THE

STRAND MAGAZINE

_An Illustrated Monthly_

EDITED BY

GEORGE NEWNES

Vol. V. 

_JANUARY TO JUNE_

_London_:

GEORGE NEWNES, LTD. , 8, 9, 10, & 11, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, AND EXETERSTREET, STRAND. 

1893. 

THE

STRAND MAGAZINE

_An Illustrated Monthly_

Vol. 5, Issue. 25. 

January 1893

[Illustration: "WE SWEAR!"

(_Margarita, the Bond Queen of the Wandering Dhahs. _)]

_Shafts from an Eastern Quiver. _

VII--MARGARITA, THE BOND QUEEN OF THE WANDERING DHAHS. 

BY CHARLES J. MANSFORD, B. A. 

I. 

"The Cingalese declare that the Queen of the Dhahs is a Sahibmem, " saidHassan--meaning by this expression an Englishwoman. 

"I don't think that can be true, " responded Denviers; "it is hardlypossible that any civilized human being would care to reign over such aqueer race as those just described appear to be----"

"The Englishman is wrong in what he says, " interrupted anindolent-looking native, "for I once saw her myself!"

"You!" I exclaimed, "then tell us what you know about this queen. " Thenative was, however, by no means disposed to conversation, or indeed todo anything that disturbed his serenity. 

From Southern India we had crossed over to Ceylon, and after a somewhatprolonged stay at Colombo, struck into the interior of the island. Wevisited Kandi, and having travelled for some days in the hilly districtwhich surrounds it, arrived at the palm-covered hut of a Cingaleselabourer, where, in spite of his protests, we stayed for a day to restourselves. Round the stems of the palms about us we saw, high up, thatdead brushwood had been placed, by the rustling of which at night ourunwilling host could tell if his few neighbours contemplated robbing himof the fruits of his toil. The only work, however, which he seemed to dowas to stand at the door of his hut and gaze vacantly at the plantationof palm trees which he owned, and to shake his head--usually in thenegative--whenever we attempted to entice him into a conversation. 

"Well, " said Denviers, looking with annoyance at our host, "if thisCingalese is too idle to tell us the full facts, I suppose we had betterfind them out for ourselves. " Then turning to the man he asked:--

"How far is the district over which these strange Dhahs are said towander?" The native pointed slowly to the north and then answered:--

[Illustration: "THE NATIVE POINTED TO THE NORTH. "]

"The Dhahs were wandering afar in the forest when last I saw them, whichwas fully a day's journey from here, but the sun was hot and I grewtired. " His remark certainly did not convey much information to us, butbefore an hour had elapsed we set out, guided only by the forest, whichcould be seen far away in the distance. Hour after hour passed until atlast evening came, and even then we were only entering upon the fringeof the great forest which rose before us, and seemed to shut out the skyas we wandered into the thickness of the undergrowth and gazed up at thelofty tops of the trees which bent each other's branches as theyinterlaced one with another. 

We stopped at last to rest and to refresh ourselves, after which wereclined upon the ground, facing a wide clearing in the forest, where welaid talking idly for some time, until the voice of Hassan warned usthat someone was approaching. We listened attentively for a minute, butno sound could be heard by us save that of the fluttering of the wingsof some bird among the branches above. 

"You heard nothing, Hassan, " said Denviers, "or else you mistook therustling above for someone wandering in the forest glade. " The Arabturned to my companion and then responded:--

"Hassan has long been accustomed to distinguish different sounds from adistance, the one which was heard a minute ago was caused by a humanfoot. " He pointed to a tangled clump a little to the right of us, as hecontinued:--

"Listen, sahibs, for the sound of footsteps is surely drawing near. Fromyonder thicket the wanderer will doubtless emerge. " Presently a soundfell upon our ears, and a moment afterwards we heard the crackling ofdead twigs as if someone was passing over them. 

"The feet of the one who is approaching us are uncovered, " volunteeredour guide, whose keen sense of hearing was vastly superior to our own, and its accuracy was again proved fully, for, pushing aside theundergrowth which hindered his path, there stepped out upon the leveltrack before us a singularly well-formed being, whose whole appearancewas that of a man in his primitive, savage state. He was fully six feetin height, and wonderfully erect, his nut-brown skin forming a warmsetting for the rich, dark eyes which so distinguish Eastern races. Hisblack hair clustered thickly above his forehead, on which we observed acircular spot, crimson in colour, and much resembling the _pottu_ whichShiva women daily paint above their brows as a religious emblem. AsHassan had already said, the man's feet were bare of covering, while thesingle garment which he wore was a brightly spotted panther skin, whichpassed over the left shoulder to the right side, and then hung downcarelessly to the knees. In one hand he carried a stout bow, and theband which crossed his body over the right shoulder supported a quiverwhich hung gracefully behind. A savage, and in such a rude garb, the manseemed almost grand in his very simplicity. 

[Illustration: "A DHAH!"]

"A Dhah!" exclaimed Hassan, quietly. "We have, indeed, met with goodfortune. " Again we heard the brushwood crackle, and a second man, resembling the first in appearance and dress, came forward, and togetherthey held a conversation, interspersed largely with the gestures whichplay so prominent a part in the language of barbaric tribes. 

"What can they be searching for?" Denviers asked Hassan, as the menseemed to be closely examining the trunks of several of the palm trees. 

"I cannot tell, sahib, " responded the Arab. Then he continued with awarning movement:--

"Hist! there are others coming, and they are bearing loads with them. "Through the brushwood we next saw several Dhahs advance, each carryingupon his head a huge bundle of some twining plant belonging to a specieswhich we had not observed hitherto during our wanderings in Ceylon. Fromits appearance we likened it to a giant convolvulus, for, while thepliant stem was as thick as a man's arm, there hung from it huge leavesand petals resembling that flower in shape. We moved cautiously into theundergrowth behind, thus getting a little farther away from the Dhahs, and, lying with our bodies stretched upon the ground at full length, wesupported our heads upon our hands and narrowly watched the scene beforeus. 

Following the commands of the Dhah whom we had first seen, one of theothers deftly threw upwards a long coil of the climbing plant, which, onreaching a part of the trunk of one of the palm trees some distanceabove his head, twined round the stem. The rope-like plant was thenfastened to another palm tree some little distance in front of thefirst, and lower down. Continuing this process in all directions we sawthem construct before our astonished eyes a wonderful tent, the leafygreen roof and sides of which glowed with a massy setting of white andcrimson flowers. The front almost faced us, so that the interior of thetent was disclosed to our view, and then this strange tribe next placedwithin the tent a number of rich skins of various animals killed in thechase, the whole effect being viewed with satisfaction by the Dhahs whenat last their labour was finished. 

"What a curious tent!" Denviers exclaimed. "These Dhahs are indeed astrange people. "

Just as he spoke a messenger came to them through the brushwood, whereupon the men who had constructed the tent threw themselves down oneither side of it. Within a few minutes we heard the sound of a numberof footsteps approaching, and then a band of Dhahs stepped out from thebrushwood through which the first had come, and joined those resting bythe tent. Following these, we next saw a number of others, who rangedthemselves before the men in a standing posture, and as they did so wejudged from their attire that they were women. 

Their raven hair was loosely twisted and threaded with pearls, whilependants of the latter hung from their ears. The garb which coveredtheir forms was made of similar skins to those which the men wore, butmore elaborately wrought, in addition to being gathered at the waist bya glittering belt made of the plumage of beautiful birds. Here and therea dark-eyed and lightly-clad child could be seen standing among thewomen. From time to time the glances of the Dhahs were turned in thedirection whence they had entered the forest clearing, and the sound oftheir voices then ceased. They were evidently expecting someone, and we, remembering the strange rumour as to the nationality of their queen, began to watch the brushwood with considerable interest, being anxiousto see her as soon as she emerged. That some event of unusual moment wasabout to take place upon her arrival we felt sure, from the disappointedlooks which overspread the Dhahs' faces each time that their expectationof her coming was not realized. 

"What do you think is about to happen?" I whispered to Denviers, as wekept quite still, fearing lest our presence should be discovered. 

"Something strange, no doubt, " he responded, "for I notice that thecrimson mark which we saw upon the men's foreheads also adorns those ofthe women, and seems to have been recently placed there. " Here Hassaninterposed, in his usually clear, grave tone:--

"It is very rarely, indeed, sahibs, that the Dhahs have been seenwandering on the borders of the forest, for they usually keep within thewild and pathless interior; so, at least, your slave heard in Kandi. "

"Well, " I added, "we certainly have much to be thankful for, since thereis every chance of our remaining here unobserved, and witnessingwhatever ceremony is about to take place. The sun has not long set, andyet the moon is up already. The network of branches above us keeps outits light to some extent; still we shall be able to see clearly whattranspires. "

"It will be unlucky for us if these Dhahs happen to discover ourwhereabouts, " said Denviers, "for a shower of arrows shot from theirstout bows towards us would make our present position anything but apleasant one. "

"They will not see us, sahib, " continued Hassan, "unless we incautiouslymake some noise if anything unusual happens. They are not likely to castmany searching glances into the shadows which the trees cast, for theyare apparently preoccupied, if we may judge from the excitement whichthey are evidently trying to suppress. We certainly must remainperfectly still when the queen appears, for thus only shall we seewithout being seen ourselves. "

"That is easy enough to say, Hassan, " I replied; "but in such a momentas that which faces us, we may easily forget to be cautious. "

"Don't you think it would be a good plan if we were to separate a littlefrom each other?" asked Denviers. Our guide seemed strongly in favour ofthis plan, and while I remained in the position which had been occupiedhitherto, Denviers moved a few yards to the right, and Hassan about thesame distance to the left of me. The latter, however, found his newposition would readily expose him to observation, and when he hadcommunicated this fact to me by signs, I beckoned to him to return to myside, which he did. Denviers, however, remained where he had gone, andthis circumstance, slight as it was, led a little later on to a mostunexpected result. The silence which just before we had observed amongthe Dhahs occurred again, and watching narrowly the brushwood we sawemerge from it the one whom they were eagerly expecting. As our eyesrested upon this last comer we were indeed startled, for before us wasthe Queen of the Dhahs, and we recognised in that moment that the rumourconcerning her was true!

[Illustration: PROSTRATING HIMSELF BEFORE HER. ]

II. 

"She comes! Margarita!" burst from the lips of every assembled Dhah, asthe queen slowly advanced and passed between her subjects, who lined thepath leading to the tent. As she moved amid them they bent low, whilehere and there a warrior Dhah pressed with his lips her trailing garmentas she passed. Reaching the tent the queen turned and faced the excitedthrong of subjects grouped round it, and then we saw more distinctly herfeatures and the attire which she wore. 

The age of the queen was apparently less than twenty, her clear, fairskin forcibly contrasting with the dark complexion of her subjects, whomshe alone resembled in the colour of the soft, full eyes with which sheglanced upon them. A look almost of sadness overshadowed her face, whichall the adulation which she received from her subjects could notentirely banish. Her form, which was above the medium height, was cladin a flowing robe of a wonderfully soft and silky-looking material, woven possibly, we thought, from the inner bark of some tree. Its loosefolds were bare of ornament, save that the queen wore a girdle over itthickly interwoven with pearls as white as those of Manaar, of which aprofuse number also braided her light flowing hair, meshes of whichpartly concealed her forehead. When the queen stood in silence beforeher subjects, after the greeting which they had given her subsided, there issued from among the Dhahs that one whom first we saw in theforest. Prostrating himself before her he afterwards rose, and, havingbent low his head, began:--

"Margarita, white queen of the dusky race whose habitation is thepathless forest, hail! Here, upon the border which limits thy domains, we pledge anew to thee the promise of fealty, of which the crimson starupon our foreheads is the token. By it we swear to thee that thy foesshall be our foes, and that over us, thy slaves, shalt thou have thepower of life and death. " Then, turning to the Dhahs, who throughoutthis speech had maintained a death-like silence, he asked:--

"Swear ye this by the crimson star of blood which is placed upon yourbrows?"

The last word had scarcely left his lips when the subject Dhahs roseand, placing upon their foreheads their left hands, held aloft the rightabove their heads as they cried:--

"By the crimson tide, which rules the life of man, we swear!"

We watched the strange scene intently as each of the Dhahs, in turn, came forward and fell prostrate before the queen, then gave place tothose who followed. The Dhah who had administered the oath remained nearthe queen until the ceremony was concluded, and seemed to number thesubjects as they came forward. Then he fell before her and, for a secondtime, kissed the hem of her robe. Smiling gravely upon him, the queenextended to him her hand. Pressing his lips fervently upon it he rose, then, turning to those around, he exclaimed:--

"All have not sworn fealty. One among us has not taken the oath, and atsundown he did not bear upon his forehead the sacred mark!" There was anominous frown apparent upon the brows of the Dhahs as these words wereuttered, and when he added: "Ye know the penalty which suchtransgression deserves; how then judge ye?" each man's hand gripped hisbow in a threatening manner, while even the faces of the women grewterribly stern. By one of those assembled was uttered a cry which leaptfrom lip to lip, for it was immediately caught up by all:--

"Death to the false one! Death when the day shall dawn!" A gleam ofsatisfaction, one almost of savage joy, passed over the face of the Dhahwho stood beside the queen as he added:--

"The sentence upon the traitor is a just one; do thou then confirm it!"He turned as if about to seek himself for the one who was the cause ofthe tumult, when the momentary silence was strangely broken. Upon ourears was borne the sharp whizz of an arrow shot true from atightly-strung bow; then the Dhah who had just finished speaking, with awild cry that pierced the forest, threw his arms up as if grasping theempty air, and fell dead at the queen's feet!

[Illustration: "THE DHAH FELL DEAD. "]

"Look yonder, sahib!" whispered Hassan, who was still beside me, "thereis the one who sent forth the deadly shaft!" I turned my gaze hastily inthe direction which the Arab indicated, and saw Denviers struggling witha fierce Dhah from whose hands he was trying to wrest a bow, and who hadhidden in the brushwood near him without being observed hitherto! Theywere seen in a moment by the assembled Dhahs, and, with a wild rush, thelatter poured down upon the combatants, seizing them as they stillgrasped the bow. 

"Hassan, " I cried to our guide, "come on, we must get Denviers out ofthe hands of this horde somehow!" We dashed across the interveningspace, and made a brief but desperate attempt to release our companion. It was as useless as it was rash, for we were directly afterwardsdragged, in spite of our struggles--as well as Denviers and hisopponent--into the open glade, close to the dead body of the man lyingthere. 

"We are betrayed!" cried one of the Dhahs. "The white spies have beenled hither by the traitor among us that they may learn our strength, andthen return with a force to destroy us! One of our number has alreadyfallen; shall we not slay the captives over his dead body?" A fierce cryof assent rose from the others, as they fitted each a shaft to theirbows and took deliberate aim at us as we were held fast by our captors. I saw the face of the queen grow pale as she rested her eyes, first uponthe fallen Dhah and then upon us. Had men of her own race come that theymight destroy the tribe which obeyed her slightest word? She made animperative gesture, which caused the Dhahs to hold their arrowsundischarged, though they still kept their bows bent, waiting eagerlyfor her to utter the word of command to slay us. 

"Stop!" she cried, in a commanding tone. "Upon your foreheads ye wearstill the pledge of obedience to me, with whom rests alone the power oflife and death. Ye shall have justice to the full: I will hear what theycan say in their defence, but if wantonly they have caused life to betaken, white though they be, I swear unto ye that they shall surelydie. " The Dhahs shifted their arrows from the bowstrings and seemedreluctant to give us even this short respite. I looked into the queen'sface and read there that her threat against us was no idle one. Shecommanded the women and most of the men to retire--leaving us still heldfast by our captors. 

"We are not cowards, " said Denviers, calmly, to her. "Hear what we haveto say, and then decide our fate. Bid these savages release us fromtheir grasp--we shall make no attempt to escape, I pledge my word. " Thequeen glanced coldly at him as she responded:

"Be it as ye say. " Then, turning to the Dhahs, she continued: "Take themwithin the tent, and then retire. Remain within an arrow shot from here, and if ye see one of the prisoners attempt to escape, slay him and sparenot. " We were conducted into the queen's tent, and there released. Asthe Dhahs withdrew Denviers turned to Hassan, and said:--

"Bid this savage who shot the arrow explain that we know nothing ofhim. " The queen looked sharply at us, and then pointing to Hassan, asked:--

"Who is this whom ye have brought into the forest?"

I answered for us, saying: "He is our guide, with whom we have beenwandering for some time. Why do you mistrust us, since you have ampleproof that the fallen Dhah was shot by your own subject there?" and Ipointed to the man, who, for a moment, had thrown himself down in thetent. 

"Speak!" she commanded him. "Why did you shoot forth the wingedmessenger of death?"

To our surprise the man rose and confronted her boldly, as heanswered:--

"Am I not a warrior? Can I not bend the bow and endure hardships betterthan anyone among the tribe over which thou rulest? Was not I prince ofthese Dhahs until the day when thou tookest possession of my right? Thouhast despised me and looked kindly upon another, wherefore have I swornto refuse to take the pledge of fealty to thee when the time came round, and to stretch him dead at thy feet. Deliver me into the hands of thetribe if thou wilt, but thou art powerless to bring back life to thyfavourite!" He stopped and drew himself up defiantly before her. Theeyes of the imperious queen shone brightly with the fierce resentmentwhich the Dhah's words roused in her. 

"Darest thou then to confront thy queen so?" she asked, scornfully. "Maynot I choose whom I will upon whom to bestow my favours? Coward thatthou art to shoot the shaft secretly, because thou darest not face thineenemy as a brave Dhah ever does! Thy crime has nearly cost these otherprisoners dear; and I, ruling as I do this tribe without theexterminating feuds which distinguished it under thy misgovernment, doomthee to death. At sundown to-morrow shalt thou die; till then thou shalllive, scorned by the race upon which thou hast brought this stain. " Shemoved to the front of the tent, and then we saw the Dhah dragged away bythose whom the queen quickly summoned. 

We were bidden to rest ourselves upon the piles of soft, rich skinswhich were spread there, and having promised to secure our safety, thequeen, whose anger gradually subsided, observing the inquiring glanceswhich we turned towards her, said, in a low tone:--

"The deed which ye have seen enacted to-night has smitten me sorely. Forten years have I lived among these Dhahs, for to-day is the anniversaryof that upon which I came to them, and so it is that ye chance to seetheir promise to obey me renewed. To-morrow it is expected that I, too, will take in turn the oath, by which yearly I have sworn to them toremain in this forest until the seasons change and change again. Atmidnight to-night my last promise expires, and for a few brief hours Ishall not be their bond queen. By your glances I judge that ye wouldlearn my history. Strange as it is, I must narrate it briefly, for, because of the death which ye have witnessed, I now have a request tomake which may sound unusual upon your ears. "

[Illustration: "TO-MORROW SHALT THOU DIE!"]

III. 

The dark eyes of the queen glanced at us as she began her story, thesequel to which we did not at all anticipate:--

"I was a mere child when it chanced that I strayed from the hut which myEnglish parents inhabited on the borders of this forest. Of them I knownothing. I remember the cry of surprise which came from the lips of aDhah woman when she found me, and then carried me among her tribeswomento show to them. It is forbidden among us for a Dhah to ever pass beyondthe limits of this forest, and so it transpired that, knowing nothing ofother races, they were astonished at my strange whiteness. I have heardthat at first they contemplated my death, thinking that my presencewould bring dire misfortune upon them. The woman who found me averred, on the contrary, that my appearance betokened great advantages to thetribe, as I was sent to dwell in the forest as a goddess. Afterwards, believing this, they paid me the most abject worship for years. When Igrew older I longed to escape, but they were determined that I shouldnot do so, and compelled me to take an oath to stay with them for ayear, which I have renewed as often as the promise expired. Finding thatI disliked the adoration which they paid to me, they deposed theirprince--he whose hand shot the fatal arrow, as, alas! ye saw--andalthough for a time I refused to accept the position, I was eventuallymade their queen--even as I am now. 

"Many times I desired to leave them, but of late that wish has grownfeeble, for he, whom ye know now lies lifeless before the tent, bent hisdark eyes, and looked into mine, which returned his glances. One day Ithought to raise him even as a prince to my side, for all the tribetrusted in him as much as they disliked the one deposed. Now that he isslain, the wish to depart has again re-entered my breast, and ye, whoare of the same kindred as I, surely ye will aid me? How came ye hither, on foot or otherwise?"

"We left our horses on the edge of the forest, " said Denviers, "but wedid not expect to be so long absent from them. How wilt thou depart fromthese Dhahs? Surely they will avenge themselves upon us, for they willassuredly think that we have influenced you to desert them. " The queenpaused for a minute, then answered:--

"I could not bear to leave them openly, for I have grown to be almostone of themselves, and they are dear indeed to me. I will accompany yeto where your horses are tethered; and waiting there for me I will cometo ye again upon the steed which has never known saddle. "

The plan of escape seemed simple enough, but the slightest mishap mightbring us into conflict with the whole tribe of the Dhahs, who woulddoubtless be infuriated if they thought that their queen was lost tothem through us, as Denviers had suggested. It seemed to us a strangetermination to our adventure, but in obedience to a gesture from thequeen we rose, and, accompanied by her, passed the guards in safety. Asshe emerged from the tent, the queen bade us wait for her for a minute, and stopping, we saw the woman bend down sadly over the silent formlying there under the trees, which half shut out the midnight sky. Herhand touched the arrow and gently drew it forth--tipped with blood! Thenplacing it within the upper folds of her dress she passed silently onthrough the clearing, and so accompanied us to the spot where our horseswere, whence she departed. 

[Illustration: "HER HAND TOUCHED THE ARROW. "]

"I am afraid that this affair may yet turn out badly for us, " I remarkedto Denviers, as we untethered our steeds and waited for the queen'sreturn. "Where shall we make for when we start?"

"For the hut of the Cingalese, which we left some time ago, " heresponded. "It will afford her some shelter, and we can keep watchoutside. "

He had scarcely finished speaking when we saw the queen riding towardsus upon a snow-white steed. As the moonlight touched her spotless robeand her floating hair, with the pearls which adorned it, she seemed tous to be more like some vision than a living reality. I had just time tonotice that she now carried the weapon of the tribe over which she hadso long ruled--a bow--and that across her fair shoulders was slung aquiver of arrows, when a sudden cry rose from the forest, and at thesame moment Hassan exclaimed:--

"Quick, sahibs! The Dhahs are upon us!"

We leapt upon our horses and dashed away from the forest just as a heavyshower of arrows narrowly missed us. Hassan went on in front, whileDenviers and I galloped on either side of the queen. Glancing back atthe Dhahs I observed that they were massed already upon the margin ofthe forest, the flight of their queen having become rapidly known. Thewomen raised a mournful and appealing cry of entreaty to her to go backto them, and, glancing at the queen, I saw that her face was wet withtears. We heard the hoarse shouts of the warrior Dhahs when they foundthat their arrows fell short, but they did not dare to pass the limitsof the forest beyond which their strange law forbade them to go. We rodeon for some hours at a rapid rate, then, on nearing the hut of theCingalese, Denviers leapt down and succeeded in awaking its soleoccupant, who was induced to vacate it. The queen dismounted and enteredthe hut wearied, as we thought, with the long ride, for the dawn hadcome before we finished our journey. Hassan secured the horses, and soonafter we were all lying at a little distance from the hut fast asleep inthe shade of some giant ferns. 

The morning was far advanced when we awoke, but hour after hour passedand the door of the hut remained closed. Becoming uneasy, at last Iventured to open it. The queen had disappeared!

"Denviers!" I shouted. "Come here a minute!" My companion hastenedtowards the hut, and was considerably surprised to find it empty. Glancing round it we saw against one of its thin palm leaf sides anarrow projecting. Going close to it we found roughly scratched beneathit a message to us, which said simply:--

"_The Queen of the Dhahs could not rest away from her people and theforest where lies her dead lover!_" We stared at the writingincredulously for a minute or two, then a sudden thought occurred tome:--

"Hassan!" I shouted, "see to the horses. " The Arab went slowly to thespot where he had secured them, but hastily returned saying, in ananimated tone, somewhat unusual for him unless when excited:--

"Sahibs, the white steed is no longer there!" and he looked gravely atus as he spoke. 

"Well, " said Denviers, as Hassan finished speaking, "this has been astrange adventure from beginning to end. How could such a woman care tospend her existence with those Dhahs? It seemed curious to me at thefirst, but after seeing her and observing the contrast between her andher subjects, I am still more surprised. "

"The Dhahs are known throughout Ceylon, " interposed Hassan, "for thehonour which they pay to their queen, and that may influence her toremain with them; besides, they are a handsome race, very different tosuch as this man, " and he pointed to the Cingalese, who was againvacantly staring at his plantation of palm trees. 

"What do you think will become of the man who shot the Dhah, sahib?"asked Hassan, as he turned to Denviers. My companion was silent for amoment, then responded:--

"I really cannot say. He is doomed to die at sundown to-day, but Idaresay someone will intercede for him with the queen. " Then, holdingout towards the Arab the arrow which we had found within the hut, hecontinued:--

"Take care of that, Hassan, for if we are able I should like to keep itas a memento of this event. " The Arab examined it closely to see whatconstituted its value, and Denviers, thinking that it might disappearlike sundry other lost treasures of ours, added: "It is a poisonedarrow, and if put in that sash of yours might prove very dangerous. "Hassan understood the hint, as subsequent events proved, and, callingupon Mahomet as a witness to his integrity under such tryingcircumstances, carried it cautiously away and placed it among ourbaggage. 

_Illustrated Interviews. _

XIX. --THE LORD BISHOP OF RIPON. 

[Illustration: THE LORD BISHOP OF RIPON. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

It was a long, cold journey to Ripon. When I reached the Palace the timeof five o'clock tea had long since passed--it only wanted half an hourto the first dinner bell. But a cup of deliciously warming tea was readyfor me. This kindly thoughtfulness seemed to break down every barriercalculated to make one feel anything but perfectly "at home. " Then, whenthe Bishop returned from a long day's work, the impressions gatheredover the refreshing cup with his wife became a reality. It may at oncebe said that there is very little difference between him who preachesfrom the pulpit and him who sits down and talks with you in his ownhouse. 

The Bishop of Ripon is acknowledged to be one of the most eloquentpreachers of the day. He is as gentle in his manner as he is convincingin his utterances. He is utterly free from anything suggestive of anover-estimated "I. " He seems always to speak from his heart, andcontinually with the single thought of never giving a hurtful word. Intruth, he is as impressive in the home as in the cathedral. Yet, when heis at home, there are his children, young and old. He is heart and soulwith them in their play. Little Beatrice--whose pet name is Daisy--andfive-year-old Douglas--familiarly known as Chappie--already know thatthere are merry games to be enjoyed in which their father watches overboth. 

We spent the evening after dinner in going through the house. ThePalace, Ripon, is a semi-modern building, having been built some fiftyyears ago. The first stone was laid on Monday, 1st October, 1838, byBishop Longley, and its correct entire cost was £14, 059 1s. 8d. Itsrooms are large and handsome. The entrance-hall abounds in flowers andferns, and contains at least two valuable canvases. One is a life-sizepicture by Grant of Archbishop Longley--the first Bishop--the other, byWatts, is that of Bishop Bickersteth, the second Bishop. Both of theseare heirlooms of the See of Ripon. Just beyond is a second hall, whereis the great oak staircase leading to the rooms above. This corner isrich in etchings and engravings. Paul Sandby, R. A. , is well representedwith his "Windsor"; works by Aumonier, Fred Slocombe, Charles Murray, David Law, Joseph Knight, Meissonier, and a striking etching ofNapoleon, by Ruet, are noticeable. There are many quaint old views of"Ripon Minster, " a Soudanese sword which one of the Bishop's sonsbrought from Egypt, whilst on a table is a very clever model of theBishop's father's church at Liverpool. It was made by an invalid lady, and her ingenious fingers have handled the cardboard and gum mostartistically. 

[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE HALL. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

Immediately opposite to the hall is the Holden Library. A picture of theRev. J. Holden, who not only founded it, but left a small endowment tokeep it in good order, hangs over the fireplace. Here the clergy of thediocese may come and consult the volumes. It is a fine room, and itsoutlook upon the rising ground of the garden is pleasantness itself. 

[Illustration: THE INNER HALL. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

We were just leaving the library when a soft pit-pat, pit-pat at ourheels caused me to turn. The quiet, disturbing footfalls were made by abeautiful blue Angora cat, which was accompanied by George, the pug, whohad made his presence known at the dinner table. Both Sultan, the cat, and George proved to be the most interesting of animals imaginable. Sultan's kittens are sold for charitable purposes and a little litterrealized £10 for the Wakefield Bishopric Fund. George used to worry thesheep--he was the death of seven. He saw a St. Bernard causing troubleamongst the universal providers of lamb and mutton, and he could notresist the temptation to imitate his bigger brother. But he has longsince been forgiven. 

[Illustration: THE HOLDEN LIBRARY. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

"Sultan and George, " said the Bishop, "were the greatest of rivals whenthey first came here--now they are the best of friends. One bitter coldnight George set up a terrible barking. I left my room, wentdownstairs--nothing apparently the matter. But George would not let mego. He barked and ran to the door. Then I heard a low, piteous cry. Iopened the door, and in walked Sultan from the snow-covered step, perished with cold!"

I gave George a pat on the head--I fancy he knew what we had beentalking about. Away he cantered with Sultan, and we went into thedrawing-room. There are two such apartments at the Palace, each leadinginto the other. Both look out upon the grounds, the trees in which nowbear the golden-tinted reminders of autumn upon their branches, and thegrass is plentifully strewn with the chestnuts blown down by the wind. The smaller of the two rooms abounds with dainty water-colours--light, bright and tiny paintings of sea-side views and flowers--numberlessportraits, and photographic reminiscences of travel. The curiosity, however, of this apartment is a replica of the bust of Dante at Naples. The Bishop of Ripon is a very earnest and enthusiastic student of thegreat philosophical poet. Pictures of Dante, indeed, abound throughoutthe house, and in the study--to be visited later--are to be found manyrare and valuable editions of him who conceived the never-to-be-excelled"Inferno, " including Lord Vernon's, the Landino editions of 1481, andthe Nidobeato of 1478. 

[Illustration: "GEORGE" AND "SULTAN. "

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

The large drawing-room affords a distant and picturesque view of thegreat square tower of the cathedral. The Palace is really on a levelwith it, so great is the rise in the ground. This apartment, like allthe rooms indeed, is richly perfumed by flowers; exquisite china andsilver nick-nacks are everywhere, and the Bishop evidently does notbelieve in the untold troubles associated with the presence of peacocks'feathers. There are several fans made from the "unlucky" stalks. Onetable seems given up to the congregating of tiny china animals--the mostdiminutive of pigs, kangaroos, rabbits, dogs, and ducks. The picturesare mostly marine subjects: two fine dockyard scenes are by CharlesDixon. Dixon--whose father, it will be remembered, painted "The Prideof Battery B"--was only sixteen when he painted them. A grand skin froma St. Bernard has its story to tell. The Bishop had two such dogs. Hislordship changed his coachman and groom. Together with his family theBishop left the Palace for a time, and the dog pined away. His skin nowlies by the window. Alas! his more callous wife is still alive in thestable. Two of its offspring are in the safe keeping of a well-knownclergyman, who, being in doubt as to what name he should bestow upon hisnewly-purchased pups, out of gratitude for the invigorating influence ofthe Harrogate waters determined to call them Sulphur and Magnesia!

The dining-room need be of goodly size--frequently some thirty or fortypeople sit down at its tables. There are many fine oil-paintings here. Two bear the initials "A. S. " "A. S. " was Arthur Stocks. When the Bishopof Ripon was vicar of St. James's, Holloway, Arthur Stocks was asuperintendent in the Sunday school. He used to travel backwards andforwards twice every Sabbath to the school, and when he died he left awish that his quondam vicar should have one of his works. It has thebest place in the room, though there are several valuable works of theTitian School, and a striking canvas, believed to be a Mazzoni, whichwas picked up in a general shop in a western town. 

[Illustration: THE DRAWING-ROOM. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

A long corridor runs level with the dining-room outside. Its walls arelined with pictures and photographs, all reviving pleasant memories. Adual picture of Mr. And Mrs. H. M. Stanley is autographed by nearly allwho signed the register on the occasion of their marriage--such names asW. E. Gladstone, Sir Frederick Leighton, and the BaronessBurdett-Coutts. It was the Bishop of Ripon who officiated at theceremony--probably the first and only Bishop who has conducted a weddingservice the whole of which was "received" into phonographs placed in theAbbey. There are excellent portraits of Gerald Wellesley, Dean ofWindsor; whilst Archbishop Longley--who surely occupied moreecclesiastical Sees than any previous prelate--has signed himself asRipon, Durham, York, and Canterbury to a striking portrait of himself. Henry Irving is not forgotten; but perhaps the most striking sketch isthat of General Gordon--just by the side of a map of Khartoum. Theinscription reads: "General C. E. Gordon, from an hour's sketch I madeof him on 21st December, 1882. --Ed. Clifford. " Mr. Clifford was the onlyEnglish artist the Hero of Khartoum ever sat to. Above the frame is a_fac-simile_ of his last message: "I am quite happy, thank God; and, like Lawrence, I have _tried_ to do my duty. "

A photographic group of his lordship's working men's committee hangsnear--their willing and kindly work is much valued. The Bishop is apurely practical prelate. This working men's committee has been formedwith the aid of the clergy in Leeds. Leeds has some fifty parishes, andfive working men are chosen out of each--giving a body of 250 strong. They help chiefly at special services such as those held on GoodFridays. 

As we were discussing the peculiar advantages of soliciting the servicesof the working man to meet his brother workman, the distant sound ofthe chapel organ was heard. Its echo came very sweetly through thecorridor. It was the time of evening service. The dim glow from thelamps lent an air of solemnity to the little chapel, and when theservice was over we remained behind for a few moments. I could justdistinguish the altar steps of white, black and red--the Dantecombination of colours--and the peaceful light from the moon streamedthrough the stained glass windows on to the oaken stalls, showingfaintly the outlines of apostles and saints. One of these was put up in1852, in remembrance of the Rev. Charles Dodgson, examining chaplain toBishop Longley and the father of the author of "Alice in Wonderland. " Itwas here in the morning that I witnessed the gathering together oftwenty or thirty clerics, who were licensed to new curacies and livings. We left the chapel, and ascending the great oaken staircase entered thestudy. This is essentially a room for work. The book-shelves containsome thousands of volumes--the only photo about the place is that of afamily group. In one corner of the room stands a tin box, in which arethree volumes of autographs, and the pages of these valuable volumes maybe gone through, and the autographs of nearly all the Archbishops andBishops of England for the last 200 years may be seen, including Juxon, Bishop of London, who attended Charles I. On the scaffold. A bookcontaining photographs of the churches in the diocese reveals thatBishop Longley--the first Bishop of Ripon--was of a distinctly practicalcharacter. He started this ingenious index to the state of his churches. As soon as any alteration is made in a place of worship it isphotographed. This shows the Bishop at a glance exactly how his churchesare progressing from an architectural point of view. 

[Illustration: THE DRAWING-ROOM. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

The Bishop sat down, and it was whilst listening to much of the deepestinterest regarding his work that I noticed the Prelate more closely. Heis a trifle below the medium height, slightly whiskered, with iron-greyhair curled all about his head and brow. His face is intensely kind, andhis every word and action suggestive of true and unaffected humility. Indeed, it is this very humility that has prevented his work becomingwider known. He is remarkably simple in his dress. Bishops, we know, have opportunity of seeing the sad, and indeed the seamy side ofclerical life. If a man is a Bishop, he can still remain a brother. Theputting on of the lawn lessens not his love for, and interest in, theyoung curate who only wears the linen surplice. He lives a quiet, homely, simple life, though always hospitable to others. How could he dootherwise, when he hears of cases like that of the poor cleric with awife and eight children, who, after preaching his Sunday sermon, returnshome to a meal of oatmeal gruel, and that meal would have been wantinghad not a kindly farmer given it to his shepherd?

The Bishop of Ripon has a diocese extending over a million acres andnumbering a million people. Between seventy and a hundred changes takeplace every year. He travels much. He estimates he covers between 10, 000and 12, 000 miles every year. 

We spoke about preaching. On this subject the Bishop believes that eachman must use the method best suited to himself. There have beeneffective preachers both of written and extempore sermons. The questionof memory came up, and the Bishop said: "I learnt something of thisfrom the biography of Chancellor Bird, of Lincoln, who said, 'The memoryis very sensitive of distrust; if you trust it, it seldom fails you. ' Ihave tested this more than once. On one occasion I was preaching at St. Paul's. When I got into the pulpit I thought I could not remember thenumber of the verse of my text. I knew the chapter, and opened my Biblethere, but could not see it. People began to move about, but I hazardeda guess, and fortunately it was right. "

I learnt yet another example of this whilst in Ripon, though not fromthe Bishop. He was preaching at Bradford one Sunday morning two yearsago. One of his many dramatic movements knocked his book from the pulpitcushion. It was just in the middle of the sermon. He never so much asglanced at the fallen volume, and my informant said he had never heardthe Bishop more eloquent. 

"You ask me if I advocate the preaching of other men's sermons, " saidhis lordship, repeating my question. "There is one thing about it. Itbehoves every man to advocate the simplest honesty. If any clericexchange his sermon with another, let him say from the pulpit, 'I'mgoing to give you So-and-so's sermon to-day. '"

We talked on, being joined by Mr. Harry Carpenter--the Bishop's eldestson--who frankly declared himself to be a happy, recently-calledbarrister, and just now lecturing for the University extension movement. We said "Good-night. "

When I reached my room I sat down by the fire and remembered that theBishop was fond of his joke. He has a name--William Boyd Carpenter--thelatter of which is capable of a very merry conversion. The story is toldhow, before being appointed to the See of Ripon, he once married a youngcouple with the assurance that he was not only a Carpenter but a Joiner. Only a few months ago he was about to lay the foundation stone of a newvicarage. The architect handed him the trowel, etc. , inviting him tobecome "an operative mason for a few moments. "

[Illustration: THE DINING-ROOM. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

"I would rather remain a working Carpenter, " was the witty reply. 

I stirred my fire, and amongst the flickering embers I could almost seethe faces of a happy pair at Christ Church, Lancaster Gate. The Bishopwas officiating. The charming though nervous bride experienced somedifficulty in taking off her glove at the right moment to receive thewedding ring. 

And a very soft whisper of kindly assurance came from the clergyman'slips. 

"Don't be flurried, " he said, _sotto voce_; "there's plenty of time, andthey are bound to wait for us!"

When I awoke in the morning I looked from my window. It was very early, and the sun was lighting up the tower of Ripon Cathedral as it roseabove the tree tops. It was a fair scene. You could count a dozenrabbits hopping about on the grassy lawn leading down to the tenniscourt, and sitting nervously for a few moments, and glancing anxiouslythis way, that way, and every way in expectancy of a disturbingfootstep. And as I looked out upon the beautiful scene of autumn-tintedtrees and grassy mounds, with just a last rose of summer here and there, I could almost distinguish those little Arabs from the by-streets andslums of Leeds. They were running about in tatters, shouting themselveshoarse with delight, and turning unlimited catharine-wheels in theirhappy delirium. I could hear them distinctly clapping their hands; Icould not hear the patter of their feet, though--the poor little fellowswere bootless. Then they ceased their play for a moment. Somebody wasbeckoning to them to follow him. He quietly led them beneath thebranches of the very biggest tree in the garden. He pointed his fingerupwards. It was a very short sermon--a sermon from a text set up byNature which the tiniest mite amongst this tattered congregation couldunderstand. 

[Illustration: THE CORRIDOR. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

"Little children, " he said, "I want you to grow up like this tree--withnothing between you and Heaven, nothing save the branches which you mustshoot out--branches of help to others. "

And the children went to play again. 

Then I spied from my window a fine piece of level ground. The railwaymen were playing cricket there. How they seemed to enjoy the hugeplum-puddings after throwing down their bats and leaving the wickets!The toothsome puddings had been contributed by the ladies of the city, and made hot and steaming in the great copper of the Palace kitchen. 

After breakfast, the Bishop and I went for a long walk around thegrounds--there are sixty or seventy acres of land here, and a small homefarm. The Palace--which I now saw properly for the first time--is builtof stone, the monotony of which is relieved by many a climbingnasturtium and cluster of ivy leaves. The chapel stands at right anglesto the house. It was added later, and is the gift of the late ArchbishopVernon Harcourt to the See of Ripon. 

There is rather a curious thing about some of the decorative work on theexterior of the Palace. An episcopal diary started by Bishop Longley, and preserved at the Palace, mentions that amongst many carved "heads"on the chapel was that of a Bishop. A strong gust of wind blew it down:all the others, which were decidedly unclerical, remained! But the mostamusing entry in this book refers to two figures of angels at thesouth-east and south-west corners. Seeing that the Queen and PrinceConsort had only been married a few months when the Palace was built, instructions were given to imitate in the carving of the angels thefeatures of Her Majesty and her Consort. But the stone-mason, beingpossessed of a certain prosaic mind, was not content with the attempt togive the features of the Prince, but represented him as an angel arrayedin a field-marshal's uniform and wearing the ribbon of the Garter! Ofcourse it was altered at once. 

We had walked on and stood still for a moment at the end of a longavenue carpeted with fallen leaves. 

"Now you can see Norton Conyers! It is about four miles from here, " saidthe Bishop. "Charlotte Brontë once had a holiday engagement as governessthere, and a room is still shown where it is said the mad woman wasconfined whose story the gifted authoress told in the pages of 'JaneEyre. '"

Then as we wended our way across to the farm, down paths lined withhedgerows, and through many wicket gates, we paused at times as theBishop looked back upon his quiet though useful life. 

The Right Rev. William Boyd Carpenter was born at Liverpool on March26th, 1841. His father was vicar of St. Michael's there for twenty-sevenyears. His first schooling was obtained under Dr. Dawson Turner, at theRoyal Institution School, and amongst famous boys of the RoyalInstitution were Bishop Lightfoot, Canon Duckworth, Professor Warr, andMr. Crosse. 

"Dr. Dawson Turner, " said the Bishop, "was a sort of cosmopolitan--hetried to teach a little of everything. He was a good-hearted man. Heloved to give threepenny-pieces to the boys who pleased him. I wellremember one day during prayers--we were all assembled in the bighall--and the head master was reading them. Suddenly the door opened anda big boy, very nervous and conscience-stricken, who thought he ought tobe at prayers, crept quietly in. Dr. Turner looked up and said, in thesame tone as he was reading, 'Go out--go out! Somebody put that idiotout!' Then he went on with his reading exactly in the same voice. 

"The man I learned most from was Albert Glyn, our mathematicalmaster--one of the best teachers that ever breathed. He would never letyou pass a thing unless you thoroughly understood it. It was he who mademathematics an interesting and fascinating study to me. "

We spoke of the time when the Crimean war broke out, when the Bishop wasfull of the boyish ardour of thirteen years of age. His schoolmasterwould not give him a holiday to see the troops going off, but his fatherdid. It was a sight to be remembered when the troops embarked during thewar. The news was watched for eagerly, and talked over nightly. TheBishop's family, like so many others, had relatives in the war. CaptainJohn Boyd, the Bishop's uncle, who was in command of the _Royal George_, planted the only shot in Cronstadt. Later he lost his life in attemptingto rescue the crew of a small brig off Kingstown harbour. His monumentis in St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin. 

At this point of our conversation the Bishop alluded to a well-knownstory and epigram. 

The story on which the epigram is founded is of two Irishmen, one ofwhom challenged the other to a duel. But when the eventful hour arrivedone sat down and wrote that, were it only his honour at stake he wouldmeet his opponent, but his wife depended on him, so he begged todecline. The other individual sent a message to say that if honour werethe only consideration he would come, but he had a daughter andtherefore prayed to be excused. So the epigram read:--

 Two brave sons of Erin, intent upon slaughter, Improved on the Hebrew's command: One honoured his wife and the other his daughter, That their days might be long in the land. 

"This clever epigram, " said the Bishop, "is popularly said to have beenwritten by Flood, but I have always understood that it was written by mymother's mother. "

[Illustration: GENERAL GORDON. 

_From a Drawing by E. Clifford. _]

That the Bishop's pen is occasionally employed in throwing off theseepigrams is shown by the following. It will be remembered that at thetime of the great storm at Samoa, Captain Kane, with a pluck andjudgment which evoked the applause of the American and German crews inthe harbour, took his vessel out to sea and so saved her. When questionswere asked in Parliament as to what honour would be conferred on CaptainKane in recognition of his services, the First Lord of the Admiraltyreplied "that Kane had only done his duty, and if he had lost his shiphe would have been court-martialled. " So the Bishop wrote:--

 What shall be done for Kane? Who brought his vessel safe through wave With skilful hand and heart as brave: What shall be done for Kane?

 What shall he have? "We solve the knot, " Cries the First Lord, impartial; "If Kane had failed, he would have got Our pickle rod--court-martial. "

 Then talk no more of praise or gain, Our English principle is plain: When storm winds rise to hurricane, If Kane escape he 'scapes the cane!

[Illustration: THE PRIVATE CHAPEL. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

Here is another example:--

With regard to the recent conference at Grindelwald, which the Bishophad hoped to attend, it would not, it appears, have been his firstvisit, for at the request of the Bishop of London he acted as his deputyin opening the new English church destroyed in the recent fire. Thischurch was built by the brothers Boss, who with their family, to thenumber of seven, keep the adjacent hotel, called "The Bear. " Thefollowing lines were written by the Bishop in their visitors' book:--

 A sign upon the earth, behold! Competes with one in heaven, The Bear above, the "Bear" below, The stars that form them, seven. But when these signs comparéd are, Judge then the heavenly losses; For all declare the earthly stars Most surely are the Bosses!

[Illustration: THE STUDY. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

He won an open scholarship at St. Catharine's College, Cambridge, andremained there until he took his degree in 1864. The lateAttorney-General was the representative of Cambridge in sports in thosedays. The late Mr. Parnell was at Cambridge at the same time, and LordCarrington and Mr. F. C. Burnand were among the most important membersof the Cambridge A. D. C. , as it was called. The acting in those days wasof a very high order. The Bishop was cox. Of his college boat; not avery enviable position--"you've got all the responsibility and none ofthe kudos. " A cox. Is like a bishop: he can only guide, he cannot givestrength. 

[Illustration: THE CHOIR, RIPON CATHEDRAL. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

His lordship referred to the great improvement in University life to-daycompared with thirty years ago. Much less wine is consumed now, and aman can go through the 'Varsity as a teetotaler without anyinconvenience. At college the young man began a practical training forthe ministry--giving lectures attending district meetings, and teachingin the Sunday school. 

The Bishop's first curacy was at Maidstone, and, strangely enough, hewas ordained by Bishop Longley. My visit to the Palace was in the fulltide of the cholera scare, and the Bishop referred to his experiences ofit at Maidstone. 

[Illustration: RIPON CATHEDRAL. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

"I was working there, " he said, "when the cholera broke out in 1866. Myvicar was away. I assisted a little, more especially at a rookery calledPad's Hole, then a den of thieves--now a low-lying little spot. I wellremember the first case I visited. It was a poor fellow who was a veryregular attendant at church. I went in at half-past ten to see him. Iwent again at half-past one. As I walked up the hill a woman met me andcried, 'He's gone!' He had been carried off in four hours. The truth isthe people were taken by surprise, and few precautions were taken--therewas no organized system of nurses then. The women who were sent toattend the cholera-stricken people knew nothing about nursing. Theydrank the brandy intended for the relief of the sufferers. I went intoone house to see a woman. The nurse was intoxicated. Shortly after thepoor woman died. At the graveside stood the nurse, still suffering fromthe effects of drink. 

"Whenever I walk along here I feel indebted to Longley for one greatthing, " continued the Bishop. "You see these trees?" pointing to amagnificent belt of trees immediately in front of us. "They keep awaythe cutting Yorkshire winds. Longley planted these. " Some idea of thepower of the winds may be gathered from a note in Bishop Longley's diaryalready referred to. It was on the nights of the 6th and 7th of January, 1839, and all the north of England was affected by the storm. The Earlof Lonsdale lost 70, 000 trees in his young plantation, and themagnificent avenue at Castle Howard was almost destroyed. The whole ofthe kitchen garden wall was blown down at the Palace. Bishop Longleyvery wisely put up that grand screen of trees. 

His lordship entertains grateful recollections of his days at Maidstoneunder his vicar, the Rev. David Dale Stewart. He remained there twoyears, afterwards holding curacies at Clapham, and Lee in Kent. From Leehe went to St. James's, Holloway, to assist the Rev. W. B. Mackenzie. 

"Mr. Mackenzie, " said the Bishop, "was a remarkable man; his power inchurch and pulpit was singularly great. He only had one curacy and oneincumbency. I succeeded him as vicar, remaining there from 1870 to 1880. There was no choir there--the congregation was the choir. Here, inYorkshire, choirs are invaluable. The people enjoy it--they will have achoir. "

I asked the Bishop if he thought well of the introduction of orchestrasinto our churches. His reply was thoroughly frank and real. 

"In the old days, " he said, "men used to play in the churches, and neverexpected to be paid. The condition of life since then has very muchchanged. If every man will bring his instrument to church as a personalact of homage to the glory of his Maker, by all means let us have it. Weare in danger of forgetting that if our acts are not the personal homageof our hearts, such are not acceptable service. I am a little afraidthat we are just now passing through such days of activity as willpossibly cause us to forget the reality of things. We want, as LordMount-Temple said, the Deep Church as well as the High and Low. Yes, letus have orchestras in churches if you will, but I don't want the man togo into a place of worship with his fiddle-case under his arm and theidea in his mind that he is going to take part in a mere performance!"

[Illustration: RIPON CATHEDRAL. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

At Holloway he founded many excellent institutions--classes for French, German, shorthand, etc. The young men had their House of Commons, withtheir vicar as Speaker. Many of the "M. P. 's" who belonged to theHighbury Parliament have since turned out admirable speakers and usefulcitizens. 

After leaving St. James's, the Bishop became vicar of Christ Church, Lancaster Gate. He was Select Preacher at Cambridge in 1875 and 1877;Hulsean Lecturer at Cambridge, 1878; Honorary Chaplain to the Queen, 1878; Select Preacher at Oxford in 1882, when he was also appointed to avacant Canonry at Windsor; Bampton Lecturer, 1887, and in 1889 hereceived an honorary D. C. L. From the University of Oxford. 

[Illustration: THE PALACE, RIPON. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

On the death of the late Dr. Bickersteth, in 1884, he was consecratedBishop of Ripon. His duties at the House of Lords consist of a fortnightor three weeks in each year, for the purpose of reading prayers. Thisduty, which once devolved entirely upon the junior Bishop, is nowundertaken in turns, with the exception of the seniors in rank. 

It was market-day when we took our way through the streets and greatsquare which forms the market-place of the more than a thousand-year-oldcity. It still keeps up the old-fashioned custom of the blowing of ahorn at morning and night near the Mayor's house. 

On the north side of the Cathedral stands the Deanery. The Dean ofRipon, who is eighty-four, was cox. In the Oxford crew of the first'Varsity race, and he acted as page at the coronation of William IV. Hispicturesque and venerable figure is one of the best known in Ripon. DeanFremantle has made Ripon his home in the truest sense, ever since hisappointment to the Deanery, now sixteen years ago. He has thrown himselfwith vigour and devotion into every good work in the city andneighbourhood. In the Millenary year he presented a magnificentsilver-mounted horn to the Mayor and Corporation, as guardians of thecity. More recently he presented a pleasant bathing shed and offices tothe neighbourhood. He believes in the healthy exercise of swimming andboating and cricket. He still preaches with energy and impressiveness, and large congregations gather at the nave services in the Cathedral, where his voice is heard throughout the building. It is said that hisportrait is to be hung up among the city worthies in the Town Hall. Hissterling goodness, his generosity, his unfailing courtesy and kindnesshave endeared him to everyone; and all would readily allow that he isthe best-loved citizen of the comely little Yorkshire town. 

The near view of Ripon Cathedral is not particularly striking; itsbeauty is more impressive at a distance. Inside, however, though atfirst appearance somewhat bare-looking, there is much that is beautifulin architectural design. One is struck with its really magnificent widthparticularly, and the curious and sudden breaking up of the Norman arch, near the nave, by a Gothic pillar. The carving, however, of the stallsis very fine, and in many instances of great rarity. Beneath the stallsare many quaint specimens of the carver's handiwork. Beneath theBishop's throne are the two spies of Joshua carrying the grapes, and acouple of giants are represented on either side, one all head and nobody, the other all body with his head in the middle. Another stallshows Jonah being thrown overboard, with a whale waiting with open mouthto receive him, and near at hand is a carving of Pontius Pilatewheeling away Judas in a wheelbarrow with his bag of silver. 

Yet amongst all that is interesting in and about the cathedral nothingis more so than the Saxon Chapel under the crypt. It is the earliestknown place of worship in the kingdom, its architecture being about theseventh century. We light our candles and follow the verger down thestone steps. The descent is a trifle treacherous. There are littleniches in the wall where candles are placed. Then we enter the chapel. It is perfectly dark, and smells very earthy. A hole in one side of thewall is pointed out. Tradition says that in the old days, when peoplehad anything suspicious against them, they were brought to this spot. Ifthey succeeded in crawling through to the other side they wereblameless; if they could not, they were unquestionably guilty. It isalso said that the young damsel who creeps through is sure to getmarried within the year. Be this as it may, I was assured that veryrecently a Yorkshire farmer brought his three daughters and soughtpermission for them to crawl through the lucky hole. Another daughterwho had been through succeeded in getting married, and the father of theremaining trio was anxious for them to see whether a journey through thewall might not help him to more readily dispose of his daughters!

[Illustration: THE DEAN OF RIPON. 

_From a Photo. By Elliott & Fry. _]

 HARRY HOW. 

_A Little Surprise. _[A]

ADAPTED FROM THE FRENCH OF ABRAHAM DREYFUS

BY CONSTANCE BEERBOHM. 

[Illustration]

CHARACTERS:

 SIR WILLIAM BEAUCHAMP, BART. (43). LADY FLORENCE BEAUCHAMP (39). KATE DUGDALE (18). MR. JAMES DUGDALE (23). PORTER, _the Lady's-maid_ (30). 

SCENE: _A country drawing-room. A French window opening on to a flowergarden at the back of the stage. Doors right and left. A sofa, arm-chairs, smaller chairs, etc. _

_At the rise of the curtain, JEM and KITTY are discovered sitting withtheir backs to one another, evidently sulking. JEM looks round every nowand then, trying to catch his wife's eye, and she studiously avoids hisglance. At length their eyes meet. _

JEM (_rises_): No! I tell you I can't stand it!

KITTY: And why not? I always went out with the guns at home. 

JEM: "At home" and your husband's house are two very different places. 

KITTY: So I find!

JEM: And I have told you over and over again I detest to see anywoman--more especially a girl of eighteen, like yourself--tramping overthe moors in gaiters, and a skirt by a long way too short!

KITTY: Perhaps, with your old-maidish ideas, you would like to see metaking my walks abroad with a train as long as my Court frock!

JEM: Perversity!

KITTY: I only know that papa, mamma, and grandmamma always said----

JEM: Ah! But your grandmother----

KITTY: How dare you speak in that way of dear grandmamma?

JEM: I never said a word against her----

KITTY: But you were going to!

JEM: Nothing of the sort. 

KITTY (_repeats_): I only know that papa, mamma, and grandmamma alwayssaid----

JEM: Oh, Heavens! (_He escapes. _)

KITTY: Was ever anyone so wretched as I? Only three months married, andto find my husband an obstinate, vindictive, strait-laced countrybumpkin! Well, not a bumpkin perhaps, after all, but almost as bad asthat! Why, oh! why did I leave my happy home, where I could do what Iliked from morning till night, and no one was ever disagreeable to me?And yet during my engagement what a lovely time I had! Jem seemed sokind and gentle, and promised me he would never say a cross word to me!He declared our married life should be one long sunshiny summer day;whilst I promised to be his little ministering angel! I reminded him ofthat yesterday. And what did he say? That he had never thought a littleministering angel could be such a little brute! I can hardly believe heis the same man I used to love so dearly! (_Exit in tears. _)

(_After a moment, PORTER, the lady's-maid, enters, ushering in LADYFLORENCE BEAUCHAMP. _)

LADY FLO: Your mistress is not here, after all, Porter?

PORTER: No, milady! Yet I heard her voice only a few moments ago. 

LADY FLO: Well then, Porter, you must go and tell her a lady wishes tospeak with her in the boudoir, and be sure not to say who the "lady" is, however much she may ask. I wish this visit to be a little surprise toher. Nor must you mention that Sir William is here. 

(_Enter KITTY, with traces of tears on her face. _)

LADY FLO: Kitty, darling, Kitty!

KITTY: Aunty! Can it be you? This is delightful! (_They embrace. _)

LADY FLO: I'm glad you call it delightful! I came here as a littlesurprise to you; but I daresay you will think me a great bore for takingyou by storm, and interrupting your _tête-à-tête_ with Jem. 

KITTY: Oh! far from it! I am only too, too happy you've come!

LADY FLO: Is that the real truth?

KITTY: Indeed, it is!

LADY FLO: I thought I should find you as blooming as a rose in June; butyou are not quite so flourishing as I expected. Those pretty eyes lookas if--as if--well, as if you had a cold in the head!

KITTY: They look as if I had been crying, you mean! And so I have. (_Bursts into tears afresh, and throws herself into LADY FLO'S arms. _)

(_Enter SIR WILLIAM and JEM, the former standing amazed. KITTY, leavingLADY FLO'S arms, throws herself into those of SIR WILLIAM, with renewedsobs. SIR WILLIAM turns in surprise to JEM. LADY FLO looks down inembarrassment. _)

JEM: Oh! yes, Kitty! This is all very well. Why not tell them I'm amonster at once?

KITTY: And so you are!

JEM (_aside_): Have you no sense of decency?

LADY FLO (_aside_): This is truly shocking. 

SIR W. (_aside_): Good Heavens!

KITTY: Is it my fault that my uncle and aunt are witnesses of yourill-temper?

(_Enter PORTER. _)

PORTER: Your ladyship's trunks have just arrived from the station. 

LADY FLO (_hesitating_): Let them be taken back again. 

SIR W. : We had intended staying but an hour or two. 

JEM (_to SIR W. _): But I beg you to stay. 

KITTY (_to LADY FLO_): Never were you so much needed. 

JEM (_to PORTER_): Let her ladyship's trunks be taken to the Blue Rooms. 

KITTY: Not to the Blue Rooms. They are quite damp. (_To JEM_) I mayspeak a word in my own house, I suppose? (_To PORTER_) Let the trunks betaken to the Turret Room. 

JEM: The chimneys smoke there. 

KITTY: Excuse me. They do not. 

JEM: Excuse _me_. They do. 

SIR W. : They smoked once upon a time, perhaps, but may not now. 

PORTER: Where may I say the luggage is to be carried?

JEM: Take your orders from your mistress. 

KITTY: No! From your master!

JEM (_to KITTY_): Spare me at least before the lady's-maid!

KITTY (_to JEM_): Oh! nobody knows better how you behave than Porter. Our quarrels are no secret from _her_. 

JEM: That must be your fault. How can she know of them but from you?

KITTY: I tell her nothing. But your voice would reach to the ends of theearth. 

JEM: As for yours--why----

KITTY: Grandmamma always said my voice was the most gentle she had everheard. 

JEM: But, then, your grandmother----

SIR W. (_to LADY FLO_): I really think we had better leave, after all. 

LADY FLO (_affectionately_): No! dearest Will! I really think we hadbetter stay. 

SIR W. : For _my_ part----

LADY FLO: I tell you we _must_ stay. 

SIR W. : Very well, Flo, as you wish. You always know best. (_Theyexchange smiles. _)

LADY FLO (_to JEM_): Kitty will take me to my room. So I leave my betterhalf in your good company. (_Exit with KITTY. _)

SIR W. : I can't help regretting I came here, old fellow. It was youraunt's idea. I made objections. But she insisted that you'd both be gladenough to have a little interruption in your honeymoon. 

JEM: She never said a truer word. 

SIR W. : Then the honeymoon is not so great a success, after all?

JEM: To tell the truth, it's all a ghastly failure!

SIR W. : Poor boy! Believe me, I'm awfully sorry for you. (_Puts his handon JEM'S shoulder. _)

JEM: I'm awfully glad you're sorry. 

SIR W. : I pity you from my heart. 

JEM: Thanks very much. 

SIR W. : For my part, if I led a cat-and-dog life with your aunt, Ishould wish to blow my brains out. 

JEM: So that's the advice you give me! (_Moves towards door. _)

SIR W. : Oh! no! All I want is five minutes' chat with you. Anything thataffects Flo's niece naturally affects me. 

JEM: Naturally. (_Laughs. _)

SIR W. : Now come! Tell me! How did your misunderstandings begin?

JEM: I really couldn't say. 

SIR W. : And yet quarrels always have a beginning. 

JEM: Of course, when women are so confoundedly selfish. 

SIR W. : Kitty is selfish?

JEM: I don't want to make any complaints about her. Yet I must admitthat she takes absolutely no interest in anything which interests me. You know my hobby--fishing----

SIR W. : And Kitty doesn't care for fishing?

JEM: Not she! Though, finding myself here, surrounded with troutstreams, you may imagine how I was naturally anxious to spend my days. Kitty said fishing was a bore, and after having come out with me once ortwice, she sternly refused to do so any more. And why? Simply becauseshe wanted to tramp about with the shooters from Danby. 

SIR W. : All this is but a trifling dissimilarity of taste, andinsufficient to cause a real estrangement. 

JEM: A trifling dissimilarity! Why, our tastes differ in every essentialpoint! Kitty has got it into her head that a woman should take aninterest in things "outside herself. " A friend of her mother's, who usedto conduct her to the British Museum, taught her to believe inCulture--with a capital "C. " To hear her talk of Pompeiian marbles, Flaxman's designs, and all that sort of thing--why, it's sickening!

SIR W. : It strikes me you are unreasonable. 

JEM: Oh, no! I'm not! A woman who takes an interest in things outsideherself becomes a nuisance. 

[Illustration: SIR W. : "IT STRIKES ME YOU ARE UNREASONABLE. "

JEM: "OH, NO! I'M NOT!"]

SIR W. : And yet I believe that with a little tact, a little gentleness, you would be able to manage Kitty, just as I have managed your aunt allthese long years. There is no doubting the dear girl's affection foryou. Remember her joy when her mother's scruples as to the length ofyour engagement were overcome. 

JEM: That's true enough. Kitty was very fond of me three months ago. Butit isn't only fondness I require of a wife. She must be bored when I'mbored, and keen when I'm keen, and that sort of thing, you know. 

SIR W. : Yes! I see. In fact, lose her identity, as your dear good aunthas lost hers!

JEM (_aside_): Or, rather, as you have lost yours!

SIR W. : Well, I'll try and view things in your light, my good fellow. Atthe same time, you must have great patience--very great patience, Jem, and then all may come right in the end. It _is_ true I never neededpatience with your aunt. But had there been the necessity, I should havebeen equal to the demand. Now, I daresay your little quarrels have beenbut short lived; and that after having caused Kitty any vexation, youhave always been ready to come forward with kind words to make up yourdifferences?

JEM: Yes, ready! But not _too_ ready, as I feared too much indulgencemight not be advisable. Now, one morning, after having been out early, Idetermined to give up fishing for the rest of the day to please Kitty. On my way home--remember, it was before eight o'clock--I met herbetaking herself to what she calls "matins. " Now, I like a girl to begood and strict, and all that sort of thing. But imagine going to churchat eight o'clock on a Monday morning!

SIR W. : A slight error in judgment; you might easily forgive the dearchild. 

JEM: I didn't find it easy. I said so. And Kitty refused her breakfastin consequence--only to aggravate me. 

SIR W. : No! No! Perhaps she fasted only to soften your heart!

JEM: Far from it. In fact, to sum up the whole matter, we have no commonsympathies. Kitty has not even any ambition, for instance, as to myfuture. You know I wish to stand for Portborough one day?

SIR W. : _You!!_

JEM: Why not?

SIR W. : Oh, no! Of course! Why not, as you say?

JEM: Yet if I begin to discuss it all with her, _she_ begins to yawn;and her yawning drives me nearly mad, when I am talking on a matter ofvital interest. 

SIR W. : Dear! Dear! I begin to find all this more serious than Ithought. For it does seem to me as if you differed on most subjects. 

JEM (_moodily_): So we do. 

SIR W. : Ah! I am afraid it may be pretty serious! And after listening toall your story I can't help feeling, my dear fellow, that there is notthe chance of things bettering themselves, as I had hoped in the firstinstance. 

JEM: You feel that?

SIR W. : I do! I do! This divergence of taste and sympathies is nolaughing matter. It rather alarms me when I think that the abyss betweenyou and your wife as time goes on may only widen. (_He indicates animaginary abyss, which JEM stares at dubiously. _) Yes! widen--and widen!

JEM (_after a moment's pause of half surprise, half pain_): What you sayis not consoling. 

SIR W. : At first I thought differently; but now I hesitate to misleadyou, and I admit my heart sinks when I think of your future, afterhearing all you have to say. Indeed, I hope I may be mistaken. I have, as you know, but little experience in these matters. Your aunt and Ihave lived in undisturbed harmony these fifteen years. Never has anangry word been heard within our walls. 

JEM: Whilst Kitty and I squabbled as soon as we had left the rice andslippers behind us! And since then scarcely an hour has passed withoutsome sort of difference. I declare, when I think over it, that it wouldbe best for us to plunge into the ice at once. A separation is the onlyhope for us. But, hush! I think I hear Aunt Flo's and Kitty's footsteps!(_Lowers his voice, speaking rapidly_) For Heaven's sake, don't breathea word of what I have said! Fool that I've been! Worse than afool--disloyal! Not a word to my aunt!

SIR W. : Oh! I promise you! (_Mysteriously into Jem's ear_) Women are soindiscreet. Now, I wouldn't tell your aunt for the wide world!

(_Enter LADY FLO and KITTY, who have overheard the last words. _)

LADY FLO (_icily_): I beg pardon! We interrupt!

JEM: Not at all! We were merely discussing the relations of man andwife! Uncle Will has been telling me that a wife--you, under thecircumstances--has everything in her own hands. 

[Illustration: SIR W. : "WOMEN ARE SO INDISCREET. "]

LADY FLO (_flattered_): Indeed!

KITTY: Indeed! I must say that no one could appreciate Aunt Flo'svirtues more than I, although at the same time I am certain she wouldvery soon have lost her sweet temper if her husband had beenaggravating, ignorant, domineering!

JEM: Why not call me a savage at once?

KITTY: A savage! Yes! A savage!

LADY FLO: Oh! Kitty! Kitty! Is this the way to make friends?

JEM: Come, Uncle Will! Let us go into the smoking-room! I shall chokehere! (_Exit. _)

SIR W. : There's but little hope for them! Little hope! Little hope!(_Exit, shaking his head. _)

KITTY: Now, perhaps, you believe that I have something to put up with?

LADY FLO (_soothingly_): And yet there's no doubt Jem is extremely fondof you. 

KITTY: He has a strange way of showing it! The other morning, after wehad had one of our little scenes, I went down to the stream to find himwhen he was fishing. I would even have been willing to try and bait(_shudders_) his hook. But as I was starting off I met him coming up thegarden, and he stared at me like an avenging god (or demon, I shouldsay), and asked if I wasn't on my way to matins? Naturally, I did notcontradict him. 

LADY FLO: Dearest! You distress me!

KITTY: There's another thing I can't endure! You know I took the pledge, so as to be a good example to the village people here. Well! Jem isfurious every time I refuse wine at luncheon or dinner. He declares thatI _pose_! Can you imagine such nonsense?

LADY FLO: Well, dear! I confess I sympathize with Jem. I don't think anyreally nice women ever take the pledge--do they? I only ask, you know. 

KITTY: Why, yes! Of course they do, aunty--when they want to be goodexamples. Jem cannot understand this; and, far from taking the pledgehimself, he revolts me day after day by drinking--(_whispersmysteriously_)--Bass's pale ale!

LADY FLO: Ah! That's bad! But, oh! my dear, if you only knew the properway to manage a husband!

KITTY: How could I? For Jem is as unmanageable as the Great Mogul. 

LADY FLO: I see you don't realize how the most violent men are thosemost easy to subdue. Now, there's your uncle----

KITTY: I always thought him as mild as Moses!

LADY FLO: So he is _now_! But there _was_ a time----

KITTY: Oh! Do tell me all about it!

LADY FLO: Well. There _was_ a time when your uncle imagined he might beallowed to complain if dinner were late. One day he actually dared toask, in a voice of thunder, "Is dinner ready?"

KITTY: Jem dares that every day. 

LADY FLO: It happened to be the cook's fault. 

KITTY: Ah! That would make no difference to Jem. 

LADY FLO (_impatient_): I wish, darling, you would allow me to speak!

KITTY: Oh! I beg pardon. 

LADY FLO (_continuing, blandly_): Not at all! Now, I replied: "Thesalmon has just fallen into the fire, and cook has had to send foranother!"

KITTY: That was true?

LADY FLO: Not in the least! I had ordered red mullet. And Will ate hisfish without noticing the difference. 

KITTY: Jem would not have made that mistake. 

LADY FLO: Oh, yes, he would, if you had just glanced at him in the rightmanner. 

KITTY (_eagerly_): Show me how to do it!

LADY FLO (_drily_): It requires the inspiration of the moment. Ah! couldyou but see me with Will!

KITTY: It is certain you are very happy together. 

LADY FLO: So we are; owing to my always using sweetness, firmness, andindifference just at the right moment. But all this, I confess, requiresintelligence. 

KITTY: Had I but the intelligence! It must be splendid to be able toavert a coming storm in this way. 

LADY FLO: There never has been the question of a storm between Will andme!

KITTY: Happy, happy people!

LADY FLO: And you, my very dear children, must become happy, happypeople too! William would feel your sorrow as deeply as I. We must doall in our power to restore peace and comfort between you! I shall trymy very utmost to show you your little failings--here and there--youknow. And as for Will! Why, he'll talk Jem over in no time! Before aweek is out we shall see you walking arm-in-arm to matins--the happiestcouple in all Yorkshire. 

KITTY: Impossible!

LADY FLO: Nay! We can but try. (_Enter_ SIR WILLIAM. ) Ah! Here comesyour uncle. Now, run away, dear, and leave us alone for a discreetlittle talk. Who knows but what we may hit upon a plan to help you!(_Exit_ KITTY. )

LADY FLO: Will, dearest! We must talk very seriously over our niece andnephew together. 

SIR W. (_aside_): It is high time!

LADY FLO: But, first of all, by the way, I want to know what it was youwere saying to Jem, when I came into the room a few minutes ago. 

SIR W. (_consciously_): To Jem? Why, I was saying nothing to Jem!

LADY FLO: Oh, yes, you were! Now try to remember. Kitty and I heard youtalking in quite an excited manner as we came downstairs. Then as wecame nearer the door you lowered your voice. 

SIR W. : Indeed, _no_!

LADY FLO: Yes, yes, you did, dear!

SIR W. : No, no, I didn't, dear!

LADY FLO: Don't tell fibs, darling. 

SIR W. : You want to know too much, my dear, good Flo. 

LADY FLO: Too much? Oh, no! That would be impossible! However, I knowyou will tell me the whole truth by-and-by. 

SIR W. : First let me know what you have to say. 

LADY FLO: Well, I'm in the deepest distress about the two young people. They seem to be at terrible loggerheads. Now, perhaps Jem confided thesecret of his unhappy married life to you?

SIR W. : He never said a word about it! (_Bites his lip. _)

LADY FLO: Nevertheless, I assure you they lead a cat-and-dog existence. 

SIR W. : Oh, dear, dear! Is that so?

LADY FLO: Why, of course! You saw them quarrelling yourself. But still Ihave hopes we may be able to arrange matters a little better for them. Who knows but what we may see them re-united before we leave this house?

SIR W. : We will do our best to help them, poor young things!

LADY FLO: Yes! Poor young things!

SIR W. : And I've no doubt we shall succeed. 

LADY FLO: At the same time, it seems to me as if the abyss between them_may_ widen. 

SIR W. : That may be so. The abyss _may_ widen! (_Indicates an imaginaryabyss, at which LADY FLO shakes her head_). 

LADY FLO: If a man and woman aren't made for one another----

SIR W. : Like you and me. I pointed that out to Jem. 

LADY FLO: I'm afraid it didn't affect him as it ought. (_With asentimental sigh_) The only consolation we can derive from themisfortune of our nephew and niece is that we are happier than they!

SIR W. : Clever little woman! (_Kisses her. _)

LADY FLO: Dear old Will! (_Kisses him. Then with a sudden change oftone_) But now I _must_ hear what it was Jem was saying to you when Icame into the room! You answered that "of course you wouldn't tell hisaunt for the wide world. " That must have been a _façon de parler_!

[Illustration: SIR W. : "THE ABYSS MAY WIDEN!" (INDICATES AN IMAGINARYABYSS. )]

SIR W. : Of course! of course! And you shall know all about it as soon asI have asked Jem's leave. Meanwhile we must attend to the fates of theseunhappy young people. We had better first try to show them theirgrievous fault as gently as possible, and if gentleness does notanswer----

LADY FLO: Oh, yes! Gentleness is all very well! But I tell you quitecandidly, Will, that before we talk of gentleness I must insist onknowing what it is you told Jem that you would not let me hear. 

SIR W. : The fact is, my dear----(_Coughs. _)

LADY FLO: Tell me what the fact is, and at once, my dear!

SIR W. : The facts are, dear child----(_Coughs again. _)

LADY FLO (_irritated_): Don't cough!

SIR W. (_continues coughing_): Well! it's a long story. 

LADY FLO: Haven't you a lozenge?

SIR W. : Never mind the lozenge! The story, I say, is a long one. 

LADY FLO: Long or short, I must hear it!

SIR W. : I'll tell it to you, later on. 

LADY FLO: I begin to suspect you can't tell me all about it, simply--because you _can't_!

SIR W. : Oh! I can! I could!

LADY FLO: Oh, no, you can't. You couldn't, and you ought to be ashamedof yourself!

SIR W. : You are going just a little bit too far, Florence. 

LADY FLO: Oh, no; it was _you_ who went too far. Why, I knew it by thelook on your face the instant I came into the room!

SIR W. (_aside_): She is going very much too far. (_Aloud_) Nonsense!

LADY FLO: I beg pardon?

SIR W. : I repeat "Nonsense. " And _ridiculous nonsense_!

LADY FLO: Then, how dare you?

SIR W. : You forget yourself strangely. 

LADY FLO: Do not attempt to adopt your nephew's manner to his wifetowards me!

SIR W. : It is _you_, my love, who are unfortunate in your choice of amanner this morning; and although pettishness in a young girl like Kittyhas a certain little charm of its own----

LADY FLO: Yes!

SIR W. : When a woman has reached your time of life----

LADY FLO (_furious_): Yes!!!

SIR W. : Petulance sits remarkably ill upon her--upon _you_, my dear----

LADY FLO: When a man has reached your time of life and remains as greata fool----

SIR W. (_furious_): A fool?

LADY FLO: Yes! As great a fool and an idiot as ever----

SIR W. : I was always aware you had the very devil of a temper, Florence, and now, after fifteen years of married life, I make the discovery thatyou can be excessively--ahem!--unladylike. 

LADY FLO: It's highly amusing to hear you express an opinion on thesubject of how a lady should behave. When one remembers your sisters, one is inclined to believe you were not, perhaps, brought up in a schoolof the very highest standard. 

SIR W. : You insult my sisters! _(Becomes much excited and takes her bythe arm. )_ Repeat that again!

(_Enter JEM. Stands in amazement. _)

JEM: For Heaven's sake, what _is_ the matter?

SIR W. : Ask your Aunt Florence, my dear boy. 

LADY FLO: I feel positively ashamed that you should come upon us--uponyour uncle, I mean--at a moment when he is behaving like a ravingmadman!

JEM: A raving madman! My uncle Jem!

LADY FLO: Man-like, you side with a man! (_With increasing agitation_) Ihave always known your uncle to be a weak, nerveless----(_Enter KITTY. Looks around, dumfounded. _)

[Illustration: JEM: "WHAT IS THE MATTER?"]

KITTY: Dear aunty! I'm frightened! You can't be well! What does thismean?

LADY FLO: Only that your husband is inciting mine to be abusive. 

KITTY: Impossible!

LADY FLO: Woman-like, you side with a man! Let me tell you that yourpoor uncle is pitiable in his foolishness this morning. 

SIR W. : Florence! Once for all, I assert my authority. Be silent thismoment, or I shall feel obliged to ask you to return home. 

LADY FLO: Without you?

SIR W. : If that pleases you!

LADY FLO: It would suit me remarkably well. 

SIR W. : In that case--"Go!"

LADY FLO: I shall, instantly; and when you desire to come home, I shallgive the servants orders not to admit you----

SIR W. (_turning to JEM_): A man not admitted to his own house! That'srather too good, isn't it, Jem?

LADY FLO: We shall see! (_Turns to KITTY_) Meanwhile, Kitty, I bid yougood-bye. 

KITTY: Oh! Aunty! You can't mean that! Pray don't say good-bye!

LADY FLO (_dramatically_): Yes, I mean "_Good-bye_"! (_Brushes furiouslypast SIR WILLIAM, and exit. KITTY makes movement to follow, but returnsto SIR WILLIAM and JEM. _)

SIR W. _(bitterly):_ Don't hold her back, Kitty. 

JEM: You are mad!

SIR W. : Less mad than you, when an hour ago you told me you found lifeintolerable with Kitty. 

KITTY (_moved_): He said that? _Jem_ said that to you?

JEM: No, no! (_Compunctious. _)

SIR W. : Oh! It's an easy matter for two young people to kiss again withtears. 'Twill be a different matter between your aunt and me. Florencewill have no chance, however much she may wish it. The time has comefor me to put down my foot at last. (_Exit, talking and gesticulatingangrily. _)

(_After the exit of SIR WILLIAM, JEM and KITTY look up slowly at oneanother. Their eyes meet. They turn away. _)

JEM: (_much embarrassed_): Kitty!

KITTY: Jem!

JEM: This is painful! In fact, it's worse than wicked--it's vulgar!

KITTY (_gently_): It's simply dreadful to see two people behaving insuch a way. 

JEM: And at their time of life!

KITTY: That's the awful part of it!

JEM: I wonder how they can do it!

KITTY (_archly, yet on the verge of tears_): So do I!

(_At the last words they turn; their eyes meet. KITTY falters. JEMfalters. After a moment they fall into one another's arms. _)

[Illustration: KITTY: "SPLENDID! I NEVER SAW ANYTHING SO WELL DONE!"

SIR W. : "IT'S NO LAUGHING MATTER!"]

_Enter PORTER_: Her ladyship has bidden me to put her trunks together, ma'am. 

KITTY: Wait a minute, Porter. Perhaps I can persuade her ladyship tostay. (_Voices from without. _)

LADY FLO: I wish to go this instant, and alone. 

SIR W. : By all means, and to-morrow my lawyer shall wait on you. 

LADY FLO: And mine on you. (_After a moment, they enter. _)

LADY FLO: And it has come to this, William!

SIR W. : By mutual consent. This is the happiest day of my life. Ibreathe again. I know now I have never breathed until this moment sincethe day I married you!

LADY FLO: This is beyond everything! (_Violently excited. _)

JEM (_whispers aside to KITTY, unobserved; play on both sides; then, after evidently agreeing on a plan, pretend to treat the matter as ajoke; advancing_): Bravo! Bravissimo! _Capital!_ (_Roars with forcedlaughter. _)

KITTY: Splendid! I never saw anything so well done! (_Joins her husbandin laughter. _)

SIR W. : It's no laughing matter!

JEM: Ha! ha! I daresay not. 

KITTY: Irving and Ellen Terry are not in it! (_Continues laughing. _)

LADY FLO: What _can_ you mean?

JEM: Oh, don't pretend that you and my uncle have not been getting upthis little comedy of a quarrel, merely to show Kitty and me what foolswe look when _we_ are fighting! Why! It was better than any play I eversaw!

SIR W. : It's all been in sober earnest, I assure you. 

(_LADY FLO recovers slightly. Looks first at JEM, then at KITTY, andlastly at SIR WILLIAM. _)

LADY FLO (_slowly_): You call--all--this--a little comedy? (_Recoversmore, but very gradually. _)

KITTY: Why, yes! Don't attempt to say it wasn't--(_slyly_)--especiallyafter all you told me this morning about how cleverly you manage myuncle. Just let me see you glance at him in the way you said you could. (_Whispering. _)

(_LADY FLO further recovers herself. Her expression softens. After aminute or two she smiles meaningly to herself. _)

JEM: Now, Uncle Will, do finish off by pretending to make up thequarrel! There's my aunt waiting with her smile already!

SIR W. (_stupidly_): _Pretend_ to make up the quarrel?

LADY FLO (_suddenly radiant_): Why, yes! You silly old goose! Don't yousee the fun? Pretend to give me a kiss at once. (_They kiss. _)

JEM and KITTY (_aside_): That's a comfort. (_They walk up stage. _)

LADY FLO (_aside to SIR WILLIAM_): I can see you are dying to makeamends for all you have just said!

SIR W. : I don't deny that I may be!

LADY FLO: Then tell me what it was you were concocting with Jem! There'san old dear!

SIR W. : Since we are all good friends again I don't mind telling you Jemwas confiding his little troubles to me. 

LADY FLO: But you had already found them out!

SIR W. : And also that there was a possibility of a separation!

LADY FLO: Silly children!

SIR W. : Had you not at once flown into a rage, I should have broken mypromise to Jem, and have told you all!

LADY FLO: That was quite right of you. (_They walk up stage, amicably, arm-in-arm. JEM and KITTY walk to CENTRE. _)

JEM: You will find me ready dressed to start for eight o'clock matins, to-morrow morning, Kitty!

KITTY: Oh! That's very much too much to ask of you!

JEM: Not at all! Providing you won't insist on going out with the guns. 

KITTY: I shall only wish what _you_ wish from this day forward, dearestJem!

JEM: That's all right! (_They kiss, laughingly, as the curtain descends. LADY FLO and SIR WILLIAM look on smiling. _)

FOOTNOTES:

[A] The rights of representation are reserved. 

ZIG ZAGS AT THE ZOO

ZIG ZAG CURSOREAN

ARTHUR MORRISON AND J. R. SHEPARD

[Illustration]

Such birds as, having wings, fly not, preferring to walk, to run, or towaddle, as legs and other circumstances may permit or compel--these arethe cursores: such birds also as, having no wings, or none to speak of, run by compulsion on such legs as they may muster. These are many--somany that I almost repent me of the heading to this chapter, wherein Imay speak only of the struthiones among the cursores--the curiouscassowary, the quaint kiwi, the raucous rhea, the errant emeu, and theovertopping ostrich. But the heading is there--let it stand; for in thename of the cursores I see the raw material of many sad jokes--whereuntoI pray I may never be tempted, but may leave them for an easy exercisefor such as have set out upon the shameless career of the irreclaimablepun-flinger. 

[Illustration: "GET OUT OF THIS!"]

It was some time--years--before I got rid of the impression left upon meby the first ostrich with which I became acquainted. He lived in an oldpicture-book, and would nowadays be considered quite out of fashion byup-to-date ostriches, having webbed feet and an improper number of toes. I like to believe that feet of this sort were popular among ostriches atthat time, being loath to destroy early beliefs. From the same cause, Ihave other little private superstitions about the ostrich; there was noostrich, so far as I can remember, in my Noah's ark, whence I derive myconviction that the species cannot have existed at the time of theDeluge, but has been evolved, in the succeeding centuries, by a gradualapproach and assimilation of the several characteristics of the cameland the goose. 

The two ostriches here, at the Zoo, have no pet names bestowed on themby the keepers. This is inconvenient, not to say unfair. They have beenplaced, it will be observed, in the stables hitherto occupied by thelate lamented giraffes. It is a striking and notable instance of careand the sense of fitness of things on the part of the Society. Thesestables, they probably reflected, have all along been fitted withtenants twenty feet high--queer tenants, which were often calledcamelopards. We can't replace these with similar tenants, unfortunately, but we will do our best with animals as high as possible and with allavailable neck; and they shall be camel-geese. And here they are; a fewfeet short, unavoidably, but as high as possible; quite the equivalentof the giraffes so far as concerns the camel, and as much superior asone may consider a goose to a leopard. And here you may stand and watchthem, or sit. And you may watch, if you please, for the coming of thegiraffes which the Society are now anxious to buy, or for the wanderingwraiths of those dead, dispossessed, and indignant. Meantime inventingnames for the two camel-geese--let us say Atkinson and Pontius Pilate. 

[Illustration: ATKINSON DOZES. ]

[Illustration: HIGH KICKS. ]

I like to stand by Atkinson till he dozes. Atkinson is a fine, bigfellow, and when he squats down his head is in a convenient position forobservation. Presently he gapes; then his eyes shut, and his beakdroops--just a very little. Then the beak droops a little more, andsigns of insecurity appear about the neck. Very soon a distinctdeparture from the vertical is visible in that neck; it melts downruinously till almost past recovery, and then suddenly springs erect, carrying an open-eyed head, wherefrom darts a look of indignantrepudiation of any disposition to fall asleep; and so keeps until theeyes close again. I have waited long, but have never seen Atkinson fallpermanently asleep. 

[Illustration: GILLIE CALLUM. ]

The possibilities of the ostrich are not properly recognised. He isdomesticated, and bred with the utmost ignominy in a poultry run, andhis tail is pulled out with impunity. I am not quite sure that hehabitually figures on South African dinner tables with his legs skeweredto his ribs, but he has fallen quite low enough for that; submittingeven to the last indignity of being hatched out by a common stoveincubator. Now, the elephant has also been domesticated, but he has alsobeen allowed to adopt a profession. He dances on a tub and rides atricycle at a circus. Nothing of this sort has been attempted with theostrich, but much might be done. He would make a first-rate bicyclist, and could get through much of the business of the "eccentric comedian. "A couple of them would go to make a capital knockabout act. High kicksof the very highest, floor-strides of the very longest--and there wouldbe a world of opportunities in the neck. No end of possibilities lie inthe neck--even the "legitimate. " You could run in a forty-minute sketch, wherein two long-separated but faithful lovers should fall against eachother and wind their necks about together like a caduceus, orbarley-sugar--or anything. Also the camel-goose might fling his neckabout the villain, and strangle him. But perhaps, after all, varietybusiness would suit best. Pontius Pilate in a kilt and philibeg wouldbring down the house with a Highland fling or gillie callum. AndAtkinson in a long-stride table chair and banjo act would be comfortingto the perceptions. 

[Illustration: LONG SEPARATED. ]

Whether the ostrich is actually such an ass as to hide his head with anotion of concealing himself I don't quite know, but there is certainlya deal of ass in the camel-goose. A Hottentot will put an ostrich skinover his head, and walking with his natural shanks exposed get among anostrich family and kill them off one after another, to the family'sastonishment. Now, a bird who mistakes a nigger with a mask for anintimate relation plainly enjoys in his composition a large flavour ofthe ass. Not knowing it, however, the camel-goose is just as happy, andneither experiences the bitterness of being sold nor the sweetness ofselling. I don't believe that Atkinson was even aware of the triumphantsell which he lately assisted in administering to Mr. Toots, the catfrom the camel-house. 

The cat in the ostrich-house is a sly fellow, and I believe he knows whythere are fewer pigeons in the roof of the hippopotamus-house than therewere. He horribly sold Mr. Toots, who was anxious to have a snack ofpoultry himself, for a change. "In my house, " said this bold, bad cat, "there are the biggest pigeons you ever saw. Go in and try one, while Ilook out for the keeper. " And the trustful Mr. Toots went in; and when, full of a resolve to make it hot for everything feathered in that house, Mr. Toots bounced into the presence of Atkinson, who is rather more thanseven feet high, he came out anxious for the scalp of that other cat. Inever mention this little adventure to Mr. Toots, who is sensitive, butall the other Zoo cats chaff him terribly. Even Jung Perchad and theother elephants snigger quietly as they pass, and Bob the Bactrian, fromthe camel-house, laughs outright; it is a horrid, coarse, vulgar, exasperating laugh, that of Bob's. Atkinson, however, is all unconsciousof the joke, and remains equally affable to cats, pigeons, and humanbeings. 

[Illustration]

Pontius Pilate is just the sort of camel-gander that _would_ bury itshead to hide itself. Pontius Pilate is, I fear, an ass; also a snob. Hehas a deal of curiosity with regard to Atkinson, who is a recentarrival, and lately belonged to the Queen. Also, he is often disposed topay a visit--with his head--to Atkinson's quarters, and take a friendlysnack--at Atkinson's expense; this by an insinuation of the neck outbetween his own bars and in between those of Atkinson, adjoining. But hedoesn't understand the laws of space. Having once fetched his neckaround the partition into Atkinson's larder by chancing to poke his headthrough the end bars, he straightway assumes that what is possiblebetween some bars is possible between all; and wheresoever he may now bestanding when prompted by companionable peckishness, straight he plungesamong the nearest bars, being mightily astonished at his inability toreach next door, if by chance he have dropped among bars far fromAtkinson's. He suspects his neck. Is the ungrateful tube playing himfalse? Maliciously shortening? Or are his eyes concerned in fraud? Heloops his head back among his own adjoining bars, with a vague suspicionthat they may be Atkinson's after all; and he stretches and strugglesdesperately. Some day Pontius Pilate will weave himself among thosebars, basket fashion, only to be extricated by a civil engineer and apractical smith. Pontius Pilate is the sort of camel-gander that damagesthe intellectual reputation of the species. Of course he would bury hishead to hide himself. Equally of course he would muzzle himself toprevent you from biting him, or tie his legs together to prevent youfrom running and catching him, or anything else equally clever. PontiusPilate, I have known you long--even loved you, in a way. But I haveobserved you closely, and though, like Dogberry, you may have everythingfine about you, I am impelled sorrowfully to write you down an ass. 

The ostrich is one of those birds whose whole command of facialexpression is carried in the neck. He can only express himself throughhis features by offering you different views of his head. This is agreat disadvantage. It limits the range. You may express threesentiments by the back, front, and side of the head, and something byway of combination in a three-quarter face. Then you stop, and have nofurther resource than standing on your head, one of the few things anostrich is not clever at. But with such materials as he has, the ostrichdoes very well. Observe, his mouth is long, and droops at the corners;but the corners are wide apart, for there the head is broad. 

[Illustration]

Now you may present simple drama by the aid of this mouth--suitablydisposed and ordered by the neck. Take Atkinson, here, whose beak has acertain tip-tinting distrusted of the teetotaler. Bend his head (only intheory, because Atkinson won't stand any practical nonsense)--bend hishead to look downward, and let his neck wilt away sleepily. Now, viewedfrom the side, where is a more lamentable picture of maudlinintoxication? What could improve it, except, perhaps, a battered hat, worn lop-sided, and a cigar-stump? He is a drunken old camel-gander, coming home in the small hours, and having difficulties with hislatch-key. Straighten Atkinson's neck, open wide his eyes, and take athree-quarter face view of him. Sober, sour, and indignant, therestands, not the inebriated Atkinson, but the disturbed Mrs. Atkinson onthe stairs, with a candle, and a nightcap, and a lecture. That awfulmouth actually conjures that candle, that nightcap, and that lectureinto existence--you see and hear them more clearly than you do Atkinson, although they are not there. But this is an advanced exercise instruthian expression--a complicated feat, involving various and complexelements. There is the neck-wilt and the bending of the head; also thethree-quarter face, not a simple element. 

[Illustration]

The plain and elementary principles of struthian expression lie in themere front and side views. The third simple view, the back, is notparticularly eloquent, although practice might do something even forthat. At the side the ostrich is glum, savage, misanthropical, depressed--what you will of that sort. Let him but turn and face you--hecan't help a genial grin. All done by the versatile neck, you observe, which gives the head its position. 

[Illustration: GLUM SIDE. ]

[Illustration: GENIAL FRONT. ]

Man, instigated by woman, has a habit of pulling out the camel-gander'stail. This ruins the appearance of the site of that tail, withoutcommensurately improving the head whereunto the tail is transplanted--anunprofitable game of heads and tails, wherein tails lose and heads don'twin. Even the not over clever ostrich knows better than to wear thosefeathers on the wrong end. Perhaps he knows that he is enough of a foolalready. 

There is a deal of hidden interest about the ostrich's neck. It is thecleverest piece of an ostrich--unless you count his stomach; and even inthe triumphs of the stomach the neck takes a great share. When acamel-goose lunches off a box of dominoes, or a sack of nails, or abasketful of broken bottles, there is quite as much credit in the featdue to the neck as to the stomach; with anybody else all thedifficulties of that lunch would begin with the neck--even a thickerneck. Parenthetically, one remembers that the ostrich's neck is notalways thin. Catch Atkinson here in a roaring soliloquy, and you shallsee his red neck distended as a bladder, with a mighty grumbling andgrunting. This by the way. The neck makes nothing of the dominodifficulty, or the tenpenny nail difficulty, or the door-knobdifficulty, or the broken bottle difficulty--which are not difficultiesto the camel-goose. On the contrary, the neck revels in them and keepsthe dainties as long as possible. Give Pontius Pilate, or Atkinson--I amquite impartial--an apple. When he swallows it you shall see it, in abulge, pass along and _round_ his neck; down it goes and backward, in agradual curve, until it disappears among the feathers--corkscrews, infact. Observe, I recommend an apple for this demonstration. Dominoes andclinkers are all very well, but they rattle about inside, and disturbthe visitors; and with an apple you will the more plainly observe thatcorkscrew. 

[Illustration: HEADS AND TAILS. ]

[Illustration: A ROARING SOLILOQUY. ]

Not satisfied, you perceive, with enjoying his domino or his door-knoball the way along that immense neck, the camel-gander must needs indulgein a spiral gullet. It is mere gluttony. Especially is it wicked ofAtkinson, who has already the longest bird-neck in all these gardens. Look at the necks of all the cursores. The poor little wingless kiwi, with a mere nothing of a neck--for a cursore. _He_ does without a spiralgullet. The festive cassowary--which, by-the-bye, _doesn't_ abound--orexist--on the plains of Timbuctoo, as the rhyme says--the festivecassowary, I say, wears his gullet plain. The rusty rhea takes thingsbelow with perfect directness. The lordly emeu gets his dinner down asquickly as the length of his neck will permit. It is only when onereaches the top of the cursorean thermometer, all among the boilings, soto speak, that the ostrich, with the longest neck of all, must poachanother few inches by going in for a spiral. Pontius Pilate is badenough, but a spiral for Atkinson!--well, there!

The partiality of the struthians for eccentric refreshments--clinkers, nut-crackers, and the like--leads many to a superstition that thesethings are as nourishing as they are attractive. They're not. Certainliberal asses have a curious habit of presenting the birds withhalfpence. I scarcely understand why, unless modern environments haveevolved penny-in-the-slotomaniacs. And I am prepared to bet that onoccasions they are less generous with their pence. Nevertheless, they doit, and it kills the birds. One cassowary who died recently was found tocontain one and eightpence in copper. I suggest that in future theexperimentalizers confine their contributions to bank-notes. I havetaken the trouble to ascertain that these will do no harm while theirdisappearance will afford an additional enjoyment to the contributorscommensurate with their higher value. 

Perhaps there is something in the habits of the cassowary himself thatexplains these offerings. The cassowary always comes to meet you at thebars with a look of grave inquiry. If you offer no tribute he turns off, with many cockings of the beak, surprised, indignant, and contemptuous. Very few people can endure this. They hastily produce anything theyhave--anything to conciliate the contemptuous cassowary. And as he takesit, an expression steals across the cassowary's face which seems toadmit that perhaps the fellow isn't such a shocking outsider after all. When a man has nothing more nutritive about him, this form of extortionmay produce halfpence. 

[Illustration: THE CURSOREAN THERMOMETER. ]

The rhea is small potatoes beside the ostrich--merely a smaller anddingier camel-gander. But the emeu is a fine upstanding fellow, with hishaughty sailing head and his great feather boa. 

[Illustration: THE CASSOWARY DISGUSTED. ]

He is a friendly and inquisitive chap, and will come stalking down tothe wires to inspect you. If you like to walk up and down outside hisinclosure he will take a turn with you, walking at your side and turningwhen you do. He is justly proud of his height and his ruff, but there isnothing objectionably haughty about the emeu; I have always found himready for a quiet chat. He will eat various things, like the ostrich; sothat one regards him with a certain respect, not to say awe, for thereis no telling what wonderful things may or may not be inside him. Thebiggest and handsomest emeu here is my particular friend. When he talksto you or walks by your side he is very fine; but when he walks about alittle way off, with his head to the ground, foraging, he looks ratherlike a tortoise on stilts, which is not imposing. Sometimes, when hethinks nobody is looking, he rushes madly up and down his territory byway of relieving his pent-up feelings, stopping very suddenly andlooking cautiously about to assure himself that nobody saw him. I callthis emeu Grimaldi; firstly, because Grimaldi is rather a fine name, andsecondly, because when once you have had a view of his head from theback you can't call him anything else. 

[Illustration: THE PROUD EMEU. ]

[Illustration: GRIMALDI. ]

[Illustration: THE DIET OF WORMS. ]

The most extraordinary bird in the world is the kiwi. But it is not themost extraordinary bird seen by visitors to the Zoo, because they neversee it. The kiwi buries itself asleep all day, and only comes out in thenight to demolish an unpleasant and inconvenient proverb. The kiwi isthe latest of all the birds, but catches the most worms. For this let ushonour the kiwi, and hurl him in the face of the early risers. He stampsabout the ground in the dark night, and the worm, being naturally afool, as even the proverb demonstrates, comes up to investigate, and isat once cured of early rising for ever. The kiwi, having no wings(unless you count a bit of cartilage an inch or so long, buried underthe down), has the appearance of running about with his hands in hispockets because of the cold. And being covered with something more likehair than feathers, is a deal more like a big rat than a bird of anysort. Indeed, I don't believe the kiwi himself has altogether made uphis mind which to be. Before he decides he will probably become extinct. Any glimpse his friends have of him here is short. Suddenly brought outinto the day, he stands for a moment, and blinks; then he puts his beakup and his legs apart, and there is a black streak and a heap of strawwhere it vanishes. 

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

_One and Two. _

BY WALTER BESANT. 

I. 

"Nell!" cried the boy, jumping about, unable to stand still forexcitement. "It is splendid! He has told me such things as I neverdreamed. Oh! splendid things! Wonderful things!"

"Tell me, Will. "

"I am ashamed. Well, then, he says--he says"--the boy's face becamecrimson--"he says that I can become whatever I please, if I please. Itis all in me--all--all! If I want to be a statesman--I may. If I want tobecome a judge--I may. If I should like to be a bishop--I may. If agreat scholar--a great writer--I may. All, he says, is possible for me, if I choose to work--all--if I choose to work. Oh! Nell--isn't it--isn'tit wonderful?" He dropped his voice, and his eyes glistened--his largedreamy eyes--and his cheeks glowed. "If I choose to work. As if I shouldnot choose to work! Only those fellows who have got no such gloriousprospects are lazy. Work? Why, I am mad to work. I grudge every hour. Work? You shall see how I will work!"

[Illustration: "IT IS SPLENDID!"]

He was a lad of seventeen, handsome, tall and straight; his eyes werefull and limpid; his face was a long oval, his mouth delicate and fine, but perhaps not quite so firm as might have been desired. At this momenthe had just held a conference with his private tutor. It took the formof a remonstrance and an explanation. The remonstrance pointed out thathis work was desultory and liable to be interrupted at any moment, forany caprice: that steady grind was incompatible with the giving away ofwhole mornings to musical dreams at the piano, or to rambles in thewoods, a book of poetry in hand. The explanation was to the effect thatthe great prizes of the world are all within the reach of every cleverlad who starts with a sufficiency of means and is not afraid of work;and that he himself--none other--possessed abilities which would justifyhim in aiming at the very highest. But he must work: he must work: hehad been to no school and knew nothing of competitions with otherfellows: he must make up for that by hard grind. Think what it may meanto a young fellow of imagination and of dreams, this throwing open ofthe gates of the Temple of Ambition--this invitation to mount the stepsand enter that great and glittering dome. The temple, within, is allglorious with crowns of gold set with precious stones and with crownsof bay and laurel. Day and night ascends a hymn in praise of the living;they themselves--the living who have succeeded--sit on thrones of carvedwoodwork precious beyond price, and hear and receive this homage all daylong. This lad, only by looking in at the open doors, gasped, andblushed, and panted; his colour came and went, his heart beat; he couldnot stand still. 

His companion--they were in a country garden, and it was the spring ofthe year--was a girl of fifteen, who hung upon his words and adored him. Some women begin the voluntary servitude to the man they love at a veryearly age indeed. Nelly at fifteen loved this boy of seventeen as muchas if they had both been ten years older. 

"Yes, " she said, timidly, and the manner of her saying it betrayedcertain things. "And you will work, Will, won't you?"

"Work? Nell, since your father has spoken those words of encouragement, I feel that there is nothing but work left in me--regularwork--methodical, systematic work, you know. Grind, grind, grind! Nomore music, no more singing, no more making rhymes--grind, grind, grind!I say, Nell, I've always dreamed, you know----"

"You have, Will. "

"And to find that things may actually come true--actually--the finestthings that ever I dared to dream--oh!"

"It is wonderful, Will!" Both of them began to think that the finestthings had already been achieved. 

"It is like having your fortune doubled--trebled--multiplied by ten. Better. If my fortune were multiplied by fifty I could spend no more, Icould eat no more, I believe I could do no more with it. "

"Genius, " said the girl, blushing, because it really did seem anoriginal thing to say, "is better than riches. "

"It is, it is, " the possessor of genius replied, with conviction. "Tohave enough is to have all. I can, if I please, become a bishop, ajudge, a statesman--anything, anything. Nell, " his voice dropped, "thethought makes me tremble. I feel as if I shall not be equal to theposition. There is personal dignity, you know. "

The girl laughed. "You not equal, Will? Why, you are strong enough foranything. "

"I have made up my mind what to do first of all. When I go to CambridgeI shall take up classics. Of course I must take the highest classicalhonours. I shall carry off all the University scholarships, and themedals, and the prizes. Oh! and I must speak at the Union. I must leadat the Union, and I must be an athlete. " He was tall and thin, and hestretched out his long arms. "I shall row in the boat--the 'Varsityboat, of course. I shall play in the Eleven. "

"Oh, Will, you are too ambitious. "

"No man, " he said, severely, "can be too ambitious. I would grasp all. Imust sweep the board. "

"And then?"

"Ah! There, I have not yet decided. The Church, to raise the world. TheLaw, to maintain the social order. The House, to rule the nation. Literature, Science, Art--which?"

"In whatever you do, Will, you are certain to rise to the front rank. "

"Certain. Your father says so. Oh! I feel as if I was already Leader ofthe House. It is a splendid thing to rule the House. I feel as if I wasLord Chancellor in my robes--on the woolsack. Nothing so grand as to beLord Chancellor. I feel as if I was Archbishop of Canterbury. It is amost splendid thing, mind you, to be Archbishop of Canterbury. Whatcould be more splendid? He wears lawn sleeves, and he sits in the Houseof Lords. But I must work. The road to all these splendid things, asyour father says, is through work. It wants an hour yet to dinner. Iwill give that hour to Euripides. No more waste of time for me, Nell. "

He nodded his head and ran into the house, eager not to lose a moment. 

The girl looked after him admiringly and fondly. "Oh!" she murmured;"what a splendid thing to be a man and to become Archbishop, and LordChancellor, and Leader of the House! Oh! how clever he is, and how greathe will become!"

 * * * * *

"I've had a serious talk with Challice to-day, " said the private tutorto his wife in the evening. 

"Will is _such_ a nice boy, " said the wife. "What a pity that he won'twork!"

"He's got enough money to begin with, and he has never been to a publicschool. I have been firing his imagination, however, with the rich andvaried prospect before a boy who really will work and has brains. He isa dreamer; he has vague ambitions; perhaps I may have succeeded infixing them. But who knows? He is a dreamer. He plays the piano andlistens to the music. Sometimes he makes verses. Who knows what such alad may do?"

II. 

Two years later, the same pair stood in the same place at the sameseason of the year. Term was over--the third term of the first year atCambridge. 

"I haven't pleased your father, " said the young man--he was slight andboyish-looking still, but on his face there was a new stamp--he hadeaten of the tree of knowledge. "I have won no scholarships and taken noprizes. My grand ideas about University laurels are changed. You see, Nell, I have discovered that unless one goes into the Church a gooddegree helps nobody. And, of course, it ruins a man in other ways to putin all the time working for a degree. "

"You know, " said Nell, "we don't think so here. "

"I know. Then you see I had to make the acquaintance of the men and toshow them that I was a person of--of some importance. A man who can playand sing is always useful. We are an extremely social College, andthe--the friction of mind with mind, you know--it is the best educationpossible for a man--I'm sure it is--much better than poring over Plato. Then I found so many things in which I was deficient. French fiction, for example; and I knew so very little about Art--oh! I have passed amost busy and useful time. "

He forgot to mention such little things as nap, _écarté_, loo, billiards, Paris, and London, as forming part of his education. Yeteverybody will own that these are important elements in the forming of aman. 

"I see, " said Nell. 

"But your father won't. He is all for the Senate House. You do take alittle interest in me still, Nell? Just a little interest--in an oldfriend?"

"Of course I do, Will. " She blushed and dropped her eyes. Their fingerstouched, but only for a moment. The touching of fingers is veryinnocent. Perhaps it was accidental. 

[Illustration: "HE SPOKE VERY GRANDLY. "]

"Nell, " said the young man, with deep feeling and earnestness, "whateverI do--to whatever height I rise, I shall always feel"--here he stoppedbecause he could hardly say that she had stimulated him or inspiredhim--"always feel, Nell, that it began here--it began here. " He lookedabout the garden. "On this spot I first resolved to become a great man. It was on the very day when your father told me that I might be great ifI chose; of course, I knew so much before, but it pleased me; itstimulated me. I told you here, on this spot, and you approved andcheered me on. Well, I don't, of course, tell any of the men about myambitions. Mostly, I suppose, they have got their own. Some of them, Iknow, don't soar above a country living--I laugh in my sleeve, Nell, when I listen to their confessions--a country living--a house and agarden and a church; that is a noble ambition, truly! I laugh, Nell, when I think of what I could tell them; the rapid upward climb; thedizzy height, the grasp of power and of authority!"

He spoke very grandly, and waved his hand and threw his head back andlooked every inch a leader--one round whom the soldiers of a holy causewould rally. The girl's eyes brightened and her cheek glowed, eventhough she remembered what at that moment she would rather haveforgotten: the words of her father at breakfast. "Challice has donenothing, " he said, "he has attempted nothing; now he will never doanything. It is just as I expected. A dreamer! A dreamer!"

"It was here, " Will continued, "that I resolved on greatness. It was onthis spot that I imparted my ambition to you. Nell, on this spot I againimpart to you my choice. I will become a great statesman. I have moneyto start me--most fellows have to spend the best part of their lives ingetting money enough to give them a start. I shall be the Leader of theHouse. Mind, to anyone but you this ambition would seem presumptuous. Itis my secret which I trust with you, Nell. " He caught her hands, drewher gently, and kissed her on the forehead. "Dear Nell, " he said, "longbefore my ambition is realized, you will be by my side, encouraging, andadvising, and consoling. "

He spoke as a young man should; and tenderly, as a lover should; butthere was something not right--a secret thorn--something jarred. In thebrave words--in the tender tones--there was a touch, a tone, a look, outof harmony. Will Challice could not tell his mistress that all day longthere was a voice within him crying: "Work, work! Get up and work! Allthis is folly! Work! Nothing can be done without work--work--work!"

III. 

It was about the beginning of the Michaelmas term that the veryremarkable occurrences or series of occurrences began which are thecause and origin of this history. Many men have failed and many havesucceeded. Will Challice is, perhaps, the only man who has ever doneboth, and in the same line and at the same time. The thing came upon himquite suddenly and unexpectedly. It was at two in the morning; he hadspent the evening quietly in the society of three other men and twopacks of cards. His own rooms, he observed as he crossed the court, werelit up--he wondered how his "gyp" could have been so careless. He openedhis door and entered his room. Heavens! At the table, on which the lampwas burning, sat before a pile of books--himself! Challice rubbed hiseyes; he was not frightened; there is nothing to alarm a man in thesight of himself, though sometimes a good deal to disgust; but if yousaw, in a looking-glass, your own face and figure doing _somethingelse_, you would be astonished: you might even be alarmed. Challice hadheard of men seeing rats, circles, triangles, even--he thought of hismisspent evenings which were by no means innocent of whisky and potash:he concluded that this must be an Appearance, to be referred, like therats and circles, to strong drink. He thought that it would vanish as hegazed. 

It did not: on the contrary, it became, if anything, clearer. There wasa reading lamp on the table which threw a strong circle of light uponthe bent head of the reader. Then Will Challice began to tremble and hisknees gave way. The clock ticked on the mantel-shelf: else there was nosound: the College was wrapped and lapped in the silence of sleep. 

He nerved himself: he stepped forwards. "Speak, " he cried, and the soundof his own voice terrified him. Who ever heard of a man questioninghimself in the dead of night? "Speak--What does this mean?"

[Illustration: "WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?"]

Then the reader lifted his head, placed a book-mark to keep his place, and turned slowly in his chair--one of those wooden chairs the seat ofwhich turns round. Yes--it was himself--his own face that met the faceof the returned reveller. But there was no terror in that face--aserious resolve, rather--a set purpose--grave eyes. He, the reader, leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. 

"Yes, " he said, and the voice again startled the other man. "You have aright--a complete right--to an explanation. I have felt for a long timethat something would have to be done; I've been going on in a mostuncomfortable manner. In spite of my continual remonstrances, I _could_not persuade you to work. You must have recognised that you containedtwo men: the one indolent, dreamy, always carried away by the pleasuresor caprice of the moment--a feather-brain. The other: ambitious, clear-headed, and eager for work. Your part would give my part nochance. Very well; we are partly separated. That is all. Partlyseparated. "

The dreamer sat down and stared. "I don't understand, " he said. 

"No more time will be lost, " the worker went on. "I have begun to work. For some time past I have been working at night--I am not going to standit any longer. "

"That's what made me so heavy in the morning, then?"

"That was the cause. Now, however, I am going to work in earnest, andall day long. "

"I don't care, if it's real; but this is a dream. I don't care so longas I needn't work with you. But, I say, what will the men say? I can'tpretend to have a twin, all of a sudden. "

"N--no. Besides, there are other difficulties. We belong to each other, you see. We must share these rooms. Listen, I have quite thought it out. At night we shall be one; at breakfast and in the Hall we will be one;you shall give me the entire use of these rooms all day and all theevening for work. In examinations of course you will remain here lockedin, while I go to the Senate House. You will go to chapel for both. "

"N--no. Chapel must belong to you. "

"I say you will go to chapel for both. " This with resolution. 

"Oh!" the other Half gave way, "But what am I to do all day?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Do what you like. If you like to stay here youcan. You may play or sing. You may read your French novels; you will notdisturb me. But if you bring any of your friends here it will beawkward, because they will perceive that you are double. Now we will goto bed. It is half-past two. "

IV. 

In the morning Will awoke with a strange sense of something. Thisfeeling of something is not uncommon with young gentlemen who go to bedabout three. He got up and dressed. A cup of tea made him remember butimperfectly what had happened. "I must have had too much whisky, " hemurmured. "I saw myself--actually myself--hard at work. " Here his eyesfell upon the table. There were the books--books on PoliticalEconomy--with a note-book and every indication of work. More; he knew, he remembered, the contents of these books. He sat down bewildered. Thenit seemed as if there was a struggle within him as of two who strove formastery. "Work!" cried one. "I won't, " said the other. "You shall. " "Iwon't. " A most ignoble quarrel, yet it pulled him this way and thattowards the table or back in the long easy chair. Finally the struggleended: he fell back; he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, theroom was cleared of the breakfast things, and he saw himself sitting atthe table hard at work. 

"Good gracious!" he cried, springing to his feet. "Is what I remember oflast night real? Not a dream!"

"Not a dream at all. I will no longer have my career blasted at theoutset by your confounded laziness. I think you understand me perfectly. I am clear of you whenever I please. I join you when I please. "

"Oh! And have I the same power?"

"You? Certainly not. You are only the Half that won't work. You have gotno power at all. "

"Oh! Well--I shall not stand that. "

"You can't help yourself. I am the Intellectual Principle; mine is theWill: mine is the clear head and the authority. "

"What am I, then?"

"You? I don't know. You are me--yourself--without the IntellectualPrinciple. That is what you are. I must define you by negatives. Youcannot argue, or reason, or create, or invent: you remember like ananimal from assistance: you behave nicely because you have been trained:you are--in short--you are the Animal Part. "

"Oh!" He was angry: he did not know what to reply: he was humiliated. 

"Don't fall into a rage. Go away and amuse yourself. You can do anythingyou please. Come back, however, in time for Hall. "

The Animal Part obeyed. He went out leaving the other Part over hisbooks. He spent the morning with other men as industriously disposed ashimself. He found a strange lightness of spirits. There was noremonstrating voice within him reproaching him for his laziness, urginghim to get up and go to work. Not at all; that voice was silent; he wasleft quite undisturbed. He talked with these men over tobacco; he playedbilliards with them; he lay in a chair and looked at a novel. He hadluncheon and beer, and more tobacco. He went down the river in thecollege boat; he had an hour or two of whist before Hall. Then hereturned to his room. 

His other Half looked up, surprised. 

"Already? The day has flown. "

"One moment, " said Will, "before we go in. You're a serious sort, youknow, and I'm one of the--the lighter ornaments of the College, and Isit among them. It would be awkward breaking off all at once. Besides----"

"I understand. Continue to sit with them for awhile, and talk as muchidiotic stuff as you please. Presently you will find that a change ofcompanions and of conversation has become necessary. "

Nobody noticed any change; the two in one sat at table and ate like one;they talked like one; they talked frivolously, telling stories like one. After Hall they went back to their chambers. 

"You can leave me, " said the student. "I shall rest for an hour or so. Then I shall go on again. "

This very remarkable arrangement went on undisturbed for some time. Noone suspected it. No one discovered it. It became quite natural forChallice to go out of his room in the morning and to leave himself atwork; it became natural to go down to Hall at seven with a mingledrecollection of work and amusements. The reproaching voice was silent, the Animal Part was left at peace, and the Intellectual Part went onreading at peace. 

[Illustration: "WILL MET THE TUTOR. "]

One evening, however, going across the court at midnight, Will met thetutor. 

"Challice, " he said, "is it wise to burn the candle at both ends?Come--you told me this morning that you were working hard. What do youcall this? You cannot serve two masters. "

"It is quite true, " said the Reading Half on being questioned. "I haveforeseen this difficulty for some time. I called on the tutor thismorning, and I told him of my intention to work. He laughed aloud. Iinsisted. Then he pointed out the absurdity of pretending to work whileone was idling about all day. This is awkward. "

"What do you propose then?"

"I propose that you stay indoors all the morning until two o'clock, locked in. "

"What? And look on while you are mugging?"

"Exactly. You may read French novels: you may go to sleep. You must bequiet. Only, you must be here--all the morning. In the afternoon you maydo what you please. I may quite trust you to avoid any effort of thebrain. Oh! And you will avoid anything stronger than tea before Hall. Nomore beer for lunch. It makes me heavy. "

"No more beer? But this is tyranny. "

"No. It is ambition. In the evening you may go out and play cards. Ishall stay here. "

They went to bed. It seemed to Will as if the other Part of him--theIntellectual Part--ordered him to go to sleep without further thought. 

This curious life of separation and of partial union continued, in fact, for the whole of the undergraduate time. Gradually, however, a greatchange came over the lazy Half--the Animal Half. It--he--perceived thatthe whole of his reasoning powers had become absorbed by theIntellectual Half. He became really incapable of reasoning. He could notfollow out a thought; he had no thoughts. This made him seem dull, because even the most indolent person likes to think that he has somepowers of argument. This moiety of Challice had none. He became quitedull; his old wit deserted him; he was heavy; he drifted gradually outof the society which he had formerly frequented; he perceived that hisold friends not only found him dull, but regarded him as a traitor. Hehad become, they believed, that contemptible person, the man who reads. He was no longer a dweller in the Castle of Indolence; he had gone overto the other side. 

Life became very dull indeed to this Half. He got into the habit oflying on a sofa, watching the other Half who sat at the table tearingthe heart out of books. He admired the energy of that Half; for himself, he could do nothing; if he read at all it was a novel of the lowestkind; he even bought the penny novelette and read that with interest; ifhe came to a passage which contained a thought or a reflection he passedit over. He had ceased to think; he no longer even troubled himselfabout losing the power of thought. 

Another thing came upon him; not suddenly, but gradually, so that he wasnot alarmed at it. He began to care no longer about the games of whichhe had formerly been so fond. Billiards, racquets, cards, all require, you see, a certain amount of reasoning, of quick intelligence and rapidaction. This unfortunate young man had no rapidity of intelligence left. He was too stupid to play games. He became too stupid even to row. 

He ceased to be a dreamer; all his dreams were gone; he ceased to makemusic at the piano; he ceased to sing; he could neither play nor sing:these things gave him no pleasure. He ceased, in short, to take interestin anything, cared for nothing, and hoped for nothing. 

In Hall the two in one sat now with the reading set. Their talk was allof books and "subjects, " and so forth. The Intellectual Half held hisown with the rest: nay, he became a person to be considered. It wasremarked, however, that any who met Challice out walking found himstupid and dull beyond belief. This was put down to preoccupation. Theman was full of his work; he was meditating, they said, his brain wasworking all the while; he was making up for lost time. 

In the evening the lazy Half sat in an easy chair and took tobacco, while the other Half worked. At eleven the Industrious Half disappeared. Then the Whole went to bed. 

They seldom spoke except when Industry had some more orders to give. Itwas no longer advice, or suggestion, or a wish, or a prayer: it was anorder. Indolence was a servant. "You took more wine than is good for meat dinner to-day, " said Industry. "Restrict yourself to a pint ofclaret, and that of the lightest, for the future. " Or, "You are nottaking exercise enough. If you have no longer brain power enough evenfor the sliding seat, walk--walk fast--go out to the top of the Gogs andback again. I want all my energies. " Once Indolence caught a cold: itwas a month before the May examinations. The wrath and reproaches ofIndustry, compelled to give up a whole day to nursing that cold, werevery hard to bear. Yet Indolence could not resist; he could not evenremonstrate; he was now a mere slave. 

When the examinations came it was necessary to observe precautions of aseverer kind. To begin with, Indolence had to get up at six and go foran hour's run, for the better bracing of the nerves; he had to stayhidden indoors all day, while his ambitious twin sat in the Hall, flooring papers. He had to give up tobacco in order to keep the otherHalf's head clear. "Courage, " said Intellect, "a day or two more and youshall plunge again into the sensuality of your pipe and your beer. Heavens! When I look at you, and think of what I was becoming!"

Industry got a scholarship; Intellect got a University medal; Ambitionreceived the congratulations of the tutor. 

"How long, " asked the Animal, "is this kind of thing going to continue?"

"How long? Do you suppose, " replied the other Half, "that I have givenup my ambition? Remember what you said two years ago. You were youngerthen. You would sweep the board; you would row in the University boat;you would play in the Eleven; you would be a Leader--in all, all! Youwould then take up with something--you knew not what--and you would stepto the front. You remember?"

"A dream--a dream. I was younger then. "

"No longer a dream. It is a settled purpose. Hear me. I am going to bea statesman. I shall play the highest game of all. I shall go into theHouse. I shall rise--slowly at first, but steadily. "

"And I?"

"You are a log tied to my heel, but you shall be an obedient log. If youwere not--"

Indolence shivered and crouched. "Am I then--all my life--to be yourservant?"

[Illustration: "INDOLENCE SHIVERED. "]

"Your life? No--my life. " The two glared at each other. "Silence, Log. Let me work. "

"I shall not be silent, " cried Indolence, roused to momentaryself-assertion. "I have no enjoyment left in life. You have takenall--all--"

"You have left what you loved best of all--your sloth. Lie down--andtake your rest. Why, you do nothing all day. A stalled ox is not morelazy. You eat and drink and take exercise and sleep. What more, for suchas you, has life to give? You are now an animal. My half has absorbedall the intellectual part of you. Lie down, I say--lie down, and let mework. "

The Animal could not lie down. He was restless. He walked about theroom. He was discontented. He was jealous. The other Half, he sawplainly, was getting the better share of things. That Half was admiredand envied. By accident, as he paced the room, he looked in the glass;and he started, for his face had grown heavy: there was a bovine lookabout the cheeks: the eyes were dull: the mouth full. Then the otherHalf rose and stood beside him. Together they looked at their own faces. "Ha!" cried Ambition, well satisfied at the contrast. "It works already. Mine is the face intended for me: yours is the face into which thisdegenerate mould might sink. Mine contains the soul; yours--the animal. You have got what you wanted, Sloth. Your dreams are gone from you. Ihave got them, though, and I am turning them into action. As time goeson, your face will become more bovine, your eyes duller. What will bethe end?" His brow darkened. "I don't know. We are like the Siamesetwins. "

"One of them took to drink, " murmured the inferior Half. "What if I wereto follow his example?"

"You will not. You do not dare?" But his blanched face showed his terrorat the very thought. 

V. 

The first step was achieved. The first class was gained. Challice ofPembroke was second classic; he might have been senior but for theunaccountable laziness of his first year. He was University scholar, medallist, prizeman; he was one of the best speakers at the Union. Hewas known to be ambitious. He was not popular, however, because he wasliable to strange fits of dulness; those who met him wandering about thebanks of the river found him apparently unable to understand things; atsuch times he looked heavy and dull; it was supposed that he wasabstracted; men respected his moods, but these things do not increasefriendships. Challice the Animal and Challice the Intellect weighed eachother down. 

They left Cambridge, they went to London, they took lodgings. "You arenow so different from me in appearance, " said the Intellect, "that Ithink we may leave off the usual precautions. Go about without troublingwhat I am and what I am doing. Go about and amuse yourself, but becareful. "

The victim of sloth obeyed; he went about all day long in heavy, meaningless fashion; he looked at things in shops; he sat in museums, and dropped off to sleep. He strolled round squares. At luncheon anddinner time he found out restaurants where he could feed--in reality, the only pleasure left to him was to eat, drink, and sleep. 

One day he was in Kensington Gardens, sitting half asleep in the sun. People walked up and down the walk before him; beautiful women gailydressed; sprightly women gaily talking; the world of wealth, fashion, extravagance, and youth. He was no more than three-and-twenty himself. He ought to have been fired by the sight of all this beauty, and allthis happiness. Nobody in the world can look half so happy as a lovelygirl finely dressed. But he sat there like a clod, dull and insensate. 

Presently, a voice which he remembered: "Papa, it is Will Challice!" Helooked up heavily. "Why, Will, " the girl stood before him, "don't youknow me?"

[Illustration: "PAPA, IT IS WILL CHALLICE!"]

It was Nell, the daughter of his tutor, now a comely maiden ofone-and-twenty, who laughed and held out her hand to him He rose, butnot with alacrity. The shadow of a smile crossed his face. He took herhand. 

"Challice!" his tutor clapped him on the shoulder. "I haven't seen yousince you took your degree. Splendid, my boy! But it might have beenbetter. I hear you are reading Law--good. With the House before you?Good again! Let me look at you. Humph!" He grunted a littledisappointment. "You don't look quite so--quite so--what? Do you takeexercise enough?"

"Plenty of exercise--plenty, " replied the young scholar, who looked socuriously dull and heavy. 

"Well, let us walk together. You are doing nothing for the moment. "

They walked together; Nelly between them. 

"Father, " she said, when they arrived at their lodgings in AlbemarleStreet, "what has come over that poor man? He has gone stupid with hissuccess. I could not get a word out of him. He kept staring at mewithout speaking. "

Was he a lumpish log, or was he a man all nerves and electricity?

In the morning Will Challice partly solved the question, because hecalled and showed clearly that he was an insensible log and a lumpishlog. He sat for an hour gazing at the girl as if he would devour her, but he said nothing. 

In the evening Cousin Tom called, bringing Will Challice again--but howchanged! Was such a change really due to evening dress? Keen of feature, bright of eye, full of animation. "Why, Will, " said Nelly, "what is thematter with you sometimes? When you were here this morning, one couldnot get a word out of you. Your very face looked heavy. "

He changed colour. "I have times when I--I--losemyself--thinking--thinking of things, you know. "

They passed a delightful evening. But when Will went away, the girlbecame meditative. For, although he had talked without stopping, onevery kind of subject, there was no hungry look in his eye, such as shehad perceived with natural satisfaction in the morning. Every maidenlikes that look of hunger, outward sign and indication of respect to hercharms. 

They were up in town for a month. Every morning Will called and sat glumbut hungry-eyed, gazing on the girl and saying nothing. Every evening hecalled again and talked scholarship and politics with her father, hisface changed, his whole manner different, and without any look ofhunger in his eyes. 

[Illustration: "WILL SAT GAZING ON THE GIRL. "]

One day after a fortnight or so of this, Will the Animal stood up afterbreakfast and spoke. 

"There has got to be a change. "

"You are changing, in fact, " replied the other with a sneer. 

"I am in love. I am going to marry a girl. Now hold your tongue, " forthe Intellectual Half bounded in his chair. "You have left me verylittle power of speech. Let me try to explain what I--I want to say. " Hespoke painfully and slowly. "Let me--try--I have lost, bit by bit, almost everything. I don't want to read--I can't play any more. I don'tcare about anything much. But this girl I do care about. I have alwaysloved her, and you--you with your deuced intellect--cannot kill thatpart of me. Be quiet--let me try to think. She loves me, too. She lovesme for myself, and not on account of you and your success. She is sorryfor me. She has given me--I don't know how--the power of thinking alittle. When I am married to her, she will give me more. Let us partabsolutely. Take all my intellect and go. Nell will marry a stupid man, but he will get something from her--something I am sure. I feeldifferent already; I said something to-day which made her laugh. Whatare you glaring at me for?"

"I am not glaring. I am thinking. Go on. "

"This has got to stop. Now find some way of stopping it, or--or--"

"What can you do?"

"I can drink, " he said, with awful meaning. "I can ruin you. And I will, unless you agree to part. "

The Intellectual Half was looking at him with a strangely softened face. There was neither scorn nor hatred in that face. "Dimidium Animæ, " hesaid, "Half of my Soul, I have something to say as well. Confess, however, first of all, that I was right. Had it not been for thisstep--the most severe measure possible, I admit--nothing would have beenachieved. Eh?"

"Perhaps. You _would_ work, you see. "

"Yes. Well--I have made a discovery. It is that I have been toothorough. I don't quite understand how, logically and naturally, anything else was possible. I wanted, heaven knows, all the intellectthere was; you were, therefore, bound to become the Animal, pure andsimple. Well, you see, we are not really two, but one. Can't we hit uponan agreement?"

"What agreement?"

"Some agreement--some _modus vivendi_. I shall get, it is true, some ofthe Animal; you will get some of the Intellectual, but we shall beunited again, and after all----" He looked very kindly upon himself, andheld out his hand. So they stood with clasped hands looking at eachother. 

"I found it out through Nell, " the Intellectual Half went on. "You wentto see her every morning--I went every evening. You were always brimfulof love for her; I, who knew this, was not moved in the slightest degreeby her. Oh! I know that she is the best girl that the world, at thismoment, has to show; I am fully persuaded of that: yet she has ceased tomove me. I think of her Intellect, which is certainly much lower than myown, and I cannot even admire her. In other words, I cannot be moved byany woman. This terrifies me. "

"Why?"

"It threatens my future. Don't you see? He who cannot be moved by womanis no longer man. But man can only be moved by brother man. If I cannotmove men my career is at an end. What they call magnetism belongs to theanimal within us. When that is gone, I now perceive, when the animal iskilled, the rest of the man has no longer any charm, any attraction, anypersuasion, any power of leading, teaching, compelling, or guiding. Hissuccess, whatever he does, is all glitter--evanescent glitter. He maysit down and hold his tongue, for he can do no more good. "

"I only half understand. "

"Intellect, in short, my lower Half, is of no use without human passion. That is what it means. We have gone too far. Let us end it. "

"How? You despise the man who is only animal. "

"No--no! The animal is part of man. I understand now. I have donewrong--brother Half--to separate myself so much from you. Only, youcarried it too far. You _would_ not work: you would not give me even adecent show. Suppose--I say suppose--we were united once more. Could Icount on being allowed to work?"

"Yes, " said the Animal, "I have had a lesson too. You shall work, " hehesitated and shuddered, "in reason, of course--say all the morning, and, if you go into the House, all the evening. "

"I would not be hard upon you. I would let you have a reasonable amountof indolence and rest. My success will be less rapid, on your account, but it will be more solid. Do you think that if we were to be lost againin each other, I should once more feel for that girl as--"

"Why, " said the Animal, "you would be--Me; and what I feel for her is, Iassure you, overwhelming. "

That evening Will Challice sat at the open window in the dark, Nellie'shand in his. "My dear, " he murmured, "tell me, do you love me morebecause I have realized some of our old dreams?"

"Will; how can I tell you? I love you, not your success. If you had notdone so well, it would have made no difference. Your success is only anaccidental part of you. " Oh! the metaphysician! "You are not yoursuccess. Yet, of course, I don't love you for your fine degree, youconceited boy, and yet it is for yourself. "

He kissed her forehead. "The old dream time was pleasant, wasn't it?when we chose to be Archbishop of Canterbury one day and Lord Chancellorthe next. To be Leader of the House of Commons is the present ambition. It is a most splendid thing"--the dreamer's eyes looked up into spacewith the old light in them--"a most splendid thing--to lead theHouse--to sway the House. But I don't know, " he sighed, "it will take anawful lot of work. And the Cambridge business did take it out of onemost tremendously. I didn't believe, Nell, that I had such an amount ofwork in me. "

"You have been so gloomy lately, Will. Was that fatigue?"

[Illustration: "HE KISSED HER FOREHEAD. "]

"Ambition on the brain, Nell, " he replied, lightly--as lightly as ofold--success had not destroyed the old gaiety of heart. "I've consulteda learned physician, Dr. Sydenham Celsus Galen, Wimpole Street. He saysthat an engagement with the right girl--he is extremely particular onthat point, so that I do hope, Nell, we have made no mistake--is asovereign remedy for all mopey, glum, dumpsy, moody, broody, gloomy, sulky, ill-conditioned vapours. It is, he confessed, the only medicinein his pharmacopoeia. All his clients have to follow thatprescription. You will very soon find that those glum, dumpsy moods havevanished quite away. You will charm them away. Oh! I live again--Ibreathe--I think--I don't work so infernally hard--I am once morehuman--because I love, and because--" The girl's head rested upon hisarm, and he kissed her forehead. 

_Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. _

W. CLARK RUSSELL. 

BORN 1844. 

[Illustration: AGE 5 (_From an Oil Painting_)]

[Illustration: AGE 17. (From a Photograph. )

(_As a Midshipman. _)]

[Illustration: PRESENT DAY. (_From a Photo by Elliott & Fry. _)]

Mr. Clark Russell was born in New York of English parents. His literarytaste is a natural gift, his mother being a niece of Charles Lloyd, thepoet, and a cousin of Christopher Wordsworth, the late Bishop ofLincoln, and herself known as a poetess, and the authoress, among otherthings, of "The Wife's Dream. " Mr. Clark Russell went to sea as a middybefore he was fourteen, and during the next eight years picked up thethorough knowledge of seafaring life which he afterwards turned to suchgood use in his novels. His first book was "John Holdsworth, " but it washis second story, "The Wreck of the Grosvenor, " which he wrote in littlemore than two months and sold to a publisher for fifty pounds, whichmarked a new era in the evolution of the nautical novel. Since that timeMr. Clark Russell has had the sea to himself, and his descriptions ofsea-scenery, and his pictures of real-life sailors, are not likely soonto find a rival. Mr. Clark Russell's latest story, "List, YeLandsmen"--one of his very best--is now appearing in _Tit-Bits_. 

PRINCESS MARIE OF EDINBURGH. 

BORN 1875. 

[Illustration: AGE 5. 

_From a Photo. By W. & D. Downey. _]

[Illustration: AGE 12. _From a Photo. By W. & D. Downey. _]

[Illustration: PRESENT DAY. (_From a Photo. By Heath, Plymouth. _)]

The marriage of Princess Marie, the eldest daughter of the Duke andDuchess of Edinburgh, to Prince Ferdinand of Roumania, which is fixed totake place on January the 10th, will almost coincide with the appearanceof these portraits of the young Princess at different ages. A morecharming set we have never had the privilege of publishing. 

In offering our sincere congratulations and best wishes to the youthfulpair, we are sure that every reader of THE STRAND MAGAZINE willcordially join us. 

PRINCE FERDINAND OF ROUMANIA. 

BORN 1865. 

[Illustration: AGE 6. _From a Photo. By Haarstick, Düsseldorf. _]

[Illustration: AGE 17. _From a Photo. By Mandy, Bucharest. _]

[Illustration: AGE 21. _From a Photo. By Mandy, Bucharest. _]

[Illustration: PRESENT DAY. _From a Photo. By Mandy, Bucharest. _]

Prince Ferdinand of Roumania, second son of the reigning Prince Leopoldof Hohenzollern and Princess Antonia, Infanta of Portugal, was born inSigmaringen on the 24th of August, 1865. After several years of privatetuition under the parental care, he joined, together with his brothers, the gymnasium of Düsseldorf. He was appointed by the Emperor William alieutenant in the Infantry Life Guards. He then joined the militaryschool at Kassel, and after a regular course of studies, obtained hiscommission as officer in the army. In November, 1886, he went toBucharest with his father, and after participating in a brilliantreview, was nominated by King Charles I. A lieutenant in the 3rdInfantry Regiment. On the 14th of March, 1889, he was proclaimed HeirPresumptive to the Crown of Roumania by the unanimous vote of theSenate. 

THE LATE MR. FRED. LESLIE. 

BORN 1855. 

[Illustration: AGE 8. _From a Photograph. _]

[Illustration: AGE 14. _From a Photo. By Eugene Carpot. _]

[Illustration: AGE 26. _From a Photo. By the London Stereo. Co. _]

[Illustration: AGE 37. _As a Servant in "Cinder-Ellen, " played by him onNovember 25th, 1892, his last appearance before his death. _]

[Illustration: AGE 37. _From a Photo by The London Stereo Co. _]

After leaving Dr. Quine's school at Notting Hill, Mr. Leslie passed ashort probation in the provinces, and joined the Royalty Theatre in1872, making his _début_ on the London stage in the character of_Colonel Hardy_ in "Paul Pry. " He subsequently visited America to playin "Madame Favart, " at the Fifth Avenue Theatre. On his return to Londonhe created the character of the _Duke_ in "Olivette. " Shortly afterthis, in 1882, in the title rôle of "Rip Van Winkle" at the Comedy, hecame prominently into public notice. In this character he proved himselfa worthy disciple of Joseph Jefferson. Then came a second visit toAmerica, from which Mr. Leslie returned after a year to fill his oldpart when "Rip Van Winkle" was again revived. Early in the spring of1885 he moved to the Opera Comique, and in the December of that yearjoined the Gaiety Company, in which his loss will be very severely felt. As a dramatic author he wrote under the name of A. C. Torr, a derivationfrom the word "Actor. "

MISS DOROTHEA GERARD

(MADAME LONGARD)

[Illustration: AGE 4. _From a Photo. By Robertson, Glasgow. _]

[Illustration: AGE 6. _From a Photo. _]

[Illustration: AGE 11. _From a Photo. By Bude, Gratz. _]

[Illustration: AGE 21. _From a Photo. By Scheffter, Szabadka. _]

[Illustration: PRESENT DAY. _From a Photo. By Mackintosh, Kelso. _]

Dorothea Mary Stanislaus Margaret Gerard, born August 9th, 1855, atRochsoles House, Lanarkshire, N. B. The following is a briefautobiography of this well-known and popular novelist, with which shehas been good enough to supply us: "My father's name was ArchibaldGerard. My mother was _née_ Euphemia Erskine Robison. In 1876, being ina deadly dull Hungarian country town, my eldest sister (Madame deLaszowska) and I took to writing in despair, conjointly, and merely as ameans of passing the time, signing ourselves 'E. D. Gerard. 'Considerably to our astonishment we found a publisher for our firstattempt--'Reata. ' This was followed by 'Beggar My Neighbour' and 'TheWaters of Hercules' (all three published by Messrs. Blackwood), afterwhich our literary partnership ceased. Since then I have written 'LadyBaby' and 'Recha' (Blackwood), and 'Orthodox' (first appeared in'Longman's Magazine'), and now 'A Queen of Curds and Cream' (Messrs. Eden and Co. ), all these under the signature 'Dorothea Gerard. ' On April17th, 1887, I was married to Captain (now Lieut. -Colonel) JuliusLongard, of the 7th Austrian Lancers. "

THE RIGHT HON. STUART KNILL, LORD MAYOR. BORN 1824. 

[Illustration: AGE 12. From a Miniature. ]

[Illustration: AS ALDERMAN AND SHERIFF. From a Photograph by the LondonStereoscopic Co. ]

[Illustration: AGE 38. From a Photograph. ]

[Illustration: PRESENT DAY AS LORD MAYOR. From a Photograph by theLondon Stereoscopic Co. ]

Mr. Stuart Knill, whose election to the Mayoralty this year was investedwith unusual interest, is the son of the late Mr. John Knill, of FreshWharf, London Bridge, to whose business he succeeded. He was educated atthe Blackheath Proprietary School, and at the University of Bonn. Heentered the Corporation in 1885 as Alderman of the Ward of Bridge, andserved the office of Sheriff in 1889-90. He is a member of theGoldsmiths' Company, and is now Master of the Guild of Plumbers for thesecond time. In this capacity he has taken great interest in all mattersconnected with sanitation and hygiene. He is a leading member of theRoman Catholic laity in England. 

_The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. _

XIV. --THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX. 

BY CONAN DOYLE. 

In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mentalqualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeavoured, as far aspossible, to select those which presented the minimum of sensationalism, while offering a fair field for his talents. It is, however, unfortunately, impossible to entirely separate the sensational from thecriminal, and a chronicler is left in the dilemma that he must eithersacrifice details which are essential to his statement, and so give afalse impression of the problem, or he must use matter which chance, andnot choice, has provided him with. With this short preface I shall turnto my notes of what proved to be a strange, though a peculiarlyterrible, chain of events. 

It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like an oven, andthe glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of the houses acrossthe road was painful to the eye. It was hard to believe that these werethe same walls which loomed so gloomily through the fogs of winter. Ourblinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading andrereading a letter which he had received by the morning post. Formyself, my term of service in India had trained me to stand heat betterthan cold, and a thermometer at 90 was no hardship. But the morningpaper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out oftown, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle ofSouthsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented theslightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very centre of fivemillions of people, with his filaments stretching out and runningthrough them, responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolvedcrime. Appreciation of Nature found no place among his many gifts, andhis only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of thetown to track down his brother of the country. 

[Illustration: "I FELL INTO A BROWN STUDY. "]

Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation I had tossed asidethe barren paper and, leaning back in my chair, I fell into a brownstudy. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts. 

"You are right, Watson, " said he. "It does seem a most preposterous wayof settling a dispute. "

"Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then suddenly realizing how he hadechoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and stared athim in blank amazement. 

"What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything which I couldhave imagined. "

He laughed heartily at my perplexity. 

"You remember, " said he, "that some little time ago when I read you thepassage in one of Poe's sketches in which a close reasoner follows theunspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat thematter as a mere _tour-de-force_ of the author. On my remarking that Iwas constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressedincredulity. "

"Oh, no!"

"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with youreyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a trainof thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been inrapport with you. "

But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which you read tome, " said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of theman whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap ofstones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seatedquietly in my chair, and what clues can I have given you?"

"You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as themeans by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithfulservants. "

"Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from myfeatures?"

"Your features, and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourselfrecall how your reverie commenced?"

"No, I cannot. "

"Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was theaction which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with avacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon yournewly-framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration inyour face that a train of thought had been started. But it did not leadvery far. Your eyes flashed across to the unframed portrait of HenryWard Beecher which stands upon the top of your books. You then glancedup at the wall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You werethinking that if the portrait were framed, it would just cover that barespace and correspond with Gordon's picture over there. "

"You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed. 

"So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts went backto Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying thecharacter in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but youcontinued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You wererecalling the incidents of Beecher's career. I was well aware that youcould not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook onbehalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember yourexpressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he wasreceived by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly aboutit, that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of thatalso. When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, I suspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when Iobserved that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your handsclenched, I was positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantrywhich was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again, your face grew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwellingupon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stoletowards your own old wound and a smile quivered on your lips, whichshowed me that the ridiculous side of this method of settlinginternational questions had forced itself upon your mind. At this pointI agreed with you that it was preposterous, and was glad to find thatall my deductions had been correct. "

"Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have explained it, I confessthat I am as amazed as before. "

"It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should nothave intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulitythe other day. But I have in my hands here a little problem which mayprove to be more difficult of solution than my small essay in thoughtreading. Have you observed in the paper a short paragraph referring tothe remarkable contents of a packet sent through the post to Miss SusanCushing, of Cross Street, Croydon?"

"No, I saw nothing. "

"Ah! then you must have overlooked it. Just toss it over to me. Here itis, under the financial column. Perhaps you would be good enough to readit aloud. "

I picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me, and read theparagraph indicated. It was headed, "A Gruesome Packet. "

"Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon, has been made thevictim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revolting practicaljoke, unless some more sinister meaning should prove to be attached tothe incident. At two o'clock yesterday afternoon a small packet, wrappedin brown paper, was handed in by the postman. A cardboard box wasinside, which was filled with coarse salt. On emptying this, MissGushing was horrified to find two human ears, apparently quite freshlysevered. The box had been sent by parcel post from Belfast upon themorning before. There is no indication as to the sender, and the matteris the more mysterious as Miss Cushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a most retired life, and has so few acquaintances orcorrespondents that it is a rare event for her to receive anythingthrough the post. Some years ago, however, when she resided at Penge, she let apartments in her house to three young medical students, whomshe was obliged to get rid of on account of their noisy and irregularhabits. The police are of opinion that this outrage may have beenperpetrated upon Miss Cushing by these youths, who owed her a grudge, and who hoped to frighten her by sending her these relics of thedissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent to the theory by the factthat one of these students came from the north of Ireland, and, to thebest of Miss Cushing's belief, from Belfast. In the meantime, the matteris being actively investigated, Mr. Lestrade, one of the very smartestof our detective officers, being in charge of the case. "

"So much for the _Daily Chronicle_" said Holmes, as I finished reading. "Now for our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him this morning, inwhich he says: 'I think that this case is very much in your line. Wehave every hope of clearing the matter up, but we find a littledifficulty in getting anything to work upon. We have, of course, wiredto the Belfast post-office, but a large number of parcels were handed inupon that day, and they have no means of identifying this particularone, or of remembering the sender. The box is a half-pound box ofhoneydew tobacco, and does not help us in any way. The medical studenttheory still appears to me to be the most feasible, but if you shouldhave a few hours to spare, I should be very happy to see you out here. Ishall be either at the house or in the police-station all day. ' What sayyou, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat, and run down to Croydonwith me on the off chance of a case for your annals?"

"I was longing for something to do. "

"You shall have it, then. Ring for our boots, and tell them to order acab. I'll be back in a moment, when I have changed my dressing-gown andfilled my cigar-case. "

A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat was farless oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had sent on a wire, sothat Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as ever, was, waiting for us at the station. A walk of five minutes took us to CrossStreet, where Miss Cushing resided. 

[Illustration: "MISS CUSHING. "]

It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and prim, withwhitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women gossiping atthe doors. Half-way down, Lestrade stopped and tapped at a door, whichwas opened by a small servant girl. Miss Cushing was sitting in thefront room, into which we were ushered. She was a placid-faced womanwith large, gentle eyes, and grizzled hair curving down over her templeson each side. A worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket ofcoloured silks stood upon a stool beside her. 

"They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things, " said she, as Lestradeentered. "I wish that you would take them away altogether. "

"So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my friend, Mr. Holmes, should have seen them in your presence. "

"Why in my presence, sir?"

"In case he wished to ask any questions. "

"What is the use of asking me questions, when I tell you that I knownothing whatever about it?"

"Quite so, madam, " said Holmes, in his soothing way. "I have no doubtthat you have been annoyed more than enough already over this business. "

"Indeed, I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life. It issomething new for me to see my name in the papers and to find the policein my house. I won't have those things in here, Mr. Lestrade. If youwish to see them you must go to the outhouse. "

It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran down behind thehouse. Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with apiece of brown paper and some string. There was a bench at the edge ofthe path, and we all sat down while Holmes examined, one by one, thearticles which Lestrade had handed to him. 

"The string is exceedingly interesting, " he remarked, holding it up tothe light and sniffing at it. "What do you make of this string, Lestrade?"

"It has been tarred. "

"Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt, remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can beseen by the double fray on each side. This is of importance. "

"I cannot see the importance, " said Lestrade. 

"The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and thatthis knot is of a peculiar character. "

"It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note to that effect, " saidLestrade, complacently. 

"So much for the string then, " said Holmes, smiling; "now for the boxwrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, you did notobserve it? I think there can be no doubt of it. Address printed inrather straggling characters: 'Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street, Croydon. 'Done with a broad pointed pen, probably a J, and with very inferior ink. The word Croydon has been spelt originally with an i, which has beenchanged to y. The parcel was directed, then, by a man--the printing isdistinctly masculine--of limited education and unacquainted with thetown of Croydon. So far, so good! The box is a yellow, half-poundhoneydew box, with nothing distinctive save two thumb marks at the leftbottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of the quality used forpreserving hides and other of the coarser commercial purposes. Andembedded in it are these very singular inclosures. "

[Illustration: "HE EXAMINED THEM MINUTELY. "]

He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across hisknees, he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forwardon each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics andat the thoughtful, eager face of our companion. Finally he returned themto the box once more, and sat for a while in deep thought. 

"You have observed, of course, " said he at last, "that the ears are nota pair. "

"Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of somestudents from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to sendtwo odd ears as a pair. "

"Precisely. But this is not a practical joke. "

"You are sure of it?"

"The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the dissecting-roomsare injected with preservative fluid. These ears bear no signs of this. They are fresh, too. They have been cut off with a blunt instrument, which would hardly happen if a student had done it. Again, carbolic orrectified spirits would be the preservatives which would suggestthemselves to the medical mind, certainly not rough salt. I repeat thatthere is no practical joke here, but that we are investigating a seriouscrime. "

A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion's words andsaw the stern gravity which had hardened his features. This brutalpreliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange and inexplicable horrorin the background. Lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who isonly half convinced. 

"There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt, " said he; "but thereare much stronger reasons against the other. We know that this woman hasled a most quiet and respectable life at Penge and here for the lasttwenty years. She has hardly been away from her home for a day duringthat time. Why on earth, then, should any criminal send her the proofsof his guilt, especially as, unless she is a most consummate actress, she understands quite as little of the matter as we do?"

"That is the problem which we have to solve, " Holmes answered, "and formy part I shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct, and that a double murder has been committed. One of these ears is awoman's, small, finely formed, and pierced for an earring. The other isa man's, sun-burned, discoloured, and also pierced for an earring. Thesetwo people are presumably dead, or we should have heard their storybefore now. To-day is Friday. The packet was posted on Thursday morning. The tragedy, then, occurred on Wednesday or Tuesday, or earlier. If thetwo people were murdered, who but their murderer would have sent thissign of his work to Miss Cushing? We may take it that the sender of thepacket is the man whom we want. But he must have some strong reason forsending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason, then? It must have beento tell her that the deed was done; or to pain her, perhaps. But in thatcase she knows who it is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she knew, whyshould she call the police in? She might have buried the ears, and noone would have been the wiser. That is what she would have done if shehad wished to shield the criminal. But if she does not wish to shieldhim she would give his name. There is a tangle here which needsstraightening out. " He had been talking in a high, quick voice, staringblankly up over the garden fence, but now he sprang briskly to his feetand walked towards the house. 

"I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing, " said he. 

"In that case I may leave you here, " said Lestrade, "for I have anothersmall business on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learnfrom Miss Cushing. You will find me at the police-station. "

"We shall look in on our way to the train, " answered Holmes. A momentlater he and I were back in the front room, where the impassive lady wasstill quietly working away at her antimacassar. She put it down on herlap as we entered, and looked at us with her frank, searching blue eyes. 

"I am convinced, sir, " she said, "that this matter is a mistake, andthat the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this severaltimes to the gentleman from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs at me. Ihave not an enemy in the world, as far as I know, so why should anyoneplay me such a trick?"

"I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing, " said Holmes, taking a seat beside her. "I think that it is more than probable--" hepaused, and I was surprised on glancing round to see that he was staringwith singular intentness at the lady's profile. Surprise andsatisfaction were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence hehad become as demure as ever. I stared hard myself at her flat, grizzledhair, her trim cap, her little gilt earrings, her placid features; but Icould see nothing which could account for my companion's evidentexcitement. 

"There were one or two questions----"

"Oh, I am weary of questions!" cried Miss Cushing, impatiently. 

"You have two sisters, I believe. "

"How could you know that?"

"I observed the very instant that I entered the room that you have aportrait group of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one of whom isundoubtedly yourself, while the others are so exceedingly like you thatthere could be no doubt of the relationship. "

"Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary. "

"And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of youryounger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward byhis uniform. I observe that she was unmarried at the time. "

"You are very quick at observing. "

"That is my trade. "

"Well, you are quite right. But she was married to Mr. Browner a fewdays afterwards. He was on the South American line when that was taken, but he was so fond of her that he couldn't abide to leave her for solong, and he got into the Liverpool and London boats. "

"Ah, the _Conqueror_, perhaps?"

"No, the _May Day_, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see meonce. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he wouldalways take drink when he was ashore, and a little drink would send himstark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad day that ever he took a glass inhis hand again. First he dropped me, and then he quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing we don't know how things are goingwith them. "

[Illustration: "HOW FAR TO WALLINGTON?"]

It was evident that Miss Cushing had come upon a subject on which shefelt very deeply. Like most people who lead a lonely life, she was shyat first, but ended by becoming extremely communicative. She told usmany details about her brother-in-law the steward, and then wanderingoff on to the subject of her former lodgers, the medical students, shegave us a long account of their delinquencies, with their names andthose of their hospitals. 

Holmes listened attentively to everything, throwing in a question fromtime to time. 

"About your second sister, Sarah, " said he. "I wonder, since you areboth maiden ladies, that you do not keep house together. "

"Ah! you don't know Sarah's temper, or you would wonder no more. I triedit when I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago, when we had to part. I don't want to say a word against my own sister, but she was always meddlesome and hard to please, was Sarah. "

"You say that she quarrelled with your Liverpool relations. "

"Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she went upthere to live just in order to be near them. And now she has no wordhard enough for Jim Browner. The last six months that she was here shewould speak of nothing but his drinking and his ways. He had caught hermeddling, I suspect, and given her a bit of his mind, and that was thestart of it. "

"Thank you, Miss Cushing, " said Holmes, rising and bowing. "Your sisterSarah lives, I think you said, at New Street, Wallington? Good-bye, andI am very sorry that you should have been troubled over a case withwhich, as you say, you have nothing whatever to do. "

There was a cab passing as we came out, and Holmes hailed it. 

"How far to Wallington?" he asked. 

"Only about a mile, sir. "

"Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike while the iron is hot. Simple as the case is, there have been one or two very instructivedetails in connection with it. Just pull up at a telegraph office as youpass, cabby. "

Holmes sent off a short wire, and for the rest of the drive lay back inthe cab with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sun from his face. Our driver pulled up at a house which was not unlike the one which wehad just quitted. My companion ordered him to wait, and had his handupon the knocker, when the door opened and a grave young gentleman inblack, with a very shiny hat, appeared on the step. 

"Is Miss Sarah Cushing at home?" asked Holmes. 

"Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill, " said he. "She has been sufferingsince yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. As her medicaladviser, I cannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone tosee her. I should recommend you to call again in ten days. " He drew onhis gloves, closed the door, and marched off down the street. 

"Well, if we can't, we can't, " said Holmes, cheerfully. 

"Perhaps she could not, or would not have told you much. "

"I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look at her. However, I think that I have got all that I want. Drive us to somedecent hotel, cabby, where we may have some lunch, and afterwards weshall drop down upon friend Lestrade at the police-station. "

We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talkabout nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he hadpurchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundredguineas, at a Jew broker's in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-fiveshillings. This led him to Paganini, and we sat for an hour over abottle of claret while he told me anecdote after anecdote of thatextraordinary man. The afternoon was far advanced and the hot glare hadsoftened into a mellow glow before we found ourselves at thepolice-station. Lestrade was waiting for us at the door. 

"A telegram for you, Mr. Holmes, " said he. 

"Ha! It is the answer!" He tore it open, glanced his eyes over it, andcrumpled it into his pocket. "That's all right, " said he. 

"Have you found out anything?"

"I have found out everything!"

"What!" Lestrade stared at him in amazement. "You are joking. "

"I was never more serious in my life. A shocking crime has beencommitted, and I think that I have now laid bare every detail of it. "

"And the criminal?"

Holmes scribbled a few words upon the back of one of his visiting cardsand threw it over to Lestrade. 

"That is it, " he said; "you cannot effect an arrest until to-morrownight at the earliest. I should prefer that you would not mention myname at all in connection with the case, as I choose to be associatedonly with those crimes which present some difficulty in their solution. Come on, Watson. " We strode off together to the station, leavingLestrade still staring with a delighted face at the card which Holmeshad thrown him. 

 * * * * *

"The case, " said Sherlock Holmes, as we chatted over our cigars thatnight in our rooms at Baker Street, "is one where, as in theinvestigations which you have chronicled under the names of the 'Studyin Scarlet' and of the 'Sign of Four, ' we have been compelled to reasonbackward from effects to causes. I have written to Lestrade asking himto supply us with the details which are now wanting, and which he willonly get after he has secured his man. That he may be safely trusted todo, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as tenaciousas a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do, and indeed itis just this tenacity which has brought him to the top at ScotlandYard. "

"Your case is not complete, then?" I asked. 

"It is fairly complete in essentials. We know who the author of therevolting business is, although one of the victims still escapes us. Ofcourse, you have formed your own conclusions. "

"I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpool boat, isthe man whom you suspect?"

"Oh! it is more than a suspicion. "

"And yet I cannot see anything save very vague indications. "

"On the contrary, to my mind nothing could be more clear. Let me runover the principal steps. We approached the case, you remember, with anabsolutely blank mind, which is always an advantage. We had formed notheories. We were simply there to observe and to draw inferences fromour observations. What did we see first? A very placid and respectablelady, who seemed quite innocent of any secret, and a portrait whichshowed me that she had two younger sisters. It instantly flashed acrossmy mind that the box might have been meant for one of these. I set theidea aside as one which could be disproved or confirmed at our leisure. Then we went to the garden, as you remember, and we saw the verysingular contents of the little yellow box. 

"The string was of the quality which is used by sail-makers aboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our investigation. When I observed that the knot was one which is popular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port, and that the male ear waspierced for an earring which is so much more common among sailors thanlandsmen, I was quite certain that all the actors in the tragedy were tobe found among our seafaring classes. 

"When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it wasto Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be MissCushing, and although her initial was 'S. , ' it might belong to one ofthe others as well. In that case we should have to commence ourinvestigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into thehouse with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about toassure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made, when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was thatI had just seen something which filled me with surprise, and at the sametime narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. 

"As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of thebody which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quitedistinctive, and differs from all other ones. In last year's_Anthropological Journal_ you will find two short monographs from my penupon the subject. I had therefore examined the ears in the box with theeyes of an expert, and had carefully noted their anatomicalpeculiarities. Imagine my surprise then, when, on looking at MissCushing, I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the femaleear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyondcoincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broadcurve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. Inall essentials it was the same ear. 

"Of course, I at once saw the enormous importance of the observation. Itwas evident that the victim was a blood relation, and probably a veryclose one. I began to talk to her about her family, and you rememberthat she at once gave us some exceedingly valuable details. 

[Illustration: "JIM BROWNER. "]

"In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had, until recently, been the same, so that it was quite obvious how themistake had occurred, and whom the packet was meant for. Then we heardof this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had atone time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone upto Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwardsdivided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for somemonths, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to MissSarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. 

"And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. Wehad learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, ofstrong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been avery superior berth, in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, tooccasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wifehad been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had beenmurdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itselfas the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed besent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence inLiverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led tothe tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats calls at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed thedeed, and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the _May Day_, Belfastwould be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. 

"A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although Ithought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it beforegoing further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. And Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There weremany grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. Itherefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpoolforce, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and ifBrowner had departed in the _May Day_. Then we went on to Wallington tovisit Miss Sarah. 

"I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear hadbeen reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us veryimportant information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She musthave heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringingwith it, and she alone could have understood whom the packet was meantfor. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably havecommunicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our dutyto see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of thepacket--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect uponher as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that sheunderstood its full significance, but equally clear that we should haveto wait some time for any assistance from her. 

"However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers werewaiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to sendthem. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had beenclosed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion thatshe had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at theshipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the _May Day_, and Icalculate that she is due in the Thames to-morrow night. When he arriveshe will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubtthat we shall have all our details filled in. "

 * * * * *

Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days laterhe received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from thedetective, and a type-written document, which covered several pages offoolscap. 

"Lestrade has got him all right, " said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "

 "My dear Mr. Holmes, --In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories"--"the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"--"I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p. M. , and boarded the ss. _May Day_, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner, and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldridge, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife, such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for, on being brought before the inspector at the station, he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies type-written, one of which I inclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, yours very truly, --G. LESTRADE. "

"Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one, " remarked Holmes;"but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called usin. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This ishis statement, as made before Inspector Montgomery at the ShadwellPolice Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim. "

[Illustration: "HE HELD OUT HIS HANDS QUIETLY. "]

"Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make aclean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. Idon't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleepsince I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get pastall waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'mnever without one or the other before me. He looks frowning andblack-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Aye, the whitelamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that hadseldom looked anything but love upon her before. 

"But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put ablight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that Iwant to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beastthat I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck asclose to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened ourdoor. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--sheloved me, until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew thatI thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her wholebody and soul. 

"There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah wasthirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just ashappy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in allLiverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we askedSarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing ledto another, until she was just one of ourselves. 

"I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would havethought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it?

"I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if theship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, andin this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tallwoman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying herhead, and a glint from her eye like the spark from a flint. But whenlittle Mary was there I had never a thought for her, and that I swear asI hope for God's mercy. 

"It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or tocoax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything ofthat. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the shipand found my wife out, but Sarah at home. 'Where's Mary?' I asked. 'Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts. ' I was impatient and paced up anddown the room. 'Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?'says she. 'It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented withmy society for so short a time. ' 'That's all right, my lass, " said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in bothhers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I lookedinto her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her tospeak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then shestood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand andpatted me on the shoulder. 

'Steady old Jim!' said she; and, with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ranout of the room. 

"Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, andshe is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on bidingwith us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew itwould grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time Ibegan to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She hadalways been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer andsuspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and athousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had causeless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can seenow how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mindagainst me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand itat the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but Ithink I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. Shehad some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between usbegan to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. 

[Illustration: "THAT'S ALL RIGHT, MY LASS, SAID I. "]

"It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was tosee us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends whereverhe went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who hadseen half the world, and could talk of what he had seen. He was goodcompany, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him fora sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knewmore of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out ofmy house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come ofhis soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, andfrom that day my peace was gone for ever. 

"It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlourunexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome onmy wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and sheturned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. Therewas no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken formine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I havealways been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw thedevil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on mysleeve. 'Don't, Jim, don't!' says she. 'Where's Sarah?' I asked. 'In thekitchen, ' says she. 'Sarah, ' says I, as I went in, 'this man Fairbairnis never to darken my door again. ' 'Why not?' says she. 'Because I orderit. ' 'Oh!' says she, 'if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either. ' 'You can do what you like, 'says I, 'but if Fairbairn shows his face here again, I'll send you oneof his ears for a keepsake. " She was frightened by my face, I think, forshe never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. 

"Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of thiswoman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife byencouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streetsoff, and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Marywould go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went Idon't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the doorFairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunkthat he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her inhis company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between usany longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when thethought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. 

"Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so shewent back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, andthings jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this lastweek and all the misery and ruin. 

"It was in this way. We had gone on the _May Day_ for a round voyage ofseven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, sothat we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship andcame home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hopingthat maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in myhead as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chattingand laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them fromthe footpath. 

"I tell you, and I give you my word on it, that from that moment I wasnot my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back onit. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairlyturned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like adocker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzingand buzzing in my ears. 

"Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oakstick in my hand, and I tell you that I saw red from the first; but as Iran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without beingseen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowdround the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without beingseen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in threecarriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw themhire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and theythought no doubt that it would be cooler on the water. 

"It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit ofa haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired aboat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blurr of theircraft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have beena long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like acurtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. MyGod, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boatthat was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman, and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. Igot past it and got one in with my stick, that crushed his head like anegg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threwher arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him 'Alec. ' I struckagain, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast thenthat had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she shouldhave joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've saidenough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah wouldfeel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had broughtabout. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stoodby until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think thatthey had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out tosea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without asoul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up thepacket for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. 

[Illustration]

"There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what youlike with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staringat me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed themquick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it Ishall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone intoa cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your dayof agony as you treat me now. "

 * * * * *

"What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes, solemnly, as he laiddown the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery andviolence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe isruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the greatstanding perennial problem to which human reason is as far from ananswer as ever. "

_Types of English Beauty. _

FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY ALEX. BASSANO, OLD BOND STREET, W. 

[Illustration: MISS LEE. 

MISS MENCE. 

MISS HAYTER. ]

[Illustration: THE COUNTESS OF ANNESLEY. ]

[Illustration: THE MISSES HATHAWAY. (TWINS). ]

PECULIAR PLAYING CARDS. 

By George Clulow. 

[Illustration: 'BEHOLD FOVR KINGS IN MAIESTY REVERED'

Pope]

'What's on the cards?' A question common enough when the actualknowledge of the moment does not afford a positive answer; a question, too, which has an origin taking us back to the earliest use of playingcards. But to how many of those to whom playing cards as a means ofrecreation are familiar is it known what _may_ be found on the cards?Yet upon these "bits of painted cardboard" there has been expended agreater amount of ingenuity and of artistic effort than is to be foundin any other form of popular amusement. Pope's charming epic, "The Rapeof the Lock, " gives us, in poetic form, a description of the faces ofthe cards as known to him and to the card-players of his time:--

 "Behold four kings in majesty revered, With hoary whiskers and a forky beard; And four fair queens, whose hands sustain a flower, Th' expressive emblem of their softer pow'r; Four knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty band, Caps on their heads and halberds in their hand. "

[Illustration: FIG. 1. ]

It is not our purpose to historically trace the evolution of cards--thisis a subject beyond the reach of the present article--but a look fartherafield will give us evidence that during the last three centuries therehas been a constant adaptation of cards to purposes which take thembeyond their intention as the instruments for card playing only. Theidea that playing cards had their origin in the later years of CharlesVI. Of France may be disposed of at once as a popular error, though itis true that the earliest authentic examples which still exist areparts of the two packs of cards which were produced for the amusement ofthat King, by the hands of Jacques Gringonneur, and of which seventeenare preserved in the Bibliothèque Nationale of Paris. 

These are the most early forms of playing cards, and are known as"Tarots" (as distinguished from "Numerals, " or cards which have theconsecutively marked "suit" signs), and which had evidently a purposeoutside the ordinary games of playing cards as known to us. The "Tarot"pack consists variously of seventy-two, seventy-seven, or seventy-eightcards, including the "Tarots, " which give them their distinctive name. "Tarot" as a game was familiar three centuries ago in England, but is sono longer, although it has a limited use in other parts of Europe still. One of the "Tarot" cards, of the Bibliothèque Nationale, "La Mort, " isshown as the first of our illustrations (Fig. 1). 

[Illustration: FIG. 2. ]

[Illustration: FIG. 3. ]

Familiar to those who are conversant with the literature of playingcards will be the Knave of Clubs, shown in Fig. 2, which is one of thefragments of a pack of cards found, in 1841, by Mr. Chatto, in thewastepaper used to form the pasteboard covers of a book. These cards areprinted in outline from wood blocks and the colour filled in bystencilling, a method employed in the manufacture of cards down to avery few years ago. The date of these cards may safely be taken as notmore recent than 1450, and they are most interesting as being coevalwith, if not antecedent to, the most early form of printed bookillustration as shown in the "Biblia Pauperum. "[B] The archaic drawingof the features, with its disregard of facial perspective, and thewondrous cervical anatomy, do not lessen our admiration of the vigourand "go" shown in this early example of the art of the designer and woodengraver. 

It is in interesting relation to the knaves of a pack of cards to notethe curious conservatism which has belonged to them during the last fourcenturies and a half. In a MS. In the British Museum, written in theyear 1377, the monkish writer, in a moralization on the life of man, suggests its resemblance to a game of cards; and he gives us adescription and the attributes of some of the cards. Of those which wenow know as knaves, he says two of them hold their halberds or armsdownwards and two of them upwards--a distinction which is retained onmany of the playing cards still manufactured. 

[Illustration: FIG. 4. ]

In Fig. 3 we have one of the cards from a series of "Tarots" of Italianorigin, also preserved in the Bibliothèque Nationale, and which may bedated about 1470. These are very beautiful in design, and indicate thatthey were thought worthy of the employment of the highest artistictalent. 

We have an example of a somewhat more modern date in the Knave ofDiamonds (Fig. 4), in which the costume and character point to the earlypart of the sixteenth century as the period of their production. Thisalso is from a fragment discovered in the boards of an old book--asource which may be commended to the watchfulness of the bookbinder, asthe bindings of old books are still likely to provide other interestingexamples. 

[Illustration: FIG. 5]

Before us are parts of two packs of cards which were discovered inEdinburgh, in 1821, pasted up in a book of household accounts, one ofits leaves bearing the date of 1562; and it would be no great stretch offancy to believe that they were taken to Edinburgh by some follower ofMary Queen of Scots on her return to Scotland a year before this date. These cards are of Flemish make; on one of them is the name "JehanHenault, " who was a card-maker in Antwerp in 1543, and in passing we mayremark that at this period there was a considerable trade between Londonand France in playing cards of Flemish manufacture. Old playing cardsmay be looked for in most unlikely places; a few years ago two nearlycomplete packs were found wedged in an old cross-bow, for the purpose ofsecuring the bow where it had worked loose in the head; they were ofsixteenth century manufacture, and had doubtless been the means ofrelieving the tedium of many a weary watch or waiting, in field orfortress, before they found their resting-place of a couple of centuriesin the obsolete missive weapon where they were discovered. 

We find on many cards some attempts at portraiture. Thus we have in Fig. 5 Clovis as the King of Clubs, but depicted in a costume of the time ofHenry IV. Of France, the card itself being of that period. This, as wellas Fig. 4, is from a pack of fifty-two "Numeral" cards, printed fromwood-block and stencilled in colour. 

[Illustration: FIG. 6. ]

Returning to "Tarots, " we have in Fig. 6 (Le Fou) one of the cardsdesigned by Mitelli about 1680, it is said to the order of a member ofthe Bentivoglio family (parts of whose armorial bearings are to be foundon many of the cards), for the "Tarrocchini di Bologna, " a special formof the game of Tarot, a series of spirited designs of vigorous andcareful drawing, and the most artistically valuable of any of the Tarotswith which we are acquainted. In them not only the Tarot series but theordinary suits display a quaint conception and generally elegant design. 

It is curious to note that in the eleven packs or parts of packs ofthese Bolognese cards which we have met with in various parts of Europethere is not any uniformity of manufacture, but while the designs arethe same and evidently produced from the same copper plates, the makingof them into cards for the purpose of play bears indication of whatmight be termed a "domestic" manufacture. For some time the game wasinterdicted in Bologna, and it is possible that this may have induced asurreptitious production and illicit sale of the cards. Fortunately, theinterdict did not prevent the preservation to us of this interestingseries. 

[Illustration: FIG. 7. ]

At different periods between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries, butnotably in the two earlier of them, card "suits" have been used otherthan the familiar ones of Hearts, Spades, Clubs, and Diamonds, and muchingenuity and imagination have been exercised upon them. Among the mostbeautiful of such cards we take the set designed and engraved by VirgilSolis, the celebrated Nuremberg artist and engraver, in which the suitsigns are Lions, Peacocks, Monkeys, and Parroquets. In Fig. 7 we havethe Ace of Peacocks. The aces are lettered with the distinctivesuit-titles of the German cards, viz. , "Grun, " "Eicheln, " "Schellen, "and "Herzen. " The pack consists of fifty-two, divided into four suits ofthirteen cards each; the date of these cards is between 1535 and 1560, and they are an important and valuable item in the artistic history ofplaying cards. 

Another example of this variation in the suit signs, as well as of avariation from the ordinary rectangular form, is to be found in theround card (Fig. 8), of a somewhat earlier date than the preceding, where the suits are Hares, Parrots, Pinks, and Columbines, and whichwhen complete make also a pack of fifty-two, the value of the cardsfollowing the sequence of King, Queen, and Knave being indicated by theArabic numeral at the base of and the Roman figure at the top of each, the card shown being the Six of Hares. 

[Illustration: FIG. 8]

In both of them there is a great decorative facility and cleveradaptation to the form of the card. To indicate the coincidence of idea, in the next (Fig. 9) we have a round card from India--one of the "Coate"cards of a pack, or more properly series, of 120 cards. The materialused in their manufacture is matted vegetable fibre coated with lacquerand painted by hand. Most of the playing cards of Persia are also round, and are similarly decorated by the same means. About a dozen years agoround playing cards were patented in America as a novelty, in ignoranceof the fact that cards of that shape had probably been in common use inthe East, centuries before the discovery of that great and inventivecountry!

[Illustration: FIG. 9. ]

[Illustration: FIG. 10. ]

As an illustration (Fig. 10) of the suit signs of Southern Europe, wetake a card from a Portuguese pack of 1610, the "Cavalier de Bâtons"(Clubs); the other suit signs are Swords, Coins, and Cups. The anatomyof the charger and the self-satisfied aspect of the Cavalier arestriking; and as to the former, we are reminded of the bizarre examplesof hippic adornment which, on a summer Bank Holiday, may be seen on theroad to Epping Forest. 

[Illustration: FIG. 11. ]

Among the secondary uses to which playing cards have been applied, wefind them as political weapons. Among such cards are those which wereproduced to commemorate what is historically known as the "Titus OatesPlot" in 1678, one of the most prominent incidents being the murder ofSir Edmondbury Godfrey, who is here shown (Fig. 11), carried on a horse, the day after his murder, to Primrose Hill, where the body was put intoa ditch, the carrying on the horse and the discovery in the ditch beingshown as coincident. They were produced, probably, as one of the meansof inflaming the public mind against the Roman Catholics, which led tothe execution, among others, of the Viscount Stafford in 1680. Asillustration of costume and of stirring incident, these cards are, apartfrom their intention, an admirable and interesting series, and are worthstudy from their historic and artistic aspects. 

[Illustration: FIG. 12. ]

[Illustration: FIG. 13. ]

[Illustration: FIG. 14. ]

We come now to playing cards designed as methods of education, of whicha considerable number have been produced--and which cover the widestpossible range--from cookery to astrology! In the middle and latter halfof the seventeenth century, England, France and Germany abounded inexamples, the most attractive being the series of "Jeux Historiques, "invented by Desmarests, a member of the French Academy acting under theinstructions of Cardinal Mazarin--as aids to the education of the boyKing, Louis XIV. In Figs. 12, 13, 14, and 15 are given examples from thefour packs so designed, and they afford a good instance of the primaryuse of cards being subordinated to the educational. The first of theseis the "Jeu de Fables, " with representations and short notices of theheroes and heroines of classic history, the four Kings being Jupiter, Neptune, Pluto, and Saturn. The second is the "Jeu de Geographie, " thefour suits being formed by the division of the world into four quarters, each having its distinctive group of thirteen designs, with briefgeographical descriptions; Great Britain being shown as the Eight ofHearts. If designed by an Englishman, it would surely have been as Queenof that suit that our country would have appeared. We have then the "Jeude Rois de France, " intended to teach the history and succession of theKings of France, whom we find depicted in their numeric order, fromPharamond to Louis XIV. , with the length of their reigns and shortbiographies. 

[Illustration: FIG. 15. ]

The third and fourth of these packs are singular in consisting in theone case of all Kings, and the other of all Queens, in the "Jeu deReynes Renommées, " the famous Queens of history, from the Queen of Shebadownward, furnishing the design, and who are classified under thedescriptions of Good, Wise, Holy, Clever, Brave, Happy, Cruel, Licentious, Capricious, and Unfortunate; our Queen Elizabeth beingplaced as "clever, " and Mary Stuart as "unfortunate. " They are beautifulexamples of design and workmanship, and are the work of the Florentineartist-engraver, Stefano de la Bella. 

(_To be continued. _)

FOOTNOTES:

[B] A "block book, " with its illustrations and text cut on a wood block, and which is regarded as the immediate precursor of the type-printedbook. 

[Illustration: THE COURTSHIP OF HALIL]

BY A. E. BURN. 

When I went out to Egypt some years ago, I determined to devote myselfto the study of Arabic, and not to rest till I could speak and write itlike an educated native. This rash resolve, however, was made inignorance of the sublime difficulties of this language, and afterplodding at it with great vigour for a year, and acquiring some facilityin speaking it, and the ability to read a sentence so as to sometimesget a faint glimpse into the meaning hidden behind the hieroglyphs whichthe Arabs call letters, I came to the conclusion that I had better reston my laurels. 

While my enthusiasm lasted I used to seize every possible opportunity oftalking Arabic with any native I came across, and great was my disgustwhen, as sometimes happened, an Arab would persist in airing his Englishon me. As a rule, however, they were rather flattered by my evidentdesire to know their tongue, and some of the shopkeepers with whom Idealt would take a pleasure in teaching me new phrases. 

One of these, by name Halil, who sold silks, shawls, etc. , etc. , andwhose respect I had gained by some considerable purchases for friends inEngland, became quite intimate with me, and related to me a considerableportion of his own history and that of his family, and it was from himthat I heard the following story of his courtship, which is not quite soprosaic and business-like as such affairs usually are in Mohammedancountries. His shop was in the silk bazaar at Cairo, and what first ledto the subject was a sentence in Arabic written over it, which I hadpuzzled my brains in trying to read for some time before I at lastmanaged to translate it. It ran as follows: "Long is the hair of woman, and long also is her understanding. " This motto rather surprised me, asthe Arabs have not, as a rule, that high opinion of the fair sex'sunderstanding which it expressed, and I thought I could see the reasonfor a certain reluctance to assist me in translating it in the usuallyobliging Halil. After some evasive answers to my questions he took meinto his confidence, and told me the following story in explanation ofit:--

"I have already told you, Effendi, that my father died when I waseighteen years old, and that, being the only son, I became proprietor ofthis shop and the head of our household. 

"I was not married, and had no wish to be, as I looked upon women withaversion and contempt, and was angry with my mother when she wished toget me a wife. I was encouraged in these ideas by an old man namedMahran Effendi, who had been a great friend of my father, and who stillcame in the evening to my house to smoke a nargileh with me. He had twowives, who gave him much trouble with their quarrels, and he used to saythat women were created as a punishment for the sins of men, and toprevent them from being so much attached to this world as to beunwilling to leave it even for the joys of paradise, which, he said, would certainly be the case if there were no women. He repeated to me asentence which he said was out of the Koran, though I have not seen itthere myself. It was, 'Long is the hair of woman, but short is herunderstanding. '

"I was much struck with this, and repeated it to my mother with greatpleasure, who was not so much pleased with it as I was. Indeed, she wasquite angry, and said that Mahran was an old donkey, and the son of adonkey. I, however, had a higher opinion of the wisdom of my old friend, and, acting upon his advice, I determined to adopt this as my motto, andto paint it over my shop instead of the proverb which had been put thereby my father. My motto made quite a stir in the bazaar for the first fewdays, and caused a good deal of amusement amongst the other shopkeepersand the passers-by. I have no doubt it was repeated in many of theharems also, for some of the women, who may have been teased about it bytheir husbands, reviled me as they passed. 

[Illustration: "SHE GAVE ME A GLANCE OUT OF HER DARK EYES. "]

"One day, not long after this, two women entered my shop and asked to beshown some of my finest silks; so I took them into the inner part, whereI keep the most costly of my goods. While they were examining them Inoticed that one of them had eyes that shone like stars, and which shekept fixed on me even while she laughed and chatted with her companion. Then, in stooping to pick up one of the shawls, her veil by some meansbecame detached and fell to the ground, and I saw the face of what Ithought to be surely the loveliest houri ever seen by mortal man. Shegave a little scream and called to her companion, who seemed to be herservant, to assist her to refasten it, but at the same time gave me asmile and a glance out of her dark eyes, which swallowed up all mydislike to women as the light of a taper is swallowed up in that of thenoonday sun. I was so confused by the new emotions which possessed mysoul, that when they departed, saying they would come again shortly todecide about the silk, I could not utter a word to detain them. Nay, bythe beard of the Prophet, I could do nothing but gaze at the houri tillshe was out of my sight. For three long days I waited in vain for theirreturn. At last my heart began to be sick within me, and I feared Ishould never again behold the lovely maiden who had bewitched my soul, when on the fourth day I saw two females approaching, and I recognisedthat the slighter of the two was she. I had provided myself with severalgold pieces, and was ready to give them all, if necessary, to make theattendant my friend. As soon as they had entered, and I had broughtforth my silks, I drew this woman aside, and slipping one of the goldpieces into her hand, disclosed to her my passion for her mistress, andbegged her to tell me who she was. The woman seemed inclined to laugh atfirst, but when I had finished became grave and said in a low voice, 'Myyoung mistress looks upon you with favour; but, alas! her father, theSheikh Abdu Hassan, is so mean that he cannot bear the thought of hisdaughter marrying, on account of the dowry he would be expected to givewith her, and he will not even allow her to see any visitors, lest herbeauty should become known, and he tells all who ask for her that she isvery ugly and ill-tempered, so no one will marry her on that account;but if you love Khadijah, my mistress, go to the Sheikh and say that youwill take her without any dowry, and then he will, perhaps, be temptedto give her to you. '

"When she had told me this, she went back to her mistress, and they bothhastily departed. 

"I shut my shop an hour earlier that day, and, on arriving home, told mymother all that had happened. She was very much astonished, and couldnot understand why, after refusing to have a wife for so long, I was nowso anxious to have one without a dowry. She tried to dissuade me, but Ipaid no heed to her words, and went that same evening to the Sheikh, whom I fortunately found alone. I told him who I was and what mypossessions were, and that I wanted a wife; but, as I had no one tospeak for me--my father being dead--I had come myself to ask him for hisdaughter. 

"He listened quietly, with his eyes fixed on my face, and when I hadfinished, said:--

"'Alas! my son, the girl Khadijah is ugly, and has the temper of amule. '

"'For these things, O Sheikh, ' I replied, 'I care not. '

"'You think you will get a heavy dowry with her, ' he said, coldly; 'itis for that you have come. '

"'I swear by the holy Prophet, ' I cried, 'that I want the girl and notthe money. Nay, I will even take her without a single piastre, to proveit. '

"At these words his eye brightened, and on my promising that no oneshould know that I was not to receive a dowry with her, he embraced me, saying, 'She is yours, my son, ' and the matter was settled. 

[Illustration: "A SHARP-FACED, UGLY WOMAN". ]

"Of course, I did not see my bride till we were married, which we werein seven days. What was my horror when, after the ceremonies were overand my wife unveiled, I beheld, instead of the lovely girl who had cometo my shop, a sharp-faced, ugly woman with a sour expression. I was dumbwith amazement; but, by a great effort, I controlled my temper, andpretending to seem satisfied with my bargain, inwardly resolved to findout why I had thus been duped. My wife soon showed her temper, andquarrelled with my mother the very first day. She seemed to think shehad married beneath her, and to show her superiority, began toill-treat the servants, and usurped my mother's place in the house. 

"Some days after my wedding I was in my shop as usual, when the twowomen appeared as before. I immediately beckoned them to follow me intothe inner part. As soon as we were there I turned to the false Khadijah, and almost choking with anger I asked her why she had brought this curseupon my life. 

"'What have I ever done to you that you should make such a day of pitchfor me?' I cried. 

"She laughed heartily, and her old servant followed her example. I wasjust about to burst forth into a torrent of invectives when she threwoff her veil and, laying her hand on my arm, said softly, 'I have donethis, O Halil, to show you that the motto over your shop is not true, and that the understanding of woman is as long as her hair. I will showyou a way by which you can divorce your wife without offending herfather, but on one condition only. '

[Illustration: "CHANGE THE MOTTO OVER YOUR SHOP. "]

"'It is granted, ' I cried, 'if I come freely out of this. '

"'Change, then, the motto over your shop, and put instead, "Long is thehair of woman, and long also is her understanding, "' she said, almostfiercely. 

"'But I shall have the whole bazaar laughing at me, ' I cried, aghast atthis proposal. 'I will take it away and restore my father's proverb ifyou will help me, and will give you as much jewellery as you shall ask, but I cannot change the motto to what you say. '

"'Jewellery is nothing to me, ' she said, scornfully. 'Change the mottoto what I have said, or keep your wife, I care not which. ' Upon this sheveiled herself and was going away, but I detained her and said, 'Omaiden, you have asked me a very hard thing; but I will do even this ifyou will rid me of this woman, and tell me in truth who you are, so thatI may have you for myself. '

"She promised she would, and made me swear by the sacred window of theProphet that I would change the motto to her liking the day after Ishould be married to her. She then went away, saying she had stayed toolong already, but that she would send her servant the next day, whowould tell me her plan. 

"On my return home that evening my mother met me with many complaints ofthe behaviour of my wife, who had abused her during my absence, and sheended by bewailing that I had not let her choose a wife for me. 

"The next day the servant appeared, and after telling me who hermistress really was, thus unfolded her plan:--

"'To-morrow evening you must meet your father-in-law at the coffee-househe frequents, and in the meantime collect some of the poorest and lowestmen you can find, and promise them a good backsheesh if they will obeythe orders you will give them, which are these: While you are at thecoffee-house the oldest man of them must come in and sit by your side, and call you his dear nephew, and say he hears that you have made a richmarriage, and that he hopes you are not going to slight your ownrelations in consequence. The other men must follow his example, and saymuch the same thing, but call you cousin, brother-in-law, or friend. 

"'The old Sheikh, who is very proud of his family, will want you todivorce his daughter at once, but you must pretend you are too satisfiedwith her to do that, and from threats he will come to entreaties, andwill at last want to bribe you. Not till then must you yield, and whenyou do, it must be with apparent reluctance. '

[Illustration: "I SAW DISGUST AND DISMAY RISE IN ABDU HASSAN'S FACE. "]

"I was overjoyed at this plan, and bestowed one of my brightest shawlson Fatima, who went away promising to come soon again and see how I hadgot on. I told my mother of the plan, which comforted her a good deal, and on the next evening I carried it out. I saw disgust and dismay risein Abdu Hassan's face when we were at the café and the first dirty oldbeggar came up to me and addressed me as his nephew, which becamemingled with rage when another ragged fellow came up to congratulate hiscousin, as he called me; but when two more supposed cousins had joinedus, even dirtier than the others, he could contain his feelings nolonger, and turning to me, cried: 'Is it true, O Halil, that these sonsof dogs are indeed your relations?'

"'Yes, O Sheikh, ' I said, humbly. 'Be not displeased with me; a man mustnot disown the brother of his father, or the sons of his father'ssister, even though they be poor. '

"'Poor!' he roared. 'Poor! They are not only poor, but they are sons ofpigs. Give me back my daughter. She shall not stay with you to be themother of dogs!'

"'You cannot take her away unless I divorce her, ' I replied, calmly, 'and that I will not do, for I love the girl. '

"At this he began to entreat me, offering me at first four purses ofsilver, and at last offered me the same number of purses filled withgold, to which I consented, with apparent reluctance. 

"He made me divorce her that very evening, for divorce, as you know, Effendi, is very easy with us; and a week afterwards I altered the mottoover my shop door to what it now is, for Ayesha (that was her true name)was mine. "

As Halil finished his story, I became aware that he had another listenerin the shape of a little urchin, clad in a brightly coloured gown, whichreached to the ground, and who wore, perched on his closely-shaven head, a small tarboosh. He had appeared from some corner of the shop, and nowsidled up to Halil, his bright black eyes fixed on my face. 

"See, Effendi, " said Halil, with a proud smile, "this is the eldest ofmy five boys. "

After I had rejoiced the eldest son's heart with a small "backsheesh, " Itook leave of Halil with many friendly salutations, and a pressinginvitation on his part to come again soon. 

_From Behind the Speaker's Chair. _

(VIEWED BY HENRY W. LUCY. )

 [_The first of what, it is hoped, will be a long series of articles, descriptive of the House of Commons, is here appended. The author is Mr. Henry Lucy, who has spent nearly a quarter of a century in the Press Gallery of the House, and who, in addition to much other successful journalistic work, has, in the character of "Toby, M. P. , " supplied to our distinguished contemporary, "Punch" some of its most amusing sketches. "From Behind the Speaker's Chair" will be continued, and will, we believe, be looked forward to by our readers, month by month, with constant interest. _--EDITOR. ]

[Illustration]

Eheu fugaces! It is just twenty years, marked by the opening Session, since I first had the opportunity of viewing the House of Commons from acoign of 'vantage behind the Speaker's Chair. It is more than twentyyears since I looked on the place with opportunity for closely studyingit. But, as I am reminded by an inscription in an old rare copy of"Dod, " it was in February, 1873, that I was installed in the PressGallery in charge of the Parliamentary business of a great daily paper. 

I first saw the House in circumstances that might well have led me tothe Clock Tower. It was in the spring of 1869. I was passing throughLondon, on my way to Paris, where I had proposed to myself to live for ayear, master the language, and proceed thence to other capitals ofEurope, learn their tongues, and return to storm the journalisticcitadel in London, armed with polyglot accomplishments. Even then I hada strong drawing towards the House of Commons, but desired to see it, not as the ordinary stranger beheld it from the gallery facing theChair, but from the Press Gallery itself. 

In those days the adventure was far more difficult than in existingcircumstances. The country Press was not represented save vicariously inthe form of a rare London correspondent, who wrote a weekly letter forsome phenomenally enterprising county paper. The aggregate of the Londonstaffs was far smaller than at present, and was, it struck me at thetime, composed almost exclusively of elderly gentlemen. The chances ofdetection of an unauthorized stranger (being, moreover, a beardlessyouth) were accordingly increased. But I was determined to see the Housefrom behind the Speaker's Chair, and was happy in the possession of afriend as reckless as myself. He was on the staff of a morning journal, and, though not a gallery man, knew most of the confraternity. 

One night he took me down to the gallery and endeavoured to induce morethan one of the old stagers to pilot me in. They stared aghast at theproposal, and walked hurriedly away. We were permitted to stand at theglass door giving entrance to the gallery and peer upon the House, whichstruck me as being very empty. The door swung easily to and fro as themen passed in and out, taking their turn. The temptation provedirresistible. 

"I think I'll go in, " I said. 

[Illustration: OLD STAGERS. ]

"Very well, " dear old Walter hoarsely whispered. "Turn sharp to theright, sit down on a back bench, and I daresay no one will notice you. "

At the corner of the bench, presumably guarding the doorway, sat aportly gentleman in evening dress, with a gold badge slung across hisabundant shirt front. He was fast asleep, and I passed along the bench, sitting down midway. At that time there were no desks in front of theseback benches, which were tenantless. I suppose my heart beattumultuously, but I sat there with apparent composure. At length I hadreached the House of Commons, and eagerly gazed upon it, feeling likesome watcher of the skies when a new planet swims into his ken;

 Or like stout Cortez when, with eagle eyes, He stared at the Pacific. 

[Illustration: Fast asleep. ]

I don't know how long I sat there; probably not five minutes, certainlylong enough to be struck with the smallness of the chamber, thecommonplace appearance of the personages forming the historic assembly, and the perfect manner in which they dissembled their interest incurrent proceedings. Then I became conscious of a movement in the sunkenboxes before me, where the reporters, taking their turn, sat. Heads wereturned and whispered consultations took place. Someone woke up theportly gentleman, whom through many later years I knew as Steele, thechief janitor of the Press Gallery. 

In time, then far off, he became the possessor of a cottage and gardenin Kent, whither, wearied with his legislative labours, he used toretire from Saturday to Monday. 

[Illustration: Roses. ]

In summer-time he always brought me two or three roses, which he put inmy hand with an awkward sort of flap, as if they were a slice of baconhe was depositing on a counter. That was his way of intimating that itwas of no consequence. He noticed that I always comforted myself throughlong debates and all-night sittings with a handful of flowers set in alittle glass on my desk, which was generally upset in the course of theevening by some unsympathetic reporter borrowing my box during atemporary absence, and clumsily turning round in the circumscribedspace. 

[Illustration: "Get out!"]

But that is another story. It was no flowers that Steele now brought me, but stern peremptory command to "get out!" He was unusually irate, firstat having been wakened out of his sleep, and secondly at having inprobably unique circumstances been caught napping at the post of duty. Iwent forth disconsolate, and there was a great hubbub in the dark littleroom outside. My friend and co-conspirator fled in affright when he sawme actually enter the gallery. Now he dropped in in a casual way, andstood at the edge of the crowd whilst Steele took down my name andaddress, and told me I should "hear from the Serjeant-at-Arms. " I don'tknow whether that potentate ever communicated with me. I fancy Steele, recognising his own somewhat imperilled position, was not anxious topursue the matter. Anyhow, I never heard from the Serjeant-at-Arms. Walter and I agreed, as a matter of precaution, that I had betterhasten my departure for Paris, and two days later the English Channelrolled between me and the Clock Tower. 

Next time I entered the Press Gallery it was as the accreditedrepresentative of the _Pall Mall Gazette_. I came over from Paris tospend Christmas at home, and never went back to complete thatcontinental tour in search of knowledge, which I fancy had beensuggested by Goldsmith's trip with his flute. It happened that in theearly days of 1870, the proprietor of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ began thefirst of the series of chequered changes in the history of the journal, by starting it as a morning paper. I had been an occasional contributorin a humble way to the evening edition, and thought I might have achance of an appointment on the staff of the new morning paper. 

Mentioning this to my friend Walter, he undertook to see it through, just as he had fallen in with the even more audacious proposal to enterthe Press Gallery. I remember we were not far off Northumberland Streetwhen the subject was broached, and might easily have walked there. ButWalter could never embark upon enterprises of this kind unless he wentin a cab, the driver being incited to go at topmost speed. 

[Illustration: OUTSIDE THE "PALL MALL" OFFICE. ]

He left me in the cab whilst he ran upstairs to the office inNorthumberland Street--I saw him going two steps at a time--and flunghimself into the office of Mr. Fyffe, an old and highly-esteemed memberof the _Times_ staff, who had joined Mr. Frederick Greenwood in theeditorial direction of the new development of the _Pall Mall_. WhatWalter said to Fyffe I never learned in detail, but subsequently hadreason to guess he told him he had in the cab downstairs a young fellowwho was (or would be) one of the wonders of the journalistic world, andthat the morning edition of the _Pall Mall_ would have no chance unlessit secured his services. 

However it came about; whether Fyffe had some work in hand and wasanxious to be relieved from the embarrassing presence of his visitorbounding all over the room in the enthusiasm of his advocacy; orwhether, as usually happens with a new paper, choice was limited, I wasengaged then and there as assistant sub-editor at the salary of fourguineas a week. I believe the regular average rate of remuneration wasfive guineas. But I was young and inexperienced; and after living in theQuartier Latin for nearly a year on fifteenpence a day, cultivatingFrench literature on _petits noirs_, four guineas a week was acompetency. "_Trois de café_" is what Daudet in his "_Trente ans deParis_" calls this sip of nectar. "_C'est a dire_, " he explains, "_pourtrois sous d'un café savoureux balsamique raisonnablement édulcoré_. "But Daudet must have frequented aristocratic quarters. At our _crèmerie_we never paid more than two sous, and, bent on attaining luxury, wedemanded "_un petit noir_. "

When the paper started, Mr. Fyffe did the Parliamentary summary, ofwhich the _Pall Mall_ made a feature, placing it on the leader page. Oneafternoon, after I had been on the staff for some six weeks, I looked inat the office, and found it in a state of consternation. Fyffe had beensuddenly taken ill, and it was impossible for him to go down to theHouse to do the summary. Mr. Greenwood sent for me and asked me to takehis place, for that night at least. To go down to the House of Commonsand take an ordinary "turn" of reporting for the first time is, Isuppose, a trying thing. To be bundled off at an hour's notice to fillthe place of one of the most eminent Parliamentary writers of the day, and to supply a leading article on a subject of the surroundings ofwhich one was absolutely ignorant, might seem appalling. It all camevery naturally to me. I did my best in the strange, somewhatbewildering, circumstances, and as long as the morning edition of the_Pall Mall_ lasted, I continued to write its summary. Fyffe came roundagain in a week; but he never more took up the summary, leaving it in myhands, with many words of kind encouragement. 

It was in October, 1872, I joined the staff of the _Daily News_, having, under Mr. Robinson's watchful eye, gone through a period of probationas contributor of occasional articles descriptive of current events. Imight, in the ordinary course of events, have continued in that line, asmy friend and colleague Senior has done these twenty years, with honourto himself and credit to the paper. But here, again, chance befell andirresistibly led me back to the Press Gallery. In this very year achange took place in a long-standing management of the _Daily News_Parliamentary corps and the writing of its summary, and Mr. Robinsondesignated me as successor of the gentleman who retired. It was acurious and, in some respects, a delicate position, seeing that I was, compared with some members of the staff, a mere chicken in point of age. There were three who had been on the paper since it started, any one ofwhom might, had Fortune favoured me in that direction, have been mygrandfather. But we got along admirably, they easing my path with kindlycounsel and the friendliest consideration. 

[Illustration: MR. ROBINSON. ]

[Illustration: THREE OLD MEN. ]

It was different with some of the old hands on the other corps, whobitterly resented the intrusion. I am not quite sure whether the two orthree who still survive have got over it yet. Certainly old "Charlie"Ross, then and for some years after manager of the _Times_ staff, carried the feeling to his honoured grave. After I had sat next but oneto him in the gallery for many Sessions he used, on encountering me inthe passage, to greet me with a startled expression, as if I were oncemore an intruder, and would walk back to the outer doorkeeper (whom heautocratically called Smeeth, because his name was Wright) to ask, "Who's that?"

Old Ross's personal affront in this matter probably dated back to theSession of 1872, when I took an occasional turn for a friend who was amember of his staff. This was young Latimer, son of the proprietor ofthe _Western Daily Mercury_, who had been called to the Bar andoccasionally got a brief on the Western Circuit. When he went out oftown I became his substitute in respect of his Parliamentary duties. Itwas Mr. Ross's custom of an afternoon to seat himself on the bench inthe ante-chamber of the Press Gallery, armed with a copy of the _Times_report of the day, with the "turns" all marked with the name of the manwho had written them. He genially spent the morning in reading theprodigious collocation in search of errors. When found, these were madea note of, the guilty person was sent for and had a more or lesspleasant quarter of an hour. This was called being "on the gridiron. "

I had only one experience of the process. Seated one day by commandbeside this terrible old gentleman, he produced the marked passagecontaining one of my turns, and pointing to the name, Mr. Ward Hunt, fixed a glowering eye on me and said, with his slow intonation:--

"Who is 'Mr. Ward Hunt'?"

"He is the member for North Northamptonshire, " I timidly replied. 

"Oh!" he said, witheringly, "that's whom you mean. 'Ward Hunt'! Let metell you, sir, Ward Hunt may do very well for the penny papers, but inthe _Times_ report we write 'Mr. W. Hunt. '"

I don't know why this should have been, since the burly gentleman, whoin the next Parliament was Chancellor of the Exchequer, was invariablycalled by his full style. But then, as I have said, nobody knew why old"Charlie" Ross dubbed Wright Smith, and pronounced it Smeeth. 

Gentlemen of the Press Gallery who now live at Westminster at ease, withtheir library, their smoking-room, their choice of writing-out rooms, their admirably-appointed and self-administered commissariat department, little know the state of things that existed twenty years ago. CommitteeRoom No. 18 had then recently been appointed to their use as awriting-room, providing it were not, when the House met, still in theoccupation of a Committee. But the writing-out rooms originallyapportioned, and then still in constant use, were two dark, ill-ventilated dens which served as ante-chambers from the PressGallery. The _Times_ staff appropriated the room to the right, stilloccupied by their telephonic service; the corresponding room to the leftbeing for general use. The room at the top of the stairs--where Wrightstill presides and entrances the telegraph messengers with sententiousremarks on political, social, and philosophic affairs--was also used forwriting-out purposes, if a man could find a corner at the table at whichto sit. 

[Illustration: SMEETH. ]

This was difficult, since this closet, not bigger than a boot-room in anordinary household, was also sole dining-room attached to the PressGallery. In addition to his official duties at the door, Wright, in hisprivate capacity, added those of purveyor. Every Monday he brought down(in two red cotton pocket-handkerchiefs, it was profanely said) a roundof cold boiled beef and a chunk of boiled ham; the latter tending, ifmemory serves, rather towards the shank end. This, with bread, cheese, and bottled beer, was the sole provision for the sustenance of the sixtyor seventy gentlemen who then composed the corps of the Press Gallery. At that time it was more widely the practice to go out to dinner orsupper. But for those whose duties kept them in close attendance on thegallery there was nothing for it but cold beef, cold ham, or anamalgamation carefully doled forth. Many a night, seated at the littletable that still remains in this outer room, I have watched Wrightprepare my sumptuous repast. He was even then short-sighted, and to thisday I have vivid recollection of the concern with which I saw his noseapproach to dangerous contiguity of the round of beef as he leaned overit to cut a slice with judicious thinness. 

[Illustration: CUTTING THE BEEF. ]

[Illustration: LORD CHARLES RUSSELL. ]

Even this accommodation was regarded askance by the constitutionalauthorities of the House, still accustomed to regard the Press as anintruder happily subject, under the beneficent regulations of the Stuartdays, to instant expulsion if any member pleased to take note of thepresence of its representatives. In 1867, a Committee sat to considerthe general arrangements of the House. The reporters, greatly daring, took the opportunity of laying before it a statement of theirgrievances, and asked for fuller convenience for carrying on their work. Lord Charles Russell, then Serjeant-at-Arms, was, very properly, astonished at their unreasonableness, and plaintively deplored the timeswhen, as he put it, reporters seemed to require only the necessaries oflife, not presuming to lift their eyes to its luxuries. 

"They used, I am told, " Lord Charles added, "to have just a glass ofwater and biscuits, or anything of that sort. Now they have their tea atthe back of the gallery. "

[Illustration: MR. DAVID PLUNKET. ]

Oliver Twist asking for more scarcely reached the height of the audacityof these reporters in 1867. Like Mr. Bumble, the Serjeant-at-Arms of theday literally gasped in dismayed astonishment. 

All this is changed. Thanks to the courtesy and reasonableness ofsuccessive First Commissioners of Works, of whom Mr. David Plunket wasnot the least forward in doing good, the arrangements in connection withthe Press Gallery of to-day leave nothing to be desired. 

Of the changes that have taken place in the House itself, and of theghosts that flit about the benches where twenty years ago they sat inflesh and bone, I shall have something to say next month. 

 * * * * *

[IMPORTANT NOTICE. --_Companion to the STRAND MAGAZINE. Now Selling. Tobe obtained of all Booksellers and Newsagents. THE PICTURE MAGAZINE, Price Sixpence, Monthly. This new publication, issued from the officesof "The Strand, " contains nothing but pictures, and forms an ArtMagazine for the General Public. Features:--Fine Art Portraits, CuriousPictures, Humorous Pictures, Pictures of Places, Pictures for Children, etc. , etc. _]

_A Child's Tear. _

[Illustration]

THE DRAMATIST'S STORY. 

FROM THE FRENCH OF EDOUARD LEMOINE. 

In a Parisian green-room a new performer was complaining of nervousness. From some of her companions she received encouragement, but the majorityexpressed themselves after this fashion: "Such tremors are incurable. Asnature has formed us, bold or timid, cold or ardent, grave or gay, so wemust remain. Whoever saw an ambitious man cured of his ambition, or amiser of his avarice?"

Some members of the company objected to the fatalism of theseobservations, and one said: "If you ask for a converted miser, I canshow you one. Here he is! _I_ am one. "

The man who said this was a popular dramatist, noted for generosity. Hisstatement was received with ejaculations of "Nonsense!" "Impossible!""Do you expect us to believe that?" "Indeed, " answered he, quiteseriously, "I speak the truth. I _was_ a miser, although now, I trust, Iam such no longer. If you would care to hear it, I will relate to youthe story of my conversion. It was effected by _a child's tear_. " Allpresent immediately crowded around him, and heard from his lips thefollowing recital:--

"In 1834, " said the dramatist, "I had just given to the theatre of thePorte-Saint-Martin one of the most successful of my pieces. One dayabout that time two letters reached me by the same post. Both were fromMarseilles. One was from a theatrical manager, informing me that heintended bringing out my new piece there, and that he desired mypresence at the final rehearsals of the drama. With regard toremuneration for my trouble, I might make my own terms in reason. Thesecond letter, a very brief one, ran thus: 'Monsieur, the wife anddaughter of your brother are dying of want. Some hundreds of francswould save them, and I doubt not that you will hasten to visitconnexions so near to you, and make arrangements for their present andfuture comfort. ' This letter bore the signature of Dr. Lambert, ofMarseilles. 

"As I have already told you, I was a miser in the worst sense of theword. The physician's letter, far from moving me to pity, merelyrenewed certain angry feelings which had formerly existed in my mindtowards my sister-in-law. When, some years back, my brave sailorbrother, who had since been drowned, had written to tell me of hisapproaching marriage with a fisherman's daughter, I, in my miserablepride and miserliness, had replied that in marrying a penniless girl, Iconsidered that he was doing a most foolish and degrading action. I waseven wretch enough to advise him to break off the match, if that werestill possible. My brother, like the honourable man he was, wedded thegirl he loved. My sister-in-law, who was a high-spirited Breton, neverforgot my letter, and despised its writer. When she lost her husband, and found herself in need, it was long ere she could bring herself toapply to me. But the sight of her only child wasting away from sheerwant, had at last broken down her pride. 

[Illustration: "NEAR THE INVALID'S BED STOOD HER LITTLE GIRL. "]

"As the engagement at the Marseilles theatre seemed likely to prove ahighly profitable one, I, as you might expect, lost no time in acceptingthe offer. I wrote off to the manager at once, and followed my letter inperson with as little delay as possible. When I arrived at the principalhotel of Marseilles, I encountered there, in the act of inquiring forme, the doctor who had written on my sister-in-law's behalf. As I hadnot replied to his letter, the good man had said in his simplicity: 'Hewill be here in person, ' and had looked for me every day. 'You have lostno time, sir, ' said he. 'Doubtless you thought, and rightly, that didyou delay, death might forestall you. Ah! I am indeed glad to see you!'

"I was completely nonplussed. My sole object in visiting Marseilles hadbeen the professional one; but how could I avow such a fact to such aman? For very shame I could not do so. Accordingly, instead of goingstraight to the theatre, as I had intended doing, I walked away with thedoctor to my sister-in-law's poor abode. 

"It was a most wretched room. Yet the first object in it that caught myeye was a very beautiful one. Near the invalid's bed stood her littlegirl, with large black eyes, pretty curly hair, and a face whoseexpression was a pathetic combination of youthful brightness andpremature sadness. At the first glance I could have taken the lovelycreature into my arms; then I sternly repressed this alien emotion. Thedoctor, after he had spoken a few words to his patient, beckoned me toapproach. As I did so the poor woman tried to raise herself. The mixtureof sadness and pride upon her faded countenance told me plainly howgreat an effort it had cost her to appeal to me. Using the strongestplea that she knew, she pointed to her child with weak, tremblingfinger, and said in low tones: 'See here! She will soon be alone in theworld. '

"Even this touching appeal produced (I blush to say it) no effect uponmy hard heart. I answered coldly: 'Why give way to such fears? You areyoung; you have a good physician; why lose all hope?' A less selfish manwould have added: 'You have a brother-in-law also, who means to do hisbest for you. ' But _I_ said nothing of the sort. My only thought was howI might most easily escape from the threatened burden. The little girl, who had been gazing at me with wondering eyes, now came to my side, andsaid: 'Will you, please, sit upon the bed? Because you are too tall forme to kiss you if you stand. '

"I sat down, and the child climbed upon my knee. Her mother's eyes wereclosed, and her hands were clasped together as if in prayer. Unaffrighted by my black looks, the little one threw her arms around myneck, and pressed her lips to my cheek. 'Will you be my papa?' said she. 'I will love you so dearly! You are like papa. He was very good. Are_you_ good, too?' My only answer was to unclasp her arms somewhatroughly from my neck, and set her down upon the floor. She cast upon mea glance of mingled surprise, disappointment, and fear, and a tearrolled slowly down her cheek. Her silent sorrow worked the miracle thather pretty, fond prattle had failed to effect. As by an enchanter'swand, the ugliness of my character, the utter brutality of my conductwas revealed to me in that moment. I shuddered in horror andself-disgust, and yielded at once to my good angel. I lifted thedisconsolate little maiden into my arms, and, laying my hand upon herhead, said: 'Yes, my child, I promise to be a father to you; you shallbe my dear little daughter, and I will love and take care of youalways. '

[Illustration: "I lifted the little maiden into my arms. "]

"How happy this promise made my sister-in-law words fail me to describe. Her joyful excitement alarmed both the physician and myself. Joy, however, seldom kills. 'Brother! brother!' she murmured; 'how mythoughts have wronged you! Forgive me!' Her gratitude stung mynewly-awakened conscience more sharply than any reproach could havedone. I hastened to change the subject to that of the sick woman'sremoval to a better dwelling. The doctor, with ready kindness, undertookthe task of house-hunting, for which I, a stranger to the place, was notso well qualified. 

"He found for us a delightful cottage in the neighbourhood ofMarseilles. There we three--my sister-in-law, my niece, andmyself--lived for three months. At the end of that time the motherpassed peacefully away, leaving her child to my care, with fullconfidence in my affection. Marie has been with me ever since. Her joyshave been my joys, her life has been my life. Do I not owe her much?That tear of hers--a precious pearl gathered by my heart--has been to itwhat the dewdrop of morn is to the unopened flower--expanding it for theentire day of its existence!"

_The Queer Side of Things. _

THE DWINDLING HOUR. 

A STORY OF IMPRESSION AND CONVICTION; BEING, POSSIBLY, A TRUE WORDSPOKEN IN JEST. 

I. 

[Illustration]

"In an hour, " sang the minstrel to his harp, whose frame was the curvedblack horn of a deer--"in an hour thy forefather strode from this spotwhereon we sit to the summit of yon blue hill; and there, as the sinkingsun would bend to caress his feet (as grovels a vanquished foe), hewould touch its face with his hand in token of friendliness. 'Twixtdawning of day and noon would thy great forefather slay three hundredred-eyed wolves--one hundred shuffling bears!

"In a day did he carve and hew this bowl from the hardest rock, andfashion and form it thus; and bore a hole in its base for the water totrickle and ooze, and number the hours that sped!"

Then up rose the hunter to whom he sang; and broad was his chest, andactive his limb; and he cried aloud, "What my forefather did that will Ido; in an hour will I stride from here to the summit of yon blue hill. "

And those that sat around, listening, laughed from their deep chests, shouting in mockery; for the blue hill was a day's journey away. 

Then in anger the chief clutched his spear of flint; and he cried tothem, "Fill up the bowl to the mark that marks an hour, and fill it upagain till the two hours mark is reached; and ere the last drop is outwill I stand on yon blue hill; and moisten my hand in the bowl. "

Then turned he his face to the West, and, striding, stood on the cairnthat capped the blue hill; and, returning, plunged his hand in the bowl:and, lo! his finger was moistened by the last drop ere it dripped fromthe hole at the base!

Then those that sat around sent up a shout of mockery; and they said, "Lo, since you strode away hath the red sun set on the hill, and hathrisen again from the lake; and is stooping to set once more!"

"Then, " cried he, "your words are a lie; for the clock but marks twohours. "

But the others cried in their turn, "The marks in the bowl were made tonumber, not hours, but _days_!"

But the minstrel answered them, "Nay; they were made to number thehours--the hours of the distant past; the hours that were long as days. "

Then the younger among them laughed, and held it a minstrel's myth; butthe elders, pondering, cried, "These words of the singer are sooth; forthe days that whiten our beards are passing in greater haste than thedays that lengthened our limbs!"

But the younger among them said, "The hole in the bowl is clogged; itshould run twelve times as fast. "

And they bored the hole in the base till the water dripped morefast--twelve drops to the former one--and numbered the hours thatpassed. 

And, wreathed in the grey of the mist that crept from the breast of thelake, the soul of the hero of old, of him who had fashioned the clock, looked down on them while they wrought: and vainly it strove to speak, and tell of the truth it knew; but voice and a tongue to speak would itlack for ages to come, for never a voice or tongue would it have tillits hour arrived to dwell in the flesh once more; and then, and nevertill then, should it tell of the truth it knew. 

II. 

And, behold, on a day certain men journeyed toward Egypt, and this wasthat land of Egypt that should thereafter be mighty exceedingly; forthese were the days before the First Dynasty--yea, many thousands ofyears before. And, it being nigh unto the time of the setting of thesun, they happened, by adventure, upon a cavern. 

And they that journeyed toward the land of Egypt spake, saying, Shall wenot lay down our burthens, and shall we not take the burthens from offour camels and from off our asses in this place, and abide for the dayin this place, even here?

And they lay down their burthens even as they had spoken, saying, Shallwe not lay them down? Also they took the burthens from off their camelsand from off the backs of their asses, yea, and even from off the backsof their wives; and did tether them, even their camels and their assesand their wives, round about the cavern; and the men that journeyedtoward the land of Egypt entered in unto the cavern, where there wasshade, and washed their feet, and rested in the heat of the day. 

And it came to pass, while they that journeyed toward the land of Egyptrested in the cavern in the heat of the day, that they found a bowl inthe cavern, and the bowl was of hard stone; even hewn from the hardestrock; and in the base of the bowl was a hole; and they that journeyedtoward the land of Egypt marvelled at the bowl. 

[Illustration: "They marvelled at the bowl. "]

And behold, a certain man of them that was a wise man spake, saying, This is a clock at which ye marvel; for hath it not marks upon the innerside, even on the inward surface thereof, and were these marks not madeto show the hours, by the dripping of the water from the hole that is atthe bottom of the bowl, even the under side thereof?

But they cried out upon him, saying, This is no true thing that youspeak, neither is it the fact: for the water would abide in the bowl, between one mark and another, for the space of more than an hour; yea, even more than two or three hours!

Then they cried out all together that the bowl should be filled withwater; howbeit they said, Behold there is not in this cavern watersufficient to fill the bowl; for have we not emptied the water-skinsthat the women did fill at the well and did carry here; and is not thewell distant from this place, even many paces of a camel?

And there was none among them that would arise and go in the heat of theday to fetch the water that was in the well; but he that was wise amongthem spake, saying:--

Shall not our wives, even those that are tethered outside the cavernround about it--shall not one of these go unto the well and fill thebowl at the well, and bring it hither filled with the water that is inthe well?

So they that journeyed toward the land of Egypt called out to the wivesthat they should enter in and fetch the bowl; and should fill it at thewell, even as they had spoken. 

And it came to pass when the bowl was filled and set in their midst, that the water that was in the bowl, by reason of its dripping so slowlyfrom the hole that was at the bottom of the bowl, abode in the bowlbetween one mark and another the space of three hours by the shadow of aspear that was set up outside the cavern. 

So they that journeyed toward the land of Egypt, even they that lay inthe cavern, cried, saying, Behold, is it not even as we said, saying, The water will abide in the bowl between one mark and another for thespace of more than an hour; and hath it not abode there the space ofthree hours?

But he that was wise among them said unto them, Nay, but for a certaintythese marks that are in the bowl were made for the marking of the spaceof an hour; howbeit the hours that were at the time of the making ofthis bowl, were they not of the space of three hours, even of three ofthe hours of the present time?

Then they that were aged and well stricken in years among them that layin the cavern in the heat of the day, these communed with themselves fora space; and they spake, saying, Verily thus, and thus it seemeth untous; that the space of the passing of the hours that behold the whitenessof our beards is verily shorter than the space of the passing of thehours that did behold the increasing of our statures in the tents of ourfathers! And it seemed unto them even so, that this saying was true. 

[Illustration: _Honour to thee, King Ammon, mighty as Pthah the god, sonof Osiris, to whom libations! A bowl wrought of hard stone set up at thetemple of Isis marking the time. _]

But they that were young among them, even the young men, scoffed, saying, The hole that is at the bottom of the bowl is clogged by reasonof dirt that is within the hole: shall we not, therefore, bore out thehole, to the end that the water that is within the bowl shall dripfaster, even three times as fast; and shall set forth the hours?

So they that were young did according to that saying; and they bored thehole round about, until the water that was within the bowl dripped outthree times as fast. 

And they rejoiced, saying, Behold, now it is a good and useful clock!And they bore the bowl with them into the land of Egypt; four wives andan ass carried the bowl in their turns--the four women for a space, andthe ass for a space--until they came to the land of Egypt; and the clockwas set up in the land of Egypt. And this was in the days before theFirst Dynasty; yea, many thousands of years before. And behold, thespirit of him that had wrought the bowl followed after the bowl, evenunto the land of Egypt; for the spirit was filled with a great andexceeding desire to speak those things that were known unto it; yet thetime of its speaking was not yet. 

III. 

In the days of Amun-Ta-Ra, in the Fifth Dynasty, in the year of theAltering of the Clock. Glory to thee, Amun. 

In that year, after his return from the war with many captives, didAmun-Ta-Ra order the greater hollowing of the hole at bottom of theclock set up before the temple of Isis telling the hours. 

The clock too slowly dripping, the hole being in part stopped, showingthe hours too long, was altered. One hour in the space of two did itcount. Let Amun-Ta-Ra live. 

IV. 

Young Reuben scraped off his boots the worst of the mud from the furrowsagainst the gate-post, shut the gate, and trudged homewards from hislabour; as he turned into the road from the end of the lane he came insight of old Reuben, sitting as usual on his heap of stones by theroadside; his hammer lay idly in his hand, its head on the heap oflarger flints before him; the old gentleman was slowly shaking hishead--not that he was such a very old gentleman; sixty, maybe; and stillhale and strong. 

"What be amiss, father?" said young Reuben. "Ye've bin a-settin' thereshakin' yer head like a old owl since I turned into the road. It be timeto knock off. "

"Amiss, Reuben? Why, thet's where you have me, like. What I know is, there be a somethin' amiss; and it be either me or the time, and so Itell ye. Am I a-gettin' old an' weak, boy; or is it the hours a-goin'quicker? Lookee here, Reuben, it do seem to me as I can do less in thetime every blessed day as follers t'other! Why, thirty year agone, blest if I didn't do--ah, double thet there little 'eap in the day'swork--and yet, blame me if I feel a bit weaker nor I used ter! You markmy words, Reuben, boy; the hours is a-gettin' shorter every day--thet'swhat they're a-doin', and you put it down at thet!"

Young Reuben laughed incredulously. "You're a-gittin' lazy, old'un--that's about the size of it, " he said. 

[Illustration: 'Young Reuben laughed. ']

"I hain't a-gettin' nothink o' the kind nor discripshen!" said oldReuben, starting up indignantly; "and you put it down at thet. "

"Well, lazy or not lazy, I ken show ye a stone as you ain't industrousenough fer to break. Found it in a furrer, I did; an' talk about 'ard!And a fair rum 'un he be, too. "

They plodded to the field young Reuben had just left; and young Reuben, with some difficulty, lifted the "stone" for inspection. It was a bowl, very ancient by the look of it, laboriously carved and ground out from apiece of rock that seemed as hard as steel. 

"A rum 'un he be, too, and right you are, " said old Reuben. "Awash-bowl, likely. "

"What be that 'ole in the bottom fer, then?" said young Reuben. 

"Why, fer to empty him, that be, as a pig might see with 'is eyes shet. "

They carried the bowl home, and a pretty good weight they found it. 

Old Jim Pedler came along that evening to have a pipe. Jim Pedler hadbeen about a deal here and there, and he knew a lot. 

"Why, whatee got theer?" said he. 

"Mebbe ye'll know that better ner us, " replied old Reuben. "Some kindo'wash-basin, so we seem to reckon it be. "

"Wash-basin, " said old Jim Pedler. "That's jest what it been't. I telleenow, I do think as it's some kind of old sort of water-clock, an' that'swhat I think. Why, see here now, if there ain't bin lines 'ere insidefer to mark the hours or somethin'. That's it--it be a water-clock. S'pose we gits some water an' tries it. "

They cleared out the hole at the bottom and filled the bowl with waterup to the first hour mark; and, old Jim Pedler having a watch, they satand looked on as the water dripped out; but when they had sat and smokedfor two hours the bowl was still far from empty. 

"'Twern't never meant to reckon hours by, that's a moral, " said youngReuben. 

"Thet's more ner _you_ knows, " replied old Reuben. "What der _you_ knowabout folks's hours as lived ages ago? You jest let other folks's hoursalone, as p'raps knowed better ner you. Mebbe their hours _was_longer--what did I say this wery day about the hours a-bein' shorter nowthan wot they was thirty year agone? But I tell yer wot: it 'ud make anotionable kind of clock if we was to bore the 'ole a bit bigger andjest manage to git it right for the hours. "

So they drilled and filed and tried to chip; and after much labour theymade the hole large enough to let out the water from one mark to thenext in sixty minutes. 

And all the while there hovered around them, invisible, the spirit ofhim that fashioned the bowl, longing to speak what it knew; but its timefor returning to the flesh was not yet--but it was coming. 

V. 

The nineteenth century was ancient history, when one day, in abreathless, hurrying world, a busy City man was borne electrically hometo his suburban villa one hundred miles from the City. 

[Illustration: "They sat and smoked for two hours. "]

He was tired and morose, and a settled worry clouded his face. 

"What is it to-day, John?" asked his wife. "Done nothing again?"

[Illustration: "What is it to-day, John?"]

"Nothing, " replied the City man, wearily. "Absolutely nothing. Got up atseven--hurried like mad over dressing and breakfast, and managed to getthrough them by ten, and rush to town--got to town at twelve-thirty, andsat down to write one short letter--finished that by two--saw Brownabout the cargo, and said a few words to him by four-thirty--read atelegram and two letters, fast as I could read, by five-thirty--gaveinstructions, about twenty words, to chief clerk by seven--dashed homeagain like lightning, and now it's nearly ten! My dear, this _can't_ goon! The day is over before one has time to breathe! There is no time foranything. It's all very well to say we live a hundred years now againstthe seventy of a thousand years ago; but I'm convinced the years havegrown shorter. Why--just fancy, Maria--when I was a boy we used to havetime between sunrise and sunset to write out one hundred and fifty linesof Virgil, or row three miles on the river. Why, I saw in a very oldnewspaper in the Museum lately, that an athlete could once run a mile onthe cinder path in four minutes seventeen seconds; and it can't be donenow by a champion under twenty-five minutes! Halloa! here's the carrierbrought that curious old water-clock I bought at the antiquity shopyesterday. .. . You see those faint lines inside? They were to mark thehours--hours, though--no! I'm sure the water would never drip throughthat little hole fast enough to sink one of those measurements in anhour. Let's try. .. . Halloa! While I've been talking it's got to oneo'clock a. M. ; and we haven't had time for dinner to-day--I meanyesterday. Maria! this _can't_ go on! It's killing!"

Next Sunday the City man tried the water-clock, and it took five hoursand three-quarters for it to register an hour; so he had the hole at thebottom made larger--of more than five times its former capacity; and itregistered the hours. 

And the spirit of him that had fashioned it hovered ever about theclock, waiting to speak what it knew; and its time was soon to come. 

[Illustration: MONDAY MORNING]

VI. 

And the City man had grown old; and his son was the City man now. And onthe morning of Monday he would arise from bed and shave, and wash, anddress; and when he had done these things it was Monday night, and he satdown and ate his breakfast; and when he had finished his breakfast anddrawn on his boots, it was Tuesday morning; and when he had hurried totown, it was Tuesday night; and when he had opened one letter and onetelegram, and said ten words to his clerk, it was Wednesday night; andwhen he had dashed back home, it was Thursday morning; and when he hadeaten his dinner, it was Friday morning; and then a short glance at thenewspaper brought him to Friday night; and then into bed by Saturdaymorning, to sleep until Monday morning. 

And he became an elderly man; and now he would arise from bed on theMonday morning, and when he had washed and dressed, it was Tuesdaymorning; and when he had eaten his breakfast, it was Wednesday morning;so he could not go to town, as there was not time in the week. And mensat down dazed and paralyzed, for there was no time to do anything. Andeach week they enlarged the hole in the water-clock; and at the end ofeach week it dripped too slowly, and fell behind. 

And a new Astronomer-Royal was appointed; and in him was the soul, re-incarnated, of him who had fashioned the clock in the dusk ofpre-historic ages; and at last he could tell what he knew. 

[Illustration]

And he told all men that the thing they had felt was true: he told themhow, for many thousands of years, the earth and all the universe hadrevolved ever faster and faster; all with proportionate increase ofvelocity, so that the circuit of the moon kept its wonted time with therevolution of the earth; and the comets came and went at their expectedseasons, as also occurred the eclipses; so that no man could know thatwhich was taking place, but only guess. And now each day they enlargedthe hole in the water-clock; until the bowl was growing to be _all_hole; and now they could not bore fast enough in the hard stone; andnow----

 J. F. SULLIVAN. 

PAL'S PUZZLE PAGE

[Illustration: FIND JOHN BULL'S 3 DAUGHTERS]

[Illustration: FIND JONATHAN'S 3 DAUGHTERS]

[Illustration: FIND BUFFALO BILL. ]

MANDRAKE ROOTS. 

[Illustration: FRONT VIEW. ]

[Illustration: BACK VIEW. ]

[Illustration: FRONT VIEW. ]

[Illustration: BACK VIEW. ]

The accompanying illustrations represent specimens of the mandragora(mandrake) root, which is found in some parts of Asia Minor and Syria. Many of these roots take the form of human beings, especially from thehips downward, and all have more or less the shape of a man or woman;one of the specimens resembling a woman carrying a child under each arm. The peasants relate that when the roots are pulled up out of the groundthey utter cries or shrieks like a person in pain. The roots are stillused for spells and other witchcraft. For these specimens we areindebted to Mr. A. Caillard, Ramleh, Alexandria, Egypt. 

[Illustration: CLOAKS AND]

[Illustration: OVER COATS OF ALL TIME]

[Illustration: THE HUNTER AND THE BIRD. ]