advertise  it.) 

His  remark  put  a  good  idea 
my  head.  I  saw  at  once  that  a 
deal  more  might  be  got  out  of 
enterprise  than  the  scholarship 
and  the  crow  over  Dowson,  a 
immediately  set  to  work  in  a  busi 
like  fashion,  and  went  round 
family  making  bargains.  B} 
time  I  had  gone  through  my  n* 
relations,  I  had  been  promised 
only  the  new  hockey-stick,  V 
rewly  good  bow  (I  named  the 
myself)  and  arrows ;  a  soven 
and  a  day  in  town  with  a  tb 
of  my  own  choosing  thrown  in. 
see,  no  one  believed  I  had  a  cl 
of  the  scholarship,  so  they  pron 
rather  wildly  and  rashly.  Tl 
same  sort  of  thing  happened 
once  before,  when  I  realised  m 
a  small  fortune  by  getting  o 
four  prizes  all  together, 
having  made  some  one-sided 
bete  carefully  in  advance ;  bu 
it  seems  to  me  that  even  quit" 
old  people,  like  one's  parents 
are  never  able  to  profit  by  theii 
experiences.  Of  this,  however 
I  have  no  cause  to  complain, 

I  got  jolly  tired  of  swatting 
before  the  holidays  were  over 
but  I  wasn't  going  to  give  in 
There  was  too  much  at  stake  fo: 
that.     The  examination  was  t^ 
stretch  over  five  blessed  days  at 
the  beginning  of  terra.      The        "A  day  in  t 
papers    for    tJie   written    work 
were  sent  down   to   the   Head,  and  I  was 
shut  np  in  a  room  by  myself  for  six  hours, 
messing  with  ink.     At  least,  it  wasn't  quite 
by  myself,  for  the  rule  is  that  there  has  to 
be  a  master  posted  on  guard.      I  suppose 
that's  for  fear  of  cribbing— just  as  if  any 
decent  bov  would  crib  ! 

Aflei'  the  first  day's  writing,  I  was  so  stiff 
I  could  scarcely  crawl  home,  and  my  father, 
with  hia  usual  frivolity,  said  that  he  could 
supply  a  quotation  from  Charles  Kingsley  to 
meet  my  uise.  I  was  %K<in  enough  to  ask 
what  it  was,  and  he  said  -  "  Of  sitting,  as  of 
all  earthly  pleasures,  in  tnc  end  there  cometh 
satiety" — or  some  rot  lik^  that.    I  thought 


D  choouDg  thro 


MO  with  a  theatre  of  a 

him  unfeeling  ;  but,  as  I  had  done  a  beUe 
day's  work  than  I  expected,  I  was  in  gowi 
spirits,  and  it  didn't  seem  worth  while  to  gei 
up  a  grievance. 

The  second  and  third  day  I  overhesri 
two  of  the  masters  whispering  about  > 
tremendous  strain.  I  thought  at  first  '^ 
it  was  some  fellow's  ankle  at  hockey ;  bol 
after  a  while  it  occurred  to  me  that  the' 
were  talking  about  me,  and  I  thooght  I 
might  as  well  have  some  fun  ont  of  it.  1 
wasn't  really  feeling  strained  a  bit.  A 
fellow  doesn't,  you  see,  if  he  knows  hie 
work.  It  is  when  he  isn't  sure  of  himsdf 
that  the  stt^n  comes  in.     As  a  matter  id 


CONCERNING  "  COOLNESS." 


191 


fact,  1  was  enjoying  the  whole  affair  im- 
meoEely ;  but  I  thought  it  would  only  be 
kind  to  give  the  mssters  the  satisfaction  of 
imagining  they  were  right.  Nothing  is  lo«t 
by  a  little  bit  of  good  nature  of  that  sort. 
Accordingly,  on  the  fourth  day  I  became 
eooentric.  I  asked  for  a  cushion,  and  I  got 
it.  I  asked  for  the  masters'  special  soda- 
viter  at  dinner,  and  I  got  it.  It  really 
Beemed  as  if  no  one  could  do  enough  for 
me,  and  they  wouldn't  even  notice  that  I 
TBi  taking  liberties  on  account  of  the 
stiaiD  ;  but  I  was  determined  to  make  them. 
So,  that  evening,  when  the  Head  came  to 
take  np  my  last  papers,  I  looked  at  him  with 
a  countenance  as  nearly  blank  as  I  could 


■n 


make  it,  and  said :  "  Please,  sir,  why  is  a 
wren  like  a  whale  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he  in  a  very 
uncomfortable  sort  of  voice,  "  Do  you 
know  yourself  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  I,  "  Because  there's  a  '  b ' 
in  '  both.' " 

He  went  out  of  the  room  with  the  papers 
in  a  great  hurry,  and  I  heard  someone  in 
the  passage  saying  very  excitedly  :  "  Bound 
to  bi-eak  down.  If  he  belonged  to  me,  I 
shouldn't  let  him  finish.  I'd  take  him 
home  and  put  him  to  bed,  Bniin  fever  .  .  ." 
The  voice  trailed  away  into  the  distance, 
and  it  was  a  blessing  no  one  came  iu  just 
then,  for  I  was  doubled  up  so  tight  I 
couldn't  have  straightened  myself. 

I  woke  np  in  the  night  and  thought  of  it ; 
and  I  laughed  so  much  that  I  nearly  rolled 
out  on  the  floor.  My  relations  thought  it 
was  mghtmaie,  and  came  in  to  see  ;  but  I 
was  quiet  and  steady  by  the  time  they  had 
got  into  their  dressing-gowns,  and  they  too 
went  away  muttering  about  etraiu. 

On  the  next  day,  which  was  the  fifth,  I 
had  to  go  up  to  St.  Matthew's  for  a  viva 
voce,  and  I  could  see  that  everyone  was 
pitying  me  awfully.  There  was  a  railway 
journey  and  lots  of  excitement,  and  for  the 
life  of  me  I  couldn't  see  that  there  was  any 
reason  for  pitying  myself.  Anyway,  I  didn't 
do  it.  One  of  the  masters  came  with  me, 
and  watched  me  as  if  I  was  an  egg  and  he 
was  expecting  me  to  roll  off  whatever  I  was 
on  and  smash.  I  was  laughing  at  him  the 
whole  time  ;  but  he  didn't  know  it,  because 
I  did  the  laughing  all  inside  me,  and  didn't 
even  grin  on  the  outside.  He  looked  quite 
sick,  poor  chap,  by  the  time  we  got  to 
St.  Matthew's.  I  fancy  he  must  have  had 
an  idea  that  the  Head  would  hold  him  re- 
sponsible if  I  failed.  I  wanted  awfully  to 
Bay  "Buck  up!"  or  "Nil  des- 
"'•-~.,  perandum  ! "   or  something   en- 

couraging of  that  sort  to  him ; 
but  I  was  afraid  of  hurting 
his  feelings,  bo  I  only  went  on 
laughing  inside  me  and  thinking 
what  an  ass  he  was.  It  was 
such  rot,  hia  being  nervous, 
when  I  wasn't  a  bit  nervous 
myself ! 

The  examiners  were  quite  a 
decent  lot,  and  as  chummy  as 
possible.  I  got  on  splendidly  with 
them.  I  always  do  get  on  well 
with  people  whose  manners  are 
really  go«J.  They  all  said  things 
about  me,  just  out  of  earshot. 


192 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


to  the  master  (who  shiill  l)e  nameless),  and 
their  remarks  must  have  been  agreeable,  for 
he  seemed  much  more  self-possessed  on  the 
way  home. 

Mj  relations  were  beastly  facetious  that 
evening,  and  called  me  a  plucked  chicken, 
by  way  of  tenderly  preparing  me  for  dis- 
appointment ;  but  their  sufferings  during 
the  ten  days  that  followed  were  more  than 
enough  to  piiy  them  out  for  such  inhuman 
rotting.  Although  they  had  all  sworn  they 
didn't  expect  me  to  get  the  scholarehip,  they 
were  in  the  most  awful  stew  anyone  could 
imagine  while  waiting  to  hear  the  result  of 
the  examination  ;  and  one  of  them,  at  least, 
turned  pale  every  time  the  postman  knocked 
at  the  door. 

In  the  end,  the  news  came  at  midday, 
when  I  was  at  school ;  and  the  person  who 
turned  pale  (I  am  careful  to  avoid  mention- 
ing names)  sent  a  note  to  the  Head.  It 
arrived  just  as  we  were  going  in  for  after- 
noon school,  and  the  Head  made  a  speech 
and  gave  us  a  half -holiday. 

Cholmondeley  and  Brown  aud  all  the  rest 


were  awfully  decent,  aud  pounded  me  so 
hard,  congratulating  me,  that  I  was  every 
bit  black  an(i  blue  next  day.  I  think  at 
least  ten  of  the  juniors  asked  me  how  to 
spell  "  scholarship,"  by  which  I  knew  they 
were  publishing  the  news  abroad — just  as  if 
it  would  be  in  the  least  likely  to  interest 
their  relations  !  Everyone  was  too  sweet  to 
be  wholesome  ;  and  the  one  thing  that  dis- 
turbed me  was  that  I  couldn't,  somehow,  feel 
a  perfect  satisfaction  in  my  triumph.  Some- 
thing essential  was  missing. 

I  couldn't  think  what  it  was  for  a  long 
time ;  but  at  last  the  explanation  occun^ 
to  me.  It  came  like  the  iUuminating  flash 
of  a  searchlight.  It  was  Dowson  I  missed. 
He  was  at  home  with  a  cold  in  his  beastly 
head,  and  by  that  went  as  near  as  he  coold 
to  "  sucking  "  me  again. 

I  find  I  have  not,  after  all,  said  much  on 
the  subject  of  coolness  in  tliis  article ;  bai, 
as  it  must  be  plain  to  any  sensible  person 
that  its  value  is  illustrated  in  every  page,  I 
shall  not  insult  the  intelligence  of  my 
readers  by  offering  an  apology. 


THE    STONE-CHAT. 

npHE  stone-chat  beckons  from  bush  to  bush— 
'       Cbink'B'Chlnk! 
Through  the  s:olden  furze  you  misrht  press  and  push, 

Through  the  heather  purple  and  pink. 
But  you  never  would  find,  oh,  never, 
Thousrh  you  sousrht  and  searched  for  ever. 
The  z^een  arcade  where  his  nest  is  laid, 
in  a  hidden  hollow  of  scented  shade. 
Watching  you  wander  to  and  fro. 
He  would  only  mock  you  with  laughter  low— 
Cbink'a'ChinkI 


The  stone-chat  flutters  from  spray  to  spray— 

Cbink'B'Cbink! 
You  may  track  and  follow  him  all  the  day. 

From  the  hill  to  the  river's  brink. 
But  you  never  will  guess,  oh,  never. 
Though  you  peep  and  pry  for  ever, 
The  secret  deep  he  is  sworn  to  keep, 
The  warded  way  where  his  darlings  sleep. 

Through  the  rosy  heath  where  the  hawkweeds  glo^v. 

He  will  only  lure  you  with  laughter  low— 

Cbink'B'Cbink! 

MAY   BYRON. 


ARNAUX 

THE  CHRONICLE   OF   A   HOMING    PIGEON 
By  ERNEST  THOMPSON  SETON/ 


-V 


r 


\--   '-'u 


WE  passed  through  the  side  door  of  the  big  barn  on   West 
Nineteenth  Street.     The  mild  smell  of  the  well-kept  stable  "  V/ 

was  lost  in  the  sweet  odour  of  the  hay  as  we  mounted  a  , 

ladder  and  entered  the  long  hay-garret.     The  south  end  was  walled  "^-t^*    s^ 

off,   and    the    familiar    "Coo — oo— cooo— -oo — ooruk— at — a — coo,"  ^^-^^ 

varied  with  the  "  whirr — whirr — whirr  "  of  wings,  informed  us  — *«r    ** 

that  we  were  at  the  pigeon-loft. 

This  was  the  home  of  a  famous  lot  of  birds,  and  to-day 
there  was  to  be  a  training  race  among  fifty  of  the  youngsters. 
They  had  been  taken  out  for  short  ^v^*^ 

distances  with  their  parents  once  or 
twice,  then  set  free  to  return  to  the 

loft.    Now  for  the  first  time  they  \\     /^!  ^^  V 

were  to  be  flown  without  the  old      -^*^       ^  -'  -'  '^ 

ones.      The    point    of    start    was 

Elizabeth,    N.J.      It  was   a   long ^ 

journey    for    their    first    unaided    ^^^  -^^JlS^  '*  A  whistling  arrow  of  blue 

attempt.     "  But  then,"  the  trainer    ^y'^i»«»>**^  shot  in." 

remarked,  "  that's  how  we  weed  out    '|((|  (' 
the  fools ;  only  the  best  birds  make 
it,  and  that's  all  we  want  back." 

There  was  another  side  to  the  flight.  It  was  to  be  a  race  among  those  that  did  retnni. 
All  of  the  men  about  the  loft,  as  well  as  several  neighbouring  fanciera,  were  interested 
in  one  or  other  of  the  Homers.  They  made  up  a  purse  for  the  winner,  and  on  me,  as 
an  unprejudiced  outsider,  devolved  the  important  duty  of  deciding  which  sliould  take 
the  stakes.  Not  the  firat  bird  laclt^  but  the  first  bird  into  the  loft,  was  to  win ;  for  a  bird 
that  returns  to  his  neighbourhood  merely,  without  firat  reporting  at  home,  is  of  little 
Qse  as  a  letter-carrier. 

The  Homing  Pigeon  used  to  be  called  the  Carrier,  because  it  can'ied  messages,  but  here 
I  found  the  name  Carrier  restricted  to  the  show-bird,  the  creature  with  grotesquely 
developed  wattles  around  eye  and  beak  ;  the  one  that  carries  the  messages  is  now  called 
the  Homer,  or  Homing  Pigeon— the  bird  that  always  comes  home.  These  pigeons  are 
not  of  any  special  colour,  nor  have  they  any  of  the  fancy  adornments  of  the  kind  that 
figure  in  bird  shows.  They  are  not  bred  for  style,  but  for  speed  and  for  their  mental 
gifts.  They  must  be  true  to  their  home,  able  to  return  to  it  without  fail.  The  sense  of 
direction  is  now  believed  to  be  located  in  the  bony  labyrinth  of  the  ear.  There  is  no 
creature  with  finer  sense  of  locality  and  direction  than  a  good  Homer,  and  the  only  visible 
proof  of  it  is  the  great  bulge  on  each  side  of  the  head  over  the  eara— that,  and  the  superb 
wings  that  complete  his  equipment  to  obey  the  noble  impulse  of  home  love.  And  now 
the  mental  and  physical  gifts  of  the  last  lot  of  young  binis  were  to  be  put  to  test. 

AJthoagh  there  were  plenty  of  witnesses,  I  thought  it  best  to  close  all  but  one  of  the 
trap-doors,  and  stand  ready  to  shut  that  behind  the  first  arrival. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  sensations  of  that  day.  I  had  been  w^arned  :  "  They  start  at 
12.0,  they  should  be  here  at.  12. 30;  but  look  out!  they  come  like  a  whirlwind.  You 
hardij  see  them  till  they're  in." 

We  were  ranged  along  the  inside  of  the  loft,  each  with  an  eye  to  a  crack  or  a 
partly  closed  pigeon  door,  anxiously  scanning  the  south-western  horizon,  when  someone 
sboated  :    "  Look  out — here  they  come  ! "     Like  a  white  cloud  they  burst  into  view,  low 


*  CopTright,  1905,  by  Ernest  Thompson  Seton,  in  the  United   States  of  America. 

193 


194 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


Bkimming  over  the  city  roofa,  around  a  great 
chimney-pile,  and  in  two  seconda  after  first 
being  seen  they  were  back.  The  flash  of 
white,  the  rush  of  pinions,  were  all  so  sudden, 
so  abort,  that,  though  preparing,  I  was 
unprepared.  I  was  at  the  only  open  door. 
A  whiatliug  arrow  of  blue  shot  in,  lashed  my 
face  with  ite  pinions,  and  passed.  I  had 
hardly  time  to  drop  the  little  door,  as  a  yell 
burst  from  the  men  :  "  Arnaux  !  Amaus  ! 
I  told  you  he  would  !  Oh,  he's  a  darling  ! 
Only  three  months  old,  and  a  winner — he's 
a  little  darling ! "  and  Arnanx's  owner  danced, 
more  for  joy  in  his 
//  bird  than  in  the  purse 
\  ((I  he  had  mn. 

l\  JL     The  men  sat  or 

v\  I  f  jfl'  kneeled  and  watched 
"rl  jf  '''™  '"  positive  rever- 
ence an  he  gulped  a 
quantity  of  water, 
then  turned  to  the 
food-trough. 

"  Look  at  that  eye  ! 
those  wings!  And  did 
you  ever  see  sach  a 
breast?  Oh — but 
he's  the  real  grit! " 
so  his  owner  prattled 
to  the  silent  onea, 
whose  birds  liad  been 
defeated, 

That  waa  the  be- 
ginning of  Amaux's 
exploits.  Best  of  fifty 
birds  -from  a  good 
loft,  his  futnre  was 
bright  with  promise. 
He  was  invested 
*-J  ^l  with  the  silver  anklet 
of  the  Sacred  Order 
of  the  High  Homer. 
It  boro  hia  number,  251I0  C,  a  number  which, 
to-day,  means  much  to  all  men  in  the  world 
of  the  Homing  Pigeon. 

In  that  first  flight  from  Elizabeth,  only 
forty  hirda  had  returned.  It  is  usually  so. 
iSome  were  weak,  and  got  left  behind;  some 
were  foolish,  and  strayed,  to  become  the  pi'ey 
of  hawks.  By  this  simple  process  of  flight 
selection,  the  pigeon-owners  kept  improving 
their  stock.  Of  the  ten,  five  were  seen  no 
more;  but  five  returned  later  that  day — not 
all  at  once,  but  straj^ling  in.  The  last  of 
the  loiterers  was  a  big,  lubberly  Blue  pigeon. 
The  man  in  the  loft  at  the  time  called : 
"  Hero  comes  that  old  sap-lieaded  Blue  that 
Jakey  was  betting  on.  I  didn't  suppose 
he  would   come  Iwck  ;   aud   I   didn't  care. 


Suted     Order 
High  Hon 


neither,  for  it's  my  belief  he  has  a  stroke  of 
Pouter." 

The  Big  Blue,  also  called  "  Comer-boi,'' 
from  the  nest  where  he  was  hatched,  bad 
shown  remarkable  vigour  from  the  fint 
Though  all  were  about  the  same  age,  he  bad 
grown  faster  than  the  others,  was  bigger,  and, 
incidentally,  handsomer,  though  the  fancien 
cared  little  for  that.  He  seemed  fully  awue 
of  his  importance,  and  early  showed  a  dis- 
position to  bully  hia  amaller  cousins.  Hia 
owner  prophesied  great  things  of  him.  bnt  in 
Billy'a  mind  grave  doubt*  arose  over  tk 
length  of  his  neck,  the  size  of  his  crop,  hia 
carriage,  and  hia  over-size.  "A  bird  can't 
make  time  pushing  a  ^lag  of  wind  ahead  of 
him.  Them  long  legs  ia  dead  weight,  an'  > 
neck  like  that  ain't  got  no  gimp  in  it,"  Billy 
would  grunt  dispar^ingly,  as  be  cleaned  out 
the  loft  of  a  morning. 

II. 

Thg  training  of  the  birds  went  on  after  thii 
at  regular  times.  The  distance  from  bonie, 
of  the  start,  was  "  jumped  "  twenty-five  or 
thirty  miles  farther  each  time,  and  its  direc- 
tion changed,  til!  the  Homers  knew  the 
country  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
around  New  York.  The  original  fifty  birds 
dwindled  to  twenty,  for  the  rigid  proce* 
weeds  out  not  only  the  weak  and  foolish,  bnt 
those  who  may  have  temporary  ailments  ot 
accidents,  or  who  may  make  the  mistake  of 
over-eating  at  the  beginning.  There  were 
many  fine  birds  in  the  flock,  broad -breasted, 
bright-eyed,  long-winged  creatures,  made  for 
swiftest  flight,  for  high,  nncooscious  emprise, 
for  these  were  destined  to  be  messengers  in 
the  service  of  man  in  times  of  serious  need. 
Their  colours  were  motley,  white,  blue,  or 
brown.  They  wore  no  uniform,  but  each 
and  all  of  the  chosen  remnant  bad  the 
brilliant  eye  and  the  bulging  ears  of  the 
finest  Homer  blood — and  best  andchoioestof 
all,  nearly  always  fii-st  among  them,  waa  Little 
Amans.  He  had  not  much  to  distinguish 
him  when  at  rest,  for  now  all  of  the  baud 
bad  the  silver  anklet ;  but  in  the  air  it  was 
that  Amaus  showed  bis  make  ;  and  when  the 
opening  of  the  hamjier  gave  the  order: 
"  Start ! "  it  waa  Amaus  that  first  got  under 
way,  soared  to  the  height  deemed  needtiil 
to  exclude  all  local  influences,  divined  the 
road  to  home,  and  took  it,  pausing  not  for 
food,  drink,  or  company. 

Notwithstanding  Billy's  evil  forecasts,  the 
Big  Blue  of  the  Comer-boi  was  one  of  the 
chosen  twenty.  He  was  often  late  in  return, 
he  never  was  first ;  and  sometimes  when  be 


"  Wben  thrown 


he  circled  round  the  ship,  then  round  again  higher,  then  egein  higher. 


came  hack,  some  hours  behind  the  rest,  it  wa^ 
plain  that  he  was  aeitLer  liungry  nor  thirstj, 
sure  si^a  that  he  was  a  loiterer  by  the  way. 
Still,  he  had  come  hack,  and  now  he  wore  on 
bis  ankle,  like  the  rest,  the  sacred  liadgc,  and 
i  number  from  the  roll  of  possibb  fame. 
Billy  despised  him,  set  him  in  poor  contrast 
with  Arnaas  :  but  his  owner  would  reply  : 
"flive  him  a  chance — 'soon  ripe,  soon  rotten,' 
an'  1  always  notice  the  b^t  bird  is  tlu 
sloireiit  to  sliow  np  at  first." 

Before  a  year.  Little  Arnaux  had  made  a 
record.  The  hardest  of  all  work  is  over  sea, 
for  there  is  no  chance  of  aid  from  landmarks ; 
and  the  hardest  of  all  times  at  sea  is  a  fog, 
for  then  even  the  sun  is  blotted  ont,nud  there 
is  nothing  whatever  for  ^nidance.  With 
memory,  sight,  and  sound  unavailable,  the 
Homer  has  one  thing  left,  and  herein  is  his 
greatstrength^the  inborn  sense  of  direction. 
There  is  only  one  thing  that  can  destroy  this, 
and  that  \»f«ar;  hence  the  necessity  of  a  stont 
liUJe  heart  between  those  noble  wings. 

Araairt,  with  two  of  his  order,  in  couree  of 
training,  had  been  shipped  on  an  ocean 
Et«amer  bonnd  for  Europe.  Tliey  were  to 
be  released  out  of  sight  of  land,  but  a  heavy 


fo^  set  iii  and  forbade  the  start.  The  steamer 
look  them  on,  the  intention  beiug  to  send 
them  back  on  the  next  vessel.  When  t«n 
hours  out,  the  engine  broke  down,  the  ia^ 
settled  dense  over  the  sea,  and  the  vessel  was 
adrift  and  helpless  as  a  log.  She  conid  only 
whistle  for  assistance,  and  so  far  as  results 
were  concerned,  the  captain  might  as  well 
have  wig-w^ged.  Then  the  pigeons  were 
thought  of,  Starback,  ■2r)!)2  C,  was  firet 
selected.  .\  message  for  help  was  written  on 
waterproof  paper,  rolled  np,  and  lashed  to  hie 
tail-feathers  on  the  under-side.  He  was 
thrown  into  the  air,  and  disappeared.  Half 
an  hour  later,  a  second,  the  Big  Bine  Comer- 
box,  No.  SGilft  C,  was  freighted  with  a 
message.  He  flew  np,  but  almost  immediately 
returned  and  alighted  on  the  rigging.  He 
was  the  picture  of  pigeon  fear ;  nothing 
would  induce  him  to  leave  the  ship.  He  was 
so  terrorised  that  he  was  easily  caught  and 
ignominiously  thrust  back  into  the  coop. 

Now  the  thii'd  was  brought  out— a  small, 
chunky  bird.  The  shipnien  did  not  know 
him,  but  they  noted  down  from  his  anklet  his 
name  and  numl)er,  Amaui^2.'>90  C.  It 
meant  nothing  to  them,  but  the  officer  who 


l96 


THE  WINDSOR  MAOAZINJS. 


held  him  noted  that  his  heart  did  not  beat  so 
wildly  as  that  of  the  last  bird  had  done. 
The  message  was  taken  from  the  Big  Blue. 
It  ran  :  "10  a.m.,  Tuesday.  We  broke  our 
shaft  210  miles  out  from  New  York  ;  we  are 
drifting  helplessly  in  the  fog.  Send  out  a 
tug  as  soon  as  possible.  We  are  whistling 
one  long,  followed  at  once  by  one  short,  every 
sixty  seconds.  (Signed)  The  Captain." 

This  was  rolled  up,  wTapped  in  waterproof 
film,  addressed  to  the  Steamship  Company, 
and  lashed  to  the  under-side  of  Arnaux's 
middle  tail-feather. 

When  thro^\^l  into  the  air,  he  circled  round 
the  ship,  then  round  again  higher,  then  again 
higher  in  a  wider  circle,  and  he  was  lost  to 
view  ;  and  still  higher  till  quite  out  of  sight 
and  feeling  of  the  ship.  Shut  out,  now,  from 
the  use  of  all  his  senses  but  one,  he  gave 
himself  up  to  that.  Strong  in  him  it  was, 
and  untrammelled  of  that  murderous  despot 
Fear.  True  as  a  needle  to  the  pole  went  Arnaux 
now — no  hesitation,  no  doubts ;  within  one 
minute  of  leaving  the  coop  he  had  soared 
above  the  fog  and  was  speeding  straight  as  a 
ray  of  light  for  the  loft  where  he  was  born, 
the  only  place  on  earth  where  he  could  be 
made  content. 

That  afternoon  Billy  was  on  duty,  when 
the  whistle  of  fast  wings  was  heard,  a  blue 
flyer  flashed  into  the  loft  and  made  for  the 
water-trough.  He  was  gulping  down  mouth- 
ful after  mouthful  when  Billy  gasped  : 
"  Why,  Arnaux,  it's  you — you  beauty  ! " 
Then,  with  the  quick  habit  of  the  pigeon-man, 
he  pulled  out  his  watch  and  marked  the  time, 
2.40  p.m.  A  glance  showed  the  tie-string 
on  the  tail.  He  shut  the  door,  dropped  the 
catching  net  quickly  over  Arnaux's  head.  A 
minute  later  he  had  the  roll  in  his  hand,  in 
two  minutes  he  was  speeding  to  the  office  of 
the  Company,  for  there  wa«  a  fat  tip  in  view. 
There  he  learned  that  Arnaux  had  made  the 
210  miles  in  fog,  over  sea,  in  four  hours  and 
forty  minutes,  and  within  one  hour  the 
needful  help  had  set  out  for  the  unfortunate 
steamer. 

Two  hundred  and  ten  miles  in  fog  over  sm 
in  four  hours  and  forty  minutes.  This  waa 
a  noble  record.  It  was  duly  inscribed  in 
the  rolls  of  the  Homing  Club.  Arnaux  was 
held  while  the  secretary  with  rubber  stamp 
and  indelible  ink  printed,  on  the  snowy 
primary  of  his  right  wing,  the  record  of 
the  feat,  with  the  date  and  reference 
number. 

SUirback,  the  second  bird,  never  was 
heard  of  again.    No  doubt  he  perished  at  sea. 

Blue  Corner-box  came  back  on  the  tug. 


III. 


/-■ 


That  was  thtf,  beginning  of  Arnaux's  fame, 
his  first  public  reooftl ;  but  others  came  fast, 
and  several  curious  scenes  were  enacted  in 
that ,  A|[d  pigeon-loft,  with  Arnaux  as  the 
centra^figure.^  One  day  a  carriage  drove  np 
to  the  stable,  a  white-haired  gentleman  got 
out,  climbed  the  dirty  stairs,  and  sat  all  the 
morning   in   the  loft  with  Billy.     Peering 
from  his  gold-rimmed  glasses  first  at  a  lot 
of  papers,  next  across  the  roofs  of  the  city, 
watehiug,  waiting — for  what  ?    News  from  a 
little  place  not  forty  miles  away.    News  of 
greatest  weight  to  him — tidings  that  would 
make  or  break  him,  tidings  that  must  reach 
him  before  they  could  be    telegraphed,  a 
telegram  meant  at  least  an  hour's  delay  at 
each  end.     What  was  faster  than  that  for 
forty  miles  ?     In  those  days  there  was  bat 
one    thing,  a  high-class    Homer.      Money 
would  count  for  nothing  if  he  could  win. 
The  best,  the  very  best,  at  any  price  he  most 
have,  and  Arnaux,  with  seven  indelible  records 
in  his  wings,  was  the  chosen  messenger.    An 
hour  went  by,  another,  and  a  third  was  b^un, 
when  with  whistle  of  wings  the  blue  meteor 
flashed  into  the  loft.     Billy  slammed  die  door 
and  caught  him.      Deftly   he  snipped  the 
threads  and  handed  the  roll  to  the  banker. 
The  old  man  turned  deathly  pale,  fumbled  it 
open,  then  his  colour  came  back,     "  Thank 
God  !  "  he  gasped,  and  then  went  speeding  to 
his  office,   master  of    the   situation.    Little 
Arnaux  had  saved  him. 
'  The  banker  wanted   to  buy  the  Homer, 
feeling,  in  a  vague  way,  that  he   ought  to 
honour  and  cherish  him.   But  Billy  was  very 
clear  about  it.     "  What's   the  good  ?    You 
can't  buy  a  Homer's  heart.     You  could  keep 
him  a  prisoner,  that's  all ;  but  nothing  on 
earth  could  make  him  forsake  the  old  loft 
where  he  was  hatched."     So  Arnaux  stayed 
at  211,  West   Nineteenth  Street.    But  die 
banker  did  not  forget. 

There  is  in  America  a  class  of  miscreants 
who  think  a  flying  pigeon  is  fair  game, 
because  it  is  probably  far  from  home,  or  they 
shoot  him  because  it  is  hard  to  fix  the  crime. 
Many  a  noble  Homer,  speeding  with  a  life  or 
death  message,  has  been  shot  down  by  one  of 
these  wretches  and  remorselessly  made  into  a 
pot-pie.  Arnaux's  brother,  Aruolf ,  with  three 
fine  records  on  his  wings,  was  thus  murdered 
in  the  act  of  bearing  a  hasty  summons  for 
the  doctor.  As  he  fell  dying  at  the  gunner*s 
feet,  his  superb  wings,  spread  out,  displayed 
his  list  of  victories.  The  silver  badge  on  his 
leg  was  there,  and  the  gunner  was  smitten 


ARNAUX, 


197 


with  remorse.  He  had  the  message  sent  on, 
he  returned  the  dead  hird  to  the  Homing 
Club,  saying  that  he  "  found  it."  The  owner 
came  to  see  him,  the  gunner  broke  down 
ander  cross-examination,  and  was  forced  to 
admit  that  he  himself  had  shot  the  Homer, 
but  did  so  in  behalf  of  a  poor,  sick  neighbour 
who  craved  a  pigeon-pie. 

There  were  teara  in  the  wrath  of  the 
pigeon-man.  "  Mj  bird !  my  beautiful 
Arnolf  !  Twenty  times  he  has  brought  vital 
messages,  three  times  has  he  made  records, 
twice  has  he  saved  human  lives — ^and  you'd 
shoot  him  for  a  pot-pie  !  I  could  punish  you 
under  the  law,  but  I  have  no  heart  for  such  a 
poor  revenge.  I  only  ask  you  this  :  if  ever 
you  have  a  sick  neighbour  who  wants  a 
pigeon-pie,  come  to  us — we'll  freely  supply 
him  with  pie-breed  squabs ;  but  if  you  have  a 
trace  of  manhood  about  you,  you  will  never, 
never  again  shoot,  or 
allow  others  to  shoot, 
our  noble  and  priceless 


in  a 


.^0^^. 


messengers. 


This  took  place  while 
the  banker  was  in  touch 
with  tlie  loft,  while  his 
heart  was  warm  for  the 
pigeons.  He  was  a 
man  of  influence,  and 
the  Pigeon  Protection 
legislation  at  Albany 
was  the  immediate  fruit 
of  Arnaui's  exploit. 

IV. 

Billy  had  never  liked  tlie  Gomer-box  Blue 
(No.  2600  C).  Notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  he  still  continued  in  the  ranks  of  the 
Silver  Badge,  Billy  believed  he  was  poor  stuff. 
The  steamer  incident  seemed  to  prove  hira  a 
coward  ;  he  certainly  was  a  bully. 

One  morning,  when  Billy  went  in,  there 
was  a  row— two  pigeons,  a  large  and  a  small, 
alternately  clenching  and  sparring  all  over 
the  floor,  feathers  flying,  dust  and  commotion 
everywhere.  As  soon  as  they  were  separated, 
Billy  found  the  little  one  was  Arnaux,  and  the 
big  one  was  the  Corner-box  Blue.  Arnaux 
had  made  a  good  fight,  but  was  over-matched, 
for  the  Big  Blue  was  half  as  heavy  again. 

It  was  soon  very  clear  what  they  had 
fought  over — a  pretty  little  lady  pigeon  of 
the  bluest  Homing  blood.  The  Big  Blue 
cock  had  kept  up  a  state  of  bad  feeling  by 
his  bullying,  but  it  was  the  little  lady  that 
had  made  them  close  in  mortal  combat, 
and  Billy,  not  having  authority  to  wring 
the  Big  Blue's  neck,  decided  to  interfere  as 


^ 


\ 


Arnaux  wae  held  while  the  secretary  printed, 
hifl  right  wing,  the  record  of  the'  feat." 


far  as  he  could  in  behalf  of  his  favourite 
Arnaux. 

Pigeon  marriages  are  arranged  somewhat 
like  those  of  mankind.  Propinquity  is  the 
first  thing ;  force  the  pair  together  for  a  time, 
and  let  Nature  take  its  course.  So  Billy 
locked  Arnaux  and  the  Little  Lady  up 
together  in  a  separate  apartment  for  two 
weeks  ;  and  to  make  doubly  sure,  he  locked 
the  Big  Blue  up  with  an  Available  Lady  in 
another  apartment  for  two  weeks. 

Things  turned  out  just  as  was  expected. 
The  Little  Lady  surrendered  to  Ariiaux,  and 
the  Available  Lady  to  the  Big  Blue.  Two 
nests  were  begun,  and  everything  shaped 
for  a  "  lived  happily  ever  after."  But  the 
Big  Blue  was  very  big  and  handsome.  He 
could  blow  out  his  crop  and  strut  in  the 
sun  and  make  rainbows  all  round  his  neck, 
way   that   might   turn   the  heart  of 

the  staidest  Homerine. 
Arnaux,     though 
sturdily  built,   was 
small,  and,  except  for 
his  brilliant  eyes,  not 
l\  especially  good-looking, 
"v.  Moreover,  he  was  often 
""  away  on  important 
business,  and  the  Big 
Blue  had   nothing   to 
do  but  stay  around  the 
loft  and  display  his  un- 
lettered wings. 

It  is  the  veiy  proper 
custom  of  moralists  to  point  to  the  pigeon 
for  examples  of  love  and  constancy.  But, 
alas !  there  are  exceptions.  Vice  is  not  by 
any  means  limited  to  the  human  i-ace. 

At  the  outset,  Arnaux's  wife  liad  been 
deeply  impressed  with  the  Big  Blue,  and 
now  that  Arnaux  was  absent,  the  dreadful 
thing  took  place. 

Arnaux  returned  from  Boston  one  day  to 
find  that  the  Big  Blue,  while  he  retained  his 
own  Available  Lady  in  the  Corner-box,  had 
also  annexed  the  box  and  wife  that  belonged 
to  himself  ;  and  a  desperate  battle  followed. 
The  only  spectators  were  the  two  wives,  and 
they  maintained  an  indifferent  aloofness. 
Arnaux  fought  with  his  famous  wings ;  but 
they  were  none  the  better  weapons  Ijecause 
they  now  bore  twenty  records.  His  beak 
and  feet  were  small,  as  became  his  blood, 
and  his  brave  little  heart  could  not  make 
up  for  his  lack  of  weight.  The  battle  went 
against  him.  His  wife  sat  unconcernedly 
in  the  nest,  as  though  it  were  not  her  affair  ; 
and  Arnaux  might  have  been  killed  but  for 
the  timely  arrival  of  Billy.     He  was  savage 


on 


198 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


enough  to  wring  the  Blue  bird's  neck,  but 
the  bullj  escaped  from  the  loft  in  time. 
Billy  took  tender  care  of  Arnaux  for  a  few 
days.  At  the  end  of  a  week  he  was  well, 
and  in  ten  days  he  was  again  on  the  road. 
Meanwhile  he  had  evidently  forgiven  his 
faithless  wife,  for  without  any  apparent 
feeling  he  took  up  his  nesting  as  before. 
That  month  he  made  two  new  records.  He 
brought  a  message  ten  miles  in  eight  minutes, 
and  he  came  from  Boston  in  four  hours. 
Every  moment  of  the  way  he  had  been 
impelled  by  the  master  passion  of  home 
love.  But  it  was  a  poor  home-coming,  if 
his  wife  figured  in  his  thoughts  at  all,  for 
he  found  her  again  flirting  with  the  Big 
Blue  cock.  Tired  as  he  was,  the  duel  was 
renewed,  and  again  would  have  been  to  a 
finish  but  for  Billy's  interference.  He 
separated  the  fighters,  then  shut  the  Blue 
cock  up  in  a  coop,  determined  to  get  rid  of 
him  in  some  way.  Meanwhile  the  '*  All 
Age  Sweepstakes  Handicap"  from  Chicago 
to  New  York  was  on,  a  race  of  one  thousand 
miles.  Arnaux  had  been  entered  six  months 
before.  His  forfeit  money  was  up,  and, 
notwithstanding  his  domestic  complications, 
his  friends  felt  that  he  must  not  fail  to 
appear. 

The  birds  were  shipped  by  train  to  Chicago, 
and  liberated  at  intervals  according  to  their 
handicap  ;  and  last  of  the  start  was  Arnaux. 
They  lost  no  time,  and  outside  of  Chicago 
several  of  the  prime  racers  joined  by  common 
impulse,  and  the  racing  flock  went  through 
air  on  the  same  invisible  track.  A  Homer 
may  make  a  straight  line  when  following 
his  general  sense  of  direction,  but  when 
following  a  familiar  back  track,  he  sticks 
to  the  well-remembered  landmarks.  Most 
of  the  birds  had  been  trained  by  way  of 
Cleveland.  Arnaux  knew  the  Cleveland 
route,  but  he  also  knew  the  way  by  Detroit ; 
and  soon  after  leaving  Lake  Michigan,  he 
took  the  stmiglit  line  for  Detroit.  Thus 
he  caught  up  in  his  handicap  and  had  the 
advantage  of  many  miles.  Detroit,  Bufl^alo, 
Rochester,  with  the  familiar  towers  and 
chimneys,  faded  behind  him,  and  Syracuse 
was  near  at  hand.  It  was  now  late  after- 
noon ;  six  hundred  miles  in  twelve  hours 
he  hatl  flown,  and  was  undoubtedly  leading 
the  race ;  but  the  usual  thirst  of  the  flyer 
had  attacked  him.  Skimming  over  the  city 
roofs,  he  saw  a  flock  of  pigeons  about  their 
home,  and  descending  from  his  high  course 
in  two  or  three  great  circles,  he  followed  the 
in-going  pigeons  to  the  loft,  drank  greedily 
at  the  strange  trough,  as  he  had  often  done 


before,  and  as  every  pigeon-lover  hospitably 
expects  the  messengers  to  do.  The  owner 
of  the  loft  was  there,  and  noted  the  strange 
bird.  He  stepped  quietly  up  where  he  could 
inspect  him.  One  of  his  own  pigeons  made 
momentary  opposition  to  the  stranger,  and 
Arnaux,  sparring  sidewise  with  an  open  wing 


^^_ 


r 


•^    ',L'^ 


>*^j?/ 


'*  A  desperate  batUe 
followed." 


in  pigeon  style,  displayed  the  long  array  of 
printed  records.  The  man  was  a  fancier. 
He  started,  pulled  the  string  that  shut  the 
flying  door,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Arnaux 
was  his  prisoner. 

The  robber  spread  the  much-inscribed 
wings,  read  record  after  record,  and  glancing 
at  the  silver  badge — it  should  have  been 
gold — he  read  his  name,  "Arnaux,"  then 
exclaimed :  "  Arnaux  !  Arnaux  !  Oh,  IVe 
heard  of  you,  you  little  beauty,  and  it's  glad 
I  am  to  trap  you  1 "  He  snipped  the  message 
from  his  tiiil,  unrolled  it,  and  read  :  "  Arnaux 
left  Chicago  at  4  a.m.,  scratch  in  the  Any 
Age  Sweepstakes,  for  New  York." 

*'  Six  hundred  miles  in  twelve  houis  I  By 
the  powers,  that's  a  record-breaker ! "  and 
the  pigeon-stealer  gently,  almost  reverently, 
put  the  fluttering  bird  back  into  a  safe  cage. 
"  Well,"  he  added,  "  I  know  it's  no  use  trying 
to  make  you  stay  ;  but  I  can  breed  from  you, 
and  have  some  of  your  strain." 

So  Arnaux  was  shut  up  in  a  laige  and 
comfortable  loft  with  several  other  prisoners. 


ARNAUX, 


199 


The  man,  though  a  thief,  was  a  lover  of 
Homers.  He  gave  his  captive  everything 
that  could  ensure  his  comfort  and  safety. 
For  three  months  he  left  him  in  that  loft. 
At  first  Arnaux  did  nothing  all  day  but 
walk  up  and  down  the  wire  screen,  looking 
high  and  low  for  means  of  escape  ;  but  in  a 
week  or  two  he  seemed  to  have  abandoned 
the  attempt,  and  the  watchful  gaoler  began 
the  second  part  of  his  scheme.  He  intro- 
duced a  coy  young  lady  pigeon,  but  it  did 
Dot  seem  to  answer ;  Arnaux  was  not  even 
civil  to  her.  After  a  time  the  gaoler  removed 
the  female,  and  Arnaux  was  left  in  solitary 
confinement  for  a  month.  Now  a  different 
female  was  brought  in,  but  with  no  better 
lock,  and  thus  it  went  on,  for  a  year  different 
charmers  were  introduced.  Arnaux  either 
violently  repelled  them  or  was  scornfully 
indifferent,  and  at  times  the  old  longing  to 
get  away  came  back  with  twofold  power,  so 
that  he  darted  up  and  down  the  wire  front 
or  dashed  with  all  his  force  against  it. 
When  the  storied  feathers  of  his  wings 
began  to  moult,  his  gaoler  saved  them,  as 
precious  things.  Curious  to  relate,  the 
caution  of  the  thief  succumbed  to  the  pride 
of  the  fancier,  and  as  each  new  feather  came 
he  reproduce^  on  it  the  story  of  its  owner's 
fame. 

Two  years  had  gone  slowly  by,  and  the 
giioler  at  length  put  Arnaux  in  a  new  loft 
with  a  new  lady  pigeon.  By  chance  she 
closely  resembled  the  faithless  one  at  home. 
Arnaux  actually  seemed  to  heed  this  latest 
one.  Once  the  gaoler  thought  he  saw  his 
famous  prisoner  paying  some  slight  attention 
to  the  charmer ;  and,  yes !  he  surely  saw 
her  preparing  a  nest.  Then,  assuming  that 
they  had  reached  a  final  understanding,  the 
gaoler  for  the  first  time  opened  the  outlet, 
and  Arnaux  was  free.  Did  he  hang  around 
in  doubt  ?  Did  he  hesitate  ?  No,  not  for 
one  moment.  As  soon  as  the  drop  of  the 
door  left  open  the  way,  he  shot  through  ; 
he  spread  those  wonderful  blazoned  wings, 
and  with  no  second  thought  for  the  latest 
Circe,  sprang  from  the  hated  prison  loft — 
away  and  away. 

V. 

Wb  have  no  means  of  looking  into  the 
pigeon  mind  ;  we  may  go  wrong  in  conjuring 
np  for  it  deep  thoughts  of  love  and  welcome 
home;  bat  we  are  safe  in  this,  we  cannot 
too  strongly  paint — we  cannot  too  highly 
praise  and  glorify  that  wonderful,  God- 
implanted,  mankind-fostered  home-love  that 
glows  unquestionably  in   this    noble    bird. 


Call  it  what  you  like — a  mei-e  instinct 
deliberately  constructed  by  man  for  his 
selfish  ends  ;  explain  it  away  if  you  will, 
dissect  it,  misname  it,  and  it  still  is  there, 
in  overwhelming,  imperishable  master-power 
as  long  as  the  brave  little  heart  and  wings 
can  beat. 

Home,  sweet  home.  Never  had  mankind 
a  deeper  love  of  home  than  had  Arnaux. 
The  trials  and  sorrows  of  the  old  pigeon- 
loft were  forgotten  in  that  all-dominating 
force  of  his  nature.  Not  years  of  prison 
bare,  not  later  loves  nor  fear  of  death,  could 
down  its  power ;  and  Arnaux,  had  the  gift 
of  song/'been  his,  must  surely  have  sung  as 
sings  a  hero  in  his  highest  joy,  when  sprang 
he  from  the  "  lighting "  board,  up,  circling 
free,  soaring  up,  up,  in  widening,  heightening 
circles  of  ashy  blue  in  the  blue,  flashing  those 
many-lettered  wings  of  white,  till  they 
seemed  like  jets  of  fire — up  and  on,  driven 
by  that  home-love,  faithful  to  his  only  home 
and  to  his  faithless  love ;  closing  his  eyes, 
they  say  ;  closing  his  ears,  they  tell ;  shutting 
his  mind,  we  all  believe— to  nearer  things, 
to  two  years  of  his  life,  to  one-half  of  his 
prime,  but  soaring  in  the  blue,  retiring,  as 
a  saint  might  do,  into  his  inner  self,  giving 
himself  up  to  that  inmost  guide.  He  was 
the  captain  of  the  ship,  but  the  pilot,  the 
chart  and  compass  all,  were  that  deep-im- 
planted instinct.  One  thousand  feet  above 
the  trees  the  inscrutable  whisper  came,  and 
Arnaux,  in  arrowy  swiftness  now,  was  point- 
ing for  the  south-south-east.  The  little 
flashes  of  white  fire  on  each  side  were  lost 
in  the  low  sky,  and  the  reverent  robber  of 
Syracuse  saw  Arnaux  never  more. 

The  fast  express  was  steaming  down  the 
valley.  It  was  far  ahead,  but  Arnaux  over- 
took and  paasetl  it,  as  the  wild-duck  passes 
the  swimming  musk-rat.  High  in  the  valleys 
he  went,  low  over  the  hills  of  Chenango, 
where  the  pines  were  combing  the  l)reeze8. 
Out  from  his  oak-tree  eyrie  a  hawk  came 
wheeling  and  sailing,  for  he  had  marked 
the  flyer  and  meant  him  for  his  prey. 
Arnaux  turned  neither  right  nor  left,  nor 
raised  nor  lowered  his  flight,  nor  lost  a 
wing-beat.  The  hawk  was  in  waiting  in 
the  gap  ahead,  and  Arnaux  passed  him, 
even  as  a  deer  in  his  prime  may  pass  by  a 
bear  in  his  pathway.  Home  !  home  !  was 
the  only  burning  thought— the  blinding 
impulse. 

Beat — beat — beat — those  flashing  pinions 
went  with  speed  unslacked  on  the  now 
familiar  road.  In  an  hour  the  Gatskills 
were  at  hand.     In  two  hours  he  was  passing 


"  Under  the  paliud«>i  he  poflaed^  uod^r  Che  perei^iDe's 


ARNAUX, 


201 


over  thera.  Old  friendly  places,  swiftly 
coming  How,  lent  more  force  to  his  wings. 
Home  !  home  !  was  the  silent  song  that  his 
heart  was  singing.  Like  the  traveller  dying 
of  thirst  who  sees  the  palm-trees  far  ahead, 
his  hrilliant  eyes  took  in  the  distant  smoke 
of  Manhattan. 

Out  from  the  crest  of  the  Catskills  there 
lannched  a  falcon.  Swiftest  of  the  i-ace  of 
rapine,  proud  of  his  strength,  proud  of  his 
wings,  he  rejoiced  in  a  worthy  prey.  Many 
and  many  a  pigeon  had  been  borne  to  his 
nest^  and  riding  the  wind  he  came,  swoop- 
ing, reserving  his  strength,  awaiting  the 
proper  time.  Oh,  how  well  he  knew  the 
very  moment !  Down — down  like  a  flashing 
javelin.  No  wild -duck,  no  hawk  could 
elude  him,  for  this  was  a  falcon.  Turn 
back  now,  O  Homer,  and  save  yourself  ;  go 
round  the  dangerous  hills.  Did  he  turn  ? 
Not  a  whit,  for  this  was  Amaux.  Home ! 
home !  home  !  was  his  only  thought.  For 
the  danger  he  merely  added  to  his  speed, 
and  the  peregrine  stooped — stooped  at  what  ? 
— a  flashing  of  colour — a  twinkling  of  white- 
ness— and  went  back  empty,  while  Arnaux 
cleft  the  air  of  the  valley  as  a  stone  from  a 
sling,  to  be  lost,  a  white-winged  bird — a 
spot  with  flashing  halo,and  quicklya  twinkling 
speck  in  the  offing.  On  down  the  valley  of 
Hudson,  the  well-known  highway ;  for  two 

! rears  he  had  not  seen  it !  Now  he  dropped 
ow  as  the  noon  breeze  came  forth  and 
mfiBed  the  river  below  him.  Home  ! 
home  !  home  !  and  the  towers  of  a  city  are 
coming  into  view  !  Home  !  home  !  past 
the  great  spider-bridge  of  Poughkeepsie, 
skimming,  skirting  the  river-banks.  Low 
now  by  the  bank  as  the  wind  arose.  Low, 
alas  \  too  low  !  What  flend  was  it  tempted 
a  gunner  in  June  to  lurk  on  that  hill  by 
the  margin  ?  What  devil  directed  his  gaze 
to  the  twinkling  of  white  that  came  from 
the  blue  to  the  northward  ?  Oh,  Amaux, 
Amaux,  skimming  low,  forget  not  the 
gunner  of  old  ;  too  low — too  low  you  are 
clearing  that  hill.  Too  low  —  too  late! 
Flash — bang !  and  the  death-hail  has  reached 
him — ^reached,  maimed,  but  not  downed  him. 
Out  of  the  beating  pinions  broken  feathers 
printed  with  records  go  fluttering  earthward. 
The  "  nought "  of  his  sea  record  is  gone ; 
not  two  hundred,  but  twenty-one  miles  it 
now  reads.     Oh,  shameful  pillage  I     A  dark 


stain  appears  on  his  bosom,  but  Arnaux 
keeps  on.  Home — homeward  bound.  The 
danger  is  past  in  an  instant.  Home — home- 
ward he  steers,  straight  as  before,  but  the 
w^onderful  speed  is  diminished  ;  not  a  mile 
a  minute  now ;  and  the  wind  makes  undue 
sounds  in  his  tattered  pinions.  The  stain 
in  his  breast  tells  of  broken  force,  but  on, 
straight  on,  he  flies.  Home — home  is  in 
sight,  and  the  pain  in  his  breast  is  forgotten. 
The  tall  towers  of  the  city  are  in  clear  view 
of  his  far-seeing  eye  as  he  skims  by  the  high 
cliffs  of  Jersey.  On — on,  the  pinion  may 
flag,  the  eye  may  darken,  but  the  home-love 
is  stronger  and  stronger. 

Under  the  tall  palisades  where,  screened 
from  the  wind,  he  passed  over  the  sparkling 
water,  over  the  trees,  under  the  peregrine's 
eyrie,  under  the  pirate's  castle,  where  the 
greats  grim  peregrines  lurked,  peering  like 
black-masked  highwaymen,  and  marked  the 
on-coming  pigeon.  Arnaux  knew  them  of 
old.  Many  a  message  was  lying  undelivered 
in  that  nest — many  a  record-bearing  plume 
had  fluttered  away  from  its  fastness.  But 
Arnaux  had  faced  them  before,  and  now  he 
came  as  before — on,  onward,  swift,  but  not 
as  he  had  been  ;  the  deadly  gun  had  sapped 
his  force,  had  lowered  his  speed.  On — on  ; 
and  the  peregrines,  biding  their  time,  went 
forth  like  two  bow-bolts,  strong  and  lightning 
swift,  they  went  against  one  weak  and  wearied. 

Why  tell  of  the  race  that  followed  ?  Why 
paint  the  despair  of  a  brave  little  heart  in 
sight  of  the  home  he  had  craved  in  vain  ? 
In  a  minute  all  was  over.  The  peregrines 
screeched  in  their  triumph.  Screeching  and 
sailing,  they  swung  to  their  eyrie,  and  the 
prey  in  their  claws  was  the  body — the  last 
of  the  bright  little  Arnaux.  There  on  the 
rocks  the  beaks  and  claws  of  the  bandits 
were  red  with  the  life  of  the  hero.  Torn 
asunder  were  those  splendid  wrings,  and  their 
records  were  scattered  unnoticed.  In  sun 
and  in  storm  they  lay  till  the  killers  them- 
selves were  killed,  and  their  stronghold 
rifled.  And  none  knew  the  fate  of  the 
matchless  one  till,  deep  in  the  dust  and 
mbbish  of  that  pirate-nest,  the  avenger 
found,  among  others  of  its  kind,  a  silver 
ring,  the  Sacred  Badge  of  the  High  Homer, 
and  read  upon  it  a  pregnant  inscription  : — 

ARNAUX,  2590  C. 


BUNKHUM. 


By    frank     RICHARDSON/ 


H  ERE  ia  only  one  Jelly- 
brand  in  the  world- 
George  Jellyltrand, 
the  inventor  of 
Biuikhum.  Of  course, 
there  are  other  Jelly- 
branda,  such  as  P.  G-. 
Jellybrand  (well 
known  and  respected 
in  the  mouBc-trap 
buBincss),  Theodore  Jellybrand,  who  wears 
the  finest  set  of  whisker-fittiogs  in  Beiley, 
but  is  otherwise  and  elsewhere  practically 
unknown,  and  there  is  also  G.  H.  Jellybrand, 
late  of  Chipping-Sodbury  - -a  locality  which 
you  can  look  up  for  yourself  on  the  map. 
But,  so  far  as  the  world  of  erudition  is 
coucerued,  there  exists  only  George  Jelly- 
br-ind,  the  inventor  of  Bunkhum. 

Of  Bnukhum,  the  i^reatcat  scientific  dis- 
covery of  the  age,  this  much  is  known  to 
most  of  UB  : — ■ 

(a)  Bunkbum  is  2,000,000  per  cent,  harder 
than  platiiiuDi. 

{b)  Bunkhum  is  harder  to  talk  sensibly 
about  than  the  ciisis  in  the  Church,  the 
Fiscal  Question,  or  the  causes  leading  to  the 
insanity  of  Mullahs. 

(c)  If  there  were  an  ounce  of  Bunkhum 
in  the  world,  it  would  extinguish  the  suu, 
repatriate  the  Jews,  and — 
(rf)  Possibly  pay  the  rates. 

(e)  Bunkhum  is  worth,  roughly,  a  hundred 
billion  pounds  per  ton. 

(f)  There  are  not  more  than  three  CTains 
of  Bunkhum  in  this  planet — unless  Jelly- 
brand has  secretly  cornered  the  supply  and 
is  watting  for  a  rise  in  price. 

(p)  Bunkhum  is  the  force  that  controls 
the  universe. 

(A)  Bunkhum  is— Bunkhum,  and  that's 
about  all  one  can  safely  say. 

These  are  facts.  But,  though  entirely 
familiar  to  the  intelligent  reader,  they  were 
absolutely  unknown  to  G.  H.  Jellybrand  on 
his  cosy  little  estate  at  Chipping-Sodbury — 
which  you  have  by  this  tune,  no  doubt, 
found  for  yourself  on  the  map,  A  man  of 
bucolic    temperament,  fat,    forty-five,    and 

•  Comright,   1905,    by  Frank   Eirhardwn,   in   the 


financially  robust,  he  read  with  zest  die 
PouUnj  Pioneer,  for  he  reared  Cochia- 
Chinas,  reverently  to  be  mentioned;  be 
kept  a  file  of  the  Do'jyht,  for  his  Bob-tailed 
Dachshunds  are  a  much-sought  strain— a 
little  leggy,  but  remarkable  fur  Btariag 
powers.  In  many  respects  he  was  a  well- 
mformed  man,  but  of  Bunkhum  he  kne* 
no  more  than  an  emu  knows  abont  envelopes. 

In  this  disgraceful  condition  of  menial 
sloth  he  was  entirely  happy.  Various  leUen, 
half-read,  wholly  nnilluminative,  from  bii 
solicitors,  did  not  distract  an  ap^HvclaUe 
portion  of  his  attention  from  his  Cochiw 
and  his  kennels.  But  ut  length— by  no 
invitation  of  his,  as  a  consequence  of  no 
letter  written  by  him  seeking  infonnaUon— 
his  uncle.  Sir  Richard  Wemberton,  and  tht 
eminent  solicitor  of  the  Wemberton  eslaus, 
journeyed  down  to  Chipping-Sodbury  and 
explained  things. 

"  Explained  "  was  not,  from  Jelljbrand's 
point  of  view,  the  correct  word.  They  staled 
complicated  facts ;  they  produced  unin- 
telligible "papers,"  and  they  predicted  • 
dire  fatnre. 

He,  calm  in  the  chaos,  dtscribed  tk 
sensation  produced  on  his  mind  by  tlK 
visit. 

"There's  some  sort  of  infernal  litigation 
going  on,  or  abont  to  come  on,  with  r^ard 
to  the  Wemberton  Collieries.  My  income, 
beyond  three  hundred  a  year,  suddenk 
ceases— at  any  rate,  tor  a  time.  I've  got  w 
sell  my  place.  I've  got  to  spend  the  bult 
of  my  days  for  the  next  year  or  so  in  joor 
otlicea,  Mr.  Sugg.  Is  that  about  the  ^ 
of  it?" 

"  That  is  a  fairly  accurate  descriptioD  «^ 
the — ahem — state  of  affairs." 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Sugg.  Ezcnse  me,  ut 
you  Mr.  Sugg  or  Mr,  Dibley  ?  I  knot 
your  firm  is  both ;  but,  hang  it,  I  <:aD't 
remember  which  you  are  1 " 

"  I  am  Mr.  Dibley." 

"Good.  You're  'your  Mr.  Dibley,'  abcwt 
whose  constant  occupation  with  my  affaire 
your  firm  is  always  writing  to  me.  Yoor 
firm  seems  very  pleased  with  your  energr, 
Mr.  Dibley.  You,  if  I  may  say  bo.  are 
wonderfully  active  for  an  octogenarian." 

"Now,  George,   never  mind  about  Mr. 


Dibley,"  aaid  Sir  Richard,  "  V'hat  are  yon 
going  to  do  ?  " 

Sir  Richard  was  ninety-three  years  of  age, 
and  he  regarded  any  felicitation  on  the 
activity  of  a  mere  octogenmaa  as  nn- 
neceflsary  and  in  poor  taste. 

"...  I  snppose  I  shall  have  to  take 
rooms  in  town.  It  won't  suit  me,  you 
koow,  aft«r  the  country.  I've  not  been  to 
London  since  the  second  Jubilee.  Besides, 
I  don't  belong  to  a  club." 

"  As  to  that,  there  won't  be  any  difficulty, 
eh,  Dibley  ?  " 

"  I  don't  quits  follow.  Sir  Richard." 

"  Well,  we're  both  on  the  Committee  of 
the  Forum.     We  conld  easily  run  him  in." 


"  G.  H.  Jellrbnod  on  hie  co»y  littl< 


"True.  .  .  .  But  your  nephew  .  .  .  with 
his  tastes  ...  is  hardly  the  man  for  the 
Fornm," 

"Confound  it,  sir,  any  nephew  of  mine, 
even  if  be  bad  no  UuAea  at  all,  would  be  just 
the  man  for  the  Forum." 

"  I  didn't  qnito  mean  what  you  mean.  Sir 
Richard." 

"  I  don't  care  what  yon  mean.  But  what 
I  mean  is  that  if  my  nephew  joins  a  club, 
the  Forom  is  the  club  he  joins— none  of 
your  new-fangled  pothouses  with  5,000 
members  and  nothing  more  like  a  gentleman 
than  a  b^ging-Ietter  writer  in  the  lot  I  I 
propose  and  yon  second  him,  and  the  thing's 
done." 

And   it  was.     Thus  it  came  about  that 


Jellybrand  achieved  the  high  honour  of 
election  to  the  Forum,  an  honour  extremely 
difficult  of  attainment,  save  by  the  most 
eminent  men  of  our  day.  For  the  Forum 
is  the  Parnassus  of  the  living.  This,  indeed, 
is  an  understatement — there  are  many  men 
whose  reputations  are  immortal,  but  against 
whose  persons  the  Forum  firmly  shuts  its 
doors.  To  join  its  membership  one  must 
be  egregious,  either  by  brains  or  by  blood. 
And  the  general  committee  is  not  prone  to 
confuse  notoriety  with  fame,  as  is  the  custom 
of  our  day.  A  case  in  point :  Snagge,  the 
eminent /it/ernfour,  was  unanimously  excluded 
by  reason  of  the  fact  that,  in  a  weak  moment, 
he  had  invented  the  corn-cure  with  which 
his  name  will  be 
eternally  allied.  Hud 
Jellybrand  understood 
this  btato  of  things,  he 
would  have  marvelled 
at  his  election,  or  he 
would  have  attributed 
it  to  his  prominence  as 
a  rearer  of  Cochins,  or 
to  his  success  in  the 
Dachshund  depart- 
ment. But  he,  living 
remote  from  the  world 
of  erudition,  knew 
scarcely  more  of  the 
Forum  than  ho  did — 
let  UH  say — of  Bunk- 
hum.  The  fact  is  that 
in  his  mind  the  club 
was  v^uely  confused 
with  the  Junior  Forum, 
a  totally  different  insti- 
tution. 

His  first  visit  to 
the  senior  institution 
occurred  on  a  dismal 
afternoon,  and  he  was  appalled  by  the  gloom 
of  his  surroundings.  All  the  members 
seemed  creaking  phantoms  of  decrepitude 
and  eld.  Scarcely  a  man  devoid  of  ear- 
trumpet  or  of  crutch.  Some  there  were 
moving  crazily  on  scaffolding,  mumbling  to 
themselves  in  cryptic  soliloquy,  impermeable 
to  companionship.  The  place,  he  thought, 
was  more  tike  a  cripples'  nome  than  a  club. 
Indeed,  an  enterprising  undertaker  had  lately 
caused  considerable  annoyance  by  sending  to 
each  of  the  memhere  a  circular  eulogistic  of 
himself  and  his  practice,  and  requesting  the 
favour  of  custom.  A  detachable  coupon, 
if  filled  in  and  forwarded  to  his  office 
within  the  next  three  months,  ensured  a 
ten    per    cent,    reduction    on    any  "order 


204 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


for  a  funeral  outfit,  placed  during  the 
period." 

But  the  members  took  the  scheme  amiss. 
Was  the  Forum  Club  the  anteroom  to 
Kensal  Green  ? 

"  Pshaw  ! " 

"  What  next  ?  " 

"  Egad  ! " 

.  .  .  according  as  the  commentator  was 
literary,  scientific,  or  military. 

In  spite  of  the  sinister  effect  produced  on 
the  club  by  the  ill-directed  (and  entirely 
unremunerative)  enterprise  of  the  undertaker, 
a  wave  of  paralytic  interest  was  aroused  by 
Jellybrand's  entrance  into  the  smoking-room. 
Eager  faces  craned  through  the  smoke 
emitted  from  asthma-cigarettes,  catarrh- 
cigars,  and  pleuro-pneuraonia-pipes. 

The  invalids  were  agog,  but  Jellybrand 
calmly  searched  the  Pall  Mall  for  stop- 
press  news  of  a  doggy  character. 

At  length  the  doyen  of  the  club,  his  wheel- 
chair propelled  by  a  waiter,  approached  and 
sought  speech. 

Jellybrand  would  have  none  of  him.  To 
his  thinking,  a  prehistoric  bore  was  intruding 
on  his  privacy.  For  no  second  did  he 
suspect  that  the  ^ed  man  was  the  greatest 
living  authority  on  Cyclopaean  Architecture 
in  Polynesia.  And  had  he  suspected,  his 
course  would  have  been  in  no  way  different. 

He  suggested  that  the  old  gentleman 
should  go  somewhere  else  and  ....  get 
mended.  But  the  old  gentleman  did  not 
understand,  and  nodded  and  gibbered  and 
offered  a  sort  of  phonograph  to  facilitate 
conversation. 

Defeated,  Jellybrand  left  the  club. 

On  the  next  day  he  entered  circumspectly 
and  avoided  the  vicinity  of  the  Polynesian 
expert  and  the  more  conspicuous  invalids, 
but  only  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
Dr.  Disney  Lincoln,  the  eminent  alienist. 

Jovially  the  doctor  sat  down  by  his  side. 

"  Very  pleased  to  welcome  you  to  our  club, 
Mr.  Jellybrand." 

"  Thank  you."  He  was  reading  a  scholarly 
article  on  "  Our  Cochins  in  Peace  and  War," 
and  he  infinitely  preferred  it  to  the  conversa- 
tion of  any  alienist,  however  eminent. 

Unruflfled,  the  other  proceeded  :  "  Any 
news  in  the  world  of  Bunkhum  ? " 

Jellybrand,  slightly  annoyed,  entirely 
mystified,  stared  at  him.  Of  Bunkhum,  as 
has  been  said,  he  knew  nothing.  The  spoken 
word  suggested  a  slang  term  rather  than  the 
great  scientific  discovery  which  will  make  the 
dawn  of  the  twentieth  century  for  ever 
memorable  in  the  minds  of  men. 


Severely  he  answered — 

"There  is  always  news  in  the  world  of 
Bunkhum." 

"  Always  making  new  discoveries,  eh  ? " 

"  Always." 

A  pause. 

"  I  suppose,  now,  Mr.  Jellybrand,  if  there 
was  any  Bunkhum — no  matter  how  small  a 
quantity — in  this  room,  we  should  be  blown 
to~ahem  ! — blazes  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  ...  we  ...  eh  ..  .  should. 
Because  of  the  power  of  Bunkhum." 

"  Do  you  suggest  that  among  the  dozen  or 
so  of  men  present  there  is  no  suggestion  of 
Bunkhum  ? " 

"No  .  .  .  is  there?  .  .  .  I  don't  know 
much  about  the  subject.  .  .  .  But  how 
could  there  be  ?  " 

"  It  is  absurd  to  assume  that  there  is  not 
Of  course,  these  gentlemen  are  all  very  old, 
bat  ..." 

"  Ah !  you  think  that  men  may  in  their 
youth  produce  Bunkhum ;  whereas,  after  a 
certain  age,  they  lose  their  power  of  so 
doing  ?  Most  interesting,  most  interesting. 
Still,  I  thought  it  was  only  to  be  found  in 
Bath  and  Tunbridge  WeUs." 

"  Why  there  more  than  anywhere  else  ? 
You  can  find  it  anywhere — if  you  only  keep 
your  eyes  open." 

"  But  not  in  appreciable  quantities,  surely? 
Of  course,  I'm  a  mere  sciolist  in  regard  to 
the  matter,  so  mine  may  be  a  f  oddish  question. 
Forgive  me,  Mr.  Jellybrand,  bul^  would  yon 
say  that  the  presence  of  Bunkhum  could  be 
detected  anyivhere  and  in  appreciable  quanti- 
ties— that  is,  in  quantities  w^hich  you  could 
appreciate  ?  " 

The  alienist  leant  back  in  his  chair  and 
tapped  his  fingers  together  in  an  eminently 
sound  manner.  So  eminently  sound  was 
this  manner  that  when  Dr.  Lincoln  assumed 
it  in  the  presence  of  a  suspected  lunatic,  he 
or  she  immediately  raved. 

Jellybrand  was  not  impressed  by  the 
soundness  of  the  specialist.  On  the  contrary, 
it  bored  him.  But  as  he  was  a  new  member, 
he  answered  with  only  moderate  irritation— 

"  If  I  detect  it,  I  don't  appreciate  it. 
Why  should  I  ?  " 

"  Because  .  .  .  because  you  discovered 
it. 


»» 


u 


Yes,    yes ;    but    you    don't   appreciate 
everythiiig  you  discover,  do  you  ?  " 
In  all  humility  the  otJier  answered — 
"  I  have  never  made  a  discovery  of  any 
great  importance." 
"  Neither  have  I." 


"  Ob,  sir,  my  dear  sir — may  I  say  my  very 
dear  sir  ? — auch  modesty  is  really  a  pleasure 
— alinoet  a  miracle.  You  have  made  no 
discovery  of  importance,  and  yet  you  dis- 
covered Bonkbum ! " 

"Only  a  little^ not— often — I've  misaed 
s  lot  ? " 

"  Thank  Ueaveos !     Now,  I  ask  you  as 


"  Sir  Richard  wu  abety-tbtw  yean  of  age." 

man  to  man— what  would  happen  if  you 
discovered  all  the  fitmkhum  there  is  in  the 
world  ?  Yon'd  be  a  billionaire  several  times 
over,  eb  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  I  shonld." 

"But  what  would  happen  to  the  world  ? " 

"In  the  extremely  improbable  event  that 
yon  surest,  the  world  would  go  to  the 
devil.  How  could  things  go  on  as  they  do 
now  .    .    .  ?" 

"Then  yon  don't  think  that  all  of  it  will 
be  discovered  ?  " 

"  Is  it  likely  ?  "  Tired  of  the  persistence 
of  bis  questioner,  be  returned  to  his  paper. 

"  I  hope  not,  I'm  sure,"  answered  Ijlncobi, 
heaving  a  sigh  of  relief.  His  personal  interest 
in  the  matter  caused  Jellybrand  to  regard 
hint  with  sospicion.  However,  he  said 
nothing. 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Jellybrand— the  snbj'ect  is 
vastly  interesting  to  me  as  a  man  of  science 


HUM.  205 

— do  you  think  there  is  any  truth  in  the 
theory  ftdvancod  by  Professor  von  Backenbart 
that  Bunkhum  extstB  in  the  glow-worm  ? " 

A  stony  stare  was  the  answer  to  this 
question.     As  a  supplement — 

"Excuse  me,  sir.  I  am  reading  a  very 
interesting  article  on  Cochin-China  fi>wls ; 
or,  rather,  I  shoold  like  to  read  a  very  inter- 
esting article  on  .    .    ." 

"  A  thousand  pardons !  Indeed !  Indeed ! 
I  had  no  intention  .  .  .  trespassing  .  .  . 
learned  leisure  .  .  .  another  time  .  .  . 
perhaps.  .  .  .  When  the  papers  are  dull 
.  .  .  renew  delightful  convei-sation.  Good 
day,  sir — may  I  say  my  very  dear  sir  ?  " 

"  If  you  like— if  it  gives  you  any  pleasure." 

"  A  thousand  thanks." 

"  Mad,  but  civil,"  was  Jellybrand's  mental 
enmmary  of  the  eminent  expert  in  lunacy. 

Thereupon  Pr.  Lincoln  made  haste  to 
report  tlie  trend  of  his  delightful  conversation 
to  the  more  imjKirtjint  of  the  able-eai^cd 
membere  of  tlie  club.  He  had  found  the 
great  man  entirely  modest,  luminous  on  his 
subject,  but  by  no  means  didactic. 

"  And  what  the  dicketiB  is  bis  subject  ? " 
asked  Sir  Kirk  by  Wiake. 

Sir  Kirkby  bad  lately  resigned  his  judge- 
ship on  the  Common  Law  side.  An  octo- 
genarian, be  had  for  ton  years  been  entitled 
to  his  pension,  but  be  had  strolled  manfully 
along  until  chronic  insomnia  on  the  Bench 
compelled  him  to  retire.  Yet  hia  resignation 
iiad  not  impaired  that  comprehensive  ignor- 
ance which  had  been  his  chief  characteristic 
as  a  j'udge. 

"  He's  the  man  who  invented  Bunkhum, 
Sir  Kirkby." 

"Never  heard  of  Bunkhum.  What  ia  it, 
Lincoln  ? " 

"It  is  .  .  .  or,  rather,  perhaps  one 
should  say  ..." 

"It  may  be  defined  in  two  wava,"  siiid 
Prafessor  Onslow  Parker,  the  world-famed 
author  of  "  Moderii  Micrtibes."  "  You  may 
define  it  objectively  or  subjectively," 

"  I  dare  siiy  yon  may,"  insisted  tlie  judge. 
"  But  what  is  it  ?  Tell  mo  what  the  deuce 
it  is,  and  tlieii  you  au\  define  it  afterwards," 

"It  is  \Ktit  explaine<l  by  an  illustration." 
said  a  scientifically  minded  Prebendary  of 
Bath  and  Weils. 

"  Supposing  yon  had  a  quarter  of  a  grain 
■  of  Bunkhum    ..." 

Sir  Kirkby  dealt  summarily  with  him — 

"  Supposing  I  ask  you  what  your  name  is, 
would  you  ask  mo  to  imagine  that  I  liad  a 
quarter  of  the  letters  in  your  name  ?  Would 
tliat  be  a  reasonable  reply  to  make  ?    Would 


206 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


it  or  would  it  not  ?     I  ask  a  simple  questiou 
and  I  want  a  simple  answer." 

A  simple  question  ! 

Came  as  a  chorus — 

"  You  had  better  ask  Jellybrand." 

"All  right,  I'll  catch  him  here  to- 
morrow." 

On  the  morrow  he  caught  him  in  the 
smoking-room. 

"  Mj  name's  Kirkby  Wiske,  and  I'm  very 
pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Jellybrand.  I  hear — 
that  is,  my  friends  assure  me — that  you  take 
a  great  interest  in  .  .  .  Bunkhum.  Ex- 
cuse me  asking  the  question,  but  I've  only 
just  retired  from  the  Bench,  so  I'm  not  as 
up-to-date  as  I  should  wish  to  be.  What 
.    .    .  is  .    .    .  Bunkhum  ? " 

This  was  too  much.  Jellybrand  sat  up 
j^gressively  in  his  chair. 

"  How  do  you  mean — whut  is  it  ?  " 

"  Precisely  what  I  say.  I  am  seeking 
information." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  imply  .  .  .  Sir  Kirby, 
that  y^u,  an  ex-judge  of  the  High  Court, 
don't  know  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  I  rarely  dealt  with  Patent 
cases." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  rude  ;  but,  at  your 
age,  I  doubt  whether  it  would  be  worth  your 
w-liile  to  investigate  the  matter." 

He  returned  to  his  newspaper  testily.  But 
Sir  Kirkby  persisted. 

"Not  from  a  scientific  point  of  view, 
perhaps ;  but  I  should  like  to  acquire  a 
smattering.  When  one  has  retired  from 
the  Bench,  one  likes  to  know  what  is  going 
on  in  the  world." 

His  plea  luid  in  it  a  top-note  of  pathos. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  is  going  on  in 
the  world.  There's  a  jolly  good  dog-show 
at  the  Crystal  Palace.  ..." 

And  it  happened  that  the  judge  was 
doggy.  And  it  ensued  that  for  an  hour 
and  a  half  they  talked  dog-talk  .  .  .  and 
became  firm  friends. 

"  An  exciillent  fellow  ! "  the  judge  re- 
ported to  his  particular  friends  in  the  club. 
"  Bunkhum  is,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying, 
the  greatest  invention  of  the  age." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  acquiesced  General 
Cringle-Blake. 

"  Beyond  all  doubt,"  affirmed  the  Pre- 
bendary of  Bath  and  Wells. 

"  There  has  never  been  anything  like  it,", 
said  Dr.  Disney  Lincoln. 

"  I  join  issue  with  you,  Sir  Kirkby,"  stated 
Professor  Onslow  Parker  with  some  heat. 
"  It  is  unjust  to  Jellybrand  to  wiy  that  his 
invention   is   the   greatest  of   the   age.      I 


maintain  that  it  is  the  greatest   the  world 
has  ever  known." 

"  Quite,  quite,"  apologised  the  judge. 
And,  by  way  of  making  honourable  amend- 
ment, he  added  :  "  He's  just  the  sort  of  man 
we  want  on  the  committee.  We  need  young 
blood.     Jellybrand  doesn't  look  over  fifty." 

"Not  a  day,"  said  the  prebendary.  "I 
sometimes  think  that  the  committee  should 
be — I  won't  say  younger,  but  not  quite  so 
old.  You  see,  we  lost  two  members  last 
week,  Sir  Richard  Wemberton  and  poor 
old  Dibley." 

"Still,  we  don't  want  to  turn  the  com- 
mittee into  a  kindergarten,"  objected  the 
General. 

"  By  no  means.  Not  by  any  manner  of 
means,''  commented  the  professor.  Then 
he  continued  :  "  This  morning  I  had  a  long 
talk  with  him.  Mind  you,  I  had  kept  a 
perfectly  judicial  mind — an  open  mind,  if 
I  may  Kiy  so  in  the  presence  of  Sir  Kirkby 
— with  regard  to  Jellybrand.  I  knew  only 
of  his  wonderful  discovery,  and  of  the  fact 
that  he  never  obtruded  liimself  on  one's 
notice  by  means  of  the  halfpenny — ahem— 
Press — not  that  one  is  au  fait  with  the 
Press — the— ahem — halfpenny  Press.  Well, 
I  went  up  to  him  and  told  him  who  I 
was,  and  he,  with  nervous  hesitation  truly 
delightful  in  the  truly  great,  seemed  not 
to  know  who  I  was." 

"  Go  on." 

"  Proceed." 

"  Then  I  spoke  to  him  about  his  invention. 
But  immediately  he  withdrew  into  his  shell 
— if  you  will  pardon  the  conchological  simile 
as  applied  to  a  man  of  his  mental  calibre. 
He  Ixjhaved  almost  with  tetchiness.  On 
his  own  subject  he  was  mum.  The  vood 
Memnon  must  have  been  a  voluble  babbler 
in  comparison  to  Jellybrand.  Still,  he  was 
willing  to  talk  on  other  matters.  One  thing 
led  to  another,  till  at  length  we  conversed 
about  poultry.  Now,  I  knew  that  Jellybrand 
had  pursued  his  scientific  researches  in  the 
complete  seclusion  afiforded  by  some  out- 
landish country  place.  That  is  the  one 
fact  with  regard  to  his  private  life  of  which 
we  are  aware.  Still,  it  is  an  astounding 
thing  he  should  have  been  able  to  spare 
time  from  his  studies  to  devote  to  the 
breeding  of  Cochin-Chinas.  Now,  I-  and 
I  say  it  without  pride — have  made  Cochin- 
Chinas  the  hobby  of  my  leisure  momentg. 
I  subscribe  to  the  doctrine  that  a  great  man 
should  know  something  about  everything 
and  all  about  something.  Jellybrand  knovre 
all  about  Cochins  ! " 


■■The  memlierB  neerapd  rreahm*,'  |>lnint(imfl  of  decrepitude  snd  eUV 

"All  ahoiit  Bunkhiim."  said  Dr.  Disney  "Tberefore  he  ou^ht  to  Ire  on  the  com- 

t^M  ncoln.  mitteo,"  said  tlier  all. 

-'Aiid  ail  about  Bob-tailwl  Daclisbiiiuls,"  "  Is   the  dnh"  j;oin''  to  sljirt  a  cbemiRt'H 

tj^clthe  judge  firmly.  shop,  or  a  (Iu(j-sliow,  or  u  poultiy-run  ? " 


208 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


asked  a  giddy  septuagenarian,  whose  outside 
reputation  as  a  wit — he  had  written  twenty 
successful  plays — was  not  recognised  by  the 
committee,  owing  probably  to  the  fact  that 
he  showed  no  power  as  a  punster. 

In  fact,  he  considered  punning  a  happily 
lost  art;  and  when  members  of  the  club 
played  practical  jokes  with  the  King's 
English,  he  regarded  their  performances  as 
serious  symptoms  of  senility,  not  at  all  as 
essays  in  humour. 

The  Query  of  the  unintelligible  jester 
settled  the  question.  Those  present  unani- 
mously decided  that  Jellybrand  should  be 
asked  to  stand  for  the  committee. 

So  it  came  about  that,  as  the  mouthpiece 
of  the  "young  blood  party,"  Dr.  Disney 
Lincoln  approached  Mr.  Jellybrand.  Said 
he— 

"  My  dear  sir,  if  I  may  so  style  you,  it  is 
the  wish  of  a  large  number  of  the  members 
that  you  should  stand  for  the  committee." 

"  Good  Heavens  !  why  ?  I've  only  just 
joined  the  club." 

"  True.  But  you  are  already  one  of  the 
most  popular  men  in  it.  Your  modesty 
appeals  to  us  all.  We  are,  perhaps,  a  little 
too  egotistical.  We  are  all  of  us  eminent 
men — present  company,  or,  rather,  half  of 
the  present  company, excepted.  Hah !  hah ! — 
I  like  my  joke,  you  know." 

"  Good  !  I  am  pleased.  If  you  like  it,  all 
is  well." 

"  Now,  you,  Mr.  Jellybrand,  never  discuss 
your  special  subject.  You  don't  care  to  talk 
about  Bunkhum." 

Angrily  Jellybrand  rose  from  his  seat. 

"No,  sir,  I  don't.  And  I  object  to  your 
mentioning  the  subject  to  me.  There  seems 
to  be  a  conspiracy  in  this  club  to  talk  to  me 
about  Bunkhum.  It  is  an  insult.  Do  you 
understand  ?  Never  you  allude  to  it  again, 
confound  you  ! " 

"  Pray,  sir,  pray !  "  expostulated  the 

other.  "  It  is,  of  course,  impertinence  for 
me  to  mention  the  subject  to  you ! " 

"  It  is !    It  is !    Don't  do  it,  I  warn  you  ! " 

Eventually  the  two  settled  a  sort  of  work- 
ing agreement.  Jellybrand  would  stand  for 
the  committee;  Disney  Lincoln  would  never 
mention  Bunkhum.  With  no  little  pride  the 
doctor  reported  his  success. 

"  The  most  modest  man  I  ever  met.  He 
loathes,  absolutely  loathes  the  mention  of 
Bunkhum  !  Now  that  we  know  his  feeling 
on  the  matter,  I  think  it  would  be  dis- 
courteous in  us  to  allude  to  his  discovery  in 
his  presence." 

"Deuced  good  idea  1  '  said  the  General, 


"  I  think  so,  too,"  said  the  judge. 

"  I  am  not  in  sympathy  with  some  of 
the  developments  of  latter-day  science," 
said  the  prebendary. 

"  I  think  that — learned  though  Jellybrand 
undoubtedly  is — he  might  with  advantage 


"  *  Undoubtedly,*  acquiesced  General  Cringle-Blake.** 

devote  some  consideration  to  my  theory  of 
'  Modern  Microbes,'  "  said  the  professor. 

"  I  maintain  that  the  constant  discussion 
of  Bunkhum  in  season  and  out  of  season 
by  the  erudite  and  the  ignorant  may  have 
disastrous  effects  on  the  sanity  of  the  next 
generation,"  said  the  alienist. 

"  We  will  say  no  more  about  it— at  least— 
to  him,"  said  they  all. 

And  they  kept  their  words.  Thns  it  came 
about  that,  in  spite  of  carpers  who  main- 
tained that  they  "  couldn't  have  schoolboys 
on  the  committee,"  Jellybrand,  at  the  age  of 
forty-six,  was  elected  at  the  head  of  the  poll. 
Yet  he  was  not  proud,  and  so  he  waxed  in 
popularity.  For  nis  dog  and  fowl  oonveTsa- 
tion  found  great  favour  with  all,     AU  wei« 


BUNKBUM. 


209 


amazed  nnd  delighted  that  there  existed  one 
uuni  in  the  woild  unuffeoled  by  the  luaiiia 
for  Ulking  about  Bunkhum.  And  that  man 
liimRelf  its  inventor! 

So  vastly  popular  did  he  become  that  he 
pnictic&tly  ruiea  tlie  club.  He  even  intro- 
duced an  innovation —the  first  in  fifty  years 
— au  iuvsh'ds'-room,  with  a  staff  of  nurGcs. 
To  it  Here  rele^t«d  the  lame,  the  blind,  the 
d«af,  and  the  phenomenally  offensive.  Tlie 
ei-iuoniing-room  door  bore  a  notice — 
INVALIDS  ONLY. 

So  greftt  was  the  success  of  this  scheme 
that  one  by  one  the  other  rooms  of  the 
club  were  devoted  to  a  similar  purpose. 

In  turn  the  billiiird-room,  the  card-room, 
the  library,  the  smoking-room,  and  the 
coffee-room  were  invaded  by  the  physically 
unsound  and  were  lalwlled  accordingly.  At 
length  the  only  apartment  open  to  Jellybmnd 
was  the  committee-room.  All  the  others 
bore  notices  which  excluded  the  able-bodied. 
And  of  tbe  commititee-roam  he  was  the  sole 
occnpant.  Here  in  solitude  and  gloom,  day 
after  day  he,  the  most  popular  member  of 
the  club,  read  do^y  notes  and   chit-chat 


"The  luU-poit«r  nuule  u  adininible  suggeetioa." 

abont  Cochins.  Prom  sheer  boredom  it 
fenced  that  he  examined  with  considerable 
care  the  Candidates'  Book.  And  he  fonnd  the 
study  interesting  and  snrprising.  Candidates 
whose  repnlations  reached  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth — soldiers,  actors,  dipiomatiBt«,anthors — 


seemed  to  have  been  entirely  unsupported 
except  by  proposer  and  seconder.  Against 
their  names  appeared  in  red  ink,  "Not 
elected,"  "Withdrawn  at  candidate's  request," 
"Withdrawn  by  proposer."  This  was  strange. 
Again,  the  candidatures  of  persons  whoso 
identity  he  igTiored,  were  supported  by  a 
pageful  of  hieroglyphic  autographs.  They 
obtained  a  verdict  of  "Elected,"  Clearly 
the  club  attempt«d  to  make  a  comer  in 
nonentitiea.  He  marvelled  how  he,  a 
celebrity  in  Cochin  circles,  a  well-known 
man  in  the  doggy  world,  had  ever  compassed 
his  admission.  He  would  turn  to  the  page 
containing  the  entry  relative  to  bis  case. 

Page  I  There  were  four  I  And  each  was 
BO  full  of  bescrabbled  signatures  that  it 
resembled  a  useless  piece  of  blotting-paper ! 

Apparently  every  member  of  the  club  had 
certified  his  ignorance  of  the  candidate's 
existence.  Jelljbrand  was  not  vain,  but 
...  he  felt  a  sensation  of  sorrow.  He 
was  the  noncTitity  of  nonentities,  and  after 
all  he  had  done  for  Cochins,  after  his  efforts 
in  the  Dachshnnd  line  ! 

Somewhat  galling. 

Still  be  did  not  cease  from  his  labonrs  for 
the  benefit  of  the  club. 

The  hall-porter  made  an  admirable  sugges- 
tion. He  explained  that  the  mortality  among 
the  members  was  alarming  ;  be  stated  that 
when  a  gentleman  died  on  the  club  premises, 
several  other  gentlemen  were,  as  eye-witnesses, 
summoned  to  attend  the  inquest.  In  so 
doing,  they  caught  chills  and  required  in- 
qaests  of  their  own  ;  in  fact,  inquest  bred 
inquest.  The  porter  suggested  the  remedy 
.  .  .  and  the  honour  belongs  to  him.  But 
Jellyhrand  perfected  the  scheme.  He  wrote 
to  uie  proper  authority  (who,  although  he 
did  not  suspect  it,  was  a  member  of  the 
Forum),  stating  bis  case,  with  statistics. 

The  proper  authority  referred  him  to  the 
local  authority,  a  member  of  the  Forum. 
(All  local  authorities  who  are  worth  their 
salt  are  members  of  the  Forum.) 

Thus  it  happened  that  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  (for  a  business  nation)  it  was 
arranged  that  all  inquests  on  members  of  the 
Forum  should  take  place  in  the  club  building. 

Jelljbrand,  the  omnipotent,  set  apart  the 
committee-room  for  the  purpose  of  a  mor- 
tuary, labelled  it 

INQUESTS   ONLY 

and  sat  in  the  ball  to  read  abont  dc^  and 
Cochins.  Occasionally  he  talked  to  the 
servant*,  for,  as  an  able-bodied  man,  he  was 
cut  off  from  the  society  of  tlie  members. 


210 


THE    WINDSOR  MAGAZTNE, 


But  he  reflected  that  it  was  absurd  to  pay 
a  subscriptioQ  to  a  club  in  order  to  sit  in  the 
hall.  It  would  be  cheaper  to  buy  the 
Poultry  News  and  the  Daily  Dachshund^ 
and  read  these  enterprising  journals  in  the 
waiting-room  at  Charing  Cross.  Still,  he 
had  done  so  much  for  the  club  that  he  had 
grown  fond  of  it. 

On  the  last  Wednesday  in  December,  the 
general  committee  sat  at  5.80,  an  hour  by 
which  all  the  inquests  had  been  concluded. 
Amongst  the  candidates  figured  "George 
Jellybrand,"  and  eight  pages  of  signatures 
supported  his  claim  to  membership. 

Jelly  brand  (in  the  chair)  expressed  aston- 
ishment at  the  strength  of  the  backing. 

The  General  explained  matters.  Said 
he — 

"  My  dear  old  fellow,  any  relative  of  yours 
...  I  got  eveiybody  to  support  him." 

The  prebendary,  smiling  with  ecstatic 
benevolence — 


"  You  have  done  so  much  for  the  club. 


n 


The  professor — 

" *  Modem  Microbes.' " 

The  judge  (brightly)  — 

"  A  chip  of  the  old  block." 

Dr.  Disney  Lincoln — 

"  I  hear  he  takes  some  sort  of  interest  in 
Bunkhum  ...  I  remember  being  told 
that  he   .    .    . " 

Thereon  Jellybrand  (who  had  done  so 
much  for  the  club)  said  firmly — 

**  This  man  is  no  relative  of  mine.  .  .  . 
I  shall  blackball  him.  ...  If  I  have  done 
anything  at  all  for  the  club,  I  think  it  is  joar 
duty  to  blackball  him.  .  .  .  Why  should 
anybody,  simply  because  he  has  the  same 
name  as  myself,  come  here  and  talk  nonsense 
to  me  ?  " 

»  «  •  «  * 

This  is  the  real  reason  why  George  Jelly- 
brand,  the  greatest  scientist  the  world  has 
ever  known,  was  unanimously  blackballed 
at  the  Forum  Club.  It  is  well  that  he 
should  know  it. 


THE   KEY. 

I  CLOSED  my  heart  with  a  lock  of  gold« 
'    A  lock  and  a  key  and  a  golden  chain ; 

But  all  my  care  was,  alas !  in  vain, 
For  1  ^ave  the  key  for  Love  to  hold— 
The  key  of  my  heart  with  the  lock  of  gold. 

Last  night  Love  brought  me  a  tearful  tale : 
"The  key  that  you  gave  is  lostl"  he  cried. 
*'Now,  how  shall  we  open  the  portals  wide?" 
And  he  wept  so  sore,  and  he  turned  so  pale, 
That  1  gave  my  trust  to  his  tearful  tale. 


To-day  came  one,  and  my  heart  cried  '*Stay! 
Break  open,  break  open  the  door  for  me." 
«'But  why,"  quoth  he,  ''when  1  held  the  key? 

Love  gave  it  to  me  but  yesterday." 

So  he  entered  him  in,  and  my  heart  said  '*Stay!" 


CHARLB5    FF0ULKE5. 


JAKE   WEBSTER'S    PAL 


A  BUSH  MYSTERY. 


By  JOHN  DOBSON. 


MARNEY  and  I  were  sitting  in  the 
verandah  at  Hope  Springs  one 
evening  early  in  November  five-and- 
twentj  years  ago.  He  was  more  uncom- 
municative than  ever.  There  he  sat,  pufl&ng 
away  at  his  pipe — my  pipe,  by  the  way — 
enjoying  my  "rough  cut,"  my  b^t  chair,  and, 
if  I  may  say  so,  my  society,  and  yet  frowning 
at  nothing,  hardly  condescending  to  reply  to 
any  remarks  of  mine,  and  absolutely  refusing 
to  look  up  when  I  tried  to  draw  his  attention 
to  the  glorious  sunset  that  was  beginning. 

There  was  not  the  semblance  of  a  cloud  to 
be  seen  anywhere,  but  the  atmosphere  in  all 
itB  pureness  was  glowing  with  the  most 
brilliant  golden  light  as  the  ball  of  fire 
slowly  sank  to  the  horizon.  Between  us 
and  the  sun,  as  far  as  we  could  see,  there  was 
nothing  but  scrub — ^low,  stunted,  uninterest- 
ing mallee-scmb,  with  here  and  there  a 
leaning  shea-oak,  blown  to  one  side  by  the 
Dorth  wind,  whose  scorchmg  blasts  its  youth 
had  been  unable  to  resist.  There  was  no 
green,  for  an  almost  rainless  winter  had 
brought  but  little  grass,  and  what  was  left 
of  tlmt  by  the  sheep  was  long  since  dried  to 
a  dirty  yellow  by  the  autumn  sun.  The  dull 
grey-blue  of  what  little  foliage  Australian 
trees  possess  lent  a  sombre  foreground  to 
the  brij^ht  scene  beyond,  and,  knowing  Marney 
as  I  did,  I  was  not  surprised  to  hear  him 
abuse  the  view  at  last. 

He  had  been  with  me  six  months  at  this 
time,  for  I  remember  it  was  on  the  first  of 
May  that  he  arrived  at  the  station,  bringing 
a  letter  of  introduction  to  me  from  the  late 
manager,  yet  we  were  hardly  greater  friends 
now  than  on  the  day  we  met.  A  fine,  hand- 
some man  he  was — six  foot  and  as  straight  as 
a  young  gum-tree,  dark  in  complexion,  with 
black  hair  and  moustache,  and  eyes  as  nearly 
black  as  could  be.  The  whitest  of  teeth 
showed  in  striking  contrast  whenever  he 
smiled  (which  was  very  seldom),  and  his 
voice  was  low  and  musical. 

Yet  there  was  something  in  his  manner — 
80  abrupt  at  times  and  so  cynical  always — 
that,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  sake  of  having 
a  companion  or  associate  of  some  sort  in  that 


lonely,  ont-of-the-way  place,  I  should  soon 
have  made  arrangements  for  his  departure. 
But  I  had  been  so  desolate  and  miserable 
during  the  short  time  I  was  alone  in  charge 
of  the  run  that  I  was  glad  of  what  little 
society  he  afforded  me,  even  as  I  had  wel- 
comed his  arrival.  What  his  history  was, 
why  he  came  to  Hope  Springs  to  learn  sheep- 
farming,  or  how  Simpson  came  to  know  him, 
had  never  reached  my  ears ;  for  Simpson 
was  drowned  while  fording  the  Darling  in 
flood  soon  after  he  gave  Marney  his  letter  to 
me,  and  Marney  himself  was  as  reticent  about 
his  past  career  as  man  could  be. 

All  that  he  ever  let  me  know  was  that 
he  was  born  in  Ireland,  had  lived  some  time 
in  France,  and  had  held  a  commission  in  a 
cavalry  regiment ;  and  these  facts  were  not 
directly  told  me — except  that  he  was  an  Irish- 
man and  that  his  home  was  in  County 
Kildare  ;  and  this  I,  in  truth,  rather  doubted, 
for  he  had  no  trace  of  a  brogue,  and  his  eyes 
were  not  blue  as  an  Irishman's  should  be. 
He  spoke  of  his  **  troop  "  once  or  twice,  and 
he  certainly  had  a  military  seat  in  the  saddle. 
As  for  his  having  lived  in  France — he  fre- 
quently, in  his  more  sociable  moods,  referred 
to  various  friends  in  Rouen  and  showed  a 
rather  more  intimate  knowledge  of  that  city 
— where  I  once  spent  a  month — than  as  short 
a  visit  as  that  could  have  given  him.  But 
whenever  I  asked  him — and  quite  innocently 
enough — anything  about  his  life,  he  would 
half  close  his  eyes  and  look  hard  at  me  for  a 
few  seconds,  then  say  with  a  jerk  of  his 
broad  shouldei'S  :  "  Pourqvoi  ?  "  and  change 
the  subject.  Occasionally  it  seemed  to  me 
that  his  expression  and  manner  were  those  of 
a  hunted  man,  so  alert  was  he  to  the  slightest 
sound  and  so  curious  as  to  its  cause  ;  and  he 
always  carried  a  revolver.  But  I  am  no 
great  judge  of  character,  and  the  latter  habit 
I  attributed  to  the  well-known  ideas  with 
which  all  "  new  chums  "  begin  their  bush  life. 

What  annoyed  me  most  was  his  continual 
disparagement  of  the  country  which  he  had 
apparently  come  to  of  his  own  free  will,  and 
which  I  supposed  he  was  quite  at  liberty  to 
leave  whenever  he  got  tired  of  it,   for  he 


211 


212 


TBE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


never  wearied  of  quoting  in  his  sneering  way 
a  sentence  of  Marcus  Clarke's  :  "  A  land  where 
the  trees  give  no  shade,  the  birds  have  no 
song,  the  flowers  no  scent,  and  whose  animals 
have  not  yet  leamt  to  walk  on  all-fours." 
"Benighted — behind  the  times  a  million 
years,"  he  would  add,  and  I  only  provoked 
him  to  further  condemnation  and  more 
vehemence  when  I  pointed  out  that  locomo- 
tion on  two  legs  was  surely  an  advanced 
evolution  of  that  upon  four — at  least,  it  was 
in  the  life  of  man.  So  I  ceased  to  defend 
my  native  land,  which  I  believed  quite  able 
to  look  after  itself,  and  merely  expressed  the 
hope  that  in  time  he  would  become  acclima- 
tised in  mind  as  well  as  body. 

There  he  sat,  gazing  silently,  as  was  his 
wont,  at  a  ring  on  his  left  hand,  turning  and 
twisting  it  so  as  to  get  the  light  upon  every 
part  in  turn  of  the  blue  stone  with  which  it 
was  set,  as  if  some  hidden  secret  lay  therein 
which  might  by  chance  disclose  itself  some 
day  to  his  unwearied  watching. 

At  length  he  said  in  a  grumbling  tone  and 
without  raising  his  eyes  :  "  What  is  a  sunset 
without  clouds  ?  Not  worth  my  looking  at ; 
and  no  sign  of  rain  to  interest  you." 

I  made  no  reply,  and  neither  of  us  spoke 
for  about  five  minutes,  when  suddenly  he 
leapt  from  his  chair  and  cried  out :  "  Ha ! 
At  last  I  I  knew  it  would  be  soon.  Do  you 
see  ?  Do  you  see  ?  "  And  he  pointed  excitedly 
at  the  ring  on  his  finger  at  which  he  was 
staring  fixedly. 

"Do  you  see  how  green  that  stone  has 
turned  ?  I  must  leave  you  soon  and  go  back 
to  Rou — to  England.  That  is  my  destiny." 
He  was  calm  again,  though  his  hand  was 
trembling  a  little,  and  I  examined  the  stone 
closely.  It  certainly  had  a  greenish  look 
about  it,  but  I  suggested  that  it  might  be  the 
effect  of  the  very  yellow  light  of  the  sun 
upon  the  blue.  He  only  laughed  a  short,  dry 
laugh,  and  was  about  to  sit  down  again,  when 
he  gave  another  start,  threw  his  head  up, 
opened  wide  his  eyes,  and  said  quickly  in  a 
low  whisper  :  "  What's  that  ?  " 

I  listened,  but  could  hear  nothing. 

"  There's  someone  coming,"  he  added, 

I  strained  my  ears — watching  him  at  the 
time — but  could  detect  no  sound  but  liis 
ratlier  heavy  breathing.  His  right  hand 
was  behind  him,  and  he  quickly  drew  his 
revolver  as  a  dog  suddenly  appeared  at  the 
end  of  the  verandah.  It  was  a  collie  bitch, 
and  she  stood  watching  us  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  quietly  trotted  up  to  me,  taking  no 
notice  of  Marney  as  she  passed  him,  beyond 
giving   him  a  sidelong    glance,  and,  as   I 


thought,  rather  avoiding  him.  She  came  to 
my  side  and  put  her  nose  in  my  hand, 
standing  perfectly  still.  I  patted  her  head 
and  said  :  "  And  whose  dog  are  yon  ? "  Her 
tail  moved  good-naturedly,  and  I  stooped  to 
examine  her  collar.  It  was  made  of  green 
hide,  and  there  was  a  round  copper  disc 
riveted  to  it  that  looked  like  a  penny  from 
which  the  inscription  had  been  erased  by 
rubbing  it  on  a  stone,  and  the  letters  "  J.  V." 
were  roughly  engraved  in  its  place.  Mamey 
had  walked  to  the  comer  of  the  house  and 
was  looking  for  the  owner. 

"  Some  sundowner,  I  suppose,"  he  said, 
"who  is  making  himself  at  home  in  the 
kitchen  by  this  time." 

I  went  in  search,  the  collie  quietly  follow- 
ing me,  but  could  find  no  trace  of  anyone, 
nor  had  Jimmy,  the  knockabout  hand,  seen 
or  heard  any  signs  of  a  stranger  about. 

"  Where's  your  master,  old  woman  ? 
Find  him — hie  on  ! "  I  said,  wa\ing  my 
hand.  At  this  the  dog  gave  a  sharp  bark 
and  scampered  off  about  fifty  yards  to  the 
north  of  the  house  and  stood  there  watching 
me.  "  Find  him  !"  I  cried.  "Goon!"  She 
simply  barked  at  this — looking  first  at  me 
and  then  behind  her. 

"  She  wanta  us  to  foUer  'er,  that's  plain 
enough,"  said  Jimmy,  "  Shall  I  go  and  see 
what  it  is  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied.  "  Stick  the  saddle  on 
old  Bendigo,  and  I'll  go,"  and  I  was  soon 
jogging  along  at  a  boundary-riding  canter, 
with  the  collie  giving  me  a  lead  of  twenty 
lengths,  an  J  ever  and  again  turning  her  head 
to  utter  a  word  of  encouragement  in  the 
shape  of  a  short  bark.  When  I  had  gone 
about  three  miles,  I  pulled  up,  seeing  she  had 
done  the  same — ^and  "  Coo-ee'd."  Back 
came  an  answering  "  Coo-ee  "  at  once,  and 
she  immediately  disappeared  in  the  scrub, 
barking  loudly.  I  followed  the  sounds  and 
soon  came  upon  an  old  man  sitting  under  a 
ti-tree  with  his  swag  beside  him. 

"  Hullo  !  what's  up  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  put  my  foot  in  a  rabbit-hole  about 
half  a  mile  back,  and  think  I've  sprained  my 
ankle." 

"  And  you  sent  your  dog  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"I  think  Nan  went  of  her  own  accord 
while  I  was  asleep — I  didn't  miss  her  till  I 
woke  up." 

"  Are  you  footing  it  to  Sydney,  or  looking 
for  a  job  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Sydney,"  was  his  curt  reply  ;  "  and  I  hope 
for  the  last  time." 

"  Well,  get  up,"  I  said.  It  was  quite 
evident  he  couldn't  walk,  for  he  coiiid  hanlly 


JAKE   WEBSTER 8  PAL 


213 


"'Hollo!  wluU'i  npV  I  Mkod." 

Stand,  so  I  helped  him  into  tlie  saddk, 
strapped  his  swag  to  it,  and  led  RundiHO  iKiok 
to  the  fltation.     On  the  way,  in  answer  to  my 

3 auctions,  he  told  me  that  liis  name  was 
ake  Webster,  that  he  was  making  hia 
thirteenth  attompt  to  f,'ct  to  Sydney,  that  he 
raight  ship  before  the  mast  tn  some  En>;Iish 
port  and  spend  his  last  days  in  the  Old 
Conntry.  As  we  drew  near  the  hoineatoad,  I 
could  see  Mamey  standing  in  the  verandah 
where  I  had  left  iiim,  watching  us  intently 
88  we  approached.  .\s  soon  as  he  hud  given 
the  old  man  a  good  look,  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  went  into  the  bouse  with  an  air  of 
relief. 
Webster's  foot  must   have   been  hurting 


)od  deal,  for  be  fainted 
te  Jimmy  and  I  got  htm 
hair  on  the  verandah. 
ame  out  again  and  stood 
ferently  to  watch  our 
9.  When  the  old  man's 
taken  off,  there  was  no 
at  his  ankle  was  very 
)ntiued,  and  that  he 
be  able  to  walk  for  some 
we  gave  him  a  bed  in 
e-room,  and  told  him  t« 
ope  tipriugB  until  he  was 
a^ain.  Not  that  there 
luch  chance  of  his  walk- 
l  off  before  that— but  I 
lad  taken  a  liking  to  the 
old  fellow  and  wanted 
to  make  him  feel  com- 
fortable. 

"  The  first  time  I 
ever  saw  anyone  but 
a    Chinaman    carry 
I       money  in  his  boots," 
was    Mamey's     re- 
mark on  sitting  down 
to  supper  ;   "  and  he 
soon   recovered,  I  no- 
ticed, when  you  began 
to  touch  them." 
During  the  next  few 
weeks  Marney's  manner 
md  actions  wer*  stranger 
an  ever.     For  days  he 
uld  be  absolutely  silent, 
I  he  would  have  a  spell 
ot  gaiety  and  go  about  the 
house  singing  and  whistling 
what  he  said  were  old  French 
aint,  bnt  which  seemed  to  me 
to  have  very  little  tune  in  them. 
Then  be  would  shut  up  again  and 
mope  by  himself  about  the  stock- 
yard.    When  he  did  speak,  it  was  about  his 
going  away,  which  be  said  would  be  about 
Christmas;  but  he  would  not  fix  a  day  for 
his   departure,  saying  that  he  wasn't  really 
feeling  well  enough  to  go  yet  awhile. 

As  Welwter's  leg  Iwgau  to  mend  he  used 
to  hobble  ulx)ut  and  do  what  odd  jobs  he 
coidd  find,  deeming  to  want  to  earn  his  boai'd 
anil  Imlging  in  some  way,  and  to  show  his 
gratitude,  which  I  am  sure  he  felt  for  the 
sympathy  my  few  little  kindnesses  showed 
h'im.  in  the  evenings  be  used  to  t<;ll 
Marncy  and  me  stories  of  his  past  life  in 
the  biieh,  and  what  his  plans  and  ho|>eB  were 
for  the  few  remaining  yeiirs  of  his  life.  He 
was  born  in  Lancashire ;  and  wheu  he  was 


214 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


three  years  old,  his  father,  a  cotton  spinner, 
driven  to  des})emtion  by  hunger  and  want, 
the  result  of  some  labour  troubles  at  the 
time  due  to  the  introduction  of  machinery, 
had  stolen  a  sack  of  flour  and  been  trans- 
ported for  life.  Fifteen  years  later  his 
dying  mother  had  made  him  promise  to  go 
to  his  convict  father  in  Australia  with  a 
message  of  her  love  and  devotion,  and  he 
had  stmightway  set  out  for  Botany  Bay. 

He  had  found  his  father  on  his  death- 
bed, but  was  in  time  to  deliver  the  message 
and  see  him  die  in  peace  and  happiness. 
Then  he  went  up  country  and  had  never  set 
eyes  on  Sydney  since  ;  but  the  one  hope  of 
his  life  had  been  to  go  home  to  England, 
see  his  mother's  grave,  and  be  buried  by  her. 
Time  after  time  at  intervals  of  three  and 
four  years,  during  which  he  had  carefully 
saved  all  his  w^es,  had  he  set  forth  on  his 
jouiTiey,  but  had  never  been  able  before  this 
to  keep  clear  of  the  shanties,  and  it  had 
been  the  old,  old  story  with  him,  of  putting 
up  at  the  first  grog-hut  he  came  to,  and 
steadily  drinking  in  fire-water  all  his  hard- 
earned  savings  until  there  was  nothing  left 
but  for  him  to  turn  back  and  put  in  another 
three  years  of  boundary  riding  and  shearing. 
Many  a  shanty  had  he  passed  this  time, 
whose  keepers,  recognising  an  old  customer, 
and  a  good  one,  had  almost  resorted  to  force 
to  persuade  him  to  turn  in  and  drink.  But 
he  was  safe  so  far  now,  and  had  only  four 
days'  walking  to  take  him  to  Barnacool, 
whence  the  coach  started  for  Black  Swamp, 
the  nearest  railway  station,  on  the  line  to 
Sydney. 

On  December  22nd  he  left  Hope  Springs, 
so  as  to  be  in  Barnacool  on  Christmas  Day. 
We  had  fed  him  well,  filled  his  swag  with 
food,  and  told  him  where  he  might  find  water 
on  the  way,  and  the  old  chap  walked  off,  with 
Nan  by  liis  side,  as  happy  as  a  king.  During 
the  whole  time  he  was  with  us  Nan  had 
hardly  left  him  for  a  minute  ;  she  was  his 
only  pal  in  the  world,  he  said,  and  had  saved 
his  life  once  before  the  day  she  led  me  to 
him.  When  they  were  nearly  out  of  sight,  I 
saw  her  stop  and  look  back  for  an  instant, 
and  then  turning  again,  she  and  her  old 
master  were  soon  lost  to  view. 

Naturally  enough,  that  evening  I  began  to 
talk  to  Marney  about  our  two  late  guests,  and 
said  I  hoped  old  Jake  would  have  his  dearest 
wish  gratified  ;  but  I  was  rebuked. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  don't  feel  the  slightest 
interest  in  him.  I  am  too  much  occupied 
with  my  own  plans  for  the  future  to  care 
twopence  about  his,"  was  his  remark. 


"  And  what  might  they  be  ?  "  I  asked, 
surprised  at  my  boldness  in  doing  so. 

*'  I  leave  •  early  to-morrow  morning  for 
Sydney ;  and  if  you  can  let  me  have  my  two 
horses  by  then,  I  shall  be  much  obliged." 

It  must  be  said  that  this  was  rather  short 
notice  ;  but  I  was  really  so  relieved  at  the 
idea  of  his  going — his  behaviour  had  been 
so  disagreeable  of  late  —  that  I  readily 
acquiesc^,  and  told  Jimmy  to  have  his  saddle 
and  packhorses  ready  by  sunrise.  When  I 
awoke  next  day,  he  had  gone,  without  a  word 
of  thanks  for  anything  I  had  done  for  him— 
without  even  saying  "  Good-bye." 

What  I  thought  of  him  I  needn't  say  now. 
I  was  alone  again  and  I  did  miss  him  at  firet 
a  good  deal ;  but  we  got  through  more  work 
without  him,  and  in  time  I  ce^jsed  to  think 
of  him  at  all. 

Christmas  Eve  came,  one  of  the  hottest 
days  I  can  remember.  Bain  was  wanted 
badly  :  the  sheep  were  dying  all  over  the 
run ;  everything  was  literally  burnt  up. 
About  midday  Jimmy  came  in  to  tell  me  that 
a  few  clouds  which  had  appeared  in  the 
morning — white  ones,  and  miles  away  from 
the  earth  which  desired  them  so  —  were 
darkening  a  little  and  getting  nearer.  Four 
or  five  hours  later  a  slight  breeze  sprang  np, 
but  soon  died  away  without  a  sound.  Yet 
this  was  enough  to  give  us  hope  ;  and  when  a 
little  later  the  air  began  to  get  sticky,  we 
knew  that  rain  was  coming — more  or  less  of 
it-  -that  night.  And  it  did  come.  Without 
a  breath  of  wind  apparently  to  bring  it,  it 
suddenly  poured  down  upon  the  parched 
ground  in  torrents.  Huge  black  thunder- 
clouds darkened  the  sky  and  shed  seas  upon 
seas,  as  it  seemed,  almost  before  one  ooold 
realise  what  was  happening.  Thump  — 
thump— thump  it  fell  at  first  upon  the  soft 
dust  of  months  ;  then  splash,  and  sounds  of 
pouring,  nishing  water  everywhere.  I  lit  my 
lamp  and  sat  down  in  the  chair  Mamey  used 
to  prefer,  to  listen  to  that  heavenly  music. 

What  was  that  ?  A  curious  sound  of 
scratching  at  the  door— a  pause — and  it  was 
repeated  with  a  low  moan.  "I  hope  to 
goodness  that  isn't  wind,"  I  said  to  mjwlf 
as  I  went  towards  the  window  ;  "  for  we  may 
as  well  have  as  much  rain  as  there  is  in  the 
sky  to-night,  here  where  it  is  most  needed." 
I  opened  the  door  and  stepped  out  on  to  the 
verandah.  Not  a  breath  of  wind,  and 
nothing  to  be  seen  or  heard  but  the  raiu— 
the  rain — the  rain.  I  had  just  thrown  ray- 
self  again  into  my  chair  and  was  beginning 
to  wonder  whether  the  new  dam  would  hold 
water  all  right,  when  for  the  third  time  I 


JAKE   WEBSTER'S  PAL, 


215 


heard  the  same  scratching  and  scraping  at 
fche  door.  I  threw  it  wide  open,  took  the 
lamp  on  to  the  verandah  and  looked  carefully 
for  marks  and  for  some  cause  of  the  noise, 
but  could  find  nothing.  I  was  on  the  point 
of  closing  the  door,  when  from  far  out  in  the 
raJD  there  came  a  long,  melancholy  howl,  a 
weird  kind  of  inhuman  wail  that  so  startled 
me  I  almost  dropped  the  lamp.  However, 
after  listening  intently  for  an  hour  and 
hearing  nothing  more,  I  put  it  down  to 
imagination  and  went  to  bed.  But  not  to 
deep.  For  a  long  time  I  lay  awake,  wondering 
what  that  cry  could  have  been,  until  at  last 
the  comfortmg  sound  of  Heaven's  down- 
pouring  lulled  me  into  unconsciousness. 
Aboat  daybreak  its  sudden  stopping  awoke 
me,  and  I  rose  hurriedly  to  see  the  effect  of 
the  night's  work  and  look  out  for  any  leak- 
age there  might  be  in  the  tanks  or  dams.  I 
conid  find  no  trace  or  sign  of  anything  to 
explain  the  noises  that  had  so  mystified  me, 
and  they  soon  passed  from  my  mind  alto- 
gether. 

#  *  *  *  * 

The  Old  Year  out  and  the  New  Year  in  — 
and  the  New  Year  nearly  out  again  I     For 
twelve  uneventful  months  had  passed  very 
quickly  with  the  best  of  seasons  that  had 
ever  been  known  at  Hope  Springs,  and  it 
was  already  Christmas  Eve  agam  !     Could  it 
be  possible  ?    Yes  !    For  time  flies  like  a 
wild  turkey  when  all  goes  well,  and  I  had 
almost  forgotten  to  count  the  days  in  their 
prosperity.      My  accounts  for  the  closing 
year  were  completed,  and   I  congratulated 
myself  and  the  owner  on  the  very  handsome 
balance  standing  to  his  credit,  as  I  put  the 
books  on  their  shelf.     It  was  getting  late, 
but  before  turning  in  I  thought  I  would  just 
have  a  look  through  the  diary  I  had  begun 
two  years  before  on  my  arrival  at  Hope 
Springs.     The  entries  which  were  not  con- 
nected with  the  business  of  the  run  struck  me 
for  the  first  time  as  having  mainly  to  do  with 
the  taking  of  life  in  some  way  or  other,  and 
I  rather  reproached  myself  with  having  been 
the  means  of  killing — however  justifiably — 
so  many  of  God's  creatures. 

"January  9th. — My  mare  Polly,  that  I 
bought  for  £20  at  Bamacool  on  my  way  up, 
broke  her  1^  in  a  water-hole.  Had  to  shoot 
her. 

"  March  28th. — Shot  a  ]brace  of  wild  duck 
on  Howard's  BiUabong. 

"  March  81st.— Found  two  cast  sheep  in 
the  home  paddock  and  shot  them. 

"April  14th. — Caught  an  eagle-hawk  in  a 
iabbit-tra^>.   Jimmy  is  going  to  stuff  it  for  me. 


"  April  30th. — Killed  a  silver  snake  in  the 
dry  creek — five  feet. 

"  May  1st. — Marney  arrived. 

"May  15. — Marney  and  I  shot  fifteen 
rabbits  each." 

And  so  on. 

The  next  entry  that  I  paused  over  was 
"  November  7th,"  d^cribing  the  finding  of 
Jake  Webster  with  the  aid  of  Nan.  Then 
came  "  December  22nd. — Jake  Webster  and 
his  dog  Nan  left  for  Bamacool.  December 
28rd. — Marney  left  early  in  the  morning 
without  saying '  Good-bye.'  December  24th. 
— Christmas  Eve.  Splendid  rains  at  last. 
Began  at  five  and  lasted  twelve  hours.  About 
11  p.m.  heard  a  queer  scratching  sound  at 
the  door,  and  a  strange  cry,  as  if  about 
half  a  mile  away.  Couldn't  understand  it. 
Probably  some  effect  of  the  rain  in  the 
dry  watercourses." 

My  clock  struck  eleven  as  I  read  this. 
"  Exactly  a  year  ago  to  the  minute,"  I  said 
to  myself  ;  "  but  what  a  different  night !  " 
for  the  full  moon  was  so  bright  and  the  sky 
so  clear  that  one  could  see  almost  as  far  and 
as  well  as  by  daylight.  I  laughed  aloud  at 
the  thought  of  mv  scare ;  but  my  laughter 
was  cut  short  and  the  book  fell  from  my 
nerveless  hands  as  I  sat  almost  paralysed — 
unable  for  a  moment  to  move  a  muscle.  The 
very  same  sound  again  !  Scratch — ^scratch  ! 
And  a  long,  low,  piteous  howl  in  the  stillness 
of  the  night !  What  could  it  be  ?  What 
could  it  mean  ? 

I  know  that  when  I  did  open  the  door,  it 
was  done  with  some  hesitation,  for  there  was 
time  for  me  to  feel  my  heart  ramming 
against  my  ribs  as  if  it  meant  to  crack  one  of 
them.  Think,  then,  of  the  relief — nay,  joy- 
that  was  mine  when  I  beheld  Nan  crouching 
on  the  verandah  and  wagging  her  tail  with 
delight  at  seeing  me  again !  I  recognised 
her  at  once  and  went  towards  her  to  stroke 
her  old  head  and  say  :  "  How  do  you  do  ?  " 
But  she  jumped  back  and  stood  a  few  paces 
away  from  me  and  whined. 

"Well,  old  lady?"  I  said.  "Where's 
Jake  ? "  and  I  looked  across  the  moonlit 
plain  for  him.  For  answer  Nan  quietly 
moved  a  yard  or  two  further  and  looked  in 
the  same  direction.  But  there  was  no  Jake 
to  be  seen  ;  and  when  I  repeated  the  question 
she  scampered  off  as  she  had  done  a  year 
before,  and  looking  back  at  me  barked  once 
or  twice,  as  if  to  say  :  "  Step  this  way,  please." 
I  "  Coo-ee'd  "  several  times,  but  there  was  no 
response,  and  we  mechanically  walked  round 
to  the  stable  to  saddle  Bendigo,  again  wonder- 
ing how  far  we  should  have  to  go  to  find  the 


216 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


old  man.  "  Poor  old  chap  I "  I  thought. 
"He's  never  got  as  far  as  Sydney.  Spent 
all  his  money  long  ago,  I  expect,  and  is 
working  his  way  back  to  Cowley's  Creek  to 
begin  saving  again.  Poor  devil  I  Queer 
that  he  should  strike  Hope  Springs  again, 
though,  as  it's  not  in  the  track." 

As  I  mounted  Bendigo,  Nan,  who  had 
silently  watched  me  saddle  him,  gave  a  bark 
of  approbation ;  but  the  old  horse  put  his 
ears  forward,  snorted,  and  refused  to  move, 
and  it  was  only  by  giving  him  several  sharp 
digs  with  my  heels  and  a  smack  with  the 
whip  that  I  got  him  to  start.  This  be- 
haviour of  his  was  so  unusual  that  at  first  I 
thought  that  he,  like  Nan,  had  something  to 
say,  and  wished  to  make  a  distinct  protest 
against  being  disturbed  at  night  in  this  way ; 
but  after  we  had  gone  a  mile  or  so  he  became 
so  restless  and  fidgety,  and  sniffed  at  the 
pure  air  so  hard,  that  I  began  to  be  rather 
anxious  to  know  how  my  midnight  ride  was 
going  to  end.  Could  it  be  that  Jake  had  left 
Nan  behind,  and  that  someone  else  now 
possessed  her  ?  If  so,  her  new  owner  might 
not  care  to  be  introduced  by  his  dog  to  a 
perfect  stranger,  and  might  resent  my  visit 
in  more  ways  than  one  1  But  Nan's  be- 
haviour removed  all  my  suspicions  or  fears, 
whichever  they  were,  and  she  was  evidently 
80  much  in  earnest  that  I  hurried  old  Ben- 
digo on,  hoping  to  solve  the  mystery  as  soon 
as  possible.  But  it  was  not  to  be  yet  awhile, 
for  after  we  had  gone  between  five  and  six 
miles  she  was  still  ahead,  and  if  I  stopped,  as 
we  did  two  or  three  times,  she  would  stand 
and  whine  and  bark,  and  show  her  impatience 
to  be  on  the  move  again.  Bendigo  didn't 
like  this  at  all,  and,  whenever  she  did  it, 
would  start,  throw  up  his  head,  and  snort  in 
fear. 

Fifteen  miles  I  thought  quite  far  enough, 
but  Nan  did  not,  and  so  I  decided  to  go  as 
far  as  the  big  White  Gum,  which  marked  the 
twentieth  from  the  homestead. 

The  night  was  a  brilliant  one — moon  and 
stars  doing  their  very  best  to  make  amends 
for  the  sun's  absence,  and  though  the 
shadows  were  black,  the  night  was  good 
enough  to  see  anything  worth  seeing. 

Nan  began  to  increase  her  pace  now,  but 
I  did  not,  and  she  was  soon  out  of  sight  in 
the  scrub.  I  pulled  up  to  whistle  for  her, 
but  before  I  could  do  so  she  seemed  to  know 
I  had  stopped,  for  she  gave  a  howl  that  made 
Bendigo  tremble,  and  soon  appejired  in  the 
track  again. 

On  we  went.  Nan  every  now  and  then 
whining  ;  and,  at  last,  as  we  were  almost  in 


sight  of  the  White  Gum,  she  positively  b^aj 
to  cry —at  least,  I  never  heard  anything  more 
like  the  sound  of  a  woman  weeping.    Her 
voice  was  almost  human,  and  when  at  length 
we  reached  a  small  open  space  to  the  left  of 
the  track,  it  became  so  pathetic  that  I  in 
stinctively  felt  there  was  misery  at  hand. 
We  had  pulled  up  on  the  edge  of  what  looked 
like  a  small  clearing  ;  it  was  in  reality  a  bare 
patch  in  the  scrub  about  an  acre  in  extent, 
with  an  old  dead  tree  standing  near  the 
middle  of  it. 

Nan  offered  no  objection  to  our  stopping, 
and  herself  stood  quite  still  between  me  and 
the  tree. 

I  gave  a  short "  Coo-ee  1 "  expecting  to  hear 
old  Jake  answer  it  at  once,  but  there  was  no 
reply.  Again  I  called — Bendigo  was  listen- 
ing for  all  he  was  worth — and  my  ears  were 
straining  their  utmost  to  catch  any  sound 
that  might  come  ;  but  no,  there  was  none. 
Again  for  the  third  time,  and  as  loudly  and 
as  long  as  my  lungs  were  able  :  again  dead 
silence.  Nan  was  listening,  too,  standing  as 
still  as  a  statue,  her  head  lowered,  her  tail 
stiffened  out  straight,  and  her  hair  up. 

"  Where  is  he,  Nan  ?  Good  dog,  find 
him  !  "  I  said. 

But  she  remained  motionless,  staring 
fixedly  at  the  old  tree  trunk,  which  stood 
white  in  the  moonlight,  casting  a  deep  black 
shadow  beyond. 

I  jump^  out  of  the  saddle  and  was  about 
to  lead  Bendigo  forward,  when  Nan  raised 
her  head  in  the  air,  dropped  her  tail,  uttered 
the  most  mournful  moan  I  ever  h^rd,  and 
slowly  walked  with  hanging  head  towards  the 
tree.     Bendigo  started,  swerved,  reared,  and 
broke  away  and  galloped  off  in  the  direction 
of  home.     I  heard  the  thud  of  his  hoofs  die 
away  in  the  distance,  and  then  I  followed 
Nan,  drawn  as  it  seemed  by  some  irresistible 
power  to  where  she  stood  looking  back  at  me 
with  plaintive,  sorrowful  eyes  close  by  the 
tree.    As  I  approached  it,  I  saw  that  in  years 
gone  by  its  trunk  had  been  hollowed  by  the 
blacks  with  fire,  making  a  wurley  about  eight 
feet  across  in  which  a  whole  family  might 
live.     When  I  was  within  half-a-<lozen  st^pe 
of  Nan,  she  quietly  walked  inside,  and  I  went 
to  the  opening  and  looked   in.    My  heart 
stopped,  the  blood  froze  in  my  veins,  and 
a  cold  sweat  broke  out    on  my  face.      I 
staggered  and  gasped,  yet  I  could  not  move 
my  eyes  from  the  awful  sight  that  met  them 
— awful  in  its  mystery  as  in  its  reality.     For 
there  in  the  bright  light  of  the  setting  moon 
lay  the  skeletons  of  two  bodies — of  a  man  and 
a  dog.    Nan  in  the  flesh  had  vanished,  bat 


218 


THE    WINDSOR   MAGAZINE. 


there  rested  her  poor  old  bones  by  the  side 
of  her  dear  master's.  Jake  Webster,  sure 
enough,  in  his  cabbage-tree  hat  and  mole- 
skins, and  Nan  with  her  green-hide  collar 
and  the  penny  on  it. 

How  long  I  stood  gazing  fixedly  into,  the 
charred  cavern  of  death  I  know  not.  I  was 
roused  by  the  familiar  neigh  of  Bendigo,  who 
had  come  back,  and  turning,  I  4eft  the  tree 
with  its  gruesome  contents  to  mount  him 
again.  As  1  did  so,  my  foot  struck  against 
something  hard,  and  looking  down,  I  Siuv  an 
old  blucher  boot— one  of  Jake's,  evidently — 
as  botli  of  his  had  been  removed. 

Riding  liomewards,  I  found  it  easy  to  solve 
the  mystery  of  the  old  man's  death.  His 
ankle  had  given  way  again,  he  had  crawled 
as  far  as  his  strength  allowed  towards  Hope 
Springs,  and,  being  unable  to  get  any 
further,  had  died  of  starvation.  And  Nan 
had  never  left  him.  But  the  mystery  of 
Nan's  ghost  I  do  not  attempt  to  explain  ;  it 
was  one  of  those  manifestations,  I  take  it, 
which  at  times  an  all-wise  Providence  sees 


fit  to  make   unto  us,  leaving  us  to  marvel 
at  it. 

The  next  day  Jimmy  and  I  drove  out  to  the 
White  Gum  and  buried  all  that  reroainel  of 
the  two  comrades,  but  I  saw  no  barm  in 
keeping  Nan's  collar — which  now  hangs  over 
my  mantelshelf  and  recalls,  whenever  I  look 
at  it,  the  weirdest  night's  work  that  has  ever 
been  mine. 

«  «  *  *  * 

Five  years  later  I  read  in  the  Barnacool 
Standard  and  Minin//  News  that  a  prospecting 
party  had  found  in  the  bush  about  thirty 
miles  to  the  north-west  of  Baraacool— and 
nearly  as  far  from  any  track,  the  skeleton  of 
a  man — on  which  there  was  nothing  that 
might  serve  to  identify  it  but  a  gold  ring  set 
with  a  green  stone. 

A  billy-can  that  lay  close  by  contained  a 
bundle  of  banknotes,  and  on  its  outeide  was 
loughly  scratched  this  strange  inscription- 
Bashed — no    water — dying.     I    shot  Jake 
Webster  for  his  money  on  Christmas  Etc. 

Jean  Maiuikt. 


THE    CASTLE. 

I  SAW  a  Castle  in  the  fire, 

*     And  twenty  Knights  go  riding  in ; 

it  had  three  turrets  stiff  and  straight, 

And  a  tower  as  thin  as  thin ; 

And,  by  its  gates,  a  winding  stair: 

1  Icnew  some  Witch  5at  watching  there. 

She  had  three  jewels  in  her  cap. 
And  two  were  fire,  and  one  was  flame; 
And  I  icnew  the  Flowers  upon  her  breast 
Were  Those  that  Have  no  Name ; 
There  was  a  Wind  that  blew  her  cloak 
And  turned  her  breathing  into  smoke. 


I  saw  the  windows  flash  with  fire, 
Because  the  Sun  had  fallen  low; 
And  twenty  Knights  went  riding  out 
Just  as  fast  as  they  could  go; 
And  though  I  blew  with  all  my  might. 
They  turned  to  ashes  in  their  flight. 


AQNE3   OROZIER    HERBERTSON. 


RAILWAY    TOWNS.* 


By   CHARLES    H.    GRINLING. 


ONE  of  the  most  strikinf;  features  of  niil- 
wav  eniplojineiit  is  tlic  wny  in  which 
large  bodies  of  lucn,  engaged  in  the 
senico  of  »  single  company,  are  grouped 
U^ether  so  a8  to  form,  in  several  cases,  the 
majoritv  of  the  male  population  of  the  town 
in  H'hic^  they  reside.  Such  towns  iis  Swindon, 
Crewe. Wolverton,Horttich,and  Eostleighowc 
their  existence,  indeed,  to  the  fact  that  they 
Jwe  great  railway  centres  ;  whilst  others,  like 
Derby,  Doncaster,  York,  and  Gateshead,  have 
taken  on  a  new  charucter  since  railway  head- 
ijoarters  were  eRtablished  in  their  midst. 
Swindon,  where  the  locomotive-,  carriage-, 
and  w^on-worfcs  of  the  Great  Western  are 
Kitoated,  has  grown  in  siity  years  from  iv 
Wllage  into  a  corporate  town  of  oO,iHMi 
inhabitant*,  l.l.dOi)  of  which  are  in  the 
direct  employ  of  the  railway  company,  whose 
wages  biU  at  this  centre  alone  amounts  to 
£16,1100  per  week.  The  centre  of  the 
edocational  and  social  activities  of  the  town 
is  the"G.\V.R.  Swindon  Mechanics'  Insti- 
tntion,"  which  was  "instituted  on  the  8th 
day  of  Januar)',  1844,  for  tlie  purpose  of 
disBemioating  useful  knowledge  and  en- 
couraging rational  amusement  amongst  all 
classes  of  people  employed  by  the  Great 
Western  Railway  Companv,"  In  pursuance 
uf  these  objects,  it  provides  circulating  and 
reference  libraries,  reading-rooms— one  of 
which,  the  newspaper-room,  is  probably  the 
finest  of  its  kind  m  the  country — rooms  for 


billiards,  chess,  draughts,  and  other  games,  a 
lai^e  ball  for  niiisiud,  draniutic,  and  other 
entertainments,  a  lecture-hall,  in  which  series 
of  popular  lectures  are  annually  given,  and 
cluss-iooms  for  educational  purposes.  The 
sutecription  for  Great  Western  men  ranges 
from  fourpence  to  t«n|x;nce  per  month,  while 
persons  not  employed  by  the  company  are 
admitted  on  annual  payments  ranging  from 
live  shillings  to  twel>'e  and  sixpence.  Lady 
memlwrs  are  welcomed,  not  only  from 
amongst  the  female  einployes  of  the  company, 
but  also  relatives  and  friends  of  the  male 
ser^'ants  ;  and  a  special  ladies'  reading-room 
is  provided,  which  is  furnished  and  equipped 
to  suit  the  feminine  taste. 

In  addition  to  the  varied  and  constant 
everyday  work  of  the  institute,  there  are  two 
great  annnal  functions  arranged  under  its 
auspices.  The  one  is  the  juvenile  Jefe,  and 
the  other  the  annual  trip.  The  foniier  is 
held  ill  the  Park— the  gift  of  the  railway 
company  to  the  town— and  usually  takes 
place  in  August.  A  smalt  charge  is  made 
for  admission,  and  n  "  bumper  "  pn^ramme 
of  attractions  provided  throughout  the  after- 
noon and  evening  set  aside  for  the  gala. 
There  are  stage  performances  at  frequent 
intervals,  a  libera!  programme  of  music  by  a 
lirst-class  l>and,  and  a  grand  display  of 
fireworks  to  wind  up  the  day.  Rt'fR-shments 
are  provided  free  for  the  children,  and  last 
years  supply  inchided  no  less  than  three  tons 
of  cake,  each  portion  of  which  weighed  ')  lb, 
and  measured  SJ  in.  x  ftj  in.  X  .'ij  in. 

The  annual   trip  usually  takes  place  in 


220 


TBE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


July,  and  is  the  bi}a?c«t  thing  in  the  way 
of  (.'xcuraions  donu  in  this  country.  By  the 
generosity  of  the  railway  company,  there  nru 
free  trains  in  all  directioua,  and  everylxjdy 
who  cjn  possibly  leave  home  joins  in  the 
trip.  Last  year  no  less  than  28,145  persons 
took  part— 13,401  adults  and  9,744  children. 
There  were  throe  trains  to  Weston-super- 
Mare,  five  trains  to  Weymouth,  three  trains 
to  Ijondon,  one  train  to  Winchester,  one 
trttin  to  Birkenhead  viA  Worcester  and 
Chester,  and  another  to  Manchester  via. 
Itirminghani  and  Crewe,  three  trains  to 
South  Wales,  aud  four  trains  to  Exeter, 
Newton  Abbot,  and  Plymouth,  making  a 
total  of  twenty-one  special  traintt    in    alt. 


leaving  Swindon  between  4  a.m.  and  7  a.m. 
on  that  eventful  July  morning.  Some  of 
the  passengers  returned  the  same  day,  others 
stayed  away  as  long  as  a  week,  and  all 
travelled  free,  provided  they  conformed  to 
the  regulations  and  used  only  the  trains 
speeitied  in  the  programme.  W  hatever  may 
lie  the  drawliacks  of  life  in  a  railway  town— 
and  it  cannot  be  said  that  such  places  arc 
ideal  for  rarmanent  residence — the  oppor- 
tunities wnich  railway  emploijes  enjoy  of 
getting  away  from  home  are  unique.  Apart 
from  such  special  excursions  as  the  Swindon 
annual  trip,  all  servants  of  railway  com|ianii-s 
thniughout  the  United  Kingdom,  with  a  few 
escejitions,  enjoy  the  advantage  of  Iwing 
able  to  obtain  privilege  tickets  over  the  lines 
of  any  company  attiliiiteil  to  this  scheme  at 


one-i]uarter  the  ordinary  fare.  The  salnried 
stuff  also  R'ceive  free  passes  for  their  annual 
holidays. 

Another   most   beneficent    institution  at 
Swindon  is  the  G.W.R.  Medical  FuDd  Societj, 
which  has  no  less  than  eleven  docton  on  its 
staff,  besides  a  dental  sni^eon,  an  aflgifilant 
dentist,  and  seven  dispensers.     There  is  a 
well-appointed  cott^e  hospital  in  connection 
with  this  society,  which  also  owns  a  cwn- 
modious  dispensary,  washing-  and  Tmkish* 
liaths,    swimniing-buths,  hairdressing-   and 
shaving-saloons,  and  a  dentistry,  and  pro- 
vides  invalid-chairs  for  the   Itenefit  of  its 
uieml>era.     Sultscriptions    are     also    made 
through  the  funds  to  a  number  of  hospitAb 
and  convalescent 
homes.  Membership 
of    this    society  is 
compulsory  upon 
employes   of   the 
Great  Western  Rail- 
way Company  in 
the  town,  and  it  is 
managed  on  a  self- 
Hupporting  basis  h; 
a  committee  of  ihe 
mem  Iters.      It  was 
established  as  lonf! 
^o  aa    1847,  and 
has  done  an  incal- 
culable amount  of 
good  work. 

The  London  and 
North  -  Western 
Railway  C-ompany 
differs  from  the 
Great   Western    m 

{I'roUune  i  SimDm,  Surindan.         not      COIlcen bating; 

m,  gwiHDOB,  n.  w.  R.  its  plant  works  in 

a  single  centre. 
There  are  not  one,  Imt  three  "  raiU-ay 
towns,"  on  the  North -Western  system— 
viz.,  Crewe,  in  Cheshire,  where  the  compaiiT'e 
locomotive  and  steel  works  are  situated ;  WcJ- 
verton,  in  Buckinghamshire,  the  site  of  the 
camt^c  works;  and  £arlest4>wn,  in  Iritnua- 
shire,  where  are  the  wa^on  shops.  tV»e 
Works  were  established  in  1S43,  when  ihv 
(innid  Junction  Railway  Company's  worb 
were  transferred  thither  from  Liverpool- 
prior  to  which  time  the  whole  area  no« 
occupied  by  the  town  and  works  (rf 
Crewe  was  ^ricnltnral  land.  In  1844.  tbt 
railway  company  provided  the  men  with  a 
libntry  and  reading-room,  and  gave  a 
donation  U>  purchase  books.  In  I84.'t,  ihic 
movement  developed  into  the  Ca-we 
Mc4;hutii(»'     Institution,    the     mwiu^emnDi 


RAILWAT  TOWNS. 


221 


being  vested  in  h  Conncil,  elected  aDaually, 
of  representatives  nominated  by  tlie  directors 
aod  members  conjointly,  and  iliie  Bjetem  of 
decdiig  the  governing  body  has  continued 


ever  since.  The  original  Imildiiig  of  the 
institution  wiis  removed  in  IM6,  and  a 
hr^T  edifice  built  by  the  comiwiiiy  in  itfl 
pli^,  and  this  has  been  added  to  from  time 
to  time  until  it  has 
reached  its  present 
dimensions. 

The  population 
of  Crewe  in  184(; 
was  only  a  few- 
hundreds,  now  it  is 
upwards  of  4<l,00O. 
The  men  employed 
in  the  worra  were 
then  161,  now  they 
number  abont 
8,000,  besides  large 
numbers  of  men 
employed  iu  other 
departments  of  the 
raUway  company's 
service.  It  was  in 
1846  that  the 
Grand  Junction 
Railway  was  amsl- 
eamateil  with  the  /'AoCgftm 
LondoD  and  Bir-  thk  coMCEtit-iiAM.  anj,  hai 
miagham    and 

Manchester  and  Birmingham  Railways, 
under  the  title  of  the  London  and  North- 
Western  Railway.  In  1849,  evening  classee 
for  teaching  reading,  writing,  arithmetic,  and 


mechanical  drawing  were  formed  in  connec- 
tion with  ilie  Crewe  Mechanics'  Iristitntion. 
These  classes  were  added  to  from  time  to 
time,  and  they  now  cover  the  whole  range  of 
mechanical  science  and  art, 
and  all  commercial  and 
technological  subjects  appli- 
cable to  the  tnide  of  Crewe. 
Nearly  all  the  teachers  of 
the  various  subjects  taught 
at  the  institution  are  engaged 
in  Crewe  Works,  and  so 
have  a  thorough  practical 
knowledge  of  what  they 
teach  to  the  students.  Many 
of  the  t«achere  have  received 
their  education  at  the 
institution,  and  have  been 
winners  of  important 
scholarships.  It  is  evident, 
from  the  successful  results 
obtained  by  the  students, 
that  the  teaching  has  been 
of  a  high  quality. 

Simom,  SwiadQii.  ^pp    jjggp    p^g    ,,.[^1,     j^he 

,  c.  w.  K.  growing  demand  for  techni- 

cal instmotioii,  the  directors 
of  t!ie  London  and  North-Westem  Company 
have  recently  provided  at  Crewe  an  electrical 
engineering  laboratory,  equipped  with  all 
ajipiiances   necessaiy  for  teaching  electrical 


engineering,  and  have  arranged  for  a  number 
of  the  apprentices  in  the  works  to  spend  one 
afternoon  per  week  in  this  laboratory,  in 
order  to  receive  instruction,  at  the  same  time 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


paying  their  wages  for  tlie  time  tbuB  occupied 
as  tliouifh  it  were  spent  in  the  works  at  tneir 
ordinary  duties.  This  laboratory  is  also 
utihsed  for  evening-class  etiidente  of  the  insti- 
tution. A  mechanics'  shop  is  also  attached 
to  the  institution,  containing  lathes,  drilling 
machines,  etc.,  worked  electrically.  The 
object  of  the  company  in  eetablishing  the 
Mechanics'  Institution  was  primarily  to  give 
their  young  workpeople  the  advantage  of  a 
good  education,  so  that  they  could  be  tanght 
Uieory  at  the  institution  while  they  learned 
the  practical  part  in  the  works.  Membership 
of  the  institution  has,  however,  always  been 
open  to  non-emploi/eii  resident  in  the  town. 
The  fees  charged  are  merely  nominal,  and 
this  is  owing  to  the  financial  support  contri- 
buted by  the  company,  which  is  mainly 
derived  from  a  portion  of  the  entrance  fees 


piid  by  apprentices  (not  the  sons  of  ein- 
ploi/es  in  Crewe  Works)  for  ttdinission  into 
the  works,  the  sons  of  fmphyia  being 
allowed  free  udniission.  The  Crewe  institu- 
tion receives  national  grants  for  educational 
results,  but  no  grant  is  received  from  the 
local  authorities,  as  the  Cheshire  County 
Council,  the  administrative  authority,  makes 
it  a  condition  only  to  give  grants  where 
representation  is  allotved,  and  up  to  the 
present  time  the  directors  of  the  company 
nave  objected  to  any  outside  interference 
with  the  detailed  working  of  the  institution. 
In  18r>.'>,  in  order  to  encourage  students, 
the  directors  of  the  company  gave  a  donation 
of  £20  to  be  awarded  in  books,  etc.,  as  prizes  - 
for  literary  and  scientific  attainments,  to 
servants  of  tlie  company  under  twenty-one 
years  of  age  employed  in  the  locomotive 
department,  and  this  amount  has  ever  since 
been  contributed  annually  for  that  purpose. 


In  1888,  the  late  Mr.  Bartholomew  K«an, 
an  official  of  Crewe  Works,  left  b^  will  the 
sum  of  £8  annually,  to  be  distributed  ae 
prizes  to  youths  under  twenty  years  of  »ge 
employed  in  Crewe  Works.  In  addition  to 
these  prizes,  the  late  Mr.  Ramsbottom,  a 
former  chief  mechanical  engineer  of  the 
company,  and  the  lat«  Sir  Richard  Hoon. 
who  was  chairman  of  the  company,  eDdovol 
scholarships  in  1874  and  1891  respectively, 
to  be  awarded  to  young  men  employed  in  the 
London  and  North- Western  Railway  Com- 
pany's works,  and  these  scholarships  are, 
therefore,  open  not  only  to  Crewe  students, 
hut  also  to  the  competition  of  studeDl«  em- 
ployed in  the  company's  works  on  other  pail« 
of  the  London  and  North- Western  sratem, 
such  as  the  AVolverton  Carrii^  Works  and 
the  Earleatowu  Wagon  Works,  at  which 
places  there  are  similar 
'  mechanics'    institutions    to 

that  of  Crewe,  supported  by 
thecomi»any.  County  Coun- 
cil scholarships,  offered  v^ 
the  studeiilA  in  Cheshire 
schools,  are  also  frequeniJj 
gained  by  students  of  ihu 
institution  ;  whilst  scholar- 
ships such  as  the  "Whit- 
worth."  "Royal,"  and 
"  National,"  open  to  general 
competition  in  the  country, 
are  also  competed  for  by 
the  students,  who  have  been 
successful  in  gaining  many 
' simmi, nmndan.  of theui.  The  " Whitwofth" 
m,  I),  w.  R.  scholarships,    founded  in 

186'J,  may  be  considered  llw 
"  blue  ribbon  "  prizes  of  scholastic  mechaniol 
engineering,  and  since  1872,  when  the  fiiS 
of  these  was  secured  by  a  student  of  the 
institution,  fifty-two  "  Whitworths"  hsw 
been  wou  by  the  studentfl  of  the  institolion, 
all  of  whom  were  employed  in  Crc«e 
Works. 

The  Crewe  Institution  is  affiliated  with  the 
Union  of  loancashire  and  Cheshire  Institutes, 
the  City  and  Guilds  of  London  Institute,  the 
Society  of  Arts,  and  the  Board  of  Edueatioo. 
Each  of  these  bodies  holds  examinatioia  in 
various  subjects,  and  awards  prizes  and  cer- 
tificates. The  library  in  connection  wititthe 
iustitution  contains  about  12,0(>0  Tolnn)^ 
and  to  these  new  works  are  constanUy  beinj: 
added.  A  patent-specification  libiary  ii  also 
maintained  for  reference  by  inventoiv.  "The 
news-room  of  the  institution  is  supplied  with 
all  the  chief  newspapers,  periodicals,  and 
m^azines    published   in   the  country,  aa^ 


HAIL IV AY  TOWNS. 


tel^nuDB  of  the  latest  newB  are  reoiived 
and  posted  up  there  throughout  the  daj. 
Coffee-,  BiDokiDg-,  and  recreHtion-rooins  ure 
also  provided  for  the  members. 

In  1K63,  the  London  and  North-Western 
Railway  ('om  pan  J  established  asmall  hospital 
at  Crewe,  there  being  no  public  institution 
of  the  kind  within  twenty  miles  of  the  place. 
The  premises  were  extended  from  time  to 
time,  and  in  1900  an  entirely  new  hospital 
KBs  built,  with  accommodation  for  sixteen  in- 
patienU.  This  hospital,  which  is  situated 
inside  the  works,  is  entirely  supported  by 
the  company,  and  the  employes  do  not  con- 
tribute towards  its  maintenance  nor  pay  any 
fees  as  iu-patienU.  The  London  and  North 
Western  Company  also  gave  a  site  outside 
their  works  for  the  Crewe  Memorial  Cottage 
Hoitpital,  and  subscribed  towards  its  en- 
dowment fund. 


As  a  general  rule,  the  houses  in  railway 
towns  are  not  owned  by  the  compivnies,  it 
having  been  found  better  to  leave  the  pro- 
vision of  dwellings  for  the  workmen  to 
private  enterprise.  The  (ilasgow  and  South- 
Weetern  Kailway  Com]>any,however,ha8  builf 
a  model  village  at  Gorkerhill  for  its  locomo- 
tive staff,  where  a  population  of  about  80^ 
people  is  lodged  in  eleven  blocks  of  houses, 
the  total  number  of  separate  dwellings  being 
.  1^0.  Allotment  gardens  are  also  provided 
by  the  railway  company,  and  an  institute 
similar  to  those  already  mentioned.  At 
Crewe,  the  London  and  North-Western  has 
built  and  owns  over  800  houses,  and  the  Great 
Western  has  about  300  at  Swindon,  which  is 
also  about  the  number  owned  at  Wolverton 
and  Earlestown  by  the  North-Western,  which 
also  has  over  250  at  Willesden  and  120  each 
at   Rugby  and    Watford.      AlU^ether  the 


224 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


last-named  companv  has  5,152  hoiwcH  and 
cottageH  occupied  by  luembere  of  its  staff, 
the  nmjority  of  which  are  let  at  rentals 
of  from  one  shilling  and  sixpence  to  four 
shillings  and  sixpence  a  week.  The 
privilege  of  hving  in  a  company's  cott^e  is 
very  much  valued.  Preference  is,  of  course, 
given  to  such  men  as  -it  may  be  necessary  to 
call  up  in  cases  of  emergency— the  cottages 
being  in  close  proximity  to  tlie  lines — and 
in  ninety-five  cases  on  the  Nortli- Western 
there  is  electric-bell  c'onimunicatiou  between 


Western  Railway),  at  Derby   (Midland),  at 

Stratford  (Great  Eastern),  at  Bastleigh  and 
Nine  Elms  (London  and  South- Western),  at 
Horwich  (Lancashire  and  Yorkshire),  and 
elsewhere.  An  interesting  feature  in  connec- 
tion with  the  Great  Eastern  Works  at  Strat- 
ford is  the  provision  of  a  dormitory  for  the 
nse  of  drivers  and  firemen  who  have  come 
from  a  distance  and  require  rest  before  re- 
turning to  their  engines.  This  dormitory, 
which  is  lighted  throughout  by  electricity,  is 
otpable     of    accommodating,      in     sc])arate 


the  nearest  station,  or  signal-box,  and  the 
cottage,  so  thjt  the  occup.mt  thereof  tain  be 
summoned  to  act  as  "  fogman,"  or  join  a 
breakdown  gang,  at  a  moment's  notice. 
Station-masters,  too,  are  generally  housed  by 
the  companies. 

It  is  impossible  within  the  scope  of  an 
article  of  this  kind  to  make  detailed  mention  of 
all  the  various  institutions  and  societies  which 
exist  at  great  railway  centres.  Educational 
and  social  institutes  similar  to  the  ones  a]- 
reiMly  descrrlwHl  are  to  lie  found  st  Wolver- 
tou    and   Barlestown  (London  and   North- 


culiiclcs,  fifty  men  ut  one  time,  and  it 
has  had  over  i:\h,WU  lied-occnpaniB  up 
to  the  time  of  writing.  There  are  also 
bikth-rooms,  a  smoking  and  reading-iDocn. 
dining-room,  kitchen,  and  clothe«-aryinp- 
room.  Mi«s-roome,  it  should  be  stated. 
lire  provided  at  all  laiye  railway  worts. 
where  the  men  can  get  their  niiddav  menl 
cooked  and  eat  it  in  comfort.  The  dining- 
room  eretted  by  the  Iiaricashire  and  Yoik- 
shire  at  Horwich  will  accommodate  1,50" 
n)cn.  whilst  this  company  has  also  provided 
an  institute  atfe  for  tne  clerks,  etc.,  at  Hot- 


RA/LWAV  TOWNS. 


wieh,  where  cooked  meak  may  be  purchased 
nt  net  co6t  prices.  At  the  lai^e  railway 
centres  ia  Londou  there  is  usually  a  derive' 
dining  club.  At  King's  Cross  (Great  North- 
ern) this  institution  includes  billiard-  and 
reading-rooms,  to  the  equipment  of  which  the 
company  has  contributed,  as  well  as  providing 
the  premises.     The  North-Westem  has  done 


the  suiiie  at  Enston.  Railway  parks  are  to  be 
found  !it  CrL'We  and  at  Horwicti,  as  well  as  at 
Swindon,  and  cricket,  football,  rowing,  Iwwl- 
ing,  and  tennis  chibe  have  lieen  fonned  at 
must  of  the  centres^ in  some  cases  on 
recreation-  grounds  provided  by  the  coui- 
panies. 

Uom'ich,  in  LancaKbire,  and  Eustleigb,  in 
HamjNihire,  are  two  of  the  youngest  of  our 


railway  towns,  neither  of  them  being  yet 
twenty  yeai-s  old.  When  the  jjaneaahire  and 
Yorkshire  Company's  mechanical  engineering 
works  were  established  at  Horwich  in  1887, 
the  population  was  under  4,000 ;  now  it  is 
about  16,0(10,  of  which  10,000  to  11,000  are 
probably  dependent  npon  the  employment 
provided  by  the  railway  company,  the  re- 
mainder being  occupied  either  as  shopkeepers 

— *  ■' "on-mills  and  brickworks,  which 

;nce  before  the  erection  of  the 
s.     The  number  of  actual  em- 
ployex  of  the  railway  com- 
pany is  nearly  4,000,  and 
with  the  exception  of  eight 
houses  occupied  by  officers 
of  the  company,  these  all 
live  in  houses  not  belonging 
to  the  railway  property.    A 
similar  state  of  things  eiJats 
\      at  Eastleigh,  as  the  railway 
companies  in  each  case 
found    that    private  enter- 
prise was  sufficiently  alert  to 
icTi,  1..  AM>  r.  K.     provide   the  udditioiial 
nonsing  accommodation 
necessary  by  the  time  the  railway  works  were 
ready  for  occupation. 

At  both  Horwich  and  Eastleigh  the  railway 
authorities  have  interested  themselves  keenly 
in  providing  technical  education  for  their 
employee,  and  admirably  equipped  institutes 
exist  at  both  centres.  The  Horwich  institnte 
was  built  by  means  of  a  grant  of  i;5,ii0(i 
made  by  the  Lancashire  and  Yorkshire  sliare- 


THE   WINDSOR   MAGAZINE. 


holders,  supplemented  b;  the  giftfl  of  an 
additional  wini;  ttnd  luechanical  uiid  engineer- 
ing Uboratorieg  by  Mrs.  Samnel  FJelden,  of 
Todmorden,  the  widow  of  a  director.  Another 
director,  Mr.  Henry  YaU»  Thompson, 
generously  established  a  cottage  hospitaj, 
whilst  Mrs.  Fielden  has  also  built  and  en- 
dowed a  covered  gjmnaaium  in  connection 
with  the  institute.  The  lai^e  hall  of  the 
institute  is  fitted  np  ae  a  theatre,  in  which 
entertainments  and  ■lectures  are  ^iveii.  In 
189tl,  abont  eleven  acres  of  land  were  placed 
by  the  railway  coiniuny  at  the  disposal  of  the 
institute  committee,  who,  with  tinancial 
assistance  from  two  of  the  directors  (Messrs. 


H.  Y.  Thompson  and  W.  Hinraers)  laid  it 
out  as  a  rccreiition-gronnd,  with  which  arc 
associated  cricket,  football,  bowlin<;,  and 
tennis  ciuhs,  alt  connected  with,  and  governed 
by,  the  institute. 

Eastleigh,  tboui^h  it  has  grown  in  fifteen 
years  from  a  village  into  a  town  of  9,(11)0  in- 
habitants, is  likely  to  become  a  much  more 
important  railway  town  in  the  near  future. 
At  present  ite  activities  are  Umitcd  to  the 
buildii^  and  repairing  of  the  Ciirriago  and 
w^ou  stock  of  the  London  and  South- 
western Railway  Company,  but  a  few  years 
ago  the  company  acquired  an  area  of  about 
^(Mi  acres  acljoining  the  existing  works,  on 
which  the  constniction  of  locomotive  shops 
has  been  commenced.  When  these  are 
finished,  alHiut  two  thousand  more  men.  with 
their  families,  will  be  removed  from  Nine 


Elms,  London,  where  the  locomotive  works 
of    the  company  are    at  present    situated. 
The  authorities  of  the  South-Westem  have 
already  had  experience  of  how  to  manage  a 
large  migration  of  this  kind,  as  fifteen  yeara 
^0,  when  the  present  Eastleigh  works  were 
established,  the  men  employed  in  the  carriage 
and  wi^on  shope  bad  to  be  tiansferred  from 
Nine   Elma.     The  change  wiU,  of  conrst-, 
have  to  be  made  gradually,  aa  the  work  of 
the   locomotive  department  must   be    kept 
going  all  the  time.     When  this  transfer  is 
completed,  the  Great   Eastern   will   be  the 
only  large  railway  company  h.aving  its  plant 
works  in    the   neighbourhood   of    Ijondon, 
aTid  the  removal   of  these  from 
'    Stratford    to    a    country    centre 
is   probably  only  a  queittiou  of 
time.     It  may  be  stated  that  the 
(treat  Kasteni  Railwav  Mechanics' 
Institution  at  Stratfon.  New  Town 
1    is  one  of  the  best  in  the  countiy, 
being  thoronghly  equipped  both 
for  educational  and  social   pur- 
poses.     The  number  of   persons 
employed  by  the  Great  Eastern  at 
Stratford   exceeds    4,U0i),   and  it 
would  be  a  serious  thing  for  Uk> 
locality   should    high    rates    and 
other    local   circumstances   drive 
the  company  to  remove  its  worts 
elsewhere. 

The    numerous    differences    of 
creed    existing    in     the     United 
Kingdom   liave  made  it  difficult 
for    the    railway    companies    to 
interest  themselves,  as  such,    in 
the    provision    of    churches    or 
tro  s.  w.  R.     chapels   for    the    iahabitanta    of 
the    towns  called    into   exist«nce 
by  their  activities.     At  Doncaat«r,  fifty  years 
ago,    the   directors   of   the    Great  Northern 
went  so  far  as  to  promote  a  Rill  in  Parlia- 
ment to  empower  the  company  to  build  a 
church,  as  well  liS  schools,  the  then  chairmaD 
of  tile  railway  declaring  tliat  he  could  not  be 
content  to  see  the  children   of  the  great 
population  bronght  then^  in  the  company's 
service,  running  about  the  streets  without 
having  in  a  week  a  school  to  go  to,  or  ou 
Sundays  a  church  for  worship.     The  schools 
were  built  out  of  the  company's  money,  hot 
great  opposition   was  raised   at  the  share- 
holders' meetings  to  the  church  scheme,  and 
eventually    the    Bill    was    withdrawn.     A 
subscription  was,  however,  opened  amon^ 
the    shareholders    who    approved    of   their 
chairman's  proposal,  and  in  IXi^S  the  edifice 
known  as  St.   James's  Church,  Doticaster, 


RAfLWAr  TOWNS. 


TBB  opeoed.  It  has  ever 
since  beeD  locally  known 
33  "the  Plant  Works' 
Church."  At  Crewe, 
WolvertOD,  Karleetoffn,  aud 
other  places,  the  Londoa 
aod  North-Western  Railway 
Company  has  very  lai^ely 
Bnbacribed  towards  pro- 
viding churches  and  chapels 
far  its  employit.  At 
Corkerhill — the  Glasgow 
and  Soath-Westera  Railway 
Company's  model  village 
above  referred  to-  -religious 
services  are  condncted  every 
Sunday  in  the  lai^e  hall  of 
the  railway  institute  by 
mtDisUirs  of  charchee  in  the 
vicinity  and  by  members 
of  tiie  Railway  Mission,  a  olbrkb'  * 

society  whose  object  it  is  to 
mmister  to  the  spiritual  needs  of  railway 
workers,  and  which  is  represented  by  one 
or  more  raissioners  at  most  large  railway 
centres.  There  is  also  a  Sanday-school  at 
CorkeriiiJl,  with  an  avenge  attendance  of 
llOchildren,  and  a  Bible-class  for  yonng  men 
and  ffomen,  with  an  average  attendance  of  70, 
An  advant^e  enjoyed  by  railway  em- 
ployes, which  ought  more  properly  to  have 
been  mentioned  in  last  month's  article,  is 
the  institution  of  savings  bants  in  connec- 
tion with  the  companies.  The  London  and 
Sorth-Weatern  Railway  Savings  Bank,  for 


example,  which  was  founded  on  Jaimary  Ist, 
1895,  gives  interest  at  the  rate  of  three-and- 
a-half  per  cent,  per  annum  on  sums  up  to 
£500,  and  two-and-a-half  per  cent,  on  sums 
over  that  amount,  and  deposits  of  one 
shilling  and  multiples  thereof  are  received, 
not  more  tliau  £50  being  receivable  upon  a 
single  account  in  any  one  year.  The  railway 
company  is  entirely  responsible  for  all  de- 
posits, for  the  interest  thereon,  and  for  the 
cost  of  carrying  on  the  bank.  These  insti- 
tutions fonn  a  strong  inducement  to  thrift 
amongst  railway  employes. 


WVItKMEN'tl  COTTAUE8,    V 


A    RECRUIT   IN    DIPLOMACY. 

By    JUSTUS    MILES    FORMAL,* 

Author  of  ""The  Garden  of  Lies." 


cc 


ND  then,"  said 
young  Harring- 
ton impres- 
sively, "  then 
the  Quarter 
calls  out 
*  11-8-8-29,' or 
whatever  the 
signal  may  be, 
and  he  chucks 
you  the  ball 
and  you  make 
a  dive,  with  three  or  four  chaps  pushing  you, 
for  a  hole  in  the  line  that  your  forwards 
are  making.  And  if  you  get  through  it, 
eleven  great  big  men  pick  you  up  and  slam 
you  on  the  ground,  and  kick  you  in  the 
face  when  no  one's  looking,  and  try  to  kill 
you.  Then  you  get  up  and  do  it  all  over 
again.'' 
The  girl  shivered. 

"  It  sounds  very,  very  brutal,"  said  she. 
"  Brutal  ?  "  considered  young  Harrington. 
••  Brutal  ?  Oh  I  I  don't  know.  Of  course, 
one's  mother  and  one's  maiden  aunte  think 
it  brutal,  but — it's  a  fine  game,  anyhow,"  he 
declared  enthusiastically,  and  dropped  back 
in  his  deck-chair,  a  little  fatigued  with  so 
much  explanation  of  a  thing  that  everybody 
knows  about.  But  the  girl  shook  an  uncon- 
\inced  head. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  insisted,  in  her 
quaint,  careful  English,  "  a  very  sti-ange  and 
barbaric  way  of — of  upholding  the  honour 
of  one's  university." 

'*  Well,  if  you  should  ask  me,"  cried  young 
Harrington,  sitting  up  to  battle,  **  I  call  it 
quite  as  civilised  ajB  getting  yourself  up  in  a 
silly  stufiFed  diver's  suit  and  a  French 
rhauffettr*s  goggles,  and  letting  another  man 
slash  at  your  nose  and  cheeks  with  a  silly 
Sehldger  !  I'd  rather  break  a  collar-bone  or 
two  with  twenty-five  thousand  people  look- 
ing at  me  and  tacking  my  name  on  the  end 
of  a  Varsity  cheer,  than  go  through  life  with 
a  face  that  would  make  people  wonder 
whether  I'd  been  in  an  explosion  or  had  had 


*  Copyrisrht,  by  Justus  Miles  ForniaD,  in  tfaie  United 
SlitAtCK  uf  America. 


a  mix-up  in  a  bar-room."  He  rose  to  his 
feet  and  stood  over  the  girl,  balancing  him- 
self to  the  roll  of  the  ship,  and  frowning 
down  upon  her  with  pretended  severity. 

"  You  Germans  are  doubtless  a  very  estim- 
able people,"  said  he,  "  and  I'm  not  saying 
that  you  aren't  fine  gymnasts  and  mountain- 
climbers —  and  I'm  not  saying  that  you 
haven't  jolly  good  beer,  either  ;  but  you  will 
never  be  a  proper  nation,  you  know,  till  you 
learn  to  play  football." 

He  tucked  the  plaid  rug  more  snugly 
about  her  feet  and  strolled  ofiF  down  the 
deck  towards  the  smoke-room,  aft. 

He  wished  that  he  might  have  stopped 
longer,  but  was  greatly  afraid  of  boring  the 
girl,  and  would  not  allow  himself  to  risk  it. 
She  always  seemed  glad  enough  to  have  him 
drop  down  in  the  vacant  chair  next  hers — 
indeed,  of  late  she  had  seemed  even  to  wel- 
come him  with  a  certain  little  eagerness ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  often  discovered, 
while  he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  story,  that 
the  girl's  eyes  were  turned  away  from  him, 
out  over  the  swaying  water,  and  that  she 
was  obviously  distraite  and  occupied  with 
something  far  beyond  him. 

Of  course,  this  always  drove  him  away  at 
once  and  reduced  him  to  sitting  in  a  corner 
of  the  smoke-room  and  calling  himself 
names,  but  it  seemed  unable  to  keep  him 
away  from  the  girl  for  any  long  stretch  of 
time. 

She  was  not  very  pretty — certainly  not 
beautiful,  after  the  Anglo-Saxon's  standard 
— though  she  had  surprisingly  fine  grey 
eyes  and  magnificent  hair ;  but  there  was 
about  her  a  certain  atmosphere,  a  wholly 
unconscious  air  of  distinction,  which  made 
her  conspicuous  among  the  many  sorts  of 
women  on  board  the  ship  and  seemed  to 
hold  her  in  a  measure  aloof  from  them.  An 
older  and  more  experienced  man  than  young 
Harrington  would  have  noted  this  air  and 
have  given  it  more  significance.  Young 
Hamngton  merely  approved  of  it  in  a  vague 
fashion,  and  said  to  himself,  in  the  language 
of  a  certain  London  music-hall  song,  that 
the  girl  was  very  evidently  '*  class." 

Further,  there  was  something  hauutingly 


229 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


recesses,  bo  that  one  might 


familiar  about  her  face,  bnt  so  vague  and 
faiot  that  it  baffled  him  quite.  Asa  matter 
of  fact,  her  face  might  have  been  famihar 
to  almost  anyone  who  read  the  Earopean 
illustrated  prints  or  frequeuted  the  plioto- 
graph-shopa.  Of  courae,  young  Hamngtou 
could  not  be  expected  to  know  this,  though. 

He  let  hiinself  into  the  smoke-room, 
which  was  \ery  cosily  broken  up  into  corners 
and  angles  an'  '    '  '  '  ' 

be  quite  alone 
with  a  dozen  or  a 
score  of  other  men 
in  the  room.  He 
chose  an  unoccupied 
coi'uer  and  stoweil 
himself  away  in  it  /'-^ 

with  his  pipe  and  n 
brandy  •  and  -  soda. 
A    little    heap    of     < 
newspapers — a  ^ 

Paris    New    York  _  ■ 

Herald,  a  Temps,  a     | 
London  BaUji  Tele- 
graph,   a    Gauloin,     ^ 
and   a   Neue   Freie 
Frefise  lay  scattered 
upon  the  leather 
seat  neitr,  and    he     , 
pulled       them      i 
towards    him, 
remembering     that 
Austrian     mix  -  up 
which    had    been 
filling   everyone's 
attention  just 
before  he  left  Paris 
to  juiu  the  ship  at  ^^ 

Boulogne — it  was  a 
Dutch    steamer  <£' 

sailing  from  Rott«r- 
d.iui. 

He  found  it 
^iven  a  generous 
iimonnt  of  space— 

the    illness  of    the  u^^  ^^^ 

Emperor,    the    old 

fear  of  a  dismemltemient  of  the  Empire  in 
the  event  of  the  Enipyi-or's  death,  the  quarrel 
with  Franz  Ferdinand,  and  the  rumours 
thiit  thclong-hanished  Archduke,  tiie  famous 
Johaiin  Orth,  wjw  really  not  dead  at  all,  but 
was  living  somewhere  in  America,  and  that 
he  was  to  be  sent  for.  Young  Harrington 
knew  very  little  about  Austrian  politics,  and 
cared  no  more.  He  let  the  journal  slip 
from  his  knees  to  the  floor  unnoticed,  and 
his  mind  went  back  to  the  German  girl  with 
the  fine  cyea  and  the  little  air  of  hauteur 


which  bad  kept  everyone  but  himself  at  sncfa 
a  distance. 

A  man  strolling  lazily  through  the  smoke- 
room  peered  into  the  secluded  corner,  and 
at  young  Harrington's  nod  and  smile  dropped 
down  in  a  cluiir  across  the  little  table.  It 
was  the  Swiss  lieutenant,  Eiirstelen,  with 
whom  young  Harrington  had  often  walked 
the  deck,  and  of  whom  he  highly  approved. 
It  is  impossible  that  one  should  play  fonr 


0  Ilia  feet  and  stood  over  the  girl." 

years  of  Yale  football,  the  last  of  them  as 
captain  of  one's  t«am.  without  being  able  to 
form  a  quick  and  rather  accurate  judgment 
of  men~in  respect,  at  least,  to  their  executive 
ability.  Young  Harrington  looked  at  the 
Swiss  lieutenant's  grey  eyes,  with  their  trick 
of  turnins  all  at  once  hani  and  cold  and 
steady,  and  at  the  set  of  his  jaws  and  at  the 
line  of  bis  month,  and  picked  him  for  a  man 
who  would  play  a  hard  and  aggressive  game 
from  the  kick-off,  and  would  be  playimr  a 
harder  game  at  tlie  end  of  the  second  half 


A  RECRUIT  IN  DIPLOMACY. 


281 


than  in  the  beginning.  He  liked  the  man^s 
qniet  alertness  and  the  air  of  perfect 
adequacy  which  hung  over  him  and  made 
one  quite  certain  that  he  would  prove  quite 
equal  to  any  occasion.  It  was  because  the 
Swiss  was  the  tvpe  of  man  that  he  most 
admired  that  he  had  tried  to  see  as  much  of 
bim  as  possible  since  the  beginning  of  their 
smoke-room  acquaintance,  and  he  was  very 
^kd  at  this  moment  to  have  him  happen  in. 
"  Fine  day ! "  said  he  originally. 
"  What'U  you  have  ?  Gin,  steward — gin, 
dry.^' 

"  It  is  not  a  fine  day,"  objected  the  Swiss 
lieutenant.  He  spoke  perfect  English  with 
an  excess  of  care  and  with  occasional  strange 
idioms.  "  There  is  too  much  sea,"  he  com- 
plained, ''and  I  am  a  bad  sailor.  If  this 
goes  on,  I  shall  probably  be  ill.  It  takes 
the  —  the  powder  out  of  one." 

He  lifted  one  of  the  old  newspapers  idly 
and  looked  at  its  first  page. 

"  Nothing  but  the  Austrian  affair,"  he  said, 
with  a  little  yawn.  "  Austria-Hungary  is  a 
sort  of  bomb  with  a  time-fuse — the  time 
uncertain.  When  it  explodes,  the  bits  will 
be  gratefully  picked  up  by  several  people, 
but  they  will  not  be  put  together  again." 

Young  Harrington  laughed.  "I  know 
very  little  about  Austrian  affairs,"  said  he. 
"  I  suppose  there  will  be  a  smash  when  the 
old  limperor  dies,  won't  there  ?  D'you 
suppose  this  archduke  chap,  Johann,  is 
really  alive  ?  I  thought  he  disappeared  ten 
or  fifteen  years  ago." 

The  Swiss  lieutenant  struck  a  match  and 
lighted  a  cigar  which  he  drew  from  a  little 
glass  tube. 

''  Johann  was  supposed  to  have  been  lost 
at  sea,"  he  said  presently,  "rounding  Cape 
Horn,  on  board  a  chartered  ship  with  the 
woman  he  marned  against  the  Emperor's 
wishes.  There  have  been  rumours  ever 
sinoe  that  he  is  living  in  one  place  or 
another — iiicognito^  of  course.  It  may  be. 
I  cannot  say." 

*•  Well,"  said  young  Harrington,  "  it's  no 
good  pretending  that  I  care  whether  he  is 
alive  or  not,  for  I  don't.  All  I  care  about 
for  the  present  is  making  these  next  three 
days  go,  somehow.  Being  at  sea  is  a  great 
bore.  There's  nothing  to  do  but  walk  or  sit 
about.  You  couldn't  get  up  a  bit  of  excite- 
ment^ could  you,  just  for  my  sake  ?  " 

The  Swiss  lieutenant  smoked  in  silence 
for  a  long  time,  with  the  grey  eyes  fixed 
upon  yoang  Harrington's  face.  The  eyes 
were  narrowed  a  bit,  and  he  did  not  smile. 
Then,  at  last,  he  leaned  forward,  with  his 


arms  upon  the  little  table,  and  his  eyes  still 
fixed  very  keenly  upon  the  younger  man. 

"  I  have  been  in  America  already  three 
times,"  he  said,  "and  I  have  watched  the 
American  customs  and  the  American  uni- 
vereities  —even  their  sports.  I  know  what 
it  means  to  play  your  feetball — the  training, 
the  work,  the  endurance,  the  judgment.  I 
have  known  old  men  of  affaire,  bankers, 
advocates — what  you  will —who  would  offer 
a  coveted  place  in  their  office  or  their 
counting-room  to  one  of  your  feetball  heroes 
because  they  felt  that  the  boy  had  received  a 
very  valuable  training  in — in  initiative,  in — 
grit,  in  judgment  of  men.  It  seems  strange, 
but  it  is  so.     Yes  ?  " 

Young  Harrington  coloured  a  little  and 
gave  an  embarrassed  laugh. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  he.  "  Yes,  I  suppose  so. 
Yes,  I've  known  it  to  be  done.  Why?" 
He  looked  back  at  the  Swiss  with  puzzled 
eyes.  There  was  a  certain  gravity  in  the 
other  man's  manner  which  he  did  not  at  all 
underetand. 

"  There  is  something  to  be  done,"  said  the 
Swiss  lieutenant,  after  another  pause  and 
looking  away,  "something  of  importance 
which  I  must  do  before  this  voyage  is  over. 
I  should  like  the  help  of  such  a  man  as  you 
are.  The  ordinary  man  is  out  of  the 
question.  You  have  been  trained  to  be  cool 
and  swift  in  danger  and  to  have  no  nerves. 
I  should  like  your  help." 

"  What    the    dickens "  cried  young 

Harrington  softly, "  what  the  dickens  can  you 
find  of  that  sort  on  board  a  trans-Atlantic 
liner  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  He 
gave  a  little,  amazed,  scoffing  laugh,  as  if  he 
thought  the  other  man  was  poking  some 
grave  joke  at  him.  But  the  Swiss  lieu- 
tenant's face  did  not  relax. 

"  You  know  something  of  men,"  said  he. 
"  Am  I  a  common  thief  ?  Would  you  pick 
me  out  for  the  sort  to  rob  a  fellow-passenger 
of  his  watch  or  his  pocket-book  ?  " 

Young  HaiTington  laughed  again. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  no,  you  are  no  common 
thief.  I  know  very  little  of  men,  but  I 
know  enough  for  that.    What  then  ? " 

"This,"  said  the  Swiss  lieutenant.  "I 
shall  be  a  thief  before  the  voyage  is  over. 
There  is  on  board  ship  a  la — a  passenger 
who  bears  certain  documents  from — from 
some  conspirators  in  the  South  of  Europe  to 
agents  in  America.  These  documents  must 
never  be  delivered.  If  they  reach  their 
destination,  incalculable  harm  will  be  done 
to  a  whole  nation,  perhaps  to  all  of  Europe. 
Do  you  understand  ?      I  must  steal  them. 


232 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE, 


Tliej  cannot  be  seized  openly,  for  the  affair 
must  not  be  known.  There  are  officers  of 
the  secret  service  watching  every  west-bound 
ship.  I  was  detailed  to  this  vessel,  and  to 
me  the  prize  falls— the  prize  with  ite  grave 
responsibility.     I  must  not  fail." 

He  paused  a  moment  to  relight  his  cigar, 
and  young  Harrington  noted  that  his  fingers 
shook  a  little  and  that  his  strong  face  was  a 
bit  pale. 

"I  must  not  fail,"  he  said  again.  "I 
cannot  explain  to  you  the  importance  of  the 
thing,  because  you  know  nothing  of  the 
circumstances." 

He  ceased  speaking  once  more,  and  his 
grey  eyes,  a  bit  brighter  than  usual,  glittering 
with  a  certain  new  excitement,  challenged  the 
man  across  the  table. 

Young  Harrington  twisted  uneasily  in  his 
chair  and  scowled  into  the  eyes  that  held  him. 

"  Why,  Heaven  bless  you  ! "  he  cried  irrita- 
bly, "  do  you  realise  what  you're  asking  of  me 
— do  you  ?  Do  you  realise  that  you're  asking 
me  to  steal — steal  like  any  beggarly  sneak 
thief —from  some  chap  who's  never  done  me 
any  harm  ?  What  possible  excuse  have  I  ? 
/don't  know  anything  about  your  political 
mix-ups  ;  Pve  nothing  to  do  with  them.  It 
may  be  all  right  for  you  to  search  a  fellow- 
passenger's  luggage  and  get  aw^ay  with  his 

papers,  but Oh,  I  say  !  "     He  coloured 

again  and  gave  a  little,  embarrassed  laugh. 
"How  do  I  know  this  is— is  all  right?" 
he  demanded.  "  How  do  I  know  that  you're 
not  after  somebody's  bonds  ?  What  right 
have  I  to  take  your  word  and  commit  a  crime 
by  it  ?  Oh,  nonsense  !  "  He  took  a  long 
gulp  of  his  brandy-and-soda  and  looked  up 
once  more  at  the  man  across  the  table,  still 
with  his  little,  embarrassed,  deprecatory  laugh. 

The  Swiss  lieutenant  dropped  back  in  his 
chair  with  a  quick  sigh. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  he.  "  Yet  you  are 
quite  right ;  it  is  absurd.  You  have  no 
right  to  commit  a  crime  with  only  my  word 
to  go  upon.  I  beg  yonr  pardon.  It  was 
your  asking  for  a  bit  of  excitement  that  led 
me  to  speak— that  and  what  I  knew  of  you — 
and  my  desperate  need  for  a  cool,  steady 
head  to  help  me.  I  must  do  the  thing  alone, 
even  if  I  am  caught.  What  is  about  to 
happen  must  never  happen.  To  prevent  it 
is  worth  many  times  my  life  !  " 

He  shook  his  head  at  the  younger  man 
with  a  littl ',  wistful,  apologetic  smile.  "  You 
are  quite  right,"  he  repeated  ;  "  I  was  mad 
to  suggest  such  a  thing  to  you.  Again  I 
ask  your  pardon." 

Young  Harrington   set  his  elbows  upon 


the  little  table,  leaning  over  upon  them,  and 
his  eyes,  like  those  of  the  other  man,  had 
narrowed  and  become  very  hard  and  keen 
and  bright. 

"  I  told  you  a  moment  ago,"  said  he, "  that 
I  knew  little  of  men,  and  that  is  true.  You 
may  be  contemplating  a  perfectly  ordinary 
bit  of  robbery,  for  which  you  need  an  accom- 
plice ;  but  I  think  not.  If  this  thing  is  as 
you  say,  it  is  much  more  important  than  one 
young  man's  scruples  and  suspicions.  If  it 
is  as  you  say,  and  I'd  refused  to  go  into  it 
with  you,  I'd  have  a  pleasant  thing  to  look 
back  upon,  wouldn't  I  ?  I'd  be  prond  of 
myself,  wouldn't  I  ?  Will  you  tell  me  a  bit 
more  ?  Will  you  try  to  explain  ?  What  is 
there  that  I  can  do  ?  " 

The  Swiss  lieutenant  leaned  forward  eagerk 
and  spoke  without  pausing  for  nearly  half  an 
hour,  while  young  Harrington  smoked  and 
listened  and  nodded  his  head. 

When  the  younger  man  at  length  arose 
and  made  his  way  out  to  the  wind-swept 
deck,  there  was  a  slight  flush  on  his  cheeks 
and  a  singular  brightness  in  his  eyes.  Just 
inside  the  door  w^hich  opened  upon  the  star- 
board promenade,  he  passed  three  of  his 
casual  smoke-room  acquaintances  seated  about 
a  table  and  playing  pinochle.  They  called 
to  him  cheerily,  and  Holzmann,  the  stout 
(Jerman,  tried  to  pull  him  down  in  the  vacant 
chair  to  make  a  fourth  at  the  game ;  but 
young  Harrington  shook  his  head,  laughing, 
and  said  that  he  wanted  a  bit  of  good,  fresh 
air  out  on  deck.  He  stood  a  few  moments 
chaffing  with  the  jolly  old  German  and  with 
De  Yi'ies,  the  Belgian  diamond  merchant; 
but  he  was  uncomfortably  conscious  of  the 
fact  that  the  third  man,  Baron  Friedman, 
was  sitting  back  in  the  shadow  and  watching 
him  very  keenly.  He  wondered  why.  He 
had  never  greatly  cared  to  cultivate  the  Baron. 
The  man  had  a  rather  coldly  repellent  air, 
and  the  keenest  eyes  that  he  had  ever  seen 
in  any  human  being. 

He  broke  away  at  last  and  went  out  to 
the  promenade-deck,  where  he  walked  op 
and  dow^n  for  a  long  time. 

"  I'll  do  it,  by  Jove  !  "  he  cried  under  bis 
breath  ;  and  he  said  the  words  over  and  over 
to  himself  many  times,  as  if  the  sound  of 
them  gave  him  a  certain  courage.  **He 
may  be  a  liar  and  a  common  thief,  and  I 
may  be  a  common  dupe,  but  I  don't  behere 
it.  By  Jove,  I'll  do  it !  The  whole  tbinsr^s 
outrageous,  but  Kaistelen's  too  much  in 
earnest  to  be  faking.  What  if  it  should  be 
true,  and  the  whole  thing  went  to  pi>t  for 
lack  of  my  help  ?     I've  got  to  do  it  I " 


* '  Ota,  Colooel,  Colowl '. '  ihe  cried  to  Bsron  Fric 


284 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


It  was,  as  he  said,  outrageous — the  whole 
affair — ^and  a  man  of  greater  age  and  ex- 
perience would  have  laughed  at  it,  or  at  once 
told  the  purser  that  the  ship's  company  con- 
tained a  dangerous  thief ;  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  young  Harrington  was  very 
young  indeed — only  a  year  out  of  his  univer- 
sity— and  that,  like  all  very  young  men,  he 
greatly  prided  himself  upon  his  judgment  of 
character.  Also,  the  very  preposterous  daring 
of  the  thing,  the  melodramatic  romance  of 
it,  appealed  to  him  strongly. 

"  I'll  do  it ! "  he  said  once  more,  with  a 
little  nod  of  decision,  and  went  up  forward 
to  where  the  German  girl  with  the  fine  eyes 
still  lay,  wrapped  up,  in  her  long  deck-chair. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning 
when  young  Harrington  and  Lieutenant  Kar- 
stelen  stood  together  in  one  of  the  corridors 
down  on  the  saloon  deck  forward,  The  deck 
was  so  arranged  that  there  were  two  long 
passageways,  starboard  and  port,  with  occa- 
sional transverse  connections.  But  from  the 
crosswise  connecting  passage  farthest  forward 
a  little  spur  ran  out  towards  the  bow,  with 
four  state-rooms  opening  upon  it.  The  port- 
holes from  the  extreme  two  opened  in  the 
forward  bulkhead  of  the  deck-house,  looking 
down  upon  the  second-class  deck  and  the 
bow  of  the  ship.  It  will  be  seen  that  these 
cabins  were  peculiarly  isolated. 

"  Now  is  our  time,"said  the  Swiss  lieutenant. 
'*  Inspection  has  ab*eady  taken  place,  and  the 
people  from  all  four  of  these  rooms  are  out 
on  deck  or  in  the  saloons.  The  stewardess 
who  is  assigned  to  this  part  of  the  ship  is 
safe  for  half  an  hour.  A  passenger  very 
carelessly  stepped  upon  the  edge  of  her  skirt 
in  the  main  companion  way  a  moment  ago, 
and  tore  it  so  badly  that  the  woman  has  had 
to  go  to  her  own  quai'ters  for  repairs.  I  was 
the  passenger.  Now,  you  know  what  you 
are  to  do.  You  will  st^op,  at  any  cost,  any- 
one attempting  to  enter  this  little  spur 
passage,  and  you  will  do  it  with  sufficient 
noise  to  attract  my  attention.  Never  mind 
how  it  is  effected.  You  may  have  a  fit  on 
the  floor  if  you  like — anything  to  keep  people 
away.  Are  you  ready  ?  By  the  way,  the 
room  I  shall  be  in  is  the  extreme  one  to  the 
left,  No.  84." 

"All  ready,"  said  young  Harrington. 
"  Never  you  fear ;  I'll  keep  the  coast  clear. 
Remember,  though,  I'm  to  see  the  documents 
afterwards  ;  that  is  only  right  and  proper." 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  said  the  other  impatiently. 
"  You  shall  see  them — read  them,  if  you  like 
and  if  you  can.  At  any  rate,  you  shall  make 
certain   that  they  have  nothing  to  do  with 


money  ;  and  if  you  like,  you  can  search  mj 
clothes,  to  be  sure  I  have  not  picked  up  a 
diamond  necklace  or  two  !  We  will  go  at 
once  to  my  state-room  when  I've  the  papers. 
Now,  then  I " 

He  slipped  noiselessly  back  into  the  passage 
and  unhooked  the  door  of  the  state-room 
numbered  84.  Young  Harrington  drew  a 
quick  little  sigh,  as  one  who  braces  his  nerves 
for  a  strain.  He  had  taken  a  stiff  brandy, 
neat,  just  before  coming  below.  Not  that 
he  was  in  the  way  of  relying  upon  artificial 
means  to  meet  a  crisis,  but  as  the  time  had 
drawn  near,  he  had  begun  to  realise  that  his 
nerves  were  in  a  most  absurd  condition  of 
irritability.  He  could  face  an  opposing  foot- 
ball team  before  twenty-five  thousand  people 
with  never  a  tremor,  but  this  work  was  quite 
new  to  him.  He  had  noticed  that  Karstelen 
also  had  been  seeking  courage  from  a  bottle ; 
but  the  Swiss  was  on  the  verge  of  seasicknes 
and  needed  some  aid. 

He  moved  out  of  the  spur  passage  a  bit 
and  stood  in  the  transverse  corridor,  very 
cool  and  alert  and  ready.  He  heard  people 
stirring  about  in  near-by  cabins.  He  heard 
voices  come  up  the  long  passages  from  the 
companion  way  amidships.  Once  his  heail 
beat  fast  when  someone  came  almost  to  the 
end  of  the  corridor  in  which  he  stood  ;  and 
he  dropped  weakly  back  against  the  wall 
when  the  passenger  entered  a  room  safely  out 
of  sight. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  stood  there 
many  hours,  sti*aining  his  ears  for  a  footstep 
which  would  mean  danger,  clenching  his 
hands  at  his  sides  to  keep  them  still.  He 
had  made  several  plans  of  action  in  case 
someone  should  attempt  to  pass  him,  and 
he  was  quite  ready  to  employ  even  the  most 
desperate  of  them,  for  he  meant,  at  any  ooei, 
to  do  his  share  of  the  work  faithfully;  but 
this  waiting  was  rapidly  driving  him  into  a 
nervous  panic. 

The  chief  coherent  thought  in  his  mind 
was  an  increasing  anger  at  Karstelen  for 
being  so  long.  Of  course,  young  Harrington 
realised  that  the  time  which  actually  pasBed 
was  much  shorter  than  it  seemed,  but  he  was 
certain  that  at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had 
gone  by — which  was  not  so — ^and  that  he  wa» 
almost  at  the  limit  of  endurance. 

Then,  in  the  midst  of  his  anger  and 
impatience  and  nervous  strain,  something 
came  to  pull  him  up  sharply  and  quiet  hiF 
nerves  to  action.  Someone  was  walkin? 
along  the  starboaixi  passageway  between  the 
two  rows  of  cabins  —  some  woman,  for 
Harrington  could   hear  her  singing  softly 


A   RECRUIT  IN  DIPLOMACY, 


235 


to  herself  as  she  came.  He  had,  from  the 
first  moment,  a  qaeer  sense  of  absolate 
certainty  that  she  was  making  for  the  spur 
passage. 

He  moved  a  little  to  starboard  of  the  spur 
and  stood  waiting.  When  the  woman 
turned  the  corner,  he  was  down  on  one  knee 
in  the  naiTow  corridor,  adjusting  a  bootlace. 
He  seemed  not  to  see  that  he  was  in  the 
way  until  the  woman  had  paused  a  moment 
and  waited,  and  at  last  had  spoken. 

**  Oh,  I — I  beg  pardon  !  "  cried  young 
Harrington,  starting  up.  "  I  didn't  see 
yoa — very  stupid  of  me."  He  caught  his 
breath  sharply  as  he  saw-  the  woman's  face. 
It  was  the  young  German  girl  with  the  fine 
eyes.  "  Very  stupid  of  me  !  "  he  repeated. 
"I— was  waiting  for  a  friend  who's  in — in 
his  cabin  over  on  the  port  side,"  he  explained. 
He  stood  very  determinedly  in  the  way  so 
that  the  girl  could  not  pass,  and  she  smiled 
at  him,  half  in  amusement,  because  she 
mistook  his  attitude  and  his  eagerness  of 
speech  for  a  tribute  to  her  personal  charms, 
as  any  woman  might  have  done.  So  they 
stood  for  a  little,  chatting  about  quite 
ordinary  shipboard  topics,  until  young 
Harrington  was  interrupted  by  an  easy,  apolo- 
getic voice  behind  him  and  a  hand  on 
his  arm. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  other  man. 
"May  I  pass?  Thank  you!"  Young 
Harrington  stepped  aside  with  a  breath  of 
relief,  and  Lieutenant  Karstelen  passed  them, 
toQchiug  his  soft  cap  to  the  girl. 

But  when  he  had  disappeared  around  the 
comer,  the  German  girl  gave  a  little 
murmured  exclamation  of  surprise  and — it 
seemed  to  Harrington — concern. 

"  Who  is  that  man  ?  "  she  asked  quickly. 
•*  Do  you  know  who  he  is  ?  What  can  he 
have  been  doing  here  in  this  passage  ?  I  am 
almost  certain  that  all  the  occupants  of  those 
four  rooms  are  women." 

"  Those  four  rooms  ?  "  said  young  Har- 
rington in  a  queer  voice.  "  Do  you  mean 
that  you  are  quartered  in  one  of  those  four 
rooms  ?  " 

"Why,  of  course,"  she  said  impatiently. 
"My  room  is  No.  84.  What  can  he 
have  been  doing  there  ?  Perhaps  he  was 
taking  something  to  one  of  the  other  women. 

I  wonder " 

Young  Harrington  stood  shaking  and 
dumb  against  the  white-painted  bulkhead. 
He  knew  that  his  face  must  be  ghastly  white, 
for  it  felt  cold  and  damp ;  and  the  blood 
surged  and  beat  terribly  in  his  head  and 
below  his  ears  and  at  his  wrists.     If  the 


corridor  had  not  been  half  dark,  as  all 
corridors  on  board  ship  are  apt  to  be,  the 
girl  must  have  noticed  that  something  was 
wrong  ;  but  she  was  looking  after  Lieutenant 
Karstelen,  and,  it  seemed,  taken  up  with  her 
own  thouschts. 

Young  Harrington  heard  a  strange  second 
self,  as  if  from  a  very  great  distance,  making 
ordinary  and  trifling  remarks,  and  the 
phenomenon  interested  him  somewhat,  but 
only  for  a  moment.  His  real  being  was  in 
a  storm  and  whirl  of  terrified  dismay,  of  a 
dread  which  bound  him,  for  the  moment, 
cold  and  helpless.  But  always  that  curious 
second  self  babbled  nieaninglessly,  with 
desperate  lips,  to  the  young  German  girl, 
and  the  girl  answered  as  much  at  random 
as  young  Harrington  spoke,  but  she  moved 
nearer  to  the  little  spur  passage,  and  he 
could  see  that  her  eyes  were  troubled  and 
anxious. 

When  she  had  left  him,  disappearing  into 
Room  84,  young  Harrington  moved  away 
down  the  corridor.  He  meant  to  go  at 
once  after  Lieutenant  Karetelen  —follow  the 
man  to  his  room  and  there  take  him  by 
the  throat  and  demand  back  what  had  been 
stolen.  It  was  impossible  that  the  thing 
should  be  as  the  8wiss  had  said.  It  was 
impossible  that  this  young  girl  should  be 
carrying  such  documents,  on  such  a  mission. 
The  papere  w^ere  probably  bonds,  private 
documents,  something  with  which  a  thief 
might  levy  bhickmail. 

He  found  himself  standing  in  the  star- 
board companionway  amidships  and  staring 
out  upon  the  promenade  deck  with  wide  eyes 
that  saw  nothing.  He  had  no  notion  of 
how  he  came  there,  or  why.  He  even  did 
not  see  his  three  pinochle-playing  friends  of 
the  smoke-room  march  past,  arm  in  arm,  and 
peer  curiously  at  his  white  face. 

A  rush  of  footsteps  behind  him  brought 
him  to  himself.  It  was  the  young  German 
girl  with  the  fine  eyes  ;  but  the  fine  eyes  were 
wide  and  dark  with  terror  now,  and  her  face 
was  as  white  as  young  Harrington's  own. 
She  was  gasping  for  breath  as  if  she  had 
run  a  long  way,  and  the  hand  that  caught 
at  young  Harrington's  arm  shook  most 
strangely. 

"  Mr. — Harrington  !  "  she  cried.  "  Mr. — 
Harrington  I  My— my  papers  !  The  man 
coming  from  my  room— he  was  a — thief  I 
Did  you  see  his  face  ?  Would  you  know 
him  again  ?  Oh  !  call  Colonel  von  Alt — I 
mean  Baron  Friedman  I  Call  him  at  once  1 
Will  you  bring  him  to  me,  please  ?  Please  ! 
Ah  I  be  quick  ! "    A  little  break  came  into 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZTNE. 


her  voice,  iiiid  tlie  liuiid  on  younj;  Harrington's 
arm  sliook  li/^MW.  Just  ut  this  momeat  the 
til  te  pinoclik'-pLiyere  of  the  Bmoke-rooni 
cimf  oitoe  more  marching  past,  arm  in  arm  ; 
but  wlieii  tliey  saw  tlic  Cei-man  girl  and 
young  Hamiigton  standing  together  in  the 
companion  way,  they  halt«d  at  once  and 
canie  forward  with  suddenly  grave,  anxious 

The  yoiing  (lermaii  girl  put  out  her  aims 
towards  them  with  a  little  low,  sobbing  cry. 

"Oh,  Colonel,  Colonel! "she cried  to  Baron 
Fiicdman,  "the  papers!  They  are  gone-- 
stolen  !  A  mail  was  coming  from  my  state- 
room when  I  went  down,  just  now.  This 
gentieuiun  saw  him.  Oh,  ('olunel,  the  papers, 
the  papers  ! " 

Even  in  the  midst  of  his  amazement  and 
dismay  and  shock,  young  Harrington  noted 
with  a  sort  of  wondering  admiration  the 
Iteariiig  of  the  man  wlio  called  himself  liaroti 
Friedman.  He  iiot«d  how  immediately  the 
niaii  appeared  to  take  command  of  the  situa- 
tion, and  how  the  others  waited  for  his 
woij. 

"  Never  fear,  madam  ! "  said  he.  "  We'll 
have  the  papers  hack  in  half  an  hour.  The 
thief  cannot  lea^'e  the  ship.  At  the  very 
worst,  I  still  have  the  copies.  Never  feai-, 
we'll  have  them  back  ! "  He  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  girl's  anu  for  an  instant,  with  his 
grave  smile,  and  young  Harrington  watched 
the  worn,  still  face,  and  felt  somehow  soothed 
—assured.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to 
doubt  what  tlie  man  said.  He  was  one  of 
those  strong,  silent  men  whose  words  carry 
couvictiou. 

Then  the  boy,  even  though  he  was  \ery 
young  and  very  foolish,  showed  that  he  was 
also  a  thoroughbred,  for  he  became  all  at 
once  cool  and  alert  and  steady  at  the  need. 

"This  lady  is  right!"  he  said  swiftly. 
"  She  has  been  robbed  of  certain  papers  by 
a  passenger  who  calls  himself  Lieutenant 
Kiirstelen,  late  of  the  Swiss  Service.  I 
helped  him  steal  the  things.  I  stood  guard 
for  him.  He  had  lied  to  me,  I  think,  about 
the  nature  of  the  documents.  I  can  help 
you  to  recover  them."  He  looked  into 
Baron  Friedman's  keen  eyes,  and  his  jaw 
squared  itself  a  trifle,  for  he  was  beginning 
to  grow  angry  at  the  deception  which  had 
been  played  upon  him. 

"Will  you  come  into  the  smoke-room  a 
moment  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Ah  you  say,  the 
man  cannot  escape.  A  half-hour's  delay  will 
do  no  harm.  Wc  must  plan  the  recovery  of 
those  papers.     It  will  not  be  easy." 

Baron  Friedman  turned  once  more  to  the 


girl,  who  was  staring  with  a  sort  of  amaied 
horror  at  young  Mr,  H.^rrington. 

"  I  would  advise  you,  madam,"  said  he, 
"  to  go  back  to  your  state-room.  Here  coma 
the  Countess.  She  will  go  with  you.  Wa 
shall  have  the  papers  in  an  hour.  1  tkink. 


tbe  f[ir1  niisscd  bcr  pnpen?'" 

and  you  shall  know  the  moment  we  hare 
them." 

The  elderly  woman  witli  the  green  veil, 
who  sat  by  the  girl's  side  at  table  and  (m 
deck,  came  up  to  the  group,  and  Baron 
Friedman  spoke  to  her  in  a  low  tone.  Then 
the  four  men  bowed  and  went  quickly  aft  to 
the  smoke-room. 

"  Now,"  said  young  Harrington,  setUini; 
down  behind  his  comer  table  with  a  little 
sigh,  "  now,  for  Heaven's  sake,  explain  I 
What  is  the  nature  of  those  papere  ';  So. 
wait !  Iiet  me  tell  you  Karstelen's  story." 
And  he  went  auickly  over  the  tale  as  he  had 
had  it  from  ttie  Swiss  lieutenant.  There 
were  little  munnuiB  of  anger  or  of  amazement 
from  the  other  two  men,  but  Baron  Fried- 
man listened  in  silence,  nodding  his  head 
from  time  to  time,  never  stirring  his  eyei 
from  those  of  the  boy  across  the  table.  And 
when  young  Harrington  had  finished,  hew« 


A  RECRUIT  IiV  DIPLOMACY. 


237 


silent  for  a  short  time,  as  if  he  were  consider- 
ing how  he  would  best  reply. 

"  You  are  a  very  rash  young  man,"  he 
said  at  last.  *'  You  must  see  that  you  have 
been  a  very  rash  young  man,  and  you  will 
see  how  rash  when  I  tell  you  something  of 
what  you  have  done  ;  but  I  believe  you  are 
well-meaning.  I  am  certain  of  that.  Such 
an  enterprise  as  was  offered  you  might  tempt 
anyone  whose  experience  haa  not  been — had 
not  been  wide."  He  leaned  forward  across 
the  little  table,  resting  his  arms  upon  it,  and 
his  eyes  held  those  of  the  younger  man  with 
a  force  almost  hypnotic. 

"  I  am  forced  to  allow  you,"  he  said,  "  a 
share  in  a  certain  State  secret  of  very  grave 
importance.  In  the  first  place,  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  that  my  name  is  not  Baron  Fried- 
man ;  it  is  Colonel  von  Altdorf ,  and  I  am  in 
the  service  of  the  Austrian  Emperor." 

Young  Harrington  gave  a  low  cry  of 
am&zpnriPTi  t 

"  Colonei  von  Altdorf  ?  "  said  he,  "  Colonel 
von  Altdorf  ?  Why,  I  know  all  about  you. 
I've .  heard  of  you  by  the  hour  from  Denis 
Mallory  and  from  Mrs.  Mallory,  who  was  the 
Princess  Eleanor  of  Novodnia.  Colonel  von 
Altdorf  ! " 

The  other  man's  eye  lighted  a  bit. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  a  friend  of  Denis 
Mallory,"  said  he.  "  It  makes  you  a  friend 
of  mine.  TVe  must  talk  of  him  later.  He 
is  a  great  man.  Now  to  our  business  !  The 
lady  with  whom  you  have  talked  on  deck 
and  at  dinner  is  the  Princess  Beatrice  Amdie, 
the  Archduchess  Victoria's  only  child  and 
the  Emperor's  niece." 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  "  said  young  Harrington 
BofUy,  and  stared  with  wide  eyes  at  the 
other  man.  The  awfulness  of  the  thing  he 
had  done  began  in  a  vague,  dim  fashion  to 
reach  his  mind — sent  a  wave  of  inward 
sickness  over  him. 

"  She  is  bearing,"  continued  Colonel  von 
Altdorf  steadily,  "  documents  —  personal 
letters  from  the  Emperor,  State  despatches, 
outlines  of  policy,  matters  of  the  utmost 
import  and  secrecy,  to  the  Archduke  Johann, 
who  is  not  dead,  as  people  have  supposed 
without  proof,  but  living  incognito  in  your 
city  of  Baltimore.  You  have  read,  before 
leaving  Paris,  what  the  journals  said  of  the 
Emperor's  weakness  of  health  and  of  the 
quarrel  with  Franz  Ferdinand  ?  Yes  ? 
Very  good.  The  Princess,  is  relied  upon  to 
bring  the  Archduke  home  to  Austria.  No 
one  Uving  save  herself  or  the  Emperor  could 
Buooeed.  That  is  why  she  goes,  and  the 
reason  for  her  going  secretly  is  that  the 


documents  which  you  helped  to  steal  must 
not  be  lost.  We  knew  that  there  was 
danger,  for  the  Bohemian  party  would  do 
anything  in  the  world — commit  any  crime — 
rather  than  allow  those  papers  to  reach 
Johann.  Also  they  would  commit  any 
crime  to  learn  what  the  papers  contain. 
We  thought  we  were  safe  on  this  ship.  We 
thought  we  had  eluded  the  pursuit  which 
we  knew  was  afoot.  That  is  why  we  were 
not  more  careful  about  the  papers.  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself.  The  man  who  calls 
himself  Karstelen  is,  I  think,  a  Bohemian 
named  Szakvary.  He  is  almost  the  only 
one  of  their  agents  whose  face  I  do  not 
know.  Well,  he  has  the  papers ;  but  we 
must  have  them  back,  or  Szakvary  must  not 
leave  the  ship  alive." 

Colonel  von  Altdorf 's  face  flushed  a  little 
and  he  brought  the  palm  of  his  hand  sharply 
down  upon  the  table. 

*'  I  tell  you,"  he  cried,  in  a  low,  tense 
voice,  "rather  than  allow  those  documents 
to  go  ashore  and  at  large  in  Szakvary's  or 
anj'one's  hands  but  ours,  I  will  burn  this 
ship  with  everyone  on  board  ;  or  I  will  kill 
that  Bohemian  with  my  hands,  if  by  so 
doing  I  can  regain  the  Emperor's  papers." 

He  was  very  terribly  in  earnest,  and  no 
one,  however  light  -  minded,  would  have 
dreamed  of  doubting  his  word.  Colonel 
von  Altdorf  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  be 
doubted. 

Young  Harrington  sat  back  in  his  chair 
and  pressed  a  shaking  hand  over  his  eyes. 
It  felt  cold  and  damp,  and  his  forehead  also 
was  damp  with  perspiration. 

The  inward  sickness  swept  over  him  in 
waves  like  an  attack  of  nausea  as  the  full 
realisation  of  what  he  had  done  pressed 
deeper  and  deeper  and  more  unrelentingly 
into  his  brain. 

"  I — can't  make  it  seem — real ! "  he  said, 
in  a  dull  tone.  "It  canH  be  real !  Good 
Heavens  I  such  things  don't  happen  nowadays 
on  an  ordinary,  prosaic  Atlantic  liner.  It's  a 
— a  play — a  melodrama.  It's  some  awi^ul 
dream  that's  got  hold  on  me.     I'll  wake  up 

fresently,  and  everything  will  be  all  right, 
tell  you,  it  can't  be  true  !  It  caji't!  "  His 
voice  shook  and  ran  up  into  a  queer,  high 
falsetto. 

Colonel  von  Altdorf  spoke  quietly  over  his 
shoulder  to  a  passing  steward,  and  the 
steward  set  a  glass  of  brandy  upon  the  table 
and  moved  away  again.  Young  Harrington 
gulped  the  spirit  at  a  swallow  and  sat  up 
shivering. 

"  Come  !  "    he    said    fiercely.      "  Come  I 


238 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


For  God's  sake  what  are  we  sitting  liore  for  ? 
Every  minute  we  wait,  that  blackguard  is 
reading  another  page  of  those  papers. 
Come  !  "  But  Colonel  von  Altdorf  put  out 
a  hand  upon  the  boy's  arm  and  looked  into 
his  eyes. 

"  We  shall  go  to  the  man's  room,"  he  said 
gently,  "  and  you  will  enter  alone,  because 
he  will  not  be  suspicious  of  you.  It  may  be 
that  you  can  take  the  papers  from  him, 
single-handed ;  if  not,  we  shall  l>e  outside 
the  door  ready  to  help."  He  paused  a 
moment,  watching  the  other's  face. 

"  Kemember,"  he  said.  "  Your  failure 
may  mean  a  repainting  of  the  map  of  Europe 
when  the  Emperor  dies."  He  seemed  to  see 
something  in  the  boy's  face  to  please  him, 
for  he  drew  a  little  sigh  that  might  have 
been  satisfaction,  and  nodded  his  grey  head. 

Down  below  in  the  narrow  corridor  be- 
tween outer  and  inner  state-rooms,  the  three 
men  of  Princess  Beatrice  Am^lie's  suite 
halted,  and  young  Harrington  alone  rapped 
upon  the  closed  door  of  room  No.  102. 
There  was  a  slight  crease  between  young 
Harrington's  brows,  and  a  certain  extra 
squareness  about  his  jaw  which  foreboded 
no  particular  good  to  Lieutenant  Karstelen 
of  the  Swiss  Service,  alias  Szakvary,  Bohemian 
spy. 

**  Who  is  there  ? "  came  a  voice  from 
inside  the  room — a  low  voice,  not  too  steady. 
"  You  cannot  come  in.     I  am  dressing." 

"  Open  the  door  at  once  ! "  said  young 
Harrington,  his  lips  to  the  crack.  "  It  is  I, 
and  there  is  danger.     Open  at  once  !  " 

The  door  swung  open  upon  Lieutenant 
Karstelen,  coatless  and  pale,  but  very  bright 
of  eyes. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ?  "  he  whispered 
sharply.  "  Have  they  missed  the  papers  ? 
What  have  you  heard  ? "  He  palled  the 
young  man  into  the  little  room  and  bolted 
the  door  behind  him. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  he  demanded  once  more. 
"  Has  the  girl  missed  her  papers  ?  Jove  ! 
what  a  close  call  that  was  !  " 

"  Yes,  she  has  ! "  said  young  Harrington 
iiTitably.  "  At  least,  she's  tearing  alx)ut  the 
ship  in  hysterics  or  something  like.  Why 
the  deuce  didn't  you  tell  me  it  was  she  who 
had  the  papers  ?     Who  is  she,  anyhow  ?  " 

**  Who  is  she  ?  "  cried  the  other  man,  and 
turned  upon  him  amazed ly.  "  Why,  she's 
Bea— oh  !  she's  a — she's  a  German  girl,  a— an 
agent,  you  know.  They  thought  the  things 
would  be  safer  with  her  than  with  a  man,  I 
expect." 

*'  Well,"   said   young   Harrington,   "  let's 


have  a  look  at  the  papers.  I  want  to  be 
sure  that  they  have  nothing  to  do  with 
money,  you  know ;  then  I'll  go  up  on  deck 
and  see  what  is  being  done." 

But  the  other  man  had  turned  partly 
away  again. 

"  Oh  !  my  word  is  good  enough,  without 
seeing  them,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  said  lightly. 

"  I'd  rather  be  quite  certain,"  said  young 
Harrington.  "  I  owe  it  to  my  conscience, 
as  you  might  say,"  he  explained. 

The  other  faced  him  again,  his  brows  a 
bit  drawn. 

"  You  can't  see  them,"  said  he.  "  I  have 
not  even  had  a  chance  to  look  at  them 
yet,  myself.  That  cursed  steward  was  here 
in  the  room  when  I  returned.  He  went  out 
just  before  you  came  in." 

Young  Harrington  set  his  back  against 
the  door  and  smiled.  There  are  many  sorts 
of  smiles. 

"  Can't  see  them  ?  "  said  he  gently.  "  Oh, 
yes,  I'd  best  see  them,  I  thiiuk.  Yon  pro- 
mised, you  know." 

"  You  can't  see  them,"  repeated  the  other 
man  doggedly.  "  It's  enough  to  know  that 
they're  safe,  isn't  it  ?  They  can  do  no  harm 
now.  I  tell  you,"  he  cried,  and  his  voice 
shook  a  little,  nervously,  so  that  Harrington 
saw  under  what  a  strain  the  man  had  been, 
"  I  tell  you,  it  is  all  right  I  Anyhow,  you 
can't  see  them,  and  that  is  all  there  is  of  it. 
They  are  put  away." 

"  Best  give  them  to  me— Szakvary,"  said 
young  Harrington,  smiling  again.  The 
Bohemian  dropped  back  against  the  closed 
wash-hand-stand  with  a  queer,  choking  noise 
in  the  throat,  and  for  an  insbant  his  hands 
shook  beside  him.  Then  he  drew  a  long 
breath  and  was  quite  himself  again. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  regarding  the  young 
man  before  him  with  a  certain  new  interest. 
"Ah!  so  you  are  in  the  game,  too,  my 
friend.  You  have  played  very  stupidly. 
You  lose." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  young  Harrington  chec^ 
fully.  "  Dear  me,  no  !  I  win.  Give  me 
the  papers,  Szakvary,  or  I'U  ill-treat  you 
dreadfully.  I'm  such  a  lot  bigger  than  you 
are  !  Give  'em  up.  You  will  never  land 
with  them,  you  know." 

The  Bohemian  had  moved  gradually— so 
gradually  that  his  movement  was  imper- 
ceptible— across  the  tiny  room  till  he  was 
close  against  the  edge  of  the  lower  bunk. 
Then  the  hand  which  was  behind  him  made 
a  sudden  swift  dive  towards  the  pillow  there, 
and  he  was  holding  a  small  and  neat  Ameri- 
can revolver  so  that  young  Harrington  oouM 


A   RECRUIT  IN  DIPLOMACY. 


look  accnratel;  down  its  rifled  barrel.  Young 
Harrington  laughed. 

"  Oh,  blesB  yon  ! "  said  he,  "  I'm  not  the 
least  bit  afmid  of  that.  D'^on  think  I'd  be 
afraid  of  jour  firing  that  thing  ?  Why, 
Toa'd  have  about  five  hundred  people  here 
in  thirty  Beconds  I    Put  it  down.' 

The  pistol's  muzzle  wavered  and  dropped. 
The  mau  holding  it  appeared  to  give  some 
conaideratioii  to  what  joung  Harrington  had 
Baid.  After  a  moment  he  slid  it  into  one  of 
his  hip  pocketa,  bat  from  the  same  pocket 
he  drew  a  very  large  clasp  knife,  and  before 
the  other  man  h»l  clearly  seen  it,  opened 
the  blade.  The  younger  man  laughed 
again. 

"  Anything  else  ? "  he  inquired  humor- 
oosly.  "  Brinw  'em  all  out  I  Let's  have  a 
look  at  the  whole  arsenal."  Then,  all  at 
once,  be  ceased  laughing  and  drew  back  a 
step,  for  he  bad  caught  the  gleam  of  the 
Bohemiau's  eye  and  saw  that  the  man  meant 


"  H^rriiigtaD  drew  o 


!t  of  documents  bomiil  to^ber 


murder  It  came  to  him  with  a  sort  of 
shock,  for  he  had  supposed  that  Ssakvary's 
bellicose  preparationa  were  the  purest  bluff, 
and  that  the  man  would  not  dare  to  kill  or 
woaod  him. 
Once,  a  nqmber  of  yeara  before,  h?  had 


had  almostly  exactly  the  same  shock,  with  its 
accompanying  sense  of  amaaed  injury,  of 
outrage.  It  was  in  a  football  game,  and  the 
man  playing  opposite  him  had  tried  to  put 
him  out  of  the  game  by  hitting  him  on  the 
point  of  the  jaw  with  his  fist,  as  the  two 
lines  crouched  down  for  the  play  to  b^in. 

He  was  inexperienced  in  those  days,  and 
though  he  had  beard  of  foul  play,  had  never 
actually  seen  so  fiagrant  a  case  of  it. 

Now,  as  at  that  other  time,  the  thing 
roused  murder  in  him.  He  l«nt  a  little 
forward,  as  the  other  man  moved  towards 
him,  and  waited,  swinging  from  side  to  side. 
It  was  unfortunate  for  the  Bohemian  that  he 
knew  little  of  wrestling.  He  had  no  chance. 
He  saw  and  felt  nothing  but  a  sudden  whirl- 
wind of .  small  dimensions ;  and  when  the 
whirlwind  had  passed  by,  he  lay,  half  on  the 
floor,  half  against  the  red  plush  seat  under 
the  porthole,  with  the  life  nearly  crushed 
from  his  bruised  body  ;  and  young  Har- 
rington's strong  hands  were 
twitching  at  his  throat. 

"  You'd  stab  me,  would 
you  ?  "  said  young  Harring- 
ton. "Yoii  blackguard  ! 
You'd  stab  me,  after  I  helped 
you  to  do  your  contemptible 
work ! " 

He  held  the  man's  throat 
with  one  hand  and  slipped 
the  other  inside  the  loosened 
waistcoat.  Tlie  Bohemian 
struggled  feebly,  but  young 
Harrington  drew  out  a  thick 
packet  of  documents  bound 
together  with  tape.  The 
tape  was  fastened  in  many 
places  with  great  waxen  seab, 
and  these  seals  had  not  yet 
been  broken. 

"  Not  broken,  by  Jove  I  " 
be  cried,  with  a  little,  high- 
pitched  laugh  of  relief. 
"  Not  broken  1 "  He  stuffed 
the  papere  into  a  pocket  of 
his  jacket  and  arose  to  his 
feet,  backing  away  towards 
the  middle  of  the  room. 

The  Bohemian  spy,  lying 
helpless  against  the  edge  of 
the  red  plush  seat,  turned 
slowly  about  and  laid  hie  arms  out  over  the 
seat  and  dropped  his  bead  upon  them,  and 
his  shoulders  heaved  and  twjst«d  with  sobs. 

"  Oh,  I  say  !  "  cried  young  Harrington 
gently.  He  had  almost  never  before  seen  a 
man  weep,  and  it  distreaeed  him  curiously. 


240 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


even  lliougb  this  same  man  had  been  quite 
ready,  not  long  before,  to  kill  him  wbere  be 
stood. 

"  Oh,  I  sa J  !  "  he  cried  again  awkwardly. 
"  Dou't--don't  do  that,  you  know  !  I — well, 
it's  bard  luck  and  all,  but — somebody's  got 
to  lose.  Don't  do^that !  You — you  see, 
you  were  on  the  wwug  aide.  You  had  to 
lose.  It  wouldn't  do  for  you  to  win.  It 
would  have  meant,"  said  be,  with  a  diplo- 
matic air,  "the  repainting  of  the  map  of 
Europe— I  have  it  on  excellent  authority. 
Don't  be — don't  be  cut  up  over  it.  Better 
luck  next  time  !  And— and  u  better  cause, 
you  know.     Eb,  what?  " 

But  the  spy  turned,  still  kneeling  upon 
the  floor  beside  the  red  plush  seat,  and  faced 
him.  He  seemed  not  at  all  ashamed  of  his 
tears  nor  of  the  marks  of  grief  upon  bis  face. 

"  You  !  "  he  said,  in  a  low,  choked  voice. 
**  Yon  prate  to  me  of  causes  and  rights  und 
wrongs !  You,  who  came  into  ail  this 
through  a  bov'a  silly  vanity  and  love  of 
excitement.  You,  who  were  willing  to  be 
made  a  tbief  because  a  man  told  you  a 
romantic  fairy  tale  I  How  dare  you  talk  of 
rights  and  wrongs  ?  Better  luck  next  time  ! 
I  tell  yon  there  will  be  no  next  time  I  It 
was  win  or  die  for  me  this  time.  I  was  to 
be  shot  gainst  a  wall  two  weeks  ago,  but 
they  gave  me  tbls  chanee  to  win  back  my 
life  and  gain  independeuce  for  Bohemia.  I 
tell  you  I  should  have  been  remembered  for 
a  century  I  They  would  have  called  me  the 
saviour  of  Bohemia.  Now^better  luck  next 
time  !  Ah,  go,  go  I  Do  not  stand  there 
gloating.  Will  you  not  go  ? "  He  turned 
about  once  more  and  dropped  hie  face  upon 
his  outstretched  arms.  Young  HaiTington 
tiptoed  BoftJy  from  the  room  and  closed  the 
door  behind  bim. 

Once  out  iu  the  passage,  be  paused  a 
moment. 

"  Wonder  if  I'd  best  leave  him  there  with 


that  pistol  P "  he  said  to  bimself,  and  ball 
turned  to  go  back.  But  he  could  not  bring 
himself  again  to  enter  tlie  stat«-room  when 
that  man  knelt  weeping. 

A  little  way  down  the  corridor  he  found 
the  other  three  and  nodded  at  them  joyously. 

"  Where's  the  Princess  ? "  he  demanded. 
"I  want  the  Princess.  This  melodrama hae 
got  to  have  a  star  finish,  or  the  curtain  doesn't 
go  down  at  all." 

They  found  the  Princess  up  above  in  the 
companionway.  The  elderly  Countea  vas 
with  her.  She  started  towards  them  with  a 
little,  anxious,  iMsseeching  cry  whicii  ended  in 
a  sob  of  relief  at  Colonel  von  Altdorf's  nod. 

Young  Mr.  Harrington  drew  the  faswned 
and  sealed  bundle  of  papers  from  his  pocket 
and  held  tbem  out. 

"  Here  is  your  property,  madam,"  said  be, 
"  It  appears  to  be  of  some  value.  I  shouldn't 
lea^'e  it  about,  if  I  were  you.  It  only  l«mpt8 
foolish  young  men  to  melodrama."  He 
shook  his  head  at  her  hnmuruusly  and 
folded  hia  arms  behind  bim  with  a  little 
sigh,  as  if  he  were  glad  to  have  his  hands 
free  once  more. 

"  These  affairs  of  State  ! "  he  complained. 
"  They're  too  jolly  serious  for  me.  I  «»s 
never  cut  out  for  them,  I  expecL  I  cipect 
football  is  more  in  m^  line.  Eh,  wW? 
Yes,  I  expect  I'd  best  stick  to  football." 

Then,  just  as  he  had  finished  speaking, 
and  before  the  Princess  Beatrice  could  rejJy, 
there  came  from  below,  muffled  and  deadened 
by  distance,  but  quite  distinct,  the  soond  of 
a  revolver  shot. 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  asked  the  PriiiM* 
quickly.  "  What  was  that  ?  It  sounded 
like  a  shot." 

Young  Harrington's  eyes  met  those  of 
Colonel  von  Altdorf  and  lingered. 

"That?"  said  he  gently.  "That™ 
only  the  curtain  signal.  Princess.  It  maiki 
the  end  of  the  play." 


e  coffee  on  Mn.  Ricbpia's  fri>ck. 


!   What  impertinence '.  to  near  en  old  drew  *t  n 


THE    EDITOR'S    SCRAP-BOOK. 


A    MEDITATION. 


I'M  Just  seventeen,  and  f  shall  put 
My  hair  up  In  a  while; 
Th«  bother  Is,  I  simply  can't 
Decide  upon  my  "style"; 
For  all  girls  have  one  nowadays. 
Although!  their  brothers  smile. 

Of  course.  It  you  are  tall  and  slim— 

With  ^Tden  hair  a>curl— 

Vou  wear  your  frocks  In  billows. 

With  flounces  all  awhirl : 

Vou  move  with  a  fastidious  air— 

A  PenrtayD  Stanlaws  Qlrl  1 

And  then,  you  know,  I'd  have  to  be 

Quite  seven  feet.  I'm  afraid; 

With  forehead  low,  eyes  closely  set— 

"  She- Who-Must-  Be-Obeyed  "— 

Before  I  could  lay  claim  to  be 

A  OrelffeDhacea  maid. 


Then,  It  roy  hair  were  straight  and  black. 

My  eyes  deep,  dark,  and  misty. 

With  eyebrows  straight  and  clearly  marked. 

And  mouth  made  to  be  kist,  I 

Would  dress  In  tailor-mades,  and  be 

A  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 

And  then,  of  all  these  modem  types, 
The  one  that's  oltenest  seen 
Peeps  down  at  you  from  calendars, 
Her  downcast  lids  between : 
The  summit  of  my  longing  is 
To  be  a  Qlbson  queen. 

But  since  I'm  not  a  Qlbson  girl. 

And  never,  never  can 

Attain  such  heights  of  blessedness, 

I've  got  a  lovely  plan ; 

When  I'm  a  little  older, 

I  shall  wed  a  Gibson  Man. 

H.    S.    SINCLAIR. 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGA^INS. 


Fabher:  How  do  I   git  out  of  this  hotel  i 


NiaHT-PoRTEB :  Jump  out  of  the  nindow  aa' 
tum  to  the  right. 


He  :  Pshaw  I  Men  dou't  many  for  money  half 
RB  often  ns  they  are  Buppoxed  to. 

She:  No,  for  not  hnlf  Ihe  girls  are  rich  Ihat  ats 
BUppoiwd  to  lie. 


She  :  I  don't  think  father  likes  to  see  you 
arouod  bo  much. 

Hn:  I'm  Bure  of  it.  To-day  he  paid  me  that 
fire  pounds  be  borrowed  over  a  year  ago. 


"  Do  you  think  that  Wi^ina  ja  really  your 
friend  7  " 

"  I  suppose  BO ;  be'e  always  giving  me  diaagiee- 
able  advice." 

"  I  want  to  be  an  aoEal," 


'm' 


JuBT  about  the  time  a  man  b^oi  to  feel  that 
he  \%  of  considerable  importance  he  meets  soum 
Acquaintance  who  has  forgotten  his  nam& 


"  She  carries  her  age  well,  doesn't  she  ?  " 
"  Yes.    She  doesn't  feel  a  day  older  than  she 
Bays  she  looks." 


"  I  don't  believe  that  poets  are  bom.' 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  a  long-haired  baby." 


To  travel  tor  plsuure  l>  all  well  caoasta, 

If  you  have  botb  the  wlih  and  tba  wealth; 

Bat  vhcD  yon  have  neither.  It  cones  pretty  touch 
To  travel  about  for  your  health. 


^=&^ 


Old   Ladi:    Do   people  lose   their   livee   here 
frequently,  little  boy? 
Little  Bor :  Not  more  than  once. 


Bella  :  la  your  friend  a  marrying  man 

Stella  ;    I  intend  that  he  BbalT  be ; 

doesn't  know  it  yet 


Motseb:  How  is  my  Johnny  gettjng  oa  at 
school? 

Teacbkr  :  He  is  rather  backward  in  his  studio^ 
but  then  be  is  very  forward  in  hia  manners. 


CHBAPBR. 

Joneb  :  I  want  you  to  see  my  new  card-table. 

Shitr  ;  All  right.  Oive  me  the  address  of  the 
place  you  got  it  from. 

JoKEH :  What  for  7 

Shith:  If  they've  got  the  same  thing,  it  won't 
cost  me  so  much  to  look  at  it  there. 


When  ■  sit  down  at  set  of  nm 

To  court  the  thlnca  tbat  I  have  daoe, 

I'B  slail  It  i*  nobody's  Ui 

How  very  (BuUl  the  nnaibcir  la. 

Mas.  PiDOET ;  Now,  Tommy,  I  want  you  to  be 
as  quiet  as  a  mouse.    I'm  busy. 

ToHMT  (scornfully) :  Huh  I  If  I  was  a  mouM, 
you'd  jump  up  on  a  chair  and  yell ! 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


THE   CONSIDEBATB    BOY. 

Said  b  amall  boy  to  bis  father:  "Dad,  whit 
makes  you.  look  eo  angry  ?  " 

"  1  look  angry  because  I  am  vexed  at  hearing 
your  motber  Moid  you  no  much  for  your  badnen." 

"  Well,  dad,  you  should  do  as  I  do.  I  hear  mi 
scolding  you  for  your  badDees  forty  times  a  day, 
but  I  never  remind  you  of  it,  for  l"  always  think 
you  have  been  punished  enough  already," 


A  ■Ibn  aad  ityllsb  dnroa-tly, 
Allffbtlnr  on  ■  leaf  clOM  by, 
AddruMd  him  airily : 

"My  gncn  yonns  frtcnd,  wak*  ap."  aald  fea. 
"VoDT  mcUiod'i  fsoliab,  can't  you  aecT 
V«D  ouKbt  to  buny  roaed,  like  nw— 
Not  sprawl  tliere  idly  ail  the  day, 
Waiting  tor  tbla^  la  come  your  way. 
Move  on,  1  say." 

Tbc  fng  moved  on.    Hli  moDtb  Mntcbed 


MiRB  Panhard;  There's  Miss  RuDsbout  Doddiog 
to  you.     Do  you  know  her? 

Mws  Mercedes  ;  I  doo't  really  knoir  her.  Her  car  is 
only  5  H.P. ;  I  merely  bow. 

walked  back." 


\ 


THAT  WICKED   SMAItT  SET,    AOAIN  I 

Mrs.  db  Vere  (to  the  Major,  who  is  telling  a 
short  story):  Er— yes.  Major,  but  don't  you 
think  you  ought  to  tell  this  story  in  a  little  lower 
toneof  voice?  It  seems  a  little  rieque,  and  the 
young  lady  on  the  other  side  might  overbear  you. 

The  Major:  But,  my  dear  madam,  she  has 
just  told  the  yarn  to  me. 


"  Threepence  fo'  the  'ire  of  the  d 
"  ThreepeDce  I  I  UiODgtit  thev  wer 
"  That's  right,  sir— a  penny  each." 


OBANP    HOLIDAY   NUMBltfi. 


WCTSfbea 


mcLS0m: 


25  per  cent.  Discount  for  Cash,  or 
14s.  6d.  per  month  (second-hand, 
los.  6d.  per  month)  on  the  Three 
Years'  System.  —  Lists  free  o( 
Row,    London,  W.C.    (Removed  from   40    and    42, 


BORD'S  PIANOS 

C.    STILES    &    CO.,    74  and  76,   .Southampton    Row,    Londoi 
Southampton  Row.)     I'lANOS  EXCHANGED. 

BEGHSTEIN  PIANOS 

tageous  prices  and    terms.  —  Ljsts  and   particulars  free  of  CHA5.    5TILES    &    CO., 
Southampton  Roiv,  London,  W.C.     (Removed  from  40  and  42,  Southampton  Roiv.) 


These  magsificeDt 
Pianos  for  Hire  00 
tlie  riircc  Years' 
System,  at  adran- 
"4    and  76, 


'  [hg  Ihc  HISAT  OF  SUMMER,  and 


Zbc  Minbsor  ^aoasine. 


I»AGK 


CONTENTS    FOR    AUGUST,    1005. 

AU  rights  retervedm 
"IfANY  HAPPY  RETURNS  OF  THE  DAY"  ...       From  the  picture  by  Maude  Goodmas.    Frontispiece 

THE  PICTURES  OF  MAUDE  GOODMAN       ^        Austin  Chestek    247 

lUustraUdfirom  the  ArtitVs  piUures. 

THE  SPFX;ULATIONS  OF  JACK  STEELE.    III.— A  Sweet  Problem       ... 
lUtutraUd  by  P.  H.  Towmend, 

Ivliyll  1  UvFU  OuO  ••■  •••  •••  •••  ...  ...  ...  ...  .«• 

Itttutrated  from  photographs,  etc 

CONCERNING  "OTHER  FELLOWS"  

Ittusirated  by  Hilda  Cowham. 

itUi*  DUV/A.POND        ...         •••         ••.         ...         •••         ...         ...         ...         ... 

lUustraUd  by  Fred  Pegram. 

LEUSt    trSjLlOM\jAA^  .«•  ...  ...  *«.  c;-  ••«  ...  ...  ... 


AYESHA.    Chapters  XIX.  and  XX 

Ittu^rated  by  Maurice  Oreifenhagen, 

TEE  FRENCH  MAID  

lUustrated  by  Penrhyn  StatUaiPS. 

"WHO  GOES  THERE?"     

SOME  EXPERIENCES  OF  A  WAVE  PHOTOGRAPHER   ... 
lUustrated  from  j^otograj^. 

THE  SOUL  OF  NICHOLAS  SNYDERS 

lUustrated  by  L,  Raven- HUL 

THE  WINNIPEG  WOLF     

lUustrated  by  the  Author. 

SIR  BERTRAM*S  TRYST 

lUustrated  by  Cyrus  Cuneo, 

A  IjIL  LLttt  Sa.\fnl!i  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...  *•. 

THE  EDITOR'S  SCRAP-BOOK 

^VI^  TUE    ACAJjSSHi  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...  ... 

IHE   sOIVT  OF   V  lE^V       ...  ...  ...  ...  ...  ... 

The  Philosophical  Eabwio 

Jl  KOP1s>kXx    x^BIDB  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...  ...  ... 

lOU   M B ITEft  v'AZi    X  Kr»l«   ..•  ...  ...  ...  ...  ... 

Is  THE  Public  Interest        


Robert  Barb  263 

George  Lorimer  275 

...    Mrs.  H.  H.  Penrose  287 

Dorothea  Deakin  290 

M.  S.  i>E  Wolfe  Howe  298 

H.  Rider  Haggard'  299 

...  Justus  Miles  Forma!^  319 

A  stady  by  B.  Boese  326 

...        ••.        ...  Lf.  J.  King  327 

Jerome  K.  Jerome  337 
Ernest  Thompson  Seton  347 
H.  C.  Bailey  355 

Charles  Ffoulkes  362 

•••    •••    ••■    ••■    •••  ooo 

...  Robert  McKerracher  863 

...  Robert  McKerracher  364 

Hazel  Phillips  Hanshrw  864 

R.  H.  Rahilly  364 

Hal  Hurst  365 

Charles  Pears  366 


YEARLY  SUBSCRIPTION  of  the  "  Windsor  Magazine^''  post  free  to  any  part  of  the  world,  8b.  0d. 


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EkTABUBBw  ITBt.   BBITISHMADE.  Model  Makers  to  the  AdmiraUw. 
BOSOM    MODBL    RAOINQ   ttTBAM    BOATO. 


52F- 
OMki^ 


^OiriBM.-^BrooMd  Unas,  with  Water  Tubes,  two  Hues.  Smoke 

QmngnJMt/tj  Valve  can  be  made  to  blow 

J  OlaM  Water  Oaoge.  Steam  Lerer,  Water 

with  Water  Oboler.    Tested  to  ao  lb*. 

Powerful    Doable    Cylinder    8.Y.    Xiaaneh 

.  Bitant  Guides  and  Lnbrioators,  Whole  Steel  Cranks. 

I  wWUttonaiy  Snghie  will  drire  Dynamos,  Sewing  MaohlneSt 

aodsrOrane  wHlUft  welj^ta  up  to  1  ewi. 

As  ilhMtated.   4fL  long  wlth4-bladed  PropeOer.  Hehn. 

f  Tim   Apparatus,  fte.    Wei^t  with  Engine  and 
n  Iha 

SSs-ad.  Awine  and  Boikr  without  Hull.  £«l<s.  carriage  free. 
irUmairalsd PumMM' deseHbino  above  and  ether 
Mem  I»satQm»ands<mUies  firte  cm  rece^iif  akmtp. 

IK  MOttBB"  OCMBntAHO  dk  BliOIIfS  OKPOTp 
MedslTidht  Bsiidera  JBngiDeenL  ami  19lee»ti«iaiia. 
JkMOYlA.  ARCADBTClSiGOW,  N^L 


THE    OLDEST   AND   BEST. 


ADAMS'S 


"  HaviBf  made  a  freah 
trial  of  its  ▼irtoea,  we  feel 
no  hesitation  in  xeoom- 
meading  it  to  all  honse- 
wiTea." 


Unequalled 

fop 
Bpllllaiiee  ft 
Cleanliness. 


For  Fmnitore,  Brown  Boota, 
Patent  Leather,  Oil  Olotha,  and 
aU  Yaniahed  and  *"*"»'*"it^ 
Ooods. 


FURNITURE 
POLISH. 


JPark  fForks^  SheffML 


ALCOHOLIC  CRAVING 

Always  Overcome  In  Forty- 
Eig^ht  Hours,  and  g^enerally 
In    Twelve    Hours,   by    the 

Oppenheimer  Treatment 

^n^l^^    Its  strong  tonic  effect  can  only  be  appreciated   by  those   who  have   seen  or   felt 
«M^.«Hii.^M^    the  results  produced. 

The   rapidity  with  which  it  removes  the  craving  for  stimulant  and  leaves  the 
patient  comfortable  and  content  is  the  keystone  of  the  treatment. 

In  all    cases    that    have    received    treatment,   none    have    ever    complained    of  any 
unpleasant  results. 

PERMANENT.    '^^^  craving  never   returns,     if  a  patient  drinks  after 
■-i-MMa^M«^M^M^iM«^M^    treatment,  it  will  be  a  deliberate  act  without  any  craving  for  alcohol. 

IT    IS   ABSOLUTELY   SAFE. 

THE  WELL-KNOWN  ATHLETE  EUSTACE  MILES, 
AMATEUR  CHAMPION  AT  TENNIS.  1899  to  1903.  AND 
RACQUETS.   1902,   SAYS:- 

*'  He  jests  at  scars  that  never  felt  a  wound.  He  rants  at  drink  that  never  felt  a  crave.  The  average 
anti-alcoholist  most  unsympatlietically  ignores  the  difficulties  of  the  alcohol  lover,  himself  not  haN-ing 
suffered  and  often  fallen.  He  under-estimates  the  enemy's  powers."  **  If  a  man  can  by  sheer  vrill* 
power  conquer,"  he  continues,  **  well  and  good.  But  if  he  cannot,  then  I  should  seek  any  one  or  more 
of  the  many  ways  that  I  know."  He  then  enumerates  forms  of  diet,  recreation,  "  suggestion,*'  and 
continues.  "  Last,  but  not  least,  anv  approved  TREATMENT.  Only  one  can  I  recommend  ^itb 
confidence.  It  consists  simply  in  drinking  of  a  cerlain  (not  '  inoi^ganic ')  drink  at  intervals  for  forty -eight 
hours.    Then,  it  seems,  there  follows  a  distaste  for  alcohol" 

This  Treatmeat  is  the  OPPENHEIMER   TREATMENT, 
which  Overcomes  the  Alcoholic  Craving  in  Forty-Eight  HourSt 

and  often  in  a  Shorter  Time. 

LADY  HENRY  SOMERSET  has  carefully  watched  this  treatment 
for  eighteen  months  in  her  private  Nursing  Home  in  London,  and  unreservedly 
endorses  the  statement 

The  medicine  is  NOT  HYPODERMICALLY  ADMINISTERED.  We  sute 
boldly  that  if  you  have  any  relative,  friend,  neighbour,  or  employ^  who  is  a  slave  to 
the  drink,  YOU  CAN  SET  THEM  FREE  by  bringing  them  to  us  for  treatment. 

THE  REV.  ERIC  FARRAR, 

SON   OF  THE   LATE   DEAN   FARRAR.   STATES:— 

"On  hearing  of  the  Oppenheimer  Institute  I  determined  that  a  parishioner  of  mine  should  haw 
the  benefit  of  the  treatment.  The  parishioner  I  refer  to  is  a  tradesman  in  a  small  way  of  bu»Dcss. 
I  had  known  him  for  five  years,  during  which   time  he  was  drinking  heavily.    In  spite  of  strong 

r^rsuasion  and  constant  care  I  was  unable  to  get  the  man  to  give  up  his  drmking  habits.  At  Ust 
was  driven  to  think  his  case  was  hopeless.  However,  on  hearing  of  the  Oppenheimer  Treatment 
I  determined  that  this  man  should  have  the  benefit  of  the  same.  I  confess  I  was  not  very  hopeful 
Nine  months  ago  the  treatment  began,  and  up  to  the  present  has  been  completely  successful ;  that  is 
to  say,  the  man  in  question,  who  before  was  hardly  ever  sober,  has  for  nine  months  had  no  alcohoL 
He  himself  tells  me  that  he  has  no  desire  now  to  drink.  I  feel  certain  that  the  man  has  been  cured 
of  the  former  craving  for  edcohol,  and  that  if  he  becomes  a  drunkard  again  it  will  be  entirely  his  own 
fiiult  As  occasion  occurs  I  have  every  intention  of  sending  others  to  the  Oppenheimer  Institute 
for  treatment." 

Several  well-known  Phyeiclane  have  eent  patients,  and 
have  stated  their  extreme  eatiefactlon  at  the  results. 

Those  interested  in  the  subject  can  obtain  further  information  by  addressing — 

The  SECSETiRT,  Oppenheimer  Institute,  Tbanet  House,  231  ft  232,  Strand.  London,  W.G. 


xzxu 


[FaciM£  bai  k  mfplmU* 


"MANY    HAPPY    RETURNS    OF    THE    DAY!"        BY    MAIIPE    GOODMAN. 

Repndvad  b^  ptmiuien  tff  tiu  Btrlin  Photographic  Company/,  Ne%a  Bond  Slrtet^  W^ 

Copj/riffht  bv  Pholographitehe  GadUthnfl. 


HARVARD  COLLEGE   LIBRARY 

FROM  THE  ESTATE  OF 

CHARLES  8.  DIXWELL 

MARCH  B,  1939 


wffl  <i/  Ihi  mpyr-glit  aud 


The  Pictures  of  Maude  Goodman. 


By    ACSTIN    CHESTEIl. 


IT  vnui  iu  the  oiirly  'eighlius  uf  t)ie  luat 
centurj  that  a  iiiovemeiit,  new  to 
England,  although  familiar  to  students 
of  die  Old  Masters  in  the  works  of  Velasijiiez 
and  also  to  students  of  Modern  French  Art 
in  that  of  Edoiiard  Manet,  l)egan  sluwly  to 
make  iU  way  into  the  conseioiiancsa  of  the 
[jeopie  under  the  name  "  Impression  in  in." 

Thai  luuvemL'iit  might  be  roughly  defined 
as  the  transposition  of  values  to  a  lower  key, 
iu  Older  to  avoid  eoin]«titiou  with  that  uf 
Nature's  own  pitch— a  traiispositioti  nhieh 
BnlM>rdinHt«8  general  detail  in  favour  of  an 
effect  of  light. 

When  anniniente  for  and  against  this 
method    were    agitating    the    temi>erH    and 

ALoihT,   1306.  3 


braius  of  those  who  were  interested  in  such 
subjects— when  James  McNeil  WhiHtler, 
Wilson  Steer,  Fred  Brown,  Moffatt  Lindner, 
Edward  Stott,  StJinho|je  Forbes,  Fntiik 
Branilcy,  Manriee  (^ireitTeiihagen,  and  many 
others  had  banded  themselves  together  to 
form  the  Xew  English  Ait  Club  and  blow 
the  clarion,  Unvonveiitionality,  to  attract 
and  introduce  theinselves  to  a  then  nii- 
observHiit  publiv,  there  was  iimi'chiiig  forward 
to  jxipuhir  success,  entirely  luiinHucni-ed  by 
the  so-culle<l  new  nioveinent.  Miss  Maude 
fioodnmn  (Mn.  Arthur  Scanes).  Xeediiig 
neither  discussion  nor  exploitation  to  call 
attention  to  her  ability.  Miss  (loodnian 
gained  rapidly  for  herseif,  as  the  ex])Onent 


248  THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 

of  sentiment,  a  poaitioii  iti  tlie  vtry  htsart  of  d'Aniour  "  was  one  of  the  subjects  chosen  bj 
the  ])Ui)|)lc,  the  nii:hc  of  Domestic  Idealism  tht;  Princess  Luulse  to  he  produced  »t  tht 
beinj;  the  one  her  work  mleijuutwly  fills.  Tahlciiux  Vivatits  at  Windsur  Castle  beron; 

The  pictures  of  few  moilerii  artists,  and  Queen  Victoria;  and  how  to  engravings 
ivrtitiiily  those  of  no  ivomau  artist,  arc  more  of  "  M'heu  the  Hoiirt  is  Young"  and 
{H)]iuliir:  nor  is  there 
any  artist  whose  Ciireer 
can  show  so  cxtra- 
iinlinary  a  record  of  nn- 
hattled  -  for  popularity. 
To  ]mnipiinise  the  weil- 
knowu  quotation  :  "  She 
came,  she  was  seen,  she 
conquered "  ;  and  that 
there  must  liavo  been  a 
^cat  want  felt,  even 
if  tlie  feeling  were  un- 
conscious, by  the  public. 


iiicti 
ies, 


she  supplies,  is  demon- 
strated by  the  u\-idity 
with  whicu  not  only  the 
pictures  themselves,  but 
the  truly  admirable 
reproductions  of  them, 
have  been  bought. 

Spread  over  the  area 
of  the  whole  civilised 
world  these  may  be  met 
with.  In  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the 
United  Kingdom  there 
is  scarcely  to  be  found 
a  home  of  any  ])i'etension 
to  culture  that  has  not 
several  hung  on  its 
walls.  If  the  biUiard- 
and  smoking-rooms 
absorb  the  presentments 
of  the  art  of  S.  E. 
Waller,  in  the  boudoirs 
and  drawing-rooms  are 
as  certainly  to  be  found 
those  of  Miss  Goodman. 
The  interviewer  estntcte 
from  her— extracts,  the 
process  is  one  of  extrac- 
tion, as  she  is  diffident 
of  recording  stories  ..„, 

which   redound    to  her       n/pnxiuai 
own    fame  —  liow    far 
afield  recognition  of  her 

talent  has  travelletl ;  how,  in  the  house  of  a       "  — — Aiid  Lived  Happily  Ever  After,"  one 
native  at  Sierra  Leone,  co])ies  of  her  pic'tnres       of  our  Princesses  gives,  in  lierprii-ate  Rittini:- 
hang  on  the  walls  ;  how  familiar  to  all  Anglo-        niotn,  places  of  honour. 
Indians  is  her  work  ;  and  how  In  \ew  York,  Miss  (Joodmaii's  jniwer  of  telliug  a  story 

as  a  liriljo  to  the  purchase  of  wmestibles,  a  by  the  delineation  of  {tusturc  and  artion  is, 
print  of  hur  "  Un  Chant  d'Anunir "  wiis  in  its  wa)',  unique.  She  has  done  forchildrcn 
offered  as  a  bonus ;  how,  too,  "  Un  Chant       that  which  Marcus  Stone  and  S.  E.  Waller 


II 
SI 

;i 

it 


250  THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 

have  each  done  for  men  and 
women  —  brought  together 
fuirjland  and  proaaic  life, 
wciding  the  two  with  a  brush. 

Her  art,  however,  differe 
from  tliat  of  the  men  with 
whom  in  peilud  and  uiTuiige- 
ineiit  it  suggests  coiiipariBon. 
Xo  two  artists  employ  exactly 
the  same  method  of  painting. 
They  may  iiHe  the  siime  {laletCu 
— tluit  ia  to  Bay,  tliey  may 
each  set  their  julette  witti 
identicul  colours  and  have 
the  saiDt!  aim  in  view  ;  for 
"all  art  aims,"  says  J,  A, 
Symonds,  "at  presenting  em- 
bodiment of  thonght  and 
feclini;  with  a  view  lo  intel- 
lectual enjoyment"  ;  but  the 
one  artist  will  iise  involved 
and  complicated,  and  the 
other  simple,  means  by  which 
they  will  each  individually 
endeavour  to  attain  the  same 
tjnd. 

Born  at  Iklanchester,  Miss 
Goodman  was  left  motherless 
when  H  few  days  old,  her 
father,  after  a  time,  marrying 
a  second  wife,  a  lady  to  whom 
Miss  Goodman  acknowledges 
owing  a  deep  debt  of  grati- 
tude, for  it  was  she  who, 
recognising  her  step- 
daughter's exceptional  bias 
towards  art,  encouraged  the 
child  to  devote  herself 
seriously  to  its  study,  and 
comliated,  later  on,  on  her 
behalf,  her  father's  preju- 
dice against  her  adcipting  it 
as  a  profession,  I;'or  Mr. 
Ooodman  had  the  usual 
dislike  of  a  parent  to  his 
dituglitei''s  pursuing  an  in- 
dependent career.  Seeing 
her  always  pencil  or  bniah  in 
hand,  he  came,  however,  at 
last,  to  realise  how  much  in 
earnest  she  was  in  her  desire 
to  study,  and,  putting  his 
disapproval  aside,  engaged  for 
her  a  muster.  But  London 
was  the  Mi-ccji  of  her  hopes, 
and  she  wished  to  enter,  as  a 
student,  the  Royal  Academy 

Schools.     This,  however,  Mr.      >._-oJu_j  k,,  *"*^".""* ''"'™"^'^'     ' 
Goodman  would  not  permit ;        ""^"^  si^"« 


THE  PICTURES  OF  MAUDE  GOODMAN.  251 

neither,  when  she  shifted  the 
scene  of  her  aspirations  and 
advanced  the  idea  of  going  to 
Paris,  to  work  in  one  of  the 
several  studios  there,  would  he 
give  to  thia  project  his  consent  \ 
although  eventually  he  acceded 
to  hor  entering  herself  as  a 
jmpil  at  South  Kensiufrtou, 
where,  watcliiiig  her  rapid  pro- 
gress, with  the  keenest  interest 
and  pride,  he  was  the  first  tu 
tick  u  owl  edge  the  justification 
of  her  ambitions. 

The  diilerence  in  techni<iue 
lietween  an  artist  trained  in 
the  French  school  and  one 
tmincd  in  the  English  is  shown 
at  a  glance,  and  there  is  a  wide 
field  of  conjecture  open  to  the 
speculativo  mind  as  to  what 
manner  of  work  Ikliss  Goodnwn 
would  have  produced  had  she 
learned  to  paint  under  tiie 
guidance  of  Julien,  and  had 
lieen.  in  due  course,  influenced 
by  Bastien  Le  Page,  Tony 
Floury,  and  Carohis  Dnrau, 
instead  of  taking  her  rudi- 
mentary instniction  under  th« 
direction  of  Sir  Edward 
Poynter  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  South  Kensington  Schools. 
Perhaps,  as  she  is  in  agree- 
ment with  the  opinion,  wliicli 
is  attributed  to  Velas<|ueB,  tlwt 
"  Nature  herself  is  the  artist's 
liest  teaclier;  industry  the 
surest  guide  to  iwrfection "  ; 
that  "  it  is  wisest  to  resolve 
neither  to  sketch  nor  to  colour 
any  object  without  having  that 
object  itself  in  front  of  one  " 
— she,  had  she  studied  in  Paris, 
would  have  remained  unmovetl 
from  the  attitude  towards  art 
which  she  has  elected  to 
assume,  and  through  that  l)est 
of  all  masters,  experience,  lia\'e 
continued  to  issue  to  her  ad- 
miring public,  work  identiciij 
with  that  which  forms  the 
subject-matter  of  this  article. 

We   are,   especially   our 

women,    sentimentalists,    and 

MissGoodman'sBuggestionthnt 

Youth  should  dance  through 

>iiv  KisR  A  iu>TiY.     nr  MAuoK  (-.ooiiMAs.  jj^  vears  to  souud  of  tabor  or 

mum  or  tht  Bfrhn   Photaoravhie   Cmnpany,   A  ne  Bond  .   /  ,  . ,        ,  i    ■  ■    i 

Owv*i  *«  Ptiou-jraphitfXt  Gf^itehafi.  vtol,  or  jaze  tile  liours,  lulled 


n 


n 


THE  PTCTURES  OF  MAUDE  GOODMAN. 


253 


by  the  melody  of  a  love-Bon^,  attracts  our 

iinatcj nation,  "it  is  to  the  portrayal  of  these 

graceful  meHBUi'L'S,  jiCThapa,  that  Miag  (!ood- 

man  owes  her 

{rreat    popu- 

larity— f  or  one 

is  justified  in 

coiisiderinfT 

the  ptipularity 

of  an  artist 

great  for  tlie 

purchase    of 

whose    work 

there  is  ^reat 

competition  ; 

tuwaseseiiipli- 

lied  in  the  case 

of  her  pictuTC, 

"Want  to  Se« 

the  Wheels  fio 

Wound,"    for 

which  no  less 

than  fiftcoa 

offers  to 


cha 


She  depicts 
a  world  with 
which  few 
would  quarrel. 
Her  uiaids 
coquet  with 
the  harmless 
vanity  of  Iiirds  ■ 
plnmingthcm- 
selveB.  Her 
men  are  spend- 
thrifts only  of 
their  time. 
Her  music  is 
BO  cncliantin^; 
that  to  it  wc, 
as  it  rc-L-chocB 
in  our  hearts, 
lend  a  willing 
car.  Biichjiio- 
tRrecontatuiia 
special  plea  for 
Tom  Moore's 
statement  that 
'•'Tis  Love, 
'tis  Love  thit 
niakeB  the 
world  K  o 
nmnd,"and  if,  '"^" 
like  ftU  Bpccial 
pleading,  it  is  neither  quite  honest  nor  quite 
coiivincinji,  it  hiis.  none  the  less,  the  power 
to  influence  ns.     Especially  is  this  the  case 


.    Copyright  bn  Phi 


in  her  pictures  of  "  Mother-Love,"  for  most 

women  i)OfiHess  a  constancy  which  is  infinitely 

pathetic.      Deep   down    in    their   hearts    lie 

■(lorified  re- 

of  their  chil- 
dren's habv 
years,  whicli 
they  imagine 
they  see  repro- 
duced in  the 
idealised 
liei  n  gs  of 
Miss  Maude 
Goodman's 
creation. 

She  hsB  not 
hit  the  public 
taste  by  a 
lucky  shot, 
but  by  deliber- 
ate aim ;  and 
premeditation 
is  the  essential 
quality  of  ail 
art.  It  is 
premeditative 
selection  of 
environment 
that  in  her 
own  ho m e 
Biirrouuds  her 
w  i  t  h  t  ii  e 
period  of  the 
decoration 
recognisable 
in  all  her 
pic'tures.  She 
has,  of  deliler- 
ation,    chosen 

appropriate 
setting,  and  as 
such  setting 
cannot  be 
come  by  with- 
ont  thought 

tion,  we  are 

justified    even 

in  culling  the 

house  in  which 

she  lives   in 

Kensington   a 

part   of    her 

art ;    hut,  in 

addition   to   this   qualitv   of   premeditation 

which   enaliles  her,  by  naming  them  alwiiys 

to  her  hand,   tu  use  the   setting   amongst 


'OtujjrajAi 


lUcht  UtHH^haJl. 


154 


THE   wn'DSOR  MAOAZTNR. 


wtiich  slic  lives  —  tho  gr-iceful  limeades 
and  Rk'iidtT-1  egged  talilta  and  chairs  of  the 
Empire  period  —  as  baekgrourids  for  her 
motivi«,  MisB  Goodman  puinte  that  wliich 
xhe  fccU  and  of  which  ehe  is  fnlly  con- 
vinced. To  lier  the  white  natiu  chenil«  of 
her  canvases  are  tlie  real  diildreii  whom 
tile  more  prosaic  stiidontfi  of  young  hfe  see 


This  last  idea,  extrav.igant  as  it  ms< 
ap{)ear.  is  not  without  j[istili<^sition:  fur 
n-hen  "When  the  Heart  is  Young"  was 
l«in^  exhibited.  Miss  (ioodman  received  a 
lett'ji'  from  a  ausceptihle  swain  asking  her 
for  the  name  and  addresa  of  the  model 
from  whom  the  girl  at  the  piano  hud  bet-n 
puinted,    and    addiug,    although    ))rol«l)iT 


Hfprodueeil  by  penp 


1    0/  thf  j 


filching  jam  from  the  nursery  ciipltoard  and, 
when  opportunity  serves,  playing  with  fire  or 
water.  Hers  are  the  children  of  the  Ballad, 
the  children  of  the  King,  children  who  sit  on 
a  cushion  and  sew  a  tine  seam  ;  yet  this 
Apotheosis  of  the  Balie,  "  too  flatterijig 
sweet  to  lie  sulistantial,"  points  a  lesson  in 
piTfection  not  without  its  use,  and  it  has 
eiiongh  ctianii  to  decoy  from  the  ranks  of 
h.u'lu'loi's  many  an  im^inative  man. 


•fltwhnjl.'  " 


',    W,      CopyHjit  bg 


not  in  these  ivonls,  that  the  writer's 
"  bent  of  love  was  honouralilc,  his  purpose 
marriage." 

Hope  is  always  liand-in-hand  with  her 
loiers :  for  when,  the  decpe  of  jussion 
having  l)een  successfully  skipped,  we  meet 
them  again,  willing  prisoners  in  matrimony's 
Iwnds,  they  are  in  the  first  wonder  of 
piireiitiige. 

This  note  of  ideidised  marriage  is  s'lunded 


BY    MAIDF.   (iOODMAN. 
ApnduHd  (nr  prrmuincm  if  Mtnrt.  ttiUahtimtr  and  Cn..  CirrktaicrU  Road,  B.C..  mrnrri  of  Iht  eopurithl 


"LIKE    THIS,    GRANNIE." 


256 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZWE. 


ioudly  in  the  picture  "  Santa  Claus,"  issued 
as  an  ungraviiig  by  Messre,  Slade  Bros,  and 

Liicv ;  and  iii  " And  Lived  Hiiiipily  Evlt 

Aft^r."  Also 
in  "A  Liliour 
of  Lovu,"  in 
V,-  h  i  c  li  a 
complaisant 
mother  looks 
on  whilst  a 
father,  steal- 
in  t,'  presiim- 
ablv  an  lioiir 


saying  that  the  prints  of  this  or  that  picture 

have   the    lai^i-st   sale.     A   talk    with   t-he 

it'jiresc'iitativu   of    the   Berlin   Photographic 

Ooinpanv,   iii 

New     Bond 

Street,  will 


fr 


>  ui     t  h  (i 


claims  of  the 


ruffles  and 
cravat  appear 
to  attach 
him,  instructs 
liis  little 
dauffhter  in 
the  first  rudi- 
mcnts  of 
KJther  play- 
ing. 

Beanty, 
saysSynioiids, 

is   till-   pl'up.T 

end   of    art ; 

and  if  that 
side  of  it 
which  Miss 
(!  o o d  ma n 


k' 


yoQ 


uider  the 
preBsion  that 
no  sales  of 
the  prtDts  of 
any  oDe  spe- 
cial picture 
could  pogsiUy 
exce^.'d  ttiatof 
"  Hush:" 
which  they 
are  incliued, 
from  the 
lai^e  rtjsiilt« 
that  have 
accrued     to 


lends  itself 
willingly 
ctiou;rh      to 

she  has, 
1  a  r  {,'  e  I  y 

developed, 
that  which 
Thackeray 
calW  "  an  in- 
stinct for  the 
pietnrcsi|ne." 
It  is  pnilu- 
bit!  that  each 
l)ropriotor  of 

the  different  works  of  Hiss  (!<)0(hnan  who  has 
rcprixlucwl  them  would  claim  for  himsflf  the 
juKtificiition  of   his  own  eH|K.'ciid  chriice  by 


with  repai-d  to  "  Love's  Mehx 
the  "  Un  Chant  d"Amonr"  a 
Unde,  Doggie  ! "  which  are  the 


O  3. 

si 

^  ■s 


%1 


"WATCHISC    THE   TOrRXAMKNT,"      BY    MAIDK    COnDMAN-. 

/l?,.rm(.(M.J  bs  ptnaii^ion  1/  M/t/r-  J.  P.  UtadoBi.  Ltd..  King  Strnl.  SL  Jama't  SIrrrt. 

iwnrrt  n/  Ihr  n>i:i,n.jM  and  ptMMtn  iff  tht  largt  plait. 


"lll'Sli:-      l!Y    MAUDE    GOODMAN. 
ittpnuluced  btt  ptrttiiMnon  of  the  Berlin  Phot'igfaphic  Companr/,  Seit  Boivi 
thntngrafliiirlie  fiaeilKliaft. 


■'SANTA    ri.AiJS."      BY    MAUDE    GOOnMA: 
Reprvdveed  ftw  yinniaian  of  Mtun.  Stide  Brnt.  arid  Ltiteu.  Great  fortland  Street 
atut  puNiahm  iff  thi  larye  piaU, 


THE   WINDSOR  MAOAZINK. 


Mr.  Li^f^tt,  iniiBt,  wc  conceive,  hi;  run  eloee 

iu  popiUtirity  by  the"- -And  Livwl  Happily 

Ever  After,"  tlio  "  Want  to  Hm  the  Wheela 
(lO  Wound,"  und  the  "Me  Loves  'oo,"  of 
McRsrs.  Hildwheimcr,  though  they  themselves 
(iiice  said  thiit  the  sale  of  pritita  of  "  When 
tliu  Huart  is  Yoiin^',"  nhieh  is  also  their 
proiwrty,  Uiis  far  exceeded  that  of  any  other. 
Some  memory  of  the  words  Sliakespeare 
put  into  the  moutli  of  Flortzfl  aeem  to  uavc 


a  lessoii  ill  manners  adiutiiistered  to  a  poi; 
lij  her  own  child.  It  was  exhibit^]  id  thi; 
Royai  Aaulemy  of  1K811.  "Me  Lovis'im"' 
hung  on  the  line  in  the  Inslitub;  of  Oils, 
1803,  which  f;ives  a  new  reading  of  tht 
fable  of  Naitissns,  was  a  tonoh  of  raniiv 
noted  in  the  child  of  J^ady  Maitland.  and 
caught  and  chronicled  by  Aliss  Goodiiiiln 
with  extraordinary  success ;  wliilst  in  "  Wiiiii 
to  See  the  Wheels  Go  Wound,"  the  scene 


1  i>/  *M.ri.  Lrggall  Brothm,  Chraimir. 


rt  af  the  cnpi/rigH  aiut  jmhlvhtn 


l)cen   in   ^lisa   (ioodmau't)   miud   when  she 
jKiinted  tliis  suiiject — 

n'hen  ymi  do  dani-r.  I  niiih  yiiu 
Nothing  but  time. ' 
Certainly,  on   the    minds  of    the    many 
pUR-hasei-K  of  the  )iriut  of  thiti  pictnre,  she 
must  have  inipi-eKsed  some  such  image  of  the 
poetiy  of  motion  t>f  dHnvin>;  wiive«. 

Tliifc  uf  the  8uhjectH  ehoseii  for  lier  «in- 
viises  were  snggested  ijy  actual  ot^currences. 
*■  That's  Rude,  Doggie  I  "  owed  its  origin  to 


depicted — a  vestibule  and  staircase,  similar  t" 
those  to  be  found  in  many  a  well-to-do  hou'e 
— is  one  in  which  her  own  little  son  Ijfiirli 
was  caught  inquisitively  peeping  inW  thf 
open  door  of  a  grandfather's  clock.  ITii* 
picture  wae  exhibited  in  the  Roval  Acaiieniv 
of  lMlt2, 

The  firat  suixx^  which  Miss  (Joodiiwn 
maile  can  lie  definitely  fixed  as  being  in  llw 
year  1KH2-  tliat  of  her  marriage  to  Mr. 
Arthur  Scanes  —  when  the  purehase  uf 
one  of  her    pictures    by    Sir    Johu   Aird 


262 


THE   WINDSOR   MAOAZINE. 


stamped  lier  iis  a  yoiiTig  paintur  w)iose  cai'eisr 
would  be  worth  the  watcniuft. 

In  muH  she  had  on  the  walls  of  Burlington 
House  no  fewer  than  six  pictures,  of  which 
"  His  Portrait "  became  probably  the  moat 
popular.  We  English  arc,  I  ropeiit,  a  nation 
of  sentimental  optimiste,  and  the  very 
titles  of  Miss  Goodman's  pictures — which 
explain,  in  great  measure,  her  attitude  of 
graceful  joy  towards  art— esplain,  at  the 
same  time,  some  meusure  for  the  reason  of 
her  works'  popnlaritr  ;  and  for  this  popularity 
she  has  paid  the  penalty  in  having  Iwen 
made  the  wclpient  of  much  good-natured 
persifli^e,  Pimeh  starting  it  some  twenty 
years  ^o  with  some  kindly  and  huinorons 
eXi^^rations,  and  Messrs.  Hildcsheinier 
issuing,  only  the  other  day,  an  iimusing 
caricature  of  lier  "Taller  tliau  Mother." 
Children,  dressed  a  la  Maude  Goodman, 
have  l)e«n  the  "observed  of  all  obsen'ers" 
at  many  a  fancy-dress  ball ;  and  the  "  Maude 
Goodman  style  "  is  rccx^nised,  as  a  descrip- 
tive short  cut,  when  critics  wish  to  point  to 
some  one  or  other  of  the  many  imitators  of 
her  subjects.  She  lias  had  one  experience 
which  would  Daturally  make  an  indeliliie 
impression  upon  an  artist,  it  being  probably 
unique  to  receive  money  voluntarily  added 
to  the  price  agreed  on  for  the  purcliase  of  a 
picture ;  but  when  the  late  Mr.  T.  Wallis,  of 
the  French  GaUery,  from  whom  her  talent  won 
early  recognition,  liad  successfully  n^otiated 
the  sale  of  one  of  her  works,  the  purchaser, 
npoQ  its  lieing  sent  home,  wrote  to  him  to 
state  that  t)ie  iiicture  hod  given  so  much 
pleasure  to  himself  and  his  wife  tliat  he 
bcj^ed  to  be  allowed  to  add  to  the  price  he 
had  already  paid  a  sum  which  wm  equivalent 
to  one  fourth  of  the  original  amount. 

It  is  inevitable,  although  art  has  no  sex, 
that  compurisons  should  suggest  themselvt» 
between  the  work  of  Miss  Goodman  and  that 
of  other  lady  artists.  EsiK'cially,  through 
opposing  reasons,  i>etween  tlic  work  of  Iiiwly 


Stanley  (Dorothy  Tennant),  who,  her  out- 
look on  life  being  naturalistic,  sees  ^<m^ 
England  disporting  itself  at  the  taiknd 
of  carts,  swinging  on  rails,  joyous  and  un- 
kempt in  the  gutter ;  and  also  betwei^n  ciie 
earlier  works  of  Mrs.  Adrian  Stokes,  nhoei' 
depicted  children  knew  little  lieyoud  the  nus 
and  sorrows  of  life,  who,  in  the  same 
Academy  which  saw  one  of  Miss  Goodman's 
many  triumphs,  exhibited  that  pathetic  pic- 
ture of  a  cottage-interior  in  which  a  child  is 
sitting  by  the  coflin  of  a  dead  l)rother,  aiid 
to  which,  as  title,  Mrs.  Stokes  appUcd  tht 
well-known  lines  of  Mrs,  Hemans' — 

Ob '  while  my  Imtlier  with  nie  [ilsrH, 
Would  I  had  Inved  hitii  mure ! 

But  art  has  many  provinces,  and  not  t!ie 
least  among  them  is  that  of  fostering  agrw- 
able  illusions ;  and  who  shall  blame  Mi^ 
(ioodman  if  she  idealises  the  love  of  the  mau 
for  the  maid  ;  that  of  the  bride  for  the 
bridegroom  ;  or  that  which  exists  lietween 
mother  and  child  ? 

"  We  are,"  says  Victor  Hugo,  "  flakes  of 
eternal  snow  in  eternal  darkness,"'  aud  ire 
owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  a  Maude  Good- 
man who  Ci>n  bring  into  the  solemn  gloom  of 
our  lives,  which  so  sadly  need  Iwanty  and 
illusion,  the  Ught  of  hap])iness.  The  Ma^ 
quise  d'Alambert,  a  woman  of  exrjuisiw 
intelligence,  asserted  that  "nothing  niakee 
more  for  happiness  than  to  have  the  miod 
persuaded  and  the  heart  touched,"  To  Mias 
Goodman  ))eloi^  the  power  to  do  Itoth. 
Her  work  is  pure  idealism,  but,  as  such, 
renders  immense  assistance  in  the  stn^le 
ever  wilting  against  tlie  forces  of  iMrharism ; 
it  is  the  IfU  mo/if  tluit  has  pierced  to  jtenetrate 
the  heart  of  many  a  liver  of  a  dnll  suliurlnn 
life  with  a  note  of  Iteauty  ;  and  who  shall 
gauge  the  helpfulness  and  power  to  inflnenee 
of  such  a  note  ?  On  her  own  ground  she  ha* 
no  couipetitoTB,  and  can  tmthfiiUy  say,  with 
Micliacl  Angelo:  "  Myself  am  ever  mine  own 
counterfeit," 


The  speculations  of  JACK   STEELE. 


By    ROBERT    BARR. 


III.  — A     SWEET     PROBLEM. 


HEBE  now  projects 
across  these  pages  the 
sinister  shadow  of  a 
man.  He  was  one 
seldom  seen  except  by 
his  immediate  busi- 
ness associates,  and 
yet  seldom  has  a  news- 
paper been  issued  that 
did  not  contain  his 
•  name.  This  was  Peter 

Berrington,  the  greatest  financial  brain  the 
world  had  hitherto  produced — the  modem  em- 
bodiment of  Mammon.  In  early  life  there  had 
oocarred  to  him  the  obvious  proposition  that 
if  any  one  man  could  control  the  manufacture 
and  sale  of  some  simple  article  in  universal 
nse,  he  would  secure  a  fortune  greater  than 
that  of  all  the  monarchs  on  earth  put  together. 
Peter  Berrington  chose  soap  as  his  medium, 
and  the  world-renowned  trust  called  Amal- 
gamated Soap  had  been  the  outcome.  His 
methods  were  as  simple  as  his  products.  He 
offered  what  he  considered  a  fair  price  to  a 
rival  for  his  busine88,and  if  that  rival  refused, 
Peter  crushed  him  by  a  competition  the  other 
could  not  withstand.  Berrington  seemed  to 
act  on  one  fixed  rule  in  life,  which  was  to 
avoid  the  law  courts  wherever  possible ;  yet, 
nevertheless,  he  was  haled  to  the  bar  on  more 
than  one  occasion,  but  invariably  he  escaped 
unscathed,  without  a  stain  on  his  character,  as 
if  the  soap  he  supplied  to  the  universe  had 
removed  even  the  suspicion  of  dishonesty  from 
himself.  It  pleases  the  world  to  buy  soap  under 
different  titles,  but  it  is  all  manufactured  by 
the  same  company.  Berrington's  air-tight 
monopoly  finally  produced  an  annual  income 
in  excess  of  the  fortune  any  man  on  earth 
possessed  twenty-five  years  ago.  With  this 
ever-increasing  income  he  bought  banks,  first 
in  New  York,  then  in  each  other  great  city, 
and  finally  in  the  lai^er  towns.  He 
porchased  trust  companies  and  insurance 
associations.  He  bought  railways  and  steam- 
ship lines,  also  city  councils  and  State 
l^idators,  judges,  juries,  and  senators.     He 


*  Copvri^hi,  1905,  by  Robert  Barr,  ia  the   United 
States  of  America. 


was  now  the  guardian  and  manipulator  of 
the  people's  savings,  and  his  banks  had  the 
handling  of  all  the  money  the  United  States 
Government  possessed.  Magazines  printed 
vivid  articles  exhibiting  the  dark  points  of 
his  career.  Peter  never  entered  a  protest. 
Powerful  newspapers  hurled  vigorous  de- 
nunciations against  him,  but  Peter  never 
replied.  The  few  who  Imfew  him  in  private 
life  described  him  as  a  quiet,  timorous  man, 
apparently  without  opinions  of  his  own,  who 
was  withal  deeply  religious.  Yet  all  the 
histories  printed  of  him  never  contained  the 
record  of  any  man  who  had  defeated  him. 

It  was  but  natural,  then,  that  the  Chicago 
papers  should  make  much  of  Jack  Steele's 
encounter  with  this  giant  of  the  financial 
world.  Jack  had  met  him  on  the  battle- 
ground of  the  Chicago  wheat-pit,  and  had 
routed  him,  horse,  foot,  and  dragoons. 
Steele's  exposure  of  the  real  wheat  situation 
of  the  country  had  been  so  sudden  that  the 
barrels  of  money  which  Peter  Berrington 
kept  in  readiness  to  buy  the  whole  crop,  when 
he  had  hammered  the  price  low  enough, 
remained  unopened  and  unexpended. 

Berrington  would  have  made  billions  at 
one  fell  swoop  had  not  this  man  Steele 
blindly,  quite  unwittingly,  stumbled  acro^ 
his  path  and  tripped  hin?  up.  The  news- 
papers exaggeratingly  credited  Steele  with 
making  many  more  millions  than  he  had 
actually  secured,  and  it  was  only  when  the 
anxious  three  days  of  panic  had  ended  that 
Steele  himself  realised  what  a  tremendous  for- 
tune had  been  within  his  grasp,  if  he  had  only 
had  the  money  to  manipulate  the  situation, 
or  even  if  he  had  risked  all  he  actually 
possessed.  Indeed,  Steele  perceived  when  too 
late  that  he  had  blundered  into  the  biggest 
deal  ever  projected  upon  this  earth,  and  while 
he  undoubtedly  spoiled  the  game  for  its 
inaugurators,  he  did  not  himself  profit  nearly 
as  much  as  might  have  l)een  the  case.  He 
began  to  doubt  his  own  judgment,  and 
the  uneasy  thought  came  to  him  that  if  he 
had  made  terms  that  night  with  Nicholson 
in  the  office  of  the  Press  Alliance,  he 
might  have  made  from  ten  to  twenty 
millions    instead    of    three    or    four.      Yet 


263 


264 


THE  miVDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


he  was  consoled  by  the  belief  that  Peter 
Would  have  been  true  to  no  bargain  he  might 
have  made,  and  in  the  end  would  have  robbed 
him  of  the  agreed  share.  In  spite  of  his 
religious  reputation,  Peter  was  accredited 
with  no  qualms  of  conscience  in  a  business 
deal. 

The  newspapers  re-recited  Steele's  brief 
besting  of  Rockervelt,  which  was  now  utterly 
eclipsed  by  his  victory  over  Berrington,  and 
they  jocularly  advised  New  York  rustics  to 
stay  at  home  and  not  venture  into  a  real  city 
like  Chicago.  In  face  of  all  this  ridicule, 
and  in  spite  of  accusations  and  denunciations 
levelled  against  him  for  his  effoii}S  to  mislead 
a  free  and  incorruptible  Press,  Peter  Berring- 
ton made  no  sign,  and  New  York  silently 
swallowed  up  the  mysterious  Nicholson.  A 
few  wiseacres  in  Chicago  shook  their  heads 
as  they  read  the  laudations  of  Mr.  John 
Steele,  saying  the  young  man  was  not  yet 
done  with  Peter  Berrington;  and  later  events 
proved  the  correctness  of  their  surmise. 

Steele  himself  was  not  particularly 
frightened  at  the  outlook,  but  neither  was  he 
extremely  pleased.  He  was  sorry  that  Fate 
had  brought  him  into  opposition  with  Peter 
Berrington,  but  he  had  learned  that  fact  too 
late  to  withdraw.  When  he  met  Nicholson, 
and  learned  for  the  first  time  that  the  Great 
Bear  was  Amalgamated  Soap,  he  was  already 
committed  too  deeply  for  iialf  measures  to 
aid  him.  He  had  acted  at  once,  decisively 
and  successfully,  and  would  have  been 
relieved  had  he  merely  got  out  even.  It  was 
his  usual  luck  that  he  came  away  with  large 
profits,  and  for  that  he  thanked  Fate,  because 
he  knew  his  enemy  was  ruthless.  Success 
did  not  turn  his  head  in  the  least.  He  was 
a  cool  thinker  and  detested  all  this  news- 
paper notoriety.  He  knew  fortunes  were 
not  made  by  the  beating  of  drums,  and  he 
kept  very  quiet  until  the  hubbub  was  over, 
refusing  to  see  reporters  or  say  anything  about 
the  matter,  save  to  his  most  intimate  friends. 
He  hoped  that  some  fresh  sensation  would 
speedily  drive  his  name  from  the  columns  of 
the  Press,  and  until  that  time  came  he  sought 
shelter,  doing  nothing.  He  comforted,  himsalf 
with  the  thought  that  Peter  Berrington, 
while  merciless  to  an  opponent,  was  merciless 
merely  to  acquire  that  opponent's  business. 
He  believed  the  great  man  to  be  entirely 
without  sentiment,  and  therefore  surmised 
he  would  not  seek  revenge  when  a  detil  was 
once  completed  and  done  with.  Nevertheless, 
he  resolved  to  keep  his  weather  eye  open, 
which  was  wise. 

The  new  cslebrity  he  had  attained  brought 


all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  to  his  offices. 
He  began  to  think  that  aU  the  wild-cat 
schemes  in  the  country  were  placed  before  him. 
Letters  poured  in  from  almost  every  part  of 
the  world,  and  he  was  offered  gold-mines, 
patents,  railways,  steamship  lines,  industrial 
enterprises,  and  what  not.  He  took  larger 
offices  and  protected  himself  from  intrusion. 
He  became  a  much  more  difficult  man  to  see 
than  even  the  President  of  the  United  States 
— or  perhaps  it  would  be  more  fitting  to  say 
than  Jir.  Peter  Berrington,  for  Peter  allowed 
no  outsider  to  penetrate  to  his  den. 

There  was  one  man,  however,  who  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  the  inner  room  of  Jack 
Steele,  and  his  card  bore  the  name  of 
William  Metcalfe.  This  card  had  been  pse- 
ceded,  however,  by  some  excellent  letters  of 
introduction,  and  so  John  Steele  made  an 
appointment  with  him.  He  was  favourably 
impressed  with  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Met- 
calfe, who  did  not  look  like  a  city  man,  bat 
rather  a  cross  between  a  bluff  farmer  and  a 
shtewd  manufacturer — which,  indeed,  he 
turned  out  to  be.  After  seating  himself, 
William  Metcalfe  plunged  directly  into  the 
heart  of  his  business,  without  preliminary, 
which  also  pleased  John  Steele. 

"  I  know  your  time  is  valuable,"  he  said  ; 
**  so  is  mine.  I  have  undertaken  an  opera- 
tion that  proves  too  big  for  me,  and  I  want 
you  to  help  me  carry  it  out." 

"  I  have  three  rules,  Mr.  Metcalfe,  which 
I  rarely  break.  In  the  first  place,  I  never 
finance  anything.  If,  for  instance,  you  wish 
to  build  a  factory,  or  to  exploit  a  patent,  it  is 
useless  coming  to  me  expecting  help." 

"I  have  no  factory  to  build  and  no 
patent  to  exploit,"  said  Metcalfe. 

"  My  second  rule  is  that  the  man  with 
whom  I  go  in,  must  be  prepared  to  put  up 
dollar  for  dollar  with  me  in  hard  cash,  and 
not  in  future  prospects." 

"I  am  prepared  to  do  that,"  rejoined 
Metcalfe. 

"  My  third  rule  is  that  I  must  see  for 
myself  and  underetand  the  business  offered. 
I  do  not  give  a  hang  for  the  opinions  of 
experts.  If  the  proposal  is  complicated 
beyond  my  comprehension,  I  don't  go  in." 

"  Quite  right,"  commended  Metcalfe. 
"  None  of  your  three  rules  will  be  in  the 
least  infringed  by  me.  Do  you  know  any- 
thing of  the  beet-sugar  business  ?  " 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Bradley,  of  Bay 
City  ?  " 

"  I  did  not." 

"Well,  what  Bradley  accomplished  may 


A   SWEET  PROBLEM. 


be  anderetood  hj  a  ten-year-old  boj.  He 
went  over  to  Oermany,  and  came  back  with 
some  seeda  in  hU  handbag,  wbicb  seeds  be 
canted.  From  tbose  seeda  bave  grown  the 
Deetroot  JndnBtrj  of  Micliigau.  Tliere  are 
now  factories  in  that  State  capitalised  at  ten 
miUioaa  of  dollars.  There  are  nearly  a 
hundred  thousand  acres  of  Michigan  land  in 
beets.  Ten  yeare  ^o  I  hadn't  a  penny ; 
to-day  I  think  I  conld  put  aa  much  money 
oa  the  table  as  you,  and  all  on  account  of 
those  seeda  Bradley  brought  from  Germany. 
I  own  three  big  factories  in  Michigan,  and 
fonr  fltbera  in  States  further  west.  You 
hinted  that  you  didn't  wish  to  deal  in  poasi- 


o  earn  fifty  cent.?'" 

bilitiea ;  but,  if  you  will  foi^ive  me  for  saying 
it,  there  ia  no  induatry  in  this  country  at 
the  present  moment  which  offers  greater 
promise  that  the  manufacture  of  augar  out 
of  beetroot." 

"  I  dani  say,"  said  Steele  indifferently,  "  I 
am  miite  willing  to  applaud  the  excellent 
Bradley,  who  made  milliona  of  beet«  grow 
where  none  had  grown  before.  I  admire 
such  a  man  exceedingly,  even  though  un- 
prepared to  follow  in  his  stepe.  You  aee, 
Mr.  Metcalfe,  I  am  not  a  useful  citizen  like 
yourself  and  Mr.  Bradley.  I  simply  make  a 
raid  at  some  project,  filch  what  I  can,  and 
get  back  into  my  den.     As  I  told  you,  I  am 


266 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


not  building  factories,  not  even  those  that 
squeeze  the  Bucculent  beet.  My  motto  ia 
large  profits  and  quick  returns." 

"  I  am  here  to  offer  you  immense  profits 
and  immediate  returns.     I  understand  the 
sugar  business  dowa  to  the  ground,  and  have 
realised  its  possibilities  for  several  years  past. 
Therefore  I  determined  to  combine  all  the 
big  sugar  factories  at  present  existing  in  the 
United     States. 
Rapidly  as    I 
myself    have 
acquired  wealth, 
the  sugar  bosi- 
ness  has  been 
growing  too 
quickly  for  me, 
and  at  the  be- 
ginning of  this 
year  I  saw  I  had 
to  pnt  my  pro- 
J3ct  into  action,- 
or  else  interest  a 
body  of   finan- 
ciers,  which    I 
did  not  wish  to 
do,   for    my 
ambition    is  to 
coutrol    the 
sugar  -  beet   in- 
dustry   of    the 
United  States,  an 
ultimately    of    tl 
world." 

"  Ah,  you  lioj 
to  become  a  soi 
of  sweetened  Pet* 
Berringtoii,"  sai 
Steele,  with  a  smil 
and  he  thought  ( 
this  remark  so  mi 
what  grimly  lati 
on. 

"  Exactly,"  sai 
Metcalfe  Bcrioosl; 

other's  smile.  "  As  1  told  you,  1  own 
outright  seven  factories.  I  secured  options 
on  all  the  rest,  and  in  each  case  have  paid 
down  a  forfeit,  for  I  shall  be  comiwUed  to 
buy  outright  within  the  next  month  if  I  am 
to  hold  them.  Now,  the  total  cost  of  all  the 
factories  in  the  States  at  present,  built  or 
building,  comes  to  almost  double  the  capibil 
I  possess.  If  you  will  pnt  up  dollar  for 
dollar  with  mc,  we  will  purcliase  tho.=ie 
factories  outright.  Then  we  will  form  the 
whole  into  a  gigantic  company.  When  this 
is  done,  you  can  withdniw  your  money,  and 
probably  as  much  more  as  you  put  in.     If 


the  public  do  not  subscribe  the  fall  amount 
we  demand,  I  will  guarantee  to  relieve  yoo 
at  par  of  all  the  shares  that  may  fidl  to  your 
portion." 

"  How  can  you  guarantee  to  do  that  whea 
at  the  present  moment  you  have  not  got 
more  than  half  the  necessary  capital  for 
forming  the  company  ?  " 

"  I  can  guaraiitee  it  because  I  am  certaia 


the  public  will  subscribe ;  but  even  if  they  do 
not,  the  moment  the  company  is  formed 
there  is  a  bunk  in  this  city  willing  to  advance 
me  cash  to  the  amount  of  three-quarters  of 
our  capital.  Therefore  I  can  guarantee  that 
yon  will  double  your  money  within  a  month— 
thiit  is,  within  a  month  of  your  putting  it  in. 
You  say  you  cure  nothing  for  the  opinion* 
of  experts ;  neither  do  I,  therefore  I  propose 
that  you  become  ray  guest  for  two  weeks, 
and  visit  most  of  the  factories  now  under  mj 


A  SWEET  PROBLEM. 


267 


control.  Yoa  can  see  the  books  and  balance- 
sheets  of  my  own  concerns,  and  fi-om  what 
you  learn  under  my  tuition  you  will  be  able 
to  form  a  very  good  estimate  of  how  the 
other  factories  are  placed." 

"  I  understand  very  little  about  company 
promoting,"  said  Steele  dubiously. 

''  I  understood  just  as  little  a  short  time 
since,  but  it  was  necessary  that  I  should 
learn,  and  I  have  learnt.  Besides,  I  got 
letters  of  introduction  to  Farwell  Brothei-s, 
the  most  substantial  and  honest  firm  con- 
nected with  that  business  in  Chicago.  The 
same  people  introduced  me  to  them  that 
introduced  me  to  you.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
the  combined  factories  were  to  cost  us  ten 
million  dollars.  With  such  prospects  as 
there  are  ahead,  we  would  be  quite  justified 
in  forming  a  company  for  twenty  millions. 
If  the  public  subscribed  only  half  of  what  we 
demanded,  we  would  have  our  factories  for 
nothing,  and  still  control  the  combination." 

"  How  about  your  working  capital  ?  " 

"  We  don't  need  working  capital.  Every 
factory  is  making  money." 

"  Well,  candidly,  Mr.  Metcalfe,  that  pro- 
ject seems  too  easy  and  simple  to  be  entirely 
feasible.  There  must,  be  something  lying  in 
wait  to  wreck  it." 

"Nothing  so  far  as  I  can  see,"  said 
Metcalfe  confidently. 

"  What  if  the  public  do  not  subscribe  a 
penny  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  looked  out  for  that.  When  I 
got  the  options,  there  was,  of  course,  no 
longer  any  need  for  keeping  the  affair  secret, 
and  I  have  already  been  promised  subscrip- 
tions to  the  new  company  to  the  extent  of 
one-third  the  proposed  capital  of  twenty 
millions.  That  one-third  will  be  subscribed 
in  Michigan  and  Wisconsin  alone,  without 
touching  the  State  of  Illinois  or  the 
capitalists  of  Chicago." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Metcalfe,  you  appear  to 
have  thought  of  everything.  I'll  accept  your 
invitation,  so  long  as  it  binds  me  to  nothing, 
and  will  go  wherever  you  lead  me,  beginning, 
let  us  say,  with  one  of  your  own  factories. 
I  understand  figures,  and  I  shall  want  to  see 
the  books  and  make  a  somewhat  thorough 
search  into  the  income  of  at  least  the 
principal  factories.  You  have  no  objection 
to  that,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"No,  not  in  the  least.  Big  as  our 
capitalisation  will  be,  this  is  a  thoroughly 
aoimd  industrial  proposition,  and  before  five 
years  are  over  I  am  certain  that  we  will  be 
jostified  in  doubling  our  normal  capital  if  we 
wish  to  do  so,  and  paying  a  mighty  good 


percentage  on  the  same.  Of  course,  I  stand 
by  the  business.  I  suppose  you  wish  to  pull 
out  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  idea.  I  hope  you  have 
not  offered  extraviigant  prices  for  these 
factories  ?  " 

"  That's  just  the  point.  I  have  not.  You 
see,  as  I  told  you,  I  am  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  business.  A  capitalist  from  New 
York  or  Chicago  might  have  been  deluded, 
but  they  cannot  delude  a  practical  man  like 
myself.  Indeed,  to  convince  you  of  the  con- 
fidence that  others  show  in  the  proposed 
company,  I  may  tell  you  that  the  capital 
promised  comes  largely  from  the  present 
owners  of  those  factories,  who  appreciate  the 
economies  to  be  inaugurated  by  combination, 
and  who  in  some  instances  are  putting  back 
into  the  new  company  the  entire  amount  I 
shall  pay  them." 

"  Do  they  know  you  intend  to  capitalise 
for  double  what  the  property  has  cost  ?  " 

"Naturally  not,  Mr.  Steele.  Of  coui'se 
they  undei*stand  I  am  not  in  this  business 
entirely  for  my  health  ;  but  apart  from  that, 
anyone  conversant  with  the  progress  the  beet 
industry  has  made  during  the  last  four  or 
five  years  is  well  aware  that  the  developments 
of  the  next  five  or  six  will  be  something 
enormous." 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Metcalfe.  I'm  ready  to  go 
with  you  to-morrow,  if  that  is  not  too  soon 
for  you." 

John  Steele's  visits  to*  the  beet-sugar 
district  more  than  corroborated  all  that 
Mr.  Metcalfe  had  told  him.  Quietly  he 
studied  his  host  and  guide  during  the 
excursion,  and  the  more  he  saw  of  him  the 
better  he  liked  him.  If  there  was  an  honest 
man  in  the  country,  that  man  appeared  to  be 
William  Metcalfe,  in  spite  of  his  determi- 
nation to  capitalise  the  properties  for  double 
what  he  paid  for  them.  John's  own  con- 
science was  not  supersensitive  on  this  point, 
and  his  private  opinion  would  have  been 
that  a  man  was  a  fool  not  to  take  all  he  could 
get.  So,  before  they  returned  to  Chicago, 
he  had  quite  made  up  his  mind  to  become  a 
partner  with  William  Metcalfe  in  *  forming 
the  Consolidated  Beet  Sugar  Company. 
Metcalfe  having  no  domicile  in  Chicago,  the 
headquarters  of  the  new  trust  was  the  private 
office  of  John  Steele  and  the  apartments 
adjoining.  These  adjoining  apartments  were 
occupied  by  Mr.  William  Metcalfe,  upon 
whose  shoidders  naturally  fell  the  bulk  of 
the  work.  It  was  he  who  saw  the  lawyers 
to  whom  he  had  been  introduced ;  who 
negotiated  with  the  bank  and  made    such 


268 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


ontside  arrangements  as  were  necessary  in 
the  launching  of  so  gigantic  a  scheme. 
Steele  was  more  and  more  impressed  with 
the  business  capacity  of  his  new  partner  as 
the  days  went  on,  and  he  congratulated  him- 
self on  being  in  conjunction  with  so  capable 
a  man.  Notwithstanding  his  increasing 
confidence,  he  never  for  a  moment  relaxed 
his  vigilance,  nor  was  anything  done  without 
his  sanction  and  approval,  and  he  allowed  no 
obscure  point  to  pass  without  thoroughly 
mastering  it.  Towards  the  conclusion  of 
preliminary  arrangements,  he  saw  with  some 
apprehension  that  this  project  would  involve 
every  penny  of  capital  he  possessed,  and 
this,  of  course,  was  cause  for  anxiety,  though 
not  for  alarm,  because  all  the  omens 
were  favourable.  Yet  his  vigilance  might 
have  been  of  little  avail  had  not  Chance 
played  into  his  hands.  Steele  was  constantly 
in  the  oifice ;  Metcalfe  was  frequently  called 
elsewhere,  and  in  one  of  his  absences  a 
telegraph-boy  brought  in  a  message. 

"  Any  answer  ?  "  asked  the  lad. 

Steele  tore  open  the  envelope  and  gazed 
at  the  telegram  for  a  moment,  uncompre- 
hending. It  was  in  cipher.  Then  he  looked 
at  the  envelope  and  saw  it  was  addressed  to 
his  partner. 

"  xJo  answer,"  said  Steele  to  the  boy ;  "  but 
look  here,  my  lad,  do  you  want  to  earn  fifty 
cents  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  replied  the  messenger. 

"  Very  well,  get  me  another  envelope  from 
the  nearest  telegraph-oifice.  I  see  tins  is  for 
my  partner,  not  for  me." 

He  threw  half-a-doUar  on  the  table,  which 
the  boy  grasped  and  left. 

"Be  as  quick  as  you  can,"  cried  Steele, 
before  he  reached  the  door. 

The  cipher  telegram  was  a  long  one,  but 
speedily  Steele  wrote  it  out  on  a  sheet  of 
paper.  When  the  boy  returned  with  the 
envelope,  Steele  placed  the  telegram  within 
it,  sealed  it,  and  addressed  it  in  imitation  of 
the  telegraphic  clerk.  Then  he  walked  into 
the  adjoining  office  and  placed  the  resealed 
telegram  on  Mr.  Metcalfe's  desk. 

"  Now,  why  does  honest  William  Metcalfe 
receive  a  long  telegram  in  cipher  from  New 
York,"  said  Steele  to  himself,  knitting  his 
brows.  "  He  has  never  even  mentioned  New 
York  to  me,  yet  he  is  in  secret  conmiunica- 
tion  with  someone  there.  Lord  I  one  can 
never  tell  when  the  biggest  sort  of  crank  will 
not  suddenly  loom  up  as  the  most  useful  man 
in  the  world ! "  cried  Steele,  as  he  suddenly 
bethought  himself  of  Billy  Brooks,  a  jocular 
person  who  bored  all  Chicago  with  his  know- 


ledge of  cipher,  claiming  there  was  nothing  he 
couldn't  unravel  except  the  Knock  Alphabet 
cipher  of  the  Russian  Nihilists.  And  Billy  had 
his  office  in  the  fifteenth  storey  of  the  ad- 
joining block.  Steele  shoved  the  copy  of  the 
telegram  in  his  trousers  pocket,  put  on  his 
silk  hat,  went  down  one  elevator,  and  up 
another,  in  almost  less  time  than  it  takes  to 
tell  about  it. 

"Say,  Billy,  I've  got  a  cipher  here  that 
you  can't  deoode,  and  I've  got  twenty  doUan 
to  bet  on  it." 

"Let's  see  your  cipher,"  cried  Billy,  his 
eyes  sparkling,  "  All  ciphers  fall  into  seven 
distinct  classes.  These  classes  are  then  sab- 
divided  into " 

"  Yes,  I  know,  I  know  !  "  cried  Steele  im- 
patiently. "  Here's  the  message.' 

Billy  glanced  at  it. 

"  Hand  over  your  twenty  dollars,  Steele." 

"  What !  you  haven't  solved  it  already  ?  " 

"No,  but  I  see  at  a  glance  it  falls  into 
division  three  and  into  sub-division  nine- 
teen. I'U  decode  it  within  an  hour.  Shall 
I  bring  it  over  to  your  office  ?  " 

"  No,  Billy,  I'll  sit  right  down  here,  e?en 
if  you  are  six  hours  at  it.  I  herewith  phoe 
two  ten-dollar  bills  on  your  desk,  and  if  this 

f  roves  important,  which  it  may  or  may  aoi, 
'U  multiply  those  bills  by  ten ;  and  for  tint 
number  of  days,  at  least,  I  shall  require  Ae 
utmost  secrecy." 

"  All  right,  John,  sit  down  and  keep  quiet, 
and  there's  the  latest  evening  paper." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room  as  KI^ 
opened  a  bookcase  and  took  down  one  bnikj 
tome,  two  medium-sized  books,  and  a  numb^ 
of  smaller  volumes  that  looked  like  dic- 
tionaries. Turning  to  his  desk,  he  wrote  the 
message  in  a  variety  of  different  ways,  on  as 
many  sheets  of  paper.  For  nearly  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  no  sound  was  heard  bat 
the  scratching  of  a  pen  now  and  then,  and 
the  rustle  of  leaves.  Then  the  stillness  was 
broken  by  a  war-whoop. 

"  Here  you  are.  Jack,  my  boy  ;  and  I'll 
take  my  Bible  oath  on  its  accuracy.  Conldnt 
be  such  a  series  of  coincidences  as  to  ran  so 
smoothly  otherwise. 

**  PrecioQs  greenbacks  I    Loot  divine ! 
Twenty  doHare,  you  are  mine  !  ** 

Billy  jubilantly  grasped  the  carrency  and 
shoved  it  into  his  pocket,  handing  the  sheet 
of  paper  to  Steele,  who  read — 

"  I  shall  occupy  room  one  hundred  and 
fifty  at  the  Grand  Pacific  Hotel  oa  Thursday, 
the  twenty-seventh,  at  eleven  a.m.  Do  not 
ask  for  me  at  the  office,  nor  take  the  elevator, 


A   SWEET  PROBLEM. 


369 


bat  oome  up  the  etair,  and  rap  tnice.  Wait 
two  miuates,  and  rap  a  third  time.  Bring 
all  doetimente  with  jou." 

There  was  no  signature. 

"  Billy,"  said  Steele  rather  seriouBly,  "  we 
will  now  burn  all  your  figuring,  if  yon  don't 


mind,  and  then  I  wish  yon  to  obliterate  this 
from  yonr  memory.  I  cannot  tell  until  after 
Thursday  whether  it  is  important  or  not.  I 
think,  however,  if  yon  keep  mnm,  this  will 
be  worth  an  extra  two  hundred  dollars  to 
yon." 

**  Ton  can  depend  on  me.  Jack.   We're  not 
all  innlring  money  ae  fast  as  you  are.     Of 


course,  I  know  that  financial  ciphers  are 
usually  important.  Here's  the  debris  ;  burn 
it  on  the  oilcloth,  near  the  register." 

Steele's  investigation  of  th'e  Grand  Pacific 

Hotel  floor  occupied  by  room  one  hundred 

and  fifty  showed  him  that  this  apartment 

was  well  choeen,  for  neither  of  the 

rooms  on  either  side  had  a  com- 

I  municating    door.       However,    he 

I  engaged    room   one   hundred    and 

I  forty-nine,  on  the  opposite  side  of 

II  the  hall,  and  before  ten  o'clock  on 
the  twenty-seventh  he  took  up  his 
position  inside  that  apartment. 
When  eleven  o'clock  approached,  he 
locked  his  door,  shoved  the  table 
against  it,  stood  thereon,  and  looked 
through  the  transom  into  the  hall. 
He  darkened  his  oun  window  so 
that  he  could  not  be  observed  by 
anyone  glancing  up  outside.  He 
heard  the  first  knock,  then 
cautiously  peered  down  and  recog- 
nised William  Metcalfe  standing 
there,  facing  the  opposite  door,  wiUi 
a  bnndle  nnder  his  arm.  After  the 
third  knock,  Met«alfe  entered,  but 
opened  the  door  so  slightly  that 
Steele  could  see  nothing  within,  nor 
did  he  hear  any  greeting  voice. 
A  full  hour  passed  with  not  a  sound 
from  the  closed  room,  then  Metcalfe 
came  out  again,  with  the  bnndle 
still  under  his  arm,  and  walked 
quietly  away,  leaving  his  partner  on 

tvh  at  the  transom.  Time  goes  slowly 
a  man  on  tip-toe  with  eyes  strained, 
b  at  last  his  patience  was  rewarded, 
e  door  opposite  opened,  and  the  head 
Nicholson  appeared.  He  glanced 
ickly  up  and  down  the  hall,  and  as 
\  way  was  apparently  clear,  stepped 
>  and  vanished.  John  St^le  cune 
Ka  from  the  table,  drew  aside  the 
-tains,  and  let  tlie  light  into  the 
kened  room.  He  poured  a  glass  of 
ter  from  the  carafe  into  a  tumbler, 
lUowed  the  liquid  at  a  gulp,  then 
ito  the  armchair  beside  the  bed.  He 
Ltterance  to  an  uneasy  langh,  then 
.  .  ed  a  sentence  which  might  be  called 
uneipected— ; 

"Billy  Brooks,  my  boy,  you'll  get  yonr 
two  hundred  dollars  I " 

Drawing  a  deep  breath,  he  then  concen- 
trated his  mind  on  the  crisis  with  which  he 
was  confronted.  Metcalfe  was  undoubtedly 
the  owner  of  the  sugar  factories,  and  was,  as 
he  had  said,  a  well^own  business  man  in 


270 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


Michigan  ;  but,  nevertheless,  here  was  un- 
doubted proof  that  he  was  a  minion  of 
Amalgamated  Soap,  a  mere  pawn  in  the 
hands  of  Peter  Berrington  and  his  strong 
colleague,  Nicholson.  Every  penny  John 
Steele  possessed  was  sunk  in  Consolidated 
Sugar,  and  that  these  men  meant  to  ruin 
him  he  had  not  the  slightest  doubt.  The 
question  was  :  How  could  they  do  it  ?  Even 
if  Metcalfe's  books  had  been  false,  even  if  a 
hundred  per  cent,  too  much  had  been  paid 
for  the  factories,  there  would  still  be  some- 
thing left  for  him  out  of  the  wreck.  Yet 
from  the  moment  he  saw  the  face  of  Nichol- 
son at  that  door,  he  knew  Amalgamated  Soap 
had  determined  to  strip  him  of  every  sou  he 
possessed.  The  first  obvious  suggestion  that 
occurred  to  him  was  that  here  was  the 
occasion  for  consulting  a  first-class  lawyer ;  yet 
what  could  a  lawyer  do  for  him  ?  He  had 
no  money  to  fight.  The  more  he  thought 
of  the  situation,  the  worse  it  appeared.  No 
doubt  Farwell  Brothers  were  employes  of 
Amalgamated  Soap.  No  doubt  the  bank  in 
which  their  funds  were  deposited  belonged  to 
the  same  all-embracing  combination.  There 
were  a  hundred  perfectly  legal  methods  by 
which  the  amount  lodged  there  could  be  tied 
up,  while,  if  he  appealed  to  the  law,  the  ex- 
pense would  be  tremendous,  and  he  might  be 
dragged  from  court  to  court ;  new  trial  could 
follow  new  trial,  and  appeal  tre^wl  on  the 
heels  of  appeal  until  his  millions  had  van- 
ished into  thin  air.  He  was  as  entirely  in 
the  hands  of  Amalgamated  Soap  as  if  he  had 
been  tied  in  a  bundle  and  presented  to  that 
celebrated  company.  Terror  was  imported 
into  the  situation  by  his  uncertainty  as  to 
what  method  these  financial  buccaneers  would 
adopt.  Yet  at  that  distressful  moment  his 
mind  wandered  to  the  comic  opera  of  the 
"  Mikado,"  and  a  smile  came  to  his  lips. 
Would  it  be  long  and  lingering,  with  boiling 
oil  at  the  end  of  it,  or  would  it  be  the  short, 
sharp  shock  of  the  executioner's  stroke  ?  His 
resentment  turned  more  against  the  appar- 
ently honest  Metcalfe  than  towards  even 
Nicholson  or  Peter  Berrington.  He  would 
have  liked  to  throttle  that  man,  but  he  knew 
that,  whatever  the  outcome,  he  must  retain 
his  grip  on  himself  and  present  an  impassive 
exterior  to  his  coUe^ue  and  the  world. 

Next  morning,  John  Steele  met  his  partner 
aa  usual  with  a  smile  on  his  face. 

"  Well,  Metcalfe,  how's  things  going  ?  " 
"  Oh,  everything's  coming  our  way,"  said 
Metcalfe.      "This  thing  will    be   done  so 
easy  you  will  wonder  you  ever  doubted  its 
success." 


"  Well,  I  hope  so,  I  hope  so,"  replied 
Steele,  the  possible  double  meaning  of  his 
partner's  phrase  striking  him  like  a  blow  in 
the  face  ;  but  the  smile  never  wavered. 

The  company  had  already  been  technically 
formed — that  is  to  say,  a  number  of  clerks 
in  Steele's  office,  together  Tiith  the  brothers 
Farwell,  had  constituted  themselves  the 
Consolidated  Beet  Sugar  Company,  with 
various  powers  duly  set  forth,  organised 
under  the  laws  of  the  State  of  New  Jersey ; 
and  when  officers  were  selected,  the  beet 
sugar  factories  were  bought  by  this  company  at 
just  double  the  price  Steele  and  Metcalfe  had 
paid  for  them.  Then  the  officials  resigned 
in  a  body,  when  cheques  had  been  passed  and 
everything  done  with  beautiful  legality,  while 
Steele  and  Metcalfe  and  their  nominees  took 
their  places  at  the  board.  It  was  arranged 
that  tliere  should  be  seven  directors.  Si^le 
was  to  nominate  two,  and  Metcalfe  was  to 
nominate  two,  while  they  were  to  agree 
mutually  on  the  chairman.  Metcalfe  had 
proposed  that  the  elder  Farwell  should  be 
chairman,  and  he  nominated  the  younger  as 
his  colleague  on  the  board.  Farwell,  who 
knew  every  intricacy  of  company  law,  was 
accepted  by  Steele,  and  there  was  still  one 
nomination  open  to  Metcalfe,  which  name  he 
excused  himself  at  this  time  from  proposing, 
as  he  was  not  well  enough  acquainted  with 
business  men  in  Chicago  to  fill  the  place  at 
the  moment.  He  even  intimated  that  he  was 
willing  to  accept  a  nominee  of  Steele's,  and 
this  seemingly  friendly  suggestion  had  pre- 
vented ^any  suspicion  of  the  board  being 
packed  against  him  arising  in  Jack  Steele's 
mind.  He  remembered  this  now  with  bitter- 
ness, when  it  was  too  late  for  remedy. 
Steele  and  his  two  colleagues  could  tie  the 
vote  of  Metcalfe  and  his  colleagues,  but  the 
chairman  would  have  the  casting  voice. 
Since  he  had  seen  the  determined  face  of 
Nicholson  in  the  corridor  of  the  Grand 
Pacific,  he  had  no  doubt  that  the  Farwell 
brothers  were  the  mere  minions  of  Peter 
Berrington. 

At  last  the  trap  laid  for  the  public  was 
sprung,  and  the  public,  as  usual,  was  nipped. 
The  success  of  the  flotation  was  immeaiate, 
although  applications  did  not  come  within  a 
million  of  the  sum  asked  for.  After  the 
flotation,  Metcalfe's  manner  changed  per- 
ceptibly. Steele  Watched  him  as  a  cat 
watches  a  mouse,  and  saw  that  he  was  now 
perturbed  and  apparently  dissatisfied. 

"Why  I"  cried  Steele  to  him,  the 
morning  after  the  figures  were  known  to 
them,  "  you  don't  seem  nearly  so  happy  as  I 


A  SWEET  PROBLEM, 


271 


expected.  Tou  surely  did  not  look  for  the 
shares  to  be  subscribed  twice  over  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Metcalfe  gloomily,  "but  the 
amount  that  has  been  subscribed  shows  what 
vitality  there  was  in  the  scheme." 

"  Vitality ! "  cried  Steele.  "  Why,  bless  my 
8oal  I  you  never  doubted  it,  did  you  ?  " 

"  On,  no,  no,"  said  Metcalfe  hastily.  "  No. 
I  told  you  we  were  dead  sure  of  a  thii^d,  and 
the  actual  subscriptions  have  more  than 
justified  my  forecast." 

"  They  have,  indeed ! "  cried  Steele  enthusi- 
astically. "  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Metcalfe, 
you're  one  of  the  first  financiers  of  this 
country." 

"  Oh,  nonsense ! "  cried  Metcalfe,  in  no 
way  cheered  by  the  compliment. 

"  It  isn't  nonsense,"  said  the  genial  Steele. 
"You've  taken  lessons  from  a  first-rate 
master,  for  I  look  on  Nicholson  as  one  of  the 
best  men  in  the  business." 

When  John  Steele  had  plumped  a  similar 
pointed  remark  at  Nicholson,  not  the 
slightest  change  of  expression  had  dis- 
turbed that  individual's  calm  visage.  William 
Metcalfe  kept  his  countenance  under  less 
perfect  self-command.  Steele's  smile  was 
gentle  and  friendly,  but  his  keen  eyes  missed 
no  note  of  the  other's  face.  He  watched  a 
ruddy  flush  mount  into  his  partner's  cheeks. 
He  noticed  the  embarrassed  hesitation  that 
accompanied  his  utterance. 

"  Mr.  Nicholson  !  Ah,  yes,  certainly, 
certainly.  He's  not  a  friend  of  mine,  of 
course,  only  a  slight  and  recent  acquaintance. 
Not  the  sort  of  man,  Nicholson,  to  form 
friendships  easily." 

"Really?"  asked  Steele.  "I  met  him 
only  once,  but  he  seemed  rather  genial." 

"  A  great  business  man,  a  great  business 
man^"  hurriedly  muttered  Metc»lfe,  obviously 
trying  to  get  himself  under  control  once 
more,  playing  for  time,  and  not  quite 
knowing  what  he  wa«  saying. 

"So  I  have  been  informed,"  remarked 
Steele  with  easy  carelessness.  "  One  of  the 
Amalgamated  Soap  group,  I  understand." 

"Quite  80,"  rejoined  Metcalfe,  his  own 
man  once  more,  "You  see,  Mr.  Steele,  I 
thought  it  would  strengthen  us  tremendously 
if  I  could  get  a  man  like  Nicholson  to 
become  interested  in  our  project.  The  mere 
rumonr  that  Amalgamated  Soap  was  behind 
U8  would  have  been  \7orth  millions  to  us  at 
the  present  juncture." 

"1  quite  agree  with  you,  Metcalfe. 
Amalgamated  Soap  is  a  name  to  conjure 
with.  The  public  worship  success,  and  there 
you  have  success  in  its  most  highly  developed 


form.  Why  didn't  you  let  me  know  ?  I 
might  have  been  of  some  assistance  to 
you." 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  I  did  not  wish 
to  mention  so  important  a  matter  until  I  was 
sure  of  carrying  it  through.  N©  use  of 
giving  promises  that  you  cannot  make  good. 
In  the  second  place,  I  was  not  aware  that  you 
knew  Nicholson." 

"  Oh,  you  were  quite  right ;  it  was  just  a 
casual  meeting,  when  we  were  introduced  by 
a  mutual  friend.  I  don't  flatter  myself  that 
my  views  would  have  any  influence  upon  a 
man  of  Nicholson's  standing  in  the  financial 
world.  But  there  is  another  part  I  don't 
quite  understand.  I  admit  the  value  of 
Nicholson's  name  to  us,  but  why  wasn't  his 
connection  divulged  in  time  to  influence 
subscriptions  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  it  was  like  this,"  hesitated 
Metcalfe,  for  a  liar  must  be  a  most  agile 
person,  and  Steele's  questions  had  a  fashion 
of  touching  the  spot.  "  It  was  like  this.  I 
did  not  really  conclude  my  arrangement  with 
Nicholson  until  this  morning.  He's  a  very 
difficult  man  to  handle,  and  he  knows  as  well 
as  anyone  his  own  value.  I  imagine  he 
wished  to  see  which  way  the  cat  was  going 
to  jump  before  he  committed  himself." 

"Well,  Metcalfe,  the  cat  has  jumped 
entirely  our  way,  even  if  the  leap  did  not 
reach  the  furthest  mark  we  staked  out.  The 
success  of  the  subscriptions,  then,  induced 
Nicholson  to  join  us  ?  " 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so,  with  the  proviso  that 
he  is  to  have  the  vacant  seat  at  the  board, 
unless  you  have  any  objection." 

"  Objection  ?  Certainly  not.  I  am  highly 
delighted  with  our  acquisition.  Besides,  the 
seat  at  the  board  is  entirely  in  your  gift.  I 
have  no  right  to  object,  even  if  I  wished  to 
do  so." 

This  was  said  with  such  an  air  of  childlike 
simplicity  that  the  perturbed  Metcalfe,  who 
seemingly  still  retained  some  remnants  of 
conscience,  showed  confusion. 

"  True  enough,"  he  murmured.  "  Still,  I 
should  not  like  to  nominate  anyone  who 
might  be  personally  distasteful  to  you." 

"  I  cannot  imagine,  Metcalfe,  why  you 
should  suppose  Nicholson  could  be  distaste- 
ful to  anyone.  He  is  a  tower  of  strength. 
I  am  delighted  that  you  have  induced  him 
to  join  us." 

"  I  am  very  much  relieved  to  hear  you  say 
so,"  rejoined  Metcalfe,  who  seemed  bewildered 
at  the  turn  things  had  taken. 

The  preliminary  meetings  of  the  commny 
had  all  been  held  in  Steele's  offices.     This 


272 


THE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


afternoon,  however,  the  directors  were  to 
forgather  at  the  board-room  of  the  bank  in 
which  the  deposits  of  the  subscribers  were 
lodged.  Steele  was  thus  to  beard  the  lion  in 
the  hon's  own  den,  for  he  now  no  longer 
doubted  that  this  bank  was  owned  by  Peter 
Berrington,  Nicholson,  and  their  colles^ues. 
The  appointed  hour  was  three  o'clock,  and 
John  Steele  arrived  on  the  stroke,  the  last 
man  to  appear.  Nicholson  stood  in  the 
centre  of  tne  group.  Metcalfe,  who  had 
quite  recovered  his  composure,  said  with  a 
fine  air  of  good  comradeship — 

"I  think  70U  two  gentlemen  have  met 
before,  so  a  formal  introduction  is  not 
necessary  between  Mr.  Steele  and  Mr. 
Nicholson." 

'*  I  had  the  somewhat  chastened  satis- 
faction of  encountering  Mr.  Steele  once 
under  conditions  I  am  not  likely  to  forget," 
said  Nicholson  quietly,  with  impressive 
geniality.  "  I  count  myself  one  of  Mr. 
Steele's  numerous  admirers." 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  say  that,  Mr. 
Nicholson,"  replied  «fack,  extending  his  hand, 
while  that  winning  smile  of  his  played  about 
his  lips.  "  On  the  occasion  to  which  you 
refer,  I  was  so  unhappy  as  to  be  placed  in 
opposition  to  Amalgamated  Soap.  I  am  the 
more  gratified,  therefore,  to  find  myself  in 
some  measure  a  colleague  of  so  distinguished 
a  coterie,  even  if  I  am  admitted  into  but  an 
outer  temple,  as  it  were." 

"Your  gratification,  Mr.  Steele,  is  as 
nothing  compared  to  my  own  at  seeing  you 
here  amongst  us." 

Jack  Steele  bowed  his  acknowledgment. 
It  was  if  the  lion  had  begun  by  compliment- 
ing Daniel. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  think  the  hour  has  struck," 
said  the  grave  Farwell  senior,  taking  his  seat 
at  the  head  of  the  long  table. 

The  directors  ranged  themselves  on  either 
side,  Nicholson  at  the  right  hand  of  the 
chairman,  Metcalfe  next  him,  and  the 
younger  Farwell  the  third  on  that  side. 
Opposite  Nicholson  sat  John  Steele,  and 
beside  him  his  two  nominees.  Thus  quietly 
the  lines  of  battle  were  formed,  and  to  all 
outward  appearance  the  meeting  might  have 
been  supposed  to  be  a  love-feast.  Bunches 
of  papers  were  heaped  before  the  chairman, 
whde  writing-pads,  pens,  and  ink  were  placed 
in  front  of  each  director.  Steele,  assuming 
a  negligent,  unconcerned  air  that  was  admir- 
ably put  on,  wondered  what  particular  battery 
Nicholson  would  unmask.  The  latter's  eyes 
were  bent  on  his  writing-pad,  and  he  tried 
one  nib  after  another,  as  if  to  find  a  pen  to 


his  satisfaction.  The  chairman,  in  droning 
voice,  recited  the  history  of  the  company  np 
to  its  going  before  the  public,  read  docnmenta, 
and  gave  various  figures  which  it  might  be 
supposed  were  f  amihar  to  all  there  assembled. 
There  was  silence  around  the  table.  Nichol- 
son never  looked  up  until  the  chairman 
announced  the  amount  of  public  subscription. 

"What's  that,  Mr.  Farwell?"  he  said 
quietly,  raising  his  head.  "  What  are  the 
figures  ?  " 

Farwell  repeated  them. 

"And  how  much  do  you  say  is  the 
authorised  capital  of  the  company  ? 

Farwell  named  the  sum. 

"  Then  we  are  a  million  short  ?  " 

"  Nearly  so,  Mr.  Nicholson." 

Nicholson's  face  became  set  and  stem. 
Slowly  he  turned  towards  Metcalfe  on  his 
right  hand,  whose  eyes  shifted  uneasily  from 
one  to  another  without  ever  resting  on  John 
Steele. 

"I  understood,  sir,"  said  Nicholson  very 
slowly,  as  if  weighing  his  words^  "  that  all 
the  money  was  in  the  bank  ?  " 

"I  told  you,  sir,"  replied  the  hesitating 
Metcalfe,  "  that  there  was  in  the  bank  all  the 
capital  we  thought  necessary." 

"  Necessary  ?  "  echoed  Nicholson,  in  cold, 
even  tones.  "  We  make  a  demand  upon  the 
public.  We  state  that  the  value  of  oar 
property  is  so  much.  The  public  responds 
by  offering  us  a  million  less.  Neoearory? 
I  have  never  yet  had  anything  to  do  with  a 
company  whose  capital  was  not  over-sab- 
scribed.  I  have  never  yet  sanctioned  the 
sending  out  of  letters  of  tJlotment  unaccom- 
panied by  letters  of  r^ret." 

John  Steele  had  difficulty  in  keeping  the 
smile  from  his  lips.  The  tones  of  righteoos 
indignation  were  not  in  the  least  overdone. 
The  expression  of  virtuous  disapproval  at 
being  tricked,  on  the  splendidly  chiselled, 
clear-cut  face,  was  marvellous  in  its  reserve ; 
in  its  hint  of  unlimited  power  behind.  Jack 
felt,  rather  than  saw,  the  uneasiness  of  the 
two  colleagues  by  his  side,  who  realised, 
without  exactly  understanding  why,  that 
things  were  going  desperately  wrong,  like  an 
engineer  who  finds  an  open  bridge  in  front 
of  him,  and  finds  the  brakes  will  not  act. 

"Admirably  acted,"  said  Jack  Steele  to 
himself.  "  We  pay  good  money  to  go  to 
the  theatre,  and  vet  there  is  such  histrionic 
talent  as  this  in  the  business  world  ! " 

Then  aloud,  in  a  voice  mildly  protesting, 
he  said — 

"  Nevertheless,  Mr.  Nicholson,  the  million 
shares  left  on  our  hands  are  quite  marketable. 


A   SWEET  PROBLEM. 


We  have  ample  capital  to  go  od  witb,  and 
Mr.  Metcalfe  will  aaaare  yon  tliab  the  factories 
thenuelves  are  all  on  a  paying  basiB.  Yon 
cannot  aurelj  meui  that  having  arrived  at 
this  stage,  ve  are  not  to  proceed  to  allotment, 
Mr.  Nicholson  ?  " 

**  That  is  exactly  what  I  do  mean,"  replied 
Nicholson,  speaking  as  mildly  as  hia  oppononb 
had  done.  "My  coUeagaes  would  never 
consent  to  admit  connection  with  a  company 
formed  in  the  circnmstances  now  before 
ns.     Oar  duty  to  the  public- " 

"  Mr,  Nicholson,  I  quite  appreciate  your 
poflition,  and  that  of  your  colleagues, 
Mr-  Peter  Berrington  and  the  rest.  The 
piiblic  would  indeed  be  shocked  to  learn  that 
Peter,  one  of  onr  religious  pillars,  could  be 


a  secooding  the  motiou.'" 

guilty  of  anything  in  the  least  oblique.  As 
cleanliness  in  next  to  godlinoss,  we  are  all 
aware  that  Amalgamated  Soap  stands  close 
to  the  Pearly  Gates,  and  the  only  thing  we 
fear  about  Peter  is  that  when  he  gets  to 
heaven  he  shall  tind  another  saint  of  the 
same  name  there  before  him,  which  may  lead 
to  confusion  of  identity.  I  take  it  for 
granted,  Mr.  Nicholson,  that  yon  are  about 
to  propose  a  motion  requiring  all  this  money 
to  DC  returned  to  the  suhscribei's.  If  you 
will  put  that  motion,  I  shall  be  very  happy 
to  second  it." 

An  electric  silence  fell  on  the  group,  the 
kind  of  silence  which  on  a  hot  summer's 
night  precedes  a  clap  of  thunder.  Nicholson 
drew  a  long  breath  and  squared  bis  shoulders. 


274 


THE    WINDSOR    MAGAZINE. 


Metcalfe  gazed  in  fascinated  dismay  at  Jack 
Steele.  Even  the  Farwells  showed  traces  of 
human  interest.  Nicholson  did  not  put  his 
motion.  After  a  few  moments  of  this 
embarrassing  stillness,  he  said  gently — 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  John  Steele  has  something 
else  to  propose  ?  " 

"  No,  I  nave  not,"  said  Jack  ;  *'  but  with 
the  chairman's  permission,  there  being  no 
motion  before  the  house,  I  should  like  to 
make  you  a  personal  explanation  Which  may 
save  future  trouble." 

The  chairman  nodded  permission,  and 
Nicholson  said — 

"  We  shall  be  interested  to  hear  anything 
you  say,  Mr.  Steele." 

"To  return  the  monev  is,  of  course,  to 
wreck  the  company.  Hitherto  this  company 
has  been  associated  with  the  names  of  John 
Steele  and  William  Metcalfe.  To-morrow 
the  sensation  of  the  daily  journals  all  over 
the  country  will  be  the  coUapse  of  the  big 
scheme  which  those  two  men  undertook  to 
float.  Mr.  William  Metcalfe  is  unknown  in 
Chicago,  is  but  a  stool-pigeon  well  paid  for 
the  part  he  has  enacted,  and  he  disappears 
from  the  scene.  John  Steele  stands  the 
brunt.  All  the  funds  he  possesses  are  in 
Amalgamated  Soap's  bank.  His  affairs  are  in 
the  hands  of  Amalgamated  Soap  lawyers.  One 
legal  difficulty  after  another  comes  up  ;  there 
is  a  long  fight  over  the  remains,  and  at  last 
Amalgamated  Soap  steps  in  and  sweeps 
up  the  debris.  They  are  in  possession  of 
valuable  property  scattered  throughout  the 
west  in  the  beet-sugar  line,  they  announce 
their  possession  and  the  reconstruction  of 
the  company,  and  everything  is  beautiful, 
but  John  Steele  is  mangled  in  the  collision, 
with  no  insurance,  even  for  his  relatives. 

"  When  I  learned  the  other  week  that  Mr. 
Nicholson  was  interested  in  this  company,  I 
felt  like  the  man  who  had  gone  down  into 
a  cave  and  unexpectedly  clutched  a  huge 
bear  at  the  black  bottom  of  it.  That  man 
did  not  stop  to  question  the  intentions  of 
the  bear  :  he  simply  got  out.  I  followed  the 
example.  In  the  wheat  deal  Mr.  Nicholson 
knows  of,  I  made  several  millions,  and  ever 
since  then  certain  capitalists  in  this  city  have 
begged  me  if  I  fell  in  with  a  similar  good 
thing,  not  to  hug  it  all  to  myself,  but  allow 
them  to  come  in  on  the  ground  floor,  and  I 


promised  to  do  so.  The  moment  I  leamt 
Mr.  Nicholson  was  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  beet-sugar  project,  I  went  directly 
to  these  capitalists,  pledged  them  to  secrecy, 
guai-anteed  that  Amalgamated  Soap  was  bead 
and  shoulders  in  this  deal,  and  that  no  less 
a  person  than  Mr  Nicholson  himself  would 
assume  charge  of  the  comnany.  Gentlemen, 
they  bit  instantly.  I  sold  out  my  share  to 
them  for  the  money  it  had  cost  me,  and 
fifty  per  cent,  additional ;  and,  furthermore, 
I  got  the  cash.  Now  I  shall  read  yon  a 
letter  which  will  appear  in  the  Chicago 
newspapers  to-morrow  morning. 

"*To  THE  Editor, 

" '  Sir,— The  Consolidated  Beet  Sugar 
Company,  with  which  my  name  has  hitherto 
been  associated,  and  which  has  been  60 
splendidly  supported  by  western  capital,  as 
ind^'oated  by  the  subscriptions  now  in  the 
bank,  will  hereafter  be  in  charge  of  the 
eminent  financiers  associated  with  Amal<ra- 
mated  Soap.  I  am  pleased  to  state  that  this 
will  be  almost  entirely  a  Chicago  enterprise, 
and  that  some  of  the  best  men  in  this  city 
have  bought  out  my  interests  therein.  I 
have  only  to  add  that  Mr.  Nicholson  himself 
is  now  a  member  of  the  board  of  directors, 
and  nothing  further  need  be  said  to  assure 
all  concerned  of  the  immense  prosperity 
which  awaits  this  company,  and  the  far- 
reaching  advantages  it  will  offer  both  to 
agriculture  and  manufacture  in  the  west. 

" '  Yours  sincerely, 

"'John  Steele.' 

"  And  now,  gentlemen,"  said  Jack  Steele, 
as  he  folded  up  the  copy  of  this  letter  and 
placed  it  in  lis  insiae  pocket,  "nothing 
remains  for  me  to  do  but  to  resign  my  seat 
on  the  Ixmrd,  as  1  am  no  longer  interested 
in  the  least  in  this  company.  But  before 
handing  in  my  formal  resignation,  I  shall  be 
pleased  to  second  any  motion  Mr.  Nicholson 
cares  to  propose." 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  said  Nicholson,  quite 
unruflSed,  "  I  move  we  now  proceed  to 
allotment." 

"  I  have  pleasure  in  seconding  the  motion," 
said  John  Steele,  rising,  bowing  to  the 
company,  and  leaving  the  room. 


LIGHTHOUSES. 


By    GEORGE    I.ORIMEk. 


THE  shores  of  these  Islands,  in  many 
places  as  dangerous  as  any   in  the 
wortil,  are  dotted  alt  round  with  an 
elaborate  STstem  of  sig- 
nals  for  the  guidat 


of 


El 


ery 


cl 


night  of  the  year  on 
our  coasta  there  shine 
or  flash  forth  bright 
starry  beams  from 
more  than  a  thousand 
lighthouses  and  hght^ 
ships,  upon  whose 
constniction  and  equip- 
ment the  most  profound 
Bcientilic  knowledge  and 
the  most  marvellous 
meclianical  skill  have 
been  brought  U>  bear  in 
the  servi(«  of  humanity. 
There  is  no  need  to 
wast«  words  either  on 
the  enormoiiB  practical 
advantages  that  commerce  gains  from  hght- 
houses,  or  on  the  beneficence  generally  of 
the  object  with  which  they  are  built  and 
operated.     With  regard  to  the  latter  poiut 


of  view,  however,  I  think  I  shall  be 
pardoned  if  T  recall  a  litt<le-kuown,  perhaps 
forgotten,  hicident  which  occurred  in  one 
of  the  early  chapters, 
so  to  speak,  of  the 
fine,  romantic  story  of 
lighthouses  and  their 
builders— connected  in 
this  instance  with  the 
ever-famous  Eddy  stone. 
The  first  Eddystone 
LightJiouse,  a  curious 
aud  fantastic  structure, 
built  with  something 
of  the  whimsical  fanci- 
fulness  of  a  Chinese 
pagoda,  disappeared  in 
the  historic  "  Great 
Storm  "  of  1703,  carry- 
ing with  it  at  the  same 
time  its  occupants, 
amongst  whom  was  its 
architect,  WiustHnley. 
When  the  second  Eddystone,  that  of  Rnd- 
yerd,  was  being  erected  in  17<i7,  a  French 
privateer  swooped  down  upon  the  rock, 
captured  the  workmen,  aud  took  them  oft 


27S 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


to  France,  where  they  were  pat 
in  prison.  LonU  XIV.,  then 
King  of  France,  beard  of  the 
matter.      To    his    honour,    he 


liberated  the  lighthouse  mun,  and  put  their 

captors  ill  their  room,  justifying  bia  action 

bj  the  significant  statement   that  "  though 

he  was  at  war  with 

England,    he    was 

not  at  war  with 

maiikiud."  And  he 

sent  them  back  to 

England   loaded 

with  presents. 

In  ancient  times 
lighthouses  were, 
almost  literally, 
"  pillars  of  fire." 
Still  earlier,  the 
sailor,  out  at  night 
on  the  open  sea, 
steered  bis  conrae 
bj  the  stars  alone. 
Thusdid  the  trader 
of  Tyre  and  Sidon, 
on  his  way  to  the 


a  of  Britain,  guide  his  ship, 
ily  the  while,  what  time  tbt 
itood  high   in  the  heavens  or 
dipped    far    across    the 
nortliern  depths.   Next  came 
the  beacon,  the  fire  lighted 
on  a  headland  or  promon- 
tory.     Then    followed  the 
pharos,  the  light- t/}wer,  the 
pillar    of    fire,     the     most 
celebrated    of     which    was 
the  Pharos  of  Alexandria,  a 
structure  of   white  marUe, 
■^-~^    on  whose  summit  there 
blazed  a  huge  bonfire  of  lo^ 
saturated  with  pitch.     Om 
of  the  Ptolcm}^  bnitt  that  wonder  of  the 
world    in  the  third  century  b.g.      Greece, 
Carthage,  and  Rome  set  up  somewhat  similar 


LWHTHOUSeS, 


towers  along  the  COaat  of  the  Mediterranean 
and  elsewhere.  Vestiees  of  them  are  to  be 
seen  to  this  day  on  uie  shores  of  England, 
Fmnce,  and  Sjain ;  and  for  two  thoosand 
years  hghUionses  were  all  of  the  pharos  type 
— open  wood  fires  of  great  size,  or  fires  in 
tremendons  braziers,  cDauffers,  or  cages  of 
iron,  placed  on  the  top  of  high  towers.  In 
some  cases  coal  was  used  instead  of  wood. 
The  Cordoaan,  at  the  moath  of  the  Garonne, 
was  kindled  with  oak  logs  in  ICIO.  The 
Lantema  of  Genoa,  still  the  tallest  lighthouse 
bnilding  in  existence,  was  lighted  with  wood. 
The  Lizard  was  a  coal  fire  in  1812,  and 
St.  Bees  ceased  to  be  one  only  in  1822. 
The  Isle  of  May  remained  a  coal  light  for 
nearly  two  centuries.  The  Eddystone  was 
at  first  lit  with  tallow  candles,  and  then  with 
wax.  Oil  lamps  were  not  used  before  1730, 
and  then  only  on  a  very  small  scale.  It  was 
the  Argand  burner  (1783),  and  the  reflector 
of  Tevdere,  which  brought  about  the  first 


nmrt  OKDBR  K 


MinitoM  Iilaiut,  Wut  Ccatt  of  India,  ISSS. 


Since  tliat  time  lighthouse  illumination 
has  developed  very  considerably,  proceeding 
by  three  well-defined,  successive  stages.  The 
invention  of  parabolic  miiTors  led  to  the 
adoption  of  wliat  ia  known  as  the  raioptric 
system  of  lighting,  wherein  the  light  or  flame 
of  the  lamp  was  reflected.  As  far  back  as 
1763  parabolic  reflectors,  formed  of  fucetB 
of  silvered  glass,  were  in  operation  in  the 
Mersey  lighthouses,  and  at  the  commence- 
ment of  last  century  perfected  reflectors  of 
silver-plated  copper  were  used  at  Inchkcith. 
The  second  stage  came  with  the  invention  of 
the  dioptric  system  by  Angnstin  Fresnel,  a 
Frenchman,  in  I8ia.  By  this  method  the 
light  was  refracted  by  means  of  lenses — the 
result  being  an  enormous  gain  in  the  intensity 
of  the  transmitted  beams.  The  first  light- 
house in  the  Kingdom  to  receive  a  Fresnel 
apparatus  was  that  of  Inchkeith,  in  1835. 


278 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


Between  1840  and  1852  a  still  further 
improvement,  termed  the  holophota}  system, 
was  elaborated  hj  Thomas  Stevenson,  a 
member  of  the  family  wfaich  has  given 
many  great  engineers  to  this  conn  try. 
DeHned  briefly,  in  this  system,  as  the  name 
implies,  all  the  light  can  be  utilised  and 
thrown  in  the  desired  direction,  in  the 
catoptric  arrangement  by  reflecting  agents,  in 
the  dioptric  by  refracting  lenses,  and  in  the 
catadioptric  b;  both  in  combination. 

I  shall  consider  the  beautiful  and   most 
interesting  instruments  employed    in    light- 
house illnmination  wlien   I   come  to  speak, 
presently,  of  a  visit  I  paid  a  short  time  ^o, 
on  behalf  of  tlie  Windsor,  to  the  famous 
lighthouse  works  of  Measrs.  Chance  Brothers 
and  Co.,  Ltd.,  the  only  industry  of  the  kind 
in   existence   within    the    wide  area  of    the 
British  Empire,     First  of  all,  however,  there 
must  be  told  the  fascinating 
story   of   the    building    of 
lighthouses  —  by   which    I 
mean   the  actual  construc- 
tion of  the  towers  supporting 
the  lanterns  and  the  lampe 
or  lights.     The  making  of 
perfect  lenses,  mirrore  and 
lights   "of    purest  ray 
serene,"  and  the  nice  adjust- 
ment of  means  to  ends,  are 
matters,  of  course,  thought 
and  wrought  out  carefully, 
patiently,  cleverly,  and 
scietitihcully  in  the  offices 
and  works  of  such  firms  as 
tliat  of  the  Messrs.  Chance  ; 
but  the  "human  interest" 
centres  chiefly  in  tlic  tale  of 
theefforts — not  infrequently 
the  heroic   efforts— of  the 
engineers  and  masons  who 
have  erected  the  lighthouses 
themselves.     This  will  beat 
be   seen   from   one  or  two 
examples.     To  multiply  in- 
stances would   render    this 
article  too  long. 

Let  it  be  premised  that 
the  majority  of  lighthonso.i 
are  built  on  the  mainland 

and  call  for  no  more  than 

ordinary  skill  and  cITort  in 

their  constraction.      It  is  when  tlie  engineer 

has  to  find  his  site  on  a  partially  or  totally 

Bubmei^ed  rock,  exposed  to  the  fnll  shock  of 

the  waves,  and  to  give  fierce  and  persistent 

battle  to  tides,  curreuCs,  eddies,   breakers, 


and  all  the  winds  of  heaven,  that  lighllioiite 
bnildiiig  takes  on  tlie  heroic  character, 
evoking  the  highest  qualities  of  courage  and 
endurance.  Again,  it  may  be  that  he  is 
compelled  to  erect  his  lighthouse  not  npon 
a  rock,  but  on  shifting  sands,  or  to  stm^le 
with  the  iceberg  and  the  ice-pack.  Two  ef 
the  moat  notable  of  these  triumphs  of  light- 
house building  arc  Minot's  Ledge,  off  the 
coast  of  Massachusetts,  and  Skerryvore,  a 
short  distance  from  the  Island  of  Tyree. 

To-day,  "  rising  sheer  out  of  the  sea,  hie 
a  huge  stone  cannon,  mouth  upward,"  » 
Longfellow  wrote,  the  lighthouse  of  Minot'i 
Ledge  stands  near  the  entrance  of  Masea- 
chusetts  Bay,  some  fifteen  miles  south-east 
of  Boston.  Tlie  Ledge  itself  is  a  rock  bardj 
visible  at  extreme  low  tide,  lying  in  the  foU 
swell  of  the  ocean.  Forty-three  ships  trad 
been  dashed  to  pieces  upon  it  in  a  period  of 


BidUon  Lighthouie, 

thirty  years.  Prior  to  1851  a  small  light, 
held  in  position  by  iron  pillars,  had  lanied 
al)ovu  it,  but  in  that  year  a  terrible  storm 
swept  liglit  and  pillars  away.  In  185.'>,  u 
American  engineer,  Alexander  by  name,  nho 


LIOBTHODSES. 


Uvarionslj  termed  "Geaeral"  or  "Captain" 

Alexander,  contracted  to  build  a  stone  tower 
ou  the  Ledge,  lOU  feet  high  and  ;iO  feet  in 
diameter  at  the  ba.se. 

Now,  part  of  tb«  Ledge  wae  always  under 
vater,  and  the  rest  of  it,  even  at  low  tide, 
VA&  never  uncovered  except  for  two  or  three 


iFhat  with  the  waves  and  the  Blipperi- 
the  rofk  from  seaweed,  Alexander 
-Bt  visit  could  not  keep  liis  footing. 
.  and  himself,  fighting  wind,  wave, 
with  the  energy  of  despair,  were 
By  to  cut  four  or  five  small  foot-holes 
frock  during  the  whole  of  their  first 
In  the  next  they  managed  to  put 
up  an  iron  platform  twenty  feet  above  low 
Tater,  but  that  very  winter  a  ship  was  driven 
on  to  the  Ledge  by  a  storm,  carrying  away 
the  platform  and  undoing  in  one  night  the 
work  of  two  years.  The  attempt  was  renewed 
the  following  spring,  and  the  third  year  saw 
four  foundation-stones  securely  laid  ;  by  the 
end  of  the  fifth  year  the  six  lower  courses 
of  the  tower  were  completed,  and  the  Ledge 
iraB  conquered.  It  would  be  easy  to  draw 
harrowing  pictures  of  the  workmen  clinging 


for  dear  life  to  the  black  rock  while  the 
waves  swept  over  them,  and  so  on,  but  the 
best  idea  of  the  dilficnlties  and  perils  they 
had  to  encounter  may  be  derived  from  the 
simple  but  abundantly  suggestive  facte  that 
during  the  whole  of  the  first  season  they 
were  able  to  work  for  no  more  than  thii-ty 
iinnra  ojid  durfng  tlic  sccoud  for  only  one 
and  fifty-seven. 

lighthouse  cost  £60,0(ii},  and  here  I 
must  point  out  that  the  United 
I  a  spirit  which  everyone  must  admit 
rthyand  noble  in  the  highest  degree, 
110  does  for  its  tighta,  but  presents 
a  free  offering  to  all  the  world.  It 
considerable  gift,  for  it  costs  the 
n  Government  annually  not  far  from 
lions  of  dollars. 

iher  illustration  of  the  heroic  nature 
)rk  of  the  lighthonse  bnilders,  I  have 
selected,  from  among  many  British 
examples  of  it,  the  Skerryvore,  as 
its  history  is  perhaps  not  so  well 
known  as,  say,  that  of  the  Bell 
Rock  or  tlie  Bddystone.  Alan 
Stevenson,  sou  of  Robert  Steveu- 
son,  who  constructed  the  Bell  Rock 
on  Inchcape,  built  the  Skerryvore; 
he  has  left  an  account  of  it  in 
an  interesting  but  now  forgotten 
volume. 

Skerryvore,  probably  the  most 
dangerous  of  all  the  skerries  in 
onr  wuteiti,  is  a  nearly  snbmerged 
reef  off  tlie  coast  of  Ai^yilshire, 
exposed  to  the  full  force  of  the 
Atlantic,  and  surrounded  by  in- 
DiDs.  numerable  ledges  and  sharp  pointe 

of  rock— the  whole  constituting 
what  seafaring  folk  call  "foul 
ground  "  of  the  worst  description  along  a 
line  of  some  seven  or  eight  miles.  This 
being  the  case,  it  will  readily  be  imagined 
tliat  it  was  a  matter  of  no  little  skill  in 
seamanship  to  approach  the  place  in  fine 
weather.  The  weather,  however,  was  very 
rarely  fine,  and  when  storms  arose^as  they 
do  on  that  coast  with  extraordinary  sudden- 
ness and  intensity — the  ship  from  which 
the  work  was  prosecuted  was  frequently 
in  the  direst  peril.  No  secure  anchorage 
could  be  found,  and  the  vessel  often 
drifted  at  the  mercy  of  the  waves.  The 
rock  itself,  while  building  operations  were 
going  on,  was  swept  ever  and  anon  by 
the  icy  waters  of  the  Atlantic,  while  the 
intrepid  workers,  with  limbs  and  bodies 
benumbed,  had  to  save  themselves  from 
destruction  as  best  they  might.     On  one 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


occAsi'ou  the  "  crew  "  on  the  rock  were  ciit 
oS  fi'ODi  lh<!  ship  fur  daja,  and  were  within 
an  ace  of  dyiiifr  fi'om  8tar4atiou.  So  terrible, 
so  exhausting   kiis  the  struggle,  that  lb  is 


scarcely  surprising  to  learn  that  a  portion  of 
the  "crew"  at  one  time  mutinied.  Still, 
through  fair  or  foul  weather,  the  work  went 
on,  until  a  splendid  sea-tower,  greater  tbau 


the  Bell  Rock  or  the  Eddystone,  sent  rla 
warning  light  across  the  wild  wastw  of  (be 
sea  for  a  distance  of  more  than  tnenU 
miles. 

The  Skerryvore  was  one  of  the  costlitel  uf 
our  Itglilhouses,  the  sum  expended  npoD  it 
being  £87,00!i. 

My  readers  are  doubtless  familiur  with  (lie 
appearance  of  one  or  more  of  tlie  pvA 
stone-tower  lighthouses  round  oar  tmti, 
such  as  those  already  mentioned,  or,  to  quote 
othere,  the  Bishop  (Scilly  Isles),  the  DuWi 
Artach  (Scotland),  the  Chicken  Rock  (Isle  uf 
Man),  and  the  Stroma  (Shetland  Islaadg). 
It  is  nunccessary,  therefore,  to  give  any 
particular  or  even  general  description  of 
these  towers  ;  it  is  enough  to  say  that  they 
are  the  monumeutuL  works  of  engiueera  like 
the  Stevensons  and  the  Douglases.  Smeth- 
wick,  where  the  works  of  Messrs.  Chance 
Brothers  and  Co.  are  situated,  is  in  the 
neigh bourkood  of  Rirmiiigham — that  city  in 
or  about  which  everything  in  the  world  that 
can  be  made  is  made.  It  will  surprise  uo 
one  acquainted  with  the  vast  and  multi- 
farious enterprises  of  the  Capital  of  the 
Midlands  to  learn  that  the  sole  lighthome 
factory  in  the  Empire  is  located  near 
there. 

B^inning  years  before  aa  manufacturers 
of  glass,  it  is  just  half  a  century  since 
Messrs.  Chance  showed  at  the  Great  Eshibi- 
tion  of  1851  a  specimen  lighthouse  ap{eratas 
of  the  first  order,  cousisting  of  the  optical 
glass  and  its  framing.  Messrs.  GookiioD,  of 
Newcastle,  had  previously  made  diopbic 
lenses  for  certain  English  lighthooscfl.  It 
is  said  that  the  first  efforts  of  Messrs.  Chance 
entailed  iai^e  pecuniary  loss,  but  they  have 
gone  on  st^ily  to  the  present  time,  with 
little  or  no  official  aid  or  encouragement — 
it  is  far  otherwise  in  France,  where  the 
Government  subsidises  the  French  lightr 
house  builders^ but  wiih  ever- increasing 
success.  For  this  they  are  mainly  indebted 
to  the  ability  and  untiring  energy  of  & 
James  Chance.  In  18.'>6  and  1857  they 
sent  out  their  first  sett  of  apparatus— to 
Rathlin  Island  and  Galway  Bay  in  Ireland, 
to  Bardsey  Island  in  Wales,  to  Lnndy  Island 
in  the  Bristol  Channel,  and  to  Rhu  Vol  in 
Scotland.  Since  that  time  they  have  con- 
atructc-d  more  than  a  thousand  lights  of  all 
dimensions,  and  they  have  planted  them  on 
the  shores  of  every  sea. 

Every  night,  year  in  and  year  out,  tbrongh 
fair  weather  and  foul,  these  lights,  that  o«^ 
their  brilliance  and  their  power  to  the  great 
works  at  Smethwick,  are  gleaming  on  the 


APPARATUS   fon    FIXED   LIGHTS   .ho    FLASHING   LIGHTS   hot.- 


*> 


V^ 


#      \ 


?*■ 


THK   WIXDSOH   MAO  A /.INK. 


perilous  nxiks  and  frowniiiK  headlands  of  the  . 
coaste  of  America,  AusCralla,  and  the  Argen- 
tine, of  China,  Chih,  and  Corea,  of  Spain  and 
Siaiu,  of  Japan  and  Java,  and  India  and 
Riigsta,  and  of  Mexico,  to  sav  nothing  of  the 
countless  points  of  danger  to  the  mariner 
around  the  shores  of  our  own  British  tsle^. 

With  the  advance  of  civilisation  has  grown 
the  demand  for  these  liery  sentinels  of  the 
seu,  and  the  reputation  of  Mudsrs.  ('hancc 
for  this  class  of  work 
being  widespread, 
the  businesBof  light- 
house  building 
and  equipping  lias 
steadily  increased, 
involving  big 
additions  to  the 
works  at  Sraethwick 
and  the  employment 
of  many  hands,  while 
the  working  plant 
and  equipment 
generally  have  bejn 
brought  up  to  the 
utmost  point  of 
efficiency.  One  of 
the  managing 
directors  of  Messrs, 
Chance  was  kind 
enongh  to  take  me 
over  their  establish- 
ment, to  talk  to  me 
of  wiiat  was  being 
done  in  it,  and  to 
tell  me  a  good  deal 
about  lighthonses 
generally.  Previous 
to  my  visit,  I  was 
under  the  impre-s- 
sion  that  Messrs. 
Chance  constructed 
lighthouses,  whether 
with  towere  of  Bt«nu 
or  iron,  from  start 
to  finish  ;  but  I  /.*(*,  4g] 
found     that    while  in 

this  is  the  case  with 

respect  to  iron  towers,  it  is  not  so  as  regards 
stone  towers  for  the  latter  they  build  the 
lantern,  the  optical  apparatus,  the  lamp,  tlie 
mechanism  for  regulating  the  flashing  of  the 
light,  and  the  rest  of  the  interior  machinery. 
With  the  construction  of  the  masonry 
works  they  are  not  concerned.  The  stone 
tower,  it  may  be  explained,  is  erected  to 
withstand  wave  action,  and  is  invariably 
placed  on  low-lying  rocks,  and  wherever  the 
structure  is  eiposed  to  the  persistent  force  of 


tide  and  breaker.  The  iron  tower  has  only 
to  resist  wind  action,  and  is,  therefore,  i^uite 
suitable  for  erection  on  lofty  headlands,  while 
having  the  advantage  of  being  much  more 
economical  than  the  more  elalx>rately  built 
towers  of  stone. 

There  was  even  lately  in  building  in  the 
workshops  of  Messrs.  Chance  a  tast-iiwn 
tower  liMi  ft.  high.  This  new  lighthouse — 
one  of  the  loftiest,  I  lielie\'e,  of  its  particular 


kind — is  designed  for  erection  on  Tasman 
Island,  in  Tasmania.     Wlien  finished  at  the 

works,  it  is  taken  to  pieces  again  and  shipped 
to  its  destination,  where  it  is  rebuilt  and 
fully  equipped  as  a  lighthouse.  In  this  case 
the  Siuethwick  firm  are  really  lighthouse 
builders,  and  to  watch  the  evolution  of  this 
iron  "  pillar  of  fire  "  is  as  fascinating^  ao  anv- 
thing  in  the  industrial  world.  Several  of 
these  iron  lighthouses  have  been  constructed 
for  various  coasts.    A  cylinder  of  steel  forms 


UGHT HOUSES. 


\F.  Frith  i:  Co.,  LW.,  J 


tbe  main  sbsft  or  column,  and  Bmallcr 
columns  of  cset-iron  farm  the  surrounding 
Bupport«.  Hardlj  half-waj  ap  the  great 
frame  ia  the  keeper's  chamber,  an  apartment 
composed  of  steel  girders  and  wrougbt-iron 
platea.  Further  aloft  is  tbe  lantern.  The 
wbote  construction  of  these  iron  lighthouses 
is  an  astonishing  instance  of  combined 
strength,  lightness,  and  durability.  I  was 
shown  a  picture  of  one  of  the  earlier  erections 
of  this  type,  before  and  after  a  storm.  Trees 
had  lieeu  swept  down  or  uprooted,  but  the 
light,  not  ungraceful,  tower  of  steel  and  Iron 
remained  uninjured. 

Bnt,  after  ail,  a  tower  of  this  kind,  how- 
ever perfectly  adapted  for  its  work,  Is  only 
an  ordinary  example  of  mechanical  engineer- 
ing. It  is  tbe  lantern,  its  scientifically 
devised  optical  apparatus,  and  all  its  ingenious 
accessories,  whicu  claim  paramount  attention. 
Lanterns  vary  in  diameter  from  five  to  four- 
teen or  sixteen  feet,  though  iu  very  excep- 
tional instances  a  diameter  of  eighteen  feet 
hA8  been  attained.  Whatever  their  size, 
they  are  all  constructed  with  a  care  and 
precision  which  attaches  to  tlie  making  of  a 
watch  or  any  other  small  but  elaborate 
mechaDisin.  The  average  price  of  a  good 
lantern,  by  the  way.  is  some  £1,2(K). 

The  perfect  lantern  is  of  circular  form 
throughout,  and  stands  on  a  plinth  or 
pedestal,  usnally  of  cast-iron,  of  sufficient 
height  to  carry  an  inside  and  an  out^de 


gallen"  for  cleaning  purposes.  It  is  provided 
with  naif-inch  or  other  suitable  thicknesses 
of  plate-glass  of  tbe  finest  qnality,  set  in 
frames  of  gun-metal,  a  material  which 
ex[>erience  has  proved  cabbie  of  resisting  the 
action  of  salt  water.  The  glass  must  he 
strong  enough  to  hold  out  against  the 
estremes  of  wind  and  weather,  and  yet  so 
translucent  as  to  intercept  the  least  possible 
light  from  the  lenses.  And  the  whok  must 
be  BO  constructed  that  there  shall  be  abun- 
dant ventilation  to  sustain  the  lamp  and  to 
refresh  those  who  tend  it.  This  is  secured 
by  means  of  a  ventilator  from  the  copper 
cupola  which  crowns  the  lantern. 

In  the  older  lighthouses  many  of  the 
lanterns  have  polygonal  glazing,  bnt  the 
superiority  of  circuUr  glazing  has  been  so 
completely  demonstrated  that  Messrs.  Chance 
have  ceased  to  make  the  former  for  some 
years  past.  A  notable  distinction  of  the 
Smethwick  works  is  that  from  the  beginning 
all  the  glass  required  in  the  firm's  lighthouse 
building  has  been  made  there  :  indeed,  they 
are    the    only    constructors    of    lighthouse 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


apparatus  who  mannfactnre  tbeJr  own 
optical  agento.  At  the  time  of  -  mj  visit 
tiie  elaea  furnaces  were  not  in  operation, 
but  I  wae  akown  the  very  special  machinery 
for  grinding  and  polishing'  tne  prisms,  lenses, 
mirrors,  and  other  objects  at  work  in  the 
various  stages  and  processes  of  manufacture. 
A  lens  or  prism,  when  ready  for  being  placed 
in  the  apparatus  through  which  the  light 
passes  across  the  sea,  is  a  very  beauti'ful 
thing,  obtained  from  the  rough  casting, 
however,  only  after  an  infinitude  of  mechani- 
cal and  manual  labour.    Each  piece — or  shall 


The  jrronp-flashing  system,  which  is  acknov- 
ledged  to  afford  the  best  characteristic  for 
revolving;  lightfl,  was  brought  forwani  l^ 
Messra.  Chance  in  1874,  under  the  superin- 
tendence of  their  then  scientific  adviser,  Ae 
late  Dr.  John  Hopkinson,  who  invented  it, 
and  it  has  been  adopted  by  all  maritime 
conntriee.  Mixed  hghte  of  fized  and  revolviag 
sections  are  no  longer  considered  satisfactorj, 
and,  what  strikes  the  outsider  as  being  vei; 
remarkable,  colour  is  being  gradually  aban- 
doned. Of  recent  years  "lightning  lights" 
{fmix  iclairs)  have  come  into  use,  and  this 


I  call  it  bar  or  disc  ?— of  glass  must  be  free 
from  blcmisli,  and  of  precisely  the  exdct 
size  and  shape  required.  For  "hyper- 
radial  "  h'glits,  about  which  I  shall  speak 
presently,  the  necessary  optical  apparatus, 
made  up  of  a  large  number  of  prismatic 
rings  converging  to  a  central  lens,  costs  from 
£2.000  to  £3,0^10  alone. 

The  characteristic  features  which  differen- 
tiate the  light  given  by  one  lighthouse  from 
that  given  by  another  have  been  introduced 
for  various  reasons.  The  substitution  of 
revolving  in  place  of  fiic'd  sea-lights  arises 
naturally  enough  from  the  increasing  number 
of  bright  fixed  lights  on  ships  and  on  shore. 


!A  A  Co..  Ltd.,  Reifait. 


new  system,  in  which  the  weight  of  the 
apparatus  is  supported  on  mercury,  and  the 
friction  consequently  reduced  to  a  minimum, 
has  made  it  possible  to  rotate  the  optical 
apparatus  at  a  much  h^her  speed  tJuB 
formerly,  with  the  result  that  the  duntion 
of  the  nash  has,  in  many  cases,  be«n  redaced 
to  one-tenth  of  a  second. 

Tliis  principle  of  revolution  on  mercury 
instead  of  on  rollers  is  one  of  two  valuable 
improvements  effected  in  lighthooee  work  in 
recent  years.  Not  only  does  it  secure  a  great 
reduction  in  the  amount  of  friction  necMsi- 
tated,  hut  it  means  a  saving  in  the  driving 
force.     Whereas — to  take   a  typival   South 


LTGHTHOUSEfi. 


285 

provement,  practically 
originated,  I  betieve,  ouly 
in  the  last  two  or  three 
feare,  is  the  BiibBtiUitiou  of 
incandcBcent  oii  burners  for 
the  oil  -  wick  burners  of 
former  days.  The  same  oii 
is  used— light  mineral  oil— 
but  it  is  vaporised,  with  the 
result  of  a  gain  in  ecoooiny 
of  consumption  and  an  in- 
creased intensity.  Let  me 
demonstrate  tins  briefly,  just 
as  it  was  explained  to  me. 
The  sis- wick  oil  burner, 
with  a  8ame  of  i\  inches, 
gave  a  candle-power  of  7uO  ; 
the  incandescent  oil  burner, 
with  a  mantle  of  nearly 
3J  inches  diameter,  gives  a 


Coast  light  as  an  instance — the 
required  on  the  old  roller  system 
the  revolutions  in  mercury  takt 
seven  cwt.,  or  little  more  than  s 
former  weight.     The  new  syst«n 
l>een  installed  in  several   of  tl 
porlant  lighthouses  around   out 
of  tlie  latest  applications  being 
to  the  wetl-known  St.  Cathe- 
rine's light.    There  the  optic 
is   mounted    on   a  revolving 
table,  which  is  carried  upon  a   , 
cast-iron  annular  float  revolv- 
ing in  a  bath  of  mercury.     In 
this  caHe  it  takes  816  lb.  of 
mercnry  to  float  the  revolving 
aputratns. 
The   other   important   im- 


candle-power  up  to  2,400. 
The  intensity  is  threefold, 
while  the  oil  consumption  is 
reduced  by  a  fourth.  The 
sii-wick  burner  used  to  con- 
sume half  a  gallon  of  oil  per 
hour,  but  the  incandescent 
burner  needs  only  two  and 
a  half  pints  per  hour.  A 
typical  incandescont  burner 
light  is  tliat  on  Beachy  Head. 
So  far  the  electric  light 
has  been  sparingly  adopted. 
Only  four  among  the  many 
lightfl  controlled  by  Trinity 
House  arc  electrically  illu- 
minated, these  iDeing  St. 
Catherine's,  the  Lizard,  the 
South  Foreland,  and  Soutor 


286 


THE   WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 


Point  on  the  northern  coast.  Electricity  is 
utilised  in  several  of  the  smaller  lighthouses, 
such  as  serve  in  estuaries  and  harbours,  and 
are  under  the  authority  of  individual  Harbour 
Boards  ;  but,  generally  speaking,  it  has  been 
found  that  the  electric  light  is  very  sensitive 
to  the  state  of  the  atmosphere,  and  in  thick, 
foggy  weather,  it  is  said,  it  parts  with  its 
power  in  a  much  greater  ratio  than  does 
either  oil-  or  gaslight.  On  the  French  coast 
there  are  upwards  of  a  dozen  first-class 
electrically  iUurainated  lighthouses,  but  in 
the  existing  Lizard  light  England  can  boast 
the  most  powerful  of  all  marine  lights  in  the 
world. 

The  St.  Catherine's  light  was  provided 
with  a  new  optical  apparatus  only  a  few 
months  ago.  It  formerly  had  a  dioptric  lens 
with  sixteen  sides,  and  exhibiting  a  single 
flash  at  intervals  of  thirty  seconds.  The 
new  optic  is  four-sided,  with  a  vertical  angle 
of  189  degrees.  Its  flash  is  of  wonderful 
intensity,  and  the  reflection  of  the  beacon  in 
the  sky  can,  in  anything  like  clear  weather, 
be  seen  from  the  Channel  Islands.  It  is 
frequently  the  case,  however,  that  the  beacon 
reflection  can  be  seen  at  a  very  much  greater 
distance  than  the  mere  geographiail  range. 
The  Black  Head  light  on  the  Antrim  coast, 
a  light  of  a  different  order  entirely,  can  be 
seen  plainly  at  Portpatrick  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Irish  Channel,  and  the  Bailey  light 
at  the  extremity  of  Howth  Head  can  also  be 
discerned  for  a  long  distance. 

At  the  South  Foreland,  to  which  reference 
has  been  made,  the  two  fixed  electric  lights, 
which  have  been  in  existence  there  well  over 
twenty  years,  were,  during  last  year,  super- 
seded by  a  single  flashing  light  placed  in  the 
lantern  of  the  higher  of  the  two  towers  at  an 
elevation  of  874  feet.  It  has  a  speed  of  one 
revolution  in  forty  seconds. 

Lighthouses  are  classified,  it  may  l)e  added, 
according  to  the  power  of  their  beams.  The 
largest  of  all  have  the  hyper-radial  apparatus, 
of  which  mention  has  pre- 
viously been  made.  The 
hyper-radial  lens  has  a  focal 
distance  of  1,880  millimetres 
— that  is,  a  radius  of  about 
fifty-two  inches.  This  light 
has  been  introduced  within 
comparatively  recent  times, 
but  before  its  day,  lights 
were  arranged  in  six 
" Ordei-s,"  the  "  First  Order'' 
having  a  lantern  twelve  feet 
in   diameter  —  the    hyper- 


radial  has  fourteen — ^and  a  radius  of  920 
millimetres,  or  a  little  over  three  feet,  while 
the  "  Sixth  Order,"  with  a  lantern  of  only 
five  feet  diameter,  had  a  radius  of  but  150 
millimetres,  or  about  six  inches.  The  inter- 
vening "  Orders  "  are  lights  of  700,  500, 250, 
and  187 '5  millimetres  respectively. 

The  page  of  diagrams  illustrates  in  a 
simple  fashion  the  difference  in  the  radial 
gleam  that  is  cast  from  a  fixed  light  and  a 
flashing  light.  In  Fig.  1  a  fixed  light  of 
SCO**  gives  forth  a  starry  brilliance  which  is 
steady  but  not  penetrating.  This  kind  of 
light  may  still  be  seen  at  t^e  pierheads  of 
ancient  harbours,  or  in  small  lighthouse 
such  as  are  found  in  the  vicinity  of  many 
old-fashioned  seaside  resorts.  Fig.  2  shows 
the  effect  of  the  same  light,  with  a  different 
angle,  being  def  i-acted  by  the  dioptric  mirror ; 
and  Fig.  3  demonstrates  the  improvement 
effected  by  the  introduction  of  flashing 
panels.  These,  as  is  shown  with  increasing 
number  in  the  three  subsequent  figures, 
break— or,  rather,  gather  up — the  light  into 
long,  straight  beams,  distributed  through  the 
several  panels,  and  falling  according  to  the 
measured  angle  of  the  optic. 

And  now  we  have  covered  but  the  first 
principles  and  facts  of  lighthouse  construction 
and  methods  of  illumination.  The  romance 
and  reality  of  the  life  and  routine  of  the 
men  who  govern  the  beneficent  work  of 
these  "pillars  of  fire"  must  remain  to 
be   told   in   another  article. 


Photo  by] 


[F.  Frith  A  Co.,  Ltd,,  Bti^aU 

SOUTH    FORELAND:    UPPER    LIGHT. 


By 

A    BOY   WHO 
OBSERVES  THE 


MOST  boys  are  miiei 
don't  mean  mii:( 
together,  like  p. 
or  biacnits ;  but  mixed  in  t 
selves— streaky,  in  fact, 
bacon.  You  very  seldom 
ocroea  a  fellow  who  is  alti:^ 
nice  or  altogether  nasty  ; 
vlien  yon  do,  as  in  tLo  a 
Dowson  (I'm  not  saying  > 
altogether  he  is),  you  feel 
he  ia  an  ciception,  and 
mach  good  for  anythinj: 
to  prove  the  rule. 

Flapper  is  rather  a  chu 
mine,  and  has  no  end  of  good 
points,  but  no  one  can  deny 
that  he  is  a  snob  and  a  tuft- 
hunter.  He  never  cottons  to 
anyone  without  a  reason  for 
it.  It  isn't  necessary  to  men- 
tion the  reason  why  he  cottons 
to  me.  I  make  it  a  rule  to 
cultivate  modesty  and  to  condemn  bn^.  It 
will  be  sufficient,  iti  order  to  illu»<t:'ate  my 
meaninv,  to  speak  of  his  relations  with 
Camperfown. 

Oamperdown's  people  are  as  poor  as  r.ita, 
and  on  that  account  I  thought  rather  well  of 
Flapper  for  chumming  with  him.  It  seemed 
as  if  he  was  trying  to  overcome  his  dis- 
iDcIination  to  have  anything  to  do  with  any- 
body out  of  whom  nothing  was  to  be  got. 
But  he  made  an  explanation  one  day  which 
showed  I  had  been  tninking  too  well  of  him. 
He  told  me  that  Camperdown  has  blue  blood 
in  his  veins,  and  that  was  why  he— Flapper 
— was  ready  to  overlook  the  unpleasant  facts 
that  Camperdown's  people  had  nest  to  no 
money  and  lived  in  a  small  house.  He 
seemed  to  think  there  was  soniethin}^  credit- 
able in  this,  and  I  might  have  thought  so,  too, 
if  he  had  not  told  me  immediately  afterwards 
that  bis  Aunt  Maria  had  always  advised  him 
to  look  ahead  when  formiug  a   friendship. 


vRj 


She  had  pointed  out  to 
him  that  if  a  fellow 
lad  blue  blood  and 
line  (this  sounds  as  if 
brains  had  to  be  blue, 
,  but  I  don't  mean  it  that 
i),  he  might  go  further 
n  a  cad  with  lots  of 
ney  and  no  particular 
mt ;  and  he  said  there 
Id  be  no  doubt  that  his 
nt  Maria  knew  the  world. 
may  be  right  about  her ; 
I  she  may  be  right  about 
nperdown  ;  hut  so  far  as 
im  concerned  myself,  i 
I't  think  I  like  people 
o  are  always  looking 
ad. 

inobbery  seems  to  run  in 
Fkpper  family.  Some- 
ig  he  told  me  olwut  his 
eldest  brother,  wlio  is  at 
Eton,  makes  nie  think  so. 
The  first  time  Flapper  major 
wrote  home,  he  addressed  his 
letter  to  "  Ijady  Flapper  "  ; 
and  when  his  niotiier  got  it, 
ahe  thought  her  pi-ecious 
Reginald  was  being  over- 
worked and  getting  softening  of  the  brain, 
so  she  rushed  off  to  pay  a  visit  to  Eton 
and  find  out  what  the  matter  was.  The 
heiidmaster  was  too  busy  to  be  interviewed 
by  Mrs.  Flapper,  which  disappointed  her  a 
good  d^ ;  but  she  saw  her  dear  Reggie,  who 
was  looking  as  well  as  could  be  expected 
after  having  eaten  a  dozen  jam-puffs  the  day 
before,  and  she  asked  him  at  once  what  he 
meant  by  giving  her  a  title. 

'■  Oh  1 "  he  said,  "  I  forgot  to  explain 
inside  the  letter.  The  fact  is,  nearly  all  the 
other  fellows'  letters  were  addressed  to  Lady 
somebody  or  other,  and  I  didn't  see  why  I 
should  crawl  in  behind  with  a  plain  Mrs." 

Flapper  is  very  proud  of  his  brother 
Reginald. 

liut,  to  turn  away  from  snobbery,  which  is 
an  unpleasant  subject,  and  is  very  far  from 
being  the  principal  weakness  to  which  boys 
are  liable,  I  would  remark  on  other  kinds  of 
Desborough,  for  instance,  is  as 


288  TBE  WINDSOR  MAGAZINE. 

straight  as  they  make  'em  in  the  Bchoolroom  garmente  which  are  Dot  ufiuallv  considered 

— wouldn't  take  an  advantage  over  another  sufficient  to  meet  the  needs  of  conventioo- 

chap,  even  If  a  master  threw  it  in  his  way  ;  ality  even  in  very  warm  weather. 

but  in  the  playing-field  he's  a  r^ular  crank.  In  the  BUmmer  term  we  are  taken  erery 

If  you  say  he'a  out  at  cricket,  when  he  must  Monday  to  the  Gymnasium  Baths,  whicb  area 

jolly  well  know  himself  that  he  is,  he'll  howl  good  way  from  Everton  Hoaee,  for  a  gwim- 

with  rage  rather  than  admit  mine  lesson.     We  have,  of  cour^,  bathing- 


which  is  ro 

When  Rob. 
Iiis  hampere  I 
he'll  share  hie 
anyone  that  cc 
hut  I  never  saw 
as  he  is  to  fn 
which  ia  contei 

Grediton  wil 
to  a  fellow  twi 
and  lick  him 
sometimes  h 
money  and  for 
it  back. 

Leathes  is  I 
chap  tliat  roast 
a  model ;  but 
him  bullying  i 
more  iJian  ona 

Lovett  ha; 
manners  than 
but  he's  as  gO€ 
nurse  to  the  j 
he  knocked  Ii( 
last  week  fo 
Barton  minor  I 

Choi- 
mondeley 
minor's  in- 
tentions 
are,  as  a 
rule,  excel- 
lent ;  but 
his  memory  — 
is  so  de- 
fective that 
it  will  not 
allow     him 

to   carry  """^w.'^^'' C 

them    out.  "^i    ** 

Strange  .,  jjj^  ^^^j  j,^^^  ^,^^     ^^ 

thmgS  nave  rorming  a 

happened 

because  of  this,  and  still  stranger  things 
have  very  nearly  happened.  I  should  like 
to  tell  one  of  the  latter,  if  I  could  depend 
on  people  not  to  let  it  go  any  further ;  and, 
even  in  spite  of  the  risk,  I  think  this  in- 
cident is  too  instructive  not  to  be  recorded. 

The  thing  that  nearly  happened  was 
Cholmondeley  minor's  walking  through  a 
populous  district  in  a  pair  of  light  under- 


For  undressing  and  dressing; 
ive,  Mr.  Garden  geneiallj 
o  each  to  see  that  nottung 
en.  Very  often  a  feiiow 
behind,  or  a  coUar-stnd,  or 
it  were  not  for  Mr.  Ciirdeii's 
ersight  in  time, 
xssary  to  pay  more  atten- 
;ion  to  the  Cholmondeiefs' 
l»x  thiui  to  any  other, 
because  of  Cholmondeley 
najor's  natural  antidinesB 
uid  Cholmondeley  minor's 
latural  forgetfutneas.  He 
las,  on  various  occasiooa, 
prevented  them  from  coming 
iway  without  collars,  tJea, 
rests,  or  even  socks;  bnt 
)nly  once  without  those 
inter  coverings  which 
civilisation  n^rds  as  in- 
hspensable.  It  happened 
ixactlj  three  weeks  ago 
Se  looked  into  Chummy's 
x>s  just  as  the  two  Chnm- 
nies  were  going  to  walk 
)ut  of  it ;  and,  catching 
light  at  first  of  only  the 
ipper  half  of  them,  he 
ihought  he  had  never  seen 
Dholmondeley  minor  loot 
«  well  and  carefully  dressed. 

There  was  qnite  a 

finish  about  his 
appearance.  He 
had  neither  crushed 

nor  soiled  his  wUar 

in  taking  it  off  and 
on,  and  his  tie  was 

Eerfectly  straight ; 
e  had  even  gone 
so  far  as  to  (over 
his  stud  with  it. 
Mr.  Garden,  who  likes  to  encour^e  chaps, 
was  just  about  to  pay  him  a  compliment, 
when  hifi  eyes  fell,  and  he  saw  the  other 
half  of  Cholmondeley  minor. 

Again  Mr,  Garden's  eyes  shifted :  this 
time  they  were  raised  in  horror,  and  they 
encountered,  hanging  on  a  \^  in  the  box, 
Cholmondeley  minor  s  braces,  with  Cholmon- 
deley minor's  trousers  depending  from  them. 


./'" 


CONCERiVTNO  "OTHER  FELLOWS." 


I  have  often  thoaght  that  mnch  might  be 
vritten  on  the  disMlv&nt^es  of  clothes ; 
bat  this  subject  is  too  wide  to  be  treated 
at  preaent,  and  moBt  be  resen'ed  for  a  future 
tteay. 

To  return  to  t^treakiness,  Wainwright  is 
the  cleverest  chap  I  know  (bar  one  whom  it 
wonld  not  become  me  to  mention) ;  but  his 
love  of  panning  leads  people  not  intimate 
with  him  to  mistake  him  for  a  fool.  How- 
ever, I  think  Wainwright's  idiosyncrasies 
(fine  word,  that !)  most  3bo  be  reserved  for 
fotare  comment. 

I  could  go  on  almost  for  ever  multiplying 
iaatauces  (a  grown-np  chum  tells  me  that's 
the  right  phrase),  but  I  think  I  have  said 
enotufh  to  prove  the  point  of  this  essay, 
which  is  Btreakiness  in  character.  T  have 
talked  it  over  witb  a  person  who  is  generally 
competent  to  give  one  good  advice,  and 
(which  is  better  still)  doesn't,  as  a  rule,  give 


it  oftener  than  I  want  it ;  and  what  she  says 
is  that  I  ought  to  lii  my  attention  on  fellows' 
good  streaks,  whicb  will  probably  Irad  to  my 
copying  them ;  and  take  as  little  notice  an 
possible  of  their  bad  streaks,  which  I  shan't 
be  likely  to  imitate  if  1  pay  no  attention  to 
them.  She  saya  one  should  always  be  ready 
to  appreciate  the  good  and  to  make  excuses 
for  the  had — or,  if  we  can't  get  so  far  as 
excuses,  at  least  not  to  talk  about  them. 
But  I'm  afraid  if  I  was  as  good  as  all  that, 
I'd  die  young,  like  the  disagreeably  virtuous 
boys  in  the  sort  of  books  given  to  as  by  our 
godfathers  and  godmothers  on  our  birthdays ; 
and  if  that  happened,  the  person  who  gives 
me  reliable  advice  wonid  be  seriously  annoyed 
by  the  effect  of  it. 

On  the  whole,  I  prefer  to  be  only  moder- 
ately good,  and  to  give  myself  a  cnance  of 
continuing  my  observations  on  bumau  nature 
to  a  ripe  old  age. 


a  ttom  hame,  fae'lJ  uliiiT 


I  WENT  downstairs  very,  very  slowly, 
with  Nancy's  poor  little  letter  clasped 
lirmly  in  my  trembling  hand,  to  give 
me  the  courage  1  needed  so  sadly,  and  at 
each  stair  I  repeated  my  desperate  resolve 
aloud,  to  imprint  it  as  firmly  as  possible  on 
mv  mind. 

"  I  mtiaf  do  it,  because  Nancy  is  my  friend 
—  Nancy  is  my  friend  —  Nancy  is  my 
friend  I  " 

By  the  time  I  reached  the  drawing-room 
door,  the  small,  weak  resolution  I  had  been 
nursing  had  grown  quite  large  and  strong ; 
but  the  first  sight  of  Godfrey,  when  I  saw 
him  standing  by  the  French  windows,  almost 
caused  it  to  die  a  sudden  and  violent  detith. 
He  must  have  noticed  that  I  had  l)een  crying 
directly  he  looked  at  me,  l)ecause  his  happy 
face  turned  quite  grave  as  he  crossed  the 
room. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter ?  "  he  began. 

But  I  interrupted  him  quickly.  I  did  not 
know  what  would  become  of  the  resolution 
if  I  listened  to  Godfrey's  voice  just  then. 

"  Tve  got  rather  a  headache,"  I  said, 
trying  to  speak  lightly.  "  I  was  out  in  the 
sun  too  long  this  morning,  I  think.  Did 
you  want  to  see  mamma  ?  She  has  taken 
the  girls  out  in  the  dog-cart.  Such  a  pity 
you  have  come  while  they  are  away  ;  we 
might  have  had  some  tennis  or  croquet. 
Dorinda " 

'*  Miss  Despard,"  Godfrey  began  gravely, 
**  I  ho])ed  to  find  you  alone  this  afternoon. 
I  didn't  come  here  for  t<?nnis.  I  thought 
you  uudei^stood  last  night  why  I  was  coming 
to-day,  but  ]Xirha]\s  I  didn't  make  my 
meaning  plain  enough.      I   hoi)ed   to  find 


♦  Copvri^xht.  1905,  hy  Ward.  IxK'k  and  Co.,  Limited, 
in  the  VniU'd  States  of  America. 


290 


you  alone,  because — because  I  wanted  to  tell 
you  something." 

I  roused  myself  with  a  start  of  horror 
and  wrenched  my  hand  away  from  him. 
Why  had  I  allowed  him  to  reach  this  point  ? 
This  would  never  do  I  In  another  minnte 
he  would  have 

I  crossed  the  room  hastily  to  the  open 
window  and  stepped  out  on  to  the  terrace. 

"  Don't  stay  in  that  close  room  ! "  I  cried. 
"  Come  out  into  the  fresh  air — it  will  do  mv 
hetvd  good.  And  please  don't  talk  serionslv 
about  anything — serious  conversation  geU 
on  my  nerves.  What  do  vou  say  ?— von 
didn't  know  I  had  such  feminine  things  as 
nerves  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  have  !  I  have  develojied 
them  quite  lately." 

"  They  came  with  the  two  o'clock  post," 
I  said  grimly  to  myself. 

"  Come  down  to  the  duckpond  and  tease 
the  swans  I  "  I  cried  aloud.  I  felt  that 
Godfrey  was  looking  at  me  in  puzzled  sur- 
prise, but  I  dared  not  tuni  round  to  see  if  I 
were  right.  Instead,  I  ran  down  the  steps 
and  crossed  the  lawn,  while  he  followed 
me  obediently  along  the  lilac-walk  to  the 
duckpond,  and  came  close  up  to  where  I  was 
leaning  my  elbows  on  the  stone  coping. 
Then  I  saw,  by  the  determined  way  he  had 
set  his  mouth,  that  he  hadn't  at  all  given  np 
his  {)oint,  and  was  going  on  at  once  where 
he  had  left  off  in  the  drawing-room,  and  I 
braced  up  my  enfeebled  resolution  to  fnsh 
strength. 

"  Mary,"  he  began  ;  and  I  was  horrified 
to  find  that  he  had  broken  down  the  frail 
barrier  which  still  held  between  us  of  the 
more  ceremonious  "  Miss  Despard." 

"  Do  go  back  to  the  house  and  get  some 
bread  for  the  cygnets,"  I  said,  nioring 
quickly  away  from  him  and  pretending  an 


THE   DUCKPOND. 


291 


absorbed  interest  in  the  ugly  Muscovy  drake. 
**  They  do  look  so  hungry,  poor  dears  !  Any 
of  the  servants  will  give  it  to  you.  You  can 
go  round  to  the  kitchen  yourself,  if  you  like, 
and  get  it  from  cook.  Please  do  ! — they 
must  be  fed  at  once  I  " 

Godfrey  was  silent  for  a  few  seconds.  I 
suppose  he  didn't  see  any  urgent  need  for 
haste ;  but  I  kept  my  back  turned  to  him  all 
the  time,  so  I  don't  know  whether  he  was 
looking  at  me  or  the  swans.  Anyway,  he 
couldn't  learn  much  from  an  untidy  head  of 
brown  hair  and  the  bock  of  a  pink  frock, 
and  at  last  I  heard  him  move  slowly  away. 
Even  then  I  dared  not  turn  round,  for 
fear  that  I  should  suddenly  give  up  every- 
thing and  call  him  back  ;  bat  Nancy's  pathetic 
note  sudd