J6J\0M6 K.J6I\0Me 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 4825.J3A72 1893 
 
 Novel notes, 
 
 3 1924 013 488 618 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013488618 
 
JEROME K. JEROME'S BOOKS 
 
 AUTHOR'S EDITION. 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 Illustrated by J. CU'lich, A. S. EovD, Hal Hur?t, 
 Geo. Hltchinson, Mi^s H v.mmi.inu, etc. i2mo, cloth. 
 
 DIARY OF A PILGRIMAGE 
 
 (AND SIX ESSA YS). 
 ^\"Rh upward of loo Illustrations by G- G. pRASf^R 
 
 121110, cloth, §1 25 ; paper, 40c. 
 
 THREE MEN IX A BOAT 
 
 00 SA Y XOTHIXC OF THE DOC). 
 
 Illustrations by A. Fredericks. i2mo, cloth, $1.25; 
 i6mo, paper, 40c. 
 
 ON THE STACiE— AND OFF: 
 
 THE BRIEF CAREER OF A 
 WOULD-BE ACTOR. 
 
 i2mo, cloth, $1,00; i6mo, paper, 25c. 
 
 TOLD AFTER SUPPER. 
 
 AN'ith 96 or g7 lUustrati' ns by Kenneth M. Skeaping. 
 i2mo, cloth, .^i.oo; i6mo, paper, 30c 
 
 IDLE THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE 
 FELLOW. 
 
 i2mo, cloth, $1.00; i6mo, paper, 35c. 
 
 STACiE-L.\ND. 
 
 CURIOUS HAPITS AND CUSTOMS OF ITS 
 INHABITANTS. 
 Illustrated by J. Bernard Paktridce. i2mo, cloth, 
 $1.00 ; i6mo, paper, 30c. 
 
NOVEL NOTES 
 
 JEROME K. JEROME 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 J. GOlich, a. S. Boyd, Hal Hurst, Geo. Hutchinson, 
 Miss Hammond, etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 1893 
 
Copyright, i8g2, 1893, 
 
 DY 
 
 JEROME K. JEROME. 
 
 THE MEKfeHON COMPANY PRESS, 
 RAHW AY, r,. T. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 I EARS ago, when I was very small, we lived 
 in a great house in a long, straight, brown- 
 colored street, in the East End of London- 
 It was a noisy, crowded street in the day- 
 time ; but a silent, lonesome street at night, when the 
 gas lights, few and far between, partook of the char- 
 acter of lighthouses rather than of illuminants, and 
 the tramp, tramp of the policeman on his long beat 
 seemed to be ever drawing nearer, or fading away, except 
 for brief moments when the footsteps ceased, as he 
 paused to rattle a door or window, or to flash his lan- 
 tern into some dark passage leading down toward the 
 river. 
 
 The house had many advantages, so my father would 
 explain to friends who expressed surprise at his choosing 
 such a residence, and among these was included in my 
 own small morbid mind the circumstance that its back 
 windows commanded an uninterrupted view of an 
 ancient and much peopled churchyard. Often of a 
 night would I steal from between the sheets, and climb- 
 ing upon the high oak chest that stood before my bed- 
 room window, sit peering down fearfully upon the aged 
 gray tombstones, far below, wondering whether the 
 shadows that crept among them might not be ghosts — 
 soiled ghosts that had lost their natural whiteness by 
 long exposure to the city's smoke, and had grown dingy, 
 like the snow that sometimes lay there. 
 
2 PROLOGUE. 
 
 1 persuaded myself that they were ghosts, and came 
 at length to have quite a friendly feeling for them. I, 
 wondered what they thought when they saw the fading 
 letters of their own names upon the stones, whether they 
 remembered themselves and wished they were alive 
 again, or whether they were happier as they were. But 
 that seemed a still sadder idea. 
 
 One night, as I sat there watching, I felt a hand upon 
 my shoulder. I was not frightened, because it was a 
 soft gentle hand that I well knew, so I merely laid my 
 cheek against it. 
 
 "What's mumma's naughty boy doing out of bed? 
 Shall I beat him ? " And the other hand was laid 
 against my other cheek, and I could feel the soft curls 
 mingling with my own. 
 
 " Only looking at the ghosts, ma," I answered. 
 " There's such a lot of 'em down there." Then I added, 
 musingly, "I wonder what it feels like to be a ghost." 
 
 My mother said nothing, but took me up in her arms, 
 and carried rne back to bed, and then, sitting down 
 beside me, and holding my hand in hers, — there was 
 not so very much difference in the size, — began to sing 
 in that low caressing voice of hers that always made me 
 feel, for the time being, that I wanted to be a good boy, 
 a song she often used to sing to me, and that I have 
 never heard anyone else sing since, and should not care 
 to. 
 
 But while she sang, something fell on my hand that 
 cause me to sit up and insist on examining her eyes. 
 She laughed ; rather a strange, broken little laugh, I 
 thought, and said it was nothing, and told me to lie still 
 and go to sleep. So I wriggled down again and shut my 
 eyes tight, but I could not understand what had make 
 her cry. 
 
PROLOGUE. 3 
 
 Poor little mother, she had a notion, founded evidently 
 upon inborn belief rather than upon observation, that all 
 children were angels, and that, in consequence, an alto- 
 gether exceptional dernand existed for them in a certain 
 other place, where there are more openings for angels, 
 rendering their retention in this world difficult and unde- 
 pendable. My talk about ghosts must have made that 
 foolishly fond heart ache with a vague dread that night, 
 and for many a night onward, I fear. 
 
 For some time after this I would often look up to find 
 my mother's eyes fixed upon me. Especially closely did 
 she watch me at feeding times, and on these occasions, 
 as the meal progressed, her face would acquire an ex- 
 pression of satisfaction and relief. 
 
 Once, during dinner, I heard her whisper to my 
 father (for children are not quite so deaf as their elders 
 think) : " He seems to eat all right." 
 
 " Eat ! " replied my father in the same penetrating 
 undertone, " if he dies of anything, it will be of eating." 
 
 So my little mother grew less troubled, and as the 
 days went by saw reason to think that my brother angels 
 might consent to do without me for yet a while longer ; 
 and I, putting away the child with his ghostly fancies, 
 became, in course of time, a grown-up person, and ceased 
 to believe in ghosts, together with many other things that, 
 perhaps, it were better for a man if he did believe in. 
 
 But the memory of that dingy graveyard, and of the 
 shadows that dwell therein, came back to me very vividly 
 the other day, for it seemed to me as though I were a 
 ghost myself, gliding through the silent streets where 
 once I had passed swiftly, full of life. 
 
 Diving into a long unopened drawer, I had by chance 
 drawn forth a dusty volume of manuscript, labeled 
 upon its torn brown paper cover. Novel Notes. 
 
4 PROLOGUE. 
 
 The scent of dead days clung to its dogs'-eared pages ; 
 and, as it lay open before rae, my memory wandered 
 back to the summer evenings — not so very long ago, 
 perhaps, if one but adds up the years, but a long, long- 
 while ago if one measures time by feeling — when four 
 friends had sat together making it, who would never sit 
 together any more. With each crumpled leaf I turned, 
 the uncomfortable conviction ' that I was only a ghost 
 grew stronger. The handwriting was my own, but the 
 words were the words of a stranger, so that as I read I 
 wondered to myself, saying : Did I ever think this ? 
 Did I really hope that ? Did I plan to do this ? Did 
 I resolve to be such ? Does life, then, look so to the eyes 
 of a young man ? not knowing whether to smile or sigh. 
 
 The book was a compilation, half diary, half memo- 
 randa. In it lay the record of many musings, of many 
 talks, and out of it — selecting what seemed suitable, 
 adding, altering, and arranging, I have shaped the 
 chapters that hereafter follow. 
 
 That I have a right to do so I have fully satisfied my 
 own conscience — an exceptionally fussy one. Of the 
 four joint authors he whom I call " MacShaughnassy " has 
 laid aside his title to all things beyond six feet of sun- 
 scorched ground in the African veldt ; while from him 
 I have designated " Brown " I have borrowed but little, 
 and that little I may fairly claim to have made my own 
 by reason of the artistic merit with which I have embel- 
 lished it. Indeed, in thus taking a few of his bald ideas 
 and shaping them into readable form, am I not doing 
 him a kindness, and thereby returning good for evil ? 
 For has he not, slipping from the high ambition of his 
 youth, sunk ever downward step by step, until he has be- 
 come a critic, and, therefore, my natural enemy. Does 
 he not, in the columns of a certain journal of large pre- 
 
PROLOGUE. 5 
 
 tension but small circulation call me 'Arry (without an 
 " H," the satirical rogue) and is not his contempt for 
 the English speaking people based chiefly upon the fact 
 that some of them read my books ! But in the days of 
 Bloomsbury lodgings and first-night pits we thought 
 each other clever. 
 
 From " Jephson " I hold a letter, dated from a station 
 deep in the heart of the Queensland bush. " Do what 
 you like about it, dear boy," the letter runs, " so long as you 
 keep me out of it. Thanks for your complimentary regrets, 
 but I cannot share them. I was never fitted for a literary 
 career. Lucky for me, I found it out in time. Some poor 
 devils don't. {I'm not getting at you, old man. We read 
 all your stuff, and like it very much. Time hangs a bit 
 heavy, you know, here, in the winter, and we are glad of 
 almost anything!) This life suits me better. I love to feel 
 my horse between my thighs, and the sun upon my skin. 
 And there are the yonngsters growing up about us, and the 
 hands to look after, and the stock. I dare say it seems a very 
 commonplace, unintellectual life to you, but it satisfies my 
 nature more than the writing of books could ever do. Be- 
 sides, there are too many authors as it is. The world is so 
 busy reading and writing it has no time left for thinking. 
 You II tell me, of course, that books are thought, but that is 
 only the jargon of the Press. You come out here, old man, 
 and sit as I do sometimes for days and nights together alone 
 with the dumb cattle on an upheaved island of earth, as it 
 were, jutting out into the deep sky, and you will know that 
 they are not. i What a man thinks — really thinks — goes 
 down into him and grows in silence. What a man writes 
 in books are the thoughts that he thinks will read well " ' 
 
 Poor " Jephson " ! he promised so well at one time. 
 But he always had strange notions. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 jjHEN, on returning home one evening, after a 
 pipe party at nay friend Jephson's, I informed 
 ray wife ttiat I was going to write a novel, she 
 expressed herself as pleased with the idea. 
 She said she had often wondered I had never thought of 
 doing so before. " Look," she added, " how silly all the 
 novels are nowadays, I'm sure you could write one.'' 
 (Ethelbertha intended to be complimentary, I am con- 
 vinced ; but there is a looseness about her mode of ex- 
 pression which, at times, renders her meaning obscure.) 
 When, however, I told her that my friend Jephson 
 was going to collaborate with me, she remarked, " Oh! " 
 in a doubtful tone ; and when I further went on to ex- 
 plain to her that Selkirk Brown and Derrick MacShaugh- 
 nassy were going to assist, she replied, "Oh!" in a 
 tone which contained no trace of doubtfulness whatever, 
 and from which it was clear that her interest in the 
 matter as a practical scheme had entirely evaporated. 
 
 I fancy that the fact of my three collaborators being 
 all bachelors diminished somewhat our chances of suc- 
 cess, in Ethelbertha's mind. Against bachelors, as a 
 class, she entertains a strong prejudice. A man's not 
 having sense enough to want to marry, or, having that, 
 
8 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 not enough wit to do it, argues to her thinking either 
 weakness of intellect or natural depravity, the former 
 rendering its victim unable, and the latter unfit, ever to 
 become a really useful novelist. 
 
 I tried to make her understand the peculiar advan- 
 tages our plan possessed. 
 
 " You see," I explained, " in the usual commonplace 
 novel we only get, as a matter of fact, one person's ideas. 
 Now in this novel, there will be four clever men all 
 working together. The public will thus be enabled to 
 obtain the thoughts and opinions of the whole four of 
 us, at the price usually asked for merely one author's 
 views. If the British reader knows his own business, he 
 will order this book early, to avoid disappointment. 
 Such an opportunity may not occur again for years." 
 
 Ethelbertha agreed that this was probable. 
 
 " Besides," I continued, my enthusiasm waxing 
 stronger the more I reflected upon the matter, " this 
 work is going to be a genuine bargain in another way 
 also. We are not going to put our mere every day ideas 
 into it. We are going to crowd into this one novel all 
 the wit and wisdom that the whole four of us possess, if 
 the book will hold it. \<t shall not write another novel 
 after this one. Indeed, we shall not be able to ; we 
 shall have nothing more to write. This work will par- 
 take of the nature of an intellectual clearance sale. We 
 are going to put into this novel simply all we know." 
 
 Ethelbertha shut her lips, and said something inside ; 
 and then remarked aloud that she supposed it would be 
 a one volume affair. 
 
 I felt hurt at the implied sneer. I pointed out to her 
 that there already existed a numerous body of specially 
 trained men employed to do nothing else but make dis- 
 agreeable observations upon authors and their works— a 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 9 
 
 duty that, so far as I could judge, they seemed capable 
 of performing without any amateur assistance whatever. 
 And I hinted that by his own fireside a literary man 
 looked to breathe a more sympathetic atmosphere. 
 
 Ethelbertha replied that of course I knew what she 
 meant. She said that she was not thinking of me, and 
 that Jephson was, no doubt, sensible enough (Jephson 
 is engaged), but she did not see the object of bringing 
 half the parish into it. (Nobody suggested bringing 
 " half the parish " into it. Ethelbertha will talk so 
 wildly.) To suppose that Brown and MacShaughnassy 
 could be of any use whatever, she considered absurd. 
 What could a couple of raw bachelors know about life 
 and human nature? As regarded MacShaughnassy, in 
 particular, she was of opinion that if we only wanted out 
 of him all that /^^-knew, and could keep him to the sub- 
 ject, we ought to be able to get that into about a page. 
 
 My wife's present estimate of MacShaughnassy's 
 knowledge is the result of reaction. The first time she 
 ever saw him, she and he got on wonderfully well to- 
 gether, and when I returned to the drawing room, after 
 seeing him down to the gate, her first words were, 
 " What a wonderful man that Mr. .MacShaughnassy is ! 
 He seems to know so miichSbout everything." 
 
 That describes MacShaughnassy exactly. He does 
 seem to know a tremendous, lot. He is possessed of 
 more information than any man I ever came across. 
 Occasionally, it is correct information ; but, speaking 
 broadly, it is remarkable for its marvelous unreliability. 
 Where he gets it from is a secret that nobody has ever 
 yet been able to fathom. 
 
 This would not matter so much if he would only 
 keep it to himself, or put it into an encyclopedia or a 
 newspaper where nobody would take any notice of it. 
 
lO NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 and it would do no harm. But he will go about impart- 
 ing it. 
 
 He used to impart a good deal of it to Ethelbertha at 
 one time, and she in those days used to sit and listen to 
 it, and when he had finished she would ask for more. 
 
 Ethelbertha was very young when we started house- 
 keeping. (Our first butcher very nearly lost her custom, 
 
 "BUT HE WILL GO ABOUT IMPARTING IT. 
 
 I remember, once and forever, by calling her "Missie," 
 and giving her a message to take back to her mother. 
 She arrived home in tears. She said that perhaps she 
 wasn't fit to be anybody's wife, but she did not see why 
 she should be told so by the tradespeople.) She was 
 naturally somewhat inexperienced in domestic affairs, 
 and, feeling this keenly, was grateful to anyone who 
 would give her any useful hints and advice. When 
 MacShaughnassy came along, he seemed, in her eyes, 
 a sort of glorified Mrs. Beeton. He knew everything 
 
NOVEL NOTES. II 
 
 wanted to be known inside a house from the scientific 
 method of peeling a potato to the cure of spasms in 
 cats, and Ethelbertha would sit at his feet, figuratively 
 speaking, and gain enough information in one evening 
 to make the house unlivable in for a month. 
 
 He told her how fires ought to be laid. He said that 
 the way fires were usually laid in this country was con- 
 trary to all the laws of nature, and he showed her how 
 the thing was done in Ciim Tartary, or some such place 
 where the science of laying fires is alone properly under- 
 stood. He proved to her that an immense saving in 
 time and labor, to say nothing of coals, could be effected 
 by the adoption of the Crira Tartary system ; and he 
 taught It to her then and there, and she went straight 
 downstairs and explained it to the girl. 
 
 Araenda, our then " general," was an extremely stolid 
 young person, and, in some respects, a model servant. 
 She never argued. She never seemed to have any 
 notions of her own whatever. She accepted our ideas 
 without comment, and carried them out with such pe- 
 dantic precision and such evident absence of all feeling 
 of responsibility concerning the result as to surround 
 our home legislation with quite a military atmosphere. 
 
 On the present occasion she stood quietly by while the 
 MacShaughnassy method of fire-laying was expounded 
 to her. When Ethelbertha had finished she simply said: 
 
 " You want me to lay the fires like that ? " 
 
 " Yes, Amenda, we'll always have the fires laid like 
 that in future, if you please." 
 
 "All right, mum," replied Amenda, with perfect un- 
 concern, and there the matter ended for that evening. 
 
 On coming downstairs the ne.xt morning we found 
 the breakfast table spread very nicely, but there was no 
 breakfast. We waited. Ten minutes went by — a quar- 
 
NOVEL iXOTES. 
 
 ter of an hour — twenty minutes. Then Ethelbertha 
 rang the bell. In response Ameada presented herself, 
 calm and respectful. 
 
 " Do you know that the pro[ier 
 time for breakfast is half-past 
 eight, AnifiKla ? " 
 
 " Ves'm." 
 
 "f;ri lllhlivE W A^ :.rl [iKEAKKASr." 
 
 "Ami (hi vdu know that it's nnw 
 nearly nine ? " 
 
 " Yes'm." 
 
 " Well, isn't breakfast ready .? " 
 
 " Xii, mum." 
 
 " Will it ever be ready .' " 
 
 'AVell, mum," replied Amenda, in a tone of genial 
 frankness, " to tell you the truth, 1 don't think it ever 
 will." 
 
 " What's the reason ? Won t the fire light? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; it lights all right." 
 
 " Well, then, why can't you cook the breakfast ? " 
 
 " i:iecause before you can turn yourself round it goes 
 out again." 
 
 Amenda never volunteered statements. She answered 
 the question put to her and then stopped dead. I called 
 downstairs to her on one occasion, before I understood 
 her peculiarities, to ask her if she knew the time. She 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 13 
 
 replied, " Yes, sir," and disappeared into the back 
 kitchen. At the end of thirty seconds or so, I called 
 down again. " I asked you, Amenda," I said reproach- 
 fully, "to tell me the time about ten minutes ago." 
 
 "Oh, did you?" she called back presently. "I beg 
 your pardon. I thought you asked me if I knew it— it's 
 half-past four." 
 
 Ethelbertha inquired — to return to our fire — if she had 
 tried lighting it again. 
 
 " Oh, yes, mum," answered the girl. " I've tried four 
 times." Then she added cheerfully, " I'll try again if 
 you like, mum." 
 
 Amenda was the most willing servant we ever paid 
 wages to. 
 
 Ethelbertha said she would step down and light 
 the fire herself, and told Amenda to follow her and 
 watch how she did it. I felt interested in the experi- 
 ment, and followed also. Ethelbertha tucked up her 
 frock and set to work. Amenda and I stood round and 
 looked on. 
 
 At the end of half an hour Ethelbertha retired from 
 the contest, hot and dirty, and a little irritable. The 
 fireplace retained the same cold, cynical expression with 
 which it had greeted our entrance. 
 
 Then I tried. I honestly tried my best. I was eager 
 and anxious to succeed. For one reason, I wanted my 
 breakfast. For another, I wanted to be able to say that 
 I had done this thing. It seemed to me that for any 
 human being to light a fire, laid as that fire was laid, 
 would be a feat to be proud of. To light a fire even 
 under ordinary circumstances is not too easy a task — to 
 do so, handicapped by MacShaughnassy's rules, would, 
 I felt, be an achievement pleasant to look back upon in 
 one's old age. My idea, had I succeeded, would have 
 
14 NOVEL XOTES. 
 
 been to go round the neighborhood and brag about it. 
 There were married friends of ours living near us— ex- 
 perienced men who understand all about babies and 
 greenhouses and drains and such like things — who, I 
 knew, thought simply nothing of me as a family man. 
 Here was a chance for my showing these people what I 
 could do in a home. I pictured myself going down into 
 their kitchens, raking out their fires, relaying them as 
 this fire was laid, and then telling" them, as I stood point- 
 ing proudly to the grate, that I had lighted and made to 
 burn a fire laid in precisely similar manner. They would 
 not have believed me, but I should have had the con- 
 sciousness myself that I was speaking the truth, and that 
 is always a sensation worth enjoying, when you can 
 afford it. 
 
 However, I did not succeed, and mp ambition to 
 become a useful husband was nipped in its bud. 
 
 I lit various other things, including the kitchen carpet 
 and the cat, who would come sniffing round, but the 
 materials within the stove appeared to be fireproof. 
 
 Ethelbertha and I sat down, one each side of our 
 cheerless hearth, and looked at one another, and thought 
 of MacShaughnassy, until Amenda cliimed in on our 
 despair with one of those practical suggestions of hers 
 that she occasionally threw out for us to accept or not 
 as we chose. 
 
 " Maybe," said she, '' I'd better light it in the old 
 way just for to-day." 
 
 '• Do, Amenda," said Ethelbertha, rising. And then 
 she added, " 1 think we'll always have them lighted in 
 the old way, Amenda, if you please." 
 
 Another time he showed us how to make cuffee — ac- 
 cording to the Arabian method. Arabia must be a very 
 untidy country if they make coffee often over there. He 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 J5 
 
 dirtied two saucepans, three jugs, one tablecloth, one nut- 
 :r,eg-grater, one hearthrug, three cups, and himself. 
 This made coffee for two— what would have been neces- 
 sary in the case of a 
 party, one dares not 
 think. 
 
 That we did not 
 like the coffee when 
 made !\IacShaugh- 
 nassy attributed to 
 our debased taste — 
 the result of long in- 
 dulgence in an in- 
 ferior article. He 
 drank both cups him- 
 self, and afterward 
 went home in a 
 cab. 
 
 He had an aunt 
 in those days, I remember, 
 a mysterious old lady, who 
 lived in some secluded retreat 
 from which she wrought in- 
 calculable mischief upon Mac- 
 Shaughnassy's friends. What he did not know — the 
 one or two things that he was not an authority upon — 
 this aunt of his knew. " No," he would say with engag- 
 ing candor — " no, that is a thing I cannot advise you 
 about myself. But," he would add, " I'll tell you what 
 I'll do. I'll write to my aunt and ask her." And a day 
 or two afterward he would call again, bringing his aunt's 
 advice with him ; and, if you were young and inexperi- 
 enced, or a natural born imbecile, you might possibly 
 follow it. 
 
 HE SHOWED US HOW TO MAKE 
 COFFEE." 
 
l6 NOVEL XOTES. 
 
 She sent us a recipe on one occasion, tlnrough Mac- 
 Shauglinassy, for the extermination of black beetles. We 
 occupied a very picturesque old house ; but, like most 
 picturesque old houses, its advantages were chiefly exter- 
 nal. There were manv holes and cracks and crevices 
 within its cracking framework. Frogs, who had lost 
 their way and taken the wrong turning, would suddenly 
 discover themselves in the middle of our dining room, 
 apparently quite as much to their own surprise and 
 annoyance as to ours. A numerous company of rats and 
 mice, remarkable as a body for their fondness for phy- 
 sical exercise, had fitted the place up as a gymnasium 
 for themselves, and our kitchen, after ten o'clock, was 
 turned into a black beetles' club. They came up through 
 the floor and out through the walls, and gamboled there 
 in their light-hearted, reckless way till daylight. 
 
 The rats and mice Amenda did not object to. She 
 said she liked to watch them. But against the black 
 beetles she was prejudiced. Therefore when my wife 
 informed her that MacShaughnassy's aunt had given us 
 an infallible recipe for their annihilation, she rejoiced. 
 
 We purchased the materials, manufactured the mix- 
 ture, and put it about. The beetles came and ate it. 
 They seemed to like it. They finished it all up, and were 
 evidently vexed that there was not more. But they did 
 not die. 
 
 We told these facts to ^FacShaughnassv. He smiled 
 a very grim smile, and said in a low tone, full of mean- 
 ing, " Let them eat ! " 
 
 It appeared that this was one of those slow, insidious 
 poisons. It did not kill the beetle off immediately, but 
 it undermined his constitution. Day by day he would 
 sink and droop without being able to tell what was the 
 matter with himself, until one morning we should enter 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 17 
 
 the kitchen to find him lying cold and very still while 
 the gray dawn came creeping in through the shutter's 
 cracks. 
 
 So we made more stuff and laid it round each night, 
 and the black beetles from all about the parish swarmed 
 to it. Each night they came in greater quantities. 
 They fetched up all their friends and relations. Strange 
 beetles — beetles from other families, with no claim on us 
 whatever — got to hear about the thing, and came in 
 hordes and tried to rob our beetles of it. By the end of 
 a week we had lured into our kitchen every beetle that 
 wasn't lame for miles around. 
 
 MacShaughnassy said it was a good thing. We 
 should clear the suburb at one swoop. The beetles had 
 now been eating this poison steadily for ten days, and 
 he said that the end could not be far off. I was glad to 
 hear it, because I was beginning to find this unlimited 
 hospitality expensive. It was a dear poison that we 
 were giving them, and they were hearty eaters. 
 
 We went downstairs to see how they were getting on. 
 MacShaughnassy thought they seemed queer, and was of 
 opinion that they were rapidly breaking up. Speaking 
 for myself, I can only say that a healthier looking lot of 
 beetles I never wish to see. 
 
 One, it is true, did die that very evening. He was 
 detected in the act of trying to make off with an unfairly 
 large portion of the poison, and three or four of the 
 others set upon him savagely and killed him. 
 
 But he was the only one, so far as I could ever discover, 
 to whom MacShaughnassy's recipe proved fatal. As for 
 the others, they grew fat and sleek upon it. Some of 
 them, indeed,, began to acquire quite a figure. We les- 
 sened their numbers eventually by the help of some 
 common oil-shop stuff. But such vast numbers, at- 
 
I<5 A'OVEL NOTES. 
 
 traded by MacShaughnass3''s poison, had settled in the 
 house, that to ever finally exterminate them now was 
 hopeless. 
 
 I have not heard of MacShaughnabsy's aunt lately. 
 Possibly one of MacSliaughnassy's bosom friends has 
 found out her address and has gone down and murdered 
 her. If so, I should like to thank him. 
 
 I tried a little while ago to cure MacShaughnassy of 
 his fatal passion for advice giving", by repeating to him 
 a very sad story that was told to me by a gentleman 
 I met in an .American railway car. 1 was traveling from 
 Buffalo, and, during the day, it suddenly occurred to me 
 that I might make the journey more interesting bv leav- 
 ing the cars at Albany and completing the distance by 
 water. But I did not know how the boats ran, and 
 I had no guide-book with me. I glanced about for 
 someone to question. .V mild-looking elderlv gentle- 
 man sat by the ne.xt window reading a book, the cover 
 of which was familiar to me. I deemed him to be intel- 
 ligent, and approached him. 
 
 " I beg your pardon for interrupting vou," I said, 
 sitting down opposite to him, " but could you give me 
 any information about the boats between Albany and 
 New York ? " 
 
 " Well," he answered, looking up with a pleasant smile, 
 " there are three lines of boats altogether. There is the 
 Heggarty line, but they only go as far as Catskill. Then 
 there are the Poughkeepsie boats, which go every other 
 day. Or there is what we call the canal boat." 
 
 "i)h,"I said. "Well now, which would you advise 
 me to " 
 
 He jumped to his feet with a cry, and stood glaring 
 down at me with a gleam in his eyes which was positively 
 murderous. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 19 
 
 " Vou villain ! " he hissed in low lones of concentrated 
 fury, "so that's your game, is it? I'll give you some- 
 thing that you'll want advice about," and he whipped out 
 a six-chambered revolver. 
 
 I felt hurt. I also felt that if the interview were pro- 
 longed I might feel even more hurt. So I left him with- 
 out a word, and drifted over to the other end of the car, 
 where I took up a position between a stout lady and the 
 door. 
 
 I was still musing upon the incident, when, looking up, 
 I observed my elderly friend making toward me. I rose 
 and laid my hand upon the door-knob. He should not 
 find me unprepared. He smiled reassuringly, however, 
 and held out his hand. 
 
 " I've been thinking," he said, " that maybe I was a 
 little rude just now. I should like, if you will let me, to 
 explain. I think, when you have heard my story, you 
 will understand, and forgive me." 
 
 There was that about him that made me trust him. We 
 found a quiet corner in the smoking-car. I had a " whisky 
 sour," and he prescribed for himself a strange thing of his 
 own invention. Then we lighted our cigars, and he talked. 
 
 " Thirty years ago,'' said he, " I was a young man with 
 a healthy belief in myself, and a desire to do good to 
 others. I did not imagine myself a genius. I did not 
 even consider myself exceptionally brilliant or talented. 
 But it did seem to me, and the more I noted the doings 
 of my fellow-men and women, the more assured did I 
 become of it that I possessed plain, practical common 
 sense to an unusual and remarkable degree. Conscious 
 of this, I wrote a little book which I entitled How to be 
 Happy, Wealthy, and Wise, and published it at my own 
 expense. I did not seek for profit. I merely wished to 
 be useful. 
 
XOVEL NOTES. 
 
 " The book did not make the stir that I had antici- 
 pated. Some two or three hundred copies went off, and 
 then the sale practically ceased. 
 
 " I confess that at first I was disappointed. But after 
 a while, I reflected that, if people would not take my ad- 
 
 HE WAS A COMMON M,\N, BUT HF. H^D AN OI'KN, INTELLIGENT 
 COUNTENANCE. 
 
 vice, it was more their loss than mine, and I dismissed 
 the matter froin my mind. 
 
 "One morning, about a twelvemonth afterward, I 
 was sitting in my study, when the servant entered to say 
 that there was a man downstairs who wanted very much 
 to see me. 
 
 "I gave instructions that he should be sent up, and up 
 accordingly he came. 
 
 " He was a common man, but he had an open, intelli- 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 21 
 
 gent countenance, and his manner was most respectful. 
 I motioned him to be seated. He selected a chair, and 
 sat down on the extreme edge of it. 
 
 '"I hope you'll pard'n this intrusion, sir,' he began, 
 speaking deliberately, and twirling his hat the while ; 
 'but I've come more'n two hundred miles to see you, sir.' 
 
 " I expressed myself as pleased, and he continued : 
 ' They tell me, sir, as you're the gentleman as wrote that 
 little book, How to be Happy, Wealthy, and Wise.' He 
 enumerated the three items slowly, dwelling lovingly on 
 each. I admitted the fact. 
 
 " ' Ah, that's a wonderful book, sir,' he went on. ' I 
 aint one of them as has got brains of their own — not to 
 speak of — but I know enough to know them as has ; and 
 when I read that little book, I says to myself, Josiah 
 Hackett (that's my name, sir), when you're in doubt 
 don't you get addling that thick head o' yours, as will 
 only tell you all wrong ; you go to the gentleman as 
 wrote that little book and ask him for his advice. He Is 
 a kind-hearted gentleman, as anyone can tell, and he'll 
 give it you ; and when you've got it, you go straight 
 ahead, full steam, and don't you stop for nothing, 'cause 
 he'll know what's best for you, same as he knows what's 
 best for everybody. That's what I says, sir ; and that's 
 what I'm here for.' 
 
 " He paused and wiped his brow with a green cotton 
 handkerchief. I prayed him to proceed. 
 
 " It appeared that the worthy fellow wanted to marry, 
 but could not make up his mind ivhotii he wanted to 
 marry. He had his eye — so he expressed it — upon two 
 young women, and they, he had reason to believe, 
 regarded him in return with more than usual favor. His 
 difficulty was to decide which of the two— both of them 
 excellent and deserving young persons — would make him 
 
2 2 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 the best wife. The one, Juliana, the only daughter of a 
 retired sea-captain, he described as a winsome lassie, with 
 fair hair and blue eyes. The other, whose name was 
 Hannah, was an older and altogether more womanly girl. 
 She was the eldest of a large family. Her father, he 
 said, was a Ciod-fearing man, and was doing well in the 
 timber trade. He asked me which uf them I should 
 advise him to marry. 
 
 " I was flattered. What man in my position would 
 not have been ? This Josiali Hackett had come from 
 afar to hear my wisdom. He was willing — nay, anxious — 
 to intrust his whole life's happiness to my discretion. 
 That he was wise in doing so, I entertained no doubt. 
 The choice of a wife I had always held to be a matter 
 needing a calm, unbiased judgment, such as no lover 
 could possibly bring to bear upon the subject. In such 
 a case, 1 should not have hesitated to offer advice to the 
 wisest of men. To this poor, simple-minded fellow, I 
 felt it would be cruel to refuse it. 
 
 " He handed me photographs of both the young per- 
 sons under consideration. I jotted down on the back of 
 each such particulars as I deemed would assist me in 
 estimating their respective fitness for the vacancy in 
 question, and promised to carefully consider the problem, 
 and write him in a day or two. 
 
 " His gratitude was touching. ' Don't you trouble to 
 write no letters, sir,' he said ; ' you just stick down Julia 
 or Hannah on a bit of paper, and put it in an envelope. 
 I shall know what it means, and that's the one as I shall 
 marry.' 
 
 " Then he gripped me by the hand, and left me. 
 
 " I gave a good deal of thought to the selection of 
 Josiah's wife. I wanted him to be happ)-. 
 • '' Juliana was certainly verv pretty. There was a 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 23 
 
 lurking playfulness about the corners of Juliana's mouth 
 which conjured up the sound of rippling laughter and 
 the vision of delicious childish poutings. Had I acted 
 on impulse, I should have clasped Julia in Josiah's 
 arms. 
 
 " But, I reflected, more sterling qualities than mere 
 playfulness and prettiness are needed for a wife. 
 Hannah, though not so charming as Julia, clearly pos- 
 sessed both energy and sense — qualities highly necessary 
 to a poor man's wife. Hannah's father was a pious man, 
 and was 'doing well' — a thrifty, saving man, no doubt. 
 He would have instilled into her lessons of economy and 
 virtue ; and, later on, she might possibly come in for a 
 little something. She was the eldest of a large family. 
 She was sure to have had to help her mother a good 
 deal. She would be experienced in household matters, 
 and would understand the bringing up of children. 
 
 ■' Julia's father, on the other hand, was a retired sea- 
 captain. Seafaring folk are generally loose sort of fish. 
 He had probably been in the habit of going about the 
 house, using language and expressing views, the hearing 
 of which could not but have exercised an injurious effect 
 upon the formation of a growing girl's character. 
 Juliana was his only child. Only children generally 
 make bad men and women. They are allowed to have 
 their own way too much. The pretty daughter of a 
 retired sea-captain would be certain to be spoilt. I could 
 picture the choleric old fellow, pinching her soft cheek, 
 while she coaxed him into letting her have this and do 
 that which she ought not to have and do — petting her 
 and humoring her every whim, and so ruining her for all 
 useful purposes whatever. 
 
 " Josiah, i had also to remember, was a man evidently 
 of weak character. He would need management. Now, 
 
24 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 there was something about Hannah's eye that eminently 
 suggested management. 
 
 '' At the end of two days my mind was made up. I 
 wrote ' Hannah ' on a slip of paper, and posted it. 
 
 " A fortnight afterward I received a letter from 
 Josiah. He thanked me for my advice, but added, inci- 
 dentally, that he wished I could have made it ' Julia.' 
 However, he said, he felt sure I knew best, and by the 
 time I received the letter he and Hannah would be 
 one. 
 
 " That letter worried me. I began to wonder if, after 
 all, I had chosen the right girl. Suppose Hannah was 
 not all I thought her ! A\'hat a terrible thing it would be 
 for Josiah ! What data, sufficient to reason upon, had I 
 possessed ? How did I know that Hannah was not a 
 lazy, ill-tempered girl, a continual thorn in the side of 
 her poor overworked mother, and a perpetual blister to 
 her younger brothers and sisters ? How did I know she 
 had been well brought up ? Her father might be a 
 precious old fraud : most seemingly pious men are. She 
 may have learned from him only hypocrisy. 
 
 "Then also, how did I know that Juliana's merry child- 
 ishness would not ripen into sweet, cheerful womanliness ? 
 Her father, for all I knew to the contrary, might be the 
 model of what a retired sea-captain should be ; with 
 possibly a snug little sum safely invested somewhere. 
 And Juliana was his only child. What reason had I for 
 rejecting this fair young creature's love for Josiah ? 
 
 "I took her photo from my desk. I seemed to detect a 
 reproachful look in the big eyes. I saw before me the 
 scene in the little far-away home when the first tidings of 
 Josiah's marriage fell like a cruel stone into the hitherto 
 placid waters of her life. I saw her kneeling by her 
 father's chair while the white-haired, bronzed old man 
 
XOl'EL NOTES. 25 
 
 gently stroked the golden head shaking with silent sobs 
 against his breast. My remorse was almost more than I 
 could bear. 
 
 " I put her aside and took up Hannah — my chosen 
 one. She seemed to be regarding me with a smile of 
 heartless triumph. There began to take possession of 
 me a feeling of positive dislike to Hannah. 
 
 " I fought against the feeling. I told myself it was 
 prejudice. But the more I reasoned against it the 
 stronger it became. I could tell that, as the days went 
 by, it would grow from dislike to loathing, from loathing 
 to hate. And this was the woman I had deliberately 
 selected as a life companion for Josiah ! 
 
 " For weeks I knew no piece of mind. Every letter 
 that arrived I dreaded to open, fearing it might be from 
 Josiah. At every knock I started up and looked about 
 for a hiding place. Every time I came across the head- 
 ing ' Domestic Tragedy,' in the newspapers, I broke into 
 a cold perspiration. I expected to read that Josiah and 
 Hannah had murdered each other and died cursing me. 
 
 " As the time went by, however, and I heard nothing, 
 my fears began to assuage, and my belief in my own 
 intuitive good judgment to return. Maybe I had done 
 a good thing for Josiah and Hannah, and they were 
 blessing me. Three years passed peacefully away, and 
 I was beginning to forget the existence of the Hacketts. 
 
 "Then he came again. I returned home from busi- 
 ness one evening to find him waiting for me in the hall. 
 The moment I saw him I knew that my worst fears had 
 fallen short of the truth. I motioned him to follow me 
 to my study. He did so, and seated himself in the 
 identical chair on which he had sat three years ago. The 
 change in him was remarkable ; he looked old and care- 
 worn. His manner was that of resigned hopelessness. 
 
2 NOVEL AOTES. 
 
 •■ We both remained for a while without speaking, he 
 twirling his hat as at our first interview, I making a 
 show of arranging papers on my desk. At length, feel- 
 ing that anything would be more bearable than this 
 silence, 1 turned to him. 
 
 "'Things have not been g<jing well with you, I'm 
 afraid, Josiah ? ' I said. 
 
 " ' No, sir,' he replied quietly ; ' I cant say as they 
 have, altogether. That Hannah of yours has turned out 
 a bit of a teaser.' 
 
 "There was no touch of reproach in his tones. He 
 simply stated a melancholy fact. 
 
 "'But she is a good wife to you in other ways,' I 
 urged. ' She has her faults, of course. We all have. 
 But she is energetic. Come now, you will admit she's 
 energetic' 
 
 " I owed it to myself to find some good in Hannah, and 
 tills was the only thing I could think of at the moment. 
 
 '• ' Oh, yes, she's that,' he assented. ' .\ little too 
 much so for our sized house, I sometimes think. 
 
 " ' Vou see,' he went on, 'she's a bit cornery in her 
 temper, Hannah is ; and then her mother's a bit trying 
 at times.' 
 
 " ' Her mother ! ' I exclaim, ' but what's s/ie got to do 
 with vou ? ' 
 
 " ' Well, you see, sir,' he answered, ' she's living with 
 us now — ever since the old man went off.' 
 
 " ' Hannah's father ? He is dead, then ? ' 
 
 "' Well, not exactly, sir,' he replied. ' He ran off about 
 a twelvem(5nth ago with one of the young women who 
 used to teach in the Sunday school, and joined the 
 .Mormons. It come as a great surprise to everyone.' 
 
 " I groaned. ' .\nd his business,' I inquired — ' the 
 timber business who carries that on ?' 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 27 
 
 '"Oh, that ! ' answered Josiah. ' Oh, that had to be 
 sold to pay his debts— leastways, to go toward 'em.' 
 
 "I remarked what a terrible thing it was for his 
 family. I 
 
 supposed f f -'*^» 
 
 the home ^tf%?M>-s^;. 
 
 was ^^o-§^MiMkS^:r 
 
 ken up and| .^^g^^^^ ^J\' 
 they were 
 all scattered. 
 
 '"No, sir,' he replied 
 simply, 'they aint scat- 
 tered much. They're all 
 living with us.' 
 
 '"But, there,' he con- 
 tinued, seeing the look 
 upon my face ; ' of course 
 all this has nothing to do 
 with you, sir. You've got 
 troubles of your own, I 
 dare say, sir. I didn't 
 come here to worry you 
 with mine. That would 
 be a poor return for all 
 your kindness to me.' 
 
 " 'What has become of 
 Julia ? ' I asked. I did not feel I wanted to question 
 him any more about his own affairs. 
 
 "A smile broke the settled melancholy of his features. 
 ' Ah,' he said, in a more cheerful tone than he had 
 hitherto employed, ' it does one good to think about her, 
 it does. She's married to a friend of mine now, young 
 Sam Jessop. I slips out and gives 'em a call now and 
 then, when Hannah aint round. Lord, it's like getting 
 
 IHL\ AINT 
 TTFr FL MI'CH.' 
 
2 8 XOVEL .VOTES. 
 
 a glimpse of heaven to look into their little home. He 
 often chaffs me about it, Sam does. " Well, you was a 
 sawny-headed chunk, Josiah, you was," he often says to 
 me. We're old chums, you know, sir, Sam and me, so 
 he don't mind joking a bit like.' 
 
 " Then the smile died away, and he added with a sigh, 
 ' ^'es, I've often thought since, sir, how jolly it would 
 have been if you could have seen your way to making 
 it Juliana.' 
 
 " I felt I must get him back to Hannah at any Cdst. 
 I said : ' I suppose yiui and your wife are still living in 
 the old place ? ' 
 
 " ' Ves,' he replied, 'if you can call it living. It's a 
 hard struggle with so many of us.' 
 
 " He said he did not know how he should have man- 
 aged if it had not been for the help of Julia's father. 
 He said the captain had behaved more like an angel 
 than anything else he knew of. 
 
 " ' I don't say as he's one of your clever sort, you know, 
 sir,' he explained. ' Xot the man as one would go to 
 for advice, like one would to vou, sir ; but he's a good 
 sort for all that. 
 
 "'.And that reminds me, sir,' he went on, ' of what 
 I've come here about. You'll think it very bold of me 
 to ask, sir, but ' 
 
 " I interrupted him. 'Josiah,' I said, ' I admit that I 
 am much to blame for what has come upon you. You 
 asked me for my advice. I gave it you. \\'hich of us was 
 the bigger idiot, we will not discuss. The point is that 
 I did give it, and I am not a man to shirk my responsi- 
 bilities. What, in reason, you ask, and I can grant, 
 I will give you.' 
 
 " He was overcome with gratitude. ' I knew it, sir,' 
 he said. ' I knew you would not refuse me. I said so 
 
XOVEL NOTES. 29 
 
 to Hannah. I said "I will go to that gentleman and 
 ask him. I will go to him and ask him for his advice." ' 
 
 " I said, ' His what ? ' 
 
 " ' His advice,' repeated Josiah, apparently surprised 
 at my tone, ' on a little matter as I can't quite make up 
 my mind about.' 
 
 " I thought at first he was trying to be sarcastic, but 
 he wasn't. That man sat there, and wrestled with me 
 for my advice as to whether he should invest a thousand 
 dollars which Julia's father had offered to lend him in 
 the purchase of a laundry business or a bar. He hadn't 
 had enough of it (my advice, I mean) ; he wanted it 
 again, and he spun me reasons why I should give it him. 
 The choice of a wife was a different thing altogether, he 
 argued. Perhaps he ought rwi to have asked me for my 
 opinion as to that. But advice as to which of two trades 
 a man would do best to select, surely any business man 
 could .give. He said he had just been reading again my 
 little book, Hcno to he Happy, etc., and if the gentleman 
 who wrote that could not decide between the respective 
 merits of one particular laundry and one particular bar, 
 both situated in the same city, well, then, all he had got 
 to say was that knowledge and wisdom were clearly of 
 no practical use in this world whatever. 
 
 " Well, it did seem a simple thing to advise a man 
 about. Surely, as to a matter of this kind, I, a professed 
 business man, must be able to form a sounder judgment 
 than this poor pumpkin-headed lacnb. It would be 
 heartless to refuse to help him. I promised to look into 
 the matter, and let him know what I thought. He rose 
 and shook me by the hand. He said he would not try 
 to thank me ; words would only seem weak. He dashed 
 away a tear and went out, 
 
 " I brought an amount of thought to bear upon this 
 
3° 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 thousand-dollar investment sufficient to have floated a 
 bank. I did not mean to rnake another Hannah job, if 
 I could help it. 1 studied the papers Josiah had left 
 with me, but did not attempt to form any opinion from 
 them. I went down quietly to Josiah's city, aud in- 
 spected both businesses on the spot. I instituted secret 
 but searching inquiries in the neighborhood. I disguised 
 
 myself as a 
 simple-minded 
 young man 
 who had come 
 into a little 
 money, and 
 w'lrmed my- 
 stil into the conlidence of the 
 servants. I interviewed half the 
 town upon the prct(^se that I was 
 wruuiy" the conmicSal history of 
 Xew lin^land, anS^ should like 
 some particulars of their career, 
 and I invariably ended my exam- 
 ination by asking them which was their favorite bar, 
 and where they got their washing done. I stayed a 
 fortnight in the town. Most of my spare time was 
 spent at the bar. In my leisure moments I dirtied my 
 clothes so that they might be washed at the laundry. 
 " As the result of my investigations I discovered that, 
 so far as the two businesses themselves were concerned, 
 there was not a pin to choose between them. It became 
 merely a question of which particular trade would best 
 suit the Hacketts. 
 
 " I reflected. The keeper of a bar was exposed to much 
 temptation. A weak-minded man, mingling continually 
 in the company of topers, might possibly end by giving 
 
 I DISGUISED \nSEl.F AS A 
 
 SIMPLE-MINDED ^"UUNG :\1AN.' 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 31 
 
 way to drink. Now, Josiah was an exceptionally weak- 
 minded man. It had also to be bovne in mind that he 
 had a shrewish wife, and that her whole family had come 
 to live with him. Clearly, to place Josiah in a position 
 of easy access to unlimited liquor would be madness. 
 
 " About a laundry, on the other hand, there was some- 
 thing soothing. The working of a laundry needed many 
 hands. Hannah's relatives might be used up in a laun- 
 dry, and made to earn their own living. Hannah might 
 expend her energy in fiat-ironing, and Josiah might turn 
 the mangle. The idea conjured up quite a pleasant 
 domestic picture. I recommended the laundry. 
 
 "On the following Monday, Josiah wrote to say that 
 he had bought the laundry. On Tuesday I read in the 
 Commei'cial Intelligence that ' One of the most remarkable 
 features of the time was the marvelous rise taking place 
 all over New England in the value of hotel and bar 
 property.' On Thursday, in the list of ' Failures,' I 
 came across no less than four laundry proprietors ; and 
 the paper added, in explanation, that the American 
 washing industry, owing to the rapid growth of Chinese 
 competition, was practically on its last legs. I went out 
 and got drunk. 
 
 " My life became a curse to me. All day long I 
 thought of Josiah. All night I dreamed of him. Sup- 
 pose that, not content with being the cause of his domes- 
 tic misery, I had now deprived him of the means of 
 earning a livelihood, and had rendered useless the 
 generosity of that good old sea-captain. I began to 
 appear to myself as a malignant fiend, ever following 
 this simple but worthy man to work evil upon him. 
 
 "Time passed away, however; I heard nothing from 
 or of him, and my burden at last fell from me. 
 
 " Then at the end of about five years he came again. 
 
NOVEL XOTES. 
 
 " He came behind nie as I was opening the door with 
 my latch-key, and laid an unsteady hand upon my arm. 
 It was a dark night, but a gas lamp showed me his face, 
 I recognized it in spite of the red blotches and the bleary 
 film that hid the eyes. I caught him roughly by the 
 arm, and hurried him inside and up into my study. 
 "' Sit down,' I hissed, 'and tell me the worst first.' 
 ■' He was about to select his favorite chair. I felt 
 that if I saw him and that particular chair in association, 
 
 fi)i- the third time, I should 
 
 do siiniething terrible to 
 
 biiili, I snatched it away 
 
 friim 111 in, and he sat down 
 
 lieavilv on the floor, and 
 
 burst into tears. I let him 
 
 remain there, and, thickh-, 
 
 between hic- 
 
 ^^ coughs, he told 
 
 V^w-v his tale. 
 
 " The laundry 
 had gone from 
 bad to worse. 
 A new railway 
 had come to the town, altering its whole topog- 
 raphy. The business and residential portion had grad- 
 ually shifted northward. The spot where the bar — the 
 particular one which I had rejected for the laundry — had 
 formerly stood was now the commercial center of the 
 city. The man who had purchased it in place of Josiah 
 had sold out and made a fortune. The southern area 
 (where the laundry was situate), it had been discovered 
 was built upon a swamp, and was in a highly unsanitary 
 condition. Careful housewives naturally objected to 
 sending their washing into such a neighborhood. 
 
 HE SAT DOWiN HEA\ILV DN'.THE FLOOR AND 
 Bl'RST INTO TEARS." 
 
XOVEL .VOTES. Z2i 
 
 " Other troubles had also come. The baby — Josiah's 
 pet, the one bright thing in his life — had fallen into the 
 copper and been boiled. Hannah's mother had been 
 crushed in the mangle, and was now a helpless cripple, 
 who had to be waited on day and night. 
 
 " Under these accumulated misfortunes Josiah had 
 sought consolation in drink. And had become a hope- 
 less sot. He felt his degradation keenly, and wept 
 copiously. He said he thought that in a cheerful place 
 such as a bar, he might have been strong and brave ; 
 but that there was something about the everlasting smell 
 of damp clothes, and suds, that seemed to sap his man- 
 hood. 
 
 "I asked him what the captain had said to it all. He 
 burst into fresh tears and replied that the captain was no 
 more. That, he added, reminded him of what he had 
 come about. The good-hearted old fellow had be- 
 queathed him five thousand dollars. He wanted my 
 advice as to how to invest it. 
 
 " JNly first impulse was to kill him on the spot, I wish 
 now that I had. I restrained myself, however, and 
 offered him the alternative of being thrown from the 
 window or of leaving by the door without another 
 word. 
 
 " He answered that he was quite prepared to go by 
 the window if I would first tell him whether to put his 
 money in the Terra del Fuego Nitrate Company, Limited, 
 or in the Union Pacific Bank. Life had no further in- 
 terest for him. All he cared for was to feel that this little 
 nestegg was safely laid by for the benefit of his beloved 
 ones after he was gone. 
 
 " He pressed me to tell him what I thought of nitrates. 
 I declined to say anything whatever on the subject. He 
 assumed from my silence that I did not think much of 
 
34 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 nitrates, and announced his intention of investing the 
 money, in consequence, in the Union Pacific Bank. 
 
 " I told him by all means to do so, if he liked. 
 
 " He paused, and seemed to be puzzling it out. Then 
 he smiled knowingly, and said he thought he understood 
 what I meant. It was very kind to me. He should put 
 every dollar he possessed in the Terra del Fuego Nitrate 
 Company. 
 
 " He rose (with difficulty) to go. I stopped him. I 
 knew, as certainly as I knew the sun would rise the next 
 morning, that whichever company I advised him, or he 
 persisted in thinking I had advised him (which was the 
 same thing), to invest in, would, sooner or later, come to 
 smash. My grandmother had all her little fortune in the 
 Terra del Fuego Nitrate Company. I could not see her 
 brought to penury in her old age. As for Josiah, it could 
 make no difference to him whatever. He would lose his 
 money in any event. I advised him to invest in Union 
 Pacific Bank shares. He went and did it. 
 
 "The Union Pacific Bank held out for eighteen 
 months. Then it began to totter. The financial world 
 stood bewildered. It had always been reckoned one of 
 the safest banks in the country. People asked what 
 could be the cause. I knew well enough, but I did not 
 tell. 
 
 " The bank made a gallant fight, but the hand of fate 
 was upon it. At the end of another nine months the 
 crash came. 
 
 " (Nitrates, it need hardly be said, had all this time 
 been going up by leaps and bounds. My grandmother 
 died worth a million dollars, and left the whole of it to a 
 charity. I-Iad she known how I had saved her from ruin, 
 she might have been more grateful.) 
 
 "A few days after the failure of the bank, Josiah 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 35 
 
 an-ived on my doorstep ; and, this time, he brought his 
 families with him. There were sixteen of them in all. 
 
 " What was I to do ? I had brought these people step 
 by step to the verge of starvation. I had laid waste 
 alike their happiness and their prospects in life. The 
 least amends I could make was to see that at all events 
 they did not want for the necessities of existence. 
 
 " That was seventeen years ago. I am still seeing 
 that they do not want for the necessities of existence ; 
 and my conscience is growing easier by noticing 
 that they seem contented with their lot. There are 
 twenty-two of them now, and we have hopes of another 
 in the spring. 
 
 " That is my story," he said. " Perhaps you will now 
 understand my sudden emotion when you asked for my 
 advice. As a matter of fact, I do not give advice now 
 on any subject." 
 
 I told this tale to MacShaughnassy. He agreed with 
 me that it was instructive, and said he should remember 
 it. He said he should remember it so as to tell it to 
 some fellows that he knew, to whom he thought the 
 lesson should prove useful. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 CAX'T honestly say that we made much 
 progress at our first meeting. It was Brown's 
 fault. He would begin by telling us a story 
 about a dog. It was the old, old story of the 
 dog who had been in the habit of going every morning 
 to a certain baker's shop with a penny in his mouth, iu 
 exchange for which he always received a penny bun. 
 One dav, the baker, thinking he would not know the 
 difference, tried to palm off upon the poor animal a ha'- 
 penny bun, whereupon the dog walked straight outside 
 and fetched in a policeman. Brown had heard this 
 chestnut for the first time that afternoon, and was full of 
 it. It is alwavs a mystery to me where Brown had been 
 for the last hundred years. He stops you in the street 
 with, " Oh, I must tell you ! — such a capital story ! " 
 And he thereupon proceeds to relate to you, with much 
 spirit and gusto, one of Noah's best-known jokes, or some 
 story that Romulus must have originally told to Remus. 
 One of these davs somebody will tell liim the history of 
 Adam and Eve, and he will think he has got hold of a 
 new plot, and will woik it up into a novel. 
 
 He gives forth these hoary antiquities as personal 
 reminiscences of his own, or, at furthest, as episodes in 
 the life of his seconil cousin. There are certain strange 
 and moving catastrophes that would seem either to have 
 occurred to, or to have been witnessed by, nearly every- 
 one you meet. I never came across a man yet who had 
 not seen some other man jerked off the top of an omni- 
 
 56 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 bus into a mud-cart. Half London must, at one time or 
 anotlier, have been jerked off omnibuses into mud-carts, 
 and have been fished out at the end of a shovel. 
 
 Then there is the tale ot the lady whose husband is 
 taken sudden!)- ill one 
 night at an hotel. She 
 rushes downstairs, and 
 prepares a stiff mus- 
 tard plaster, and runs 
 up with it again. In 
 her excitement, how- 
 ever, she charges into 
 the wrong room, and, 
 rolling down the bed- 
 clothes, presses it lov-j 
 ingly upon the wrong 
 man. I have heard 
 that story so often that 
 I am quite nervous 
 about going to bed in 
 an hotel now. Each 
 man who has told it 
 me has invariably slept in the room ne.xt door to that 
 of the victim, and has been awakened by the man's yell 
 as the plaster came down upon him. That is how he 
 (the storyteller) came to know all about it. 
 
 Brown wanted us to believe that this pre-historic ani- 
 mal he had been telling us about had belonged to his 
 brother-in-law, and was hurt when Jephson murmured, 
 sotto voce, that that made the twenty-eighth man he had 
 met whose brother-in-law had owned that dog — to say 
 nothing of the hundred and seventeen who had owned it 
 themselves. 
 
 We tried to get to work after that, but Brown had un- 
 
 SOME STORY THAT POMULUS MUST HAVE 
 ORIGINALLY TOLD TO KEMl'S." 
 
38 
 
 NOVLL NOTES. 
 
 settled us for the evening. It is a wicked ttiing to start 
 dog stories among a party of average sinful men. Let 
 one man tell a dog stor}', and every other man in the room 
 feels he wants to tell a bigger one. 
 
 There is a story going — I cannot vouch for its truth, 
 it was told me by a judge — of a man who lay dying. 
 T% pastor of the 
 good 
 man. 
 
 p^sh, a 
 and pious 
 
 TOLD HIM AN ANKCUOTE ABOUT 
 A DOG." 
 
 came to sit with him, and, 
 thinking to cheer him up, 
 told him an anecdote 
 about a dog. When the 
 pastor had finished, the sick man sat up, and said, " I 
 know a better story than that. I had a dog once, a big, 
 
 brown, lop-sided " 
 
 The effort had proved too much for his strength. 
 He fell back upon the pillows, and the doctor, step- 
 ping forward, saw that it was a question only of min- 
 utes. 
 
 The good old pastor rose, and took the poor fellow's 
 hand in his, and pressed it. " ^Ve shall meet again," he 
 gently said. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 39 
 
 The sick man turned toward him with a consoled and 
 grateful look. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say that," he feebly murmured. 
 " Remind me about that dog." 
 
 Then he passed peacefully away, with a sweet smile 
 upon his pale lips. 
 
 Brown, who had had his dog story and was satisfied, 
 wanted us to settle our heroine ; but the rest of us did 
 not feel equal to settling anybody just then. We were 
 thinking of all the true dog stories we had ever heard, 
 and wondering which was the one least likely to be 
 generally disbelieved. 
 
 MacShaughnessy, in particular, was growing every 
 moment more restless and moody. Brown concluded a 
 long discourse — to which, nobody had listened — byre- 
 marking with some pride, " What more can you want ? 
 The plot has never been used before, and the characters 
 are entirely original ! " 
 
 Then MacShaughnassy gave way. " Talking of plots," 
 he said, hitching his chair a little nearer the table, " that 
 puts me in mind. Did I ever tell you about that dog we 
 had when we lived in Norwood ? " 
 
 " It's not that one about the bull-dog, is it ? " queried 
 Jephson anxiously. 
 
 " Well, it was a bull-dog," admitted MacShaughnassy, 
 " but I don't think I've ever told it you before." 
 
 We knew by experience that to argue the matter would 
 only prolong the torture, so we let him go on. 
 
 " A great many burglaries had lately taken place in 
 our neighborhood," he began, " and the pater came to 
 the conclusion that it was time he laid down a dog. He 
 thought a bull-dog would be the best for his purpose, 
 and he purchased the most savage and murderous-look- 
 ing specimen that he could find. 
 
40 
 
 NOVEL NOTES 
 
 " .Mv mothei- was alarmed when she saw the dog. 
 ' Surely voa're not ymng to let that brute loose about 
 the house,' she exclaimed. ' He'll kill somebody. I can 
 see it '.n his face.' 
 
 '"I want him to kill somebody,' replied my father; 
 I want him to kill burglars.' 
 
 ' ' I don't like to hear you l.dk like that, Thomas,' an- 
 swered the mater ; 
 ^V% < it's not. like you. 
 
 We've a right to 
 protect our prop- 
 erty, but we've no 
 right t(i tal'e a fellow 
 human creature's 
 ife.' 
 
 " ' Our fellow hu- 
 man creatures will 
 be ail right so long- 
 as they don t come 
 ,inti) our kitchen 
 when they've no 
 business there,' re- 
 torted my father 
 somewhat testily. 
 ' I'm going to fi.v; up this dog in the scullery, and if a 
 burglar comes fooling around — well, that's his affair.' 
 
 " The old folks quarreled on and off for about a 
 month over this dog. The dad thought the matter ab- 
 surdly sentimental, and the mater thought the dad un- 
 necessarily vindictive. Meanwhile the dog grew more 
 ferocious looking every day. 
 
 "()ne night my mother woke ray father up with: 
 ' Thomas, there's a burglar downstairs, I'm positive. 1 
 distinctly heard the kitchen door open.' 
 
 THK MOST ^.■\V.\UE AMJ M U l; U h. KOL i-LUUKl \ C 
 SrECIMEN." 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 41 
 
 " ' Oh, well, the dog's got him by now, then,' mur- 
 mured my father, who had heard nothing, and was 
 sleepy. 
 
 " ' Thomas,' replied my mother severely, ' I'm not go- 
 ing to lie here while a fellow creature is being 
 murderedby a savage beast. If you won't go 
 down and save that 
 man's lite, I w ill 
 
 'THOMAS, there's j\ BURGLAR DOWNST.\li;S." 
 
 ' ' Oh, bother.' said 
 ii\- father, prepaiiiig 
 t(j gel up. • You're 
 always fanc\"iiig yi>u 
 hear noises. I believe 
 that's all \iHi women 
 Come ti) bed for — to 
 sit up and listen for 
 burglars.' Just to 
 satisfy her, however, he pulled on his trousers and socks, 
 and vs^ent down. 
 
 " Well, sure enough, my mother was right, this time. 
 There 7C/a.y a burglar in the house. The pantry window 
 stood open, and a light was shining in the kitchen. My 
 father crept softly forward, and peeped through the 
 partly open door. There sat the burglar, eating cold 
 beef and pickles, and there, beside him, on the floor, gaz- 
 
42 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 ing up into his face witln a blood-curdling smile of affec- 
 tion, sat that idiot of a dog, wagging his tail. 
 
 " My father was so taken aback that he forgot to keep 
 silent. 
 
 " ' Well', I'm ' and he used a word that I should not 
 
 care to repeat to you fellows. 
 
 " The burglar, hearing him, made a dash, and got 
 clear off by the window ; and the dog seemed vexed 
 with my father for having driven him away. 
 
 " Next morning, we took the dog back to the trainer 
 from whom we had bought it. 
 
 "' What do you think I wanted this dog for ?' asked 
 my father, trying to speak calmly. 
 
 " ' Well,' replied the trainer, ' you said you wanted a 
 good house dog.' 
 
 "'Exactly so,' answered the dad. 'I didn't ask for 
 a burglar's companion, did I ? I didn't say I wanted a 
 dog who'd chum on with a burglar the first time he ever 
 came to the house, and sit with him while he had his 
 supper, in case he might feel lonesome, did I ? ' And 
 my father recounted the incidents of the previous night. 
 
 " The man agreed that there was cause for complaint. 
 'I'll tell you what it is, sir,' he said. ' It was my boy 
 Jim as trained this 'ere dawg, and I guess the young 
 beggar's taught 'im more about tackling rats than burg- 
 lars. You leave 'im with me for a week, sir ; I'll put 
 that all right.' 
 
 "We did so, and at the end of the time the trainer 
 brought him back again. 
 
 "'You'll find im game enough now, sir,' said the man. 
 ' 'E aint what I call an interlectual dawg, but I think 
 I've knocked the right idea into 'im.' 
 
 " My father thought he'd like to test the matter, so 
 we hired a man for a shilling to break in through the 
 
XOl'EL AOTES. 
 
 kiichen window while the trainer held the dog by a 
 chain. The dog remained perfectly quiet until the man 
 was fairly inside. 'J'hen he made one savage spring at 
 him, and if the chain had 
 not been stout the fellow 
 would have earned his 
 shilling dearly. 
 
 "The dad was satisfied 
 now that he could go to 
 bed in peace ; and the 
 mater's alarm for the 
 safety of the local burg- 
 lars was proportionately 
 increased. 
 
 " Months passed un- 
 eventfully by, and then 
 another burglar samijled 
 our house. This time 
 there could be no doubt 
 that the dog was doing- 
 something for his living. 
 
 The din in the base- 
 ment was terrific. The 
 house shook with the con- 
 cussion of fallen bodies. 
 
 " My father snatched 
 np his revolver and rushed downstairs, and 1 followed 
 him. The kitchen was in confusion. 'I'ables and chairs 
 were overturned, and on the floor lay a man gurgling for 
 help. The dog was standing over him, choking him. 
 
 "The pater held his revolver to the man's ear, while 
 I, by superhuman effort, dragged our preserver away 
 and chained him up to the sink, after which I lit the 
 gas. 
 
 THE TRAINER BROUGHT HIM BACK AGAIN. 
 
44 
 
 NOV^L NOTES. 
 
 " Then we perceived that the gentleman on the floor 
 was a police constable. 
 
 " ' Good Heavens ! ' exclaimed my father, dropping the 
 revolver, ' however did you come here ? ' 
 
 " ' 'Ow did /come 'ere ?' retorted the man, sitting up 
 and speaking in a tone of bitter, but not unnatural 
 indignation. ' Why, in the course of my duty, that's 
 'ow /'come 'ere. I see a burglar getting in through the 
 window, so I just follows and slips in after 'im.' 
 " ' Did you catch him ?' asked my father. 
 "' Did I catch 'im !' almost shrieked the man. ' 'Ow 
 could I catch 'im with that blasted dog of yours 'olding 
 me down by the throat while 'e lights 'is pipe and walks 
 out by the back door.' 
 
 " The dog was for sale the next day. The mater, who 
 li;id grown to like him, because he 
 let the baby pull his tail, wanted 
 LIS to keep him. The mistake, she 
 said, was not the animal's 
 fault. Two men broke 
 into the house almost at 
 ^^> the same time. The dog 
 could not go for both of 
 them. He did his best, 
 and went for one. That 
 his selection should have 
 fallen upon the police- 
 man instead of upon the 
 burglar was unfortunate. 
 But still it was a thing 
 that might have happened 
 to any dog. 
 " My father, however, had become prejudiced against 
 the dog, and that same week he inserted an advertise- 
 
 HE LET THE BABY PULL HIS TAIL. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 45 
 
 ment in The Field, in wliich the animal was recom- 
 mended as an investment likely to prove useful to any 
 enterprising member of the criminal classes." 
 
 MacShaughnassy having had his innings, Jephson took 
 a turn, and told us a pathetic story about an unfortunate 
 mongrel that was run over in the Strand one day and its leg 
 broken. A medical student, who was passing at the time, 
 picked it up and carried it to the Charing Cross Hospital, 
 where its leg was set, and where it was kept and tended 
 until it was quite itself again, when it was sent home. 
 
 The poor thing had quite understood what was being 
 done for it, and had been the most grateful patient they 
 had ever had in the hospital. The whole staff was quite 
 sorry when it left. 
 
 One morning, a week or two later, the house-surgeon, 
 looking out of the window, saw the dog coming down the 
 street. When it came near he noticed that it had a penny 
 in its mouth. A cat's-meat barrow was standing by the 
 curb, and fora moment, as he passed it, the dog hesitated. 
 
 But his nobler nature asserted itself, and, walking 
 straight up to the hospital railings and raising himself 
 upon his hind legs, he dropped his penny into the con- 
 tribution box. 
 
 Jephson nearly cried as he told the story. He said it 
 showed such a beautiful trait in the dog's character. 
 The animal was a poor outcast, vagrant thing, that had 
 perhaps never possessed a penny before in all its life, 
 and might never have another. He said that the dog's 
 penny seemed to him to be a greater gift than the big- 
 gest check that the wealthy patron ever signed. 
 
 He added that it was a true story, he knew, because 
 he had had it from the house-surgeon himself. 
 
 It sounded like a house-surgeon's story. 
 
 The other three were very eager now to get to work 
 
46 
 
 NOVEL NO'JES. 
 
 on the novel, but I did not quite see tlie fairness of this. 
 I had one or two dog stories of my own. 
 
 I knew a blaclc and tan terrier years ago. He lodged in 
 the same house with me. 
 He did not belong Id anv- /" -^ 
 
 one. Ileliad dischar<jL'd / 'f^. 
 his owner (it, indeed, he A 
 
 had ever permitted himself to possess one, which is doubt- 
 ful, having regard to the aggressive independence of his 
 character), and was now running himself entirely on his 
 own account. He appropriated the front hall for his 
 sleeping apartment, and took his meals with the other 
 lodgers — whenever they happened to be having meals. 
 
 At five o'clock he wonld take an early morning snack 
 with young HoUis, an engineer's pupil, who had to get 
 up at half-p;ist four and make his own coffee, so as to 
 be down at the works by six. 
 
 At 8.30 A. M. he would breakfast in a more sensible 
 fashion with Mr. Blair, on the first floor, and on occa- 
 sions would join Jack Gadbut, who was a late riser, in a 
 deviled kidney at eleven. 
 
 From then till about five, when I generally had a cup of 
 tea and a chop, he regularly disappeared. Where he went 
 and what he did between those hours nobody ever knew. 
 Gadbut swore that twice he had met him coming out of a 
 stockbroker's office in Threadneedle Street, and, improb- 
 able though the statement at first appeared, some color of 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 47 
 
 credibility began to attach to it when we reflected upon 
 the dog's inordinate passion for acquiring and hoarding 
 coppers. 
 
 This craving of his for wealth was really quite remark- 
 able. He was an elderly dog, with a great sense of his 
 own dignity ; yet, on the promise of a penny, I have 
 seen him run round after his own tail until he didn't 
 know one end of himself from the other. 
 
 He used to teach himself tricks, and go from room to 
 room in the evening performing them, and when he had 
 
 STANDING IN A CROWD, WATCHING A PERFORMING POODLE. 
 
 completed his programme, he would sit up and beg. 
 All the fellows used to humor him. He must have made 
 pounds in the course of a year. 
 
 Once, just outside our door, I saw him standing in a 
 crowd, vi^atching a performing poodle attached to a 
 hurdy-gurdy. The poodle stood on his head, and then, 
 with his hind legs in the air, walked round on his front 
 
48 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 paws. The people laughed verj' much, and, when after- 
 ward he came among them with his wooden saucer in 
 his mouth, they gave freely. 
 
 Our dog came in and immediately commenced to study. 
 In three days he could stand on his head and walk round 
 on his front legs, and the first evening he did so he made 
 sixpence. It must have been terrible hard work for him 
 at his age, and subject to rheumatism as he was ; but he 
 would do anything for money. I believe he would have 
 sold himself to the devil for eightpence down. 
 
 "HE KNEW THE VAU E OF Mt;)NE^'." 
 
 He knew the value of money. If you held out to him a 
 penny in one hand and a threepenny-bit in the other, he 
 would snatch at the threepence, and then break his heart 
 because be could not get the penny in as well. You rnight 
 safe! V have left him in the room with a leg of mutton, but 
 it would not have been wise to leave your purse about. 
 
 Now and then he spent a little, but not often. He 
 
NOJ^EL .VOTES. 49 
 
 was desperately fond of spongecakes, and occasionally, 
 when he had had a good week, he would indulge himself 
 to the extent of one or two. But he hated paying for 
 them, and always made a frantic and frequently success- 
 ful effort to get off with the cake and the penny too. 
 His plan of operations was simple. He would walk into 
 the shop with his penny in his mouth, well displayed, 
 and a sweet and lamblike expression in his eyes. Tak- 
 ing his stand as near to the cakes as he could get, and 
 fixing his eyes affectionately upon them, he would begin 
 to whine, and the shopkeeper, thinking he was dealing 
 with an honest dog, would throw him one. 
 
 To get the cake he was obliged, of course, to drop the 
 penny, and then began a struggle between him and the 
 shopkeeper for the possession of the coin. The man 
 would try to pick it up. The dog would put his foot 
 upon it, and growl savagely. If he cpuld finish the cake 
 before the contest was over he would snap up the penny 
 and bolt. I have known him to come home gorged with 
 spongecakes, the original penny still in his mouth. 
 
 So notorious throughout the neighborhood did this 
 dishonest practice of his become, that after a time the 
 majority of the local tradespeople refused to serve him 
 at all. Only the exceptionally quick and able-bodied 
 would attempt to do business with him. 
 
 Then he took his custom further afield, into districts 
 where his reputation had not yet penetrated. And he 
 would pick out shops kept by nervous females or rheu- 
 matic old men. 
 
 They say that the love of money is the root of all evil. 
 It seemed to have robbed him of every shred of principle. 
 
 It robbed him of his life in the end, and that came 
 about in this way. He had been performing one even- 
 ing in Gadbut's roorn, where a few of us were sitting 
 
50 
 
 NOVEL .VOTES. 
 
 smoking and talking ; and young Holiis, being in a gen- 
 erous mood, had tin-own him, as he thought, a sixpence. 
 The dog grabbed it, and retired under the sofa. This 
 was au odtl thing for him to do, and we commented 
 upon it. Suddenl)' a thought occurred to Mollis, and he 
 took out his money and began counting it. 
 
 " By Jove," he.exclamTcd, " I've given that little beast 
 half a-sovereign — here. Tiny ! " 
 
 But Tiny only backed farther underneath the sofa, 
 and no mere verbal invitation would induce him to stir. 
 So we adopted a more pressing plan, and coaxed him 
 out by the scruff of his neck. 
 
 He came, an inch at a time, growling viciously, and 
 holdinsj Holiis „ ,%,,, 
 
 half suvcrei^ii 
 ti|4ht between 
 
 " HE SEhMHD ONLY BORED BY OUR I'EH'^l^TENXE.' 
 
 tried sweet reasonableness at first. We offered him 
 a sixpence in exchange ; he looked insulted, and evi- 
 dently considered the proposal as tantamount to our 
 calling him a fool. We made it a shilling, then half-a- 
 crown — he seemed only bored by our persistence. 
 
 " I don't think you'll ever see this half-sovereign again, 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 51 
 
 Hollis," said Gadbut, laughing. We all thought the 
 affair a very good joke, all except young Hollis. He, 
 on the contrary, seemed annoyed, and, taking the dog 
 from Gadbut, made an attempt to pull the coin out of 
 its mouth. 
 
 Tiny, true to his lifelong principle of never parting if 
 he could possibly help it, held on like grim death, until, 
 feeling that his little earnings were slowly but surely 
 going from him, he made one final desperate snatch, and 
 swallowed the money. It stuck in his throat, and he 
 began to choke. 
 
 Then we became seriously alarmed for the dog. He 
 was an amusing chap, and we did not want any accident 
 to happen to him. Hollis rushed into his room and got 
 a long pair of pinchers, and the rest of us held the little 
 miser while he tried to relieve him of the cause of his 
 suffering. 
 
 But poor Tiny did not understand our intentions. He 
 still thought we were seeking to rob him of his night's 
 takings, and resisted vehemently. His struggles fixed 
 the coin firmer, and, in spite of our efforts, he died — one 
 more victim, among many, to the fierce fever for gold. 
 
 I dreamt a very curious dream about riches once, that 
 made a great impression upon me. I thought that I and 
 a friend — a very dear friend — were living together in a 
 strange old house. I don't think anybody else dwelt in 
 the house but just we two. One day, wandering about 
 this strange old rambling place, I discovered the hidden 
 door of a secret room, and in this room were many iron- 
 bound chests, and when I raised the heavy lids I saw 
 that each chest was full of gold. 
 
 And, when I saw this, I stole out softly and closed the 
 hidden door, and drew the worn tapestries in front of it 
 
5^ 
 
 XOVEL XOTES. 
 
 again, and crept back along the dim corridor, looking 
 behind me fearfnily. 
 
 And the friend that I had loved came toward me, and 
 we walked together with our hands clasped. But 1 
 hated him. 
 
 And all day long I kept beside him, or followed him 
 
 should learn the secret of 
 that hidden door ; and at night I lay awake watching him. 
 
 But one night I sleep, and, when I open mv eyes, he 
 is no longer near me. I run swiftly up the narrow 
 stairs and along the silent corridor. The tapestry is 
 drawn aside, and the hidden door stands open, and in 
 the room beyond the friend that I loved is kneeling 
 before an open Chest, and the glint of the gold is in my 
 eyes. 
 
 His back is toward me, and I crawl forward inch by 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 53 
 
 inch; and when I am near enough I kill him as he 
 kneels there. 
 
 His body falls against the door, and it shuts to with a 
 clang, and I try to open it, and cannot. I beat my hands 
 against its iron nails, 
 
 and scream, and the " -> 
 
 dead man grins at me. 
 The light streams in 
 through the clink be- 
 neath the massive door, 
 and fades, and comes 
 
 a<4aui, and 
 
 fades ayam, 
 ^ and I gnaw at 
 the oaken lids 
 of the iron- 
 bound chests, 
 for the mad- 
 ness of hunger 
 is climbing in- 
 to my brain. 
 Then I awake, and find that I really am hungry, and 
 
 remember that in consequence of a headache I did not 
 
 eat my dinner. So I slip on a few clothes, and go down 
 
 so the kitchen on a foraging expedition. 
 
 It is said that dreams are momentary conglomerations 
 
 of thought, centering round the incident that awakens us. 
 
 " I CRAWL FORWARD INCH BY INCH. 
 
54 NOVEL XOTES. 
 
 and, as with most scientific facts, this is occasionally 
 true. Thei'c is one dteain that, with slight variations, is 
 continually recurring to me. Over and over again 1 
 dream that I am suddenly called upon to act an impor- 
 tant part in some piece at the Lyceum. That poor Mr. 
 Irving should invariably be the victim seems unfair, but 
 really it is entirely his own fault. It is he who persuades 
 and urges me. I myself would much prefer to remain 
 quietly in bed, and I tell him so. But he does not stud}- 
 my convenience. He thinks only of himself, and insists 
 on my getting up at once and coming down to the 
 theater. I explain to him that I can't act a bit. He 
 seems to consider this unimportant, and says, " Oh, that 
 will be all right." We argue for a while, but he makes 
 the matter quite a personal one, and to oblige him and 
 get him out of the bedroom I consent, though much 
 against my own judgment. I generally dress the char- 
 acter in my nightshirt, though on one occasion, for Ban- 
 quo, I wore pajamas — but then that was a swell part — 
 and I never remember a single word of what I ought 
 to say. How I get through I do not know. Irving comes 
 up afterward and congratulates me, but whether upon the 
 brilliancy of my performance; or upon my luck in getting 
 off the stage before a brickbat is thrown at me, I cannot 
 say. 
 
 Whenever I dream this incident I invariably wake up 
 to find that the bedclothes are on the floor, and that I am 
 shivering with cold ; and it is this shivering, I suppose, 
 that causes me to dream I am wandering about the 
 Lyceum stage in nothing but my nightshirt. But still I 
 do not understand why it should always be the Lyceum. 
 
 Another dream which I fancy I have dreamt more 
 than once — or, if not, I have dreamt that I dreamt it 
 before, a thing one sometimes does — is one in which I am 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 55 
 
 walking down a very wide and very long road in the 
 East End of London. It is a curious road to find there. 
 Omnibuses and trams pass up and down. and it is crowded 
 with stalls and bar- 
 rows, beside which 
 men in greasy caps 
 stand slioutiiig ; yet 
 on each side it is 
 
 ~^-i 
 
 bordered by a strip of 
 tropical forest. The road, in 
 fact, combines the advantages 
 of Kew and Whitechapel. 
 
 Someone is with me, but I 
 cannot see him, and we walk 
 through the forest, pushing our way among the tangled 
 vines that cling about our feet, and every now and then, 
 between the giant tree trunks, we catch glimpses of the 
 noisy street. 
 
 At the end of this road there is a narrow turning, and 
 when I come to it I am afraid, though I do not know why 
 
^6 
 
 NOVEL iXOTES. 
 
 I am afraid. It leads to a house that I once lived in 
 when a child, and now there is someone waiting there 
 who has something to tell me. 
 
 1 turn to run away. A Blackwall 'bus is passing, and 
 I try to overtake it. But the horses turn into skeletons 
 and gallop away from me, and my feet are like lead, and 
 the thing that is with me, and that I cannot see, seizes me 
 by the arm, and drags me back. 
 
 It forces me along, and into the house, and the door 
 slams to behind us, and the sound echoes through the 
 
 ., ..-^. . . _ lifeless rooms. I 
 , \ recognize the 
 " rooms; I laughed 
 and cried in them 
 long ago. Noth- 
 ing is changed. 
 The chairs stand 
 in their places, 
 empty. M y 
 
 mother's knitting 
 lii'^ upon the hearthrug, 
 \\ liLiethe kitten, I remem- 
 L-r, dragged it, some- 
 where back in the sixties. 
 I go up into my own little attic. My cot stands in the 
 corner, and my bricks lie tumbled out upon the floor (I 
 was always an untidy child). .An old man enters — an 
 old, bent, withered man — holding a lamp above his head, 
 and I look at his face, and it is my own face. .And 
 another enters, and he also is myself. Then more and 
 more, till the room is thronged with faces, 'and the stair- 
 way beyond, and all the silent house. Some of the 
 faces are old and others young, and some are fair and 
 smile at me, and man)' are foul and leer at me. And 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 57 
 
 every face is my own face, but no two of them are 
 alike. 
 
 I do not Icnow why the sight of myself should alarm 
 me so, but I rush from the house in terror, and the faces 
 follow me ; and I run faster and faster, but I know that 
 I shall never leave them behind me. 
 
 As a rule one is the hero of one's own dreams, but at 
 times I have dreamt a dream entirely in the third per- 
 son — a dream with the incidents of which I have had no 
 connection whatever, except as an unseen and impotent 
 spectator. One of these I have often thought about 
 since, wondering if it could not be worked up into a 
 story. But perhaps it would be too painful a theme. 
 
 I dreamt I saw a woman's face among a throng. It 
 is an evil face, but there is a strange beauty in it. I see 
 it come and go, moving in and out among the shadows. 
 The flickering gleams thrown by street lamps flash down 
 upon it, showing the wonder of its evil fairness. Then 
 the lights go out. 
 
 I see it next in a place that is very far away, and it is 
 even more beautiful than before, for the evil has gone 
 out of it. Another face is looking down into it, a bright, 
 pure face. The faces meet and kiss, and, as his lips 
 touch hers, the blood mounts to her cheeks and brow. 
 I see the two faces again. But I cannot tell where they 
 are or how long a time has passed. The man's face has 
 grown a little older, but it is still young and fair, and 
 when the woman's eyes rest upon it there comes a 
 glory into her face, so that it is like the face of an angel. 
 But at times the woman is alone, and then I see the old 
 evil look struggling back. 
 
 Then I see clearer. I see the room in which they 
 live. It is very poor. An old-fashioned piano stands in 
 
SS KOVEL .VOTES. 
 
 one corner, and beside it is a table on which he scattered 
 a tumbled mass of papers round an inksland. An empty 
 chair waits before the table. The woman sits by the 
 open window. 
 
 She seems to be sitting there for a long while. From 
 far below there rises the sound of a great city. Its lights 
 throw up faint beams into the dark room. The smell of 
 its streets is in the woman's nostrils. 
 
 Every now and again she looks toward the door 
 and listens, then turns to the open window. .\nd I 
 notice that each time she looks toward the door the evil 
 in her face shrinks back ; but each time she turns to the 
 window it grows more fierce and sullen. 
 
 Suddenly she starts up, and there is a terror in her 
 eyes that frightens me as I dream, and I see great beads 
 of sweat upon her brow. Then, very slowly, her face 
 changes, and I see again the evil creature of the night. 
 She wraps around her an old cloak, and creeps out. I 
 hear her footsteps going down the stairs. They grow 
 fainter and fainter. I hear a door open. The roar of 
 the streets rushes up into the house, and the woman's 
 footsteps are swallowed up. 
 
 Time drifts onward through my dream. Scenes 
 jhange, take shape, and fade ; but all is vague and un- 
 Jefined, until, out of the dimness, there fashions itself a 
 long, deserted street. The lights make glistening circles 
 on the wet pavement, A figure, dressed in gaudy rags, 
 slinks by, keeping close against the wall. Its back is 
 toward me, and I do not see its face. Another figure 
 glides from out the shadows. I look upon its face, and 
 I see it is the face that the woman's eyes gazed up into 
 and worshiped long ago when my dream was just begun. 
 But the fairness and the purity are gone from it, and it 
 is old and evil, as the woman's when I looked upon her 
 
NOVI-.L NOTES. 
 
 59 
 
 last. The figure in the gaudy rags moves slowly 
 on. The second figure follows it, and overtakes it. 
 The two pause, and speak to one another as they draw 
 near. The street is very dark where they have met, and 
 the figure in the gaudy rags keeps its face still turned 
 aside. They walk on together, side by side, in silence. 
 
 till they come to where a flaring gas-lamp hangs before 
 a tavern ; and there the woman turns, and 1 see that it 
 is the woman of my dream. And she and the man look 
 into each other's eyes once more. 
 
 In another dream that I remember, an angel (or a 
 devil, I am not quite sure which) has come to a man 
 
6o NO]' El. NOTES. 
 
 and told him that so long as he loves no living human 
 thing — so long as he never suffers himself to feel one 
 touch of tenderness toward wife or child, toward kith or 
 kin, toward stranger or toward friend, so long will he 
 succeed and prosper in his dealing — so long will all this 
 world's affairs go well with him ; and lie will grow each 
 da}' richer and greater and more poueiful. But if ever 
 he let one kindly thought for living thing to come into 
 his heart, in that moment all his plans and schemes will 
 topple down about his ears ; and from that hour his 
 name will be despised b)- men, and then forgotten. 
 
 And the man treasures up these words, for he is an 
 ambitious man, and wealth and fame and power are the 
 sweetest things in all the world to him, A woman loves 
 him and dies, thirsting for a loving look from him ; 
 children's footsteps creep into his life and steal awav 
 again ; old races fade and new ones come and go. 
 
 But never a kindly touch of his hand rests on any liv- 
 ing thing ; never a kindly word comes from his lips ; 
 never a kindly thought springs from his heart. And in 
 all his doings fortune favors him. 
 
 The years pass by, and at last there is left to him only 
 one thing that he need fear — a child's small, wistful face. 
 The child loves him, as the woman, long ago, had loved 
 him, and her eyes follow him with a hungry, beseeching 
 look. But he sets his teeth, and turns away from her. 
 
 The little face grows thin and white, and ime day they 
 come to him where he sits before the keyboard of his 
 many enterprises, and tell him she is dying. He comes 
 and stands beside the bed, and the child's eyes open and 
 turn toward him ; and, as he draws nearer, her little 
 arms stretch out toward him, pleading dumbly. But the 
 man's face never changes, and the little arms fall feebly 
 back upon the timibled coverlet, and the wistful eyes 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 6i 
 
 grow still, and a woman steps softl}' forwaixl, and draws 
 the lids down ovet them ; then the man goes back to his 
 plans and schemes. 
 
 But ill the night, when the great house is silent, he 
 steals up to the room where the 
 child still lies, and pushes back 
 the white, uneven sheet 
 
 PLEADING DUMBLY. 
 
 " Dead — dead," he mutters. Then he takes the tiny 
 corpse up in his arms, and holds it tight against his 
 breast, and kisses the cold lips, and the cold cheeks, and 
 the little cold, stiff hands. 
 
 And at that point my story becomes impossible, for I 
 dream that the dead child lies always beneath the sheet 
 in that quiet room, and that the little face never changes, 
 nor the limbs decay. 
 
62 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 I puzzle about this for an instant, but soon forget to 
 wonder ; for when the Dream h'airy tells us tales we are 
 only as little children, sitting round with open eyes, be- 
 lieving all, though marveling that such things should be. 
 
 Each night, when all else in the house sleeps, the door 
 of that room opens noiselessly, and the man enters and 
 closes it behind him gently. Each night he draws away 
 the white sheet, and takes the small dead body in his 
 arms ; and through the dark hours he paces softly to 
 and fro, holding it close against his breast, kissing it 
 and crooning to it, like a mother to her sleeping baby. 
 
 \A'hen the first ray of dawn peeps into the room, he 
 lays the dead child back again, and smooths the sheet 
 above her, and steals away. 
 
 And he succeeds and prospers in all things, and each 
 day he grows richer and greater and more powerful. 
 
 T.\kl..b THH SMAI.I. DEAD UUDV IN HIS AHMS." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 jE had a deal of trouble with our heroine. 
 Brown wanted her ugly. Brown's chief 
 ambition in life is to be original, and his 
 method of obtaining the original is to take 
 the unoriginal and turn it upside down. If Brown were 
 given a little planet of his own to do as he liked with he 
 would call day, night, and summer, winter. He would 
 make all his men and women walk on their heads, and 
 shake hands with their feet, his trees would grow with 
 their roots in the air, and the old cock would lay all the 
 eggs while the hens sat on the fence and crowed. Then 
 he would step back and say, " See what an original 
 world I have created, entirely my own idea ! " 
 
 There are many other people besides Brown whose 
 notion of originality would seem to be precisely similar. 
 I know a little girl, the descendant of a long line of 
 politicians. The hereditary instinct is so strongly devel- 
 oped in her that she is almost incapable of thinking for 
 herself. Instead, she copies in everything her elder 
 sister, who takes more after the mother. If her sister 
 has two helpings of rice pudding for supper, then she 
 has two helpings of rice pudding. If her sister isn't 
 hungry and doesn't want any supper at all, then she 
 goes to bed without any supper. 
 
 This lack of character in the child troubles her mother, 
 who is not an admirer of the political virtues, and one 
 evening, taking the little one on her lap, she talked 
 seriously to her. 
 
 63 
 
64 
 
 .yOl'EL A'O'J'ES. 
 
 " Do try to think for ) ourself," said slie. '' Don't 
 always do just what Jessie does ; that's silly. Have an 
 idea of your own now and then. Be a little original." 
 
 Then the child 
 pioniised she'd try, 
 and went to bed 
 t h (_i u g 1 1 1 f 1 1 1 . 
 
 Xcxl morning", for 
 breakfast, a dish of 
 ki|)|)LTs and a dish 
 of kidneys were 
 pUiced on the table 
 side li\" ^ide. Now 
 the child loved kip- 
 pers with an affec- 
 tiuii that aiiioiinted 
 almost to 
 a passion, 
 •Sfea* while she 
 ■ ' ' loathe d 
 
 kidneys worse than powders. It was the one subject on 
 which she did know her own mind. 
 
 ".V kidney or a kipper for you, Jessie ?" asked the 
 motlier, addressing tlie elder child first 
 
 Jessie hesitated for a moment, while the sister sat 
 regarding her in an agony of suspense. 
 
 " Kipper, please, ma," Jessie answered at last, and 
 the \()unger child turned her head away to hide the 
 tears. 
 
 " \'ou'll have a kipper, of course, Trixy ? " said the 
 mother, who had noticed nothing. 
 
 " No, thank you, ma," said the small heroine, stifling 
 a sob, and speaking in a dry, tremulous voice, " I'll 
 have a kidney." 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 65 
 
 " But I thoLiglu you couldn't bear kidneys," exclaimed 
 her mother, surprised. 
 
 " No, ma ; I doa't like 'em much." 
 " And you're so fond of kippers ? " 
 " Yes, ma." 
 
 BURST INTO TEAKS. 
 
 "Well, then, why on earth don't you have one ? " 
 " 'Cos Jessie's going to have one, and you told me to 
 be original," and here the poor mite, reflecting upon 
 the price her originality was going to cost her, burst into 
 tears. 
 
 The other three of us refused to sacrifice ourselves 
 upon the altar of Brown's originality. We decided to 
 be content with the customary beautiful girl. 
 
 " Good or bad ? " queried Brown. 
 
66 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 " Bad," responded MacShaughnassy emphatically. 
 "What do you say, Jephson?" 
 
 " Well," replied Jephson, taking the pipe from between 
 
 his lips, and speak- 
 ing in that soothing, 
 melancholy tone of 
 voice that he never 
 varies, whether tell- 
 ing a joke about a 
 wedding or anecdote 
 relating to a funeral, 
 " not altogether bad. 
 Bad, with good in- 
 stincts, the good in- 
 
 stincts well under 
 control." 
 
 " I wonder w hy it 
 is,''murmuredMac- 
 Shaughnassv reflec- 
 tively, "that bad 
 people are so much 
 more interesting 
 than good." 
 
 " I don't think 
 the reason is very 
 difficult to find," 
 
 answered Jephson. " There's more uncertainty about 
 them. They keep you more on the alert. It's like the 
 difference between riding a well-broken, steady-going 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 67 
 
 hack and a lively young colt with ideas of his own. The 
 one is comfortable to travel with, but the other provides 
 you with more exercise. If you start off with a 
 thoroughly good woman for your heroine you give your 
 story away in the first chapter. Everybody knows pre- 
 cisely how she will behave under every conceivable com- 
 bination of circumstances in which you can place her. 
 On every occasion she will do the same thing — that is, 
 the right thing. 
 
 " With a bad heroine, on the other hand, you can 
 never be quite sure what is going to happen. Out of 
 the fifty or so courses open to her, she may take the 
 right one, or she may take one of the forty-nine wrong 
 ones, and you watch her with curiosity to see which it 
 will be." 
 
 " But surely there are plenty of good heroines who are 
 interesting," I said. 
 
 " At intervals — when they do something wrong," 
 answered Jephson dryly. "A consistently irreproach- 
 able heroine is as irritating to the average reader as 
 Socrates must have been to Xantippe, or as the model 
 boy at school is to all the other lads. Take the stock 
 heroine of the eighteenth century romance. She never 
 met her lover except for the purpose of telling him that 
 she could never be his, and she generally wept steadily 
 throughout the interview. She never forgot to turn pale 
 at the sight of blood, nor to faint in his arms at the most 
 inconvenient moment possible. She was determined 
 never to marry without her father's consent, and was 
 equally resolved never to marry anybody but the one par- 
 ticular person she was convinced he would never agree 
 to her marrying. She was an excellent young woman, 
 and nearly as uninteresting as a celebrity at home." 
 
 " Ah, but you're not talking about good women now," 
 
&8 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 I observed. " You're talking about bonie silly peison's 
 idea of a good woman." 
 
 "I quite admit il," replied Jeplison. Nor, indeed, 
 am 1 |>rcparetl to say what is a good 
 woman. I consider the subject too 
 deep and loo complicated for anv 
 mere human being to give a judgment 
 ^ iip(jn. ISnl I am talking of the women 
 who conformed to the 
 popular idea of maid- 
 enly goodness in the 
 age when these books 
 were written. ^'ou 
 must remember good- 
 ness is not a known 
 quantity. It varies 
 with every age and 
 every locality, and it 
 is, generally speaking, 
 -J your ' silly persons ' 
 who are responsible 
 for its varying stand- 
 in Japan, a ' good ' 
 would be a girl who 
 ui iuld sell her honor in order 
 to afford little luxuries to 
 her aged parerrts. In cer- 
 tain hospitable islands of the 
 toiiid zone, the ' good ' wife 
 goes to lengths that we 
 should deem altogether un- 
 necessarv in making her 
 husband's guest feel himself 
 • TMH MOST ,K. .,.^^ ENiEN, '^ < ^j j-jome. \\\ aucient Hebraic 
 
 \10Mfc.i\ 1 POSSIBLE. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 69 
 
 days, Jael was accounted a good woman for miirdeiing 
 a sleeping man, and Sarai stood in no danger of losing 
 
 ' ALL OUK BEST HEROINES GO SLUMMING. 
 
 the respect of her little world when she led Hagar unto 
 Abraham. In eighteenth century England, supernatural 
 stupidity and dullness of a degree that must have been 
 
7° 
 
 NO]' EL XOTF.S. 
 
 difficult to attain wei'e held to be feminine virtues — 
 indeed, tliej' are so still — and authors, who are always 
 among the most servile followers of public opinion, 
 fashioned their puppets accordingly. Nowadays, 'slum- 
 ming' is the most applauded virtue, and so all our best 
 
 liei'niiiL-b yn slumming, and 
 are al\va3\s extra 'good to 
 tile poor.' 
 
 low useful ' the poor ' 
 
 ire," remarked -MacShaugh- 
 
 KLSsy. somewhat abruptly, 
 
 icing his feet uu the raan- 
 
 .ANn '^F.N'n 
 
 ROUND VMONG 
 
 telpiece and tilting his chair back till it stood at an angle 
 that caused us to rivet our attention upon it with hope- 
 ful interest. "I don't think we scribbling fellows ever 
 fully grasp how much we owe to ' the poor.' \\niere 
 would our angelic heroines and our noble-hearted heroes 
 
KOVlil. NOTES. 71 
 
 be if it were not for ' tlie poor ' ? We want to show tliat 
 the dear girl is as good as she is beautiful. What do we 
 do? We put a basltet full of chickens and bottles of 
 wine on her arm, a fetching little sunbonnet on her head, 
 and send lier round among ' the poor.' How do we 
 prove that our apparent scamp of a hero is really a noble 
 young man at heart ? Why by explaining that he is good 
 to the poor. 
 
 " They are as useful in real life as they are in Book- 
 land. What is it consoles the tradesman when the actor 
 earning eighty pounds a week cannot pay his debts ? 
 Why, reading in the theatrical newspapers gushing ac- 
 counts of the dear fellow's invariable generosity to 'the 
 poor.' What is it stills the small, but irritating, voice of 
 conscience when we have successfully accomplished some 
 extra big feat of swindling ? Why, the noble resolve to 
 give ten per cent, of the net profits to ' the poor.' 
 
 "What does a man do when he finds himself growing 
 old, and feels that it is time for him to think seriously 
 about securing his position in the next world ? Why, he 
 becomes suddenly good to ' the poor.' If the poor were 
 not there for him to be good to, what could he do ? He 
 would be unable to reform at all. It's a great comfort 
 to think that the poor will always be with us. They are 
 the ladder by which we climb into heaven." 
 
 There was silence for a few moments, while Mac- 
 Shaughnassy puffed away vigorously, and almost 
 savagely, at his pipe, and then Brown said, "I can tell 
 you rather a quaint incident, bearing very aptly on the 
 subject. A cousin of mine was a land agent in a small 
 country town, and among the houses on his list was a 
 fine old mansion that had remained vacant for many 
 years. He had despaired of ever selling it, when one 
 day an elderly lady, very richly dressed, drove up to the 
 
72 
 
 XOVEL XOTLS. 
 
 office and uiade iiiqiiine^ about it. Siie said slie had 
 come aci'oss it accidentally while traveling through that 
 part of the country the previous atitumn, and had been 
 iiuich struck 1)\" Its bcanlv 
 and piclurL's(inKncss. She 
 added she \\"as InokinL;" out 
 forftume (|iiirt spnt where she 
 could settle d(j\vn aiul peace- 
 fully pass the remainder of 
 
 ;^vt^y~. 
 
 MAUE 1N(,H'[KIH^ AUOUT IT. 
 
 her days, and thought this place might possibly prove 
 ti) be the very thing for her. 
 
 " ,My cousin, delighted with the chance of a purchaser, 
 at once drove her across to the estate, which was about 
 eight miles distant from the town, and thev went over it 
 together. My cousin wa.xed eloquent upon the subject 
 of it advantages. He dwelt upon its quiet and seclusion, 
 its pro.ximity — but not too close pro.ximitv — to the 
 church, its convenient distance from the vdlage. 
 
 '■ Everything pointed to a satisfactory conclusion of 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 U 
 
 the business. Tlie lady was charmed with tlie situation 
 and the surroundings, and delighted with the house and 
 grounds. She considered the price moderate. 
 
 " ' And now, Mr. Brown,' said she, as they stood by the 
 
 ' WHAT CLASS OF POOR HAVE YOU GOT ROUND-ABOUT? " 
 
 lodge gate, ' tell me, what class of poor have you got 
 round about ? ' 
 
 " ' Poor ? ' answered my cousin, ' there are no poor.' 
 " ' No poor ! ' exclaimed the lady. ' No poor people 
 in the village, or anywhere near?' ; ■;,;;, 
 
 "'You won't find a poor person within five miles of 
 the estate,' he replied proudly. ' You see, my dear 
 madam, this is a thinly populated and exceedingly pros- 
 perous county. This particular district is especially so. 
 
74 NOi'EL NOTES. 
 
 Tiiere is not a family in it that is not, comparatively 
 speaking, well-to-do.' 
 
 " ' I'm sorry to hear that,' said the lady, in a tone of 
 disappointment. 'The place would have suited me so 
 admirably but for that.' 
 
 "'But surely, madam,' cried my cousin, to whom a 
 demand for poor persons was an entirely new idea, ' you 
 don't mean to say that you want poor people ! ^^'hy, 
 we've always considered it one of the chief attractions of 
 the property — nothing to shock the eye or wound the 
 susceptibilities of the most tender-hearted occupant.' 
 
 "' iNIy dear Mr. Brown,' replied the lady, ' I will be 
 perfectly frank with you. I am becoming an old woman, 
 and my past life has not perhaps been altogether too 
 well spent. It is my desire to atone for the — er — follies 
 of my youth by an old age of well-doing, and to that 
 end it is essential that I should be surrounded by a cer- 
 tain number of deserving poor. I had hoped to find in 
 this charming neighborhood of yours the customary 
 proportion of poverty and misery, in which case I should 
 have taken the house without hesitation. As it is, I 
 must seek elsewhere.' 
 
 " My cousin was perple.\ed and sad. ' There are 
 plenty of poor people in the town,' he said ; ' many of 
 them most interesting cases, and )ou could have the 
 entire care of them all. There'd be no opposition what- 
 ever, I'm positive.' 
 
 " ' Thank you,' replied the lady, ' but I really couldn't 
 go as far as the town. They must be within easy driv- 
 ing distance or they are no good.' 
 
 " iNIy cousin cudgeled his brains again. He did not 
 intend to let a purchaser slip through his fingers if he 
 could help it. At last a bright thought flashed into his 
 mind. ' I'll tell you what we could do,' he said. 
 
l\OVEL NOTES. 
 
 75 
 
 ' There's a piece of waste land at the other end of 
 lage that we've never been able to do much with 
 sequence of its being so 
 swampy. If you liked, 
 we could run you up a 
 dozen cottages on that 
 cheap — it would be all 
 the better their being a 
 bit ramshackle and un- 
 healthy — and get some 
 
 poor people for you and 
 
 put into them.' 
 
 " The lady reflected up- 
 on the idea, and it struck 
 
 her as a good one. 
 
 "'You see,' continued 
 
 my cousin, pushing his 
 
 advantage, ' by adopting 
 
 this method you would 
 
 be able to select your 
 
 own poor. We would 
 
 get you some nice, clean, 
 
 grateful poor, and make 
 
 the vil- 
 in con- 
 
 the thing pleas- 
 ant for you.' 
 
 " It ended in the lady's accepting my cousin's offer, 
 and giving him a list of the poor people she would like 
 
76 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 to have. She selected one bedridden old woman (Church 
 of England preferred), one paralytic old man ; one blind 
 girl who would want to be read aloud to ; one poor 
 atheist, willing to be converted ; two cripples ; one 
 drunken father who would consent to be talked to 
 seriously ; one disagreeable old fellow, needing much 
 patience ; two large families, and four ordinary as- 
 sorted couples. 
 
 " My cousin experienced some difficulty in securing 
 the drunken father. Most of the drunken fathers he 
 interviewed upon the subject had a rooted objection to 
 being talked to at all. After a long search, however, 
 he discovered a mild little man, who, upon the lady's 
 requirements and charitable intentions being explained 
 to him, undertook to qualify himself for the vacancy by 
 getting intoxicated at least once a week. He said he 
 could notpromise more than once 
 a week ^ first, he unfortunately 
 possessing a strong natural dis- 
 taste for all alcoholic 
 liquors which it would 
 be necessary for him to 
 overcome. As he got 
 more used to them, he 
 \ would do better. 
 .,» " Over the disagree- 
 able old man my cousin 
 also had trouble. It was 
 hard to hit the right de- 
 gree of disagreeableness. 
 Some of them were so very unpleasant. He event- 
 ually made choice of a decayed cab-driver with 
 advanced Radical opinions, who insisted on a three- 
 years' contract. 
 
 A DECAYED CAB-DRIVER. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 77 
 
 " The plan worked exceedingly well, and does so, my 
 cousin tells me, to this day. The drunken father has 
 completely conquered his dislike to strong drink. He 
 has not been sober now for over three weeks, and 
 has lately taken to 
 knocking his wife 
 about. The disa- 
 greeable fellow is 
 most conscientious 
 in fulfilling his part 
 of the bargain, and 
 makes himself a per- 
 fect curse to the 
 whole village. The 
 others have dropped 
 into their respective 
 positions and are 
 working well. The 
 lady visits them 
 all every afternoon, 
 and is most chari- 
 table. They call 
 her Lady Bounti- 
 ful, and everybody 
 blesses her. It is 
 generally felt throughout the parish that if she does not 
 go to heaven, then it will be because heaven doesn't 
 know its own business." 
 
 Brown rose as he finished speaking, and mixed him- 
 self a glass of whisky and water with the self-satisfied air 
 of a benevolent man about to reward somebody for hav- 
 ing done a good deed ; and MacShaughnassy lifted up 
 his voice and talked. 
 
 " I know a story bearing on the subject, too," he 
 
 WITH A PRIVATE INCOME OF HIS OWN. 
 
78 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 said ; " but mine is not so serious as yours. It hap- 
 pened in a tiny Yorkshire village — a peaceful, respect- 
 able spot, where folks found life a bit slow. One day, 
 however, a new curate arrived, and that woke things up 
 considerably. He was a nice young man, and, having a 
 large private income of his own, was altogether a most 
 desirable catch. Every unmarried female in the place 
 went for him with one accord. 
 
 " But ordinary feminine blandishments appeared to 
 have no effect upon him. He was a seriously inclined 
 young man, and once, in the course of conversation upon 
 the subject of love, he was heard to say that he himself 
 should never be attracted by mere beauty and charm. 
 What would appeal to him, he said, would be a woman's 
 goodness — her charity and kindliness to the poor. 
 
 " Well, that set the petticoats all thinking. They saw 
 that in studying fashion plates and practicing expres- 
 sions they had been going upon the wrong tack. The 
 card for them to play was ' the poor.' 
 
 "But here a serious difficulty arose. There was only 
 one poor person in the whole parish, a cantankerous old 
 fellow who lived in a tumble-down cottage at the back 
 of the church, and fifteen able-bodied women (eleven 
 girls, three old maids and a widow), wanted to be ' good ' 
 to him. 
 
 " Miss Simmonds, one of the old maids, got hold of 
 him first, and commenced feeding him twice a day with 
 beef tea ; and then the widow boarded him with port 
 wine and oysters. Later in the week, others of the party 
 drifted in upon him, and wanted to cram him with jelly 
 and chickens. 
 
 " The old man couldn't understand it. He was accus- 
 tomed to a small sack of coals now and then, accom- 
 panied by a long lecture on his sins, and an occasional 
 
UOVEL NOT£S. 
 
 n 
 
 bottle of dandelion tea. This sudden spurt on the part 
 of Providence puzzled him. He said nothing, however, 
 but continued to take in as much of everything as he 
 could hold. At the end of a month he was too fat to 
 get through his own back door. 
 
 " The competition among the women folk grew keener 
 
 airs, and to make the place 
 hard for them. He made them clean his cottage out, 
 and cook his meals, and when he was tired of having 
 them about the house, he set them to work in the garden. 
 " They grumbled a good deal, and there was talk at 
 one time of a sort of a strike, but what could they do ? 
 He was the only pauper for miles round, and knew it. 
 He had the monopoly, and, like all monopolists, he 
 abused his position shamefully. 
 
8o 
 
 N'Ol'EL NOTES. 
 
 " He made them run errands. He sent them out to 
 buy his ' baccy,' at their own expense. On one occa- 
 sion he sent Miss Simmonds out with a jug to get his 
 supper beer. She indignantly refused at first, but he 
 told her that if she gave him any of her stuck-up airs 
 out she would go, and never come into his house again. 
 If she wouldn't do it there were plenty of others who 
 would. She knew it and went. 
 
 " They had been in the habit of reading to him — good 
 
 ' WITH CHORUS AND .^KIRT DANCE.' 
 
 books with an elevating tendency. But now he put his 
 foot down upon that sort of thing. He said he didn't 
 want Sunday-school rubbish at his time of life. What 
 he liked was something spicy. And he made them read 
 him French novels and seafaring tales, containing realistic 
 language. And they didn't have to skip anything either, 
 or he'd know the reason why. 
 
 " He said he liked music, so a few of them clubbed 
 together and bought him an harmonium. Their idea 
 was that they would sing hymns and play high-class 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 8i 
 
 melodies, but it wasn't liis. His idea was — ' Keeping up 
 the old girl's birthday ' and ' She winked the other eye,' 
 with chorus and skirt dance, and that's what they sang. 
 
 " To what lengths his tyranny would have gone it is 
 difficult to say, had not an event happened that brought 
 his power to a premature collapse. This was the curate's 
 sudden and somewhat unexpected marriage with a very 
 beautiful burlesque actress who had lately been perform- 
 ing in a neighboring town. He gave up the Church on 
 his engagement, in consequence of \ns fiancee's objection 
 to becoming a minister's wife. She said she could never 
 tumble to the district visiting. 
 
 " With the curate's wedding, the old pauper's brief 
 career of prosperity ended. They packed him off to the 
 workhouse after that, and made him break stones." 
 
 At the end of the telling of his tale, MacShaughnassy 
 lifted his feet off the mantelpiece, and set to work to 
 wake up his legs ; and Jephson took a hand, and began 
 to spin us stories. 
 
 But none of us felt inclined to laugh at Jephson's 
 stories, for they dealt not with the goodness of the rich 
 to the poor, which is a virtue yielding quick and highly 
 satisfactory returns, but with the goodness of the poor 
 to the poor, a somewhat less remunerative investment 
 and a different matter altogether. 
 
 For the poor themselves — not the noisy professional 
 poor I do not mean, but the silent, fighting poor — one is 
 bound to feel a genuine respect. One honors them, as 
 one honors a wounded,, lean old soldier. 
 
 In the perpetual warfare between Humanity and 
 Nature, the poor stand always in the van. They die in 
 the ditches, and we march over their bodies with the 
 flags flying and the drums playing. 
 
MOV EL NOTES. 
 
 hard blows. It is as if 
 
 skulking- in the tents, 
 rades were fighluiL;- and 
 
 They bleed and 
 there. Nature with 
 " Survival of 
 Civilization 
 
 i M 
 
 I can never think of them myself without an uncom- 
 fortable feeling that I ought to be a little bit ashamed of 
 living in security and ease, leaving them to take all the 
 
 one were always 
 while one's corn- 
 dying in the front, 
 fall in silence 
 her terrible club, 
 Fittest " ; and 
 her cruel sword, 
 " Supply and De- 
 mand," beat them 
 back, and they 
 give way inch by 
 inch, fighting to 
 the end. But it 
 is in a dumb, 
 silent way, that 
 is not sufficiently 
 picturesque to be 
 heroic. 
 
 I remember 
 seeing an old 
 bull-dog, one Sat- 
 urday night, lying on the doorstep of a small shop 
 in the New Cut. He lay there very quiet, and seemed 
 a bit sleepy ; and, as he looked savage, nobody dis- 
 turbed him. People stepped in and out over him, 
 and occasionally in doing so, one would accidently kick 
 him, and then he would breathe a little harder and 
 quicker. 
 
 At last, a passer-by, feeling something wet beneath his 
 feet, looked down, and found that he was standing in a 
 pool of blood, and, looking to see where it came from, 
 
 SEEMED A BIT SLEEPY. 
 
MovEL Motes. _ S3 
 
 found that it flowed in a thiols, dark stream from the 
 step on which the dog was lying. 
 
 Then he stooped down and examined the dog, and the 
 dog opened its eyes sleepily and looked at him, gave a 
 grin which may have implied pleasure, or may have im- 
 plied irritation at being disturbed, and died. 
 
 A crowd collected, and they turned the dead body of 
 the dog over on its side, and saw a fearful gash in the 
 groin, out of which oozed blood, and other things. The 
 proprietor of the shop said the animal had been there for 
 over an hour. 
 
 I have known the poor to die in that same grim, silent 
 way — not the poor that you, my delicately gloved Lady 
 Bountiful and my very excellent Sir Simon DoGood, 
 know, or that you would care to know ; not the poor who 
 march in processions with banners and collection-boxes ; 
 not the poor that clamor round your soup kitchens and 
 sing hymns at your tea meetings ; but the poor that you 
 don't know are poor until the tale is told at the coroner's 
 inquest — the silent, the proud poor who wake each morn- 
 ing to wrestle with Death till night-time, and who, when 
 at last he overcomes them, and, forcing them down on 
 the rotting floor of the dim attic, strangles them, still 
 die with their teeth tight shut. 
 
 There was a boy I came to know when I was living in 
 the East End of London. He was not a nice boy by any 
 means. He was not quite so clean as are the good boys 
 in the religious magazines, and I have known a sailor to 
 stop him in the street and reprove him for using indeli- 
 cate language. But he was a boy to shake hands with for 
 all that, even if it was necessary to wipe your own hands 
 afterward. 
 
 He and his mother and the baby, a sickly infant of 
 about five months old, lived in a cellar down a turning 
 
84 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 off Three Colt Street. I am not quite sure what had be- 
 come of the father. I rather think he had heen " con- 
 verted," and had gone off round the country on a preach- 
 ing tour. The lad earned six shillings a week as an 
 errand boy ; and the mother stitched trousers, and on 
 days when she was feeling strong and energetic would 
 often make as much as tenpence, or even a shilling. Un- 
 fortunately, there were days when the four bare walls 
 
 JIM, you'll take care of fHt KID." 
 
 would chase each other round and round, and the candle 
 seem a faint speck of light, a very long way off ; and the 
 frequency of these caused the family income for the 
 week to occasionally fall somewhat low. 
 
 One night the walls danced round quicker and quicker 
 ■till they danced away altogether, and the candle shot up 
 through the ceiling and became a star ; and the woman 
 knew that it was time to put away her sewing. 
 
 " Jim," she said : she spoke very low, and the boy had 
 to bend over her to hear, " if you poke about in the 
 middle of the mattress you'll find a couple of pounds. I 
 
NOVEL ^rOTES. 
 
 8S 
 
 saved them up a long while ago. That will pay for 
 burying me. And, Jim, you'll take care of the kid. 
 You won't let it go on the parish." 
 
 Jim promised. 
 
 " Say, ' S'welp me Gawd,' Jim." 
 
 " S'welp me Gawd, mother." 
 
 Then the woman, having arranged her worldly affairs, 
 lay back ready, and Death struck. 
 
 Jim kept his oath. He found the money, and buried 
 his mother ; and then, putting his household goods on a 
 barrow moved into cheaper 
 apartments — half an old shed, 
 for which he paid two shillings 
 a week. 
 
 For eighteen months he and 
 the baby lived there. He left 
 the child at a nursery every 
 morning, fetching it away each evening 
 on his return from work, and for that he 
 paid fourpence a day, which included a 
 limited supply of milk. How he man- 
 aged to keep himself and more than 
 half keep the child on the remaining 
 two shillings I cannot say. I only know 
 that he did it, and that not a soul ever 
 helped him or knew that there was 
 help wanted. He nursed the child, 
 often pacing the room with it for hours, washed it, occa- 
 sionally, and took it out for an airing every Sunday. 
 
 Notwithstanding all which care, the little beggar, at 
 the end of the time above mentioned, " pegged out," to 
 use Jimmy's own words. 
 
 The coroner was very severe on Jim. " If you had 
 taken proper steps," he said, " this child's life might 
 
 THE CORONER WAS 
 VERY SEVERE ON JIM." 
 
86 NOVEL iVOTES. 
 
 have been preserved." (He seemed to think it would 
 have been better if the child's life had been preserved. 
 Coroners have quaint ideas.) " ^Vhy didn't j'ou apply 
 to the relieving officer ? " 
 
 " 'Cos I didn't want no relief,"' replied Jim sullenly. 
 " I promised my mother it should never go on the par- 
 ish, and it didn't." 
 
 The incident occurred, very luckily, during the dead 
 season, and the evening papers took the case up, and 
 made rather a good thing out of it. Jim became quite 
 a hero, I remember. Kindhearted people wrote urging 
 that somebody — the ground landlord, or the Government, 
 or someone of that sort — ought to do something for 
 him. And everybody abused the local vestry. I really 
 think some benefit to Jim might have come out of it all 
 if only the excitement had lasted a little longer. Un- 
 fortunately, however, just at its height a spicy divorce 
 case cropped up, and Jim was crowded out and for- 
 gotten. 
 
 I told the boys this story of mine, after Jephson had 
 done telling his, and, when I had finished, we found it 
 was nearly one o'clock. So, of course, it was too late 
 to do any more work to the novel that evening. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 jjE held our next business meeting on my house- 
 boat. Brown was opposed at first to my 
 going down to this houseboat at all. He 
 thought that none of us should leave town 
 while the novel was still on hand.~ 
 
 " Don't you agree with me, Jephson ? " he added, 
 turning to that ever-smoking philosopher. " Don't you 
 think it unwise for any of us to go away from London 
 until this book is finished and off our minds ? " 
 
 " Well," growled Jephson, without removing his pipe 
 from his mouth, " personally, I must confess I should 
 like to see the dear old trees and fields once more before 
 I die." 
 
 Jephson never had been enthusiastic about this collab- 
 oration scheme. But then enthusiasm was not in his 
 nature. 
 
 MacShaughnassy, on the other hand, was of opinion 
 that we should work better on a houseboat. Speaking 
 for himself, he said he never felt more like writing a 
 really great work than when lying in a hammock among 
 whispering leaves, with the deep blue sky above him, and 
 a tumbler of iced claret cup within easy reach of his 
 hand. Failing a hammock, he found a deck chair a 
 great incentive to mental labor. In the interests of the 
 novel, he strongly recommended me to take down with 
 me at least one comfortable deck chair, and plenty of 
 lemons, 
 
 I could not myself see any reason why we should not 
 87 
 
88 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 be able to think as well on a houseboat as anywhere 
 else, and accordingly it was settled that I should go down 
 and establish myself upon the thing, and that the others 
 
 should visit me 
 there from time to 
 time, when we would 
 sit round and toil. 
 
 This houseboat 
 was Ethelbertha's 
 idea. We had spent 
 a day, the summer 
 before, on one be- 
 longing to a friend 
 of mine, and she 
 "' had been enraptured 
 with the life. Every- 
 thing was on such 
 a delightfully tiny 
 scale. You lived in 
 a tiny little room ; 
 you slept on a tiny 
 little bed, in a tiny, 
 tiny little bedroom ; and you cooked your little dinner 
 by a tiny little fire, in the tiniest little kitchen that ever 
 you did see. " Oh, it must be lovely, living on a house- 
 boat," said Ethelbertha, with a gasp of ecstasy ; '' it must 
 be like living in a doll's house." 
 
 Ethelbertha was very young — ridiculously young, as I 
 think I have mentioned before — in these daysof which I am 
 writing, and the love of dolls, and of the gorgeous dresses 
 that dolls wear, and of the many-windowed but incon- 
 veniently arranged houses that dolls inhabit — or are sup- 
 posed to inhabit, for as a rule they seem to prefer sitting 
 on the roof with their legs dangling down over the front 
 
 ^ 
 
 \ 
 
 K 
 
 'writing rt REALLY GREAT WORK. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 89 
 
 door, which has always appeared to me to be unladylike. 
 But then, of course, I am no authority on doll etiquette — 
 had not yet, I think, quite departed from her. Nay, am 
 I not sure that it had not ? Do I not remember, years 
 later, peeping into a certain room, the walls of which are 
 covered with works of art of a 
 character calculated to send any 
 aesthetic person 
 mad, and seeing ^^^ 
 her sitting on 
 the floor before 
 a red brick man- 
 sion, containing 
 two rooms and a 
 kitchen : and are 
 not her hands 
 trembling with 
 delight as she ar- 
 ranges the three 
 real tin plates 
 upon the dresser ? And does she not knock at the real 
 brass knocker upon the real front door until it comes 
 off, and I have to sit down beside her on the floor and 
 screw it on again ? 
 
 Perhaps, however, it is unwise for me to recall these 
 things, and bring them forward thus in evidence against 
 her, for cannot she in turn laugh at me ? Did not I 
 also assist in the arrangement and appointment of that 
 house beautiful ? We differed on the matter of the 
 drawing-room carpet, I recollect. Ethelbertha fancied a 
 dark blue velvet, but I felt sure, taking the wall-paper 
 into consideration, that some shade of terra-cotta would 
 harmonize best. She agreed with me in the end, and we 
 manufactured one out of an old chest protector, It had 
 
 ^A^L-**-, 
 
 "sitting on the floor, before a red 
 brick mansion." 
 
90 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 a really charming effect, and gave a delightfully warm 
 tone to the room. The blue velvet we put in the 
 kitchen. I deemed this extravagance, but Ethelbertha 
 said that servants thought a lot of a good carpet, and 
 
 that it paid to humor them 
 111 liltle tilings, when prac- 
 ticable. 
 
 The bedroom had one big 
 bed and a cot in it ; but I 
 
 ETHELBERTHA FAN'CIKn 
 r.LL'E \'EL\K1." 
 
 could not see where the 
 was going tu sleep. '1 ne 
 architect had overlnoked her 
 altogether : that is so like 
 
 an architect. The house also suffered from the incon- 
 venience common to residences of its class, of possessing 
 no stairs, so that to move from one room to another it 
 was necessary to burst your way up through the ceiling, 
 or else to come outside and climb in through a window ; 
 either of which methods must be fatiguing when you 
 come to do it often. 
 
 Apart from these drawbacks, however, the house was 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 91 
 
 one that any doll agent would have been justified in 
 describing as a " most desirable family residence "; and 
 it had been furnished with a lavishness that bordered on 
 positive ostentation. In the bedroom there was a wash- 
 ing stand, and on the washing stand there stood a jug 
 and basin, and in the jug there was real water. But all 
 this was as nothing. I have known mere ordinary, 
 middle-class dolls' houses in which you might find wash- 
 ing-stands and jugs and basins and real water — aye, and 
 even soap. But in this abode of luxury there was a real 
 towel ; so that a body could not only wash himself, but 
 wipe himself afterward, and that is a sensation that, as 
 all dolls know, can be enjoyed only in the very first-class 
 establishments. 
 
 Then, in the drawing room, there was a clock, which 
 would go on ticking so long as ever you continued to 
 shake it (it never seemed to get tired) ; also a picture 
 and a piano, and a book upon a table, and a vase of 
 flowers that would upset the moment you touched it, 
 just like a real vase of flowers. Oh, there was style 
 about this room, I can tell you. 
 
 But the glory of the house was its kitchen. There 
 were all things that heart could desire in this kitchen, 
 saucepans with lids that took on and off, a flatiron, and 
 a rolling-pin. A dinner service for three occupied about 
 half the room, and what space was left was filled up by 
 the stove — a real stove ! Think of it, oh ye owners of 
 dolls' houses, a stove in which you could burn real bits 
 of coal, and on which you could boil real bits of potato 
 for dinner — except when people said you mustn't, be- 
 cause it was dangerous, and took the grate away from 
 you, and blew out the fire, a thing that hampers a cook. 
 
 I never saw a house more complete in all its details. 
 Nothing had been overlooked, not even the family. 
 
92 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 There it lay on its back, just outside the front door, proud 
 but calm, waiting to be put into possession. It was not 
 an extensive family. It consisted of four — papa and 
 mamma and baby and the hired girl ; just the family 
 for a beginner. 
 
 It was a well-dressed family too — not merely with 
 grand clothes outside, covering a shameful condition of 
 things beneath, such as, alas ! is too often the case in 
 doll society, but with every article necessary and proper 
 to a lady or gentleman, down to items that I could not 
 mention. And all these garments, you must know, could 
 be unfastened and taken off. I have known dolls — 
 stylish enough dolls, to look at, some of them — who have 
 been content to go about with their clothes gummed on 
 to them, and, in some cases, nailed on with tacks, which 
 I take to be a slovenly and unhealthy habit. But this 
 family could be undressed in five minutes without the 
 aid of either hot water or a chisel. 
 
 Not that it was advisable from an artistic point of view 
 that any of them should. They had not the figure that 
 looks well in its natural state — none of them. There 
 was a want of fullness about them all. Besides, without 
 their clothes, it might have been difficult to distinguish 
 the baby from the papa, or their maid from the mistress, 
 and thus domestic complications might have arisen. 
 
 ^Vhen all was ready for their reception we established 
 them in their home. \Ve put as much of the baby to 
 bed as the cot would hold, and made the papa and 
 mamma comfortable in the drawing room, where they 
 sat on the floor and stared thoughtfully at each other 
 across the table. (They had to sit on the floor because 
 the chairs were not big enough.) The girl we placed in 
 the kitchen, where she leant against the dresser in an 
 attitude suggestive of drink, embracing the broom we 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 93 
 
 had given her with maudlin affection. Then we lifted 
 up the house with care and carried it cautiously into an- 
 other room, and with the deftness of experienced con- 
 spirators, placed it at 
 the foot of a small 
 bed, on the southwest 
 corner of which an ab- 
 surdly small somebody 
 had hung an absurdly 
 small stocking. 
 
 To return to our 
 own doll's house, Ethel- 
 bertha and I discussing the 
 during our return journey 
 train, resolved that, next 
 ourselves would possess a houseboat, 
 a smaller houseboat, if possible, ' 
 than even the one we had just seen. 
 It should have art-muslin curtains and a flag, and the 
 flowers about it should be wild roses and forget-me-nots. 
 I could work all the morning on the roof, with an awning 
 over me to keep off the sun, while Ethelbertha trimmed 
 the roses and made cake for tea ; and in the evenings 
 we vi'ould sit out on the little deck, and Ethelbertha 
 would play the guitar (she would begin learning it at 
 once), or we could sit quiet and listen to the nightingales. 
 
 For, when you are very, very young, you dream that 
 the summer is all sunny days and moonlight nights, 
 that the wind blows always softly from the west, and that 
 roses will thrive anywhere. But, as you grow older, you 
 grow tired of waiting for the dull gray sky to break. So 
 you close the door and come in, and crouch over the fire, 
 jyondering why the winds blow ever from the east ; and 
 you have given up trying to rear roses. 
 
 IN AN ATTITUDE SUGGES- 
 TIVE- OF DRINK." 
 
94 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 I knew a little cottage ghl who saved up her money 
 for months and months so as to buy a new frock in 
 which to go to a flower show. But the day of the flower 
 show was a wet day, so she wore an old frock instead. 
 And all the fete days for quite a long while were wet 
 days, and she feared she would never have a chance of 
 wearing her pretty white dress. But at last there came 
 a fete day morning that was bright and sunny, and then 
 the little girl clapped her hands and ran upstairs, and 
 took her new frock (which had been her " new frock " 
 for so long a time that it was now the oldest frock she 
 had) from the box where it lay neatly folded between 
 lavender and thyme, and held it up, and laughed to think 
 how nice she would look in it. 
 
 But when she went to put it on, she found that she had 
 outgrown it, and that it was too small for her every way. 
 So she had to wear a common old frock after all. 
 
 Things happen that way, you know, in this world. 
 There were a boy and girl once who loved each other 
 very dearly. But they were both poor, so they agreed 
 to wait till he had made enough money for them to live 
 comfortably upon, and then they would marry and be 
 happy. It took him a long while to make, because 
 making money is very slow work, and he wanted, while 
 he was about it, to make enough for them to be very 
 happy upon indeed. He accomplished the task event- 
 ually, however, and came back home a wealthy man. 
 
 Then they met again in the poorly furnished parlor 
 where they had parted. But they did not sit as near to 
 each other as of old. ]*"i.>r she had lived alone so long 
 that she had grown prim and old-maidish, and she was 
 feeling vexed with him for having dirtied the carpet 
 with his muddy boots. And he had worked so long 
 earning money that he had grown hard and cold like 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 95 
 
 the money itself, and was trying to think of something 
 affectionate to say to her. 
 
 So for a while they sat, one each side of the paper 
 " fire-stove ornament," both wondering why they had 
 shed such scald- 
 ing tears on that 
 day they had 
 kissed each other 
 good-by ; then f , 
 said "good-by" 
 again, and were 
 glad. 
 
 There is an- 
 other tale with 
 much the same 
 moral that I learnt at school out 
 of a copy-book. If I remember 
 rightly, it runs somewhat like 
 this : 
 
 Once upon a time there lived a wise grasshopper and 
 a foolish ant. All through the pleasant summer weather 
 the grasshopper sported and played, gamboling with his 
 fellows in and out among the sunbeams, dining sumptu- 
 ously each day on leaves and dewdrops, never troubling 
 about the morrow, singing ever his one peaceful, droning 
 song. 
 
 Then there came the cruel winter, and the grasshopper, 
 looking round, saw that his friends, the flowers, lay dead, 
 and knew thereby that his own little span was drawing 
 near its close. 
 
 Then he felt glad that he had been so happy, and had 
 not wasted his life. "It has been very short," said he to 
 himself ; " but it has been very pleasant, and I think I 
 have made the best use of it. I have drunk in the sun- 
 
 THEY MET AGAIN. 
 
96 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 -f-^ 
 
 shine, I have lain on the soft, warm air, I have played 
 merry games in the waving grass, 1 have tasted the juice 
 of the sweet green leaves. I have done what I could. 
 I have spread my wings, I have sung my song. Now I 
 will thank God for the sunny days that are passed, and 
 die." 
 
 Saying which, he crawled under a brown leaf and met 
 his fate in the way that all brave grasshoppers should ; 
 and a little bird that was passing by 
 picked him up tenderly and buried 
 him. 
 
 Now when the foolish ant saw 
 this, she was greatly puffed up with 
 Pharisaical conceit. " How thankful 
 I ought to be," said she, "that I am 
 industrious and prudent, and not like 
 this poor grasshopper. While he was 
 flitting about from flower to flower, 
 enjoying himself, I was hard at work, 
 putting by against the winter. Now 
 he is dead while I am about to make myself cozy in my 
 warm home, and eat all the good things that I have been 
 saving up." 
 
 But, as she spoke, the gardener came along with his 
 spade, and leveled the hill where she dwelt to the 
 ground, and left her lying dead amid the ruins. 
 
 Then the same kind little bird that had buried the 
 grasshopper came and picked her out and buried her 
 also ; and afterward he composed and sang a song, the 
 burthen of which was " Gather ye rosebuds while ye 
 may." It was a very pretty song, and a very wise song, 
 and a man who lived in those days, and to whom the 
 birds, loving him and feeling that he was almost one of 
 themselves, had taught their language, fortunately over- 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 97 
 
 heard it and wrote it down, so that all may read it to 
 this day. 
 
 Unhappily for us, however. Fate is a harsh governess, 
 who has no sympathy with our desire for rosebuds. 
 " Don't stop to pick flowers now, my dear," she cries, in 
 her sharp, cross tones, as she seizes our aim and jerks 
 us back into the roadway ; " we haven't time to-day. 
 We will come back again to-morrow, and you shall pick 
 them then." 
 
 And we have to follow her, knowing, if we are experi- 
 enced children, that the chances are that we shall never 
 come that way again ; or that if we do, it will be when 
 the roses are dead. 
 
 Fate would not hear of our having a houseboat that 
 summer — which was an exceptionally fine summer — but 
 promised us that if we were good and saved up our 
 money we should have one next year ; and Ethelbertha 
 and I, being simple-minded, inexperienced children, 
 were content with the promise, and had faith in its satis- 
 factory fulfillment. 
 
 As soon as we reached honie, we informed Amenda of 
 our plan. The moment the girl opened the door, Ethel- 
 bertha burst out with : 
 
 " Oh ! can you swim, Ainenda? " 
 
 " No, mum," answered Amenda, with entire absence of 
 curiosity as to why such a question had been addressed 
 to her, " I never knew but one girl as could, and she got 
 drowned." 
 
 " Well, you'll have to make haste and learn, then," 
 continued Ethelbertha, " because you won't be able to 
 walk out with your young man, you'll have to swim out. 
 We're not going to live in a house any more. AVe're 
 going to live on a boat in the middle of the river." 
 
 Ethelbertha's chief object in life at this period was to 
 
98 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 surprise and shock Amenda, and her chief sorrow that 
 she had never succeeded in doing so. She had hoped 
 great things from this announcement, but the girl re- 
 mained unmoved. 
 " Oh, are you, 
 mum," she re- 
 pHed ; and went 
 on to speak of 
 other matters. 
 
 I believe the re- 
 sult would have 
 been precisely the 
 same if we had 
 told her we were 
 going to live in 
 a balloon. 
 
 I do not know 
 how it was, I am 
 s u r e. Amenda 
 was always most 
 respectful in her 
 manner. But she 
 had a knack of 
 making Ethel- 
 bertha and my- 
 self feel that we were a couple of children, playing at 
 being grown up and married, and that she was hum- 
 oring us. 
 
 .\menda stayed with us for nearly five years — until 
 milkman, having saved up sufficient to buy a 
 " walk " of his own, had become practicable — but her 
 attitude toward us never changed. Even when we came 
 to be really important married people, the proprietors of 
 a "family," it was evident that she merely considered we 
 
 'can \ou swim, amenda?" 
 
 the 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 99 
 
 had gone a step farther in the game, and were playing 
 now at being fathers and mothers. 
 
 By some subtle process, she contrived to imbue the 
 baby also with this idea. The child never seemed to me 
 to take either of us quite seriously. She would play with 
 us, or join with us in light, frivolous conversation ; but 
 when it came to the serious affairs of life, such as bath- 
 ing or feeding, she preferred her nurse. 
 
 Ethelbertha attempted to take her out in the peram- 
 bulator one morning, but the child would not hear of it 
 for a moment. 
 
 " It's all right, baby dear," explained Ethelbertha 
 soothingly. " Baby's going out with mumma this 
 morning." 
 
 " Oh, no, baby aint," was baby's rejoinder, in effect if 
 not in words. " Baby don't take a hand in experiments 
 — not this baby. I don't want to be upset or run 
 over." 
 
 Poor Ethel ! I shall never forget how heartbroken 
 she was. It was the want of confidence that wounded 
 her. 
 
 But these are reminiscences of other days, having no 
 connection with the days of which I am — or should be — 
 writing ; and to wander from one matter to another is, 
 in a teller of tales, a grievous sin, and a growing custom 
 much to be condemned. Therefore, I will close my 
 eyes to all other memories, and endeavor to see only 
 that little white and green houseboat by the ferry, which 
 was the scene of our future collaborations. 
 
 Houseboats then were not built to the scale of Missis- 
 sippi steamers, but this boat was a small one, even for 
 that primitive age. The man from whom we hired it 
 described it as "compact." The man to whom, at the 
 end of the first month, we tried to sub-let it, character- 
 
loo 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 ized it as "poky." In our letters, we traversed this 
 definition. In our hearts, we agreed with it. 
 
 .Vt first, however, its size — or, rather, its lack of size — 
 was one of its chief charn:is in Ethelbertha's eyes. The 
 
 fact that if you 
 got out of bed 
 carelessly you 
 were certain to 
 knock your head 
 against the ceil- 
 ing, and that it 
 was utterly im- 
 possible for any 
 man to put on 
 his trousers ex- 
 ceptin thesaloon, 
 she regarded as a 
 capital joke. 
 
 That she her- 
 self had to take 
 a liMiking-olass and go upon the 
 rciiif to do |er back hair, she 
 coiisidei'ed less amusing. 
 Anicnda ai cepted her new sur- 
 niuiidiags witlBphTlosophic indif- 
 
 ference. On lleing informed that 
 what she had mistaken for a linen press was her bedroom, 
 she remarked that there was one advantage about it, and 
 that was, that she could not tumble out of bed, seeing 
 there was nowhere to tumble; and, on being shown the 
 kitchen, she observed that she should like it for two 
 things — one was that she could sit in the middle and reach 
 everything without getting up ; the other, that nobody 
 else could come into the apartment while she was there. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. loi 
 
 "You see, Amanda," explained Ethelbertha, apolo- 
 getically, " we shall really live outside." 
 
 " Yes, mum," answered Amenda, " I should say that 
 would be the best place to do it." 
 
 If only we could have lived more outside, the life 
 might have been pleasant enough, but the weather 
 rendered it impossible, six days out of the seven, for us 
 to do more than look out of the window and feel thank- 
 ful that we had a roof over our heads. 
 
 I have known wet summers before and since. I have 
 learnt by many bitter experiences the danger and 
 foolishness of leaving the shelter of London any time 
 between the ist of May and the3ist of October. Indeed, 
 the country is always associated in my mind with recol- 
 lections of long, weary days passed in the pitiless rain, 
 and sad, dreary evenings spent in other people's clothes. 
 But never have I known, and never, I pray night and 
 morning, may I know again, such a summer as the one 
 we lived through (though none of us expected to) on 
 that confounded houseboat. 
 
 In the morning, we would be awakened by the rain's 
 forcing its way through the window and wetting the bed, 
 and would get up and mop out the saloon. After break- 
 fast, I would try to work, but the beating of the hail 
 upon the roof just over my head would drive every idea 
 out of my brain, and, after a wasted hour or two, I 
 would fling down my pen and hunt up Ethelbertha, and 
 we would put on our mackintoshes and take our umbrel- 
 las and go out for a row. At midday we would return 
 and put on some dry clothes, and sit down to dinner. 
 
 In the afternoon the storm generally freshened up a 
 
 bit, and we were kept pretty busy rushing about with 
 
 • towels and cloths, trying to prevent the water from 
 
 coming into the rooms and swamping us. During tea- 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 time, the saloon was usually illuminated by forked light- 
 ning. The evenings we spent in baling out the boat, 
 after which we took it in turns to go into the kitchen 
 and warm ourselves. At eight we supped, and from 
 then until it was time to go to bed we sat wrapped up in 
 rugs, listening to the roaring of the thunder and the 
 howling of the wind, and the lashing of the waves, and 
 wondering whether the boat would hold out through the 
 night. 
 
 Friends would come down to spend the day with us — 
 elderly irritable people, fond of warmth and comfort ; 
 people who did not, as a rule, hanker after jaunts, even 
 under the most favorable conditions ; but who had been 
 persuaded by our silly talk that a day on the river 
 would be to them like a Saturday to Monday in Para- 
 dise. Poor creatures ! 
 They would generally 
 return home, looking as 
 if they had had a day hi 
 the river. 
 
 They would arrive 
 soaked ; and we would 
 shut them up in different 
 bunks, and leave them 
 to strip themselves and 
 put on things of Ethel- 
 bertha's or of mine. But 
 Ethel and I, in those 
 days, were slim, so that 
 stout middle-aged peo- 
 1 pie in our clothes 
 
 neither looked well nor felt happy. 
 
 Upon their emerging, we would take them into the 
 saloon and try to entertain them by telling them what 
 
 ■' STOUT, MIDDl-f; 
 
 AGED I'EOILIi n 
 
 OUR CLOTHES." 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 103 
 
 we had intended to do with them had the day been fine. 
 But their answers were short, and occasionally snappy, 
 and after a while the conversation would flag, and we 
 would sit round reading last week's newspapers and 
 coughing. 
 
 The moment their own clothes were dry (we lived in a 
 perpetual atmosphere of steaming clothes) they would 
 insist upon leaving us, which seemed to me discourteous 
 after all that we had done for them, and would dress 
 themselves once more and start off home, and get wet 
 again before they got there. 
 
 We would generally receive a letter a few days after- 
 ward, written by some relative, informing us that both 
 patients were doing as well as could be expected, and 
 promising to send us a card for the funeral in case of a 
 relapse. 
 
 Our chief recreation, our sole consolation, during the 
 long weeks of our imprisonment, was to watch from our 
 windows the pleasure-seekers passing by in small open 
 boats, and to reflect what an awful day they had had, or 
 were going to have, as the case might be. 
 
 In the forenoon, they would head up stream — young 
 men with their sweethearts ; nephews taking out their 
 rich old aunts ; husbands and wives (some of them pairs, 
 some of them odd ones) ; stylish-looking girls with 
 cousins ; energetic-looking men with dogs ; high-class 
 silent parties; low-class noisy parties; quarrelsome 
 family parties— boatload after boatload they went by, 
 wet, but still hopeful, pointing out bits of blue sky to 
 each other. 
 
 In the evening, they would return, drenched and 
 gloomy, saying disagreeable things to one another. 
 
 That summer, I am convinced, was responsible for the 
 breaking off of many an engagement, and the abandon- 
 
104 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 ment, maybe, of one or two elopements. A wet day on 
 the river affords lovers an insight into each other's 
 character that is not otherwise easily obtainable. Ange- 
 lina learns that Edwin's language is not so limited as 
 she had imagined, and Edwin perceives that Angelina's 
 smile is not the fixture he had thought it. 
 
 One couple, and one couple only, out of the many 
 hundreds that passed under uur review, came back from 
 the ordeal with pleasant faces. He was rowing hard 
 
 *)!»■ ,- .■ 
 
 ROWING HARD AND SINGING. 
 
 and singing, with a handkerchief tied round his head to 
 keep his hat on, and she was laughing at him, while try- 
 ing to hold up an umbrella with one hand and steer with 
 the other. 
 
 There are but two explanations to account for people 
 being jolly on the river in the rain. The one I dismissed 
 as beinc; both uncharitable and improbable. The other 
 was creditable to the human race, and, adopting it, I took 
 off my cap to this damp but chee_rful pair as they went 
 by. Tliey answered with a wave of the hand, and I 
 stood looking after them till they disappeared in the 
 mist. 
 
 I am inclined to think that those young people, if 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 lOS 
 
 they be still alive, are happy. Maybe Fortune has been 
 kind to them, or maybe she has not, but in either event 
 they are, I am inclined to think, happier than are most 
 people. 
 
 Now and again the daily tornado would rage with 
 such fury as to defeat its own purpose by prematurely 
 exhausting itself, and thus being unable, toward evening, 
 to come up to time ; and, on these rare occasions, we 
 would sit out on the deck, and enjoy the unwonted 
 luxury of fresh air. 
 
 I remember well those few pleasant evenings ; the 
 river, luminous with 
 the drowned light, the 
 dark banks where the 
 night lurked, the storm- 
 tossed sky, jeweled 
 here and there with 
 stars. 
 
 It was delightful not 
 to hear for an hour or 
 so the sullen threshing 
 of the rain ; but to 
 listen to the leaping 
 of the fishes, or the soft 
 swirl raised by some 
 water-rat, swimming 
 stealthily among the 
 rushes, or the restless 
 twitterings of the few 
 still wakeful birds. 
 
 An old corncrake 
 lived near to us, and 
 
 the way he used to disturb all the other birds, and keep 
 them from going to sleep, was shameful. Amenda, who 
 
 ' AN OLD CORNCRAKE LIVED NEAR US. 
 
I06 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 was town bred, mistook him at first for one of those 
 cheap alarm clocks, and wondered who was winding him 
 up, and why they went on doing it all night ; and, 
 above all, why they didn't oil him. 
 
 He would begin his unhallowed performance about 
 dusk, just as every respectable bird was preparing to 
 settle down for the night. A family of thrushes had 
 their nest a few yards from his stand, and they used to 
 get perfectly furious with him. 
 
 " There's that fool at it again," the female thrush 
 would say ; " why can't he do it in the daytime if he 
 must do it at all ?" (She spoke, of course, in twitters, 
 but I am confident the above is a correct translation.) 
 
 After a while, the young thrushes would wake up and 
 begin chirping, and then the mother would get madder 
 than ever. 
 
 "Can't you say something to him?" she would cry 
 indignantly to her husband. " How do you think the 
 children can get to sleep, poor things, with that hideous 
 row going on all night ? Might just as well be living in 
 a saw-mill." 
 
 Thus adjured, the male thrush would put his head 
 over the nest, and call out in a nervous, apologetic 
 manner : 
 
 " I say, you know, you there, I wish you wouldn't 
 mind being quiet a bit. ,My wife says she can't get the 
 children to sleep. It's too bad, you know, 'pon my word 
 it is." 
 
 " Gor on," the corncrake would answer surlily. 
 " You keep your wife herself quiet ; that's enough for 
 you to do." And on he would go again worse than 
 before. 
 
 Then a mother blackbird, from a little further off, 
 would join in the fray. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 107 
 
 " Ah, it's a good hiding he wants, not a talking to. 
 And if I was a cock, I'd give it him." (This remark 
 would be made in a tone of withering contempt, and 
 would appear to bear reference to some previous dis- 
 cussion.) 
 
 " You are quite right, ma'am," Mrs. Thrush would 
 reply. "That's what I tell my husband, but " (with a 
 rising inflection, so that every lady in the plantation 
 might hear) ''he wouldn't move himself, bless you — no, 
 not if I and the children were to die before his eyes for 
 want of sleep." 
 
 " Ah, he ain't the only one, my dear," the blackbird 
 would pipe back, "they're all alike." Then in a voice 
 more of sorrow than of anger, " But there, it aint their 
 fault, I suppose, poor things. If you aint got the spirit 
 of a bird you can't help yourself." 
 
 I would strain my ears at this point to hear if the 
 male blackbird was moved at all by these taunts, but the 
 only sound I could ever detect coming from his neigh, 
 borhood was that of palpably exaggerated snoring. 
 
 By this time, the whole glade would be awake, ex- 
 pressing views concerning that corncrake that might 
 have wounded a less callous nature. 
 
 " Blow me tight. Bill," some vulgar little hedge- 
 sparrow would chirp out, in the midst of the hubbub, 
 "if I don't believe the gent thinks 'e's a-singing." 
 
 " 'Taint 'is fault," Bill would reply, with mock sym- 
 pathy. " Somebody's put a penny in the slot, and 'e 
 can't stop 'isself." 
 
 Irritated by the laugh that this would call forth from 
 the younger birds, the corncrake would exert himself to 
 be more objectionable than ever, and, as a means to this 
 end, would commence giving his marvelous imitation of 
 the sharpening of a rusty saw by a steel file. 
 
io8 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 But at this an old crow, not to be trifled with, would 
 cry out angrily : 
 
 "Stop that, now. If I come down to you I'll peck 
 your cranky head off, I will." 
 
 And then would follow silence for a quarter of an 
 hour, after which the whole thing would begin again. 
 
 
 ^1' ^^ 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 ROWN and MacShaugnassy came down to- 
 gether on the Saturday afternoon ; and, as 
 soon as they had dried themselves, and had 
 had some tea, we settled down to work. 
 
 Jephson had writtisn that he would not be able to be 
 with us until late in the evening, and Brown proposed 
 that we should occupy ourselves until his arrival with 
 plots. 
 
 " Let each of us," said he, " sketch out a plot. After- 
 ward, we can compare them, and select the best." 
 
 This we proceeded to do. The plots themselves I 
 forget ; but I remember that at the subsequent judging 
 each man selected his own, and became so indignant at 
 the bitter criticism to which it was subjected by the 
 other two that he tore it up ; and for the next half 
 hour we sat and smoked in silence. 
 
 There was a time, when I was very young, when I 
 yearned to know other people's opinion of me and all 
 my works ; now, my chief aim is to avoid hearing it. 
 In those days, had anyone told me there was half a line 
 about myself in a newspaper, I should have tramped 
 London to obtain that publication. Now, when I see a 
 column headed with my name, I hurriedly fold up the 
 paper and put it away from me, subduing my natural 
 curiosity to read it by saying to myself, "Why should 
 you ? It will only upset you for the day." 
 
 In my cubhood, I possessed a friend. Other friends 
 have come into my life since — very dear and precious 
 
no NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 friends — but they have none of them been to me quite 
 what this friend was. Because he was my iirst friend, 
 and we lived together in a world that was much bigger 
 that this world — more full of joy and of grief ; and, in 
 that world, we loved and hated deeper than we love and 
 hate in this smaller world that I have come to dwell in 
 since. 
 
 He also had the very young man's craving to be criti- 
 cised, and we made it our custom to oblige each other. 
 We did not know then that what we meant, when we 
 asked for " criticism," was encouragement. We thought 
 that we were strong — one does at the beginning of the 
 battle — and that we could bear to hear the truth. 
 
 Accordingly, each one pointed out to the other one 
 his errors, and this task kept us both so busy that we 
 had never time to say a word of praise to one another. 
 That we each had a high opinion of the other's talents I 
 am convinced, but our heads were full of silly saws. We 
 said to ourselves — "There are many who will praise a 
 man ; it is only his friend who will tell him of his 
 faults." .\lso, we said — " Xo man sees his own short- 
 comings, but when these are pointed out to him by 
 another he is grateful, and proceeds to mend them.'"' 
 
 As we came to know the world better, we learnt the 
 fallacy of these ideas. But then it was too late, for the 
 mischief had been done. 
 
 When one of us had written anything, he would read 
 it to the other, and when he had finished he would say, 
 " Now, tell me what you think of it — frankly and as a 
 friend." 
 
 Those were his words. But his thoughts, though he 
 may not have known them, were : 
 
 " Tell me it is clever and good, my friend, even if vou 
 do not think so. The world is very cruel to those that 
 
NOVEL MOTES. 
 
 lit 
 
 have not yet conquered it, and, though we keep a care- 
 less face, our young hearts are scored with wrinkles. 
 Often we grow weary and fainthearted. Is it not so, my 
 
 ^v ^ 
 
 WHEN ONE OF US HAD WRI'ITEN ANYTHING, HE WOULD 
 READ IT TO THE OTHER," 
 
 friend 1 No one has faith in us, and in our dark hours 
 we doubt ourselves. You are my comrade. You know 
 what of myself I have put into this thing that to others 
 will be but an idle half hour's reading. Tell me it is 
 
NO]- EL NOTES. 
 
 good, my friend. Put a little heart into me, I pray 
 you." 
 
 But the other, full of the lust of criticism, which is 
 civilization's substitute for cruelty, would answer more 
 in frankness than in friendship. Then he who had 
 written would flush angrily, and scornful words would 
 pass. 
 
 One evening, he read me a play he had written. There 
 was much that was good in it, but there were also faults 
 (there are in some plays), and these I seized upon and 
 made merry over. I could hardly have dealt out to the 
 
 piece more unneces- 
 sary bitterness had I 
 been a professional 
 critic. 
 
 As soon as I paused 
 from my sport he rose, 
 and, taking his manu- 
 script from the table, 
 tore it in two, and 
 flung it in the fire — he 
 was but a very young, 
 man, you must remem- 
 ber — and then, stand- 
 ing before me with a 
 white face, told nie, 
 unsolicited, his opinion 
 of me and of my art. 
 After which double 
 event, it is perhaps 
 needless to say that we 
 parted in hot anger. 
 I did not see him again for years. The streets of life 
 are very crowded, and if we loose each other's hands we 
 
 AND II.ING l[ I.N* IHF, I ERF-. 
 
N'OVEL NOTES. 113 
 
 are soon hustled far apart. When I did next meet him 
 it was by accident. 
 
 I had left the AVhitehall Rooms after a public dinner, 
 and, glad of the cool night air, was strolling home by 
 the Embankment. A man, slouching along under the 
 trees, paused as I overtook him. 
 
 "You couldn't oblige me with a light, could you, 
 guv'nor?" he said. The voice sounded strange, coming 
 from the figure that it did. 
 
 I struck a match and held it out to him, shaded by my 
 hands. As the faint light illumined his face, I started 
 back and let the match fall. 
 
 " Harry ! " 
 
 He answered with a short, dry laugh. " I didn't know 
 it was you," he said, " or I shouldn't have stopped you." 
 
 " How has it come to this, old fellow ? " I asked, laying 
 my hand upon his shoulder. His coat was unpleasantly 
 greasy, and I drew my hand away again as quickly as 
 I could and tried to wipe it covertly upon my handker- 
 chief. 
 
 "Oh, it's a long story," he answered carelessly, "and 
 too conventional to be worth telling. Some of us go up, 
 you know. Some of us go down. You're doing pretty 
 well, I hear." 
 
 *' I suppose so,''' I replied ; " I've climbed a few feet 
 up a greasy pole, and am trying to stick there. But it is 
 of you I want to talk. Can't I do anything for you ? " 
 
 We were passing under a gas-lamp at the moment. 
 He thrust his face forward close to mine, and the light 
 fell full and pitilessly upon it. 
 
 " Do I look like a man you could do anything for? " 
 he said. 
 
 We walked on in silence side by side, I casting about 
 for words that might seize hold of him. 
 
114 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 " You needn't worry about me," he continued, after 
 awhile, "I'm comfortable enough. We take life easy 
 down here where I am. We've no disappointments." 
 
 " Why did you give up like a weak coward ? " I burst 
 out angrily. "You had talent. You would have won 
 with ordinary perseverance." 
 
 " Maybe," he replied, in the same even tone of indif- 
 ference. " I suppose I hadn't the grit. J think if some- 
 body had believed in me it might have helped me. But 
 nobody did, and at last I lost belief in myself. And 
 when a man loses that, he's like a balloon with the gas 
 let out." 
 
 I listened to his words with indignation and astonish- 
 ment. " Nobody believed in you ! " I repeated. "Why, 
 /"always believed in you, you know that. I " 
 
 Then I paused, remembering our "candid criticism " 
 of one another. 
 
 " Did you ? " he replied quietly. " I never heard you 
 say so. Good-niyht." 
 
 In the course of our Strandward walking we had 
 come to the neighborhood of tlie Savov, and, as he 
 spoke, he disappeared down one of the dark turnings 
 thereabouts. 
 
 I hastened after him, calling him by name, but though 
 I heard his quick steps before me for a little way, they 
 were soon swallowed up in the sound of other steps, and, 
 when I reached the square in which the chapel stands, 
 I had lost all trace of him. 
 
 A policeman was standing by the churchyard railings, 
 and of him I made inquiries. 
 
 ■ What sort of a gent was he, sir?" questioned the 
 man. 
 
 " A tall, thin gentleman, very shabbily dressed — might 
 be mistaken fur a tramp." 
 
NOV^L Motes. irj 
 
 " Ah, there's a good many of that sort living in 
 this town," replied the man. " I'm afraid you'll have 
 some difficulty in finding him." 
 
 Thus for a second time had I heard his footsteps die 
 away, knowing I should never listen for their drawing 
 near again. 
 
 I wondered as I walked on — I have wondered before 
 and since — whether Art, even with a capital A, is quite 
 worth all the suffering that is inflicted in her behalf — 
 whether she and we are better for all the scorning and 
 the sneering, all the envying and the hating that is done 
 in her name. 
 
 Jephson arrived about nine o'clock in the ferryboat. 
 We were made acquainted with this fact by having our 
 heads bumped against the sides of the saloon. 
 
 Somebody or other always had their head bumped 
 whenever the ferryboat arrived. It was a heavy and 
 cumbersome machine, and the ferry-boy was not a good 
 punter. He admitted this frankly, which was creditable 
 of him. But he made no attempt to improve himself ; 
 that is where he was wrong. His method was to arrange 
 the punt before starting in a line with the point toward 
 which he wished to proceed, and then push hard, with- 
 out ever looking behind him, until something suddenly 
 stopped him. This was sometimes the bank, sometimes 
 another boat, occasionally a steamer, from six to a dozen 
 times a day our riparian dwelling. That he never 
 succeeded in staving the houseboat in speaks highly 
 for the man who built her. 
 
 One day he came down upon us with a tremendous 
 crash. Amenda vpas walking along the passage at the 
 moment, and the result to her was that she received a 
 violent blow first on the left side of her head and then 
 on the right. 
 
ii6 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 She was accustomed to accept one bump as a matter 
 of course, and to regard it as -an intimation from the boy 
 that he had come ; but this double knock annoyed her ; 
 so much "style " was out of place in a mere ferry-boy. 
 Accordingly, she went out to him in a state of high 
 indignation. 
 
 " What do you think you are ? " she cried, balancing 
 accounts by boxing his ears first on one side and then on 
 the other. " A torpedo ! What 
 are you doing here at all ? What 
 do you want ? " 
 
 "I don't want nothin','' ex- 
 plained the boy, rubbing his head ; 
 " I've brought a gent down." 
 
 " A gent ! " said Amenda, look- 
 ing round, but seeing no one. 
 " What gent ? " 
 
 " A stout gent in a straw 'at," 
 answered the boy, staring round 
 him bewilderedly. 
 
 "Well, where is he ?" asked 
 Amenda. 
 
 " I dunno," replied the boy, in 
 an awed voice ; " 'e was a-stand- 
 in' there, at the other end oi the 
 punt, a-sraokin' a cigar." 
 
 Just then a head appeared 
 above the water, and a spent 
 but infuriated swimmer struggled up between the house- 
 boat and the bank. 
 
 " Oh, there 'e is ! " cried the boy delightedly, evidently 
 much relieved at this satisfactory solution of the mystery ; 
 " 'e must ha' tumbled off the punt." 
 
 " You're quite right, my lad, that's just what he did 
 
 GOXED HIS EARS. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 li-l 
 
 " STRUGGLED UP.' 
 
 do, and there's your fee for assisting him to do it." Say- 
 ing which, my dripping friend, who had now scrambled 
 upon deck, leant over, and following Amenda's excellent 
 example, expressed his feelings 
 upon the boy's head. 
 
 There was one comforting re- 
 flection about the transaction as 
 a whole, and that was that the 
 ferry-boy had at last received a 
 fit and proper reward for his ser- 
 vices. I had often felt inclined 
 to give him something myself. 
 I think he was, without exception, 
 the most clumsy and stupid boy 
 I have ever come across ; and 
 that is saying a good deal. 
 
 His mother undertook that for 
 three and sixpence a week he should "make himself 
 generally useful" to us for a couple of hours every 
 morning. 
 
 Those were the old lady's very words, and I repeated 
 them to Amenda when I introduced the boy to her. 
 
 " This is James, Amenda," I said ; " he will come 
 down here every morning at seven, and bring us our 
 milk and the letters, and from then till nine he will 
 make himself generally useful." 
 
 Amenda took stock of him : 
 
 " It will be a change of occupation for him, sir, I 
 should say, by the look of him," she remarked. 
 
 After that, whenever some more than usually stirring 
 crash or blood-curdling bump would cause us to leap 
 from our seats and cry : " What on earth has hap- 
 pened ? " Amenda would reply : " Oh, it's only James, 
 mum, making himself generally useful." 
 
ii8 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 Whatever he lifted he let fall ; whatever he touched 
 he upset ; whatever he came near — that was not a fix- 
 ture — he knocked over ; if it was a fixture it knocked 
 him over. This was not carelessness ; it seemed tu be a 
 natural gift. Never in his life, I am convinced, had he 
 carried a bucketful of anything anywhere without tum- 
 bling over it before he got there. One of his duties was 
 to water the flowers on the roof. Fortunately — for the 
 flowers — Nature, that summer, stood drinks with a lavish- 
 ness sufficient to satisfy the 
 ,.f mostconfirmed vegetable toper; 
 
 ' - otherwise every plant on our 
 
 boat would have died from 
 drought. Never one drop of 
 »»»^^-j^i rV^^^" X water did they receive from 
 IHIh V "f^. ^ "^fcis^" ''™- ^^ ^^"^^ forever taking 
 wB^^^^' ,'" '"^ ,--i^ them water,but he never arrived 
 there with it. As a rule he upset 
 the pail before he got it on to 
 I the boat at all, and this was the 
 best thing that could happen, 
 because then the water simply 
 went back into the river, and 
 did no harm toanyone. Some- 
 times, however, he would suc- 
 ceed in landing it, and then the 
 chances were that he would spill 
 it over the deck or into the 
 passage. Now and again, he 
 would get halfway up the ladder before the accident 
 occurred. Twice lie nearly reached the top ; and once 
 he actually did gain the roof. What happened there on 
 that memorable occasion will never be known. The boy 
 himself, when picked up, could explain nothing. It is 
 
 NOW AND AGAIN, HE WOULD GET 
 H \LK\VA^- UP THE LADDER.' 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 119 
 
 supposed that he lost his head with the pride of the 
 achievement, and essayed feats that neither his previous 
 training nor his natural abilities justified him in attempt- 
 ing. However that may be, the fact remains that the 
 main body of the water came down the kitchen chimney ; 
 and that the boy and the empty pail arrived together on 
 deck before they knew they had started. 
 
 When he could find nothing else to damage, he would 
 go out of his way to upset himself. He could not be 
 sure of stepping from his own punt on to the boat with 
 safety. As often as not, he would catch his foot in the 
 chain or the punt-pole, and arrive on his chest. 
 
 Amenda used to condole with him. " Your mother 
 ought to be ashamed of herself," I heard her telling him 
 one morning ; " she could never have taught you to 
 walk. What you want is a go-cart." 
 
 He was a willing lad, but his stupidity was super- 
 natural. A comet appeared in the sky that year, and 
 everybody was talking about it. One day he said to 
 me : 
 
 "There's a comet coming, aint there, sir?" He 
 talked about it as though it were a circus. 
 
 "Coming!" I answered, "it's come. Haven't you 
 seen it ? " 
 
 " No, sir.'' 
 
 " Oh, well, you have a look for it to-night. It's worth 
 seeing." 
 
 " Yees, sir, I should like to see it. It's got a tail, aint 
 it, sir ? " 
 
 "Yes, a very fine tail." 
 
 " Yees, sir ; they said it 'ad a tail. Where do you go 
 to see it, sir ? " 
 
 " Go ! You don't want to go anywhere. You'll see 
 it in your own garden at ten o'clock," 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 He thanked me, and, tumbling over a sack of potatoes, 
 plunged head foremost into his punt and departed. 
 Next morning, I asked him if he had seen the comet. 
 "No, sir, I couldn't see it anywhere." 
 " Did you look ? " 
 " Yees, sir. I looked a long time." 
 " How on earth did you manage to miss it, then ?" I 
 exclaimed ; " it was a clear enough night. Where did 
 you look ? " 
 
 " In our garden, sir. Where you told me." 
 "Whereabouts in the garden?" chimed in Amenda, 
 who happened to be standing by ; " under the goose- 
 berry bushes ? " 
 
 " Vees — everywhere." 
 
 That is what he had done : he had taken the stable 
 lantern and searched the garden for it. 
 
 But the day when he broke even his own record for 
 foolishness happened about three 
 weeks later. MacShaughnassy 
 was staying with us at the 
 time, and on the Friday 
 evening he 
 mixed us a 
 salad, ac- 
 cording to a 
 recipe given 
 
 him by his aunt. On the Saturday morning, everybody 
 was, of course, very ill. Everybody always is very ill 
 after partaking of any dish prepared by MacShaughnassy. 
 Some people attempt to explain this fact bv talking glibly 
 of " cause and effect." MacShaughnassy maintains that 
 it i.s simply coincidence. 
 
 "How do you know," he says, "that you wouldn't 
 have been ill if you hadn't eaten any ? You're queer 
 
 LOOKING FOR .\ COMET. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 121 
 
 enough now, anyone can see, and I'm very sorry for you ; 
 but, for all that you can tell, if you hadn't eaten any of 
 that stuff, you might have been very much worse — per- 
 haps -dead. In all probability, it has saved your life." 
 And for the rest of the day he assumes toward you 
 the attitude of a man who has dragged you from the 
 grave. 
 
 The moment Jimmy arrived I seized hold of him. 
 
 " Jimmy,'' I said, "you must rush off to the chemist's 
 immediately. Don't stop for anything. Tell him to 
 give you something for colic — the result of vegetable 
 poisoning. It must be something very strong, and 
 enough for four. Don't forget, something to counteract 
 the effects of vegetable poisoning. Hurry up, or it may 
 be too late." 
 
 My excitement communicated itself to the boy. He 
 tumbled back into his punt and pushed off vigorously. 
 I watched him land, and disappear in the direction of 
 the village. 
 
 Half an hour passed, but Jimmy did not reappear. 
 No one felt sufficiently energetic to go after him. 
 We had only just strength enough to sit still and feebly 
 abuse him. At the end of an hour, we were all feeling 
 very much better. At the end of an hour and a half, we 
 were glad he had not returned when he ought to have, 
 and were only curious as to what had become of him. 
 
 In the evening, strolling through the village, we saw 
 him sitting by the open door of his mother's cottage, 
 with a shawl wrapped round him. He was looking worn 
 and ill. 
 
 "Why Jimmy," I said, "what's the matter? Why 
 didn't you come back this morning? " 
 
 " I couldn't, sir," Jimmy answered, "I was so queer. 
 Mother made me go to bed," 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 " You seemed all right in the morning," I said ; 
 " what's made you queer ? " 
 
 " What Mr. Jones give me, sir; it upset me awful." 
 
 *' HE \V \^ LOOKING WORN AND ILL." 
 
 A light broke in upon me. 
 
 "What did you say, Jimmy, when you got to Mr. 
 Jones' shop?" I asked. 
 
 " I told 'im what you said, sir, that 'e was to give me 
 something to counteract the effects of vegetable poison- 
 ing. And that it was to be very strong, and enough 
 for four." 
 
 " And what did he say ? " 
 
 " 'E said that was only your nonsense, sir, and that 
 I'd better have enough for one to begin with ; and then 
 'e asked me if I'd been eating green apple again." 
 
 " And you told him ? " 
 
 " Vees, sir, I told im I'd 'ad a few, and 'e said it 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 123 
 
 served me right; and that 'e 'oped it would be a warning 
 to me. And then 'e put something fizzy in a glass and 
 told me to drink it." 
 
 " And you drank it ? " 
 
 " Yees, sir." 
 
 "It never occurred to you, Jimmy, that there was 
 nothing the matter 
 with you — that you 
 were never feeling 
 better in your life, 
 and that you did not 
 require any medi- 
 • cine ?'' 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Did one single 
 scintilla of thought 
 of any kind occur to 
 you in connection with the mat- 
 ter, Jimmy, from beginning to 
 end ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 People who never met Jimmy 
 disbelieve this story. They 
 
 argue that its premises are in disaccord with the 
 known laws governing human natures, that its details do 
 not square with the average of probability. People who 
 have seen and conversed with Jimmy accept it with 
 simple faith. 
 
 The advent of Jephson, which I trust the reader has 
 not entirely forgotten, cheered us up considerably. 
 Jephson was always at his best when all other things 
 were at their worst. It was not that he struggled in 
 Mark Tapley fashion to appear most cheerful when 
 most depressed ; it was that petty misfortunes and mis- 
 
 ' ' TOLD ME TO DRINK IT.' ' 
 
i:^4 NOVEL .VOTES. 
 
 haps genuinely amused and inspirited him. Most of 
 us can recall our unpleasant experiences with amused 
 affection ; Jephson possessed the robuster philosophy 
 that enabled him to enjoy his during their actual prog- 
 ress. He arrived drenched to the skin, chuckling 
 hugely at the idea of having come down on a visit to a 
 houseboat in such weather. 
 
 Under his warming influence, the hard lines on our 
 faces thawed, and by suppertime we were, as all Eng- 
 lish men and women who wish to enjoy life should be, 
 independent of the weather. 
 
 Later on, as if disheartened by our indifference, the 
 rain ceased, and we took our chairs out on the deck, and 
 sat watching the lightning, which still played incessantly. 
 Then, not unnaturally, the talk drifted into a somber 
 channel, and we began recounting stories, dealing with 
 the gloomy and mysterious side of life. 
 
 Some of these were worth remembering, and some 
 were not. The one that left the strongest impression on 
 my mind was a tale that Jephson told us. 
 
 I had been relating a somewhat curious experience of 
 my own. I met a man in the Strand one day that I knew 
 very well, as I thought, though I had not seen him for 
 years. We walked together to Charing Cross, and there 
 we shook hands and parted. Next morning I spoke of 
 this meeting to a mutual friend, and then I learned, 
 for the fir.st time, that the man had died six months 
 before. 
 
 TJie natural inference was that I had mistaken one 
 man for another, an error that, not having a good memory 
 for faces, I frequently fall into. What was remarkable 
 about the matter, however, was that throughout our walk 
 I had conversed with the man under the impression that 
 he was that other dead man, and, whether by coincidence 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 125 
 
 or not, his replies had never once suggested to me my 
 mistake. 
 
 As soon as I finished, Jephson, who had been Ustening 
 very thoughtfully, asked me if ^^^ -~^^ 
 
 I believed in spiritualism "to -• '^ 
 
 its fullest extent." 
 
 " That is rather a large ques- ' ' 
 
 t io n , " I answered. 
 " What do you mean 
 by 'spiritualism to its 
 fullest extent' ?" 
 
 " Well, do 
 you believe 
 that the spirits 
 of the dead 
 have not only 
 the power of 
 revisiting this 
 earth at their 
 will, but that, 
 when here, they 
 have the power 
 of action, or 
 rather, of excit- 
 ing to action. 
 Let me put a 
 definite case. 
 A spiritualist 
 friend of mine, 
 a sensible and 
 by no means 
 imaginative man, once told me that a table, through the 
 medium of which the' spirit of a friend had been in the 
 habit of communicating with him, came slowly across the 
 
 WE WALKED TOGETHER TO CHARING CROSS. 
 
1-6 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 room toward him, of its own accord, one night as he sat 
 alone, and pinioned him against the wall. Now, can any 
 of you believe that, or can't you ? " 
 
 " I could," Brown took it upon himself to reply ; " but, 
 before doing so, I should wish for an introduction to the 
 friend who told you the story. Speaking generally,'" he 
 continued, "it seems to me that the difference between 
 what we call the natural and the supernatural is merely 
 the difference between frequency and rarity of occur- 
 rence. Having regard to the phenomena we are com- 
 pelled to admit, I think it illogical to disbelieve anything 
 that we are not able to disprove." 
 
 " For my part," remarked MacShaughnassy, " I can 
 believe in the ability of our spirit friends to give the 
 quaint entertainments credited to them much easier than 
 I can in their desire to do so." 
 
 " You mean," added Jephson, " that you cannot 
 understand why a spirit, not compelled as we are 
 by the exigencies of society, should care to spend 
 its evenings carrying on a labored and childish con- 
 versation with a room full of abnormally uninteresting 
 people." 
 
 " That is precisely what I cannot understand," Mac- 
 Shaughnassy agreed. 
 
 " Nor I, either," said Jephson. " But I was thinking 
 of something very different altogether. Suppose a man 
 died with the dearest wish of his heart unfulfilled, do 
 you believe that his spirit might have power to return to 
 earth and complete the interrupted work ? " 
 
 " Well," answered .MacShaughnassy, "if one admits the 
 possibility of spirits retaining any interest in the affairs of 
 this world at all, it is certainly more reasonable to imag- 
 ine them engaged upon a task such as you suggest, than 
 to believe that they occupy themselves with the per- 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 127 
 
 formance of mere drawing-room tricks. But what are 
 you leading up to ?" 
 
 "Why to this," replied Jephson, seating himself 
 straddle - legged ^. ,-. , 
 across his chair, 
 and leaning his 
 arms upon the 
 back. " I was told 
 a story this morn- 
 ing at the hospital 
 by an old French 
 doctor. The ac- 
 tual facts are few 
 and simple ; all 
 that is known can 
 be read in the 
 Paris police rec- 
 ords of sixty-two 
 years ago. 
 
 " The most im- 
 portant part of the 
 case, however, is 
 the part that is 
 not known, and 
 that never will be 
 known. 
 
 " The story be- 
 gins with a great wrong done by one man unto another 
 man. What the wrong was I do not know. I am 
 inclined to think, however, it was connected with a 
 woman. I think that, because he who had been wronged 
 hated him who had wronged with a hate such as does 
 not often burn in a man's brain unless it be fanned 
 by the memory of a. woman's breath. 
 
 ' 'to this,' KEl'LIED JEPHSON 
 
128 NOVF.L A'OTES. 
 
 "Still, that is only conjecture, and the point is imma- 
 terial. The man who had done the wrong fled, and the 
 other man followed him. It became a point to point race, 
 the first man having the advantage of a day's start. 
 The course was the whole world, and the stakes were the 
 first man's life. 
 
 " Travelers were few and far between in those days, 
 and this made the trail easy to follow. The first man, 
 never knowing how far or how near the other man was 
 behind him, and hoping now and again that he might 
 have baffled him, would rest for a while. The second 
 man, knowing always just how far the first one was 
 before him, never paused, and thus each day the man 
 who was spurred by hate drew nearer to the man who 
 was spurred by fear. 
 
 " At this town the answer to the never varied ques- 
 tion would be : 
 
 " 'At seven o'clock last evening, m'sieur.' 
 
 " ' Seven — ah ; eighteen hours. Give me something 
 to eat, quick, while the horses are being put to.' 
 
 " \t the ne.xt the calculation would be sixteen hours. 
 
 " Passing a lonely chalet, monsieur puts his head out 
 of the window : 
 
 " ' How long since a carriage passed this way, with a 
 tall, fair man inside ! ' 
 
 " Such a one passed early this morning, m'sieur." 
 
 "Thanks, drive on, a hundred francs apiece if you are 
 through the pass before daybreak.' 
 
 " ' And what for dead horses, m'sieur ?' 
 
 " ' Twice their value when living.' 
 
 " ' One day the man who was ridden by fear looked 
 up, and saw before him the open door of a cathedral, 
 and, passing in, knelt down and prayed. He prayed long 
 and fervently, for men, when they are in sore straits, 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 1 29 
 
 clutch eagerly at the straws of faith. He prayed that 
 he might be forgiven his sin, and, more important still, 
 that he might be pardoned the consequences of his sin, 
 
 .'^W 
 
 
 " MONSIEUR PUTS HIS HEAD OUT OF THE WINDOW." 
 
 and be delivered from his adversary ; and a few chairs 
 from him, facing him, knelt his enemy, praying also. 
 
 " But the second man's prayer, being a thanksgiving 
 merely, was short, so that when the first man raised his 
 
13° .VOTEL .VOTES. 
 
 eyes, he saw the face of his enemy gazing at him across 
 the chair tops, with a mocl<ing smile upon it. 
 
 " He made no attempt to rise, but remained kneeling, 
 fascinated by the look of joy that shone out of the other 
 man's eves. -\nd the other man moved the high-backed 
 chairs one by one, and came toward him softly. 
 
 " Then just as the man who had been wronged stood 
 beside the man who had wronged him, full of gladness 
 that his opportunity had come, there burst from the 
 cathedral tower a sudden clash of bells, and the man 
 whose opportunity had come broke his heart and fell 
 back dead, with that mocking smile still playing round 
 his mouth. 
 
 " And so he lay there. 
 
 " Then the man who had done the wrong rose up and 
 passed out praising God. 
 
 " What became of the body of the other man is not 
 known. It was the body of a stranger who had died 
 suddenly in the cathedral. There was none to identify 
 it, none to claim it. 
 
 " Vears passed away, and the survivor in the tragedy 
 became a worthy and useful citizen, and a noted man of 
 science. 
 
 " In his laboratory were many objects necessary to 
 him in his researches, and prominent among them, stood 
 in a certain corner, a human skeleton. It was a very 
 old and much-mended skeleton, and one day the long- 
 expected end arrived, and it tumbled to pieces. 
 
 " Thus it became necessary to purchase another. 
 
 "The man of science visited a dealer he well knew ; 
 a little parchment faced-old man who kept a dingy shop 
 where nothing was ever sold, within the shadow of the 
 towers of Notre Dame. 
 
 "The little parchment-faced old man had just the 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 131 
 
 very thing that Monsieur wanted — a singularly fine and 
 well proportioned ' study.' It should be sent round and 
 
 
 ^AND SO HE LAY THERE. 
 
 set up in Monsieur's laboratory that very afternoon. 
 The dealer was as good as his word. When Mon- 
 
ti2 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 sieur entered his laboratory that evenhig, the thing was 
 in its place. 
 
 " Monsieur seated himself in his high-backed chair, 
 and tried to collect his thoughts. But Monsieur's 
 thoughts were unruly, and inclined to wander, and to 
 wander always in one direction. 
 
 " Monsieur opened a large volume and commenced 
 to read. He read of a man who had wronged another 
 and fled from him, the other man following. Finding 
 himself reading this, he closed the book angrily, and 
 went and stood by the wnidowand looked out. He saw 
 before him the sun-pierced nave of a great cathedral, 
 and on the atones lay a dead man with a mocking smile 
 upon his face. 
 
 "Cursing himself for a fool, he turned away with a 
 laugh. But his laugh was short-lived, for it seemed to 
 him that something else in the room was laughing also. 
 Struck suddenly still, with his feet glued to the ground, 
 he stood listening for a while ; then sought with starting 
 eyes the corner from where the sound had seemed to 
 come. But the white thing standing there was only 
 grinning. 
 
 " Monsieur wiped the damp sweat from his head and 
 hands, and stole out. 
 
 " For a couple of days he did not enter the room 
 again. On the third, telling himself that his fears were 
 those of a hysterical girl, he opened the duor and went 
 in. To shame himself, he took his lamp in his hand, and 
 crossing over to the far corner where the skeleton stood, 
 examined it. A set of bones bought for a hundred 
 francs. Was he a child, to be scared by such a bogey ? 
 
 '• He held his lamp up in front of the thing's grinning 
 head. 'I'he flame of the lamp flickered as though a faint 
 breath had passed over it. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 133 
 
 " The man explained this to himself by saying that the 
 walls of the house were old and cracked, and that the 
 wind might creep in anywhere. He repeated this expla- 
 nation to himself as he recrossed the room, walking back- 
 ward, with his eyes fixed on the thing. When he reached 
 his desk, he sat down and gripped the arms of his chair 
 till his fingers turned white. 
 
 " He tried to work, but the empty sockets in that 
 grinning head seemed to be drawing him toward them. 
 He rose and battled with his inclination to fly screaming 
 from the room. Glancing fearfully about him, his eye 
 fell upon a high screen, standing before the door. He 
 dragged it forward, and placed it between himself and 
 the thing, so that he could not see it — nor it see him. 
 Then he sat down again to his work. For a while he 
 forced himself to look at the book in front of him, but at 
 last, unable to control himself any longer, he suffered his 
 eyes to follow their own bent. 
 
 " It may have been an hallucination. He may haye 
 accidentally placed the screen so as to favor such an 
 illusion. But what he saw was a bony hand coming 
 round the corner of the screen, and, with a cry, he fell to 
 the floor in a swoon. 
 
 " The people of the house came running in, and lifting 
 him up, carried him out, and laid him upon his bed. As 
 soon as he recovered, his first question was, where had 
 they found the thing — where was it when they entered 
 the room ? and when they told him they had seen it 
 standing where it always stood, and had gone down into 
 the room to look again, because of his frenzied entreaties, 
 and returned trying to hide their smiles, he listened to 
 their talk about overwork, and the necessity for change 
 and rest, and said they might do with him as they 
 would. 
 
134 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 " So for man\' months the laboratory door remained 
 locked. Then there came a chill autumn evening when 
 the man of science opened it again, and closed it behind 
 him. 
 
 " He lighted his lamp, and gathered his instruments 
 and books around him, and sat down before them in his 
 high-backed chair. And the old terror returned to 
 him. 
 
 " But this time he meant to conquer himself. His 
 nerves were stronger now, and his brain clearer ; he 
 would fight his unreasoning fear. He crossed to the door 
 and locked himself in, and flung the key to the other end 
 of the room, where it fell among jars and bottles with an 
 echoing clatter. 
 
 "Later on, his old housekeeper, going her final round, 
 tapped at his door and wished him good-night, as 
 was her custom. She received no response, at first, and, 
 growing nervous, tapped louder and called again ; and 
 at length an answering 'good-night ' came back to her. 
 
 " She thought little about it at the time, but afterward 
 she remembered that the voice that had replied to her 
 had been strangely grating and mechanical. Trying to 
 describe it, she likened it to such a voice as she would 
 imagine coming from a statue. 
 
 " Xext morning his door remained still locked. It was 
 no unusual thing for him to work all night, and far into 
 the next day, so no one thought to be surprised. When, 
 however, evening came, and yet he did not appear, his 
 servants gathered outside the room and whispered, 
 remembering what had happened once before. 
 
 "They listened, but could hear no sound. They 
 shook the door and called to him, then beat with their 
 fists upon the wooden panels. But still no sound came 
 from the room. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 13S 
 
 " Becoming alarmed, they decided to burst open the 
 door, and, after many blows, it gave way, and they 
 crowded in. 
 
 " He sat bolt upright in his high-backed chair. They 
 thought at first he had died in his sleep. But when they 
 drew nearer and the light fell upon him, they saw the 
 livid marks of bony fingers round his throat ; and in his 
 eyes there was a terror such as is not often seen in 
 human eyes." 
 
 Brown was the first to break the silence that followed. 
 He asked me if I had any brandy on board. He said he 
 felt he should like just a nip of- brandy before going to 
 bed. That is one of the chief charms of Jephson's 
 stories : they always make you feel you want a little 
 brandy. ' 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 VTS," remarked Jephson to me, one afternoon, 
 as we sat in the punt discussing the plot of 
 our novel, " cats are animals for whom I 
 entertain a very great respect. Cats and 
 Nonconformists seem to me the only things in this world 
 possessed of a practicable working conscience. Watch 
 a cat doing something mean and wrong — if ever one 
 gives you the chance ; notice how anxious she is that 
 nobody should see her doing it ; and how prompt, if 
 detected, to pretend that she was not doing it — that she 
 was not even thinking of doing it — that, as a matter of 
 fact, she was just about to do something else, quite 
 different. You might almost think they had a soul. 
 
 " Only this morning I was watching that tortoise-shell 
 of yours on the houseboat. She was creeping along 
 the roof, behind the flower boxes, stalking a young 
 thrush that had perched upon a coil of rope. JMurder 
 gleamed from her eye, assassination lurked in every 
 twitching muscle of her body. As she crouched to 
 spring, fate, for once favoring the weak, directed her 
 attention to myself, and she became, for the first time, 
 aware of my presence. It acted upon her as a heavenly 
 vision upon a biblical criminal. In an instant she was 
 a changed being. The wicked beast, going about seek- 
 ing whom it might devour, had vanished. In its place, 
 sat a long-tailed, furry angel, gazing up into the sky with 
 an expression that was one-third innocence and two- 
 thirds admiration of the beauties of nature. AVhat was 
 
 n6 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 137 
 
 she doing there, did I want to know ? Why, could I not 
 see, playing with a bit of earth. Surely I was not so 
 evil minded as to imagine she wanted to kill that dear 
 little bird — 
 
 God bless it ! 
 
 " Then note 
 an old Tom, 
 slinking home 
 in the early 
 morning, after 
 a night spent 
 
 on a roof of _^ 
 
 bad repute. '' ' ' > . ' ' ' ' 
 
 Can you picture to yourself a living creature less eager 
 to attract attention ? • Dear me,' you can all but hear it 
 saying to itself, ' I'd no idea it was so late ; how time does 
 go when one is enjoying one's self. I do hope I shan't 
 meet anyone I know — very awkward, its being so light.' 
 
 "In the distance it sees a policeman, and stops sud- 
 denly within the shelter of a shadow. Now, what's he 
 
 doing there,' it says, ' and close to our door too ? I 
 can't go in while he's hanging about. He's sure to see 
 and recognize me ; and he's just the sort of man to 
 talk to the servants.' 
 
138 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 " It hides itself behind a post, and waits, peeping 
 cautiously round the corner from time to time. The 
 policeman, however, seems to have taken up his resi- 
 dence at that particular spot, and the cat becomes 
 worried and excited. 
 
 '■ ' What's the matter with the fool ? ' it mutters indig- 
 nantly ; ' is he dead ? Why don't he move on, he's 
 always telling other people to. Stupid ass ! ' 
 
 ■Just then a far-off cry of 'milk' is heard, and the 
 cat starts up in an agony of alarm. ' Great Scott, hark 
 at that ! Why, everybody will be down before I get in. 
 Well, 1 can't help it. I must chance it.' 
 
 " He glances round at himself, and hesitates. ' I 
 wouldn't mind if I didn't look so dirty and untidy,' he 
 muses ; ' people are so prone to think evil in this world.' 
 
 " ' Ah, well,' he adds, giving himself a shake, 'there's 
 nothing else for it, I must put my trust in Providence, 
 it's pulled me through before : here goes.' 
 
 ■' He assumes an aspect of chastened sorrow, and trots 
 along with a demure and saddened step. It is evident 
 he wishes to convey the idea that he has been out all 
 night on work connected with the ^'igilance Association, 
 and is now returning home sick at heart because of the 
 sights that he has seen. 
 
 " He squirms in, unnoticed, through a window, and 
 has just time to give himself a hurried lick down before 
 he hears the cook's step on the stairs. When she enters 
 the kitchen he is curled up on the hearthrug, fast 
 asleep. The opening of the shutters awakes him. He 
 arises and comes forward, yawning and stretching him- 
 self. 
 
 " ' Dear me, is it morning, then ? ' he says drowsily. 
 ' Heigh-ho ! I've had such a lovely sleep, cook ; and 
 such a beautiful dream about poor mother.' 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 139 
 
 " Cats ! do you call them ? Why they are Christians 
 in everything except the number of legs." 
 
 " They certainly are," I responded, " wonderfully cun- 
 ning little animals, 
 and it is not by their 
 moral and religious 
 instincts alone that 
 they are so closely 
 linked to man ; the 
 marvelous ability 
 they display in tak- 
 ing care of ' number 
 one ' is worthy of 
 the human race it- S^ 
 • self. Some friends 
 of mine had a cat, 
 a big black Tom ; 
 they have got half '"' 
 
 of him still. They had reared him from a kitten, and, 
 in their homely, undemonstrative way, they liked him. 
 There was nothing, however, approaching passion on 
 either side. 
 
 " One day, a Chinchilla came to live in the neighbor- 
 hood, under the charge of an elderly spinster, and the 
 two cats met at a garden- wall party. 
 
 " ' What sort of diggings have you got ? ' asked the 
 Chinchilla. 
 
 '"Oh, pretty fair.' 
 
 " ' Nice people ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, nice enough — as people go.' 
 
 " ' Pretty willing ? Look after you well, and all that 
 sort of thing ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes — oh, yes. I've no fault to find with them.' 
 
 " ' What's the victuals like ? ' 
 
140 
 
 NOVEL XOTES. 
 
 " ' Oh, the usual thing, you know, bones and scraps, 
 *nd a bit of dog-biscuit now and then for a change.' 
 
 " ' Bones and dog-biscuits ! Do you mean to say you 
 eat bones ! ' 
 
 " ' Yes, when I can get 'em. Why, what's wrong about 
 them ? ' 
 
 "'Shade of Egyptian Isis, bones and dog-biscuits! 
 Don't you ever get any spring chickens, or a sardine, or 
 a lamb cutlet ? ' 
 
 "' Chickens ! Sardines ! What are you talking about ? 
 What are sardines ? ' 
 
 " ' What are sardines ! Oh, my dear child [the Chin- 
 chilla was a lady cat and always called gentlemen 
 friends a little older than herself 'dear child'], these 
 people of yours are treating you just shamefullv. 
 Come, sit down and tell me all about it. What do 
 they give you to sleep on ? The floor ? I thought so ; 
 and skim milk and water to drink, I suppose.' 
 
 " 'It is a bit thin." 
 
 " ' I can quite imagine it. You must leave these peo- 
 ple, my dear, at once.' 
 
 " ' But where am I to go to ? ' 
 
 " ' Anywhere.' 
 
 " ' But who'll take me in ? ' 
 
 " ' Anybody, if you go the right way to work. How 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 141 
 
 many times do you think I have changed my people ? 
 Seven ! — and bettered myself on each occasion. Why^ 
 do you know where I was born ? In a pig-sty. There 
 were three of us, mother and I and my little brother. 
 Mother would leave us every evening, returning gener- 
 ally just as it was getting light. One morning she did not 
 come back. We waited and waited, but the day passed 
 on and she did not return, and we grew hungrier and 
 hungrier, and at last we lay down, side by side, and cried 
 ourselves to sleep. 
 
 " ' In the evening, peeping through a hole in the door, 
 we saw her coming across the field. She was crawling 
 very slowly, with her body 
 close down against the 
 ground. We called to 
 her, and she answered 
 with a low"crroo"; but 
 she did not hasten her 
 pace. 
 
 " ' She crept in and rolled over on her side, and we ran 
 to her, for we were almost starving. We lay long upon 
 her breasts, and she licked us over and over. 
 
 " ' I dropped asleep upon her, and in the night I awoke, 
 feeling cold. I crept closer to her, but that only made 
 me colder still, and she was wet and clammy with a dark 
 moisture that was oozing from her side. I did not know 
 what it was at that time, but I have learnt since. 
 
 " ' That was when I could hardly have been four weeks 
 old, and from that day to this I've looked after myself : 
 you've got to do that in this world, my dear. For a 
 while, I and my brother lived on in that sty and kept 
 ourselves. It was a grim struggle at first, two babies 
 fighting for life ; but we pulled through. At the end of 
 about three months, wandering farther from home than 
 
142 
 
 NOVEL KOTES. 
 
 usual, I came upon a cottage standing in the fields. It 
 looked warm and cozy through the open door, and I went 
 in ; I have always been blessed with plenty of nerve. 
 Some children were playing 
 round the fire, and they welcomed 
 me and made much of me. It was 
 a new sensation to me, and I stayed 
 there. I thought the place a pal- 
 ace at the time. 
 
 " ' I might have gone on thinking 
 so if it had not been that, passing through the village one 
 day, I happened to catch sight of a room behind a shop. 
 There was a carpet on the floor, and a rug before the 
 fire. I had never known till then that there were such 
 luxuries in the world. I determined to make that shop 
 my home, and I did so.' 
 
 " ' How did you manage it ?' asked the black cat, who 
 was grinving interested. 
 
 "'By the simple process of walking in and sitting 
 down. My dear child, cheek's the "Open sesame " to 
 every door. The cat that works hard dies of starvation, 
 the cat that has brains is kicked downstairs for a fool, 
 and the cat that has 
 virtue is drowned for 
 a scamp ; but the cat 
 that has cheek sleeps 
 on a velvet cushion 
 and dines on cream and 
 horseflesh. I marched 
 straight in and rubbed 
 
 myself against the old ^^^h^^^^^^^P^ 
 man's legs. He and his wife were quite taken "with 
 what they called my " trustfulness," and adopted me 
 with enthusiasm. Strolling about the fields of an evening 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 143 
 
 
 I often used to hear the children of the cottage callhig 
 my name. It was weeks before they gave up seeking 
 for me. One of them, the youngest, would sob herself to 
 sleep of a night, thinking that I was dead : they were 
 affectionate children. 
 
 "'I boarded with my shopkeeping friends for nearly a 
 year, and from them I -went to some new people who had 
 lately come to the neighborhood, and who possessed a 
 really excellent cook. I think I could have been very 
 satisfied with these people, but, unfortunately, they came 
 down in the world, 
 and had to give up the 
 big house and the 
 cook, and take a cot- 
 tage, and I did not 
 care to go back to that 
 sort of life. 
 
 "'Accordingly I 
 looked about for a 
 fresh opening. There 
 was a curious old fel- 
 low who lived not far off. People said he was rich, but 
 nobody liked him. He was shaped differently to other 
 men. I turned the matter over in my mind for a day or 
 two, and then determined to give him a trial. Being a 
 lonely sort of man, he might make a fuss over me, and if 
 not I could go. 
 
 " ' My surmise proved correct. I have never been 
 more petted than I was by " Toady," as the village boys 
 had dubbed him. My present guardian is foolish enough 
 over me, goodness knows, but she has other ties, while 
 " Toady " had nothing else to love, not even himself. 
 He could hardly believe his eyes at first when I jumped 
 up on his knees and rubbed myself against his ugly face. 
 
144 XOJ'EL NOTES. 
 
 " Why, kitty," he said, •' do you know you're the first 
 living thing that has ever come to me of its own accord ? " 
 There were tears in his funny httle red eyes as he said 
 that. 
 
 " ' I remained two years with " Toady," and was very 
 happy indeed. Tlien he fell ill, and strange people came 
 to the house, and I was neglected. " Toady" liked me 
 to come up and lie upon the bed, where he could stroke 
 me with his long, thin hand, and at first I used to do this. 
 But a sick man is udt the best of company, as you can 
 imagine, and the atmosphere of a sick room not too 
 healthy, so, all things considered, I felt it was time for 
 me to make a fresh move. 
 
 "'I had some difficulty in getting away. "Toady" 
 was always asking for me, and they tried to keep me 
 with him ; he seemed to lie easier when I was there. I 
 succeeded at length, however, and, once outside the 
 door, I put sufficient distance between myself and the 
 house to insure my not being captured, for I knew 
 " Toady," so long as he lived, would never cease hoping 
 to get me back. 
 
 " ' Where to go I did not know. Two or three homes 
 were offered me, but none of them quite suited me. At 
 one place, where 1 put up for a day, just to see how I 
 liked it, there was a dog ; and at another, which would 
 otherwise have done adnnrably, they kept a baby. What- 
 ever you do, never stop at a house where they keep a 
 baby. If a child pulls your tail or ties a paper bag round 
 your head, you can give it one for itself and nobody 
 blames you. " Well, serves you right," they say to the 
 veiling brat, " you shouldn't tease the poor thing." But 
 ify(ni resent a baby's holding you by the throat and 
 trying to gouge out your eye with a wooden ladle, you 
 are called a spiteful beast, and " shoo'd " all round the 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 14S 
 
 garden. If people keep babies, they don't keep me ; 
 that's my rule. 
 
 " ' After sampling some three or four families, I finally 
 fixed upon a banker. Offers more advantageous from a 
 worldly point of view were open to me. I could have 
 gone to a public house, where the victuals were simply 
 unlimited, and \vhere the back door was left open all 
 night. But about the banker's (he was also a church- 
 warden, and his wife never smiled at anything le^sthan 
 a joke by the bishop) there was an atmosphere of solid 
 respectability that I felt would be comforting to my 
 nature. My dear child, you will come across cynics who 
 will sneer at respectability; don't you listen to them. Re- 
 spectability is its own reward — and a very real and 
 practical reward. It may not bring you dainty dishes 
 and soft beds, but it brings you something better and 
 more lasting. It brings you consciousness that you are 
 living the right life, that you are doing the right thing, 
 that, so far as earthly ingenuity can fix it, you are going 
 to the right place, and that other folks aint. Don't you 
 ever let anyone set you against respectability. It's the 
 most satisfying thing I know of in this world — and about 
 the cheapest. 
 
 " ' I was nearly three years with this family, and was 
 sorry when I had to go. I should never have left if I 
 could have helped it, but one day something happened 
 at the bank which necessitated the banker's taking a 
 sudden journey to Spain, and, after that, the house be- 
 came a somewhat unpleasant place to live in. Noisy, 
 disagreeable people were continually knocking at the 
 door and making rows in the passage ; and at night 
 folks threw bricks at the windows. 
 
 "'I was in a delicate state of health at the time, and 
 my nerves could not stand it. I said good-by to the 
 
146 
 
 XOI'EL XOTES. 
 
 town, and iiuikiug my way back into llie country, put up 
 with a country family. 
 
 " ' They were great swells, but I should have preferred 
 
 them had they been more homely. I am of an affection- 
 ate disposition, and I like everyone about me to love me. 
 They were good enough to me in their distant way, 
 but they did not take much notice of me, and I soon 
 got tired of lavishing attentions on people that neither 
 valued nor responded to them. 
 
 "'From these people I went to a retired potato 
 merchant. It was a social descent, but a rise so far 
 as comfort and appreciation were concerned. They 
 appeared to be an exceedingly nice family, and to be 
 extremely fond of me. I say they " appeared " to be 
 these things, because the sequel proved that they were 
 neither. Six months after I had come to them, thev 
 went away and left me. They never asked me to accom- 
 pany them. They made no arrangements for me to 
 stay behind. They evidently did not care what became 
 of me. Such egotistical indifference to the claims of 
 friendship 1 had never before met with. It shook my 
 faith — never too robust — in human nature. I determined 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 147 
 
 that, ill future, no one should have the opportunity of 
 disappointing my trust in thera. I selected my present 
 mistress on the recommendation of a gentleman friend 
 of mine who had formerly lived with her. He said she 
 was an excellent caterer. The only reason he had left 
 her was that she expected him to be in at ten each night, 
 and that hour didn't fit in with his other arrangements. 
 It made no difference to me — as a matter of fact, I do not 
 care for these midnight reunions that are so popular 
 among us. There are always too many cats for one 
 properly to enjoy one's self, and sooner or later a rowdy 
 element is sure to creep in. I offered myself to her, and 
 she accepted me gratefully. But I have never liked 
 her, and never shall. She is a silly old woman and 
 bores me. She is, however, devoted to me, and, unless 
 something extra attractive turns up, I shall stick to 
 her. 
 
 "'That, my dear, is the story of my life, so far as it 
 has gone. I tell it you to show you how easy it is to be 
 " taken in." Fix on your house, and mew piteously at 
 the back door. When it is opened run in and rub your- 
 self against the first leg you come across. Rub hard, 
 and look up confidingly. Nothing gets round human 
 beings, I have noticed, quicker than con- 
 fidence. They don't get much of it, and 
 it pleases them. Always be confiding. At 
 the same time be prepared for emergen- 
 cies. If you are still doubtful as to your 
 reception, try and get yourself slightly wet. 
 Why people should prefer a wet cat to a 
 dry one I have never been able to un- 
 derstand ; but that a wet cat is practically sure of being 
 taken in and gushed over, while a dry cat is liable 
 to have the garden hose turned upon it, is an undoubted 
 
148 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 fact. Also, if you can possibly manage it, and it is 
 offered you, eat a bit of dry bread. The Human Race 
 is always stirred to its deepest depths by the sight of a 
 cat eating a bit of dry bread.' 
 
 " My friend's black Tom profited by the Chinchilla's 
 wisdom. A catless couple had lately come to live next 
 door. He determined to adopt them on trial. Accord- 
 ingly, on the first rainy day, he went out soon after 
 lunch and sat fur four hours in an open field. In the 
 evening, soaked to the skin, and feeling pretty hungry, 
 
 he went mew- 
 ing to their 
 door. One 
 of the maids 
 opened it, he 
 rushed under 
 her skirts and 
 rubbed him- 
 self against 
 ' her legs. She 
 screamed, and 
 down came 
 the master 
 and the mistress to know what was the matter. 
 " ' It's a stray cat, mum,' said the girl. 
 " ' Turn it out,' said the master. 
 "'Oh, IK.), don't,' said the mistress. 
 "' Oh, poor thing, it's wet.' said the housemaid. 
 "' Perhaps it's hungry/ said the cook. 
 " ' 'I'ry it with a bit of dry bread,' sneered the master, who 
 wrote for the newspapers and thought he knew everything. 
 "■ .V stale crust was proffered. The cat ate it greedily, 
 and afterward rubbed himself gratefully against the 
 man's lioht trousers. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 149 
 
 " This made the man ashamed of himself, lilcewise of 
 his troLisei-s. ' Oh, well, let it stop if it wants to,' he 
 said. 
 
 " So the cat was made comfortable, and stayed on. 
 
 " Meanwhile its own family were seeking for it high 
 and low. They had not cared overmuch for it while they 
 had had it ; now it was gone, they were inconsolable. 
 In the light of its absence, it appeared to them the one 
 thing that had made the place home. The shadows of 
 suspicion gathered round the case. The cat's disappear- 
 ance, at first regarded as a mystery, began to assume the 
 shape of a crime. Each member of the family strongly 
 suspected every other member, and felt it to be his 
 or her duty to discover and expose them. The wife 
 openly accused the husband of never having liked the 
 animal, and more than hinted that he and the gardener 
 between them could give a tolerably truthful account of 
 its last moments ; an insinuation that the husband repu- 
 diated with a warmth that only added credence to the 
 original surmise. 
 
 " The bull-terrier was had up and searchingly exam- 
 ined. Fortunately for him, he had not had a single 
 fight for two whole days. Had any recent traces of 
 blood been detected upon him, it would have gone hard 
 with him. 
 
 " The person who suffered most, however, was the 
 youngest boy. Three weeks before he had dressed the 
 cat in doll's clothes and taken it round the garden in the 
 perambulator. He himself had forgotten the incident, 
 but Justice, though tardy, was on his track. The mis- 
 deed was suddenly remembered at the very moment 
 when unavailing regret for the loss of the favorite was 
 at its deepest, so that to box his ears and send him, then 
 and there, straight off to bed was felt to be a positive relief. 
 
NOVEL XOTES. 
 
 " At tlie end of a fortnight, the cat, finding he had 
 not, after all, bettered liiniself, came bacic. Tiie family 
 were so surprised that at first they could not be sure 
 whether he was flesh and blood, or a spirit come to com- 
 fort them. After watching him eat half a pound of raw 
 steak, they decided he was material, and caught him up 
 
 and hugged him 
 to their bosoms. 
 For a week they 
 overfed him and 
 made much of 
 him. Then, the 
 excitement cool- 
 ing, he found 
 himself dropping 
 back into his old position, and didn't like it, and went 
 next door again. 
 
 " The next-door people had also missed him, and they 
 likewise greeted his return with extravagant ebullitions 
 of joy. 
 
 " This gave the cat an idea. He saw that his game 
 was to play the two families off one against the other ; 
 which he did. He spent an alternate fortnight with 
 each, and lived like a fighting cock. His return was 
 always greeted with enthusiasm, and every means were 
 adopted to induce him to stay. His little whims were 
 carefully studied, his favorite dishes kept in constant 
 readiness. 
 
 " The destination of his goings leaked out at length, 
 and then the two families quarreled about him over the 
 fence. My friend accused the newspaper man of having 
 lured him away. The newspaper man retorted that the 
 poor creature had come to his door wet and starving, 
 and added that he would be ashamed to keep an animal 
 
NOVEL NOTES. IS' 
 
 merely to ill-treat it. They have a row about him twice 
 a week on the average. It will probably corae to blows 
 one of these days." 
 
 Jephson appeared much surprised by this story. He 
 remained thoughtful and silent. I asked him if he 
 would like to hear any more, and as he offered no active 
 opposition I went on. (Maybe he was asleep ; that idea 
 did not occur to me at the time.) 
 
 I told him of my grandmother's cat, who, after living 
 a blameless life for upward of eleven years, and bringing 
 up a family of something like sixty-six, not counting 
 those that died in infancy and the water-butt, took to 
 drink in her old age, and was run over while in a state 
 of intoxication (oh, the justice of it !) by a brewer's dray. 
 I have read in temperance tracts that no dumb animal will 
 touch a drop of alcoholic liquor. My advice is, if you 
 wish to keep them respectable, don't give them a chance 
 
 to get at it. I know a pony But never mind him ; 
 
 we are talking about my grandmother's cat. 
 
 A leaky beer tap was the cause of her downfall. A 
 saucer used to be placed underneath it to catch the drip- 
 pings. One day, the cat, coming in thirsty, and finding 
 nothing else to drink, lapped up a little, liked it, and 
 lapped a little more, went away for half an hour, and 
 came back and finished the saucerfui; then sat down 
 beside it, and waited for it to fill again. 
 
 From that day till the hour she died, I don't believe 
 that cat was ever once quite sober. Her days she passed 
 in a drunken stupor before the kitchen fire. Her nights 
 she spent in the beer cellar. 
 
 My grandmother, shocked and grieved beyond expres- 
 sion, gave up her barrel and adopted bottles. The cat, 
 thus condemned to enforced abstinence, meandered 
 about the house for a day and a half in a disconsolate, 
 
152 
 
 NOrjiL NOTES. 
 
 quarrelsome mood. Then she disappeared, returning at 
 
 eleven o'clock as tight as a drum. 
 
 Wliere she went, and how she managed to procure 
 
 the drink, we never dis- 
 covered ; but the same 
 programme was repeated 
 every da)'. Some time 
 during the morning she 
 would contrive to elude 
 our vigilance and escape; 
 and late every evening 
 i<^-:fa^^^MSW ^'^^ would come reeling 
 
 ^'^^WrvN^ home across the fields in 
 
 a condition that I will not 
 sully my pen by attempt- 
 ing to describe. 
 
 It was on Saturday 
 night she met the sad end 
 to which I have before 
 
 alluded. She must have been very drunk, for the man 
 
 told us that, in consequence "f the darkness, and the 
 
 fact that his 
 
 horses were ^^MM ''"•'^'■^ '" ''^■' 
 
 tired, he was 
 
 proceeding at 
 
 little more „,„„,„. --^^^^ ,,, ™ ,^ 
 
 ;*-V^) 
 
 pace. — """ ■■ — •~-.---^~ - ^u„ ,„ -, 
 
 I think my .VB 
 grandmother 
 was rather 
 relieved than 
 
 otherwise. She had been vcvv fond oi the cat at one 
 time, but its recent conduct had alienated her affection. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 153 
 
 We children buried it in the garden under the mulberry 
 tree, but the old lady insisted that there should be no 
 tombstone, not even a mound raised. So it lies there, 
 unhonored, in a drunkard's grave. 
 
 I also told him of another cat our family had once 
 
 ' ^.VJ«^ 
 
 possessed. She was the moet motherly thing I have ever 
 known. She was never happy without a family. Indeed, 
 I cannot remember her when she hadn't a family in one 
 stage or another. She was not very particular what sort 
 of a family it was. If she could not have kittens, then 
 she would content herself with puppies or rats. Any- 
 thing that she could wash and feed seemed to satisfy her. 
 I believe she would have brought up chickens if we had 
 intrusted them to her. 
 
 All her brains must have run to motherliness, for she 
 hadn't much sense. She could never tell the difference 
 between her own children and other people's. She 
 thought everything young was a kitten. We once mixed 
 
154 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 up a spaniel puppy that had lost its own mother among 
 her progeny. I shall never forget her astonishment 
 when it first barked. She boxed both its ears, and then 
 sat looking down at it with an expression of indignant 
 sorrow that was really touching. 
 
 "You're going to be a credit to your mother," she 
 seemed to be saying ; " you're a nice comfort to any- 
 one's old age, you are, making a row like that. And 
 look at your ears flopping all over your face. I don't 
 know where you pick up such ways." 
 
 He was a good little dog. He did try to mew, and he 
 did try to wash his face with his paw, and to keep his 
 tail still, but his success was not commensurate with his 
 will. I do not know which was the sadder to reflect 
 upon, his efforts to become a creditable kitten, or his 
 foster-mother's despair of ever making him one. 
 
 Later on we gave her a baby squirrel to rear. She was 
 nursing a family of her own at the time, but she adopted 
 him with enthusiasm, under the impression that he was 
 another kitten, though she could not quite make out 
 how she had come to overlook him. He soon became 
 her prime favorite. She liked his color, and took a 
 mother's pride in his tail. AVhat troubled her was that it 
 would cock up over his head. She would hold it down 
 with one paw, and lick it by the half-hour together, try- 
 ing to make it set properly. But the moment she let it 
 go up it would cock again. I have heard her cry with 
 vexation because of this. 
 
 One day a neighboring cat came to see her, and the 
 squirrel was clearly the subject of their talk. 
 
 " It's a good color," said the friend, looking critically 
 at the supposed kitten, who was sitting up on his 
 haunches combing his whiskers, and saying the only truth- 
 fully pleasant thing about him that she could think of. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 '55 
 
 " He's a lovely color," exclaimed our cat proudly. 
 " I don't like his legs much," remarked the friend. 
 "No," responded hjs mother thoughtfully, "you're 
 
 rignt there. His legs are his weak point. I can't say I 
 think much of his legs myself." 
 
 " Maybe they'll fill out later on,'' suggested the friend 
 kindly. 
 
 " Oh, I hope so," replied the mother, regaining her 
 momentarily dashed cheerfulness. "-Oh, yes, they'll 
 come all right in time. And then look at his tail. Now, 
 honestly, did you ever see a kitten with a finer tail ?" 
 
 "Yes, it's a good tail," assented the other ; "but why 
 do you do it up over his head ? " 
 
 " I don't," answered our cat. " It goes that way. I 
 can't make it out. I suppose it will come straight as he 
 gets older." 
 
 " It will be awkward if it don't," said the friend. 
 
 " Oh, but I'm sure it will," replied our cat. " I must 
 
156 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 lick it more. It's a tail that wants a good deal of lick- 
 ing, yoLi can see that." 
 
 -Vnd for hours that afternoon, after the other cat had 
 gone, she sat trimming it ; and, at the end, when she 
 lifted her paw off it, and it flew back again like a steel 
 spring over the squirrel's head, she sat and gazed at it 
 with feelings that only those among my readers who have 
 been mothers themselves will be able to comprehend. 
 
 " What have I done,'' she seemed to say — " what have 
 I done that this trouble should come upon me ? " 
 
 Jephson roused himself on my completion of this 
 anecdote and sat up. 
 
 " Vou and your friends appear to have been the pos- 
 sessors of S(ime very remarkable cats," he observed. 
 " ^ es," I answered, •' our family has been singularly 
 
 fortunate in its cats." 
 
 "Singularly so," 
 agreed Jephson. " I 
 have never met but one 
 man from whom I 
 have heard more won- 
 derful cat talk than, at 
 one time or another, I 
 have from you." 
 
 " Oh," I said, not, 
 perhaps, without a 
 touch of jealousy in my 
 voice, "and who was 
 he ? " 
 
 '• He was a seafaring 
 man," replied Jephson. 
 "I met him on a Hampstead tram, and we discussed 
 the subject of animal sagacity. 
 
 " ' Yes, sir,' he said, ' monkeys is cute. I've come 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 157 
 
 across monkeys as could give points to two lubbers I've 
 sailed under ; and elephants is pretty spry, if you can 
 believe all that's told of 'em. I've heard some tall tales 
 about elephants. And, of course, dogs has their heads 
 screwed on all right ; I don't say as they aint. But 
 what I do say is : that for straightfor'ard, level-headed 
 reasoning, give me cats. You see, sir, a dog, he thinks 
 a powerful deal of a man — never was such a cute thing 
 as a man, in a dog's opinion ; and he takes good care 
 that everybody knows it. Naturally enough, we says a 
 dog is the most intellectual animal there is. Now a cat, 
 she's got her own opinion about human beings. She 
 don't say much, but you can tell enough to make you 
 anxious not to hear the whole of it. The consequence 
 is, we says a cat's got no intelligence. That's where we 
 let our prejudice steer our judgment wrong. In a mat- 
 ter of plain common-sense, there aint a cat living as 
 couldn't take the lee side of a dog and fly round liim. 
 Now, have you ever noticed a dog at the end of a chain, 
 trying to kill a cat as is sitting washing her face three- 
 quarters of an inch out of his reach ? Of course you 
 have. Well, who's got the sense out of those two ? The 
 cat knows that it aint in the nature of steel chains to 
 siretch. The dog, who ought, you'd think, to know a 
 durned sight more about 'em than she does, is sure they 
 will if you only bark loud enough. 
 
 " ' Then, again, have you ever been made mad by cats 
 screeching in the night, and jumped out of bed and 
 opened the window and yelled at them ? Did they ever 
 budge an inch for that, though you shrieked loud enough 
 to skeer the dead, and waved your arms about like a 
 man in a play ? Not they. They've turned and looked 
 at you, that's all. " Yell away, old man," they've said, 
 " we like to hear you ; the more the merrier." Then 
 
■S8 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 what have you done ? Why, you've snatched up a hair- 
 brush, or a boot, or a candlestick, and made as if you'd 
 throw it at them. They've seen your attitude, they've 
 
 seen the thing 
 in your hand, 
 but they aint 
 moved a point. 
 They knew as 
 you weren't go- 
 ing to chuck val- 
 |) u a b 1 e property 
 out of the window 
 with the chance 
 of getting it lost 
 or spoiled. 
 They've got 
 sense themselves 
 and they give you 
 credit for having siiinj. If you don't believe that's the 
 reason, you try showing them a lump of coal, or half a 
 brick, next time — something as they know you will throw. 
 Before you're ready to heave it, there won't be a cat 
 within aiin. 
 
 " ' Then as to judgment and knowledge of the world, 
 why dogs are babies to 'em. Have you ever tried telling 
 a yarn before a cat, sir ? ' 
 
 " I replied that cats had often been present during 
 anecdotal recitals of mine, but that, hitherto, I had paid 
 no particular attention to their demeanor. 
 
 " 'Ah, well, you take an opportunity of doing so one 
 day, sir,' answered the old fellow ; ' it's worth the experi- 
 ment. If you're telling a story before a cat, and she 
 don't get uneasy during any part of the narrative, 
 you can reckon you've got hold of a thing as it will 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 159 
 
 be safe for you to tell to the Lord Chief Justice of 
 England. 
 
 "'I've got a messmate,' he continued; 'William 
 Cooley is his name. We call him Truthful Billy. He's 
 as good a seaman as ever trod quarter-deck ; but when 
 he gets spinning yarns he aint the sort of man as I could 
 advise you to rely upon. Well, Billy, he's got a dog, and 
 I've seen him sit and tell yarns 
 before that dog that would 
 make a cat squirm out of its 
 skin, and that dog's taken 'em 
 in and believed 'em. One night, 
 up at his old woman's. Bill 
 told us a yarn, by the side of 
 which salt junk two voyages old 
 would pass for spring chicken. 
 I watched the dog to see how 
 he would take it. He lis- 
 tened to it from beginning to end with cocked ears, and 
 never so much as blinked. Every now and then he 
 would look round with an expression of astonishment or 
 delight that seemed to say : " Wonderful, isn't it ? " 
 " Dear me, just think of it ! " " Did you ever I " "Well, 
 if that don't beat everything ! " He was a chuckle- 
 headed dog ; you could have told him anything. 
 
 " ' It irritated me that Bill should have such an animal 
 about him to encourage him, and when he had finished 
 I said to him, " I wish you'd tell that yarn round at my 
 quarters one evening." 
 
 "'"Why?" said Bill. 
 
 " ' " Oh, it's just a fancy of mine," I says. I didn't tell 
 him I was wanting my old cat to hear it. 
 
 '• ' " Oh, all right," says Bill, " you remind me." He 
 loved yarriing, Billy did, 
 
i6o 
 
 A'Ol'EL iVOTES. 
 
 " ' Next night but one he slings himself up in my cabin, 
 and I does so. Nothing loath, off he starts. There was 
 
 about half a 
 dozen of us 
 stretched 
 round, and 
 the cat was 
 sitting before 
 the fire fuss- 
 uig itself up. 
 Before Bill 
 
 jVJ» \ hid got fairl}' 
 m il under way, 
 
 she stops 
 washing and 
 looks up at 
 me, puzzled 
 like, as much 
 
 as to say, " What have we got here, a missionary?" I 
 
 signaled to her to keep quiet, and Bill went on with his 
 
 yarn. When he got to the part about the sharks, she 
 
 turned deliberately round and 
 
 lofjked at him. 1 tell you there 
 
 was an expression of disgust 
 
 on that cat's face as might 
 
 have made a traveling Cheap 
 
 Jack feel ashamed of himself. 
 
 It was that human, I give you 
 
 my word, sir, I forgot for the 
 
 moment as the poor animal 
 
 couldn't speak. I could see 
 
 the words that were on its lips : 
 
 " ^^'hy don't you tell us you swallowed the anchor?" 
 
 and I sat on tenter-hooks fearing each instant that she 
 
 :-.4^ 
 
NOVEL /VOTES. 
 
 i6i 
 
 would say them aloud. It was a relief to me when she 
 turned her back on Bill. 
 
 " ' For a few minutes she sat very still, and seemed to 
 be wrestling with herself like. I never saw a cat more 
 set on controlling its feelings, or that seemed to suffer 
 more in silence. It made my heart ache to watch it. 
 
 " ' At last Bill came to the point where he and the 
 captain between 'em hold the shark's mouth open while 
 the cabin boy dives in head foremost, and fetches up, 
 undigested, the gold watch and chain as the bo'sun was 
 a-wearing when he fell overboard ; and at that the old 
 
 cat giv'd a screech, and rolled over on her side with her 
 legs in the air. 
 
 " ' I thought at first the poor thing was dead, but she 
 rallied after a bit, and it seemed as though she had 
 braced herself up to hear the thing out. 
 
 "'But a little further on. Bill got too much for her 
 again, and this time she owned herself beat. She rose 
 up and looked at us : " You'll excuse me, gentlemen," 
 she said — leastways that is what she said if looks go for 
 anything — "maybe you're used to this sort of rubbish, 
 
l62 \Ol'i^L XOTES. 
 
 and it don't grate on your nerves. With me it's> different. 
 I guess I've heard as much of this fool's talk as my con- 
 stitution will stand, and if it's all the same to you I'll get 
 outside before I'm sick." 
 
 " ' With that she walked up to the door, and I opened 
 it for her, and she went out. 
 
 " ' You can't fool a cat with talk same as you can a 
 dog.' " 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 BOES man ever reform ? Balzac says he 
 doesn't. So far as my experience goes it 
 agrees witli that of Balzac — a fact the ad. 
 mirers of that author are at liberty to make 
 what use of they please. 
 
 When I was young and accustomed to take my views 
 of life from people who were older than myself, and who 
 knew better, so they said, I used to believe that he did. 
 Examples of " reformed characters " were frequently 
 pointed out to me — indeed, our village, situate a few 
 miles from a small seaport town, seemed to be peculiarly 
 rich in such. They were, from all accounts, including 
 their own, persons who had formerly behaved with quite 
 unnecessary depravity, and who, at the time I knew 
 them, appeared to be going to equally objectionable 
 lengths in the opposite direction. They invariably 
 belonged to one of two classes, the low-spirited or the 
 aggressively unpleasant. They said, and I believed, 
 that fhey were happy ; but I could not help reflecting 
 how very sad they must have been before they were 
 happy. 
 
 One of them, a small meek-eyed old man with a pip- 
 ing voice, had been exceptionally wild in his youth. 
 What had been his special villainy I could never dis- 
 cover. People responded to my inquiries by saying 
 that he had been, " Oh, generally bad," and increased 
 my longing for detail by tidding that little boys ought 
 not to want to know about such things. From their 
 
 163 
 
164 
 
 NOVEL A'OTES. 
 
 
 tone and manner I assumed that he must have been a 
 
 pirate at the very least, and regarded hun with awe, not 
 
 unmingled with secret admiration. 
 
 Whatever it was, he had been saved from it by his 
 
 wife, a bony lady of 
 unprepossessing a p- 
 p e a r a n c e, but irre- 
 proachable views. 
 
 One day he called at 
 our house for some 
 purpose or other, and, 
 being left alone with 
 him for a few minutes, 
 I took the opportunity 
 of interviewing him per- 
 sonally on the subject. 
 " You were very 
 wicked once, weren't 
 you ? " I said, seeking 
 by emphasis on the 
 "once" to mitigate 
 what I felt might be the 
 disagreecible nature of 
 the question. 
 
 To my intense sur- 
 prise, a gleam of shame- 
 ful glory lit up his 
 wizened face, and a 
 
 sound which I tried to think a sigh, but which sounded 
 
 like a chuckle, escaped his lips. 
 
 " .\ye," he replied ; " I've been a bit of a spanker 
 
 in my time." 
 
 'J'hc term "spanker" in such connection puzzled me. 
 
 I had been hitherto led to regard a spanker as an 
 
 .i^»» 
 
 
 '-^. 
 
 m. 
 
 ii'^F.SsiNG ATPEARANCE, BUT 
 <ii \(_llABLIi XIEWS." 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 165 
 
 eminently conscientious person, especially where the 
 shortcomings of other people were concerned ; a person 
 who labored for the good of others. That the word 
 
 could also be employed to 
 designate a sinful party 
 was a revelation to me. 
 
 " But you are good 
 now, aren't you? " I con- 
 tinued, dismissing further 
 reflection upon the ety- 
 mology of " spanker " to 
 a more fitting occasion. 
 
 " Aye, aye," he an- 
 swered, his countenance 
 resuming its customary 
 aspect of resigned melan- 
 choly. "I be a brand 
 plucked from the burning, 
 I be. There beant much 
 wrong wi' Deacon Saw- 
 yers, now." 
 
 " And it was your wife 
 that made you good, 
 wasn't it?" I persisted, 
 determined, now that I had started this investigation, to 
 obtain confirmation at first hand on all points. 
 
 At the mention of his wife his features became sud- 
 denly transformed. Glancing hurriedly round, to make 
 sure, apparently, that no one but myself was within 
 hearing, he leaned across and hissed these words into 
 my ear — ^I have never forgotten them, there was a ring 
 of such evident sincerity about them: 
 
 " I'd like to skin her, I'd like to skin her alive." 
 
 It struck me, even in the light of my then limited 
 
 I VE BEEN A BIT OF A SPANKER. 
 
1 66 iXOVEL NOTES. 
 
 judgment, as an unregenerate wish ; and ihus early my 
 faith in the possibility of man's reformation received the 
 first of those many blows that have resulted in shattering 
 it. 
 
 Nature, whether human or otherwise, was not made to 
 be reformed. You can develop, you can check, but you 
 cannot alter it. 
 
 You can take a small tiger and train it to sit on a 
 hearthrug and to lap milk, and so long as you provide it 
 with hearthrugs to lie on and sufificient milk to drink, it 
 will purr and behave like an affectionate domestic pet. 
 But it is a tiger, with all a tiger's instincts, and its prog- 
 eny to the end of all time will be tigers. 
 
 In the same way you can take an ape and develop it 
 through a few thousand generations until it loses its tail 
 and becomes an altogether superior ape. You can go 
 on developing it through still a few more thousands of 
 generations until it gathers to itself out of the waste 
 vapors of eternity an intellect and a soul, by the aid of 
 which it is enabled to keep the original apish nature 
 more or less under control. 
 
 But the ape is still there, and always will be, and every 
 now and again, when Constable Civilization turns his 
 back for a moment, as during " Spanish Furies," or Sep- 
 tember massacres, or Western mob rule, it creeps out 
 and bites and tears at quivering flesh, or plunges its 
 hairy arms elbow deep in blood, or dances round a burn- 
 ing nigger. 
 
 I knew a man once — or, rather, I knew of a man — 
 who was a confirmed drunkard. He became and con- 
 tinued a drunkard, not through weakness, but through 
 will. When his friends remonstrated with him, he told 
 them to mind their own business, and to let him mind 
 his. If he saw any reason for not getting drunk he 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 167 
 
 would give it up. Meanwhile he liked getting drunk, 
 and he meant to get drunk as often as possible. 
 
 He went about it deliberately, and did it thoroughly. 
 For nearly ten years, so it was reported, he never went 
 to bed sober. This may be an exaggeration — it would 
 be a singular report were it not — but it can be relied 
 upon as sufficiently truthful for all practical purposes. 
 
 Then there came a day when he did see a reason for 
 not getting drunk. He signed no pledge, he took no 
 oath. He said, " I will never touch another drop of 
 drink," and for twenty-six years he kept his word. 
 
 At the end of that time a combination of circumstances 
 occurred that made life troublesome to him, so that he 
 desired to be rid of it altogether. He was a man accus- 
 tomed, when he desired a thing within his reach, to 
 stretch out his hand and take it. He reviewed the case 
 calmly, and decided to commit suicide. 
 
 If the thing were to be done at all, it would be best, 
 for reasons that if set forth would make this a long story, 
 it should be done that very night, and, if possible, before 
 eleven o'clock, which was the earliest hour a certain per- 
 son could arrive from a certain place. 
 
 It was then four in the afternoon. He attended to 
 some necessary business, and wrote some necessary 
 letters. This occupied him until seven. He then called 
 a cab and drove to a small hotel in the suburbs, engaged 
 a private room, and ordered up materials for the making 
 of the particular punch that had been the last beverage 
 he had got drunk on six-and-twenty years ago. 
 
 For three hours he sat there drinking steadily, with 
 his watch before him. At half-past ten he rang the bell, 
 paid his bill, came home, and cut his throat. 
 
 For a quarter of a century people had been calling 
 that man a "reformed character." His character had 
 
1 68 NOVEL A'OTES. 
 
 not reformed one jot. The craving for drink had never 
 died. For twenty-six years he had, being a great man, 
 held it gripped by the throat. When all things became 
 a matter of indifference to him, he loosened his grasp, 
 and the evil instinct rose up within him as strong on the 
 day he died as on the day he forced it down. 
 
 That is all a man can do, pray for strength to crush 
 down the evil that is in him, and to keep it held down 
 day after day. I never hear washy talk about " changed 
 characters " and " reformed natures "but I think of a 
 sermon I once heard at a W'esleyan revivalist meeting 
 in the Black Country. 
 
 " Ah ! my friends, we've all of us got the devil inside 
 us. I've got him, you've got him," cried the preacher — 
 he was an old man with long white hair and beard, and 
 wild, fighting eyes. Most of the preachers who came 
 " reviving," as it was called, through that district, had 
 those eyes. Some of them needed " reviving " them- 
 selves, in quite another sense, before they got clear out 
 of it. I am speaking now of more than thirty years ago. 
 
 " Ah ! so us have — so us have," came the response. 
 
 " And you carn't get rid of him," continued the 
 speaker. 
 
 " Not of oursel's,'' ejaculated a fervent voice at the 
 end of the room, " but the Lord will help us." 
 
 The old preacher turned on him almost fiercely : 
 
 "But th' Lord woan't," he shouted; " doan't 'ee 
 reckon on that, lad. Ve've got him an' ye've got to 
 keep him. Ye carn't get rid of him. Th' I^ord doan't 
 mean 'ee to." 
 
 Here there broke forth murmurs of angry disapproval, 
 but the old fellow went on, unheeding. 
 
 "It arn't good for 'ee to i^et rid of him. Ye've just 
 •Jot to hug him tinht. Doan't li't him go. Hold him 
 
NOV EI: NOTES. 
 
 169 
 
 fast, and — lam into him. I tell 'ee it's good, healthy 
 Christian exercise." 
 
 We had been discussing the subject with leference to 
 our hero. It had been sug- 
 gested by Brown as an unhack- ^ ' , 
 neyed idea, and one lending 
 itself, therefore, to comparative 
 freshness of treatment, that our 
 hero should be a thorough- 
 paced scamp. 
 
 Jephson seconded the pro- 
 posal, for the reason that it 
 would the better enable us to 
 accomplish artistic work. He 
 was of opinion that we 
 should be more sure of our' 
 ground in drawing a villain 
 than in attempting to por- 
 tray a good man. 
 
 MacShaughnassy thirded 
 (if I may coin what has often * 
 appeared to me to be a much ^^K 
 needed word) the motion 
 
 with ardor. He was tired, he said, of the crystal-hearted, 
 noble-thinking young man of fiction. Besides, it made 
 bad reading for the "young person." It gave her false 
 ideas, and made her dissatisfied with mankind as he 
 really is. 
 
 And, thereupon, he launched forth and sketched us 
 his idea of a hero, with reference to whom I can only 
 say that I should not like to meet him on a dark night. 
 Brown, our one earnest member, begged us to be reason- 
 able, and reminded us, not for the first time, and not, 
 perhaps, altogether unnecessarily, that these meetings 
 
 HOLD HIM FAST. 
 
lyo NOl'EL NOTES. 
 
 were for the purpose of discussing business, not of 
 talking nonsense. Thus adjured, we 
 :ittacl<edthe subject conscientiously. 
 
 Brown's idea was that the man 
 should be an out and out blackguard, 
 until about the middle of 
 the book, when some event 
 should transpire that would 
 lave the effect of com- 
 etely reforming him. This 
 laturally brought the discus- 
 sion down to 
 the question 
 with which I 
 have c o m- 
 menced this 
 chapter : Does 
 man ever re- 
 form? I argued 
 in the nega- 
 tive, and gave 
 for my disbe- 
 Ihave set 
 here. Mac- 
 on the other 
 tended that he 
 stanced the 
 self — a m a n 
 earlv days, so 
 had been a 
 i m p r a c tica- 
 entirely with- 
 I maintained 
 merely an ex- 
 
 t h e reasons 
 lief much as 
 them forth 
 Shaughnassy, 
 hand, c o n- 
 did, and in- 
 case of him- 
 who, in his 
 h e asserted, 
 scatterbrained, 
 ble person, 
 out stability, 
 that this was 
 
 AN our 
 
 Cl)Mrl-E 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 171 
 
 ample of enormous will power enabling a man to over- 
 come and rise superior to tiie defects of character with 
 which nature had handicapped him. 
 
 " My opinion of you," I said, " is that you are natur- 
 ally a hopelessly irresponsible, well-meaning ass. But," 
 I continued quickly, seeing his hand reaching out to- 
 ward a complete Shakspere in one volume that lay 
 upon the piano, " your mental capabilities are of such 
 extraordinary power that you can disguise this fact, and 
 make yourself appear a man of sense and wisdom." 
 
 Brown agreed with me that in MacShaughnassy's case 
 traces of the former dispositions were clearly apparent, 
 but pleaded that the illustration was an unfortunate one, 
 and that it ought not to have weight in the discussion. 
 
 " Seriously speaking," said he, " don't you think that 
 there are some experiences great enough to break up 
 and re-form a man's nature ? " 
 
 " To break up," I replied, " yes, but to re-form, no. 
 Passing through a great experience may shatter a man, 
 or it may strengthen a man, just as passing through a 
 furnace may melt or purify metal, but no furnace ever 
 lit upon this earth can change a bar of gold into a bar of 
 lead, or a bar of lead into one of gold." 
 
 I asked Jephson what he thought. He did not con- 
 sider the bar of gold simile a good one. He held that 
 a man's character was not an immutable element. He 
 likened it to a drug — poison or elixir — compounded by 
 each man for himself from the pharmacopoeia of all 
 things known to life and time, and saw no impossibility, 
 though some improbability, in the glass being flung aside 
 and a fresh draught prepared with pain and labor. 
 
 " Well," I said, " let us put the case practically ; did 
 you ever know a man's character to change ? " 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "I did know a man whose char- 
 
172 NOVEL NOISES. 
 
 acter seemed to me to be completely changed by an 
 experience that happened to him. It may, as you say, 
 only have been that he was shattered, or that the lesson 
 may have taught him to keep his natural disposition ever 
 under control. The result, in any case, was striking." 
 
 AVe asked him to give us the history of the case, and 
 he did so. 
 
 " He was a friend of some cousins of mine," Jephson 
 began, " people I used to see a good deal of in my 
 undergraduate days. When I met him first he was a 
 young fellow of twenty-six, strong mentally and physi- 
 cally, and of a stern and stubborn nature that those who 
 liked him called masterful, and that those who disliked 
 him — a more numerous body — termed tyrannical. When 
 I saw him three years later, he was an old man of twenty- 
 nine, gentle and yielding beyond the border-line of 
 weakness, mistrustful of himself and considerate of 
 others to a degree that was often unwise. Formerly, his 
 anger had been a thing very easily and frequently 
 aroused. Since the change of which I speak, I have 
 never known the shade of anger to cross his face but 
 once. In the course of a walk, one day, we came upon 
 a young rough terrifying a small child by pretending to 
 set a dog at her. He seized the boy with a grip that 
 almost choked him, and administered to him a punish- 
 ment that seemed to me altogether out of proportion to 
 the crime, brutal though it was. 
 
 " I remonstrated with him when he rejoined me. 
 
 "' Yes,' he replied apologetically ; ' I suppose I'm a 
 hard judge of some follies.' And, knowing what his 
 haunted eyes were looking at, I said no more. 
 
 " He was junior partner in a large firm of tea brokers 
 in the City. There was not much for him to do in the 
 London office, and when, therefore, as the result of some 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 173 
 
 mortgage transactions, a South Indian tea plantation 
 fell into the hands of the firm, it was suggested that he 
 should go out and take the management of it. The 
 plan suited him admirably. He was a man in every way 
 qualified to lead a rough life ; to face a by no means 
 contemptible amount of difficulty and danger, to govern 
 a small army of native workers more amenable to fear 
 than to affection. Such a life, demanding thought and 
 action, would afford his strong nature greater interest 
 and enjoyment than he could ever hope to obtain amid 
 the cramped surroundings of civiUzation. 
 
 " Only one thing could in reason have been urged 
 against the arrangement ; 
 that thing was his wife. 
 She was a fragile, deli- 
 cate girl whom he had 
 married in obedience to 
 that instinct of attraction 
 toward the opposite which 
 Nature, for the purpose 
 of maintaining her aver- 
 age, has implanted in our 
 breasts — a timid, meek- 
 eyed creature, one of 
 those women to whom 
 death is less terrible than 
 danger, and fate easier to 
 face than fear. Such 
 women have been known 
 to run screaming from a 
 mouse and to meet mar- 
 tyrdom with heroism. 
 They can no more keep their nerves from trembling 
 than an aspen tree can stay the quivering of its leaves. 
 
 ' SHE WAS A FIIAGILF, DELICATE GIRL. 
 
174 XOJ'EL XOTES. 
 
 " Tiiat she was totally unfitted fot, and would be 
 made wretched by the life to which his acceptance of 
 the post would condemn her, might have readily occurred 
 to him had he stopped to consider for a moment her 
 feelings in the matter. But to view a question from any 
 other standpoint than his own was not his habit. That 
 he loved her passionately in his way, as a thing belong- 
 ing to himself, there can be no doubt, but it was with 
 the love that such men have for the dog they will 
 thrash, the horse they will spur to a broken back. To 
 consult her on the subject never entered his head. He 
 informed her one day of his decision and of the date of 
 their sailing, and, handing her a handsome check, told 
 her to purchase all things necessary to her, and to let 
 him know if she needed more ; and she, loving him with 
 a doglike devotion that was not good for him, opened 
 her big eyes a little wider, but said nothing. She 
 thought much about the coming change to herself, how- 
 ever, and, when nobody was by, she would cry softly ; 
 then, hearing his footsteps, would hastily wipe away the 
 traces of her tears, and go to meet him with a smile. 
 
 " Now, her timidity and nervousness, which at home 
 had been a butt for mere chaff, became, under the new 
 circumstances of their life, a serious annoyance to the 
 man. A woman who seemed unable to repress a scream 
 whenever she turned and saw in the gloom a pair of 
 piercing eyes looking out at her from a dusky face, who 
 was liable to drop off her horse with fear at the sound of 
 a wild beast's roar a mile off, and who would turn white 
 and limp with horror at the mere sight of a snake, was 
 not a companionable person to live with in the neigh- 
 borhood of Indian jungles. 
 
 " He himself was entirely without fear, and could not 
 understand it. To him it was pure affectation. He had 
 
^^'<|WJ 
 
 • A PAIR OF PIF.KC1NG EYES LOOKING OUT AT HER FROM A PUSKY FACE.' 
 
176 A' or EL X0J7iS. 
 
 a muddled idea, common to men of his stamp, that 
 women assume nervousness because they think it pretty 
 and becoming- to them, and that if one could only con- 
 vince them of the folly of it they might be induced to 
 lay it aside, in the same way that they lay aside mincing 
 steps and simpering voices. A man who prided himself, 
 as he did, upon his knowledge of horses, might, one 
 would think, have grasped a truer notion of the nature 
 of nervousness, which is a mere matter of temperament. 
 But the man was a fool. 
 
 " 'l"he thing that ve.Ked him most was her horror of 
 snakes. He was unblessed — or uncursed, whichever you 
 may prefer — with imagination of any kind. There was 
 no special enmity between him and the seed of the ser- 
 pent. A creature that crawled upon its belly was no 
 more terrible to him than a creature that walked upon 
 its legs ; indeed, less so, for he knew that, as a rule, 
 there was less danger to be apprehended from them. A 
 reptile is only too eager at all times to escape from man. 
 Unless attacked or frightened, it will make no onset, 
 ^fost people are content to acquire their knowledge of 
 this fact from the natural history books. He had 
 proved it for himself. His servant, an old sergeant of 
 dragoons, has told me that he has seen him stop with 
 his face six inches from the head of a hooded cobra, and 
 stand watching it through his eye-glass as it crawled 
 auay from him, knowing that one touch of its fangs 
 would mean death from which there could be no possi- 
 ble escape. That anv reasoning being should be in- 
 spired with terror — sickening, deadly terror — by such 
 pitifully harmless things, seemed to him monstrous ; 
 and he determined to try and cure her of her fear of them. 
 
 " He succeeded in doing this eventually somewhat 
 more thoroughly than he had anticipated, but it left a 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 177 
 
 terror in his own eyes that has not gone out of them to 
 this day, and that never will. 
 
 " One evening, riding home through a part of the 
 jungle not far from his bungalow, he heard a soft, low 
 hiss close to his ear, and, looking up, saw a python 
 swing itself from the branch of a tree and make off 
 through the long grass. He had been out antelope 
 shooting, and his loaded rifle hung by his stirrup. 
 Springing from the frightened horse, he was just in time 
 to get a shot at the creature before it disappeared. He 
 had hardly expected, under the circumstances, to even 
 hit it. By chance the bullet struck it at the junction of 
 the vertebrae with the head, and killed it instantly. It 
 was a well-marked specimen, and, except for the small 
 wound the bullet had made, quite uninjured. He picked 
 it up, and hung it across the saddle, intending to take it 
 home and preserve it. 
 
 " Galloping along, glancing down every now and again 
 at the huge, hideous thing swaying and writhing in front 
 of him almost as if still alive, a brilliant idea occurred to 
 him. He would use this dead reptile to cure his wife 
 of her fear of living ones. He would fix matters so that 
 she should see it, and think it was alive, and be terrified 
 by it ; then he would show her that she had been fright- 
 ened by a mere dead thing, and she would feel ashamed 
 of herself, and be healed of her folly. It was the sort of 
 idea that would occur to a fool. 
 
 "When he reached home, he took the dead snake into 
 his smoking room ; then, locking the door, the idiot set 
 out his prescription. He arranged the monster in a very 
 natural and lifelike position. It appeared to be crawl- 
 ing from the open window across the floor, and anyone 
 coming into the room suddenly could hardly avoid tread- 
 ing on it. It was very cleverly done. 
 
178 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 " That finished, he picked out a book from the shelves, 
 opened it, and laid it face downward upon the couch. 
 When he had completed all things to his satisfaction he 
 
 wisi- 
 
 " GALLOPING ALONG, a BRILLIANT IDRA OCCURRED TO HIM. 
 
 unlocked the door and came out very pleased with him- 
 self. 
 
 " .\fter dinner he lit a cigar and sat smoking a while 
 in silence. 
 
 "'Arevou feeling tired?* he said to her at length, 
 with .1 smile. 
 
 " She laughed, and calling him a lazy old thing, asked 
 what it was he wanted. 
 
 "'()nly my novel that I was reading. I left it in 
 my den. Do you mind? You will find it open on the 
 couch ? ' 
 
 " She sprang up and ran lightly to the door, 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 179 
 
 " As she paused tliei-e for a moment to look back at 
 him and ask the name of the book, he thoLight how 
 pretty and how sweet she was ; and for the first time a 
 faint glimmer of the true nature of the thing he was 
 doing forced itself into his brain. 
 
 " ' Never mind,' he said, half rising, ' I'll ' then, 
 
 enamored of the brilliancy of his plan, checked himself ; 
 and she was gone. 
 
 " He heard her footsteps passing along the matted pas- 
 sage, and smiled to himself. He thought the affair was 
 going to be rather amusing. One finds it difficult to 
 pity him, even now, when one thinks of it. 
 
 " The smoking-room door opened and closed and he 
 still sat gazing dreamily at the ash of his cigar, and 
 smiling. 
 
 " One moment, perhaps two passed, but the time 
 seemed much longer. The man blew the gray cloud 
 from before his eyes and waited. Then he heard what 
 he had been expecting to hear — a piercing shriek. 
 Then another, which, expecting to hear the clanging of 
 the distant door and the scurrying of her footsteps flying 
 back along the passage, puzzled him, so that the smile 
 died away from his lips. 
 
 " Then another, and another, and another, shriek after 
 shriek. 
 
 "The native servant, gliding noiselessly about the 
 room, laid down the thing that was in his hand and 
 moved instinctively toward the door. The man started 
 up and held him back. 
 
 " ' Keep where you are,' he said hoarsely. " It is 
 nothing. Your mistress is frightened, that is all. She 
 must learn to get over this folly.' Then he listened again, 
 and the shrieks ended with what sounded curiously like a 
 smothered laugh ; and there came a sudden silence, 
 
I So NO I 'EL XO TES. 
 
 " And out of that bottomless silence, Fear for the first 
 time in his life came to the man, and he and the dusky 
 servant looked at each other with eyes in which there 
 was a strange likeness ; and by a common instinct 
 moved together toward the place where the silence came 
 from. 
 
 '' When the man opened the door he saw three things : 
 one was the dead python, lying where he had left it ; the 
 second was a live python, its comrade apparently, slowly 
 crawling round it ; the third, a crushed, bloody heap in 
 the middle of the floor. 
 
 " He himself remembered nothing more until, weeks 
 afterward, he opened his eyes in a darkened, unfamiliar 
 place, but the native servant, before he fled screaming 
 from the house, saw his master fling himself upon the 
 living serpent and grasp it with his hands, and when, 
 later on, others burst into the room and caught him, 
 staggering, in their arms, they found the second python 
 with its head torn off. 
 
 " That is the incident that changed the character of 
 mv man — if it be changed," concluded Jephson. " He 
 told it me one night as we sat on the deck of a steamer, 
 returning from Bombay. He did not spare himself. 
 He told me the story, much as I have told it to you, but 
 in an even, monotonous tone, free from emotion of anv 
 kind. I asked him, when he had finished, how he could 
 bear to recall it. 
 
 "' Recall it ! ' he replied, with a slight accent of sur- 
 prise ; ' it is always with me.' " 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 |NE day we spoke of crime and criminals. 
 We liad discussed the possibility of a novel 
 without a villain, but had decided that it 
 would be uninteresting. 
 
 " It is a terribly sad reflection," remarked MacShaugh- 
 nassy, musingly ; " but what a desperately dull place 
 this earth would be if it were not for our friends the bad 
 people. Do you know," he continued, "when I hear of 
 people going about the world trying to reform everybody 
 and make them good, I get positively nervous. Once 
 do away with sin, and literature will become a thing of 
 the past. Without the criminal classes we authors would 
 starve." 
 
 "I shouldn't worry," replied Jephson dryly; "one 
 half mankind has been ' reforming' the other half pretty 
 steadily ever since the Creation, yet there appears to be 
 a fairly appreciable amount of human nature left in it 
 notwithstanding. Suppressing sin is much the same 
 sort of task that suppressing a volcano would be — plug- 
 ging one vent merely opens another. Evil will last our 
 time." 
 
 " I cannot take your optimistic view of the case," 
 answered MacShaughnassy. " It seems to me that crime 
 — at all events, interesting crime — is being slowly driven 
 out of our existence. Pirates and highwaymen have 
 been practically abolished. Dear old 'Smuggler Bill' 
 has melted down his cutlass into a pint can with a false 
 bottom. The pressgang that was always so ready to 
 
 l8t 
 
1 82 NO]- EL iXOl'ES. 
 
 rescue our hero from bis approaching marriage has been 
 disbanded. There's not a ' lugger ' fit for the purposes 
 of abduction left upon the coast. Men settle their 
 ' affairs of honor ' in the law courts, and return home 
 wounded only in the pocket. Assaults on unprotected 
 females are confined to the slums, where heroes do not 
 dwell, and are avenged by the nearest magistrate. Your 
 modern burglar is generally an out-of-work greengrocer. 
 His ' swag ' usually consists of an overcoat and a pair 
 of boots, in attempting to make off with which he is cap- 
 tured by the servant-girl. Suicides and murders are 
 getting scarcer every season. At the present rate of 
 decrease, deaths by violence will be unheard of in 
 another decade, and a murder story will be laughed at 
 as too improbable to be interesting. A certain section 
 of busybodies are even crying out for the enforcement 
 of the seventh commandment. If they succeed, authors 
 will have to follow the advice generally given to them 
 by the critics, and retire from business altogether. I tell 
 you our means of livelihood are being filched from us 
 one by one. Authors ought to form themselves into a 
 society for the support and encouragement of crime." 
 
 MacShaughnassy's leading intention in making these 
 remarks was to shock and grieve Brown, and in this ob- 
 ject he succeeded. Brown is — or was, in those days — an 
 earnest young man with an exalted — some were inclined 
 to say an exaggerated — view of the importance and dig- 
 nity of the literary profession. Brown's notion of the 
 scheme of Creation was that God made the universe so 
 as to give the literary man something to write about. I 
 used at one time to credit Brown with originality for this 
 idea; but as I have grown older I have learned that the the- 
 ory is a very common and popular one in cultured circles. 
 
 Brown expostulated with INIacShaughnassy. " You 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 183 
 
 speak," he said, "as though literature were the parasite 
 of evil." 
 
 " And what else is she ? " replied the MacShaughnassy, 
 with enthusiasm. "What would 
 become of literature without 
 folly and sin ? What is the 
 work of the literary man but 
 raking a living for himself out 
 of the dust-heap of human woe. 
 Imagine, if you can, a perfect 
 world — a world where men and 
 women never said foolish 
 things and never did unwise 
 ones ; where small boys were 
 never mischievous and children 
 never made awkward remarks ; 
 where dogs never fought and 
 cats never screeched ; where 
 wives never henpecked their 
 husbands and mothers-in-law 
 never nagged ; where men never went to bed in their 
 boots and sea captains never swore ; where plumbers 
 understood their work and old maids never dressed 
 as girls ; where niggers never stole chickens and proud 
 men were never seasick? where would be your humor 
 and your wit? Imagine a world where hearts were 
 never bruised ; where lips were never pressed with pain ; 
 where eyes were never dim ; where feet were never 
 weary ; where stomachs were never empty ! where would 
 be your pathos ? Imagine a world where husbands never 
 loved more wives than one and that the right ; where 
 wives were never kissed but by their husbands ; where 
 men's hearts were never black and women's thoughts 
 never impure ; where there was no hating and no envy- 
 
 BROWN EXPOSTULATED WITH 
 WACSHAUGHNASSV." 
 
i84 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 ing ; no desiring; no despairing- ; where would be your 
 scenes of passion, your interesting complicaiions, your 
 
 subtle psychological 
 inalyses? iSIy dear 
 iroun, we writers 
 — novelists, dramatists, 
 poets — we fatten on 
 the misery of our fel- 
 low-c r eat u res. 
 (liScreated man 
 and woman, and 
 thS woman cre- 
 atfflthe literary 
 ni^p when she 
 put her teeth in- 
 to the apple. We 
 came into the 
 wcHd under the 
 sh«jw of the 
 serpent. We are 
 special c o r r e- 
 splndents with 
 thflDevil's army. 
 ^\ e report his 
 ' . victories in 
 
 t- our three-vol- 
 ume novels, 
 his occasional 
 defeats in our 
 five-act melo- 
 dramas." 
 
 '^All of 
 which is very 
 
 'we fatten on the MISF.m' (p[- iiL K l-SI-l<i\\- , , ,, 
 
 cRtAiLREs." tine, 1 e- 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 tSS 
 
 marked Jephson ; "but you must remember it is not 
 only the literary man wlio traffics in misfortune. The 
 doctor, the lawyer, the preacher, the newspaper 
 proprietor, the weather prophet, will hardly, I should 
 say, welcome the millennium. I shall never forget 
 an anecdote my uncle used to relate, dealing with 
 the period when he 
 was chaplain of the 
 Lincolnshire county 
 jail. One morning 
 there was to be a 
 hanging ; and the 
 usual little crowd of 
 witnesses, consist- 
 ing of the sheriff, 
 the governor, three 
 or four reporters, a 
 magistrate, and a 
 couple of warders, 
 was assembled in 
 the prison. The 
 condemned man, a 
 brutal ruffian who 
 had been found 
 guilty of murdering 
 a young girl under 
 exceptionally revolt- 
 ing circumstances, 
 was being pinioned 
 by the hangman and 
 nis assistant j ana "told the hangman to hurrv up." 
 my uncle was era- 
 ploying the last few moments at his disposal in try- 
 ing to break down the sullen indifference the fellow 
 
1 86 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 had throughout manifested toward both his crime and 
 his fate. 
 
 " My uncle, failing to make any impression upon him, 
 the governor ventured to add a few words of exhorta- 
 tion, upon which the man turned fiercely on the whole 
 of them. 
 
 " ' Go to hell,' he cried, ' with your sniveling jaw. ^Vho 
 are you to preach at me ? You're glad enough I'm here 
 — all of you. Why I'm the only one of you as aint going 
 to make a bit over this job. Where would you all be, I 
 should like to know, you canting swine, if it wasn't for 
 me and my sort ? Why it's the likes of me as keeps the 
 likes of you,' with which he walked straight to the gal- 
 lows and told the hangman to 'hurry up,' and not keep 
 the gentlemen waiting." 
 
 "There was some 'grit' in that man," said Mac- 
 Shaughnassy. 
 
 " Yes," added Jephson, "and wholesome wit, also." 
 
 MacShaughnassy puffed a mouthful of smoke over a 
 spider which was just about to kill a fly. This caused 
 the spider to fall into the river, from where a supper, 
 hunting swallow quickly rescued him. 
 
 "You remind me," he said, "of a scene I once wit- 
 nessed in the office of The Daily — well, in the office of 
 a certain daily newspaper. It was the dead season, and 
 things were somewhat slow. An endeavor had been 
 made to launch a discussion on the question ' Are 
 Babies a Blessing.' The youngest reporter on the staff, 
 writing over the simple but touching signature of 
 ' Mother of Six,' had led off with a scathing, though 
 somewhat irrelevant, attack upon husbands, as a class ; 
 the Sporting Editor signing himself ' Working Man,' 
 and garnishing his contribution with painfully elaborated 
 orthographical lapses, arranged to give an air of verisim- 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 187 
 
 iltiide to the correspondence, while at the same time, not 
 to offend the susceptibilities of the democracy (from 
 whom the paper derived its chief support), had replied, 
 vindicating the British father, and giving what purported 
 to be stirring midnight experiences of his own. The 
 Gallery Man, calling himself, with a burst of imagina- 
 tion, ' Gentleman and Christian,' wrote indignantly that 
 
 he considered the agitation 
 be both impious and indel- 
 he was surprised that a 
 exalted, and deservedly pop- 
 
 of The should have 
 
 columns to the brainless 
 
 of the subject to 
 icate, and added 
 paper holding the 
 ular, position 
 opened its 
 vaporings of 
 in"; Man.' 
 
 ' Mother of Six ' and ' Work- 
 
 " The topic had, however, 
 fallen flat. With the exception 
 of one man who had invented a 
 new feeding bottle, and thought 
 he was going to advertise it £§)r 
 nothing, the outside public did 
 not respond, and over the ed 
 torial department gloom had 
 settled down. 
 
 " One evening, as two or 
 three of us were mooning 
 about the stairs, praying 
 secretly for a war or a famine, 
 
 Todhunter, the town reporter, rushed past us with a 
 cheer, and burst into the Sub-editor's room. We fol- 
 lowed. He was waving his notebook above his head, 
 and clamoring, after the manner of people in French 
 exercises, for pens, ink, and paper. 
 
 '"What's up?' cried the Sub-editor, catching his 
 enthusiasm ; ' influenza again ? ' 
 
 WAVING HIS NOTEBOOK. 
 
1 88 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 "'Better than that,' shouted Todhuiiter. ' Excui'- 
 sion steamer run down, a hundred and twenty-five Uves 
 lost — four good columns of heartrending scenes.' 
 
 " ' By Jove ! ' said the Sub, ' couldn't have happened 
 at a better time, either ' — and then he sat down and 
 dashed otf a leaderette, in which he dwelt upon the pain 
 and regret the paper felt at having to announce the dis- 
 aster, and drew attention to the exceptionally harrowing 
 account provided by the energy and talent of ' our 
 special reporter.' " 
 
 " It is the law of nature," said Jephson : " we are not 
 the first party of young philosophers who have been 
 struck with the fact that one man's misfortune is another 
 man's opportunity." 
 
 "Occasionally, another woman's," I observed. 
 
 I was thinking of an incident told me by a nurse. If 
 a nurse in fair practice does not know more about 
 human nature— does not see clearer into the souls of 
 men and women than all the novelists in little Bookland 
 put together — it must be because she is physically blind 
 and deaf. All the world's a stage, and all the men and 
 women merely players ; so long as we are in good 
 health, we play our parts out bravely to the end, acting 
 them, on the whole, artistically and with strenuousness, 
 even to the extent of sometimes fancying ourselves the 
 people we are pretending to be. But with sickness 
 comes forgetfulness of our part, and carelessness of the 
 impression we are making upon the audience. We are 
 too weak to put the paint and powder on our faces, the 
 stage finery lies unheeded by our side. The heroic 
 gestures, the virtuous sentiments, are a weariness 
 to us. In the quiet, darkened room, where the foot- 
 lights of the great stage no longer glare upon us, where 
 our ears are no longer strained to catch the clapping or 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 1 89 
 
 the hissing of the town, we are, for a brief space, 
 ourselves. 
 
 This nurse was a quiet, demure little woman, with a 
 pair of dreamy, soft gray eyes that had a curious power 
 of absorbing everything that passed before them without 
 
 "she would talk to me of her nursing experiences." 
 
 seeming to look at anything. Gazing upon much life 
 laid bare, had given to them a slightly cynical expres- 
 sion, but there was a background of kindliness behind. 
 
 During the evenings of my convalescence she would 
 talk to me of her nursing experiences. I have some- 
 times thought I would put down in writing the stories 
 that she told me, but they would be sad reading. The 
 majority of them, I fear, would show only the tangled, 
 seamy side of human nature, and God knows there is 
 
igo XOVEL NOTES. 
 
 little need fur us to point that out to each other, though 
 so many nowadays seem to think it the only work 
 worth doing. A few of tliem were sweet, but I think 
 they were the saddest ; and over one or two a man 
 might laugh, but it would not be a pleasant laugh. 
 
 " I never enter the door of a house to which I have 
 been summoned," she said to me one evening, " without 
 wondering, as I step uver the threshold, what the story 
 is going to be. I always feci inside a sick room as if I 
 were behind the scenes of life. The people come and go 
 about you, and you listen to them talking and laughing, 
 and you look into your patient's eyes, and you just know 
 that it's all a play." 
 
 The incident that Jephson's remark had reminded 
 me of, she told me one afternoon, as I sat propped 
 up by the fire, trying to drink a glass of port wine, and 
 feeling somewhat depressed at discovering I did not 
 like it. 
 
 "One of my first cases," she said, " was a surgical 
 operation. I was very young at the time, and I made 
 rather an awkward mistake — not a professional mistake, 
 1 don't mean — but a mistake nevertheless that I ought 
 to have had more sense than to make. 
 
 " .My patient was a good-looking, pleasant-spoken 
 gentleman. The wile was a pretty, dark little woman, 
 but I never liked her from the first ; she was one of 
 those perfectly proper, frigid women, who always give 
 me the idea that they were born in a church, and have 
 never got over the chill. However, she seemed very 
 fond of him, and he of her ; and they talked very 
 prettily to each other — too prettily for it to be quite 
 genuine, I should have said, if I'd known as much of the 
 world then as I do now. 
 
 " 'I'lie operation was a difficult and dangerous one. 
 
NOl'EL NOTES. 
 
 191 
 
 When I came on duty in the evening I found him, as I 
 expected, woke up. He was, as tlie doctor had told me 
 he would be, highly delirious. I kept him as quiet as 
 I could, but toward nine o'clock, as the delirium only 
 increased, 1 began to get anxious. I bent down close to 
 him and listened to his ravings. Over and over again I 
 heard the name ' Louise.' Why wouldn't ' Louise ' come 
 to him ? It was so unkind of her — they had dug a 
 
 I HEARD THE NAME LOUISE. 
 
 great pit, and were pushing him down into it — oh ! why 
 didn't she come and save him ? He should be saved if 
 she would only come and take his hand. 
 
 " His cries became so pitiful that I could bear them no 
 longer. His wife had gone to attend a prayer meeting, 
 but the church was only in the next street. Fortunately, 
 the day nurse had not left the house ; I called her in to 
 watch him for a minute, and, slipping on my bonnet, ran 
 across. I told my errand to one of the vergers, and he 
 
igz 
 
 XOVEL XOTES. 
 
 took ine to lier. She was kneeling, btit I could not wait. 
 I piislied open the pew door, and, bending down, whis- 
 pered to her, ' Please come over at once : your hus- 
 band is more delirious than I quite 
 care about, and )'ou may be able 
 to calm him.' 
 
 She whispered back, with- 
 out raising her head, 
 ' I'll be over in a little 
 while. The meeting 
 wnn't lastrauchlonger.' 
 " Her answer sur- 
 prised and nettled me. 
 ■ Vou'll be acting more 
 like a Christian 
 woman by com- 
 ing home with 
 me,' I said 
 sharply, ' than by 
 stopping h e r e. 
 He keeps calling 
 for yoti, and I 
 can't get him to 
 sleep.' 
 
 " She raised 
 her head from 
 'Calling for me? ' she asked, with a slightly 
 incredulous accent. 
 
 " ' ^'es,' I replied, ' it has been his one cry for the last 
 hour ; ^\'here's Louise, why doesn't Louise come to him. 
 " Her face was in a shadow, but as she turned it away, 
 and the faint light from one of the turned-down gas jets 
 fell across it, I fancied I saw a smile upon it, and I dis- 
 liked her more than ever. 
 
 SHE W.-VS KNEELING. 
 
 her hands: 
 
NOVEL iXOTES. 1 93 
 
 "' I'll come back with you,' she said, rising and put- 
 ting her books away, and we left the church together. 
 
 " She asked me many questions on the way : Did 
 patients, when they were delirious, know the people about 
 them? Did they remembet actual facts, or was their 
 talk mere incoherent rambling ? Could one guide their 
 thoughts in any way ? 
 
 " The moment we were inside the door, she flung off 
 her bonnet and cloak, and came upstairs quickly and 
 softly. 
 
 " She walked to the bedside, and stood looking down 
 at him, but he was quite unconscious of her presence, 
 and continued muttering. I suggested that she should 
 speak to him, but she said she was sure it would be use- 
 less, and drawing a chair back into the shadow, sat down 
 beside him. 
 
 '' Seeing she was no good to him, I tried to persuade 
 her to go to bed, but she said she would rather stop, and 
 I, being little more than a gir! then, and without much 
 authority, let her. All night long he tossed and raved, 
 the one name on his lips being ever Louise — Louise — 
 and all night long that woman sat there in the shadow, 
 never moving, never speaking, with a set smile on her 
 lips that made me long to take her by the shoulders and 
 shake her. 
 
 " At one time he imagined himself back in his court- 
 ing days, and pleaded, ' Say you love me, Louise. I 
 know you do. I can read it in your eyes. What's the 
 use of our pretending. We know each other. Put your 
 white arms about me. Let me feel your breath upon my 
 neck. Ah ! I knew it, my darling, my love ! ' 
 
 " The whole house was deadly still, and I could hear 
 every word of these troubled ravings. I almost felt as 
 if I had no right to be there listening to them, but my 
 
194 
 
 iVOVEL NOTES. 
 
 duty held me. Latei' on, he fancied himself planning a 
 holiday with her, so I concluded. ' I shall start on Mon- 
 day evening,' he was saying, ' and you can join me in 
 Dublin at Jackson's Hotel on the Wednesday, and we'll 
 go straight on.' 
 
 " His voice grew a little fainter, and his wife moved 
 forward on her chair, and bent her head to his lips. 
 
 " ' No, no,' he continued, after a pause, ' there's no 
 danger whatever. It's a lonely little place, right in the 
 heart of the Galway Mountains — O'Mullen's Halfway 
 
 House they call it — 
 five miles from Bally- 
 nahinch. We shan't 
 meet a soul there. 
 We'll have three weeks 
 of heaven all to our- 
 selves, my goddess, my 
 Mrs. Maddox from 
 Boston — don't forget 
 the name.' 
 
 " He laughed in his 
 delirium; and the 
 woman, sitting by his 
 side, laughed also; and 
 then the truth flashed 
 across me. 
 
 " I ran up to her and 
 caught her by the arm. 
 Your name's not 
 Louise,' I said, looking 
 straight at her. It was 
 an impertinent interference, but I felt e.xcited, and 
 acted on impulse. 
 
 " ' No,' she replied very quietly ; ' but it's the name of 
 
 LISTENKD rO HEK FOOTS'I' 
 DOWN THK STAIRS.' 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 195 
 
 a very dear school friend of mine. I've got the clew to- 
 night that I've been waiting two years to get. Good- 
 night, nurse, thanks for fetching me.' 
 
 " She rose and went out, and I listened to her foot- 
 steps going down the stairs, and then drew up the blind 
 and let in the dawn. 
 
 " I've never told that incident to anyone until this 
 
 ' WE LhFT Tllli IJOOR AJAR Si; THAT Tl^ 
 COULD CALL OUT TO ONE ANUTHEE." 
 
 evenuig," my nurse concluded, as she took the empty 
 port wine glass out of my hand, and stirred the fire. " A 
 nurse wouldn't get many engagements if she had the 
 reputation for making blunders of that sort." 
 
 Another story that she told me showed married life 
 more love-lit, but then, as she added, with that cynical 
 twinkle that glinted so oddly from her gentle demure 
 
196 NOVEL .VOTES. 
 
 eyes, this couple had only very recently been wed — had, 
 in fact, only just returned from their honeymoon. 
 
 They had been traveling on the Continent, and there 
 had both contracted typhoid fever, which showed itself 
 immediately on their home coming. 
 
 "I was called in to them on the very day of their ar- 
 rival," she said ; " the husband was the first to take to 
 his bed, and the wife followed suit twelve hours after- 
 ward. We placed them in adjoining rooms, and, as 
 often as was possible, we left the door ajar so that they 
 could call out to one another. 
 
 " Poor things ! They were little more than boy and 
 girl, and they worried more about each other than they 
 thought about themselves. The wife's only trouble was 
 that she wouldn't be able to do anything for' poor Jack.' 
 'Oh, nurse, you will be good to him, won't you?' she 
 would cry, with her big childish eyes full of tears ; and 
 the moment I went in to him it would be : ' Oh, don't 
 trouble about me, nurse, I'm all right. Just look after 
 the wife, will you ? ' 
 
 " I had a hard time between the two of them, for, with 
 the help of her sister, I was nursing them both. It was 
 an unprofessional thing to do, but I could see they were 
 not well off, and I assured the doctor that I could man- 
 age. To me it was worth while going through the 
 double work just to breathe the atmosphere of unselfish- 
 ness that sweetened those two sick-rooms. The average 
 invalid is not the patient sufferer people imagine. It is 
 a fretful, querulous, self-pitying little world that we live 
 in as a rule, and that we grow hard in. It gave me a 
 new heart, nursing these young people. 
 
 "The man pulled through, and began steadily to re- 
 cover, but the wife was a wee slip of a girl, and her 
 strength — what there was of it — ebbed da}' by day. As 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 197 
 
 he got Stronger he would call out more and more cheer- 
 fully to her through the open door, and ask her how she 
 was getting on, and she would struggle to call back 
 laughing answers. It had been a mistake to put them 
 next to each other, and I blamed myself for having done 
 so, but it was too late to change then. All we could do 
 was to beg her not to exhaust herself, and to let us, 
 when he called out, tell him she was asleep. But the 
 thought of not answering him or calling to him made 
 her so wretched that it seemed safer to let her have her 
 way. 
 
 " Her one anxiety was that he should not know how 
 weak she was. 'It will worry him so,' she would say ; 
 ' he is such an old fidget over me. And I am getting 
 stronger, slowly ; aint I, nurse ? ' 
 
 "One morning he called to her, as usual, asking her 
 how she was, and she answered, though she had to wait 
 for a few seconds to gather strength to do so. Ke 
 seemed to detect the effort, for he called back anxiously, 
 ' Are you su7-e you're all right, dear ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes,' she replied, ' getting on famously. Why ? ' 
 
 " 'I thought your voice sounded a little weak, dear,' 
 he answered ; ' don't call out if it tires you.' 
 
 " Then for the first time she began to worry about 
 herself — not for her own sake, but because of him. 
 
 '"Do you think I am getting weaker, nurse?' she 
 asked me, fixing her great eyes on me with a frightened 
 look. 
 
 '"You're making yourself weak by calling out.' I 
 answered, a little sharply. ' I shall have to keep that 
 door shut.' 
 
 " ' Oh, don't tell him ' — that was all her thought—' don't 
 let him know it. Tell him I'm strong, won't you, nurse ? 
 It will kill him if he thinks I'm not getting well.' 
 
igo 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 " I was glad when her sister came up, and I could get 
 out of the room, for you're not much good at nursing 
 when you feel, as I felt then, as though you had swal- 
 lowed a tablespoon and 
 it was sticking in your 
 th roat. 
 
 " Later on, when I 
 went in to him, he drew 
 me to the bedside, and 
 whispered me to tell him 
 truly how she was. If you 
 are telling a lie at all, 
 you may just as well make 
 it a good one, so I told 
 him she was really won- 
 derfully well, only a little 
 exhausted after the ill- 
 ness, as was natural, and 
 that I expected to have 
 her up before him. 
 
 " Poor lad I that lie did 
 
 ; him more good than a 
 
 week's doctoring and 
 
 nursing; and next morning he called out more cheerily 
 
 than ever to her, and offered to bet her a new bonnet 
 
 against a new hat that he would race her and be up first. 
 
 " She laughed back quite merrily (I was in his room 
 
 at the time). ' All right,' she said, ' you'll lose. I shall 
 
 be well first, and I shall come and visit you.' 
 
 "Her laugh was so bright, and her voice sounded so 
 much stronger, that I really began to think she had 
 taken a turn for the better, so that when on going in to 
 her I found her pillow wet with tears, I could not under- 
 stand it. 
 
 TELL HLM 
 i'm STKOr^ii,. 
 won't VOL', 
 
 NURsa ? " 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 1 99 
 
 "'Why, we were so cheerful just a minute ago,' I 
 said ; 'what's the matter ?' 
 
 " ' Oh, poor Jack ! ' she moaned, as her little, wasted 
 fingers opened and closed upon the counterpane. ' Poor 
 Jack, it will break his heart.' 
 
 " It was no good my saying anything. There comes 
 a moment when something tells your patient all that is 
 to be known about the case, and the doctor and the 
 nurse can keep their hopeful assurances for where they 
 will be of more use. The only thing that would have 
 brought comfort to her then would have been to con- 
 vince her that he would soon forget her and be happy 
 without her. I thought it at the time, and I tried to say 
 something of the kind to her, but I couldn't get it out, 
 and she wouldn't have believed me if I had. 
 
 " So all I could do was to go back to the other room, 
 and tell him that I wanted her to go to sleep, and that 
 he must not call out to her until I told him. 
 
 " She lay very still all day. The doctor came at his 
 usual hour and looked at her. He patted her hand, and 
 just glanced at the untouched food beside her. 
 
 " ' Yes,' he said quietly. ' I shouldn't worry her, nurse.' 
 And I understood. 
 
 " Toward evening she opened her eyes, and beckoned 
 to her sister, who was standing by the bedside to bend 
 down. 
 
 "' Jeanie,' she whispered, 'do you think it wrong to 
 deceive anyone when it's for their own good ? ' 
 
 " ' I don't kno\ •,' said the girl, in a dry voice ; ' I 
 shouldn't think so. Why do you ask ? ' 
 
 " ' Jeanie, your voice was always very much like mine 
 — do you remember, they used to mistake us at home. 
 Jeanie, call out for me — just till— till he's a bit better ; 
 promise me.' 
 
jVO J EL NO TES. 
 
 " They had loved each other, those two, more than is 
 common among sisters. Jeanie coald not answer, but 
 
 she pressed her sis- 
 ter closer in her 
 arms, and the other 
 was satisfied. 
 
 " Then, drawing 
 all her little stock of 
 life together for one 
 final effort, the child 
 raised herself in her 
 sister's arms. 
 
 "'Good- night, 
 Jack,' she called out, 
 loud and clear 
 enough to be heard 
 through the closed 
 door. 
 
 " 'Good-night, lit- 
 tle wife,' he cried 
 back cheerily ; ' are 
 you all right ? ' 
 
 "'Yes, dear 
 Good-night.' 
 
 "ITer little, worn- 
 out frame dropped 
 back upon the bed, and the next thing I remember is 
 snatching up a pillow, and holding it tight-pressed 
 against Jeanie's face for fear the sound of her sobs 
 should penetrate into the next room; and afterward 
 we both got out somehow, by the other door, and 
 rushed downstairs, and clung to each other in the back 
 kitchen. 
 
 " How we two women managed to keep up the deceit. 
 
 I sHriL'LDN T WORRV HER, NURSE. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 201 
 
 as for three whole days we did, I shall never myself 
 know. Jeanie sat in the room where her dead sister, 
 from its head to sticking-up feet, lay outlined under the 
 white sheet ; and I stayed beside the living man, and 
 told lies and acted lies, till I took a joy in them, 
 and had to guard against the danger of over-elaborating 
 them. 
 
 " He wondered at what he thought my ' new merry 
 mood,' and I told him it was because of my delight that 
 his wife was out of danger ; and then I went on for the 
 pure devilment of the thing, and told him that a week 
 ago, when we had let him think his wife was growing 
 stronger, we had been deceiving him ; that, as a matter 
 of fact, she was at that time in great peril, and I had 
 been in hourly alarm concerning her, but that now the 
 strain was over, and she was safe ; and I dropped down 
 by the foot of the bed, and burst into a fit of laughter, 
 and had to clutch hold of the bedstead to keep myself 
 from rolling on the floor. 
 
 " He had started up in bed with a wild white face 
 when Jeanie had first answered him from the other room, 
 though the sisters' voices had been so uncannily alike 
 that I had never been able to distinguish one from the 
 other at any time. I told him the slight change was the 
 result of the fever, that his own voice also was changed 
 a little, and that such was always the case with a person 
 recovering from a long illness. To guide his thoughts 
 away from the real clew, I told him Jeanie had broken 
 down with the long work, and that, the need for her 
 being past, I had packed her off into the country for a 
 short rest. That afternoon, we concocted a letter to 
 him, and I watched Jeanie's eyes with a towel in my 
 hand, while she wrote it, so that no tears should fall 
 on it, and that night she traveled twenty miles down the 
 
202 NOl'EL NOTES. 
 
 Great Western line to post it, returning by the next 
 Lip-train. 
 
 " No suspicion of the truth ever occurred to him, and 
 the doctor helped us out with our deception ; yet his 
 pulse, which day by day had been getting stronger, now 
 beat feebler every hour. 
 
 " In that part of the country where I was born and 
 grew up, the folks say that wherever the dead lie, 
 there round about them, whether the time be summer 
 or winter, the air grows cold and colder, and that 
 no fire, though you pile the logs halfway up the 
 chimney, will ever make it warm. A few months' 
 hospital training generally cures one of all fanciful 
 notions about death, but this idea I have never been 
 able to get rid of. My thermometer may show me sixty, 
 and I may try to believe that the temperature is si.xty, 
 but if the dead are beside me I feel cold to the marrow 
 of my bones. I could see the chill from the dead 
 room crawling underneath the door, and creeping up 
 about his bed, and reaching out its hand to touch his 
 heart. 
 
 " Jeanie and I redoubled our efforts, for it seemed to 
 us as if Death were waiting just outside in the pas- 
 sage, watching with his eye at the keyhole for either 
 of us to make a blunder and let the truth slip out. 
 I hardly ever left his side except now and again to 
 go into that next room, and poke an imaginary fire, 
 and say a few chaffing words to an imaginary living 
 woman on the bed where the dead one lay ; and 
 Jeanie sat close to the corpse, and called out saucy 
 messages to him, or reassuring answers to his anxious 
 questions. 
 
 " At times, knowing that if we stopped another moment 
 in these rooms we should scream, we would steal softly 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 203 
 
 out and rush downstairs, and, shutting ourselves out of 
 hearing in a cellar underneath the yard, laugh till we 
 reeled against the dirty walls. I think we were both get- 
 ting a little mad. 
 
 " One day— it was the third of that nightmare life, 
 so I learned afterward, though for all I could have 
 told then it might have been the three hundredth, 
 for Time seemed to have fled from that house as from 
 a dream, so that all things were tangled — I made a 
 slip that came near to ending the matter, then and 
 there. 
 
 " I had gone in to that other room. Jeanie had left 
 her post for a moment, and the place was empty. 
 
 " I did not think what I was doing. I had not closed 
 my eyes that I can remember since the wife had died, 
 and my brain and my senses were losing their hold of 
 one another. I went through my usual performance of 
 talking loudly to the thing underneath the white sheet, 
 and noisily patting the pillows and rattling the bottles 
 on the table. 
 
 " On my return, he asked me how she was, and I an- 
 swered, half in a dream, ' Oh, bonny, she's trying to read 
 a little,' and he raised himself on his elbow and called 
 out to her, and for answer there came back silence — not 
 the silence that is silence, but the silence that is as a 
 voice. I do not know if you understand what I mean by 
 that. If you had lived among the dead as long as I have 
 you would know. 
 
 " I darted to the door and pretended to look in. ' She's 
 fallen asleep,' I whispered, closing it ; and he said noth- 
 ing, but his eyes looked queerly at me. 
 
 " That night, Jeanie and I stood in the hall talking. 
 He had fallen to sleep early, and I had locked the door 
 between the two rooms, and put the key in my pocket, 
 
4o4 A'OVEL NOTES. 
 
 and had stolen down to tell her what had happened, and 
 to consult with her. 
 
 " ' What can we do ? God help us, what can we do I ' 
 was all that Jeanie could say. 
 
 "We had thought that in a day or two he would be 
 stronger, and that the truth might be broken to him. 
 But instead of that he had grown so weak, that to excite 
 his suspicions now by moving him or her would be to kill 
 him. 
 
 " We stood looking blankly in each other's faces, won- 
 dering how the problem could be solved ; and while we 
 did so the problem solved itself. 
 
 "The one woman servant had gone out, and the house 
 was very silent — so silent that I could hear' the ticking 
 of Jeanie's watch inside her dress. Suddenly into the 
 stillness there came a sound. It was not a cry. It came 
 from no human voice. I have heard the voice of human 
 pain till I know its every note, and have grown careless 
 to it ; but I have prayed (lod on my knees that I may 
 never hear that sound again, for it was the sob of a 
 soul. 
 
 " It wailed through the quiet house and passed away, 
 and neither of us stirred. 
 
 " At length, with the return of the blood to our veins, 
 we went upstairs together. He had crept from his own 
 room along the passage into hers. He had not had 
 strength enough to pull the sheet off, though it was evi- 
 dent he had tried. He lay across the bed with one hand 
 clasping hers." 
 
 My nurse sat for a while without speaking, a some- 
 what unusual thing for her to do. 
 
 " Vou ought to write yonr experiences," I said. 
 
 " .All ! " she said, giving ths fire a couitemplative poke. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 205 
 
 " if you'd seen as much sorrow in the world as I have, 
 you wouldn't want to write a sad book." 
 
 " I think," she added, after a long pause, with the 
 poker still in her hand, " it can only be the people who 
 have never knawn suffering who can care to read of it. 
 If I could write a book, I should write a merry book — a 
 book that would make people laugh." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HE discussion arose in this way. I had pro- 
 posed a match between our villain and the 
 daughter of the local chemist, a singularly- 
 noble and pure-minded girl, the humble but 
 worthy friend of the heroine. 
 
 Brown had refused his consent on the ground of im- 
 probability. " What in thunder would induce him to 
 marry her 'i " he asked. 
 
 " Love ! " I replied ; " love, that burns as brightly in 
 the meanest villain's breast as in the proud heart of the 
 good young man." 
 
 " Are you trying to be light and amusing,'' returned 
 Brown severely, " or are you supposed to be discussing 
 the matter seriously? What attraction could such a 
 girl have for such a man as Reuben Neil ? " 
 
 " Every attraction," I retorted. " She is the exact 
 moral contrast Lo himself. She is beautiful (if she's not 
 beautiful enough, we can touch her up a bit), and, when 
 the father dies, there will be the shop." 
 
 " Besides," I added, " it will make the thing seem 
 more natural if everybody wonders what on earth could 
 have been the reason for their marrying each other.'' 
 
 Drown wasted no further words on me, but turned to 
 MacShaughnassy. 
 
 "Can \flii imagine our friend Reuben seized with a 
 burning desire to marry Mary Holme ? " he asked with 
 a smile. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 207 
 
 " Of course I can," said MacShaughnassy ; " I can 
 imagine anything, and believe anything of anybody. 
 It is only in novels that people act reasonably and in 
 accordance with what might be expected of them. I 
 knew an old sea captain who used to read the Young 
 Ladies^ Journal in 
 
 bed, and cry over y^ ^\ 
 
 it. I knew a book- 
 maker who always 
 carried Brown- 
 ing's poems about 
 with him in his 
 pocket to study in 
 the train. I have 
 known a Harley 
 Street doctor to 
 develop at forty- 
 eight a sudden 
 and overmaster- 
 ing passion for 
 switchbacks, and ir^v'oTK^r"'' 
 to spend every 
 hour he could spare from his prac- 
 tice at one or other of the exhi- 
 bitions, having threepen'orths one 
 after the other. I have known a 
 book reviewer give oranges (not 
 poisoned ones) to children. A man 
 is not a character, he is a dozen 
 
 characters, one of them prominent, the other eleven 
 more or less undeveloped. I knew a man once, two of 
 whose characters were of equal value, and the conse- 
 quences were peculiar," 
 
 A'OULD REA 
 
2o8 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 Wc begged him 
 
 to relate the case to us, and he did 
 
 " He was a BalHol man," said MncShaughnassy, " and 
 his Christian name was Joseph. He was a member of 
 
 the ' Devonshire ' at the 
 time I knew him, and 
 was, I think, the most 
 superior person I have 
 ever met. He sneered at 
 the Saturday liciicio as 
 the pet journal of the 
 suburban literary club ; 
 and at the Aihenceum 
 as the trade organ of 
 the unsuccessful writer. 
 Thackeray, he consid- 
 ered, was fairly entitled 
 to his position of favorite 
 author to the cultured 
 clerk ; and Carlyle he 
 regarded as the exponent 
 of the earnest artisan. 
 Living authors he never read, but this did not prevent his 
 criticising them contemptuously. The only inhabitants 
 of the nineteenth century that he ever praised were a few 
 obscure French novelists, of whom nobody but himself 
 had ever heard. He had his own opinion about God 
 Almighty, and objected to heaven on account of the 
 strong Clapham contingent likely to be found in resi- 
 dence there. Humor made him sad and sentiment made 
 him ill. Art irritated him and science bored him. He 
 depised his own family and disliked everybody else. 
 For exercise he yawned, and his conversation was mainly 
 confined to an occasional shrug. 
 
 "tKE ^U'^T SUPERIOR PERSON. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 209 
 
 " Nobody liked him, but everybody respected him. 
 One felt grateful to him for his condescension in living 
 at all. 
 
 " One summer, I was fishing over the Norfolk Broads, 
 and on the Bank Holiday, thinking I would like to see 
 the London 'Arry in his glory, I ran over to Yarmouth 
 
 THEV SPBEAD THEM- 
 SELVES RIChlT ACROSS 
 THE PAVEMENT." 
 
 Walking along the seafront in the evening, I suddenly 
 found myself confronted by four remarkably choice speci- 
 mens of the class. They were urging on their wild and 
 erratic career arm-in-arm. The one nearest the road was 
 playing an unusually wheezy concertina, and the other 
 three were bawling out the chorus of a music-hall song, 
 the heroine of which appeared to be Emma. 
 
 " They spread themselves right across the pavement, 
 compelling all the women and children they met to step 
 into the roadway. I stood my ground on the curb, and 
 as they brushed by me something in the face of the one 
 with the concertina struck me as familiar. 
 
2 10 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 " I turned and followed them. They were evidently 
 enjoying themselves immensely. To every girl they 
 passed they yelled out, ' Oh, you little jam tart ! ' and 
 every old lady they addressed as ' .Mar.' The noisiest 
 and the most vulgar of the four was the one with the 
 concertina. 
 
 " I followed them on to the pier, and then, hurrying 
 past, waited for them under a gas-lamp. When the man 
 with the concertina came into the light, and I saw him 
 clearly, I started. From the face 1 could have sworn it 
 was Joseph ; but everything else about him rendered 
 such an assumption impossible. Putting aside the time 
 and the place, and forgetting his behavior, his compan- 
 ions, and his instrument, what remained was sufficient to 
 make the suggestion absurd. Joseph was always clean 
 shaven ; this youth had a smudgy mustache and a pair 
 of incipient red whiskers. He was dressed in the loudest 
 check suit I have ever seen off the stage. He wore 
 patent leather boots with mother-of-pearl buttons, and a 
 necktie that in an earlier age would have called down 
 lightning out of heaven. He had a low-crowned billy- 
 cock hat on his head and a big evil-smelling cigar 
 between his lips. 
 
 " Argue as I would, however, the face was the face of 
 Joseph ; and, moved by a curiosity I could not control, 
 I kept near him, watching him. 
 
 " Once, for a little while, I missed him ; but there was 
 not much fear of losing that suit for long, and after a 
 little looking about I struck it again. He was sitting at 
 the end of the pier, where it was less crowded, with his 
 arm round a girl's waist. I crept close. She was a jolly, 
 red-faced girl, good-looking enough, but common to the 
 last degree. Her hat lay on the seat beside her, and her 
 head was resting on his shoulder. She appeared to be 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 undoubtedly fond of him, but he was evidently bored and 
 disgusted. 
 
 " ' Don'tcher like me, Joe ? ' I heard her murmur. 
 
 " ' Yas,' he replied, somewhat unconvincingly, ' o' course 
 I likes yer.' 
 
 " She gave him an affectionate slap, but he did not 
 
 ' HE WAS EVIDENTLY BORED. 
 
 respond, and a few minutes afterward, muttering some 
 excuse, he rose and left her, and I followed him as he 
 made his way toward the refreshment room. At the 
 door he met one of his pals. 
 
 " ' Hullo ! ' was the question, ' wot 'a yer done wi' 
 'Liza ? ' 
 
212 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 "'Oh, I carn't stand 'er,' was his reply; 'she gives 
 me the bloomui' 'ump. Yoti 'ave a turn with 'er.' 
 
 "His friend disappeared in the direction of 'Liza, and 
 Joe pushed into the room, I keeping close behind him. 
 Now that he was alone I was determined to speak to him. 
 
 The longer I had studied his features, the more resem- 
 blance I had found in them to those of my superior 
 friend Joseph. 
 
 " He was leaning across the bar, clamoring for two of 
 gin, when I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned 
 his head, and the moment he saw me his face went 
 livid. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 213 
 
 "' Mr. Joseph Smythe, I believe,' I said with a smile. 
 
 " ' Who's Mr. Joseph Smythe ? ' he answered hoarsely ; 
 ' my name's Smith, I aint no bloomin' Smythe. Who 
 are you ? I don't know yer.' 
 
 " As he spoke, my eyes rested upon a curious gold 
 ring of Indian workmanship which he wore upon his left 
 hand. There was no mistaking the ring, at all events ; 
 it was one that had been passed round the club on more 
 than one occasion as an antique curiosity. His eyes 
 followed my gaze. He burst into tears, and pushing me 
 before him into a quiet corner of the saloon, sat down 
 facing me. 
 
 " ' Don't give me away, old man,' he whimpered ; ' for 
 Gawd's sake, don't let on to any of the chaps 'ere that 
 I'm a member of the blessed old waxwork show in 
 Saint James', they'd never speak to me agen. And 
 keep yer mug shut about Oxford, there's a good sort. I 
 wouldn't have 'em know as 'ow I was one o' them college 
 blokes for anythink.' 
 
 " I sat aghast. I had listened to hear him entreat me 
 to keep ' Smith,' the rorty 'Arry, a secret from the 
 acquaintances of ' Smythe,' the superior person. Here 
 was ' Smith ' in mortal terror lest his pals should hear of 
 his identity with the aristocratic ' Smythe,' and discard 
 him. His attitude puzzled me at the time, but, when I 
 came to reflect, my wonder was at myself for having 
 expected the opposite. 
 
 " ' I carn't 'elp it,' he went on ; 'I 'ave to live two 
 lives. 'Alf my time I'm a stuck-up prig, as orter be 
 jolly well kicked ' 
 
 "' At which times,' I interrupted, ' I have heard you 
 express some extremely uncomplimentary op'nions con- 
 cerning 'Arries.' 
 
 "'I know,' he replied, in a voice betraying strong 
 
2 14 NOVEL iXOTES. 
 
 emotion ; ' that's where it's so precious rough on me. 
 When I'm a toff I despises myself, 'cos I knows that 
 underneath my sneering phiz I'm a bloomin' 'Arry. 
 When I'm an 'Arry, I 'ates myself 'cos I knows I'm a toff.' 
 
 " ' Can't you decide which character you prefer, and 
 stick to it ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' No,' he answered, ' I carn't. It's a rum thing, but 
 whichever I am, sure as fate, 'bout the end of a month I 
 begin to get sick o' myself.' 
 
 " ' I can quite understand it,' I murmured ; ' I should 
 give way myself in a fortnight.' 
 
 " ' I've been myself,' he continued, without noticing 
 my remark, ' for somethin' like ten days. One mornin,' in 
 'bout three weeks' time, I shall get up in my diggins in 
 the Mile End Road, and I shall look round the room, 
 and at these clothes 'angin' over the bed, and at this yer 
 concertina [he gave it an affectionate squeeze], and I 
 shall feel myself gettin' scarlet all over. Then I shall 
 jump out o' bed, and look at myself in the glass. 
 "You howling little cad," I shall say to myself, "I 
 have half a mind to strangle you ; " and I shall shave 
 myself, and put on a quiet blue serge suit and a bowler 
 'at, tell my landlady to keep my rooms for me till I 
 comes back, slip out o' the 'ouse, and into the fust 
 'ansom I meets, and back to the Halbanv. And a 
 month arter that, I shall come into my chambers at the 
 Halbany, fling \'oltaire and Parini into the fire, shy me 
 'at at the bust of good old 'Onier, slip on my blue suit 
 agen, and back to the MileEnd Road.' 
 
 " ' How do you explain your absence to both parties t ' 
 I asked. 
 
 "'Oh, that's simple enough,' he replied. ' I just tells 
 my 'ousekeeper at the Halbany as I'm goin' on the Con- 
 tinong : and my mates 'ere thinks I'm a traveler.' 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 215 
 
 " ' Nobody misses me much,' he added pathetically ; 
 ' I haint a partic'larly fetchin' sort o' bloke, either of 
 me. I'm sich an out-and-outer. When I'm an 'Arry, 
 I'm too much of an 'Arry, an when I'm a prig, I'm a 
 reg'lar fust prize prig. Seems to me as if I was two 
 ends of a man without any middle. If I could only mix 
 myself up a bit more, I'd be all right.' 
 
 " He sniffed once or twice, and then he laughed. 
 ' Ah, well,' he said, casting aside his momentary gloom ; 
 ' it's all a game, and wot's the odds as long as yer 'app3'_ 
 'Ave a wet ? ' 
 
 " I declined the 'wet,' and left him playing sentimental 
 airs to himself upon 
 the concertina. 
 
 " One afternoon, 
 about a month later, 
 the servant came to 
 me with a card on 
 which was engraved 
 the name of 'Mr. 
 Joseph Smythe.' I 
 requested her to 
 show him up. He 
 entered with his 
 usual air of languid 
 superciliousness, 
 and seated himself 
 in a graceful atti- 
 tude upon the sofa. 
 
 "'Well,' I said, as 
 soon as the girl had 
 closed the door behind her, 'so you've got rid of Smith ?' 
 
 " A sickly smile passed over his face. ' You have not 
 mentioned it to anyone ? ' he asked anxiously. 
 
 PLAYING SENTIMENTAL AIRS TO HIMSELF. 
 
2l6 MOVEL NOTES. 
 
 " ' Not to a soul,' I replied ; ' though I confess I often 
 feel tempted to.' 
 
 '" I sincerely trust you never will,' he said, in a tone 
 of alarm. 'You can have no conception of the mi.sery 
 the whole thing causes me. I cannot understand it. 
 What possible affinity there can be between myself and 
 that disgusting little snob passes my comprehension. I 
 assure you, my dear Mac, the knowledge that I was a 
 ghoul, or a vampire, would cause me less nausea than 
 the reflection that I am one and the same with that 
 odious little Whitechapel bounder. When I think of 
 him every nerve in my body ' 
 
 " ' Don't think about him any more,' I interrupted, 
 perceiving his strongly suppressed emotion. ' You didn't 
 come here to talk about him, I'm sure. Let us dismiss 
 him.' 
 
 " ' Well,' he replied, ' in a certain roundabout way it is 
 slightly connected with him. That is really my excuse 
 for inflicting the subject upon you. You are the only 
 man I can speak to about it — if I shall not bore you ? ' 
 
 "' Not in the least,' I said. 'I am most interested.' 
 As he still hesitated, I asked him point blank what it was. 
 
 " He appeared embarrassed. ' It is really very absurd 
 of me,' he said, while the faintest suspicion of pink 
 crossed his usually colorless face ; ' but I feel I must 
 talk to somebody about it. The fact is, my dear Mac, I 
 am in love.' 
 
 "'Capital!' I cried ; 'I'm delighted to hear it.' (I 
 thought it might make a man of him.) ' Do I know the 
 lady ? ' 
 
 " ' I am inclined to think you must have seen her,' he 
 replied ; ' she was with me on the pier at Yarmouth that 
 evening you met me.' 
 
 " ' Not 'Liza ! ' I exclaimed. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 217 
 
 " ' That was she,' he answered ; ' Miss EUzabeth Mug- 
 gins.' He dwelt lovingly upon the name. 
 
 " ' But,' I said, 'you seemed — I really could not help 
 noticing, it was so pronounced — you seemed to posi- 
 tively dislike her. Indeed, I gathered from your remark 
 to a friend that her society was distinctly distasteful to 
 you.' 
 
 "'To Smith,' he corrected me. 'What judge would 
 that howling little blackguard be of a woman's worth ! 
 The dislike of such a man as that is a testimonial to her 
 merit ! ' 
 
 " ' I may be mistaken,' I said ; ' but she struck me as 
 a bit common.' 
 
 " ' She is not, perhaps, what the world would call a 
 lady,' he admitted ; ' but then, my dear Mac, my opinion 
 of the world is not such as to render its opinion of much 
 value to me. I and the world differ on most subjects, I 
 am glad to say. She is beautiful, and she is good, and 
 she is my choice.' 
 
 "'She's a jolly enough little girl,' I replied, 'and, I 
 should say, affectionate ; but have you considered, 
 Smythe, whether she is quite — what shall we say — quite 
 as intellectual as could be desired ?' 
 
 " ' Really, to tell the truth, I have not troubled myself 
 much about her intellect,' he replied, with one of his 
 sneering smiles. ' I have no doubt that the amount of 
 intellect absolutely necessary to the formation of a Brit- 
 ish home, I shall be able to supply myself. I have no 
 desire for an intellectual wife. One is compelled to 
 meet tiresome people, but one does not live with them 
 if one can avoid it. 
 
 " ' No,' he continued, reverting to his more natural 
 tones ; "the more I think of Elizabeth the more clear it 
 becomes to me that she is the one woman in the world 
 
2l8 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 for whom marriage with me is possible. I perceive that 
 to the superficial observer my selection must appear 
 extraordinary. I do not pretend to explain it, or even 
 to understand it. The study of inanlvind is beyond man. 
 Only fools attempt it. Maybe it is her contrast to my- 
 self that attracts me. >faybe my, perhaps, too spiritual 
 nature feels the need of contact with her coarser clay to 
 perfect itself. I cannot tell. These things must always 
 remain mysteries. I only know that I love her — that, if 
 any reliance is to be placed upon instinct, she is the 
 mate to whom Artemis is leading me.' 
 
 " It was clear that he was in love, and I therefore 
 ceased to argue with him. ' You kept up your acquaint- 
 anceship with her, then, after you ' — I was going to say 
 ' after you ceased to be Smith,' but not wishing to agi- 
 tate him by more mention of that person than I could 
 help, I substituted, ' after you returned to the Albany ? ' 
 
 " ' Not exactly,' he replied ; ' I lost sight of her after 
 I left Yarmouth, and I did not see her again until five 
 days ago, when I came across her in an aerated bread 
 shop. I had gone in to get a glass of milk and a bun, 
 and she brought them to me. I recognized her in a 
 moment.' His face lighted up with quite a human 
 smile. ' I take tea there every afternoon now,' he added, 
 glancing toward the clock, 'at four.' 
 
 "' There's not much need to ask her views on the sub- 
 ject,' 1 said, laughing ; ' her feelings toward you were 
 pretty evident.' 
 
 "' Well, that is the curious part of it,' he replied, with 
 a return to his former embarrassment ; ' she does not 
 seem to care for me now at all. Indeed, she positively 
 refuses me. She says — to put it in the dear child's own 
 racy language — that she wouldn't take me on at any 
 price. She says it would be like marrying a clock-work 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 219 
 
 figure without the key. She's more frank than compli- 
 mentary, but I like that.' 
 
 " ' Wait a minute,' I said ; ' an idea occurs to me. 
 Does she know of your identity with Smith ? ' 
 
 " ' No,' he replied, alarmed, ' I would not have her 
 
 ' I CAME ACROSS HER IN AN AERATED BREAD SHOP." 
 
 know it for worlds. Only yesterday she told me that I 
 reminded her of a fellow she had met at Yarmouth, and 
 my heart was in my mouth.' 
 
 '"How did she look when she told you that ? ' I 
 asked. 
 
 " ' How did she look ? ' he repeated, not understand- 
 ing me. 
 
2 20 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 " ' What was her expression at that moment ? ' I said 
 — ' was it severe or tender ? ' 
 
 " ' Well,' he replied, 'now I come to think of it, she 
 did seem to soften a bit just tlien.' 
 
 " ' My dear boy,' I said, ' ilie case is as clear as day- 
 light. She loves Smith. No girl who admired Smith 
 coald be attracted by Smythe. As your present self 
 you will never win her. In a few weeks' time, how- 
 ever, you will be Smith. Leave the matter over until 
 then. Propose to her as Smith, and she will accept 
 you. After marriage you can break Smythe gently to 
 her.' 
 
 " ' By Jove ! ' he exclaimed, startled out of his cus- 
 tomary lethargy, ' I never thought of that. The truth is, 
 when I am in my right senses. Smith and all his affairs 
 seem like a dream to me. Any idea connected with him 
 would never enter my mind.' 
 
 " He rose and held out his hand. ' I am so glad I 
 came to see you,' he said ; ' your suggestion has almost 
 reconciled me to my miserable fate. Indeed, I quite 
 look forward to a month of Smith, now.' 
 
 " ' I'm so pleased,' I answered, shaking hands with 
 him. ' Mind you come and tell me how you get on. 
 Another man's love affairs are not usually absorbing, but 
 there is an element of interest about yours that renders 
 the case exceptional.' 
 
 " We parted, and I did not see htm again for another 
 month. Then, late one evening, the servant knocked 
 at my door to say that a Mr. Smith wished to see 
 me. 
 
 '"Smith, Smith,' I repeated ; ' what Smith? didn't he 
 give you a card ? ' 
 
 "'No, sir,' answered the girl; 'he doesn't look the 
 sort that would have a card. He's not a gentleman, sir ; 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 but he says you'll know him.' She evidently regarded 
 the statement as an aspersion upon myself. 
 
 " I was about to tell her to say I was out, when the 
 recollection of Smythe's other self flashed into my mind, 
 and I directed her to send him up. 
 
 " A minute passed, and then he entered. He was 
 wearing a new suit of a loader pattern, 
 if possible, than before. I think he must 
 have designed it himself. He looked 
 hot and greasy. He did not offer to 
 shake hands, but sat '^f 
 
 down awkwardly on ^-v,-v,-j<»c.<?~ /' \ 
 the extreme edge of a 
 small chair, and gaped 
 about the room as if he ^ 
 had never seen it be- 
 fore. 
 
 " He communicated 
 his shyness to myself. 
 I could not think what 
 to say, and we sat for a 
 while in painful silence. 
 
 "'Well,' I said, at last, plunging headforemost into 
 the matter, according to the method of shy people, ' and 
 how's 'Liza ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh, she's all right,' he replied, keeping his eyes fixed 
 on his hat. 
 
 " ' Have you done it ? ' I continued. 
 
 " ' Done wot ? ' he asked, looking up. 
 
 " ' Married her.' 
 
 " ' No,' he answered, returning to the contemplation 
 of his hat. 
 
 " ' Has she refused you, then ? ' I said. 
 
 " ' I aint arst 'er,' he returned. 
 
222 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 He seemed unwilling to explain matters of his own ac- 
 cord. I had to put the conversation into the form of a 
 cross-examination. 
 
 "'Wh}' not?' I asked ; 'don't you think she cares for 
 you any longer ? ' 
 
 " He burst into a harsh laugh. ' There aint much fear 
 o' that,' he said ; ' it's like 'aving an Alcock's porous 
 plaster mashed on yer, blowed if it aint. There's no 
 gettin' rid of 'er. I wish she'd giv' somebody else a turn. 
 I'm fair sick of 'er.' 
 
 " ' But you were enthusiastic about her a month ago ! ' 
 I exclaimed in astonishment. 
 
 " ' Smythe may 'ave been,' he said ; " there aint no ac- 
 counting for that ninny ; 'is 'ead's full of starch. Any- 
 how, I don't take 'er on while I'm myself. I'm too jolly 
 fly. 
 
 •"That sort o' gal's all right enough to lark with,' he 
 continued ; ' but yer don't want to marry 'em. They 
 don't do yer no good. A man wants a wife as 'e can re- 
 spect — someone as is a cut above 'imself, as will raise 'im 
 up a peg or two — someone as 'e can look up to and wor- 
 ship. A mail's wife orter be to 'im a gawddess — a han- 
 gel, a ' 
 
 "'You appear to have met the lady,' I remarked, in- 
 terrupting him. 
 
 " He blushed scarlet, and became suddenly absorbed 
 in the pattern of the carpet. But the next moment he 
 looked up again, and his face seemed literally transformed. 
 
 " ' Oh, Mr. MacShaugnassy I' he burst out, with a ring 
 of genuine manliness in his voice, ' you don't know 'ow 
 good, 'ow beautiful she is ! I aint fit to breathe 'er name 
 in my thoughts. An' she's so clever. I met 'er at that 
 Toynbee '.Ml. There was a party of toffs there, all to- 
 gether. You would 'ave enjoyed it, Mr. MacShaughnassy, 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 223 
 
 if you could 'ave 'eard 'er. She was makin' fun of the 
 pictures and the people roundabout to 'er pa— such wit, 
 such learnin', such 'aughtiness. I follered them out and 
 opened the carriage door for 'er, and she just drew 'er 
 
 OPENED THE CARRIAGE DOOR FOR ER. 
 
 skirt aside and looked at me as if I was the dirt in the 
 road. I wish I was, for then perhaps one day I'd kiss 
 'er feet.' 
 
 " His emotion was so genuine that I did not feel in- 
 clined to laugh at him. ' Did you find out who she was ? ' 
 I asked. 
 
 "'Yes,' he answered ; 'I 'eard the old gen'leman say 
 " 'Ome " to the coachrnan, and I ran after the carriage 
 
-24 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 all the way to 'Arley Street. Trevior's 'er name ; Hedith 
 Trevior.' 
 
 " ' Miss Trevior ! ' I cried, ' a tall, dark girl, with un- 
 tidy hair and rather weak eyes ? ' 
 
 "'Tall and dark,' he replied; ' with 'air that seems 
 tryin' to reach 'er lips to kiss 'em, and heyes, light blue, 
 like a Cambridge necktie. A 'undred and seventy-three 
 was the number.' 
 
 " ' That's right,' I said ; ' my dear Smith, this is becom- 
 ing complicated. You've met the lady and talked to her 
 for half an hour — as Smythe, don't you remember?' 
 
 " ' No,' he said, after cogitating for a minute, ' carn't 
 say I do ; I never can remember much about Smythe. 
 He allers seems to me like a bad dream.' 
 
 " ' Well, you met her,' I said ; ' I'm positive. I intro- 
 duced you to her myself, and she confided to me after- 
 ward that she thought you a most charming man.' 
 
 " ' No — did she ?' he remarked, evidently softening in 
 his feelings toward Smythe ; ' and did / like 'er ? ' 
 
 " ' Well, to tell the truth,' I answered, ' I don't think 
 you did. You looked intensely bored.' 
 
 " 'The Juggins,' I heard him mutter to himself, and 
 then he said aloud : ' D'yer think I shall get a chance o' 
 seein' 'er agen, when I'm — when I'm Smythe ?' 
 
 "'Of course,' I said, 'I'll take you round myself. 
 By the bye,' I added, jumping up and looking on the 
 mantelpiece, ' I've got a card for a Cinderella at their 
 place — something to do with a birthda}'. Will you be 
 Smythe on November the twentieth ? ' 
 
 " ' Ye — as,' he replied ; ' oh, ye — as — bound to be by 
 then.' 
 
 "' Very well, then,' I said, 'I'll call round for you at 
 the Albany, and we'll go together.' 
 
 " He rose and stood smoothing his hat with his sleeve. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 225 
 
 ' Fust time I've ever looked for'ard to bein' that hani- 
 mated corpse, Smythe,' he said slowly. ' Blowed if I 
 don't try to 'urry it up — 'poii my sivey I will.' 
 
 " ' He'll be no good to you till the twentieth,' I reminded 
 him. And I added, as I stood up to ring the bell, 
 'you're sure it's a genuine case this time. You won't 
 be going back to 'Liza ?' 
 
 " ' Oh, don't talk 'bout 'Liza in the same breath with 
 Hedith,' he replied, ' it sounds like sacrilege.' 
 
 " He stood hesitating with the handle of the door in 
 his hand. .At last, open 
 
 ing it and looking very ' 
 hard at his hat, he said, 
 'I'mgoin' to' Arley Street 
 now. I walk up and 
 down outside the 'ouse 
 every evening, and some- 
 times, when there aint no 
 one lookin', I get a chance 
 to kiss the doorstep,' 
 
 " He disappeared, and 
 I returned to my chair. 
 
 " On November twen- 
 tieth I called for him 
 according to promise. I 
 found him on the point 
 of starting for the club : 
 he had forgotten all about 
 our appointment. I re- 
 minded him of it, and he 
 with difficulty recalled it, and consented, without any 
 enthusiasm, to accompany me. By a few artful hints 
 to her mother, including a casual mention of his income, 
 I maneuvered matters so that he had Edith almost en- 
 
 *I KISS THE DOORSTEP. 
 
 .1 
 
226 NOl'EL NOTES. 
 
 tirely to himself for the whole evening. I was proud of 
 what I had done, and as we were walking home to- 
 gether I waited to receive his gratitude. 
 
 " As it seemed slow in coming, I hinted my expec- 
 tions. 
 
 " ' Well,' I said, ' I think I managed that very cleverly 
 for you.' 
 
 " ' Managed what very cleverly ? ' said he. 
 
 "'Why getting you and Miss Trevior left together for 
 such a long time in the conservatory,' I answered, some- 
 what hurt. ' I fixed that for you.' 
 
 " ' Oh, it was j(?«, was it ?' he replied. ' I've been curs- 
 ing Providence.' 
 
 " I stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, and 
 faced him. ' Don't you love her ? ' I said. 
 
 "'Love her!' he repeated, in the utmost astonish- 
 ment; 'what on earth is there in her to love? She's 
 nothing but a bad translation of a modern French 
 comedy, with the interest omitted.' 
 
 " This ' tired ' me — to use an Americanism. ' You 
 came to me a month ago,' I said, ' raving over her, and 
 talking about being the dirt under her feet and kissing 
 her doorstep.' 
 
 " He turned very red. ' I wish, my dear Mac,' he said, 
 'you would pay me the compliment of not mistaking me 
 for that detestable little cad with whom I have the mis- 
 fortune to be connected. You would greatly oblige me 
 if, next time he attempts to inflict upon you his vulgar 
 drivel, you would kindly kick him downstairs. 
 
 " ' No doubt,' he added with a sneer, as we walked 
 on, ' .Miss Trevior would be his ideal. She is exactly 
 the type of woman, I should say, to charm that type of 
 man. For myself, I do not appreciate the artistic and 
 literary female. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 227 
 
 " ' Besides,' he continued, in a deeper tone, ' you 
 know my feelings. I sliall never care for any other 
 woman but Elizabeth.' 
 
 "' And she? ' I said. 
 
 "'She,' he sighed, ' is breaking her heart for Smith.' 
 
 •what ON EAiril-1 Is THE 
 IN HER TO LOVE ? ' " 
 
 " ' Why don't you tell her you are Smith ? ' I asked. 
 
 " ' I cannot,' he replied, ' not even to win her. Be- 
 sides, she would not believe me.' 
 
 " We said good-night at the corner of Bond Street, 
 and I did not see him again till one afternoon late 
 in the following March, when I ran against him in 
 Ludgate Circus. He was wearing his transition blue 
 suit and bowler hat. I went up to him and took 
 his arm. 
 
2 28 NOrEf. .VOTES. 
 
 " ' Which are you now ? ' I said. 
 
 '"Neither, for tlie moment,' he replied, ' thanic God! 
 Half an hour ago I was Sraythe, half an hour hence I 
 shall be Smith. For the present half hour I am a 
 man.' 
 
 " There was a pleasant, hearty ring in his voice, and a 
 genial, kindly light in his eyes, and he held himself like 
 a frank gentleman. 
 
 "'You are certainly an improvement upon both of 
 them,' I said. 
 
 "He laughed a sunny laugh, with just the shadow of 
 sadness dashed across it. ' Do you know my idea of 
 heaven ? ' he said. 
 
 " ' No,' I replied, somewhat surprised at the question. 
 
 " ' Ludgate Circus,' was the answer. ' The only 
 really satisfying moments of my life,' he said, ' have been 
 passed in the neighborhood of Ludgate Circus. I leave 
 Piccadilly an unhealthy, unwholesome prig. At Char- 
 ing Cross I begin to feel my blood stir in my veins. 
 From Ludgate Circus to Cheapside I am a human thing 
 with human feeling throbbing in my heart, and human 
 thought throbbing in my brain — with fancies, sympa- 
 thies, and hopes. At the Bank my mind becomes a 
 blank. As I walk on my senses grow coarse and 
 blunted ; and by the time I reach Whitechapel I am a 
 poor little uncivilized cad. On the return journey it is 
 the same thing reversed.' 
 
 " ' Why not live in Ludgate Circus,' I said, ' and be 
 always as you are now ? ' 
 
 " ' Because,' he answered, ' man is a pendulum, and 
 must travel his arc. 
 
 " ' Afy dear i\Lac,' he said, laying his hand upon my 
 shoulder, 'there is only one good thing about me, and 
 that is a moral. Man is as God made him ; don't be so 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 229 
 
 sm^e that you can take him to pieces and improve him. 
 All mj' life I have sought to make myself an unnaturally 
 superior person. Nature has retaliated by making me 
 also an unnaturally inferior person. Nature abhors lop- 
 sidedness. She turns out man as a whole, to be de- 
 veloped as a whole. I always wonder, whenever I come 
 across a supernaturally pious, a supernaturally moral, a 
 supernaturally cultured person, if they also have a re- 
 verse self.' 
 
 " I was shocked at his suggested argument, and 
 walked by his side for a while without speaking. At 
 last, feeling curious on the subject, I asked him how his 
 various love affairs were progressing. 
 
 " ' Oh, as usual,' he replied ; ' in and out of a cul-de- 
 sac. When I am Smythe I love Eliza, and Eliza loathes 
 me. When I am Smith I love Edith, and the mere sight 
 of me makes her shudder. It is as unfortunate for them 
 as for me. I am not saying it boastfully. Heaven 
 knows it is an added draught of misery in my cup ; but 
 it is a fact that Eliza is literally pining away for me as 
 Smith, and as Smith I find it impossible to be even civil 
 to her ; while Edith, poor girl, has been foolish enough 
 to set her heart on me as Smythe, and as Smythe she 
 seems to me but the skin of a woman stuffed with the 
 husks of learning, and rags torn from the corpse of 
 wit.' 
 
 " I remained absorbed in my own thoughts for some 
 time, and did not come out of them till we were crossing 
 the Minories. Then, the idea suddenly occurring to me, 
 I said \ 
 
 " ' Why don't you get a new girl altogether ? There 
 must be medium girls that both Smith and Smythe could 
 like, and that would put up with both of you.' 
 
 " ' No more girls for this child,' he answered ; ' they're 
 
23° 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 more trouble than they're worth. Those yer want yer 
 carn't get, and those yer kin have, 
 yer don't want.' 
 
 "I started, and looked up at 
 him. He was slouching along 
 with his hands in his pockets, 
 and a vacuous look in his face. 
 
 " A sudden repulsion seized me. 
 ' I must go now,' I said, stopping. 
 ' I'd no idea 1 had come so far.' 
 
 " He seemed as glad to be rid 
 of me as I to be rid of him. ' Oh, 
 must yer?' he said, holding out 
 his hand. M\'el], so long.' 
 
 " We shook hands carelessly. 
 He disappeared in the crowd, and 
 that is the last I have ever seen 
 of him." 
 
 SLOUCHING ALcNC. 
 
 " Is that a true story?" asked 
 Jephson. 
 
 " ^Vell, I've altered the names and date^," said jNIac- 
 Shaughnassy ; "but the main facts you can rely upon." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 HE final question discussed at our last meet- 
 ing had been: What shall our hero be? 
 MacShaughnassy had suggested an author, 
 with a critic for the villain. My idea was a 
 stockbroker, with an undercurrent of romance in his 
 
 ■THE DISCUSSION AT OUR L XST MEETING. 
 
 nature. Said Jephson, who has a practical mind : " The 
 question is not what we like, but what the female novel- 
 reader likes." 
 
 231 
 
232 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 "That is so," agreed MacShauglinassy. "I propose 
 that we collect feminine opinion upon this point. I will 
 write to my aunt, and obtain from her the old lady's 
 view. You," he said, turning to me, " can put the case 
 to your wife, and get the young lady's ideal. Let Brown 
 write to his sister at Newnham, and find out whom the 
 intellectual maiden favors, while Jephson can learn from 
 ]\[iss Medbury what is most attractive to the common- 
 sensed girl." 
 
 This plan we had adopted, and the result was now 
 under consideration. MacShaughnassy opened the pro- 
 ceedings by reading his aunt's letter. Wrote the old 
 lady : 
 
 " I think, if I were you, my dear boy, I should choose a soldier. 
 You know your poor grandfather, who ran away to America with 
 that wicked .Mrs. Featherly, the banker's wife, was a soldier, and so 
 was your poor cousin Robert, who lost eight thousand pounds at 
 Monte Carlo. I have always felt singularly drawn toward soldiers, 
 even as a girl ; though your poor dear uncle could not bear them. 
 You will find many allusions to soldiers and men of war in the Old 
 Testament (see Jer. xlviii.14). Of course one does not like to think 
 of their fighting and killing each other, but then they do not seem to 
 do that sort of thing nowadays." 
 
 " So much for the old lady," said MacShaughnassy, as 
 he folded up the letter and returned it to his pocket. 
 " What says culture ? " 
 
 Brown produced from his cigar-case a letter addressed 
 in a bold round hand, and read as follows : 
 
 "What a curious coincidence! A few of us were discussing this 
 very subject last night in Millicent Hightopper's rooms, and I may 
 tell you at once that our decision was unanimous in favor of soldiers. 
 You see, my dear Selkirk, in human nature the attraction is toward 
 the opposite. To a milliner's apprentice a poet would no doubt be 
 satisfying ; to a woman of intelligence he would be an unutterable 
 bore. What the intellectual woman requires in man is not something 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 233 
 
 to argue with, but something to look at. To an empty-headed 
 woman I can imagine the soldier type proving vapid and uninterest- 
 ing ; to the woman of mind he represents her ideal of man — a creature 
 strong, handsome, well-dressed, and not too clever." 
 
 " That gives us two votes for the army," remarked 
 MacShaughnassy, as Brown tore his sister's letter in two, 
 and threw the pieces into the waste-paper basket. 
 '' What says the common-sensed girl ?" 
 
 " First catch your common-sensed girl," muttered 
 Jephson, a little grumpily, as it seemed to me. " Where 
 do you propose finding her ? " 
 
 " Well," returned MacShaughnassy, " I looked to find 
 her in Miss Medbiiry." 
 
 As a rule, the mention of Miss Medbury's name brings 
 a flush of joy to Jephson's face ; but now his features 
 wore an expression distinctly approaching a scowl. 
 
 " Oh ! " he replied, " did you ? Well, then, the com- 
 mon-sensed girl loves the military, also." 
 
 "By Jove!" exclaimed MacShaughnassy, "what an 
 extraordinary thing ! What reason does she give ? " 
 
 "That there's a something about them and that they 
 dance so divinely," answered Jephson shortly. 
 
 " Well, you do surprise me," murmured MacShaugh- 
 nassy ; " I am astonished." 
 
 Then to me he said : " And what does the young 
 married woman say ? The same ? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied, " precisely the same." 
 
 " Does she give a reason ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes," I explained ; " because you can't help 
 liking them." 
 
 There was silence for the next few minutes, while we 
 smoked and thought. I fancy we were all wishing we 
 had never started this inquiry. 
 
 That four" distinctly different types of educated 
 
234 XOVKL iXOTES. 
 
 womanhood should with promptness and unanimity quite 
 unfeminine have selected the soldier as their ideal, was 
 certainly discouraging to the civilian heart. Had they 
 been nursemaids or servant girls, I shotdd have ex- 
 pected it. The worship of Mars by the Venus of the 
 white cap is one of the few vital religions left to this 
 devoutless age. A year or two ago I lodged near a 
 barracks, and the sight to be seen round its huge iron 
 gates on Sunday afternoons I shall never forget. The 
 girls began to assemble about twelve o'clock. By two, 
 at which hour the anny, with its hair nicely oiled and a 
 cane in its hand, was ready for a stroll, there would be 
 some four or five hundred of them waiting in a line. 
 Formerly they had collected in a wild mob, and as the 
 soldiers were let out to them two at a time, had fought 
 for them, as lions for early Christians. This, however, 
 had led to scenes of such disorder and brutality that 
 the police had been obliged to interfere ; and the girls 
 were now marshaled in queue, two abreast, and com- 
 pelled, by a force of constables specially told off for the 
 purpose, to keep their places and wait their proper turn. 
 
 At three o'clock the sentry on duty would come down 
 to the wicket and close it. " They're all gone, my 
 dears," he would shout out to the girls still left ; " it's 
 no good your stopping, we've no more for you to-day." 
 
 "Oh, not one?" some poor child would murmur 
 pleadingly, while the tears welled up into her big round 
 eyes, " not even a little one? I've been waiting such a 
 long time." 
 
 " Can't help that," the honest fellow would reply 
 gruffly, but not unkindly, turning aside to hide his emo- 
 tion ; " you've had 'em all between you. AVe don't make 
 'em, yon know : you can't have 'em if we haven't got 
 'em, can you ? Come earlier next time." 
 
N'OVEL NOTES. 235 
 
 Then he would hurry away to escape further impor- 
 tunity ; and the police, who appeared to have been wait- 
 ing for this moment with gloating anticipation, would 
 jeeringly hustle away the weeping remnant. " Now 
 then, pass along, you girls, pass along," they would 
 sa}', in that irritatingly unsympathetic voice of theirs. 
 " You've had your chance. Can't have the roadway 
 blocked up all the afternoon with this 'ere demonstra- 
 tion of the unloved. Pass along." 
 
 In connection with this same barracks, our charwoman 
 told Amenda, who told Ethelbertha, who told me a 
 story, which I now told the boys. 
 
 Into a certain house, in a certain street in the neigh- 
 borhood, there moved one day a certain family. Their 
 servant had left them — most of their servants did at the 
 end of a week — and the day after the moving in an adver- 
 tisement was drawn up and sent to the Chronicle for a 
 domestic. It ran thus : 
 
 WANTED, GENERAL SERVANT, in small family of eleven. 
 Wages, jQb \ no beer money. Must be early riser and hard 
 worker. Washing done at home. Must be good cook, and not 
 object to window-cleaning. Unitarian preferred. Apply, with refer- 
 ences, to A. B., etc. 
 
 That advertisement was sent off on Wednesday after- 
 noon. At seven o'clock on Thursday morning the whole 
 family were awakened by continuous ringing of the 
 street door bell. The husband, looking out of window, 
 was surprised to see a crowd of about fifty girls sur- 
 rounding the house. He slipped on his dressing gown 
 and went down to see what was the matter. The mo- 
 ment he opened the door, fifteen of them charged tu- 
 multuously into the passage, sweeping him completely 
 off his legs. Once inside, these fifteen faced round, 
 fought the other thirty-five or so back on to the door- 
 
236 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 Step, and slammed the door in their faces. Then they 
 picked up the master of the house, and asked him po- 
 htely to conduct them to " A. B." 
 
 At first, owing to the clamor of the mob outside, who 
 were hammering at the door and shouting curses 
 through the keyhole, he could understand nothing, but 
 at length they succeeded in explaining to him that they 
 were domestic servants come in answer to his wife's 
 advertisement. The man went and told his wife, and 
 his wife said she would see them, one at a time. 
 
 Which one should have audience first was a delicate 
 question to decide. The man, on being appealed to, said 
 he would prefer to leave it to them. They accordingly 
 discussed the matter among themselves. At the end of 
 a quarter of an hour, the victor, having borrowed some 
 hairpins and a looking-glass from our charwoman, who 
 had slept in the house, went upstairs, while the remain- 
 ing fourteen sat down in the hall and fanned themselves 
 with their bonnets. 
 
 " A. B." was a good deal astonished when the first 
 applicant presented herself. She was a tall, genteel- 
 looking girl. Up to yesterday she had been head house- 
 maid at Lady Stanton's, and before that she had been 
 under-cook for two years to the Duchess of York. 
 
 "And why did you leave Lady Stanton?" asked 
 "A. B." 
 
 " To come here, mum,'' replied the girl. 
 
 The lady was puzzled. 
 
 " And you'll be satisfied with six pounds a year ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Certainly, mum, I think it ample." 
 
 ".And you don't mind hard work ? " 
 
 " I love it, mum." 
 
 " Are you an early riser .? " 
 
NOVEL NOTES. ^37 
 
 " Oh, yes, mum ; it upsets me stopping in bed after 
 half-past five." 
 
 " You know we do the washing at home ? " 
 
 " Yes, mum. I thinlc it so much better to do it at 
 home. Those laundries ruin good clothes. They're so 
 careless." 
 
 " Are you a Unitarian ? " continued the lady. 
 
 " Not yet, mum," replied the girl, " but I should like 
 to be one." 
 
 The lady took her reference, and said she would 
 write. 
 
 The next applicant offered to come for three pounds — 
 thought six pounds too much. She expressed her will- 
 ingness to sleep in the back kitchen ; a shakedown 
 under the sink was all she wanted. She likewise had 
 yearnings toward Unitarianism. 
 
 The third girl did not require any wages at all — could 
 not understand what servants wanted with wages — 
 thought wages only encouraged a love of foolish finery — 
 thought a comfortable home in a Unitarian family ought 
 to be sufficient wages for any girl. 
 
 This girl said there was one stipulation she should 
 like to make, and that was that was that she should be 
 allowed to pay for all breakages caused by her own care- 
 lessness or neglect. She objected to holidays and even- 
 ings out ; she held that they distracted a girl from her 
 work. 
 
 The fourth candidate offered a premium of five 
 pounds for the place ; and then " A. B." began to get 
 frightened, and refused to see any more of the girls, con- 
 vinced that they must be lunatics from some neighboring 
 asylum out for a walk. 
 
 Later in the day, meeting the next-door lady on the 
 doorstep, she related her morning's experiences. 
 
238 
 
 KOVEL h'OlES. 
 
 " Oh, that's nothuig extraorduTary," said the next-door 
 lady ; " none of us on this side of the street pay wages ; 
 and we get the pick of all the best servants in London. 
 
 Why, girls will come from 
 the other end of the king- 
 dom to get into one of these 
 houses. It's the dream of 
 their lives. They save up 
 for years, so as to be able 
 to come here for nothing." 
 
 "What's the attraction?" 
 
 asked "A. B.," more amazed 
 
 than ever. 
 
 ] " Why, don't you see," 
 
 explained the next-door lady, 
 
 " our back windows open 
 
 upon the barrack yard. A 
 
 girl living in one of these 
 
 houses is always close to 
 
 soldiers. By looking out of 
 
 window she can always see 
 
 soldiers ; and sometimes a 
 
 soldier will nod to her, or 
 
 even call up to her. They never dream of asking for 
 
 wages. They'll work eigliteen hours a day, and put up 
 
 with anything, just to be allowed to stop." 
 
 " A. B." profited by this information, and engaged the 
 girl who offered tlie five pounds premium. She found 
 her a perfect treasure of a servant. She was invariably 
 willing and respectful, slept on a sofa in the kitchen, and 
 was always contented with an egg for her dinner. 
 
 The truth of this story I cannot vouch for. Myself, I 
 can believe it. I!ri>wn and MacShaughnassy made no 
 attempt to do so, which seemed unfriendly. Jephson 
 
 MET THE Nfi\'T-DOOR I, -\ D V ON 
 THE DOORSTEP." 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 239 
 
 excused himself on the plea of a headache. I admit 
 there are points in it presenting difficulties to the aver- 
 age intellect. As I explained at the commencement, it 
 was told to me by Ethelbertha, who had it from Amenda, 
 
 'A soldier's arm round her waist.'' 
 
 who got it from the charwoman, and exaggerations may- 
 have crept into it. The following, however, were inci- 
 dents that came under my own personal observation. 
 They afforded a still stronger example of the influence 
 
240 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 exercised by Tommy Atkins upon the British domestic, 
 and I therefore thought it right to relate them. 
 
 " The heroine of them," I said, " is our Amenda. 
 Now, you would call her a tolerably well-behaved, orderly 
 young woman, would you not ?" 
 
 " She is my ideal of unostentatious respectability," 
 answered MacShaughnassy. 
 
 " This was my opinion also," I replied. " You can, 
 therefore, imagine my feelings on passing her one even- 
 ing in the Folkestone High Street with a Panama hat 
 upon her head (inv Panama hat), and a soldier's arm 
 round her waist. She was one of a mob following the 
 band of the Third Berkshire Infantry, then in camp at 
 Sandgate. There was an ecstatic, far-away look in her 
 eyes. She was dancing rather than walking, and with 
 her left hand she beat time to the music. 
 
 " Ethelbertha was with me at the lime. AVe stared after 
 the procession until it had turned the corner, and then 
 we stared at each other. 
 
 "' Oh, it's impossible,' said Ethelbertha to me. 
 
 " ' But that was my hat,' I said to Ethelbertha. 
 
 "The moment we reached home Ethelbertha looked 
 for Amenda, and I looked for my hat. Neither was to 
 be found. 
 
 " Nine o'clock struck ; ten o'clock struck. At half- 
 past ten we went down and got our own supper, and had 
 it in the kitchen. .Vt a quarter-past eleven Amenda 
 returned. She walked into the kitchen without a word, 
 hung my hat up behind the door, and commenced clear- 
 ing away the supper things. 
 
 " Ethelbertha rose, calm but severe. 
 
 " ' Where have you been, Amenda ?' she inquired. 
 
 " ' Gadding half over the county with a lot of low 
 soldiers,' answered Amenda, continuing her work. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 241 
 
 " ' You had on my hat,' I added. 
 
 "•' Yes, sir,' replied Amenda, still continuing her work, 
 ' it was the first thing that came to hand. What I'm 
 thankful for is that it wasn't missis's best bonnet.' 
 
 " Whether Ethelbertha was mollified by the proper 
 spirit displayed in this last ^^^,^ 
 
 remark, I cannot say, but I 
 think it probable. At all 
 events, it was in a voice more 
 of sorrow than of anger that 
 she resumed her examination. 
 
 " ' You were walking with a 
 soldier's arm around your 
 waist when we passed you, 
 Amenda ? ' she observed inter- 
 rogatively. 
 
 "'I know, mum,' admitted 
 Amenda, ' I found it there 
 myself when the music stopped 
 
 " Ethelbertha looked her inquiiicb 
 Amenda filled a saucepan with water, 
 and then replied to them. 
 
 "'I'm a disgrace to a decent house- 
 hold,' she said ; 'no mistress who respected 
 herself would keep me a moment. I ought 
 to be put on the doorstep with my box 
 and, a month's wages.' 
 
 "'But why did you do it, then?' said Ethelbertha, 
 with natural astonishment. 
 
 "'Because I'm a helpless ninny, mum. I can't help 
 myself ; if I see soldiers I'm bound to follow them. It 
 runs in our family. My poor cousin Emma was just 
 such another fool. She was engaged to be married to a 
 quiet, respectable young fellow with a shop of his own, 
 
 AND HUNG MV 
 HAT UP." 
 
24-' XOVEL XOTES. 
 
 and tliree days before the wedding she ran off with a 
 regiment of marines to Chatham and married the color- 
 sergeant. That's what I shall end by doing. I've been 
 all the way to Sandgate with that lot you saw me with, 
 and I've kissed four of them — the nasty wretches. I'm 
 a nice sort of a girl to be walking out with a respectable 
 milkman.' 
 
 " She was so deeply disgusted with herself that it 
 seemed superfluous for anybody else to be indignant 
 with her ; and Ethelbertha changed her tone and tried 
 to comfort her. 
 
 " ' Oh, you'll get over all that nonsense, Amenda,' she 
 said laughingly ; ' you see yourself how silly it is. You 
 must tell Mr. Bowles to keep you away from soldiers.' 
 
 " ' Ah, I can't look at it in the same light way that you 
 do, mum,' returned Amenda, somewhat approvingly ; 'a 
 girl that can't see a bit of red marching down the street 
 without wanting to rush out and follow it aint fit to be 
 anybody's wife. Why, I should be leaving the shop with 
 nobody in it about twice a week, and he'd have to go 
 the round of all the barracks in London, looking for me. 
 I shall save up and get myself into a lunatic asylum, 
 that's what I shall do.' 
 
 " Ethelbertha began to grow quite troubled. ' But 
 surely this is something altogether new, Amenda,' she 
 said ; ' you must have often met soldiers when you've 
 been out in London ?' 
 
 " ' Oh, yes ; one or two at a time, walking about any- 
 how ; I can stand that all right. It's when there's a lot 
 of them with a band that I lose my head. 
 
 "'You don't know what it's like, mum,' she added, 
 noticing Ethelbertha's puzzled expression ; ' you've 
 never had it. I only hope you never may.' 
 
 " We kept a careful watch over Amenda during the 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 243 
 
 remainder of our stay at Folkestone, and an anxious 
 time we had of it. Every day some regiment or other 
 would march through the town, and at the first sound of 
 its music Amenda would become restless and excited. 
 The Pied Piper's reed could not have stirred the Hamelin 
 children deeper than did those Sandgate bands the heart 
 of our domestic. Fortunately, they generally passed 
 early in the morning when we were indoors, but one day 
 returning home to lunch, we heard distant strains dying 
 away upon the Hythe Road. We hurried in. Ethel- 
 bertha ran down into the kitchen ; it was empty ! — up 
 into Amenda's bedroom ; it was vacant ! We called. 
 There was no answer. 
 
 "'That miserable girl has gone off again,' said Ethel- 
 bertha. ' What a terrible misfortune it is for her. It's 
 quite a disease.' 
 
 " Ethelbertha wanted me to go to Sandgate camp and 
 inquire for her. I was sorry for the girl myself, but the 
 picture of a young and innocent looking man wandering 
 about a complicated camp, inquiring for a lost domestic, 
 presenting itself to my mind, I said that I'd rather not. 
 
 " Ethelbertha thought me heartless, and said that if 
 I would not go she would go herself. I replied that 
 I thought one female member of my household was 
 enough in that camp at a time, and requested her not 
 to. Ethelbertha expressed her sense of my inhuman be- 
 havior by haughtily declining to eat any lunch, and I 
 expressed my sense of her unreasonableness by sweeping 
 the whole meal into the grate, after which Ethelbertha 
 suddenly developed exuberant affection for the cat (who 
 didn't want anybody's love, but wanted to get under the 
 grate after the lunch), and I became supernaturally ab- 
 sorbed in the day before yesterday's newspaper. 
 
 " In the afternoon, strolling out into the garden, I 
 
244 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 heard the faint cry of a female in distress. I listened 
 attentively, and the cry was repeated. I tliought it 
 sounded like Amenda's voice, but where it came from 
 I could not conceive. It grew nearer, however, as I ap- 
 proached the bottom of the garden, and at last I located 
 
 it in a small wooden shed, 
 used by the proprietor of 
 the house as a dark room 
 for developing photo- 
 graphs. 
 
 ■'The door was locked. 
 ' Is that you, Amenda ? 'I 
 cried through the keyhole. 
 " ' Yes, sir,' came back 
 the muffled answer. ' Will 
 you please let me out ; 
 you'll find the key on the 
 ground near the door.' 
 
 " I discovered it on the 
 
 grass about a yard away, 
 
 and released her. ' Who 
 
 locked you in ?' I asked. 
 
 " ' I did, sir,' she re- 
 
 „ -^-^ plied; 'I locked myself 
 
 ■^^ '^ in, and pushed the key 
 
 out under the door. I had to do it, or I should have 
 
 gone off with those beastly soldiers.' 
 
 " ' I hope I haven't inconvenienced you, sir,' she 
 added, stepping out ; ' I left the lunch all laid.' " 
 
 Amenda's passion for soldiers was her one tribute to 
 sentiment. Toward all others of the male sex she main- 
 tained an attitude of callous unsusceptibility, and her 
 engagements with them (which were numerous) were 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 24S 
 
 entered into or abandoned on grounds so sordid as to 
 seriously shock Ethelbertha. 
 
 When she came to us she was engaged to a pork 
 butcher — with a milkman in reserve. For Amenda's 
 sake we dealt with the man, but we never 
 liked him, and we liked his pork still less. 
 When, therefore, Amenda announce^: to 
 us that lier engagement with 
 him was •' off," and inti- 
 mated that her feelings 
 
 " HER ENGAGEMENT WAS ' OFF.' " 
 
 would in no way suffer by our going elsewhere for our 
 bacon, we secretly rejoiced. 
 
 " I am confident you have done right, Amenda," said 
 Ethelbertha ; " you would never have been happy with 
 that man." 
 
 "No, mum, I don't think I ever should," replied 
 Amenda. " I don't see how any girl could as hadn't 
 the digestion of an ostrich." 
 
 Ethelbertha looked puzzled. " But what has diges- 
 tion got to do with it ? " she asked. 
 
246 NOrEL NOTES. 
 
 "A pretty good deal, mum," answered Ameiida, 
 " when you're thinking of marrying a man as can't make 
 a sausage fit to eat." 
 
 " But surely," exclaimed Etlielbertha, " you don't 
 mean to say you're breaking off the match because you 
 don't like his sausages ! " 
 
 " \Vell, I suppose that's what it comes to," agreed 
 Amenda unconcernedly. 
 
 " What an awful idea ! " sighed poor Ethelbertha, 
 after a long pause. " Do you think you ever really loved 
 him ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Amenda, " I loved him right enough, 
 but it's no good loving a man that wants you to live on 
 sausages that keep you awake all night." 
 
 "But does he want you to live on sausages?" per- 
 sisted Ethelbertha. 
 
 " Oh, he doesn't say anything about it,'' explained 
 Amenda ; " but you know what it is, mum, when you 
 marry a pork butcher : you're expected to eat what's 
 left over. That's the mistake my poor cousin Eliza 
 made. She married a muffin man. Of course, what he 
 didn't sell they had to finish up themselves. \\'hy, one 
 winter, when he had a run of bad luck, they lived for 
 two months on nothing but muffins. 1 never saw a girl 
 so changed in all my life. One has to think of these 
 things, you know." 
 
 But the iiiDst shamefully mercenary engagement that I 
 think j\menda ever entered into was one with a 'bu.'. 
 conductor. We were living in the north of London 
 then, and she had a young man, a cheesemonger, who 
 kept a shop in Lupus Street, Chelsea. He could not 
 come up to her because of the shop, so once a week she 
 used to go down to him. One did not ride ten miles for 
 a penny in those days, and she found the fare from Hoi- 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 247 
 
 loway to Victoria and back a severe tax upon her purse. 
 The same bus that took her down at six brought her back 
 at ten. During the first journey the'bus conductor stared 
 at Amenda ; during the second he talked to her, during 
 the third he gave her a cocoanut, during the fourth he 
 proposed to her, and was prompt- 
 ly accepted. After that, Amenda 
 was enabled to visit her 
 monger without ex- 
 pense. 
 
 He was a quain 
 character himself, w 
 this 'bus conductor, 
 often rode with him t 
 Fleet Street. He 
 knew me quite 
 well (I suppose 
 Amenda must 
 have pointed me 
 out to him), and 
 would always ask 
 me after her — 
 aloud, before all 
 the other passen- 
 gers, which was 
 trying — and give 
 me messages to 
 take back to her. Where women were concerned he 
 had what is called " a way " with him, and from the 
 extent and variety of his female acquaintance, and the 
 evident tenderness with which the majority of them 
 regarded him, I am inclined to hope that Amenda's 
 desertion of him (which happened contemporaneously 
 with her jilting of the cheesemonger) caused him less 
 
 " GAVE HER A COCOANUT." 
 
248 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 prolonged suffering than might otherwise have been 
 the case. 
 
 He was a man from whom I derived a good deal 
 of amusement one way and another. Thinking of 
 him brings back to my mind a somewhat odd 
 incident. 
 
 One afternoon, I jumped upon his 'bus in the Seven 
 Sisters Road. An elderly Frenchman was the only other 
 
 occupant of the vehicle. 
 
 " Vou vill not forget me," 
 
 the Frenchman was saying 
 
 entered, "I desire Shar- 
 
 'rpss." 
 
 won't forget yer," an- 
 
 sd the conductor, " you 
 
 shall 'ave yer Sharing 
 
 Cross. Don't make a 
 
 fuss about it.'' 
 
 "That's the third 
 time 'ee's arst me not 
 to forget 'im," he re- 
 marked to me in a 
 stentorian aside ; " 'ee 
 don't giv' yer much 
 chance of doin' it, 
 does 'ee ? " 
 
 At the corner of the 
 Holloway Road we 
 drew up, and our con^ 
 ductor began to shout after the manner of his species : 
 "Charing Cross— Charing Cross— 'ere yer are— come 
 along, lady — Charing Cross." 
 
 The little Frenchmanjumped up, and prepared to exit ; 
 the conductor pushed him back. 
 
 DESIRE SHARING CROSS. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 249 
 
 " Sit down and don't be silly," he said ; " this aint 
 Charing Cross." 
 
 The Frenchman looked puzzled, but collapsed meekly. 
 We picked up a few passengers, and proceeded on our 
 way. Half a mile up the Liverpool Road a lady stood 
 on the curb regarding us as we passed with that pathetic 
 mingling of de- 
 sire and distrust 
 which is the av- 
 erage woman's 
 attitude toward '\ 
 conveyances of 
 all kinds. Our 
 conductor stopped. 
 
 "Where d'yer 
 want to go to ? " he 
 asked her severely 
 — "Strand — Char- 
 ing Cross ? " 
 
 The Frenchman did not 
 hear or did not under- 
 stand the first part of the 
 speech, but he caught the 
 words " Charing Cross," 
 and bounced up and out 
 .on to the step. The con- 
 ductor collared him as 
 he was getting off, and 
 jerked him back savagely. 
 
 " Carn't yer keep still a minute ? " he cried indignantly ; 
 "blessed if you don't want looking after like a bloomin' 
 kid." 
 
 "I vont to be put down at Sharing Cross," answered 
 the Frenchman humbly. 
 
 THE CONDUCTOR COLLARED 
 HIM." 
 
250 KOVEL NOTES. 
 
 "You vont to be put down at Sharing Cross," repeated 
 the other bitterly, as he led him back to his seat. "I 
 shall put yer down in the middle of the road if I 'ave 
 much more of yer. You stop there till I come and 
 sling yer out. I aint likely to let yer go much past 
 yer Sharing Cross, I shall be too jolly glad to get 
 rid o' yer. " 
 
 The poor Frenchman subsided, and we jolted on. 
 At The Angel we, of course, stopped. "Charing 
 Cross," shouted the conductor, and up sprang the 
 Frenchman. 
 
 " Oh, my Gawd," said the conductor, taking him 
 by the shoulders and forcing him down into the 
 corner seat, " wot am I to do ? Carn't somebody sit 
 on 'im ? " 
 
 He held him firmly down until the 'bus started and 
 then released him. At the top of Chancery Lane the 
 same scene took place, and the poor little Frenchman 
 became exasperated. 
 
 " He keep saying Sharing Cross, Sharing Cross," he 
 exclaimed, turning to the other passengers ; "and it is no 
 Sharing Cross. He is fool." 
 
 " Carn't yer understand," retorted the conductor, 
 equally indignant ; " of course I say Sharing Cross — I 
 mean Charing Cross, but that don't mean that it 
 is Charing Cross. That means " and then per- 
 ceiving from the blank look on the Frenchman s 
 face the utter impossibility of ever making the mat- 
 ter clear to him, he turned to us with an appealing 
 gesture, and asked : 
 
 " Does any gentleman know the French for ' bloomin' 
 idiot' ? " 
 
 A day or two afterward, I happened to enter his omni- 
 bus again. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 251 
 
 "Well," I asked him, "did you get your French friend 
 to Charing Cross all right ? " 
 
 " No, sir," he replied, " you'll 'ardly believe it, but I 'ad 
 a bit of a row with a policeman just before I got to the 
 corner, and it put 'im clean out o' my 'ead. Blessed if I 
 didn't run 'im on to Victoria." 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 |AID Brown one evening, "There is but one 
 vice, and that is selfishness." 
 
 Jephson was standing before the fire light- 
 ing his pipe. He puffed the tobacco into a 
 glow, threw the match into the embers, and then said: 
 
 "And the seed of all virtue, also." 
 
 "Sit down and get on with your work," said Mac- 
 Shaughnassy from the sofa where he lay at full length 
 with his heels on a chair; "we're discussing the novel. 
 Paradoxes not admitted during business hours." 
 
 Jephson, however, was in an argumentative mood. 
 "Selfishness," he continued, "is merely another name 
 for Will. Every deed, good or bad, that we do is 
 prompted by selfishness. We are charitable to secure 
 ourselves a good place in the next world, to make our- 
 selves respected in this, to ease our own distress at the 
 knowledge of suffering. One man is kind because it 
 gives him pleasure to be kind, just as another is cruel 
 because cruelty pleases him. A great man does his duty 
 because to him the sense of duty done is a deeper delight 
 than would be the ease resulting from a\oidance of duty. 
 The religious man is religious because he finds a joy 
 in religion; the moral man moral because with his strong 
 self-respect, viciousness would mean wretchedness. 
 Self-sacrifice itself is only a subtle selfishness; we prefer 
 the mental exaltation gained thereby to the sensual grati- 
 fication which is the alternative reward. Man cannot be 
 anything else but selfish. Selfishness is the law of all 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 253 
 
 life. Each thing, from the farthest fixed star to the 
 smallest insect crawling on the earth, fighting for itself 
 according to its strength; and brooding over all, the 
 Eternal, working for Himself : that is the universe." 
 
 "Have some whisky," said MacShaughnassy; "and 
 don't be so complicatedly metaphysical. You make my 
 head ache." 
 
 "If all action, good and bad, spring from selfishness," 
 replied Brown, ' 'then there must be good selfishness and 
 bad selfishness; and your bad selfishness is my plain sel- 
 fishness, without any adjective, so we are back where we 
 started. I say selfishness — bad selfishness is the root of 
 all evil, and there you are bound to agree with me." 
 
 "Not always, " persisted Jephson ; "I've known sel- 
 fishness — selfishness according to the ordinarily accepted 
 meaning of the term — to be productive of good actions. 
 I can give you an instance, if you like." 
 
 "Has it got a moral?" asked MacShaughnassy 
 drowsily. 
 
 Jephson mused a moment. "Yes," he at length said; 
 "a very practical moral — and one very useful to young 
 men." 
 
 "That's the sort of story we want," said the Mac- 
 Shaughnassy, raising himself into a sitting position. 
 "You listen to this. Brown." 
 
 Jephson seated himself upon a chair, in his favorite 
 attitude, with his elbows resting upon the back, and 
 smoked for a while in silence. 
 
 "There are three people in this story," he began; "the 
 wife, the wife's husband, and the other man. In most 
 dramas of this type, it is the wife who is the chief char- 
 acter. In this case, the interesting person is the other 
 man." 
 
 "The wife — ^I met her once; she was the most beauti- 
 
254 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 ful woman I have ever seen, and the most wicked look- 
 ing; which is saying a good deal for both statements. I 
 remember, during a walking tour one year, coming across 
 a lovely little cottage. It was the sweetest place imagi- 
 nable. I need not describe it. It was the cottage one 
 sees in pictures, and reads of in sentimental poetry. I 
 was leaning over the neatly cropped hedge, drinking in 
 its beauty, when at one of the tiny casements I saw, 
 looking out at me, a face. It stayed there only a 
 moment, but in that moment the cottage had become 
 ugly, and I hurried away with a shudder. 
 
 "That woman's face reminded me of the incident. It 
 was an angel's face until the woman herself looked out 
 of it; then you were struck by the strange incongruity 
 between tenement and tenant. 
 
 "That at one time she had loved her husband, I have 
 little doubt. Vicious women have few vices, and sordid- 
 ness is not usually one of them. She had probably 
 married him, borne toward him by one of those waves of 
 passion upon which the souls of animal natures are con- 
 tinually rising and falling. On possession, however, had 
 quickly followed satiety, and from satiety had grown the 
 desire for a new sensation. 
 
 "They were living at Cairo at the period; her husband 
 held an important official position there, and by virtue 
 of this, and of her own beauty and tact, her house soon 
 became the center of the Anglo-Saxon society ever drift- 
 ing in and out of the city. The women disliked her, 
 and copied her. The men spoke slightingly of her to 
 their wives, lightly of her to each other, and made idiots 
 of themselves when they were alone with her. She 
 laughed at them to their fares, and mimicked them 
 behind their backs. Their friends said it was clever. 
 
 "One year there arrived a young English engineer, 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 255 
 
 who had come out to superintend some canal works. 
 He brought with him satisfactory letters of recommen- 
 dation, and was at once received by the European resi- 
 dents as a welcome addition to their social circle. He 
 was not particularly good-looking; he was not remarkably 
 
 "she laughed at them." 
 
 charming, but he possessed the one thing that few women 
 can resist in a man, and that is strength. The woman 
 looked at the man, and the man looked back at the 
 woman; and the drama began. 
 
 "Scandal flies gwiftly through small communities, 
 
25^' yOVEL NOTES. 
 
 Before a month, their relationship was the chief topic of 
 conversation throughout the quarter. In less than two, 
 it reached the ears of the woman's husband. 
 
 "He was either an exceptionally mean or an excep- 
 tionally noble character, according to how one views 
 the matter. He worshiped his wife — as men with big 
 heart and weak brains often do worship such women' — 
 with doglike devotion. His only dread was lest the 
 scandal should reach proportions that would compel him 
 to take notice of it, and thus bring shame and suffering 
 upon the woman to whom he would have given his life. 
 That a man who saw her should love her seemed natural 
 to him; that she should have grown tired of himself, a 
 thing not to be wondered at. He was grateful to her for 
 ha\'ing once loved him, for a little while. 
 
 ".As for 'the other man,' he proved somewhat of an 
 enigma to the gossips. He attempted no secrecy ; if 
 anything, he rather paraded his subjugation — or his con- 
 quest, it was difficult to decide which term to apply. He 
 rode and drove with her; visited her in public and in 
 private (in such privacy as can be hoped for in a house 
 filled with chattering servants, and watched by spying 
 eyes); loaded her with expensive presents, which she 
 wore openly, and papered his smoking den with her 
 photographs. Yet he never allowed himself to appear 
 in the least degree ridiculous; never allowed her to cotne 
 between him and his work. A letter from her he would 
 lay aside unopened until he had finished what he evi- 
 dently regarded as more important business. When 
 boudoir and engine-shed became rivals, it was the 
 boudoir that had to wait. 
 
 "The woman chafed under his self-control, wliich 
 stung her like a lash, but clung to him the more 
 abjectly. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 257 
 
 "'Tell me you love me!' she would cry fiercely, 
 stretching her white arms toward him. 
 
 " 'I have told you so,' he would reply calmly, without 
 moving. 
 
 " 'I want to hear you tell it me again,' she would plead 
 with a voice that trembled on a sob. 'Come close to me 
 and tell it me again, again, again ! ' 
 
 "SHE LAY WITH HALF-CLOSED EYES." 
 
 "Then, as she lay with half-closed eyes, he would pour 
 forth a flood of passionate words sufficient to satisfy even 
 her thirsty ears, and afterward, as the gates clanged 
 behind him, would take up an engineering problem at 
 the exact point at which half an hour before, on her 
 entrance into the room, he had temporarily dismissed it. 
 
258 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 "One day, a privileged friend put bluntly to him this 
 ([uestion : 'Are you playing for lo\'e or vanity?' 
 
 "To which the man, after long pondering, gave this 
 reply: ' 'Pon my soul, Jack, I couldn't tell you." 
 
 "Now, when a man is in love with a woman who can- 
 not make up her mind whether she loves him or not, we 
 call the complication comedy; where it is a woman who 
 is in earnest the result is generally tragedy. 
 
 "They continued to meet and to make love. They 
 talked — as people in their position are prone to talk — of 
 the beautiful life they would lead if it only were not for 
 the thing that was; of the earthly paradise^or may be, 
 'earthy' would be the more suitable adjective — they would 
 each create for the other, if only they had the right which 
 they hadn't. 
 
 "In this work of imagination the man trusted chiefly 
 to his literary faculties, which were considerable; the 
 woman to her desires. Thus, his scenes possessed a 
 grace and finish which hers lacked, but her pictures were 
 the more vivid. Indeed, so realistic did she paint them, 
 that to herself they seemed realities, waiting for her. 
 Then she would rise to go toward them only to strike her 
 feet against the thought of the thing that stood between 
 herself and them. At first she only hated the thing, but 
 after a while there came an ugly look of hope into her 
 eyes. 
 
 "The time drew near for the man to return to Eng- 
 land. The canal was completed, and a day appointed 
 for the letting in of the water. The man determined to 
 make the event the occasion of a social gathering. He 
 invited a large number of guests, among whom were the 
 woman and her husband, to assist at the function. After- 
 ward the party were to picnic at a pleasant wooded spot 
 gome three-quarters of a mile from the first lock, 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 259 
 
 "The ceremony of flooding was to be performed by 
 the woman, her husband's position entithng her to this 
 distinction. Between the river and the head of the cut- 
 ting had been left a strong bank of earth, pierced some 
 distance down by a hole, which hole was kept closed by 
 means of a closely fitting steel plate. The woman drew 
 the lever releasing this plate, and the water rushed 
 through and began to press against the lock gates. 
 When it had attained a certain depth, the sluices were 
 raised and the water poured down into the deep basin of 
 the lock. 
 
 "It was an exceptionally deep lock. The party gath- 
 ered round and watched the water slowly rising. The 
 woman looked down and shuddered; the man was stand- 
 ing by her side. 
 
 " 'How deep it is!' she said. 
 
 " 'Yes,' he replied, 'it holds thirty feet of water, when 
 full.' 
 
 "The water crept up inch by inch. 
 
 'Why don't you open the gates, and let it in quickly?' 
 she asked. 
 
 " 'It would not do for it to come in too quickly,' he 
 explained; 'we shall half fill this lock, and then open the 
 sluices at the other end, and so let the water pass 
 through. ' 
 
 "The woman looked at the smooth stone walls and at 
 the iron-plated gates. 
 
 " 'I wonder what a man would do,' she said, 'if he fell 
 in, and there was no one near to help him.' 
 
 "The man laughed. 'I think he would stop there,' 
 he answered. 'Come, the others are waiting for us.' 
 
 "He lingered a moment to give some final instructions 
 to the workmen. 'You can follow on when you've made 
 3II right,' he said, "and get something to eat, There's 
 
IF A MAN FELL IN, AND THERE WAS NO ONE NRAR TO HELP HTM ? 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 261 
 
 no need for more than one to stop.' Then they joined 
 the rest of the party, and sauntered on, laughing and 
 talking, to the picnic ground. 
 
 "After lunch the party broke up, as is the custom of 
 picnic parties, and wandered away in groups and pairs. 
 The man, whose duty as host had hitherto occupied all 
 his attention, looked for the woman, but she was gone. 
 
 "A friend strolled by, the same that had put the ques- 
 tion to him about love and vanity. 
 
 'Have you quarreled?' asked the friend. 
 
 " 'No,' replied the man. 
 
 " 'I fancied you had,' said the other. 'I met her just 
 now walking with her husband, of all men in the world, 
 and making herself quite agreeable to him.' 
 
 "The friend strolled on, and the man sat down on a 
 fallen tree and lighted a cigar. He smoked and thought, 
 and the cigar burned out, and he still sat thinking. 
 
 "After a while he heard a faint rustling of the branches 
 behind him, and peering between the interlacing leaves 
 that hid him, saw the crouching figure of the woman 
 creeping through the wood. 
 
 "His lips were parted to call her name, when she 
 turned her listening head in his direction, and his eyes 
 fell full upon her face. Something about it, he could 
 not have told what, struck him dumb, and the woman 
 crept on. 
 
 "Gradually the nebulous thoughts floating through his 
 brain began to solidify into a tangible idea, and the man 
 unconsciously started forward. After walking a few 
 steps he broke into a run, for the idea had grown clearer. 
 It continued to grow still clearer and clearer, and the 
 man ran faster and faster, until at last he found himself 
 racing madly toward the lock. As he approached it he 
 looked round for the watchman who ought to have been 
 
NOVEL A'OIES. 
 
 there, but the man was gone fiom his post. He shouted, 
 but if any answer was returned, it was drowned by the 
 roar of the rushing water. 
 
 "He reached the edge and looked down. Fifteen feet 
 below him was the reality of the dim vision that had come 
 
 " HH BROKE INTO A RUN 
 
 to him a mile back in the woods: the woman's husband 
 swimming round and round like a rat in a pail. 
 
 "The river was flowing in and out of the lock at the 
 same rate, so that the le\el of the water remained con- 
 stant. The first thing the man did was to close the 
 lower sluices and then open those in the upper gate to 
 their fullest extent. The water began to rise, 
 
 " 'Can you hold out?' he crie(i, 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 263 
 
 "The drowning man turned to him a face already con- 
 torted by the agony of exhaustion, and answered with a 
 feeble 'No.' 
 
 "He looked around for something to throw to the man. 
 A plank had lain there in the morning, he remembered 
 stumbling over it, and complaining of its having been 
 left there; he cursed himself now for his care. 
 
 "A hut used by the navvies to keep their tools in stood 
 about two hundred yards away; perhaps it had been 
 taken there, perhaps there he might even find a rope. 
 
 ' ' 'Just one minute, old fellow!' he shouted down, 'and 
 I'll be back.' 
 
 "But the other did not hear him. The feeble strug- 
 gles ceased. The face fell back upon the water, the eyes 
 half closed as if with weary indifference. There was no 
 time for him to do more than kick off his riding boots 
 and jump in and clutch the unconscious figure as it sank. 
 
 "Down there, in that walled-in trap, he fought a long 
 fight with Death for the life that stood between him and 
 the woman. He was not an expert swimmer, his clothes 
 hampered him, he was already blown with his long race, 
 the burden in his arms dragged him down, the water 
 rose slowly enough to make his torture fit for Dante's 
 hell. 
 
 "At first he could not understand why this was so, 
 but in glancing down he saw to his horror that he had 
 not properly closed the lower sluices ; in each some eight 
 or ten inches remained open, so that the stream was pas- 
 sing out nearly half as fast as it came in. It would be an- 
 other five and twenty minutes before the water would be 
 high enough for him to grasp the top. 
 
 "He noted where the line of wet had reached to on 
 the smooth stone wall, then looked again after what he 
 thought must be a lapse of ten minutes, and found it had 
 
264 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 risen half an inch, if that. Once or twice he shouted 
 for help, but the effort taxed severely his already failing 
 breath, and his voice only came back to him in a hun- 
 dred echoes from his prison walls. 
 
 "Inch by inch the line of wet crept up, but the spend- 
 ing of his strength went on more swiftly. It seemed to 
 him as if his inside were being gripped and torn slowly 
 out: his whole body cried out to him to let it sink and lie 
 in rest at the bottom. 
 
 "At length his unconscious burden opened his eyes 
 and stared at him stupidly, then closed them again with 
 a sigh; a minute later opened them once more and looked 
 long and hard at him. 
 
 "'Let me go,' he said, 'we shall both drown. You 
 can manage by yourself.' 
 
 "He made a feeble effort to release himself, but the 
 other held him. 
 
 "'Keep still, you fool!' he hissed; "you're going to 
 get out of this Avith me, or I am going down with you.' 
 
 "So the grim struggle went on in silence, till the man, 
 looking up, saw the stone coping just a little way above 
 his head, made one mad leap and caught it with his finger 
 tips, held on an instant, then fell back with a 'plump' and 
 sank; came up and made another dash, helped by the 
 impetus of his rise, caught the coping firmly this time 
 with the whole of his fingers, hung on till his eyes saw 
 the stunted grass, till they were both able to scramble out 
 upon the bank and lie there, their breasts pressed close 
 against the ground, their hands clutching the earth, while 
 the overflowing water swirled softly round them. 
 
 " 'After a while, they raised themselves and looked at 
 one another. 
 
 " 'Tiring work,' said the other man, with a nod toward 
 the lock. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 265 
 
 " 'Yes,' answered the husband; "beastly awkward not 
 being a good swimmer. How did you know I had fallen 
 in? You met my wife, I suppose?' 
 
 " 'Yes,' said the other man. 
 
 "The husband sat staring at a point in the horizon for 
 some minutes. 'Do you know what I was wondering 
 this morning?' said he. 
 
 'No,' said the other man. 
 
 " 'Whether I should kill you or not.' 
 
 " 'They told me,' he continued, after a pause, 'a lot of 
 silly gossip which I was cad enough to believe. I know 
 now it wasn't true, because — well, if it had been, you 
 would not have done what you have done.' 
 
 "He rose and came across. 'I beg your pardon,' he 
 said, holding out his hand. 
 
 "'I beg yours,' said the other man, rising and 
 taking it; ' do you mind giving me a hand with the 
 sluices?' 
 
 "They set to work to put the lock right. 
 
 " 'How did you manage to fall in?' asked the other 
 man, who was raising one of the lower sluices, without 
 looking round. 
 
 "The husband hesitated, as if he found the explana- 
 tion somewhat difficult. 'Oh,' he answered carelessly, 
 'the wife and I were chaffing, and she said she'd often 
 seen you jump it, and' — he laughed a rather forced laugh 
 — 'she promised me a — a kiss if I cleared it. It was a 
 foolish thing to do.' 
 
 " 'Yes, it was rather,' said the other man. 
 
 "A few days afterward the man and woman met at a 
 reception. He found her in a leafy corner of the garden 
 talking to some friends. She advanced to meet him, 
 holding out her hand. ''What can I say more than thank 
 you?' she murmured in a low voice. 
 
266 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 "The others moved awaj', leaving them alone. ' They 
 tell me you risked your life to save his ?' she said. 
 " 'Yes,' he answered. 
 
 "struck him ackoss I he face.' 
 
 "She raised her eyes to his, then struck him across 
 the face with her ungloved hand. 
 
 " 'Vou damned fool !' she whispered. 
 
 "He seized lier by her white arms, and forced her back 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 267 
 
 behind the orange trees. 'Do you know why?' he said, 
 speaking slowly and distinctly; 'because I feared that 
 with him dead you would want me to marry you, and that, 
 talked about as we have been, I might find it awkward to 
 avoid doing so ; because I feared that without him to 
 stand between us you might prove an annoyance to me — 
 perhaps come between the woman I love, the woman I 
 am going back to. Now do you understand?' 
 " 'Yes,' whispered the woman, and he left her. 
 
 "But there are only two people," concluded Jephson, 
 "who do not regard his saving of the husband's life as a 
 highly noble and unselfish action, and they are the man 
 himself and the woman." 
 
 We thanked Jephson for his story, and promised to 
 profit by the moral, when discovered. Meanwhile, Mac- 
 Shaughnassy said that he knew a story dealing with the 
 same theme, namely, the too close attachment of a 
 woman to a strange man, which really had a moral, which 
 moral was: don't have anything to do with inventions. 
 
 Brown, who had patented a safety gun, which he had 
 never yet found a man plucky enough to let off, said it 
 was a bad moral. We agreed to hear the particulars, 
 and judge for ourselves. 
 
 "This story," commenced MacShaughnassy, "comes 
 from Furtwangen, a small town in the Black Forest. 
 There lived there a very wonderful old fellow named 
 Nicholaus Geibel. His business was the making of 
 mechanical toys, at which work he had acquired an 
 almost European reputation. He made rabbits that 
 would emerge from the heart of a cabbage, flop their ears, 
 smooth their whiskers, and disappear again; cats that 
 would wash their faces, and mew so naturally that dogs 
 would mistake them for real cats, and fly at them; dolls 
 
268 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 with phonographs concealed within them, that would 
 raise their hats and say, 'Good-morning! how do you 
 do?' and some that would even sing a song. 
 
 "But he was something more than a mere mechanic; 
 he was an artist. His work was with him a hobby, 
 
 almost a passion. 
 His shop was 
 filled with all 
 manner of 
 strange things 
 that never would, 
 or could, be 
 sold — things he 
 had made for the 
 pure love of mak- 
 ing them. He 
 had contrived a 
 mechanical don- 
 key that would 
 trot for two hours 
 by means of 
 stored electrici- 
 ty, and trot, too, 
 much faster than 
 the live article, 
 and with less 
 need for exertion 
 
 " HE HAD CONTRIVED A MECHANICAL DONKBY." QX\ tllC part Of 
 
 the driver; a bird 
 that would shoot up into the air, fly round and round in 
 a circle, and drop to earth at the exact spot from where 
 it started ; a skeleton that, supported by an upright iron 
 bar, would dance a hornpipe; a life-size lady doll that 
 could play the fiddle; and a gentleman with a hollow 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 269 
 
 inside who could smoke a pipe and drink more lager 
 beer than any three average German students put to- 
 gether, which is saying much. 
 
 "Indeed, it was the belief of the town that old Geibel 
 could make a man capable of doing everything that a 
 respectable man need want to do. One day he made a 
 man who did too much, and it came about in this way: 
 
 "Young Dr. Follen had a baby, and the baby had a 
 birthday. Its first birthday put Dr. Pollen's household 
 into somewhat of a flurry, but on the occasion of its 
 second birthday, Mrs. Dr. Follen gave a ball in honor 
 of the event. Old Geibel and his daughter Olga were 
 among the guests. 
 
 "During the afternoon of the next day some three or 
 four of Olga's bosom friends, who had also been present 
 at the ball, dropped in to have a chat about it. They 
 naturally fell to discussing the men, and to criticising 
 their dancing. Old Geibel was in the room, but he 
 appeared to be absorbed in his newspaper, and the girls 
 took no notice of him. 
 
 " 'There seem to be fewer men who can dance at every 
 ball you go to,' said one of the girls. 
 
 "'Yes, and don't the ones who can give themselves 
 airs,' said another; 'they make quite a favor of asking 
 you.' 
 
 " 'And how stupidly they talk,' added a third. 'They 
 always say exactly the same things: "How charming you 
 are looking to-night!" "Do you often go to Vienna?" 
 "Oh, you should, it's delightful." "What a charming 
 dress you have on!" "What a warm day it has been!" 
 "Do you like Wagner?" I do wish they'd think of some- 
 thing new.' 
 
 " 'Oh, I never mind how they talk,' said a fourth. 'If 
 a man dances well he may be a fool for all I care.' 
 
2 70 NOVEL XOTES. 
 
 " 'He generally is,' slipped in a thin girl rather spite- 
 fully. 
 
 "'I go to a ball to dance,' continued the previous 
 speaker, not noticing the interruption. 'All I ask of a 
 partner is that he shall hold me firmly, take me round 
 steadily, and not get tired before I do.' 
 
 " 'A clockwork figure would be the thing for you,' said 
 the girl who had interrupted. 
 
 " 'Bravo!' cried one of the others, clapping her hands, 
 "what a capital idea!' 
 
 "'What's a capital idea?' they asked. 
 
 " 'Why, a clockwork dancer, or, better still, one that 
 would go by electricity and never run down.' 
 
 "The girls took up the idea with enthusiasm. 
 
 " 'Oh, what a lovely partner he would make,' said one; 
 'he would never kick you, or tread on your toes." 
 
 " 'Or tear your dress,' said another. 
 
 " 'Or get out of step.' 
 
 " 'Or get giddy and lean on you.' 
 
 " 'And he would never want to mop his face with his 
 handkerchief. I do hate to see a man do that after every 
 dance.' 
 
 'And wouldn't want to spend the whole evening in 
 the supper room.' 
 
 " 'Why, with a phonngrapli inside him to grind out all 
 the stock remarks, you would not be able to tell him 
 from a real man,' said the girl who had first suggested 
 the idea. 
 
 'Oh, yes, you would,' said the thin girl, 'he would 
 be so much nicer.' 
 
 "Old (uiibel had laid down his paper, and was listen- 
 ing with both his ears. On one of the girls glancing in 
 his direction, howe\-er, he hurriedly hid himself again 
 behind it. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 271 
 
 "After the girls were gone, he went into his workshop, 
 where Olga heard him walking up and down, and every 
 now and then chuckling to himself; and that night he 
 talked to her a good deal about dancing and dancing 
 men — asked what they usually said and did — ^what dances 
 were most popular — what steps were gone through, with 
 many other questions bear- 
 ing on the subject. 
 
 "Then for a couple of 
 weeks he kept much to 
 his factory, and was very 
 thoughtful and busy, though 
 prone at unexpected mo- 
 ments to break into a quiet 
 low laugh, as if enjoying 
 a joke that nobody else 
 knew of. 
 
 "A month later another 
 ball took place in Furt- 
 wangen. On this occasion 
 it was given by old Wenzel, 
 the wealthy timber merchant, to cele- 
 brate his niece's betrothal, and Geil 
 and his daughter were again among 
 the invited. 
 
 "When the hour arrived to set out, 
 Olga sought her father. Not finding 
 him in the house, she tapped at the 
 door of his workshop. He appeared in his shirt sleeves, 
 looking hot but radiant. 
 
 " 'Don't wait for me,' he said, 'you go on, I'll follow 
 you. I've got something to finish.' 
 
 "As she turned to obey he called after her, 'Tell them 
 I'm going to bring a young man with me — such a nice 
 
 OLGA SHOWING HIM ^^■HAT 
 
 STEPS WERE CONE 
 
 THROUGH. 
 

 NOVJ-.L NOTES. 
 
 young man, and an excellent dancer. All the girls will 
 like him.' Then he laughed and closed the door. 
 
 "Her father generally kept his doings secret from 
 everybody, but she had a pretty shrewd suspicion of 
 what he had been planning, and so, to a certain extent. 
 
 LPLE OF WEEKS HE KEF'T TO HrS FACTORY." 
 
 was able to prejiare the guests for what was coming. 
 Anticipation ran high, and the arrival of the famous 
 mechanist was eagerly awaited. 
 
 "At length the sound of wheels was heard outside, 
 followed by a great commotion in the passage, and old 
 Wenzel himself, his jolly face red with excitement and 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 273 
 
 suppressed laughter, burst into the room and announced 
 in stentorian tones: 
 
 " 'Herr Geibel — and a friend.' 
 
 "Herr Geibel and his 'friend' entered, greeted with 
 shouts of laughter and applause, and advanced to the 
 center of the room. 
 
 " 'Allow me, ladies and gentlemen,' said Herr Geibel, 
 
 * MV FRIEND, LIEUTENANT FRITZ. 
 
 'to introduce you to my friend. Lieutenant Fritz. Fritz, 
 my dear fellow, bow to the ladies and gentlemen.' 
 
 "Geibel placed his hand encouragingly on Fritz's 
 shoulder, and the lieutenant bowed low, accompanying 
 the action with a harsh clicking noise in his throat. 
 
274 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 unpleasantly suggestive of a death rattle. But that was 
 only a detail. 
 
 " 'He walks a little stiffly' (old Geibel took his arm and 
 walked him forward a few steps. He certainly did walk 
 stiffly), 'but then, walking is not his forte. He is essen- 
 tially a dancing man. I have only been able to teach 
 him the waltz as yet, but at that he is faultless. Come, 
 which of you ladies may I introduce him to as a partner? 
 He keeps perfect time; he ne\er gets tired; he won't 
 kick you or tread on your dress; he will hold you as 
 firmly as you like, and go as quickly or as slowly as you 
 please; he never gets giddy; and he is full of conversa- 
 tion. Come, speak up for yourself, my boy.' 
 
 "The old gentleman twisted one of the buttons of his 
 coat, and immediately Fritz opened his mouth, and in 
 thin tones that aijpeared to proceed from the back of his 
 head, remarked suddenly, 'May I ha\e the pleasure?' 
 and then shut his mouth again with a snap. 
 
 "That Lieutenant Fritz had made a strong impression 
 on the company was undoubted, yet none of the girls 
 seemed inclined to dance with him. They looked 
 askance at his wa.ven face, with its staring eyes and fixed 
 smile, and shuddered. At last old Geibel came to the 
 girl who had conceived the idea. 
 
 " 'It is your own suggestion, carried out to the letter,' 
 said Geibel, 'an electric dancer. Vou owe it to the 
 gentleman to gi\e him a trial.' 
 
 "She was a bright, saucy little girl, fond of a frolic. 
 Her host added his entreaties, and she consented. 
 
 "Herr Geibel fixed the figure to her. Its right arm 
 was screwed round her waist, and held her firmly; its 
 delicately jointed left hand was made to fasten itself upon 
 her right. The old toymaker showed her how to regulate 
 its speed, and how to stop it, and release herself. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 275 
 
 " 'It will take you round in a complete circle,' he 
 explained; 'be careful that no one knocks against you, 
 and alters its course. ' 
 
 "The music struck up. Old Geibel put the current in 
 motion, and Annette and her strange partner began to 
 dance. 
 
 "For a while everyone stood watching them. The 
 figure performed its purpose admirably. Keeping per- 
 fect time and step, and holding its little partner tight 
 clasped in an unyielding embrace, it revolved steadily, 
 pouring forth at the same time a constant flow of squeaky 
 conversation, broken by brief intervals of grinding 
 silence. 
 
 ' ' 'How charming you are looking to-night!' it remarked 
 in its thin, far-away voice. 'What a lovely day it has 
 been! Do you like dancing? How well our steps agree! 
 You will give me another, won't you? Oh, don't be so 
 cruel! What a charming gown you have on! Isn't 
 waltzing delightful? I could go on dancing forever — 
 with you. Have you had supper?' 
 
 "As she grew more familiar with the uncanny creature, 
 the girl's nervousness wore off, and she entered into the 
 fun of the thing. 
 
 " 'Oh, he's just lovely,' she cried, laughing, 'I could 
 go on dancing with him all my life.' 
 
 "Couple after couple now joined them, and soon all 
 the dancers in the room were whirling round behind 
 them. Nicholaus Geibel stood looking on, beaming with 
 childish delight at his success. 
 
 "Old Wenzel approached him, and whispered some- 
 thing in his ear. Geibel laughed and nodded, and the 
 two worked their way quietly toward the door. 
 
 " 'This is the young people's house to-night,' said 
 Wenzel, so soon as they were outside; 'you and I will 
 
276 XOVEL NOTES. 
 
 have a quiet pipe and a glass of hock, over in the count- 
 ing house. ' 
 
 "Meanwhile the dancing grew more fast and furious. 
 Little Annette loosened the screw regulating her part- 
 ner's rate of progress, and the figure flew round with her 
 swifter and swifter. Couple after couple dropped out 
 exhausted, but they only went the faster, till at length 
 they two remained dancing alone. 
 
 "Madder and madder became the waltz. The music 
 lagged behind; the musicians, unable to keep pace, 
 ceased, and sat staring. The younger guests applauded, 
 but the older faces began to grow anxious. 
 
 " 'Hadn't you better stop, dear?' said one of the 
 women, "you'll make yourself so tired.' 
 
 "But Annette did not answer. 
 
 " 'I believe she's fainted,' cried out a girl who had 
 caught sight of her face as it was swept by. 
 
 "One of the men sprang forward and clutched at the 
 figure, but its impetus threw him down on to the floor, 
 where its steel-cased feet laid bare his cheek. The thing 
 evidently did not intend to part with its prize easily. 
 
 "Had anyone retained a cool head, the figure, one 
 cannot help thinking, might easily have been stopped. 
 Two or three men acting in concert might have lifted it 
 bodily off the floor, or have jammed it into a corner. 
 Tint few human heads are capable of remaining cool 
 under excitement. Those who are not present think 
 how stupid must ha^e been those who were; those who 
 are reflect afterward how simple it would ha\'e been to 
 do this, that, or the other, if only they had thought of it 
 at the time. 
 
 "The women grew hysterical. The men shouted 
 contradictory directions to one another. Two of them 
 made a bungling rush at the figure, which had the result 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 277 
 
 of forcing it out of its orbit in the center of the room, 
 and sending it crashing against the walls and furniture. 
 A stream of blood showed itself down the girl's white 
 frock, and followed her along the floor. The affair was 
 becoming horrible. The women rushed screaming from 
 the room. The men followed them. 
 
 "One sensible suggestion was made: 'Find Geibel — 
 fetch Geibel.' 
 
 "No one had noticed him leave the room, no one 
 knew where he was. A party went in search of him. 
 The others, too unnerved to go back into the ballroom, 
 crowded outside the door and listened. They could hear 
 the steady whir of the wheels upon the polished floor as 
 the thing spun round and round; the dull thud as every 
 now and again it dashed itself and its burden against 
 some opposing object and ricocheted off in a new direc- 
 tion. 
 
 "And everlastingly it talked in that thin ghostly voice, 
 repeating over and over the same formula: 'How charm- 
 ing you are looking to-night ! What a lovely day it has 
 been! Oh, don't be so cruel! I could go on dancing 
 forever — with you. Have you had supper?' 
 
 "Of course they sought for Geibel everywhere but 
 where he was. They looked in every room in the house, 
 then they rushed off in a body to his own place, and 
 spent precious minutes in waking up his deaf old house- 
 keeper. At last it occurred to one of the party that 
 Wenzel was missing also, and then the idea of the count- 
 ing house across the yard presented itself to them, and 
 there they found him. 
 
 "He rose up, very pale, and followed them; and he 
 and old Wenzel forced their way through the crowd of 
 guests gathered outside, and entered the room, and 
 locked the door behind them. 
 
-yS NO]' EL NOTES. 
 
 ■'From within there came the muffled sound of low 
 voices and quick steps, followed by a confused scuffling 
 noise, then silence, then the low voices again. 
 
 "After a time the door opened, and those near it 
 pressed forward to enter, but old AVenzel's broad shoul- 
 ders barred the way. 
 
 " 'I want you — and you, Bekler,' he said, addressing 
 a couple of the elder men. His voice was calm, but his 
 face was deadly white. 'The rest of you, please go — get 
 the women away as quickly as you can.' 
 
 "From that day old Nicholaus Geibel confined himself 
 to the making of mechanical rabbits and cats that mewed 
 and washed their faces." 
 
 We agreed that the moral of MacShaughnassy's story 
 was a good one. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 row much more of our — fortunately not very 
 valuable — time we devoted to this wonderful 
 novel of ours I cannot exactly say. Turning 
 the dogs-eared leaves of the dilapidated diary 
 that lies before me, I find the record of our later gather- 
 ings confused and incomplete. For weeks there does 
 not appear a single word. Then comes an alarmingly 
 businesslike minute of a meeting at which there were — 
 "Present: Jephson, MacShaughnassy, Brown, and Self;" 
 and at which the "Proceedings commenced at 8.30." 
 At what time the "proceedings" terminated, and what 
 business was done, the chronicle, however, sayeth not; 
 though, faintly penciled in the margin of the page, I 
 trace these hieroglyphics: "3'i4'9 — 2 '6 '7," bringing out 
 a result of "i'8'2" Evidently an unremunerative night. 
 On September thirteenth, we seem to have become sud- 
 denly imbued with energy to a quite remarkable degree, 
 for I read that we "Resolved to start the first chapter 
 at once" — "at once" being underlined. After this 
 spurt, we rest until October fourth, when we "Discussed 
 whether it should be a novel of plot or of character," 
 without — so far as the diary affords indication — arriving 
 at any definite decision. I observe that on the same 
 day, "Mac told story about a man who accidentally 
 bought a camel at a sale." Details of the story are, 
 however, wanting, which, perhaps, is fortunate for 
 the reader. 
 
 On the sixteenth, we were still debating the character 
 
28o 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 of our hero; and I see that I suggested "a man of the 
 
 Charley Buswell type." 
 
 Poor Charley, I wonder what could have made me 
 
 think of him in connection with heroes; his lovableness, 
 I suppose — certainly not his heroic quali- 
 ties. I can recall his boyish face now (it 
 was always a boyish face), the tears stream- 
 
 TKEAMING DOWN. 
 
 in-- down it as he sat in the school- 
 yard beside a bucket, in which he 
 was drowning three white mice and 
 a tame rat. I sat down opposite 
 and cried too, while helping him to 
 hold a saucepan lid over the poor little 
 <j^ creatures, and thus there sprang up a 
 
 friendship between us, which grew. 
 Ovor the grave of these murdered rodents, he took a 
 solemn oath never to break school rules again, by keep- 
 ing either white mice or tame rats, but to devote the 
 whole of his energies for the future to pleasing his mas- 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 2-8 1 
 
 ters, and affording his parents some satisfaction for the 
 money being spent upon his education. 
 
 Seven weeks later, the pervadence throughout the dor- 
 mitory of an atmospheric effect more curious than pleas- 
 ing led to the discovery that he had converted his box 
 into a rabbit hutch. Confronted with eleven kicking 
 witnesses, and reminded of his former promises, he 
 explained that rabbits were not mice, and seemed to con- 
 sider that a new and vexatious regulation had been 
 sprung upon him. The rabbits were confiscated. What 
 was their ultimate fate we never knew with certainty, 
 but three days later we were given rabbit pie for dinner. 
 To comfort him I endeavored to assure him that these 
 could not be his rabbits. He, however, convinced that 
 they were, cried steadily into his plate all the time that 
 he was eating them, and afterward, in the playground, 
 had a stand-up fight with a fourth form boy who had 
 requested a second helping. 
 
 That evening he performed another solemn oath-taking, 
 and for the next month was the model boy of the school. 
 He read tracts, sent his spare pocket money to assist in 
 annoying the heathen, and subscribed to "The Young 
 Christian" and "The Weekly Rambler, an Evangelical 
 Miscellany" (whatever that may mean). An undiluted 
 course of this pernicious literature naturally created in 
 him a desire toward the opposite extreme. He suddenly 
 dropped "The Young Christian" and "The Weekly 
 Rambler," and purchased penny dreadfuls; and, taking 
 no further interest in the welfare of the heathen, saved 
 up and bought a second-hand revolver and a hundred 
 cartridges. His ambition, he confided to me, was to 
 become "a dead shot," and the marvel of it is that he 
 did not succeed. 
 
 Of course, there followed the usual discovery and con- 
 
MOVEL NOTES. 
 
 sequent trouble, the usual repentance and reformation, 
 the usual determination to start a new life. 
 
 Poor fellow, he li\ed "starting a new life." Every 
 New Year's Day he would start a new life — on his birth- 
 day—on other people's birthdays. I fancy that, later on, 
 when he came to know their importance, he extended the 
 
 principle to quarter days. 
 "Tidying up, and start- 
 ing afresh," he always 
 called it. 
 
 I think as a young man 
 he was better than most 
 of us. But he lacked that 
 great gift which is the dis- 
 tinguishing feature of the 
 English-speaking race all 
 the world over: the gift 
 of hypocrisy. He seemed 
 incapable of doing the 
 slightest thing without 
 getting found out; a 
 grave misfortune for a 
 man to suffer from, this. 
 
 Dear simple - hearted 
 fellow, it never occurred 
 to him that he was as 
 other men — with, per- 
 haps, a dash of straightforwardness added; he regarded 
 himself as a monster of depravity. One evening I found 
 him in his chambers engaged upon his Sisyphean labor 
 of "tidying up." A heap of letters, photographs, and 
 bills lay before him. He was tearing them up and 
 throwing them into the fire. 
 
 I came toward him, but he stopped me. "Don't come 
 
 A DEAD SHOT. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 283 
 
 near me," he cried, "don't touch me. I'm not fit to 
 shake hands with a decent man." 
 
 It was the sort of speech to make one feel hot and 
 uncomfortable. I did not know what to answer, and 
 murmured something about his being no worse than the 
 average. 
 
 "Don't talk like that," he answered excitedly; "you 
 say that to comfort me, I know; but I don't like to hear 
 it. If I thought other men were like me I should be 
 ashamed of being a man. I've been a blackguard, old 
 fellow, but, please God, it's not too late. To-morrow 
 morning I begin a new life." 
 
 He finished his work of destruction, and then rang the 
 bell, and sent his man downstairs for a bottle of cham- 
 pagne. 
 
 "My last drink," he said, as we clicked glasses. 
 "Here's to the old life out and the new life in." 
 
 He took a sip and flung the glass with the remainder 
 into the fire. He was always a little theatrical, espe- 
 cially when most in earnest. 
 
 For a long while after that I saw nothing of him. 
 Then, one evening, sitting down to supper at a restau- 
 rant, I noticed him opposite to me in company that could 
 hardly be called doubtful. 
 
 He flushed and came over to me. "I've been an old 
 woman for nearly six months," he said, with a laugh. 
 "I find I can't stand it any longer." 
 
 "After all," he continued, "what is life for but to 
 live? It's only hypocritical to try and be a thing we are 
 not. And do you know" — he leant across the table, 
 speaking earnestly — "honestly and seriously, I'm a 
 better man — I feel it and know it — when I am my 
 natural self than when I am trying to be an impossible 
 saint." 
 
284 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 That was the mistake he made; he always ran to 
 extremes. He thought that an oath, if it were only big 
 enough, would frighten away Human Nature, instead of 
 serving only as a challenge to it. Accordingly, each 
 reformation was more intemperate than the last, to be 
 duly followed by a greater swing of the pendulum in the 
 opposite direction. 
 
 Being now in a thoroughly reckless mood, he went the 
 pace rather hotly. Then, one evening, without any pre- 
 vious warning, I had a note from him. "Come round 
 and see me on Thursday. It is my wedding eve." 
 
 I went. He was once more "tidying up." All his 
 drawers were open, and on the table were piled packs of 
 cards, betting books, and much written paper, all, as 
 before, in course of demolition. 
 
 I smiled; I could not help it, and, no way abashed, 
 he laughed his usual hearty, honest laugh. 
 
 "I know," lie exclaimed gayly, "but this is not the 
 same as the others." 
 
 Then, la)ing his hand on my shoulder, and speaking 
 with the sudden seriousness that comes so readily to 
 shallow natures, he said, "God has heard my prayer, old 
 friend. He knows I am weak. He has sent down an 
 angel out of hea\'en to help me." 
 
 He took her portrait from the mantelpiece and handed 
 it me. It seemed to me the face of a hard, narrow 
 woman, but, of course, he raved about her. 
 
 As he talked, there fluttered to the ground from the 
 heap before him an old restaurant bill, and, stooping, he 
 picked it up and held it in his hand, musing. 
 
 "Have you ever noticed how the scent of the cham- 
 pagne and the candles seems to ding to these things?" 
 he said lightly, sniffing carelessly at it. "I wonder 
 what's become of her?" 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 285 
 
 "I think I wouldn't think about her at all to-night," I 
 answered. 
 
 He loosened his hand, letting the paper fall into the 
 fire. 
 
 "My God!" he cried vehemently, "when I think of 
 all the wrong I have done — ^the irreparable, ever-widening 
 ruin I have perhaps brought into the world — O God! 
 spare me a long life that I may make amends. Every 
 hour, every minute of it shall be devoted to your ser- 
 vice." 
 
 As he stood there, with his eager boyish eyes upraised, 
 a light seemed to fall upon his face and illumine it. I 
 had pushed the photograph back to him, and it lay upon 
 the table before him. He knelt and pressed his lips to it. 
 
 "With your help, my darling; and His," he murmured. 
 
 The next morning he was married. She wa.s a well- 
 meaning girl, though her piety, as is the case with most 
 people, was of the negative order; and her antipathy to 
 things evil much stronger than her sympathy with things 
 good. For -a much longer time than I had expected she 
 kept him straight — perhaps a little too straight. But at 
 last there came the inevitable relapse. 
 
 I called upon him, in answer to an excited message, and 
 found him in the depths of despair. It was the old 
 story, human weakness, combined with lamentable lack 
 of the most ordinary precautions against being found 
 out. He gave me details, interspersed with exuberant 
 denunciations of himself, and I undertook the delicate 
 task of peacemaker. 
 
 It was a weary work, but eventually she consented to 
 forgive him. His joy, when I told him, was boundless. 
 
 "How good women are!" he said, while tears came 
 into his eyes. "But she shall not repent it. Please 
 God, from this day forth, I'll " 
 
286 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 He stopped, and for the first time in his Hfe the doubt 
 of himself crossed his mind. As I sat watching him, the 
 joy died out of his face, and the first hint of age passed 
 over it. 
 
 "I seem to have been 'tidying up and starting afresh' 
 all my life," he said wearily; "I'm beginning to see where 
 the untidiness lies, and the only way to get rid of it." 
 
 I did not understand the meaning of his words at the 
 time, but learnt it later on. 
 
 He strove according to his strength, and fell. By a 
 miracle his transgression was not discovered. The facts 
 
 LYING DKAD. 
 
 came to light long afterward, but at the time there were 
 only two who knew. 
 
 It was his last failure. Late one evening I received a 
 hurriedly scrawled note from his wife begging me to 
 come round. 
 
 "A terrible thing has happened," it ran; "Charley 
 went up to his study after dinner, saying he had some 
 'tidying up,' as he calls it, to do, and did not wish to be 
 disturbed. In clearing out his desk he must have 
 handled carelessly the revolver that he always keeps 
 there, not remembering, I suppose, that it was loaded. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 287 
 
 We heard a report, and on rushing into the room found 
 him lying dead on the floor. The bullet had passed 
 right through his heart." 
 
 Hardly the type of man for a hero ! And yet I do not 
 know. Perhaps he fought harder than many a man who 
 conquers. In the world's courts, we are compelled to 
 judge on circumstantial evidence only, and the chief wit- 
 ness, the man's soul, cannot very well be called. 
 
 I remember the subject of bravery being discussed one 
 evening at a dinner party, when a German gentleman 
 present related an anecdote, the hero of which was a 
 young Prussian officer. 
 
 "I cannot give you his name," our German friend 
 explained — "the man himself told me the story in con- 
 fidence; and though he personally, by virtue of his after 
 record, could afford to have it known, there are other 
 reasons why it should not be bruited about. 
 
 "How I learned it was in this way. For a dashing 
 exploit performed during the brief war against Austria 
 he had been presented with the Iron Cross. This, as 
 you are well aware, is the most highly prized decoration 
 in our army; men who have earned it are usually con- 
 ceited about it, and, indeed, have some excuse for being 
 so. He, on the contrary, kept his locked in a drawer of 
 his desk, and never wore it except when compelled by 
 official etiquette. The mere sight of it seemed to be 
 painful to him. One day I asked him the reason. We 
 are very old and close friends, and he told me. 
 
 "The incident occurred when he was a young lieuten- 
 ant. Indeed, it was his first engagement. By some 
 means or another he had become separated from his 
 company, and, unable to regain it, had attached himself 
 to a Landwehr regiment stationed at the extreme right of 
 the Prussian lines. 
 
2 68 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 "The enemy's effort was mainly directed against the 
 left center, and for a while our young lieutenant was 
 nothing more than a distant spectator of the battle. Sud- 
 denly, however, the attack shifted, and the regiment 
 found itself occupying an extremely important and criti- 
 cal position. The shells began to fall unpleasantly near, 
 and the order was given to 'grass.' 
 
 "The men fell upon their faces and waited. The 
 shells plowed the ground around them, smothering them 
 with dirt. A horrible, griping pain started in my young 
 friend's stomach, and began creeping upward. His 
 head and heart both seemed to be shrinking and growing 
 cold. A shot tore off the head of the man next to him, 
 sending the blood spurting into his face; a minute later 
 another ripped open the back of a poor fellow lying to 
 the front of him. 
 
 "His body seemed not to belong to himself at all. A 
 strange, shriveled creature seemed to have taken posses- 
 sion of it. He raised his head, and peered about him. 
 He and three soldiers — youngsters, like himself, who 
 had never before been under fire— appeared to be utterly 
 alone in that hell. They were the end men of the regi- 
 ment, and the configuration of the ground completely 
 hid them from their comrades. 
 
 "They glanced at each other, these four, and read one 
 another's thoughts. Leaving their rifles lying on the 
 grass, they commenced to crawl stealthily upon their 
 bellies, the lieutenant leading, the other three following. 
 
 "Some few hundred yards in front of them rose a 
 small, steep hill. If they could reach this it would shut 
 them out of sight. They hastened on, pausing every 
 thirty yards or so to lie still and pant for breath, then 
 hurrying on again, quicker than before, tearing their flesh 
 against the broken ground. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 289 
 
 "At last they reached the base of the slope, and sUnk- 
 ing a little way round it, raised their heads and looked 
 back. Where they were it was impossible for them to be 
 seen from the Prussian lines. 
 
 "They sprang to their feet and broke into a wild race. 
 A dozen steps further 
 they came face to 
 face with an Austrian 
 field battery. 
 
 "The demon that 
 had taken possession 
 of them had been 
 growing stronger the 
 further they had fled. 
 They were not men, 
 they were animals 
 mad with fear. 
 Driven by the same 
 frenzy that prompted 
 other panic - stricken 
 creatures to once rush 
 down a steep place 
 into the sea, these 
 four men, with a yell, 
 flung themselves, 
 sword in hand, upon 
 the whole battery; 
 and the whole bat- 
 tery, bewildered by the suddenness and unexpectedness 
 of the attack, thinking the entire battalion was iipon 
 them, gave way, and rushed pell-mell down the hilh 
 
 "With the sight of those flying Austrians the fear, as 
 independently as it had come to him, left him, and he 
 felt only a desire to hack and kill The four Prussians 
 
 COMIMRNCEn TO CRAUL STEAL'I lllL"! 
 
290 
 
 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 flew after them, cutting and stabbing at them as they 
 ran; and when the Prussian cavalry came thundering up, 
 they found my young lieutenant and his three friends had 
 captured two guns and accounted for half a score of the 
 enemy. 
 
 "Next day he was summoned to headquarters. 
 
 'Will you be good enough to remember for the future, 
 sir,' said the Chief of the Staff, 'that His Majesty does 
 
 not require his lieu- 
 tenants to execute 
 maneuvers on their 
 own responsibility, 
 and also that to at- 
 tack a battery with 
 three men is not war, 
 but damned tom- 
 foolery. You ought 
 to be court-martialed, 
 sir!' 
 
 "Then, in some- 
 what different tones, 
 the old soldier added, 
 his face softening into 
 a smile: 'However, 
 alertness and daring, 
 my young friend, are 
 good qualities, espe- 
 cially when crowned 
 with success. If the 
 Austrians had once succeeded in planting a battery on 
 that hill it might have been difficult to dislodge them. 
 Perhaps, under the circumstances. His Majesty may 
 overlook your indiscretion." 
 
 " 'His Majesty not only overlooked it, but bestowed 
 
 REMEMBER FOR THli FL'TL'RE, SIR. 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 291 
 
 upon me the Iron Cross,' concluded my friend. 'For 
 the credit of the army, I judged it better to keep quiet 
 and take it. But, as you can understand, the sight of it 
 does not recall very pleasurable reflections.' " 
 
 To return to my diary, I see that on Novmeber four- 
 teenth we held another meeting. But at this there were 
 present only "Jephson, MacShaughnassy, and Self"; and 
 of Brown's name I find henceforth no further trace. On 
 Christmas Eve we three met again, and my notes inform 
 me that MacShaughnassy brewed some whisky punch, 
 according to a recipe of his own, a record suggestive of 
 a sad Christmas for all three of us. No particular busi- 
 ness appears to have been accomplished on either occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Then there is a break until February eighth, and the as' 
 semblage has shrunk to "Jephson and Self." With a 
 final flicker, as of a dying candle, my diary at this point, 
 however, grows luminous, shedding much light upon that 
 evening's conversation. 
 
 Our talk seems to have been of many things — of most 
 things, in fact, except our novel. Among other subjects 
 we spoke of literature generally. 
 
 "I am tired of this eternal cackle about books," said 
 Jephson; "these columns of criticism to every line of 
 writing; these endless books about books; these shrill 
 praises and shrill denunciations; this silly worship of 
 novelist Tom; this silly hate of poet Dick; this silly 
 squabbling over playwright Harry. There is no sober- 
 ness, no sense in it all. One would think, to listen to 
 the High Priests of Culture, that man was made for 
 literature, not literature for man. Thought existed 
 before the Printing Press; and the men who wrote the 
 best hundred books never read them. Books have their 
 
292 NOVEL .VOTES. 
 
 place in the world, but they are not its purpose. They 
 are things side by side with beef and mutton, the scent 
 of the sea, the touch of a hand, the memory of a hope, 
 and all the other items in the sum total of our three score 
 years and ten. Yet we speak of them as though they 
 were the voice of life instead of merely its faint, distorted 
 echo. Tales are delightful as tales — sweet as primroses 
 after the long winter, restful as the cawing of rooks at 
 sunset. But we do not write 'tales' now; we prepare 
 'human documents' and dissect souls." 
 
 He broke off abruptly in the midst of his tirade. "Do 
 you know what these 'psychological studies' that are so 
 fashionable just now always make me think of?" he 
 said. "One monkey examining another monkey for 
 fleas." 
 
 "And what, after all, does our dissecting pen lay 
 bare?" he continued. "Human nature? or merely some 
 more or less unsavory undergarment, disguising and dis- 
 figuring human nature? There is a story told of an 
 elderly tramp, who, overtaken by misfortune, was com- 
 pelled to retire for a while to the seclusion of Portland. 
 His hosts, desiring to see as much as possible of their 
 guest during his limited stay with them, proceeded to 
 bathe him. They bathed him twice a day for a 
 week, each time learning more of him; until at last 
 they reached a flannel shirt. And with that they had 
 to be content, soap and water proving powerless to 
 go further. 
 
 "The tramp appears to me symbolical of mankind. 
 Human nature has worn its conventions for so long that 
 its habit has grown on to it. In this nineteenth century 
 it is impossible to say where the clothes of custom end 
 and the natural man begins. Our virtues are taught to 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 293 
 
 US as a branch of 'Deportment' ; our vices are the recog- 
 nized vices of our reign and set. Our religion hangs 
 ready-made beside our cradle to be buttoned upon us by 
 loving hands. Our tastes we acquire, with difficulty; 
 our sentiments, we learn by rote. At cost of infinite 
 suffering, we study to love whisky and cigars, high art 
 and classical music. In one age we admire Byron and 
 drink sweet champagne; twenty years later it is more 
 fashionable to prefer Shelley, and we like our champagne 
 dry. At school we are told that Shakspere was a great 
 poet, and that the Venus di Medici is a fine piece of 
 sculpture ; and so for the rest of our lives we go about 
 saying what a great poet we think Shakspere, and that 
 there is no piece of sculpture, in our opinion, so fine as 
 the Venus di Medici. If we are Frenchmen we adore 
 our mother; if Englishmen we love dogs and virtue. 
 We grieve for the death of a near relative twelve months ; 
 but for a second cousin, we sorrow only three. The 
 good man has his regulation excellencies to strive after, 
 his regulation sins to repent of. I knew a good man who 
 was quite troubled because he was not proud, and could 
 not, therefore, with any reasonableness, pray for humility. 
 In society one must needs be cynical and mildly wicked: 
 in Bohemia orthodoxly unorthodox. I remember my 
 mother expostulating with a friend, an actress, who had 
 left a devoted husband and eloped with a disagreeable, 
 ugly, little low comedian (I am speaking of long, long 
 ago). 
 
 " 'You must be mad,' said my mother; 'what on earth 
 induced you to take such a step?' 
 
 " 'My dear Emma,' replied the lady; 'what else was 
 there for me? You know I can't act. I had to do 
 something to show I was an artiste ! ' 
 
294 NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 "'\\'e are dressed-up marionettes. Our voice is the 
 voice of the unseen showman, Convention ; our very 
 movements of passion and pain are but in answer to his 
 jerk. A man resembles one of those gigantic bundles 
 that one sees in nursemaids' arms. It is very bulky and 
 \ery long; it looks a mass of delicate lace and rich fur 
 and fine woven stuffs; and somewhere, hidden out of 
 sight among the finer)-, there is a tiny red bit of bewil- 
 dered humanity, with no voice but a foolish cry. 
 
 "There is but one story," he went on, after a long 
 pause, uttering his own thoughts aloud rather than speak- 
 ing to me. "^\'e sit at our desks and think and think, 
 and write and write, but the story is ever the same. Men 
 told it and men listened to it many years ago; wc are 
 telling it to one another to-day; we shall be telling it to 
 one another a thousand years hence; and the story is: 
 'Once upon a time there lived a man and a woman who 
 loved him.' The little critic cries that it is not new, 
 and asks for something fresh, thinking — as children do — 
 that there are strange things in the world." 
 
 At that point, my notes end, and there is nothing in 
 the book beyond. Whether any of us thought any more 
 of the novel, whether we e\er met again to discuss it, 
 whether it were e\er begun, whether it were e\er aban- 
 doned — I cannot say. There is a fairy story that I read 
 many, many years ago that has never ceased to haunt 
 me. It told how a little boy once climbed a rainbow. 
 And at the end of the rainbow, just behind the clouds, 
 he found a wondrous city. Its houses were of gold, and 
 its streets were paved with silver, and the light that shone 
 upon it was as the light that lies upon the sleeping world 
 at dawn. In this city there were palaces so beautiful 
 
NOVEL NOTES. 
 
 29s 
 
 that merely to look upon them satisfied all desires; 
 temples so perfect that they who knelt therein were 
 cleansed of sin. And all the men who dwelt in this won- 
 drous city were great and good, and the women fairer 
 than the women of a young man's dreams. And the 
 name of the city was "The city of the things men meant 
 to do."