PERKINS LIBRARY 
 
 Uulce University 
 Kare Dooks 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 r.--.. ..-.-.- .T.\:yf.cyrfr.>f.j.... 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 J 
 
THE ISLAND 
 
 OR 
 
 AN ADVENTURE OF A PERSON OF QUALITY 
 
 EICHAED WHITEING 
 
 *^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK : 15 EAST 16«h STREET 
 1888 
 
PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STUEET SQUARE 
 
 LONDON 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. OUT OF FOCUS . 
 
 II. FURTHER AFIELD . 
 
 III. FLIGHT . . . .■ 
 
 IV. ADVENTURE .... 
 
 V. RESCUE .... 
 
 VI. BEARINGS .... 
 
 VII. SETTLING DOWN . 
 
 VIII. GOVERNMENT, ARTS, AND LAWS 
 
 IX. NURSE .... 
 
 X. SUNDAY ..... 
 
 XI. A SAIL .... 
 
 XII. THREE DAYS .... 
 
 XIII. A MISSION .... 
 
 XIV. A PLOT ..... 
 XV. REPENTANCE 
 
 XVI. A DECLARATION 
 
 XVII. A MEDITATION . 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 9 
 
 28 
 
 32 
 
 41 
 
 53 
 
 58 
 
 67 
 
 74 
 
 86 
 
 98 
 
 108' 
 
 120 
 
 127 
 
 143 
 
 154 
 
 161 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XVIir. A LORD OF INDIA. 
 
 XIX. PEDIGREE OK A POOR STUPID 
 
 XX. A VILLAGE FESTIVAL 
 
 XXI. A ROMAN HOLIDAY . 
 
 XXII. MISUNDERSTANDING 
 
 XXIII. ANOTHER SAIL . 
 
 XXIV. A PARAGRAPH 
 
 XXV. ANOTHER PARTING 
 
 XXVI. AN EXPLANATION . 
 
 XXVII. THE PROMISE OF THE SKIES 
 
 TARE 
 
 173 
 188 
 213 
 228 
 237 
 244 
 263 
 269 
 278 
 2«') 
 
THE ISLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OUT OF FOCUS. 
 Lat. 25° 4' S. ; long. 130° 8' W. : August 18. 
 
 Eest, peace, the sounds of a summer noon, 
 and the murmur of waves. The cahii of a 
 peak in the Pacific thirteen thousand miles 
 away from the dome of St. Paul's, and com- 
 pletelv out of sight of it, if only by reason of 
 the curvature. 
 
 I hardly know how I came here. When 
 last I took stock of myself, I was standing on 
 the steps of the Royal Exchange, on another 
 summer afternoon, and looking down. I was 
 busy as usual. I am playing with my little 
 pocket agenda now (perhaps the last I shall 
 ever buy) as I lie here on the broad of my 
 back, and T turn to the entry for that day : 
 
 B 
 
2 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' 8, Gallop, Eow ; 0.30, letters, coffee ; 10.30, 
 article for " Quarterly " ; 12.30, City (I wanted 
 Staples to put something on Turks, and thought 
 I had better be on the spot); 1.30, lunch; 
 2.30 to bedtime, horse sale, chrysanthemums, 
 calls, club, early dinner, address Working 
 Men's Constitutional Association — " Social 
 Harmonies," dance at Mrs. G.'s, club again, 
 Daudet, bed.' 
 
 A mosaic like this is all very well, but a 
 trifle throws it out. When I had done witli 
 Staples, Iliad no further business at the Royal 
 Exchange. I had certainly nothing to do on 
 the steps ; j^et I lingered there. It was only 
 for ten minutes, but it spoiled my day, and 
 perhaps changed my destiny. 
 
 It was such a sight — civilisation in a 
 nutshell — that was what made me pause. 
 I was a part of it, and Apollo was taking a 
 peep at his own legs. Why not ? we all 
 seemed to be going on so beautifully ; we were 
 all busy, all doing something for progress. 
 What a scene ! The Exchange I had just 
 left, with its groups of millionaires gossiping 
 Bagdad and the Irawaddy, Chicago and the 
 Cape ; dividend day over at the Bank yonder, 
 
OUT OF FOCUS • 3 
 
 and the well known sight of the Blessed going 
 to take their quarterly reward ; a sheriff's 
 coach turning the angle of the Mansion House 
 (breakfast to an African pro-consul, I believe), 
 a vanishing splendour of satin and plush and 
 gold ; dandy clerks making for Birch's, with 
 the sure and certain hope of a partnership in 
 their easy grace ; shabby clerks making for 
 the bun shops ; spry brokers going to take the 
 odds against Egyptians, and with an appro- 
 priate horsiness of air ; a parson (two hundred 
 and fortieth annual thanksgiving sermon at 
 St. Hilda's to commemorate Testator's en- 
 counter with Barbary pirates, and providential 
 escape) ; itinerant salesmen of studs, pocket 
 combs, and universal watch keys ; flower girls 
 at the foot of the statue, a patch of colour ; 
 beggar at the foot of the steps, another patcli, 
 the red shirt beautifully toned down in wear 
 — Perfect ! We want more of this in London 
 — giant policeman moving him on ; irruption 
 of noisy crowd from the Cornhill corner 
 (East-End marching West to demonstrate for 
 the right to a day's toil for a day's crust) ; 
 thieves, and bludgeon men, and stone men in 
 attendance on' demonstration ; detectives in 
 
 B 2 
 
4 THE ISLAND 
 
 attendance on thieves ; shutters up at the 
 jewellers' as they pass ; probable average of 
 75. ^d. to the hundred pockets ; with a wall 
 only to divide them from all the turtle of the 
 Mansion House, or all the bullion of the Bank ! 
 And, for background, the nondescript thou- 
 sands in black and brown and russet and 
 every neutral hue, with the sun over all, and 
 between the sun and the thousands tlie London 
 mist. 
 
 It was something as a picture, but so 
 much more as a thought. What a wonder 
 of parts and whole ! What a bit of ma- 
 chinery ! The beggars, and occasionally the 
 stock jobbers and the nondescripts to go 
 wrong ; the policeman to take them up ; the 
 parson to show the way of repentance ; and 
 the sheriff to hang them, if need be, vrhen all 
 was done. With this, the dandies to adorn 
 the scene — myself not altogether unornamen- 
 tal — the merchants, the clerks, and the divi- 
 dend takers, all but cog and fly and crank 
 of the same general scheme. What a bit of 
 machinery ! 
 
 But suddenly the sunlight faded, and 
 there was a change in me. It was not a 
 
OUT OF FOCUS 5 
 
 change of cause and effect, but only a coinci- 
 dence. I fancied I saw the man in red fur- 
 tively writhing in his shirt with the beggar's 
 itch, scratching himself, so to speak, against 
 his own clothes. At any rate, something 
 threw the apparatus out of gear. They 
 seemed all scratching themselves on the sly. 
 The whole thing looked as well as ever ; but 
 how did it work ? I saw the clerks home, 
 the shabbies to Stockton lodgings of unstained 
 brick, where infants down with the measles 
 called for drink in the night, and querulous 
 wives compounded that claim for romance 
 with which every woman born of woman 
 comes into the world for the not too solid 
 certainty of bread and butter, at thirty shil- 
 lings a week all told. I saw the brokers 
 making for their haven of Bayswater stucco 
 to receive the reports of Jane's progress in 
 Elementary Physics, Master Harry's broken 
 window, the afternoon call of the Bristow 
 family to bring news that of late Mr. Bristow 
 has not been feeling quite so well — receiving 
 these things, I say, and wanting to stamp and 
 shout, or do something to give a pulse to life. 
 I saw the sheriff's coach, methought, with 
 
6 THE ISLAND 
 
 Care in it. There had been another trouble- 
 some meeting in Hyde Park ; London was 
 going to be governed for Londoners ; and to 
 night's snug Company Dinner, with its guzzhng 
 treasurers, masters, wardens, upper wardens, 
 renter-wardens, past masters, chaplains, and 
 the whole batch might be one of the last of the 
 disgusting series. The very policeman had his 
 anxieties ; would civic reform bring him down 
 to the wage level of the Metropolitan force ? 
 A soldier who had strayed into the prospect 
 seemed to think it was odd to have to guard 
 the Bank on sevenpence a day. They were all 
 scratching themselves ; and when an entire 
 civilisation begins to do that, it is a serious 
 thing. 
 
 It was a serious thing for me. For the 
 life of me I could not get them into focus 
 again for my grand pictorial composition of a 
 community all playing the game of life for 
 mutual diversion. Theirs was rather that 
 infernal game of bowls in the Fourth Circle, 
 where the tormented wretches will roll the 
 balls in one another's faces, when a more 
 sensible direction would cfive them delightful 
 sport. I drove home, telegraphed an excuse 
 
OUT OF FOCUS 7 
 
 to the Constitutional Association, and, I am 
 ashamed to say, went to bed. 
 
 I was no better next morning. Human 
 society was still out of focus. I describe the 
 complaint with some minuteness, because I 
 believe it is quite a new case for the books, 
 and I may go down to posterity, with my 
 name tacked to this disease, like a second 
 Bri<2[ht. The ano^uish is insufferable : it is a 
 sort of intense vertigo, with a very disagree- 
 able accompaniment of sickness in the region 
 of the heart, that robs life of all joy. The 
 men and women about you, instead of having 
 any relation to one another of love, friend- 
 ship, trust, sympathy, and use, become a mass 
 of gyrating atoms, with nothing but repulsions 
 for their pi'inciple of movement. At times 
 j'ou do not know your own brother for such. 
 They form no whole ; they will not compose ; 
 say, rather, they are out of focus, I come back 
 to that. How to get them in ? 
 
 I consulted a friend of a most practical 
 order of mind, and, while frankly confessing 
 liis ignorance of the complaint, he thought, 
 from my persistent mention of the word focus, 
 that distance might be the remedy. ' You 
 
8 THE ISLAND 
 
 were too near,' he said, ' get furtlier off. Go 
 down to Eichmond, and dine.' I thought 
 there might be something in that, and I 
 took his advice. Still it would not come 
 right. So I started for Paris by the night 
 mail. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 FUETHER AFIELD. 
 
 LoNDOX was now quite out of the question : 
 Paris compelled me to be so busy with itself. 
 I had not seen it for years, and had never 
 gone below the surface. The tomb of Xapo- 
 leon, and the view from the Arch (see Guide) 
 were about the measure of my experience. 
 Tliis time I found a guide of another kind, 
 and he gave me a glimpse of the real show. 
 
 He put me down at the Flute, a delightful 
 club, where they try to amuse themselves all 
 the year round. When they are not fiddling, 
 at select evening concerts, they are showing 
 their pictures; and when they are not showing 
 tlieir pictures, they are holding an assault-at- 
 arms — the Flute is a great school of fence — 
 or reviewing the year in a fancy piece, written, 
 mounted, and played by their own men, in 
 their own theatre. My Mentor gave me a 
 
lo THE ISLAND 
 
 month — as he facetiously put it — at another 
 club, the choicest thing there. Through an 
 acquaintance at the Jockey, I found a box-seat 
 on a coach for the private race meeting at 
 La Marche — very pretty, very select ; no 
 comini? in vour thousands, as at the Grand 
 Prix, but just a snug thing between j^ou and 
 me, and a few others, of entirely the right 
 sort. The w^omen looked sweet and fresh as 
 a bed of primroses ; the course was like a 
 tenuis lawn; we lunched alfresco, and no one 
 threw bones on the grass. Far, far away the 
 yell of the bookmaker, and the smell of town. 
 I never enjoyed anything more. 
 
 I was presented all round, and was en- 
 gaged for a reception that night, at the house 
 of one of the chaperones, 
 
 ' You will see the best salon in Paris,' 
 said A. 
 
 ' And what is a salon ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I don't know ; they say nobody 
 knows but themselves. Perhaps a crowd of 
 clever people trying to kill the worm of ennui. 
 Nothing like that at home, where the beast is 
 as sacred as the cow at Benares.' 
 
 It was grand monde tinctured with litera- 
 
FURTHER AFIELD il 
 
 ture — that was the social blend. We went 
 to a delightfully old-fashioned house, one of 
 the few left, and saluted a deliglitfully old- 
 fashioned person — a Marquise, I believe, to 
 complete the harmony of association — who 
 looked like an original of some Moreau le 
 Jeune. Her hair was silver — perfect Louis 
 XV., without the powder pufF; she had quick 
 piercing eyes, black amid all this whiteness, 
 and there was a suspicion of hoop in her skirts. 
 She was the queen of a little court, and very 
 condescending. The courtiers acted up to 
 their part by elegant flatteries. They told 
 little stories at her to exemplify her wit and 
 spirit, and capped quotations from her last 
 book, in stage asides. The book was just out, 
 and we had learned it by heart that morning, 
 as the inevitable topic of the small hours. It 
 was a dainty article de Paris ; all her rij^e 
 experiences of life distilled in maxim, after the 
 manner of M. de la Eochefoucauld. Every 
 other maxim was about love ; they are some- 
 times too 3^oung, but never too old for that 
 vital theme. There was a certain disin- 
 terested grandeur in the attitude of the 
 Marquise. ' I too have played the grand 
 
12 THE ISLAND 
 
 irame,' she seemed to say, ' and now I umj)ire 
 the match.' 
 
 ' " One of the consolations of old age for a 
 woman," said a quoting courtier to his neigh- 
 bours, " is to dare follow her inclinations with- 
 out peril of love, and show herself a devoted 
 friend, without encouraging dangerous hopes." 
 Is it possible to speak with more finesse ? ' 
 
 ' I overheard )^ou,' said the Marquise 
 gaily, ' but you weaken the compliment by 
 talking- so loud. I am not old enough to be 
 deaf.' 
 
 Tor my part,' said the other, 'T want to 
 know how the Marquise found you all out so 
 well, vous autres. Listen to this : " Habit has 
 as much power over the nature of men as the 
 unknown over the mind of women," That is 
 my pearl from the chaplet. It is so true.' 
 
 ' And so finely said ! ' 
 
 'Ah, all you care about is the workman- 
 ship,' said our hostess. 'But I tell you, I have 
 lived all that.' 
 
 A General came by, with a charming 
 woman on his arm. He was, in some sort, a 
 counterpart of the elderly muse — silvery hair, 
 a raven brow, and sparkling eyes. 
 
FURTHER AFIELD 13 
 
 ' The butcher of the Commune,' whispered 
 A. to me. ' His column made the fewest 
 prisoners.' 
 
 'They are beginning to be troublesome 
 again, General,' I heard the lady say. ' That 
 dreadful meeting yesterday ! Did you see the 
 account ? ' 
 
 ' We are ready for them, Madame ; 
 and with the old argument, mitraille ; I 
 assure yon they only pretend to like it : it 
 hurts.' 
 
 There was a story about everybody — not 
 always a good one ; but their worst stories 
 were told in their best way. With us, there is 
 so much ingenuity of subterfuge in the other 
 direction. We might do as well, if we dared. 
 They dare, because the women insist on it, and 
 the sovereign obligation is to keep the women 
 amused — the best women, and best is brightest 
 here. It is a great assault of arms for the 
 gallery, and, if you have a good place, it is 
 pleasanter to be in the gallery than in tlie 
 ring. The exertion is terrible ; some of the 
 most noted performers, I believe, lie abed all 
 next day. You have to justify by gifts, as well 
 as by graces ; and the gifts are not always 
 
14 THE ISLAND 
 
 there. Beautiful statues are left on their 
 pedestals : the word tells. 
 
 Still, I don't think tliey make the best of 
 their women. There is, perhaps, a finer use. 
 They try to make the most of them, certainly. 
 The women shape the whole civilisation, and 
 they are just now labouring with much energy 
 at the decline and fall. I have always won- 
 dered why they do not include a represen- 
 tation of this commanding interest in the 
 government — Le Ministere de la Femme. It 
 would soon rule the whole cabinet, for the 
 incumbent would be sure to know the busi- 
 ness of most of the other departments — War, 
 Commerce, Interior, Foreign Affairs. 
 
 It is too good for every day — life on the top 
 of a twelfth cake, and some of the figures no 
 more to be visited by sun and rain and the 
 winds of Heaven than if they were cast in 
 sugar. I heard one of them taking the law 
 from another, on the authority of a gazette of 
 fashion, as to tlie right way of getting up on 
 a winter's morning. There are two ways, it 
 seems. 'An hour before 3'ou turn out, ma 
 chere, the maid is to hght your fire, and put 
 up the screen. Silver fined with pink silk is 
 
FURTHER AFIELD 15 
 
 pretty ; it throws a sort of rosy morning liglit 
 into the room. Mind you have your chocolate 
 on a warmer ! And do you know how to 
 warm your toast-rack ? A httle live charcoal 
 sprinkled with vanilla ; it makes the air so 
 sweet. Eaoul gave me such a love of a toast- 
 rack [im amour) the other day. They are 
 making them in gold now. Don't jump up 
 at once, mind — snooze. What do you wear for 
 a deshahille? I like satin lined with swans- 
 down, and velvet fastenings ; buttons are so 
 horribly cold. Line your slippers with swans- 
 down, too ; I hate a cold shpper. B-r-r-r ! 
 Madame d'Argenson warms her bath-room 
 with little gusts of rose vapour, pumped 
 through a hole in the Avail ; it is an idea. Do 
 you know how to get warm ? Never get cold. 
 Floss silk for your stockings, if you please. I 
 won't even see cold. I have my blinds em- 
 broidered with a rising sun, and the maid 
 brings in fresh flowers with the chocolate. It 
 makes summer in the room. Excusez da peu. 
 Then, if you want to know how happy you 
 are, just lift the blind, and peep out, and see 
 the people dancing on the pavement to keep 
 tliemselves warm. But you'll see enough of 
 
i6 THE ISLAND 
 
 lliat wlien you drive, if you like to look at 
 such things. I don't. They are making little 
 things in enamel, for muff warmers, now ; 
 tiny apples filled with hot water — not big 
 ones, or you'll spoil the shape of your hands. 
 Besides, big ones would make your fingers 
 red ; you only want to make them rosy, jpas 
 trop nenfaut. 
 
 ' What kind of gloves do you sleep in ? I 
 prefer a plush lining to the kid. Some say 
 swansdown. I think it's #(>6> warm. Remember 
 there is the coverlet. Stick to plusli, you 
 can't do better, from head to foot. I have 
 seen the nightcap fastened with a little cosy 
 turtle-dove, just under the left ear — if you lie 
 on that side. And make her bring you a 
 light creme de Sahaillon when you turn in. 
 You know, two fresh eggs, and a small glass 
 of Madeira. B-r-r-r ! how I hate the cold.' 
 
 A padded person of the sterner sex, who 
 was one of the council, propounded a still 
 more original scheme. ' Chere Comtesse, why 
 all these precautions, when you might so easily 
 get out of the way ? I travel in search of 
 perpetual summer, and find it. My man 
 begins to move south, as soon as the cold 
 
FURTHER AFIELD 17 
 
 threatens here, and the moment he finds 
 settled sunshine, lie telegraphs me to come on. 
 I never go till Nature is ready, and, when I 
 reach one place, he starts for another, so I 
 always have sunshine in reserve. We keep 
 steadily flying south till the turn of the 
 weather, and then we make north again for 
 the Paris May. I was only caught twice by 
 rain last year, and once by sleet, and then I 
 threatened to discharge him if it happened 
 again. CUere Comtesse^ life is too precious : 
 do not waste it in these trials. Will you 
 have a cup of tea ? ' 
 
 ' He is very wretched, for all his make- 
 believe,' said Mentor, ' he is going to marry ; 
 and he is in a torment of prospective jealousy. 
 It is the funniest case in the world. The 
 young person is faultless ; all our young 
 persons are, you know. He pays the proper 
 visits, always in evening-dress — it is our way 
 — and talks to her about the picture-gallery 
 of the Louvre, and the Advent sermons, for 
 just three-quarters of an hour by the clock, 
 with her mother on guard all the time. Tliis 
 is courtship. When she marries, she will ac- 
 quire the privilege of watching others in the 
 
 c 
 
i8 THE ISLAND 
 
 same way, and of being herself unwatclied ; 
 and there tlie retribution comes in. He is 
 not in the least jealons now ; he only knows 
 he is going to be. There are complications, 
 you see. He is not only about to marry the 
 young person, he is very fond of her, which 
 is perhaps inexcusable at his time of life. In 
 the days of his age he remembers his youth, 
 and — il na pas confiance. He is meditating 
 some domestic ukase about visitors, and posi- 
 tively wants to include his mother-in-law in 
 the family circle. " The duenna, or the cheap 
 defence of households," is, I believe, the idea. 
 All this, of course, implies no suspicion of the 
 lady, but only a most horrible retrospective 
 suspicion of himself. " Do to others as you 
 would not be done by," has been the rule of 
 his joyous life ; and — il rta pas confiance. We 
 used to call him " Proverbs." His choicest 
 conversational effect was a detestable little 
 saying about the folly of acquiring the ma- 
 terial of happiness for yourself, when you 
 might always command the stores of your 
 friends. He never quotes his proverb now. 
 I would rewrite the story of Don Juan from 
 his case, with this torment for the Nemesis. 
 
FURTHER AFIELD 19 
 
 Let Juan marry and settle on this prospect of 
 eternal anguish, and leave old raw-head the 
 Commandant, and his horse, for the nursery 
 tales.' 
 
 To a lazy man like myself there is but one 
 drawback in this city ; you are rather expected 
 to make love to your neighbour's wife. The 
 nuisance is even greater than in London. They 
 are not exactly rude to you, if you don't, 
 but they mark their sense of your behaviour 
 in a thousand delicate ways. It is considered 
 disrespectful to the lady of the house. 
 
 We went to the Opera, and, of course, 1}€ 
 led me behind the scenes. It is certainly mag- 
 nificent. The most self-indulgent monarchs 
 have never enjoyed half so much luxury as 
 these essentially combining people get on the 
 joint-stock principle. They are true demo- 
 crats, and, as their institutions develop, the 
 poorest will have his iparc aux cerjs. There 
 is no selfishness in the foyer de la danse ; all 
 the subscribers are brothers, all equal, all 
 free, as in a temple of faith. Ces dames 
 make no distinctions of persons. It was 
 touching to see Army, Navy, Commerce, 
 Senate, and Bar — Bench, I believe, as Avell — 
 
 c 2 
 
20 THE ISLAND 
 
 paying homage at these gauze-curtained 
 slirines. Kadical and Conservative leaders, 
 weaUhy Jews, the epigrammatic General I 
 had just met, sparks from the club, and some 
 hideous heads of age that ought to have been 
 under nightcaps, were all at their devotions, 
 visitinjT one shrine after another, sometimes 
 with offerings. Mesdames were occasionally 
 wayward and severe, but I am loath to be- 
 lieve that they are cruel divinities, and I am 
 confirmed in this by those who know them 
 best. It was a brilliant scene, the green room 
 itself a blaze of decoration, in ceiling, chande- 
 liers and walls ; portraits of great dancers and 
 composers on the panels ; grand pictorial 
 com|)Ositions above, the War dance, the 
 Country dance, the Love dance, the Bacchic 
 dance ; below, a curious patchwork of black 
 coat and white skirt, with here and there a 
 sylpli pirouetting for practice, on a floor that 
 slopes like the stage — a fleece cloud driven by 
 tlie wind — or holding on for support to an 
 iron bar cased with velvet, and pointing, with 
 satin-shod toe, to another and a brighter 
 world. Here, as I have said. Valour reposes 
 after the toils of war, and Legislation after the 
 
FURTHER AFIELD 21 
 
 fatigues of debate. Art sketching in tlie 
 corner is represented by that solitary, who has 
 a passion for problems, and who is haunted by 
 the desire to transfer this poetry of motion to 
 canvas, and to make the work tremble with life 
 as you gaze. Great soul and genius, the only 
 single-minded one in all this throng — hail ! 
 
 We looked in at another club on the way 
 home, a mere tripot this, but gorgeous like all 
 the rest, and throwing blazing beams across 
 the boulevard from its many chandeliers. 
 Here their industry is baccarat, and the net 
 profits of many a mine and factory, transmit- 
 ted by inheritance to youths of spirit who 
 want to see the world, pass from hand to 
 hand across the baize. Sailors reef the top- 
 sail in storms, coal miners lie on backs or 
 bellies in the dark, girls ripen to premature 
 womanhood in the tropic heat of factories, to 
 feed this sport. I lost a few coins, supped, 
 and came away. One of the players was 
 pointed out to me as the inventor of a new 
 diversion, the Snail Race, '^'le race-course is 
 a smooth board, with a lighted candle at the 
 end, laid on the table in a darkened room. 
 The snails naturally creep towards the light. 
 
22 THE ISLAND 
 
 There are miniature hurdles, and a water- 
 jump, and tlie handicapping is done with 
 pellets of clay. You may lose quite enough 
 at this to make it exciting, by maintaining a 
 due disproportion between the amount of the 
 wager and the value of the snail. It is played 
 between five and six, just before dressing for 
 dinner, and it fills in an hour that many find 
 heavy on their hands. 
 
 Next day it was a drive in the Bois to 
 salute one's friends. I had already quite a 
 list of them. Surely this people have the 
 secret, I thought, as we span along through 
 alleys of tender green, with sunlight dancing 
 in the leaves, blue and white in the border- 
 ing villas, and the purple slopes of Valerien 
 to close in the scene. We skipped the Lake, 
 according to directions, and looked out for 
 faces under the acacia trees. They were all 
 there. I was so delighted with it that I 
 could not go indoors ; so we pushed on, by the 
 Cours la Eeine, and the river, to see more. 
 
 They have the philosophic taste for 
 angling ; the banks were lined, yet the waters 
 lost nothing by their sport. It was hve and 
 let live, with man and fish. We had left the 
 
FURTHER AFIELD 23 
 
 l)lack coats behind us ; they were blouses 
 now ; and everywhere the white and blue and 
 gj:een, the brightness, and the leisured groups. 
 A worthy pair of retired rentiers^ male and 
 female, seemed to have devoted the whole 
 afternoon to washing their poodle in the 
 Seine. Monsieur lathered him, and drove him 
 into the water for the rinsing with innocent 
 oaths and ejaculations, '-ere noml bigre! sa- 
 perlipopette ! ' or whistled him back with a 
 properly certificated dog-call, when he seemed 
 to be going out of his depth. Madame stood 
 by with towel, comb, and brush. For this they 
 had kept the little grocer's shop at the corner 
 of the Eue St. Jacques de la Boucherie for 
 seven-and-twenty years, and toiled late and 
 early, Sabbath and fete, and put savings in 
 the Paris Loans! 'And why not?' I ask, 
 with ever increasing emphasis, while anyone 
 shall say, ' And why ? ' All classes seem so 
 happy, I thought, so innocently gay — it is 
 the stock reflection of the tourist in the 
 Paris streets. 
 
 I was standing on the bridge ; and just 
 then there was a rush past me of the avant- 
 garde of a crowd, followed by the main 
 
24 THE ISLAND 
 
 body. Tliey were fierce-looking and sorrowful. 
 Those who were not in blouses wore grease- 
 polished coats and hats — always a bad sign 
 — and the few who were not frowning had 
 the grease in their smile, always a worse. 
 There was a woman at the head of them, in 
 black, and carrying a black flag, an angular 
 creature, as lantern-jawed as a saint from a 
 missal, with eyes like live coals. 
 
 ' What is it ? Who is it ? ' 
 
 ' The Eed Virgin. We want bread, 
 citoyen! 
 
 It was not literally true, I think — most of 
 them looked fat enough — prospectively true, 
 perhaps. They hurried off towards the outer 
 boulevards, I following, and, on their way, 
 they pillaged a baker's shop, the Black or Eed 
 one standing by, and waving her corpse-flag 
 with approval, but touching no morsel of the 
 food. Then they poured into a dirty little 
 hall, garnished in the vestibule with a col- 
 lection of pamphlets inciting to murder and 
 arson, and began to ' meet.' 
 
 They had a clear issue before them, and 
 they knew their own minds. They were met 
 to see how they could burn down civilisation. 
 
FURTHER AFIELD 25 
 
 Nothing more, nothing less. Government was 
 to go, property, laws, classes, the whole frame- 
 work, with all the pretty things I had lately 
 seen — the drag that took me to La Marche, 
 the salons, the Opera, the coaches in the 
 Wood, myself too, I suppose, by implication, 
 though none took notice of me. They spoke 
 with beautiful volubility, precision, logic, each 
 man perfect in the spouter's gift. 
 
 Presently the Virgin in black rose, and I 
 began to understand why she was called the 
 Eed. She spoke in sing-song the chaunted 
 dirge of the thing they wanted to burn. 
 It was very grotesque, and very serious. 
 ' Citizens, it must all go, only the tire can 
 purge it. Nothing will better it ; it has been 
 bettering for eigliteen centuries, and it is 
 worse to-day. I believed once, like them, and 
 wrote hymns to the other Virgin, and I know 
 she never hears. She is made of stone, like 
 their hearts. citizens, the infamy of it ! — 
 their fine houses and fine feasts, fine adulteries 
 and fine lies, with labour for their everlasting 
 bond-slave and thrall. Voyons ! it is all a 
 mockery. How many of you, before we broke 
 the bread shop open, had eaten to-day ? ' 
 
26 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' Mvi ! ' shouted perhaps twenty voices, aud 
 about as many hands were held up, while 
 about five times as many were held down. 
 ' If there were only one,' said the Red Virgin, 
 ' we would burn it for that one. What ! with 
 ships in every port, and the finest climate and 
 soil in the universe, and all the labour and all 
 the martyrdom of the past behind us to start 
 us fair, we cannot give every man his crust 
 and his cup of wine ! Voyons : on se moque de 
 nous! Stand out of the way, with your 
 governments and your religions, and leave us 
 to ourselves, to be good. We should be so 
 good without you. It would be so easy ; love 
 comes naturally to man, and justice; only the 
 laws of loving and the laics of justice bar the 
 way. The codes are between us and the 
 Sun. Burn them, and start afresh. Vive 
 VAnarchie ! ' 
 
 ' Vive VAnarchie ! ' cried most of us, but it 
 was not nem. con. ' Down with the Virgin,' 
 shouted a big, black-muzzled fellow near the 
 door ; and he meant the Eed one too ! 
 
 ' A la porte Vespion ! ' roared fifty others 
 back at him. It was a fight. 
 
 He was not alone — ' a has la Vierge ! ' re- 
 
FURTHER AFIELD 27 
 
 peated his body-guard, closing round liim. 
 The chairs were broken into fragments in an 
 instant, and I was luckily able to interpose 
 my walking-stick between one of the fra**-- 
 ments and the head of a prostrate man. 
 
 So they fell to buffets, the troubled souls 
 who had met to settle the new law of love, 
 beating each other cruelly with hand and 
 foot. It was clear possession, and their tor- 
 mentors were, perhaps, the self-same legion 
 that once did duty in the swine. They tore 
 each other, in sheer impatience for the rise of 
 the curtain on the great poetic drama of the 
 Millennial Eeign. They had bad seats for the 
 show, I think ; that had something to do with 
 it ; in the comparative airiness of the boxes, 
 patience does not come so hard. 
 
 I strolled away. Out of focus, too, tliis 
 group of humanity ; and worse than the 
 last ! 
 
28 THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 I WAS really running away now. It was not 
 retreat, but flight ; useless to pretend that I 
 was even looking civihsation in the face. 
 
 Some instinct led nie to Geneva. There 
 would be safety, I thought, in its balanced 
 poetry and prose, the mountains held in check 
 by the tourists, the lake by the hotels. 
 
 But I liad reckoned without the gentle- 
 man whose crown I liad saved in the late 
 meUe. He turned up one day on Eousseau's 
 Island, and hailed me as a brother. I assured 
 liim I was but a second cousin, at the outside. 
 It was in vain. He led me to a remote garret 
 in the old town, and introduced me to a circle 
 of blood relations in democracy, by whom, 
 after examination, I was received into the 
 family. 
 
 I did not mind ; only it was hard to find 
 this sort of thing going on everywhere. 
 
FLIGHT 
 
 29 
 
 I was evidently found to improve on ac- 
 quaintance, for, one day, I was solemnly invited 
 to a polyglot tea party, in another garret, 
 with a Eussian lady making the tea. 
 
 It was green tea, fortunately ; else it would 
 have been altogether too absurdly innocent a 
 compound for this entertainment. Everybody 
 but myself had done something, and I felt 
 quite ashamed to say that I had only stood 
 on the steps of the Eoyal Exchange. My 
 sponsor came out in a new light ; he had been 
 first smearer of petroleum at the Ministry of 
 Finance, during the Commune. He assured 
 us that no other building burnt half so well. 
 He laid it all on the rez-de-chaussee ; his col- 
 leagues wasted their stuff on the upper walls. 
 A friend from Spain had shot three priests in 
 the Carthagena riots, with one discharge of a 
 blunderbuss. There was an offer to introduce 
 me as one of the gentlemen who tried to sky 
 London Bridge, so that I might not look 
 strange, but I hate a false pretence. The 
 lady at the samovar was a student emissary, 
 who crossed the frontier with despatches, and 
 she had just come back with news. She had 
 seen the latest execution at St. Petersburer — 
 
30 THE ISLAND 
 
 two of the bretliren and one sister lianginj? 
 up in the falUng snow, as stiff as frozen ox- 
 tongues. There were other clieerful reports 
 from Rome, and from Belgrade ; and one com- 
 j)anion, who w^as strong in geography, gave 
 lis a bird's-eye of the whole woeful earth. It 
 was to much the same effect, only that, further 
 afield, the dull pain of living was oftener met 
 by endurance than by revolt. We had five 
 minutes in the native quarter at Amoy, and 
 saw an ingenious device of the needy to qualify 
 as mendicant cripples, by making their feet 
 rot off. It is something of a trade secret ; but 
 the right way is to tie a cord tightly round 
 the ankle, till the member mortifies. It is 
 a livin" — where it is not certain death. Next, 
 we were with the stark naked casuals, squat- 
 ting in the streets of Pekin in winter time, 
 while, gorged witli humanitarian learning, the 
 lordly scholars pass. We came home by way 
 of Central Asia, and dropped in on the squalid 
 poor of Smarkand lousing among their quilted 
 rags. The coaling coolies at Aden detained 
 us but a moment ; and, but a moment more, 
 the sponge divers of the ^gean, with their 
 lungs choked with blood, for the great law 
 
FLIGHT 31 
 
 of the marmn of subsistence readies even to 
 the ocean bed. 
 
 Next day, I made straight for Genoa. I 
 seemed to labour for breath on the dry hmd, 
 and to want the sweet clean sea. 
 
 There was an Italian merchantman in port, 
 fitting out for a voyage round the world. They 
 had macaroni on board ; and, if they had boiled 
 the huge cargo, they might have girdled the 
 globe as they sailed. They were going to 
 take it to Ceylon and the Philippines, by way 
 of the Suez Canal, and then, come back by the 
 Horn to pick up something for the home mar- 
 ket. I wanted a ship ; they were not averse 
 to a passenger. Short of ballooning, it seemed 
 the readiest way of giving Civilisation the slip. 
 
 We sailed ; and, as I just had the honour 
 to inform you, here I am, on a peak in the 
 Pacific, and thirteen thousand miles away from 
 the dome of St. Paul's — which, as everybody 
 knows, is but a stone's throw from the Eoyal 
 Exchano-e. For distance, I think this will do. 
 
THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ADVENTURE. 
 
 How I got there, this chapter will tell. 
 
 The calm of that passage of the Indian 
 Ocean ! — the clays of sunlight, a little too 
 ardent, perhaps ; the nights of moons — the 
 calm of the spirit, I mean, profounder than 
 the calm of Avaters. A ship is either a 
 heaven or a hell; and when it is a heaven, 
 why not let that one suffice? The world 
 empty, and no papers — no daily report from 
 the sick bed of civilisation. Who could want 
 more, or less ? 
 
 Ceylon, with its new faces and its shipman's 
 bustle, hardly ruffled our repose, and when it 
 did, I shut my eyes. At the Philippines, it 
 was much the same. Both are fully described 
 in the Gazetteers. 
 
 Then it was hey ! for tlie next long lap to 
 the Horn, with only a call for water or for 
 
ADVENTURE 33 
 
 wild-fowl, here and there. We were in the 
 Pacific now, for all its bursts of temper how 
 finely named! Should not all oceans, boreal 
 or equinoctial, have the same generic title, 
 for, spite of storm and reef and waterspout, 
 surely their message is peace ? Such stretches 
 of proud, self-sufiScing silence in between the 
 gusts, such comforting assurance, in deepest 
 whispers, of the final rest ! Here, on salt water 
 only, can we set compass for the land voyage. 
 Now and again it thundered, and the rain 
 crashed down like falling walls of water, but 
 always my soul was still. If the worst 
 happened, we should still reach the deepest 
 bottom at last, and find a soft bed in the ooze. 
 There was magnetic disturbance of a kind, 
 however, in that Italian skipper. He was not 
 too well acquainted with the course, and lie 
 was subject to scares about cannibals. He 
 feared that the natives of these parts might 
 prefer him to liis macaroni. He had an old 
 Genoese edition of Cook, and he read it as if 
 it were a deliverance of yesterday. Whenever 
 we touched at an island, existence seemed 
 hardly worth having at his price of precaution 
 — scouts, and rear-guard, and main body, all 
 
 D 
 
34 THE ISLAND 
 
 to effect a positive life insurance against some 
 old woman squatting on a mat. Poisoned 
 arrows, again, were his peculiar aversion, 
 and, to keep out of reach of them, he usually- 
 directed landing operations through a trum- 
 pet from the ship's side. In vain I argued 
 that one fear ought to preclude the other, 
 and that, if they poisoned him, lie would 
 certainly never be fit to eat. Sometimes I 
 tried to reassure him by landing alone, and 
 returning with an escort of friendly natives, 
 and a store of yams. The lesson was lost on 
 him ; he attributed my safety to the fact 
 that my joints offered no temptation to the 
 critical eye. 
 
 One glorious afternoon, sailing from the 
 south we saw a peak rising sheer from the 
 ocean and huge, for it still might be about 
 thirty miles off. It seemed to taper from a 
 broad and solid base, like the summit of a 
 cathedral. He said, ' St. Peter's.' I said, 
 ' St. Paul's.' As we got nearer, we made out 
 a small island of solid rock, with sharp pre- 
 cipitous sides, plumped down in the blue, and 
 with no neighbours in sight. Add Kensington 
 Gardens to Hyde Park, and you might have 
 
ADVENTURE 35 
 
 its total area. It was covered with verdure 
 and stately trees ; but a fringe of white at the 
 water's edge showed that, in spite of the 
 perfectly calm weather, the surf was boiling 
 against its awful shores. 
 
 It looked fruity, though desolate, and I 
 insisted on going ashore for guavas, much to 
 the disgust of the skipper. He offered me 
 dried plums, in dissuasion, from a box fringed 
 with paper lace, but the sight of them only 
 increased my craving for the fresh fruit. At 
 last he let me put off alone, crossing himself 
 as I left the ship's side ; but he had done 
 this so often that it made no particular im- 
 pression on me. I promised to be back, in 
 three hours at the outside, while he stood off 
 and on. There was no anchorage for us, even 
 if there had been time to let go. 
 
 The httle place grew in beauty as I neared 
 it, but in grimness, too. Below the verdure, 
 it was all great fangs of rock, biting into the 
 sea at the sharpest angles. The surf was 
 more terrible than ever on a closer view. 
 The water was flaked with the fury of its strife 
 with the iron-bound shore. I thought of 
 turning back, but I am very fond of guavas. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE ISLAND 
 
 Besides, I had seen something of the manage- 
 ment of boats in surf, and I fancied it was 
 easier than it looked. The knack is to mount 
 the crest of a wave, and shoot in with it into a 
 soft place. There was one soft place here, in 
 the angle of a little bay, with earth and wild 
 plants sloping to the water's edge, and for 
 this I made. I thought I was doing it very 
 nicely, until I felt a heavy blow on the head, 
 and, just before my eyes closed in a dead faint, 
 saw the boat, bottom upwards, floating out to 
 sea. I had missed by a hair's-breadth, and 
 brushed a boulder half hidden in the grass. 
 
 The moon was up when I came to. I 
 must have lain there some hours, wedged 
 comfortably in the brushwood that clung 
 to the stone, high, and nearly dry again, 
 though at the outset I was, of course, wet 
 through. It was a mercy rather than a judg- 
 ment, after all. The sea had shot me out of 
 its own reach, and no one could have been 
 more considerately stunned. There was a 
 slight flesh wound on my forehead, but no 
 bone broken anywhere. I sat up, and brought 
 my thoughts back to life ; then slowly found 
 my feet, and went to look for my hat. In a 
 
ADVENTURE yj 
 
 few moments I became aware that there were 
 other things missing, namely, the boat and the 
 ship. 
 
 All were gone. The great stretch of sea 
 was without a speck. I was alone, abandoned 
 to starvation or other miserable death. I 
 threw myself on the ground and sobbed. 
 
 What had become of the ship ? Alas ! my 
 tlieory of probabilities was only too easy to 
 form. They had found the upturned boat, 
 and perhaps the hat, had jumped to the 
 conclusion that it was all over with me, and 
 made olf, pursued no doubt, in fancy, by a 
 fleet of cannibal canoes. And here was I, a 
 second Eobinson, on a lonely shore, without so 
 much as a wreck to start me in housekeeping. 
 
 The rock sloped at this place, as I have 
 said, and I easily climbed to the summit, and 
 looked around. I meant to sit down there, 
 and form plans. But I forgot all about the 
 morrow, as soon as I saw what nature had sent 
 me that night. It was the full moon ; and to 
 know what moonlight is you must come to 
 these Southern seas. I had no print to read, 
 but I could trace the lines in my palm, and I 
 was consoled by the observation that my line 
 
38 THE ISLAXD 
 
 of life was a long one. Behind me were the 
 massive shadows of higher hills, before, a table- 
 land of grass and wild trees, bathed in the sooth- 
 ing light, and beyond, the molten silver of the 
 sea fringed with the everlasting surf. The only 
 landward sound was the soft ' click, click ' of 
 some native bird. Tt was impossible to feel 
 sad ; it Avas a place to die in, if not to live in, 
 come what might. 
 
 The night was warm, I felt no chill, and I 
 sat down and thought the thoughts one thinks 
 in the moonlight. The pity of it that one 
 should ever take the trouble to be less than 
 one's best in this passing flash of life ! What 
 matters the pain for the purchase of this 
 certain joy — the only joy that is sure, so why 
 not make the most of it in valour, honour, 
 fortitude, without waiting for aught sweeter in 
 the dim beatitudes beyond ? So to live as, at 
 this moment, thou couldst cease to live ! It is 
 the moon's message, delivered with unfailing 
 regularity once a month, and her main business 
 is to deliver it, not to suck up tides. The 
 shilling almanacs will never contain everything 
 till they devote a line to this interesting fact. 
 When the moon gets that message into the soul, 
 
ADVENTURE 39 
 
 all else must make way for it. Stockbroking 
 seems a pity, in her mildly searching light, witli 
 most other modes of getting on ; and no wonder 
 there is a tradition in Bayswater families that 
 this kind of natural illumination is bad for the 
 eyes. 
 
 I, too, was not unmindful of a domestic 
 tradition on the subject ; and, when I felt 
 sleepy, I sought the shade of a hill. I made 
 my bed of brushwood, and sank down. I 
 ought to have felt cold, and caught cold, but 
 I did neither — perhaps the very dews were 
 pickled by the sea air. 
 
 The sun called me betimes next morning, 
 and I rose at once, painfully hungry, but in 
 perfect serenity of mind. Now that I saw 
 more of my new home, I could not think of it 
 as my grave. Before me, to the north east, 
 rose the tremendous peak we had sighted 
 from the sea. The hills into which it sank at 
 its base stretched right across the island, 
 forming a ridge at right angles to the other 
 previously seen from the ship. I was thus 
 shut in a corner, and I could see nothing of 
 what lay beyond. I might have seen more 
 by mounting the hill, but I seemed to dread 
 
40 THE ISLAND 
 
 to do it. I thought I would follow the coast 
 line, from a vague idea that it would be safer 
 to have the sea at hand. There was no sign 
 of human life, but the air was alive with 
 myriads of sea birds, wheeling about the rock. 
 The fly catchers, darting through the air 
 for breakfast, added to the animation of the 
 scene, but, of course, made me feel hungrier 
 than ever. There was a distant prospect of 
 a meal, however, in the wild goats looking 
 down on me from the hills — in grave wonder, 
 I hoped, at their first sight of a man. Early 
 as it was, tiny lizards darted about at my feet 
 in evident distress of mind. 
 
 Always skirting the rock, I came soon 
 to another peak, lower than the one first 
 seen, but still awful in its sheer fall of six or 
 seven hundred feet right into the sea. I lay 
 down, to peep over tlie almost perpendicu- 
 lar wall, and rose again with a sense that I 
 and my island were going to be very cosy 
 together, and all to ourselves. Then, lifting 
 my eyes to the highest summit beyond me, to 
 measure the breadth of our domain, I saw a 
 human shape, standing clean and clear and 
 quiet on the verge, against the cloudless sky. 
 
41 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 RESCUE. 
 
 It was a woman — so much I could make out, 
 in spite of the distance, some three hundred 
 yards as the crow flies, though more, of 
 course, by the dip between the two hills — a 
 woman, by the rounded contours of the 
 silhouette, and a tall one. Of her face, I 
 could as yet say nothing : she was looking 
 out to sea. 
 
 A woman, then, but of what tribe? There 
 was no telling by the dress. She wore a 
 petticoat of some dark material, reaching to 
 the knee. It was but a dark patch, of course, 
 as I saw it ; and above it was the white one 
 of another garment. At first, that was all 
 I made out — the patch of dark, the patch of 
 white, with the half tint that stood for her 
 bare limbs. She seemed to be shading her 
 
42 THE ISLAND 
 
 eyes with lier liand, as she stood in the glare 
 of Ught. 
 
 Suddenly she wheeled round, as though 
 to descend the peak, and, in doing it, saw me. 
 We were now face to face, she on the higher 
 summit, I on the lower, with only the valley 
 between us. I could not see her features, 
 but she seemed rooted to the spot with as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 I instinctively felt for a weapon. I ex- 
 pected a scream or a signal, and savage 
 warriors trooping over the hill. But she 
 made no sign. Hesitation was out of the 
 question : I moved straiglit towards her. I 
 had no beads about me for a peace-offering, 
 so I fumbled at my watch chain, and 
 wrenched off a propitiatory pencil-case that 
 I hoped might serve. 
 
 She advanced too. I'hen, at every step, the 
 bands of light and dark began to develop into 
 the most majestic shape of youthful woman- 
 hood I had ever seen. The white was evidently 
 a sleeveless undergarment reaching, like the 
 petticoat of deep blue, no further than the 
 knee. The naked arms, legs, and feet were 
 no darker than the cheek of a brunette. 
 
RESCUE 
 
 43 
 
 The chemise was low, and above it rose tlic 
 glorious bust, almost as broad as a man's, 
 and with a virgin firmness of line that was 
 strength and softness too. She was very tall 
 for her sex, tall even for mine, but the per- 
 fect proportion between body and limbs took 
 off all effect of ungainliness. She moved with 
 the beautiful poise and precision of a moun- 
 taineer, brushing hillock, tuft, and boulder in 
 the slope, as though they formed but one 
 level. 
 
 Would she attack? It looked so, else 
 why had she met my advance so boldly, with- 
 out calling her tribe .^ She seemed to have 
 taken the measure of me for single combat. 
 She would have been a formidable foe, in any 
 case, to say nothing of the handicapping in 
 respect for the sex. 
 
 But there was no more of aggression than 
 there was of flight in her attitude, as she 
 paused at last, wdien but a few feet parted us, 
 and looking down on me in placid wonder, 
 from large and lustrous eyes, showed me the 
 peculiar beauty of her face. Her features 
 were regular, without being faultlessly, or 
 rather, faultily so. Her complexion would 
 
44 THE ISLAND 
 
 have passed muster for fairness in Provence, 
 if not farther north. Tlie only signs of race 
 type were in a certain prominence of the 
 brow, and in tlie deep hqiiid softness of the 
 gaze. I had seen such eyes in some of the 
 Coral Islands, and I used sometimes to wish 
 we could take a pair of them back with us, 
 to put the Italian women out of conceit with 
 their own. Her lips were rather full and 
 sensuous, but this did not impair the tender 
 dignity of her expression. Her dark hair, 
 shining, I regret to say, with some native oil, 
 which, even at a distance, I could perceive 
 was scented, seemed to have been caught up 
 with one sweeping gesture, and gathered in a 
 knot behind. Her feet were ratJier large, 
 though perfectly formed ; and she had di-awn 
 them close together, as she paused, like a 
 child toeing the line in school. To complete 
 the similitude, she stood perfectly straight, 
 with her arms folded behind her, and her 
 head thrown back — her bosom, the while, 
 gently rising and falling with excitement but 
 half suppressed, and carrying with it, in its 
 motion, her sole ornament, a common Englisli 
 navy button, fastened with ribbon to her 
 
RESCUE 
 
 45 
 
 throat. I had looked on other women as 
 beautiful in feature, but never on one so 
 magnificently formed. It recalled poetic 
 ideals of the youth of the race. 
 
 Evidently she was waiting for me to 
 say something, but ]iow was I to say it ? 
 The whole Melanesian mission might have 
 been at fault in tlie speech of this solitary 
 isle. So I began toying with the pencil-case 
 once more, and then, in a desperate attempt 
 to recall some characters of a universal sign 
 language, I folded my hands on my breast — 
 as I had once seen it done by savages of 
 wilder aspect, in a ballet in Leicester Square. 
 
 No language in the world could do justice 
 to my astonishment at what followed, and 
 therefore I set it down without comment, just 
 as it passed. 
 
 ' You speak English, I suppose,' said the 
 girl. ' How did you come on the Island ? ' 
 
 The accent was as pure as yours or mine ; 
 in fact, there was no accent ; and the voice 
 was as soft as the eyes. 
 
 For some moments I could utter no word. 
 I went on with the sign language, but then, 
 only to pass my hand over my brow. 
 
46 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' Who are you ? and how did you come 
 here ? We saw no shij:) from the Point ! ' 
 
 ' Madam, I ' 
 
 The gravity of the features relaxed, and 
 the girl laughed. 
 
 ' I knew you spoke Englisli ; but why 
 won't you go on ? Oh, how stupid I am ! 
 You are faint and ill. Lean on me, and come 
 and have something to eat.' In another 
 moment she was by my side, with one 
 strong arm round me, and nearly lifting me 
 off the ground, in the attempt to help me' 
 to walk — a most humiliating reversal of 
 protective roles. 
 
 ' I can walk perfectly well, thank you ; 
 please let me go,' I had to say, like some coy 
 schoolgirl in the grasp of a dragoon. It was 
 very ridiculous, but I really could not get free. 
 
 ' Very well, then, but I will carry you 
 when you like. Now, tell me who you are, 
 and please don't call me Madam again. 
 Victoria is my name — after the Queen — 
 " Victoria." ' 
 
 — ' By the grace of God,' I could not help 
 thinking, remembering what I had feared, and 
 what I had found. 
 
RESCUE 
 
 47 
 
 'Victoria, I was nearly dashed to pieces 
 on these rocks last night.' 
 
 ' Where is your ship ? ' 
 
 ' It was over there, but it has sailed away.' 
 
 ' On the south side. But don't you know 
 that the landing-place is on the north ? ' 
 
 ' I know nothincf. I never thoufjht to 
 find a living, still less a civilised, soul in this 
 place. Tell me where I am.' 
 
 ' You don't seem to know much ceo- 
 graphy,' she said, with an offended air. But 
 she was mollified in a moment. ' How faint 
 you must be ! Lean on me. If you don't, I 
 will carry you, whether you like it or no. 
 Poor thing ! ' 
 
 I wanted no support, but I was nothing 
 loath to lean upon Victoria. So we walked 
 away, with an arm round each other's waist, 
 as innocently affectionate as the primal pair. 
 
 She led me towards another slope of the 
 Peak, and, all too soon for me, witli such 
 leading, we reached the top. 
 
 The whole island lay before me, from sea 
 to sea, quivering with life in the morning sun. 
 In its irregular outline, it seemed like some 
 quaint sea monster that had shot up from the 
 
48 THE ISLAND 
 
 depths of the Pacific to take a bok round, 
 and that might instantly disappear. It was 
 head and shoulders out of the water, joining 
 the sea almost everywhere at the base of 
 perpendicular rocks rising to heights of from 
 four to six hundred feet, and it haci little or 
 no beach. On all sides, the wave seemed in 
 fretful strife with the rock, but beyond the 
 broken lines of surf lay the calm of the im- 
 measurable ocean, with nothing in the way, it 
 seemed, between this and the next world. 
 The range of hills cutting the island in half from 
 east to west sloped to the edge of the cliff; on 
 the southern side, in deep valleys, filled with 
 plantation plots ; on the northern, into two 
 terraced spaces, one above the other, com- 
 manding a view of the sea. On the highest 
 of these lay a settlement of civilised men, its 
 cottages lapped warm, like birds in their 
 mosses, in exquisite vegetation — palms, and 
 banyans, and cocoa-nut trees, and, as I might 
 guess, by what was nearer to the view, passion- 
 flowers, and trumpet vines, and creeping 
 plants of infinite variety, the rich growth 
 clothing even the adjacent summits and hill- 
 sides, and the sharp inaccessible slopes, right 
 
RESCUE 
 
 49 
 
 down to the Avater's edge. Below tlie settle- 
 ment, on the lower terrace, Avas a o-rove of 
 cocoa-trees, with no habitation, and below tliis 
 again, a little bay, evidently the landing- 
 place, and the only one on this cruel shore. 
 All this beauty of nature and homely sweet- 
 ness of ordered life, lying to the north of the 
 dividing ridge, had been hidden from me in 
 my rude landing-place, even the cultivated 
 valleys being shut out by a transverse section 
 of the rock. 
 
 We were still standing on the hill when, 
 from a clump of cocoa at its foot, a little girl 
 came running towards us — a reduced copy, to 
 scale, of Victoria, in build and strengtli and 
 perfect animal grace. Without standing in 
 the least upon ceremony, she gave me a most 
 hearty kiss, and asked me my name. 
 
 ' I wonder now if you could read it,' I said, 
 feeling in my pocket for the card-case which 
 I had kept by me in all my wanderings, and 
 extracting from it a card that showed woeful 
 traces of the ducking of the night before. 
 The little one's eyes dilated in wonder as she 
 read the inscription, and in one swift glance 
 took me in from head to foot. Then she 
 
 E 
 
50 THE ISLAND 
 
 turned, and started for the village, at break- 
 neck speed down the steep incline, shouting 
 as she went, ' Mother ! mother ! Here's a 
 lord ! ' 
 
 In a few moments she was mounting the 
 hill on the other side, to the lirst terrace, and 
 I lost her for a moment in the cocoa grove. 
 She emerged into the second steep path that 
 led to the settlement, still uttering her strange 
 cry. I could see the doors* opening, the 
 people turning out, the terrified liutter of 
 domestic fowl. 
 
 ' Come ! ' said Victoria, and she strode on 
 in the track of the child, turning now and 
 then to help me. We soon reached the level 
 of the grove, a majestic scene, roofed with 
 branches, and carpeted with shrubs spanoled 
 Avith the sunshine that shot throusjh the trees. 
 
 I sank down in the delicious shade, not 
 caring to go farther, not caring to speak. I 
 was more faint than ever, for, in spite of the 
 excitement of the adventure, my long fast 
 began to tell. 
 
 An opening in the trees showed the path 
 to the settlement, with fifteen or twenty 
 villagers trooping down under the leadership 
 
RESCUE 51 
 
 of tlie infant herald, who waved them on witli 
 my card. There were women and children, 
 and, this time, men, most of the latter fit 
 mates for Victoria in frame and stature. 
 Their shirts were armless, their trousers 
 reached only to the knee, all beyond was 
 bare bronzed skin. They looked all strength, 
 suppleness, and abounding health. 
 
 A dozen began to talk at once. ' How 
 did you get him, Victoria ? ' — ' All last night ! ' 
 — ' Oh, the poor thing ! ' — ' How white his skin 
 is ! ' — ' Is he a real lord ? ' — ' Let me give him 
 a kiss ! ' — ' Has he had his breakfast ? ' — ' He 
 must stay with us.' — ' No, you had tlie last 
 one.'—' With me ! '— ' Me ! Me ! ' — It was 
 like a clamour of children, but it was stilled 
 in a moment on the arrival of an elder, dressed 
 rather differently from the others, and for 
 whom they all made way. 
 
 ' Father,' said Victoria, addressing the old 
 man, ' I won't give him up to anybody. I 
 found him, and he belongs to me.' 
 
 ' Take him to my house,' said the Ancient, 
 ' and none of you speak a word to him till he 
 has had something to eat. Here, Eeuben, 
 lend a hand ; ' and he nodded to a young 
 
 E 2 
 
5^ 
 
 THE ISLAND 
 
 fellow standing at least six foot two, who lifted, 
 me to mj" feet as one might lift a child. 
 
 It was time, for their talk began to come 
 to me like a fai'-off' buzzing. I Avalked as in 
 a dream, but I was aware of a hushed crowd, 
 a beautiful path through the trees, a green 
 lawn on the summit, bordered on three sides 
 with houses of dark wood and thatch, em- 
 bowered in gardens that scented all the air. 
 Into one of these houses I was taken, and 
 laid on a comfortable couch. 
 
 ' Where am I ? ' 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said Victoria. ' You are in the 
 house of the chief magistrate of Pitcairn.' 
 
53 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEARINGS. 
 
 PiTCAiRX ! I remembered something of what 
 the word meant, next morning, when I woke 
 from a refreshing sleep. 
 
 Who does not know that story, just a cen- 
 tury okl ? A ship of Avar from England sent 
 out to these southern seas to fetch breadfruit 
 for transplantation. Her work easy, her crew 
 passinc^lono; delicious enervatinop months in this 
 contrasting clime ; the southern sky, in lieu of 
 our murky heavens, the southern woman, in 
 lieu of Deptford Poll. Then, the breadfruit all 
 collected, the signal given to start for home, 
 but given by an unpopular commander. 
 Mutiny next. The captain and a faithful 
 remnant thrust into an open boat, with a hand- 
 ful of provisions ; the crew gently sailing 
 away in search of some happy isle. One 
 group thinking they had found it in Otaheite, 
 
54 THE ISLAND 
 
 and there disembarking, leaving the others to 
 steer furtlier forward into the unknown. These 
 List, finally, spying the dot of Pitcairn, and 
 stopping there, scuttling their ship to signify 
 ' Good-bye ' to the world. An auspicious 
 settlement, with all the comforts — the heathen 
 woman (imported) and heathen whisky, home 
 made, by an inventor of genius, who could 
 not find even this morning light sufficientlj'- 
 exhilarating without his dram ; a few native 
 men for service, beside. So, they began to 
 be happy for ever, according to the most 
 approved methods of Wapping Old Stairs. 
 Meanwhile, the captain and his faithful rem- 
 nant, in tlie open boat, make the best of their 
 way to England, through sun and storm ; 
 their first halting stage, and nearest prospect 
 of relief and refreshment, twelve hundred 
 leagues away, their rations weighed to the 
 twenty-fifth fraction of a pound, and a cocked 
 pistol always ready for service l^etween the 
 rotting bread and the famished cre^v. Home 
 at last ; the story told ; and another -war ship 
 sent out to the Pacific, to pick up the muti- 
 neers. The Otaheitan settlers, or what is left 
 of them, caught and brouglit back to hang,. 
 
BEARINGS 55 
 
 or otherwise pay their score ; tlie Pitcairners 
 never found by the avenger, tliough she rakes 
 the seas for them for months. Nothinsi; heard 
 of them for close on twenty years, when, one 
 day, in the following century, a Yankee 
 skipper, ranging tlie smooth ocean, hnds this 
 speck of volcanic eruption on its face ; and 
 then the whole story comes out. We left them, 
 it may be remembered, with liquor and ladies, 
 sunshine and a solitary isle, the honestest 
 attempt ever made to realise the nautical 
 ideal — said sometimes to extend to other pro- 
 fessions — of a paradise ashore. Alas ! it still 
 was not enough. There had been wild de- 
 baucliery in both kinds ; riot and midnight 
 niurder ; sudden and crafty slayings, to the 
 confusion of all method in the butcher's art, 
 of men by women, women by men. English- 
 men by natives, and contrariwise, tlien, of 
 Englishmen, among themselves. At last, only 
 one man is left, and he of our stock, with 
 twelve native women in his guardiansliip, and 
 nineteen children, most of them fathered by 
 the Enijlishmen dead and oone. This man, 
 struck with horror and remorse, takes a turn 
 to piety, and, knowing nothing of heredity, 
 
56 THE ISLAXD 
 
 is simple enough to beJieve that God gives the 
 race a fresh start with every generation. So 
 beheving, he reclaims this spawn of hell to 
 Christianity and civilisation, and makes a new 
 human type. Other varieties may yet be 
 found in the stars ; this one owned a virtue 
 that almost ignored evil, and that was well 
 nigli as effortless as the love of light. It was 
 strong and gentle, truthful and brave, by fine 
 instinct ; it had an untaught facilily of laughter 
 and of tears ; w^as passionate in loving, yet 
 strange to violent hate — an image of character 
 tliat cast no shadows, the most wonderful 
 curiosity in life. 
 
 The Yankee skipper soon made his strange 
 discovery known, and then tliis colou}^ ofhalf- 
 (^astes became the pets of the w^orld. English 
 war ships went to visit them, this time not for 
 vengeance, but to carry them all whereof they 
 stood in need, in loving gifts. French war 
 ships looked in, and, charmed with tlieir inno- 
 cence and simplicity, deigned to give them 
 leave to hoist a Gallic flag, but showed no 
 resentment when the offer was declined. 
 America opened her generous hand. It was 
 a place of pilgrimage ; mankind seemed to see 
 
BEARINGS 
 
 S7 
 
 iniicli that it might liave been in this outland- 
 ish folk, without a war, a debt, a slave class, 
 or a bottle of brandy to boast of, but only 
 with labour and love. So much had been 
 omitted, from sheer defect of memory and 
 knowledge in that poor stranded tar. He had 
 just tried to make them good, and had left the 
 rest to take care of itself. Suppose he had 
 come earlier, and caught the whole race 
 on their exit from the Ark. How it miijlit 
 have spoiled history — all the devilment of the 
 woi-ld cleared off, and a new start made with 
 a germ of good ! Well, they multiplied, 
 with this encouragement, till their numbers 
 threatened to exceed the capacities of the isle, 
 when a considerate British Government trans- 
 ported them to another island, ever so far 
 superior, and set tlieni up in housekeeping. 
 They flourished ; but the new island was tlie 
 great world, and the gentler spirits among 
 them sighed for their worldlet once more. So 
 these came back to it ; and their children and 
 children's children are here, in the old peace 
 and beauty of life, to this day. 
 
58 THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SETTLING DOWX. 
 
 So miicli I remember of my reading, and I 
 slowly bring it back to life, with much help 
 in concentration from one of the rafters 
 of yellow wood with wliicli my chamber is 
 roofed. I am steadily gazing at the rafter, 
 as I have been any time this hour past, when 
 I hear a knock at the door, give the familiar 
 pass-word, and receive Victoria's unembar- 
 rassed 'Good-morning' as she walks majestic- 
 ally in, and takes a seat on the edge of the 
 bed. I watched her savage cheek for the 
 trace of a blnsh, but there was none. I liope 
 she did not watch mine. 
 
 ' Must we call you " Lord " ? ' she inquired, 
 with grave politeness. 'Father says we ought^ 
 bnt I thought I would ask you first.' 
 
 I set her mind at rest on this point, and 
 
SETTLING DOWN 59 
 
 tlien she became herself of yesterday, protect- 
 ing and cahii. 
 
 ' I came to call yoii. How long have you 
 been awake ? Did you sleep well ? ' So many 
 questions, one might say, out of an Ollendorft- 
 an First Course in the language of the 
 island. 
 
 ' Delightfully,' I replied. ' I hope I have 
 not kept breakfast waiting.' (Exercise Xo. 2.) 
 
 ' Oh, we have had breakfast long ago,' said 
 Victoria, now beginning real talk, ' and they 
 liave all gone to work ; but I stayed at home 
 to look after you.' 
 
 ' What kind of work ? ' 
 
 'Well, work in the plantations — how do 
 you suppose we get our yams ? ' 
 
 ' What else ? ' 
 
 ' Listen ' — and I heard a muffled sound of 
 beating from the back of the house. I had 
 heard it before, but it had passed unnoticed — 
 ' Can't you guess what they are doing there ? ' 
 
 ' Not in the least.' 
 
 'They are making cloth, tappa cloth. See, 
 here is some of it ; ' and she sliowed me the 
 snowy counterpane of my bed. ' We make it 
 from the bark of a tree. I'll show you, l)y- 
 
6o THE ISLAXD 
 
 and-by. We like Euglish cloth better, though, 
 wlien we can get it. I always dress in English 
 cloth.' 
 
 ' So you have done no work to-day, Vic- 
 toria, all because of me.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, I have. I have cooked your 
 breakfast, and caught it too. Do you like 
 iish ? ' 
 
 ' What fish ? ' 
 
 ' Squid.' 
 
 ' I hope I do,' I said fervently — ' I am 
 sure I do.' 
 
 ' Such fun ! I had to go in three times for 
 him, and was washed off twice.' 
 
 ' I don't quite understand.' 
 
 ' In the surf, you know. They cling to 
 the rocks; and you have to catcli them before 
 tlie sea comes back and catches you.' 
 
 I remembered my dismal attempt to rule 
 tlie waves the night before last, and was 
 silent with humiliation. 
 
 She must have read my thoughts with 
 her clear eye. ' Oh, none of you can swim ; 
 and no wonder — you have such nice ships to 
 swim for you. I must give you a few lessons. 
 We will go right round the island — I will look 
 
SETTLING DOWN 6r 
 
 after you. But not till 3'ou are stronger. 
 Are you strong to-day ? ' asked Victoria, with 
 the tenderest solicitude, looking down on me 
 as on a babe in its cot. 
 
 Upon my word, I thought she was going 
 to offer to dress me. ' As a lion,' I returned, 
 determined to resist this last indignity to the 
 death. 
 
 ' Well, make haste, and get up,' said 
 Victoria, and she rose and walked out — no 
 better enlightened as to the proprieties, I am 
 afraid, than when she came in. 
 
 I was soon in the next room ; and for 
 some minutes I had it to myself. This gave 
 me time to look round. It Avas a long 
 chamber, with windows on one of the longer 
 sides, or rather unglazed openings that might 
 be closed with a shutter. On the opposite 
 side were two beds in recesses facing the 
 light, and screened by sliding panels that 
 made each recess a tiny bed-chamber. Port- 
 holes in the wall above the beds would admit 
 light when the panels were closed. They 
 were not closed now ; and the beds, witii 
 their coverlets of spotless tappa, formed no 
 insignificant part of the furniture. It appeared 
 
62 THE ISLAND 
 
 to be the great common room of tlie house, 
 serving all purposes by turns. My break- 
 fast things, spread on a white cloth, stood 
 on the table. Tiiere was a large clothes 
 press in one corner, of home make, I should 
 say, but still the work of a craftsman. An 
 old-fashioned writing-desk, in another corner, 
 was evidently from Europe. Floor, walls, 
 and ceiling were of the yellow wood already 
 noticed. There was no fireplace ; but a 
 well- stored bookcase hung over what might 
 have been the mantel. In other respects, the 
 place was like a cabinet of curiosities. There 
 were articles of use or ornament that must 
 have come out of- the old scuttled ship, with 
 others that were, as clearly, recent gifts from 
 Europe. Some of the gifts were useful ; a 
 few would have been purely ornamental, even 
 in the boudoir of a duchess. There was a 
 good timepiece, side by side with a machine 
 for moistening postage stamps. A copper 
 tea-kettle divided the honours of a little side- 
 board with a miniature chest of drawers, in 
 morocco leather, for the storage of cash — 
 labelled ' Gold,' ' Silver,' ' Notes,' in letters 
 richly embossed. A huge shoehorn in ivory. 
 
SETTLING DOWN 63 
 
 tapering to a button liook in polished steel, 
 hung against the wall, near an old-fasliionod 
 native club. Kind-hearted people at home 
 seemed to have had happy thoughts about 
 the Pitcairn plunders while walking down 
 Bond Srteet, and to have rushed into the first 
 fancy-shop, and bought the first thing that 
 came to hand. The islanders were none the 
 worse for it ; they had received these gifts 
 as so much European fetich, and reverently 
 laid them by, without attempting to discover 
 their use. 
 
 I was still enjoying this strange feast of 
 the eye, when the Ancient of yesterday, the 
 Governor of the Island, came in. He Avas 
 between fifty and sixty, tall, straight, and 
 strong, and, in many points of look and 
 manner, a strange survival of the old-fasliioned 
 man-of-war's man, though he might never 
 have trod a vessel's deck. He was dressed 
 like a seaman, in blue pilot cloth with brass 
 buttons, that must have come from England. 
 He had the inheritance of a pigtail and side 
 locks, in his way of trimming his liair. 
 He was no swarthier than an English tar 
 who has seen service, iji spite of his cross of 
 
64 THE ISLAND 
 
 native blood. lie luid softer manners, liow- 
 ever, than one "would look for in his great 
 original. Yet, to say the best for him, he 
 came somewhat short of the common concep- 
 tion of a Governor. His face had something 
 of the grave beanty of Victoria's, without 
 any trace of its spiritual charm, 
 
 — ' Hope you are better, sir,' said his Ex- 
 cellency, laying his hat on the w^ri ting-desk, 
 and holding out his hand. One thing espe- 
 cially charmed me in him, as, afterwards, in all 
 of them. He was as free as a Spanish peasant 
 from all subservience of manner born of a 
 sense of difference in social grade. None of 
 them seemed to know their station, although, 
 strangely enough, this implied no ignorance 
 of their Catechism. The secret of my un- 
 fortunate position at home, as revealed by 
 the visiting card, made me an object of 
 curiosity, but not in the least of deference, 
 still less, if possible, of ill will. They seemed 
 to feel without explanation — what I was at 
 first so anxious to tell them — that it was no 
 fault of mine. 
 
 After compliments, he gave me his history, 
 in reply to my eager questions. He was the 
 
SETTLING DOWN 65 
 
 grandson of an English mutineer ; and both 
 his father and mother were of mixed Enghsh 
 and native blood. So, too, was his wife — now 
 dead. Victoria was his only child. The very- 
 mention of her, I could see, brought a faint 
 glow of pride to his bronzed cheek ; and 
 when she came in, bearing a smoking dish 
 for my breakfast, he embraced her as lovingly 
 as though they had not met for months. 
 
 ' Be careful, father, or you'll upset the 
 bird,' said the girl, as she laid a baked fowl 
 on the table, which was quite a master-piece 
 as a colour study in luscious browns. It took 
 three journeys to complete her preparations; 
 and then I was invited to sit down to the 
 most deliciously novel repast ever spread 
 before me — grey mullet, and the mysterious 
 squid, now turning out to be the more familiar 
 cuttle-fish, to take off the sharper edge of 
 appetite ; the baked bird, with yams, roasted 
 breadfruit, and plantain cake to follow ; 
 bananas, oranges, and cocoa-nuts for dessert. 
 The liquors, I am bound to say, were a failui'e, 
 I was offered water with the fish, and cocoa- 
 nut milk with the bird ; and, I suppose, my 
 passing spasm of pain caught Victoria's eye. 
 
 F 
 
66 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' I knew he would never like it,' she said 
 to her father, " I must make him some tea, 
 this minute,' and she Hew outside once 
 more. 
 
 I followed, with a bunch of bananas in my 
 hand, to entreat her not to execute her kindly 
 intention, and then I discovered that the 
 kitchen was in the open air. It was the old 
 Otaheite oven, described by Cook — heated 
 stones in a hole in the ground, the food laid 
 on them, and covered with more heated stones, 
 which, in their turn, were covered with leaves 
 and cleanly rubbish to keep out every particle 
 of cold. Half an hour in this bath of hot air 
 cooks a fowl to perfection. Other things were 
 new and strange to me. The houses stood 
 about a yard above the soil on huge sleepers 
 of stone, and these sleepers, again, were laid 
 on low terraces of earth, for further security 
 against damp. Each house was surrounded 
 by its own plot — a garden in front, and in the 
 rear a miniature farm-yard, and offices, in- 
 cluding the oven, and a shed for the making 
 of cloth. The roofs were thatched with 
 leaves, and most of the dwellings had an 
 upper floor. 
 
67 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 GOVERNMENT, ARTS, AND LAWS. 
 
 Victoria goes afield, and I return to the house, 
 to smoke with the Ancient, and to interview 
 liim on government, arts, and laws. This is 
 what I learn. 
 
 Our population, men, women and children, 
 is less than one hundred souls. 
 
 Our arts — well, we till the soil, as afore- 
 said, but in our own way. The plough and 
 the windmill were unknown to us a few years 
 ago. We breed, a little stock, and we ex- 
 change wool and tallow for flour and biscuit, 
 with passing ships. When a ship comes to 
 us, we grow wild with joy, and it is fete day 
 throughout the island. 
 
 We get most things in this way, and our 
 latest transaction in barter was for slate pen- 
 cils and files, of which we stood much in 
 need. The school was reduced to chalk and 
 
 r 2 
 
68 THE ISLAND 
 
 the blackboard. For a long time, we were 
 greatly at a loss for wedding rings ; and the 
 one rinir on the Island had to be lent for each 
 successive ceremony. This want is now sup- 
 plied. 
 
 Coin is a curiosity : we have but two 
 sovereions, a dozen half-crowns, with a choice 
 assortment of minor pieces, and one fourpenny 
 bit. This last stands under an inverted tum- 
 bler, which constitutes our nearest approach 
 to a numismatic museum. The collection 
 might increase, if only the ladies could con- 
 sent to part with their jewelry, for our few 
 English coins are worn as ornaments. There 
 are American dollars in greater plenty, but 
 the currency is chiefly in potatoes. 
 
 "We think of raising cotton, which would 
 thrive very well in this latitude, and it is 
 quite possible that, in a few years, we may 
 be no longer dependent on Europe for shirts. 
 It would add much to our sense of dignity, 
 and, beside, would tend to make us more self- 
 supporting, in the event of complications with 
 a foreign power. 
 
 We have no navy to speak of, but there 
 is a first-rate whale boat. The steersman of 
 
GOVERNMENT, ARTS, AND LAWS 69 
 
 tlie wliale boat is also Magistrate, or Governor 
 of the Island — my host. There is precedent 
 for it : Pitt, I believe, was First Lord of the 
 Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
 at the same time. The Governor is elected 
 annually, by universal suffrage of both sexes. 
 
 that Governor ! 
 
 He has just laid down his pipe, to lish the 
 Revised Statutes out of the pocket of his pilot 
 coat. ' We make 'em as we want 'em,' he 
 says simpl}^ ' but I hope we shall soon want 
 no more. There's quite enough already, to 
 my mind. 
 
 • You see, sir, the first is a " Law Respect- 
 ing the Magistrate " (that's me, for the 
 present). He's to carry out the laws, and 
 when there's any complaint to call the people 
 together and hear both sides. Everyone is 
 to treat him with respect. But they all do, 
 you know, without that,' his Excellency was 
 pleased to add. 
 
 ' Then there's a " Law Regardino; the 
 School." All children to go ; or to pay, 
 wliether they go or not. Eee, a barrel of 
 Irish potatoes a year, or thereabouts.' 
 
 ' A barrel of Irish potatoes, jou see, in 
 
70 THE ISLAND 
 
 our currency, stands for twelve shillings, 
 and the school fee is a shilhng a month. A 
 barrel of sweet potatoes is only eight shillings. 
 Three good bunches of plantains make four 
 shillings, and so on. 
 
 ' On the 1st of January we visit land- 
 marks, first thing after the election, and see 
 they are all right, 
 
 ' Then there's a law about drinks, sir — as 
 I dare say you know. No strong liquor on 
 the Island, except for physic. You see, we 
 gave liquor a trial wdien our people first 
 came here, and the man that invented it went 
 funny, and jumped into the sea. It seemed 
 to bring bad luck, so we gave it up. 
 
 ' Now we come to our great difficulty,' 
 and he proceeded to read aloud another 
 chapter of the statutes headed, ' Laws for 
 Cats.' ' Cats, you must know, sir, are very 
 useful in keeping down rats, but our young 
 people will sometimes shoot them for sport, 
 so we've been obliged to pass a very severe 
 law, our severest, I may say. There's a heavy 
 fine for killing a cat, half of it to go to the 
 informer. For all that, it's no easy matter 
 to settle these cases. Sometimes people say 
 
GOVERNMENT, ARTS, AND LAWS yr 
 
 the cat came to kill their fowls ; and wliat 
 are you to do then ? It is a difficult case for 
 a magistrate. I always say this — was the cat 
 caught killing the bird ; or was it merely a 
 suspicion ? If you can't produce your 
 dead bird, then down with your potatoes ! 
 There's another way ; you may pay your fine 
 in rats killed by yourself Three hundred is 
 the price of a cat's life ; we try to be fair all 
 round. 
 
 ' Take fowls again ; if a fowl trespasses in 
 your garden, you may shoot it, and the owner 
 must return you your charge of powder and 
 shot. That's the law as it stands in the book, 
 but nowadays you generally send back the 
 bird, and say no more about it. We are all 
 neighbours, you know. 
 
 ' There's another thing,' continued his 
 Excellency, pursuing his commentary on the 
 code, ' You mustn't carve on trees. Who 
 Avants to carve on trees? you may say. Well, 
 the young people, when they are a-courting. 
 But it ruins the timber. We've had no end of 
 trouble with that law. As you walk about 
 the Island, sir, you'll come upon true lovers' 
 knots, and such like, in the most out of the 
 
72 THE ISLAND 
 
 way places. You mustn't be startled by 'em, 
 and think it's savages ; it's just sweethearts, 
 neither more or less. Where we can't tell 
 which pair was walking there, I draws em 
 all up in line, and asks w^ho did it, straight 
 out. Oh, you have to look sharp after things 
 here, I do assure you. Our people are not 
 so wicked, but they get careless sometimes. 
 Who'd ever think, now, that we want a " Law 
 for the Public Anvil "? but we do.' And he 
 read aloud, 
 
 ' " Any person taking the pubhc anvil and 
 public sledge-hammer from the blacksmith's 
 shop is to take it back after he has done with 
 it ; and, in case the anvil and sledge-hammer 
 should get lost, by his neglecting to take it 
 back, he is to get another anvil and sledge- 
 hammer, and pay a fine of four shillings " — 
 potatoes, you know. 
 
 ' You've got a good many more laws in 
 Europe, I've heard say,' he observed, as he 
 closed his book, and restored the entire code 
 of Pitcairn to his breast pocket. 
 
 ' You have not been misinformed,' I re- 
 plied. ' But tell me — have you any machinery 
 
GOVERNMENT, ARTS, AND LAWS 73 
 
 of appeal from the decisions of the Court of 
 First Instance ? ' 
 
 ' Well,' he said, ' if they don't like what I 
 tell 'em, it goes before a jnry.' 
 
 'And if they don't like that any better ? ' 
 
 ' Then we hold over till the next British 
 man-o'-war touches, and the captain decides. 
 We've got an appeal waiting now — a cat 
 case. None of us can get to the rights 
 of it, so we must wait : but the parties are 
 friendly enough, meanwhile.' 
 
 ' Have you ever carried a case to the House 
 of Lords ? ' 
 
 ' We shouldn't like to trouble you, sir, 
 thank you, all the same.' 
 
74 THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 NUKSE. 
 
 Victoria is my nurse. There is no doubt 
 of it : I am in lier charge. She governs 
 all my goings out, and my comings in, and 
 is told ofT, I think, to see that I do not 
 drown myself, or fall off the rocks. For 
 a few days I see next to nothing of the 
 others. They are gone out to work long 
 before I get up, and 1 catch mere glimpses of 
 them in our walks afield. They come up in 
 the evening, to look at me through the 
 windows, but Victoria heads them off, with a 
 promise to produce me on Sunday. I am 
 supposed to be convalescent in the meanwhile. 
 I am quite content, and I sham. 
 
 The housewives, of course, see me, as I 
 walk through the village. They have all 
 kissed me, nobody objecting, I least of all. i 
 am the best of friends with the childi'cn, and 
 
NURSE 7S 
 
 these always call me ' Lord.' Victoria calls 
 me by my Christian name. 
 
 She wakes me in the morning, feeds me 
 as aforesaid, then takes me for an airing, per- 
 haps to St. Paul's Point, a thousand feet higli, 
 which affords a fine bird's-eye view of infini- 
 tude. When the ascent becomes unusually 
 steep, she grasps me by the arm, and pushes 
 me up. It is useless to try to shake her off; 
 I need her as much in that country as Gul- 
 liver needed Glumdalclitch elsewhere. The 
 goats can hardly follow us sometimes. Her 
 education has been neglected in the matter 
 of nerves ; she stands on perpendicular sum- 
 mits, and coils her hair ; she drops on ledges 
 of rock less than a yard wide, to rescue a 
 stray kid, and walks to and fro on them with 
 a certitude that precludes courage. Never 
 have I felt so small. There is nothing to keep 
 up the fiction of knightly service, not a fan to 
 hold, a carriage door to open, a wrap to ar- 
 range. So I make no more pretence of hom- 
 age to the sex than any other infant in charge. 
 Fractiousness, on the contrary, is rather my 
 cast of mind ; if anything, I am a troublesome 
 child. 
 
76 THE ISLAND 
 
 In all tilings she is a model nurse, and 
 especially in this, that she teaches me to tell 
 the truth. I had no idea of what truthfulness 
 might mean, till I came here. Victoria never 
 says the thing that is not, and she sometimes 
 misses the most tempting effects of humour, in 
 consequence. Her yea is yea, her nay, nay. 
 So, it seems, the primitive founder from 
 Wapping understood his charge under the 
 Writ. Whatever is she states as it is, and 
 this mere habit often gives her talk the charm 
 of classic prose. The Ancient, as we have 
 seen, in his love-knot cases, supplies the want 
 of a detective police by public confession. I 
 praised her once for this virtue ; she said I 
 had strano:e ideas. 
 
 It kills coquetry, though. 'I don't think 
 you care for me one bit, Victoria,' I said one 
 day. ' Why should I care for you ? ' I, of 
 course, expected on her part, as the next 
 move in the game. All the best treatises lay 
 this down as the appropriate answer. But 
 Victoria simply played the native gambit. ' I 
 am sure I do : I like you very much. How 
 stupid of me never to think of telling you ! 
 So does father too.' I threw a stone at a 
 
NURSE 77 
 
 goat, by way of changing the subject, and 
 Victoria redoubled her attentions all the 
 way home. I could only throw more stones 
 at the goats. Shooting, alas ! was out of the 
 question : all the live things were stock, and 
 they had no stock to spare. 
 
 She tells me stories, like the best of 
 nurses, stories of that unregenerate early time, 
 when evil was killing itself out of the island, 
 and the Devil stinging himself to death with 
 the fork of his own tail. There is a story of 
 an awful night, which I often ask for. All the 
 native men had risen on all the English, and 
 left but one of them alive, the future law-giver, 
 and him half dead. Then, when darkness fell, 
 the native women stole on the sleeping mur- 
 derers, and finished them. This was the last 
 massacre ; the Devil was dead in Pitcairn. The 
 scene is always with me, as the background of 
 the picture of to-day. Here the sweet benignant 
 maids and wives, the sunshine and the peace ; 
 there the dusky furies they sprang from, steal- 
 ing forth in the night to the deed of blood. 
 Love redeemed, if it did not justify; and ah, how 
 these Southern women possess that finest of the 
 arts ! At Tahiti — it is another of Victoria's 
 
78 THE ISLAND 
 
 stories — when the avenging war ship came out 
 to fetch the mutineers home to be lianged, 
 one of them was torn from the side of Peggy, 
 liis native wife, who held an infant at her 
 breast. He lay heavily ironed on deck, when 
 Peggy climbed the side, infant and all, from a 
 canoe — as it was thought, only to say a dis- 
 creet good-bye. But Peggy behaved Avithout 
 discretion, throwing herself on the poor man- 
 acled wretch, hugging his very fetters, to get 
 a little nearer the father of her baby, and 
 sobbing the most heart-breaking things to 
 him in the patois of her isle. He turned, and 
 begged she might be led away, as though he 
 were already tasting something sharper than 
 death. Led away she was, and sent back in 
 her canoe, and she made such haste to die of 
 a broken heart that she was at peace long 
 before he went down in his irons in the storm 
 that nearly destroyed the whole ship's com- 
 pany, captives and all, on the homeward 
 voyage. 
 
 Once, it might have been a ghost story. 
 I am walking with Victoria at night, through 
 a deep gorge, to show her the scene of my 
 disaster in the landing. A high ridge bounds 
 
NURSE 79 
 
 the valley ; and chancing to raise her eyes to 
 it, the girl suddenly utters a cry of terror, 
 and clings all trembling to me. ' Tell me 
 what it is — I cannot look at it.' Then, as 
 suddenly, she flings herself away from me, 
 cowering, and will not be touched ; and, with 
 hands clasped, utters more cries of mystery, 
 in which I am not concerned. ' Oh ! — if ! 
 — speak to me, only ! come to me ! I have 
 not forgotten, I have not done wrong;.' There 
 is certainly something stirring up there, in the 
 green moonlight, but Victoria will in nowise 
 let me obey her order to find out what it is, 
 but draws me back into the shadow of the 
 gorge, and insists on our hurrying home. 
 Amiable and harmless ghost, the girl is mute 
 about thee, and I am fain to be content with 
 thy biography from the Ancient's lips. The 
 Eidge is haunted by the phantom of a 
 murdered chief, another of the victims of that 
 old wild time. The news of our adventure 
 spreads through the settlement, and no one 
 peeps in at the windows that night. 
 
 She takes me for walks, too, the cun- 
 ningest. There is a wild cave at the western 
 end, where one of the mutineers, ever haunted 
 
8o THE ISLAND 
 
 by tlie (li-ead of that avenging ship, used to 
 entrench himself against possible attempts at 
 capture that were never made. He would sit 
 there whole summer days, his eye on a 
 narrow rim of rock that led to his cavern, 
 and that one man might, with ease, have kept 
 inviolate against a hundred. He was pro- 
 visioned and stored for a long siege, and a 
 hard fifjht ; and as he sat watchino; through 
 the long hours, no doubt he had his thoughts. 
 The eastern end has its cave too, another 
 sanctuary, but of far-off aboriginal man, who 
 carved sun, moon and stars on its walls, and 
 then retired into eternal oblivion and the night 
 of things. The vanished one's modest avoid- 
 ance of publicity could not fail to be remarked, 
 in spite of him. He had found, or made, his 
 cavern, in the face of a wall of rock that rose 
 some six hundred feet sheer from the foaming 
 sea. A few feet from the summit, there was 
 a ledge just wide enough to support a man, 
 and this was the pathway to his chapel of 
 little ease. 
 
 At our first visit, Victoria dropped on the 
 ledge with tlie mingled lightness and precision 
 of fall of a weighted feather, forbidding me 
 
NURSE 8r 
 
 to follow, on pain of death. I did follow, in 
 spite of the prohibition, whereupon she stood 
 stock still on the ledge, till I could recover 
 touch of her, and then burst into tears. The 
 tears saved me, for I was beginning to look 
 down the wall into the surf, and that way 
 self-murder lay. They made me look up at 
 Victoria, thougli I could not see her face. 
 She recovered herself in a moment. ' Now 
 you will shut your eyes,' she said, ' lay both 
 hands on my shoulders, and walk straight on 
 after m.e.' So we reached the cave, when she 
 turned and faced me, and began to cry once 
 more. ' How am I to get you back ? Why, 
 not all our people can walk here — only the 
 youngest ! I will never take you out again, 
 never ; I mean, iierliaps I never will.' I ex- 
 amined the curiosities of the cave meanwhile, 
 and assumed a silent, remorseful air. Then 
 came the return journey. ' Try to forget all 
 about the scolding,' said Victoria, ' I take it 
 back — for the present — and do just as you did 
 before.' It was done; and I declare the inde- 
 finable charm of companionship with her in 
 peril was a sufficient antidote to fear. ' Now,' 
 she said, when we reached the end of the 
 
 G 
 
82 THE ISLAXD 
 
 patliAvay, ' keep your eyes shut, and hold on 
 to this till I come to you.' And she guided 
 my hand to a small projection, and scrambled, 
 by what I afterwards found was an almost 
 perpendicular facet, to the top of the rock. 
 In a few seconds, something soft touched 
 my face ; it was a long woollen girdle, that 
 Victoria sometimes wore, and she had low- 
 ered it to my aid. T, too, reached the level 
 at last. ' I shall not speak to you for some 
 time,' she said, resuming the quarrel, and she 
 stalked on ahead, I meekly following without 
 a word. She turned as we reached the path 
 leading to the settlement. ' Do you unfeign- 
 edly repent ? ' When she . was most serious 
 she often talked the English of the Church 
 Service, and without the faintest sense of in- 
 congruity. 'Victoria, I can hardly find words — ' 
 ' Very well, then : I forgive you from m}^ heart, 
 though, you know, I am not obliged to forgive 
 you till sundown. But it would be a pity to 
 waste an afternoon.' 
 
 We finished the da}" in great amity, under 
 the shade of a banyan tree, wliither we retired 
 for consultation on a matter that gave Vic- 
 toria some perplexity of spirit. She had lately 
 
NURSE 83 
 
 bought a Milton from a passing ship — witli 
 her own savings in potatoes — and had read it 
 through so often that she knew h)ng passages 
 by heart. The work liad left in her mind an 
 impression of unfairness in the treatment of 
 Satan, and she was most anxious to submit 
 this difficulty to the judgment of a friend. I 
 was at first disposed to make light of it, but I 
 soon saw that Victoria took it very seriously 
 indeed. They had but few books ; each book 
 went the round of the settlement ; and it 
 was taken in most edifying good faith, as 
 a report from that visionary outer world, 
 that unexplored planet, whose laws, customs, 
 institutions, ways of being and doing were 
 such a mystery to the worldlet of the rock. 
 The liero of the latest volume to hand, 
 novel, history or poem, no matter what its 
 date, was always the personage of the day at 
 Pitcairn. His difficulties were the living issues 
 in politics, morals, and the art of life. 
 
 ' I am going to say something about it at 
 the meeting to-morrow night; but I thought I 
 should like to speak to you first. I do not 
 think he was properly treated, though Mr. 
 John Milton seems to have no pity for him, 
 
 G 2 
 
84 TFIE ISLAND 
 
 and he ought to know. Yet I cannot think it. 
 I could hardly sleep at all, last night ; it 
 troubled me so.' 
 
 'Well, Victoria, I suppose he staked his 
 stake, and lost, and had to put up with the 
 consequences ; that is all I see.' 
 
 ' Yes, but perhaps if they had only been 
 kinder to him, he might have repented. He 
 was very proud, you know, and there was no 
 one to soothe him. I think Gabriel was very 
 haughty and hard with him, and Zephon quite 
 disrespectful, considering his place. Do you 
 always approve of Gabriel ? ' she asked, with 
 much earnestness, and looking me straight in 
 the eyes, as though our friendship depended 
 on the answer. ' Surely,' she said, with rising 
 warmth, ' you would never stand up for that 
 speech at the end of the fourth book. Rulers 
 should not be so high and distant, just clear- 
 ing their throats, and giving their commands, 
 as though all others Avere servants. Suppose 
 father ruled like that — who would obey the 
 laws ? I know Satan felt it. It is a pity he 
 had no good female angel to take care of him 
 — onl}^ there is no marrying, nor givinoj in 
 marriage there : so they say,' and she sighed. 
 
NURSE 85 
 
 'People may meet again, tliougb, without 
 marrying,' slie said after a pause, and with 
 her eyes iixed on the vacancy of sea and sky. 
 ' Thank God for that ! But oh what meet- 
 ings, if they have not been true ! ' She seemed 
 to have forgotten Satan for a moment, I 
 thought, but I soon brought her back to the 
 case before the court. 
 
 ' There was an attempt to bring feminine 
 influence to bear on him, I believe, but it 
 hardly turned out well.' 
 
 ' When ? where ? Mr. John Milton says 
 nothing about it.' 
 
 ' No, that comes from another reporter, a 
 Frenchman. It did not answer. A pitying 
 angel left Paradise, to come and speak comfort 
 to him, as he lay writhing on his hot bed. 
 She was fearful, though compassionate, and 
 she meant always to keep out of arm's length. 
 But her pity drew her too near, all the same, 
 and he clutched her, and drago'ed her down. 
 So runs the tale.' 
 
 ' I don't believe a word of it,' said Victoria 
 firmly, ' I think he never had a chance. I 
 shall say so at the meeting ; and you back 
 me up.' 
 
86 THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SUNDAY. 
 
 I \YAS produced on Sunday before the whole 
 settlement ; more strictly speaking, they pro- 
 duced themselves before me. The villagers 
 were in the village, for the first time, at my 
 hour of rising. There was an absolute cessa- 
 tion from labour, but there was hardly rest. 
 They were in a flutter of joyous excitement, 
 and ran from cottage to cottage, as though 
 they were spreading good news. Yet there 
 was no news, for who could need telling that 
 it was Sunday, and that the sky was blue ? 
 For that matter, they needed no excuse to 
 make free of each other's houses. Property 
 in their own roofs seemed the merest accident 
 among them. One man's arm-chair was 
 another man's arm-chair. They Avalked in 
 and out, by the open doors — often into un- 
 guarded dwellings, when the owners were on 
 
SUNDAY 87 
 
 a visit elsewhere — read tlie books, smelt tlie 
 flowers, touched the harmonium, if they could, 
 or cared, and came away. When you sought 
 a man, you went into the nearest cottage ; 
 you never thought of going first to his own, 
 unless it lay in your path. There was more 
 of this curious house to house visiting to-day, 
 because there was more time for it, and be- 
 cause there was a greater intensity of childlike 
 happiness in movement and communion — that 
 was all. 
 
 There seemed to be much borrowing and 
 lending of the Sabbath finery of cleanhness. 
 If you had no better coat for the day, why, 
 your neiglibour might have one to spare, and 
 you asked him for it. Victoria lent two loose 
 gowns, a kind of robe de chambre worn on 
 state occasions over the scanty costume of the 
 women. At the same time, she went into a 
 neighbour's garden, and helped herself freely 
 to flowers for her hair, our own stock having 
 suffered from the movements of some four- 
 footed intruder during the night. If Proud- 
 lion had lived here, he would have written 
 ' property is vanity,' the innermost truth. 
 Victoria was very smart — a new ribbon for 
 
88 THE ISLAND 
 
 the navy button, beside tlie blossoms inwoven 
 with her shining locks. 
 
 The church was a hut. I have seen St. 
 Peter's, too, yet I give this one the preference 
 for majesty, taking its surroundings into 
 account. For St. Peter's, as the best thing in 
 its quarter, all else meaner, leads nowhere 
 beyond itself, while this island fane, backed 
 first by a stately tropic grove, then by a tower- 
 ing cone of mountain, then by the clouds, 
 carried the eye from height to height of 
 beauty and of wonder, right up to Heaven. 
 
 We were rather late, and it was all the 
 better, for now I could take in the whole 
 population of the island at a glance. They 
 were mostly of superb physique, men and 
 women, and Victoria was but one finest 
 example of them. Reuben, the young giant, 
 who had helped me on the day of landing, was 
 another. Among the women, however, some 
 foolish hat, or trailing skirt, of civilisation 
 here and there departed from the classic 
 simplicity of Victoria's dress. Most of the 
 men wore shoes, in honour of the day ; a few, 
 like the Ancient, long trousers, instead of the 
 loose knee-breeches of their working suits. 
 
SUNDAY 89 
 
 Trousers seemed to be a sign of authority, or 
 of the beginning of years. The priest, or 
 ministrant, wore them, and indeed he miglit 
 have been entitled to wear two pairs, for, I 
 think, he was schoolmaster as welL The types 
 varied from Victoria's front of Western Europe 
 to almost pure Tahiti, but always they had 
 their point of unity in the large soft eyes. 
 
 For the service, never had I seen such 
 fervour, such passion of prayer and praise ! 
 It was the Church of England form, I believe, 
 but form of any kind was hardly to be re- 
 cognised in the melting heat of their zeal. 
 The poor old Litany seemed like a veritable 
 audience at the throne of God. The Com- 
 mandments came as His voice from our own 
 mountain, thundering from the summit of the 
 cone. Our hymns soared after Him to the ver}^ 
 fartliest heaven as He retired. (3ne boy's note, 
 I think, must have got there lirst, so clear was 
 it, so clean and pure and true, with nought 
 of earth to keep it from the skies. It was a 
 living faith, no mere specimen of what once 
 had lived, dried .for keeping, and not even 
 dried in the sun. Here were the true Primi- 
 tives, tlie J()y<Ais band of Galilean vagabonds, 
 
90 THE ISLAND 
 
 exulting in tliat new conception of the brother- 
 liood of man whose secret we have for ever 
 lost. Solemnity, as we understand it, seemed 
 far from them ; devontness was swallowed up 
 in joy. Often tliey laid their hands aflection- 
 ateiy on each other's shoulders as they sang : 
 once I saw two children kiss after a prayer. 
 
 I had been completely ignored during the 
 service, but, when it was over, my turn came. 
 As we trooped back towards the village, I was 
 the centre of a questioning crowd. 1 had 
 come from England — that was enough, for 
 England is their great archetype of power, 
 wisdom, and beauty of life. Needless to say 
 they have not seen it ; I mean, of course, that 
 circumstance has bound them to their rock. 
 All that they know as best comes from 
 England, from the great war ship, which they 
 regard with almost the wonder of Indians, 
 down to the harmonium in the cottage. It is 
 not much to know, but a o-enerous imaijina- 
 tion easily does the rest. England has been 
 good to them : England, then, is goodness. 
 She is visibly strong : then she is strength. 
 She has sent them Bibles ; ah ! she must be 
 tlie Word made Ele^h. 
 
SUNDA V 91 
 
 So it was one long bewildering inquisition. 
 Would I tell them of the great churches, the 
 oreat wonders manifold of that far-off Isle of 
 the Saints ? What of the rulers and states- 
 men, of the bishops, those captains of captains 
 of the thousands of God, of the choirs of the 
 faithful — live thousand strong, as they had 
 heard — hymning Handel under a crystal 
 dome ? They seemed to see human life not at 
 all as a mere struggle, but as a great race for 
 a crown of virtue, in which Britain was first, 
 and their poor island so decidedly nowhere 
 that she could afford to sink rivalry in un- 
 quaUhed admiration. I winced, and winced, 
 and winced ai^ain. 
 
 ' We are but poor things here, and we 
 know it,' said the schoolmaster. 
 
 ' You will improve,' I said kindly. 
 
 ' Well, sir, we are always ready to learn ; 
 perhaps you would like to take a service 
 yourself next Sunday ? You are not in orders, 
 but you have heard the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, I dare say.' 
 
 'No, only a bishop now and then.' 
 
 ' Oh, what opportunities ! ' said Victoria 
 sadly. ' We once had a navy-chaplain here, 
 
92 THE ISLAND 
 
 but it was four years ago. Though, of course, 
 that is no excuse for our not beinj:^ better than 
 we are.' 
 
 ' They say he has fifteen thousand a year 
 to spend on the poor,' said the schoohnaster, 
 returning to the Primate. 
 
 ' Yes, he has fifteen thousand a year.' 
 
 ' How much would that be in potatoes, let's 
 see ? ' murmured Reuben, and he withdrew for 
 an operation in mental arithmetic. 
 
 ' I've heard of a lady who has made fifty 
 thousand people happy, all by herself,' said 
 one of the women. ' She's a baroness.' 
 
 ' And that's not tlie highest,' said another, 
 * there's duchesses who must be richer. Oh, 
 what a country for the poor ! ' 
 
 ' It's the big churches I'm thinking of,' 
 observed the schoolmaster. ' Wliy, there's one 
 that holds six thousand people. Six thousand 
 people, twice a day ! Think of the spread of it ! ' 
 
 ' Them's the tilings I want to see,' said 
 Eeuben, returning, not unoppressed, I thought, 
 by his weight of potatoes, ' the big things — 
 St. Paul's, the Eailway.' 
 
 ' You should use the plural form,Eeuben,' 
 urged the schoolmaster gently, ' the railways. 
 
SUNDA V 93 
 
 There are dozens of them. Why, there are 
 three orreathnesruiininof toBirminfifham! I've 
 <40t a map of it.' 
 
 ' And how about the ParUament ? ' struck 
 in the Ancient, pre-occupied, and not un- 
 naturally, with the question of legislation. 
 'Over a thousand people to make the laws ; and 
 at it day and night, too ! The moment any- 
 thing goes wrong anywhere, there they are, 
 waiting on the premises, as you may say, to 
 put it right. We've nothing like that here. 
 Not that we w^ant it either ; I only make tlie 
 remark.' 
 
 This touching disposition to take us in good 
 faith had no limits. In their quaint con- 
 ception of our corporate life, all things existed 
 to that great end of the crown of virtue. 
 Nothing was merely neutral or indifferent. 
 To talk of making people virtuous by Act of 
 Parliament would, for them, have had none 
 of the significance of a sneer. What else 
 were Acts of Parliament for ? So, churches 
 were to promote brotherhood and love, with 
 no reserves for a Pickwickian sense ; armies, 
 to suppress the wicked. Eank and riches, 
 as we have just seen, were mere equivalents 
 
94 THE ISLAND 
 
 for more opportunity ; if a baroness made 
 fifty tliousand people liappy, what might 
 not a duchess do? The isLanders simply 
 multiplied our means by their own yearnings, 
 and the product was a colossal sum in 
 good. Everything seemed to count ; from a 
 question the Ancient put to me as to the 
 number of cabs and omnibuses in the Britisli 
 capital, I more tlian suspect that these, too, 
 contributed to his grand total. The drivers 
 were obhging persons whose chief concern 
 was to give tired Eighteousness a lift. 
 
 ' I want to see St. Paul's and the railways,' 
 murmured Eeuben again, in an amended 
 version, as he w^andered away from the group. 
 
 Victoria's wistful gaze went after him : 
 ' Poor i'ellow ! ' 
 
 ' Is anything the matter with him, Vic- 
 toria ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, but he daren't tell anyone but me ; 
 he wants to go.' 
 
 ' To go where ? ' 
 
 'Out there,' she said, with a gesture that 
 was meant to indicate the world at large. ' He 
 wants to see it all ; he can never rest here. 
 These things our people talk about witli 
 
SUXDA V 95 
 
 strangers trouble him. He's venturous ; lie 
 must see and know. He was always like 
 that : he dived two fathoms lower than any- 
 one else — off the Point, and brought up a 
 watch from the old ship. No one can follow 
 him on the rocks. He discovered an island 
 once — over there. I went to see it : I'll 
 take you one day. Xow it's England. He 
 can never rest here. But, oh ! how I dread 
 it ! and, besides, you know, they will never 
 let him go.' 
 
 ' Did he find so much in the first island, 
 then, that he longs to try the other ? ' 
 
 ' No ; only some dry bones in a cave. But 
 England will be different, of course.' 
 
 They prayed and praised, in the exultant 
 fashion of the morning, all day long — witli 
 due intervals for refreshment. There were 
 five services, I think, big and little. If there 
 were not six, it was only because this Sunday 
 did not happen to fall on the longest day. 
 
 ' I hope it is because we love God,' said 
 Victoria, ' but I think it is just as much be- 
 cause we love one another. Or perhaps it 
 is to bring Him nearer, so that we may love 
 Him like tlie rest. He must not be too far 
 
96 THE ISLAND 
 
 oir. I think that is why some of the poor 
 wild people we read of take so long to convert. 
 You must show them something, and let them 
 feel the strong arm, and see the face of human 
 love. They always want to worship the mis- 
 sionary first. Why not let them ; and then 
 pass it on, when they get stronger ? Do you 
 know, in spite of all my advantages, I could 
 sometimes just fall down and say my prayers 
 to a child, to things even — a rose-tree ? It's 
 the old wickedness in our blood, I suppose. 
 But mind, don't you dare tell anybody ; I 
 should die of shame ! ' 
 
 I had begged to be excused from attend- 
 ance at the remainino- four services, on the 
 ground that I preferred an open-air rite ; and, 
 on my assurance that this mode of devotion 
 had the sanction of British custom, Victoria 
 had consented to join me. We were wander- 
 ing, talking, musing in long silences, picking 
 wild-flowers, breathing the balmy air, basking 
 in the warm liglit. 
 
 In one of these reveries I caught a strange 
 gleam in Victoria's eyes. ' Tell me about the 
 blessed Sabbaths in England,' she murmured, 
 placing her hand in mine. 
 
SUNDA V 97 
 
 my England, my England I why cannot 
 I speak of a thing we all must honour so ? why, 
 rather, do I pray for strength to keep the secret 
 of thy Sabbaths well ? Dread day of the divi- 
 sion of classes, weekly vision of the Judgment, 
 in its utter separation of the social sheep and 
 goats, never one flock, alas ! at any time, but 
 now so clearl}^ two. In tJiis dark hour of 
 remembrance, I hear the hoarse clappers of 
 thy meeting-houses, vainlj^ fanning the stag- 
 nant air in cities of the spiritual dead. I see 
 thy funereal processions of the elect, wending 
 to or from the conventicles, past groups of 
 coster-boys, who wait for the opening of the 
 houses, and expectorate on the pavement in 
 patterns of the dawn of decorative art. It is 
 all before me, the dingy squalor of thy miles 
 of shuttered marts, the crying contrasts of thy 
 Sunday finery, more hurtful to the eye than 
 thy week-day rags ! I hear thy muffin-bells 
 in the deep silences, and thy hawkers' wail ; 
 and, amid this worst of all spiritual destitution, 
 the destitution of beauty, I ask myself, what is 
 it that we have lost ; what is it these little ones 
 have found ? 
 
 H 
 
98 THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A SAIL. 
 
 I WAS roused next morning by the report of a 
 gun, followed by a strange commotion in the 
 village. I had barely time to dress, and join 
 the Ancient in the sitting-room, when a man 
 ran in, breathless, to announce a ship off the 
 Point, and a Queen's ship. 
 
 A Queen's ship ! No wonder the village 
 was astir. A ship that might fly the Royal 
 Standard, a ship that was English authority 
 and English might ! No work in the Island 
 this day ! 
 
 The Ancient put on his Sunday coat, and 
 quietly took command. ' How lucky the 
 landing is easy this morning ! Jonah, hurry 
 off to the Point, with the white flag, and 
 signal their cutter " All right ! " Quintal, 
 you go down to the landing, and see them 
 
A SAIL 
 
 99 
 
 over tlie breakers. Now, folks, who's to take 
 them in ? ' 
 
 It was a call to public meeting on the 
 question of the entertainment of the officers. 
 The islanders always claimed this privilege of 
 boarding and lodging the Queen's uniform. 
 Half a dozen heads of families at once offered 
 to provide for as many guests. There was a 
 brisk competition for the Captain, who would 
 have fallen to the Governor ex-officio, but for 
 my occupancy of the spare bedroom in his 
 Excellency's house. I offered to retire, but 
 my generous hostess would not hear of it. 
 
 ' I found him, father, and he belongs to 
 me,' said Victoria, in the terms of that earher 
 claim which had sometimes made me suspect 
 the existence of slavery in the Island. The 
 blood of the free-born ought to have rushed 
 to my face in protest against this attempt to 
 count me as a chattel ; but it did not. 
 
 The Captain is knocked down to the 
 schoolmaster ; the women hurry away to 
 light their ovens ; the meeting breaks up. Its 
 dispersed groups, however, form so many sub- 
 committees of reception, for they talk of 
 nothing but the comfort and delight of the 
 
 H 2 
 
loo THE ISLAND 
 
 public guests. The only private interest is 
 represented by the two litigants who have tlie 
 case on appeal from a decision of the Island 
 courts to the supreme tribunal of a British 
 man-of-war. They are tossing with a parti- 
 coloured bean, to see which shall open the 
 pleadings first. 
 
 The Ancient, hurrying down to the 
 landing-place, calls for his whale-boat and 
 his mariners three, and our navy goes forth 
 in mod st pride to meet the Queen's ship. 
 She is close in-shore, the depth of water 
 admitting of a near approach ; so, when 
 our Governor boards her, we see all that 
 passes. His Excellency takes off his hat, 
 and pulls at a forelock that is not there to 
 pull. No real one has been pulled in that 
 family since the time of George III., but the 
 gesture has survived with them as a sign of 
 respect. The Captain shakes hands with him, 
 and presents him to his officers, who do the 
 same. Then they leave the clean white deck, 
 flashing light from its polished brasses, and go 
 below, as though for complimentary refresh- 
 ments. On their return, the Governor takes 
 charge of the ship's cutter, in which our 
 
A SAIL loi 
 
 guests embark. Only a native can dodge the 
 rocks, rocklets, and surf currents of our bay. 
 They wait at the back of the rollers till the 
 look-out man ashore waves his hat ; then they 
 give way with a will, and are hurled in, safely, 
 on the crest of the wave. 
 
 Two of the officers are old friends of mine. 
 What a little world it is ! You would think 
 all were old friends of the islanders, by the 
 warmth of welcome. Men, women and chil- 
 dren struggle for a grasp of their hands, and 
 a girl offers flowers to the Captain. He kisses 
 her ; his officers kiss the other girls : fathers, 
 brothers, and cousins hurrah approval, and 
 content. 
 
 Then we lead them to the schoolhouse, by 
 the steep paths, in joyous procession of old 
 and young. Here the Captain must enter in 
 the Island register the name of his ship, with 
 other particulars, and meet a deputation of 
 the elders, who come to trade. The ship 
 wants water, yams, and potatoes : we want 
 hardware. The terras of exchange are settled 
 according to a Avritten tariff, and the elders 
 depart, to weigh over tlie commodities on 
 their side. They are poor traders, though : 
 
I02 THE ISLAND 
 
 yams are scarce at the moment, yet they ask 
 no higher price for them ; nor can I make 
 them understand that to do so would be to 
 seek an honest gain. ' Is there less steel in 
 the hatchets than there used to be,' they ask, 
 ' that we are to give less in yams ? ' I re- 
 member that the value of a thing is what it 
 will fetcli, and I tell them so, but tliey shake 
 their heads. For the first time, it occurs to 
 me that these people have no natural turn for 
 economic speculation ; and that, with all their 
 religion, they may need a missionary of a 
 kind. A certain finer sense is wanting ; but 
 no more of this just now. 
 
 The guests have, meanwhile, been led to 
 their quarters, the Captain beaming with 
 affability and good nature. He foresees his 
 report to the Lords of the Admiralty on the 
 morals, manners and customs of these inno- 
 cent islanders, with tlie articles thereon in the 
 daily papers. It is all such a relief after the 
 official landings of the Pacific station, and the 
 French polisli of the South American dons, 
 miich tarnished by keeping in a torrid clime. 
 
 The people are as curious and inquisitive 
 as children. They draw the officers' swords. 
 
A SAIL 103 
 
 run tlieir fingers along the dulled edges, cry- 
 wonder at the damascened blades. Some of 
 tliem have never seen the uniform before : 
 none can ever see it too often. They have 
 the fullest confidence in the honour of the 
 wearers ; and they give themselves up to en- 
 joyment, without a thought of harm. All the 
 rules governing their intercourse with traders 
 are suspended. The girls go where they 
 please, with whom they please : every middy, 
 even, has his feminine aide-de-camp, and local 
 guide. The Captain is attended by no less 
 a person than the Ancient himself, though I 
 think he would prefer to rough it with his 
 officers. The Ancient treats him with a fine 
 courtesy, affecting not to be master in his own 
 domain. 
 
 Nor indeed is he master for the time — at 
 least on the judicial side. The Queen's navy, 
 as already stated, is our court of final appeal 
 under the constitution ; and there is that un- 
 settled case. It is called on the morrow of 
 the Captain's visit, with the cocoa grove for 
 the seat of the appellate tribunal. The 
 Ancient offered the schoolhouse, but the Judge 
 asked why a clearing in tlie trees would not 
 
I04 THE ISLAND 
 
 do as well ; and his will was law. It is quieter 
 than most halls of justice, for the whispers are 
 lost in the open air. The twitter of the birds 
 overhead is not so troublesome as an usher's 
 cry of ' Silence in Court.' The gentle breeze is 
 hardly an inconvenience, for there are no 
 papers to blow about ; and the perfume which 
 it brings from the village gardens would be 
 a distinct improvement to the atmosphere of 
 Lincoln's Inn. 
 
 I had never quite understood this case, 
 and no wonder, for it had puzzled all the 
 courts of the Island. A cat had been killed : 
 it opened in that way, clearly enough, but, 
 soon after, the obscurity began. Who killed 
 the cat? Even here there was broad daylight 
 — one Elias McCall. Was he justified in the 
 deed? — Ha! His plea was that the cat had 
 sought the lives of his chickens, and that, after 
 losing several of these in successive midnight 
 raids, he had, at length, sought the life of the 
 cat. The law of the case is perfectly explicit : 
 the cat that slays fowl shall itself be slain. But 
 the proof of murderous outrage must be con- 
 clusive : the cat must be ' positively detected 
 in killino- ' — the Ancient read the statute from 
 
A SAIL 105 
 
 his pocket-book, at the request of the Court. 
 Now, Avas the circumstantial evidence so 
 strong as to constitute detection within the 
 meaning of the Act ? The proprietor of the 
 fledgUngs, as a truthful man, could say no 
 more than that the cat had been in the habit 
 of taking up lier station near his hen-coop in 
 the cool of the evening, and that, on the 
 morroAv of every such visit, he had missed one 
 or more birds. He had put two and two to- 
 gether, that was his expression, and finally, 
 his feeling;s cettins^ the better of him, he had 
 'let go' at the cat (the Ancient, at this 
 point, bade him remember in whose presence 
 he stood), with the result that his brood 
 thereafter remained intact. On a post-mortem 
 examination, moreover, he had found a small 
 feather clinging to the fur. Pressed by the 
 other side, he was bound in honour to admit 
 tliat he had never seen the cat looking at 
 the hen-coop — on the contrary, her head 
 was usually turned the other way. She often 
 sang to herself, as though pre-occupied ; and 
 her movements Avere so little of a threatening 
 nature that she Avas washing her face at the 
 very moment of the fatal stroke. It Avas not 
 
io6 THE ISLAND 
 
 denied that tliere were many otlier cats in the 
 neighbourhood ; it Avas not denied that tlie 
 fowls often flew upon the fence where the 
 cat used to sit, nor that they might there have 
 left the stray feather found on her person. 
 With this evidence, the owner of the cat left 
 his case in the hands of the Supreme Court. 
 The courts below had decided against him, 
 the Ancient first, as Chief Magistrate, and 
 then a jury. Now, the Captain of H.M.S. 
 ' RoUo ' was asked to give the final award. 
 
 That his Honour was troubled was evident 
 by the frequency with wliich he asked his 
 assessor, the First Lieutenant, to give him a 
 light for his cheroot. The ' positively de- 
 tected ' of the statute was his stumbling-block ; 
 we could see that with half an eye. 
 
 ' Where did you find the feather?' he said 
 at length, ' near the tail end, where the cat 
 might have been sitting?' It was a leading 
 question, but no one seemed to notice the 
 irregularity. ' Xo, sir,' returned the mur- 
 derer, 'on her cheek, just under the right 
 whisker.' 
 
 ' That settles it, I think,' said the Judge ; 
 ' she was washing up, after she had eaten the 
 
A SAIL 107 
 
 bird.' ' Yes, that settles it,' echoed the First 
 Lieutenant. ' That settles it, of course,' said 
 the ship's surgeon, who, as a mere bystander, 
 had no business to deliver an opinion on the 
 matter. 'That settles it,' said the Ancient; 
 ' I never thougJit of asking the question.' 
 ' That settles it,' said all the villagers present, 
 including, strange to say, the owner of the cat. 
 — Judgment of the courts below confirmed. 
 
ic8 THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THREE DAYS. 
 
 Business over, our pleasures begin. They 
 are to stay only three clear days in all, and 
 we must make the most of them, putting as 
 much into every precious hour as though it 
 M'cre to be our last of joy. 
 
 We visit the ship. She invites us to a 
 party, puts on a little bunting for the occa- 
 sion, and fires a gun. Everybody goes. The 
 Captain is aboard, and makes believe he lias 
 never been ashore, shaking hands with us as 
 we climb the side, though he left us but an 
 hour ago. He wears his cocked hat and 
 epaulettes, by special request ; liis officers, 
 too, have not been sparing of their best. His 
 crew, subdued to the most mealy-mouthed 
 propriety of speecli by such glimpses as they 
 liave had of the Island life, entertain us with 
 
THREE DAYS 109 
 
 a concert. It is the forecastle fiddle and ac- 
 cordion, with the repertory of the cockney 
 music-halls. This last seems to lose vitality 
 on our pure uplands, and to gasp for the 
 breath of its native fen. Our o-ood folk 
 listen to ' Blow me up an apple-tree,' or 
 ' Did 'em do it, did 'em, did 'em did 'em do ? ' 
 believing it must be right, because it is 
 English, yet beginning to doubt — not us, how- 
 ever, but themselves, beautiful first form of 
 the doubt of candid souls ! Some of the soni^s 
 are too far away from them for even the 
 glimmerings of comprehension — the humour 
 of the mere sordidness of life. ' Penny paper- 
 collar Joe.' — Well, they wear no collars ; 
 consequently, they make no paper imitations ; 
 consequently, these cost neither a penny nor 
 a pound. For the same reason, ' father, 
 dear father, the brokers are in ! ' leaves them 
 stone-cold. ' What are the brokers ? ' whis- 
 pers Victoria to me. How curious to have 
 to expound these elementary things ! ' Hush, 
 Victoria, not now — when they are gone — 
 it would take all day. Listen to the ballads 
 of the people.' Next it is a fantasia of pun- 
 ning effects : 
 
no THE ISLAND 
 
 A sloth is not an idol ; 
 
 A bride can't wear a bridle, 
 
 Tliough surely by the (h)altar she is led ; 
 
 Sixpence is not a tanner ; 
 
 A bridegroom's not a banner, 
 
 Though the banns he will put up before he's wed. 
 
 I tremble : a little more, and the whole 
 secret will be out, of the murk of mind 
 in which so many of our brethren live, 
 wliile Lord Tennyson is at the tailor's about 
 his ermine, and dilettantism attends its monthly 
 meeting of the Browning Society, and leaves 
 them in their pen. A little more, and they 
 may suspect that beauty and taste are all 
 grown for May fair by the Jews, just like the 
 big pine apples, and that the poet himself is 
 but one more market gardener for the rich. 
 This lyre of the slums threatens to kill the 
 whole pageant ; these sewer gases seem to 
 tarnish the gold lace on the Captain's hat. 
 
 ' How nice it must be to have your 
 English sense of humour,' says Victoria, ' and 
 to be able to enjoy all these funny things ! ' 
 
 Saved ! Once more they have taken the 
 blame upon themselves. 
 
 We wander over the ship ; admire the cut- 
 lasses in their racks ; fit our heads in the muzzle 
 
THREE DAYS in 
 
 of a big gun, gravely waiting our turn in file, 
 under the orders of a corporal ; eat cake in the 
 Captain's cabin, refuse wine ; see everything, 
 ask foolish questions everywhere. Never-to- 
 be-forgotten day ! A tar dances a hornpipe 
 for us ; three of our girls dance the rhythmic 
 dance of Tahiti for the tars. The Captain asks 
 questions about it, and takes notes, always in 
 view of that report to the Lords of the Ad- 
 miralty. Some of us are photographed — no, it 
 is getting too maddeningly gay ! The Ancient 
 looks grave, and gives the signal for departure. 
 The cutters are lowered ; the little whaler 
 takes its freight again ; the boats dance us 
 home in the dusk. It is not all over yet ; 
 they send up a rocket and a blue light, to say 
 ' Good-night,' as we step ashore. Never-to-be- 
 forgotten day ! 
 
 And there are more such days to come — 
 days when it is our turn, once more, to do the 
 honours. Our girls take the distinguished 
 visitors over the Island — to the cave of the 
 Carvings, the cave of the Watcher, the Point 
 — tending them carefully on ledge and 
 summit and declivity, as my nurse tended 
 me. They try to do without such guidance. 
 
112 THE ISLAND 
 
 and come to grief over it, figuring as meanly 
 as the sinking Cicsar crying for help. The 
 water sports are just as dislieartening. What 
 stoutest man amons^j us will follow this sea- 
 nymph, in her sea toilette, plunging into 
 the breakers with a plank in her arms, 
 diving and ducking till she comes to the far 
 side of the hugest wave, then lying flat on 
 the curling crest, and rolling in with it, till 
 it breaks in thunder on the rocks ? Always, 
 after the explosion, you look for a mangled 
 body, and you find only a laughing Yenus, 
 rising whole and perfect from the foam. 
 
 Nature herself smiles benignly on the 
 festival, and contributes to it with great sun- 
 sets that touch the summits of grove and 
 mountain with indescribable beauty, and har- 
 monise into perfect peacefulness of association 
 even the tumult of the breakers in their ever- 
 lasting strife with the shore. There are fish- 
 ings by torchlight, later on, in the intense 
 shadow of the rocks ; above us, the corus- 
 cating wall of rock towering to the moon- 
 lit heaven ; below, the deep, deep water, all 
 black and horrible beyond our tiny circle of 
 flame. The cod flock to the liglit, like their 
 
THREE DAYS 113 
 
 betters, and get speared with a five-pronged 
 fork for their pains. T]ie girls, who are deftest 
 at the exercise, look not unlike Britannia on the 
 halfpenny, as they sit at ease with their forks, 
 waiting their turn. Now, we paddle out of 
 the shadow into the silvered sea, and so ashore 
 to the green. Then there is another concert 
 (ours this time), with simple songs of meeting 
 and of parting, mostly of the schoolmaster's 
 writing, quired by the voices of virgins, and, 
 with such rendering — the scene and the hour 
 also taken into account — pure intuitions of 
 the deeper significance of life. Impossible to 
 doubt, after this, that the spirit is to be lord 
 of the house ; that living is the finest of the 
 fine arts, or nothing ; and that such is the 
 message, delivered through Nature, of the 
 Unknowable behind the Nature veil. 
 
 The Ancient is thoughtful all the while, 
 thoughtfullest at the hour of the breaking-up 
 of this great council of the soul, when the 
 councillors wander away in pairs, and are lost 
 in the radiant hazes of the night. It is the 
 last council — to-morrow they go. Our Chief 
 has led the way to his cottage, and has asked 
 the Captain to step in on his way home. ' I 
 
 1 
 
114 THE ISLAND 
 
 wisli you gentlemen might never come here,' 
 he says pleasantly to his guest, ' or, if you 
 come, I wish you might never go away. It 
 is a moment's pastime for some of you, but, 
 one way or otlier, it lasts some of us a life- 
 time. " Jack ashore " — I've heard of him 
 from my father's father ; but then he goes 
 ashore so often. Our ^irls never forcjet — 
 tliat's their nature. I've known 'em die, sir, 
 of these visits of a Queen's ship. They think 
 it's only a beginning — your youngsters think 
 it too. Captain, while the moon shines — I know 
 it's an ending, for ever and ever. They'll never 
 meet again, sir, in this world — although, at 
 this very minute, perhaps, they're a-cutting 
 love-knots all over the place to make believe 
 they will.' 
 
 The incidental reference to the love-knots 
 seemed to have set him on a new track of 
 reflection. ' It's a pity to spoil the trees for 
 nothing, all the same,' he murmured, ' and, if 
 you'll excuse the liberty, I think I'll just have 
 a look round.' 
 
 He stole out to watch the public property ; 
 and, by his orders, no doubt, Victoria, who 
 Jiad lingered in the garden, came in to enter- 
 
THREE DAYS 115 
 
 tain the guest. Yet Victoria said not a word. 
 Slie had been unUke her old self all the time 
 of their stay ; she had become pensive, melan- 
 choly, retiring, joining in none of the diversions, 
 only looking on, or languidly asking a question 
 now and then. I felt what service she required 
 of me, and made the talk — no very difficult 
 matter, for the Captain and I had many ac- 
 quaintance in common. He knew some of my 
 own people, besides, and was able to tell me 
 that a young pickle of a cousin, who had taken 
 to the Navy, had lately joined the 'Tanis' for 
 service on the China station. 
 
 ' The " Tanis " was here three years ago,' 
 said Victoria, very softly, but looking up at 
 tlie Captain, I thought, in a rather wistful 
 way. 
 
 ' I know she was ; I boarded her at Ports- 
 mouth, when she went out of commission. 
 They all talked of nothing but your little 
 Island, and made me long to come here.' 
 
 ' You knew the midshipman of the " Tanis,'' 
 perhaps,' said Victoria, still with her peculiar 
 ' inward ' air. ' Where is he now ? ' 
 
 ' What midshipman ? ' the Captain very 
 naturally asked. 
 
 I 2 
 
ii6 THE ISLAND 
 
 If Victoria knew tlie name, slie did not 
 care to give it. ' He was a tall young gentle- 
 man,' she said with more animation, yet with 
 a pause to give the Captain time to collect his 
 thoughts after each item of the inventory ; 
 ' fair — a quick way of speaking — a pleasant 
 laugh. If you ever heard him sing, you would 
 be sure to remember him.' The Captain shook 
 his head. 
 
 ' He fought the battle with the slave-dhow, 
 on the west coast of Africa.' 
 
 ' What battle, my dear girl ? ' 
 
 ' The battle,' she repeated. 
 
 ' Do you mean he was in a boat that ran 
 down one of those rascally traders ? We do 
 that every day.' 
 
 ' He won tlie battle, that's all I know,' said 
 Victoria. ' He told me so. I believe they 
 called him " Curly " in the mess, because they 
 were jealous of his hair,' she added, blushing 
 to find herself forced into these particulars, 
 but determined to have him recognised. 
 
 ' Curly,' mused the Captain, doing his very 
 best — ' can't say I know the name.' 
 
 ' He wore a dirk to fight with,' said 
 Victoria. 
 
THREE DAYS 117 
 
 ' They all wear dirks,' returned the Cap- 
 tain. 
 
 ' His laugh was so pleasant ! ' She Avas 
 repeating herself beyond question, but, per- 
 haps, it was only to give tJie Captain one 
 more chance. 
 
 ' No doubt, no doubt ! ' 
 
 ' Yet some liked his smile better.' 
 
 'Some like one thing, some another,' said 
 the Captain — feebly, 1 thought, but he was 
 hard pressed. 
 
 ' I suppose they all wear buttons like this?' 
 slie said, producing the uncouth ornament 
 from lier neck. 
 
 ' Yes, one middy's button 's like another 
 middy's button, you know; that's the wT)rst 
 of it,' said the Captain ; ' and it's just the 
 same with their dirks and their heads of 
 hair. They seem to turn all the young dogs 
 out of one mould. I think they ought to be 
 stamped for identification.' 
 
 Victoria witlidrew into the sliade of tlie 
 room. 
 
 Tlie next morning was the last morning ; 
 yet who would have guessed it ? It began 
 just as the others had begun, with early 
 
n8 THE ISLAND 
 
 wandei'ings on tlie breezy lulls, with laughter, 
 with the giving and taking of tokens. It went 
 on like the other mornings, only no^v the sliip 
 had landed the last of our simple stores, and 
 her boat was waiting to take her people off. 
 She was to fire a Royal Salute, as she left iis, 
 by particular request, and to hoist the Royal 
 Standard, and man the yards. The girls seemed 
 merrier than ever at the prospect of it. The 
 Captain, at the head of his officers, stood at the 
 landiniT-stacfe ; the Ancient faced him, with his 
 smiling subjects in the rear. There was but 
 one more ceremony, and it was accomplished 
 Avhen the two grasped hands, as the boat, now 
 freighted with our departing guests, with one 
 strong shove, left the shores of the Island. 
 
 Then, for a truth, the womankind seemed 
 to feel that it was parting, and a cry went up 
 from them as blood-curdling as a cry of 
 'Murder!' heard in the night. It Avas the 
 fatal gift of intensity in extremes common to 
 these southern natures. The place of gladness 
 was, in a moment, turned into the place of 
 grief; they threw themselves on the ground, 
 and bit their dishevelled hair ; they stretched 
 supplicating hands towards the boat. It 
 
THREE DAYS 119 
 
 was a tropic storm of woe. Never liad I 
 seen such utter abandonment of the very hope 
 of hope. It made one sick to think of tlie 
 ])ain there is in the world — the pain that chngs 
 Uke a shadow to every jo}^ and that sets its 
 seal on every decisive fact of being, from 
 birth to death, on the going out, equally with 
 the coming in, as though to forbid all false 
 comfort in the belief of mere alternation. For 
 alternation there is not ; with a wail begins 
 the dismal account of human experience, and 
 with a groan it ends, wliatever may come 
 between. Poor wretches ! bloated out of all 
 beauty with the w\ater of their tears, I could 
 have killed them as they grovelled there, for 
 very rage of pity. Anything to stop tliese 
 dreary sequences of sorrow. The three days 
 of beatitude are past ; and, for the promise 
 of all the coming years, listen to the Ancient 
 as he turns away ; 
 
 ' Never again with thee, Robin ! 
 Never again by the light of the moon.' 
 
THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 A MISSION. 
 
 A DEEP melancholy, an extreme lassitude 
 follow our o-reat bereavement. 'Tis as though 
 Death had passed over us, and his lingering 
 shadow still blighted the sunlight of the Isle. 
 We turned to work again, but, at first, only 
 like automaton figures. There is the action 
 of labour, but little effect. We eat and drink 
 in much the same mechanical way. A bird's-eye 
 view of us would suggest something in wax- 
 work on a grand scale. Our talk is depressing 
 as a demonstration on the phonograph, the 
 topics indifferent, the tones a mere resurrection 
 of the voice. No one speaks of the ship that 
 is dead and gone. 
 
 Victoria, whose personal share in the 
 common sorrow can be but small, seems to 
 grieve as much as any of us. I am not 
 
A MISSION 121 
 
 allowed to be with lier now — rather I see she 
 does not want me, and I keep away. When 
 she starts for the Peak, I start for the Watcher's 
 Cave, and we pine on opposite heights. Her 
 simple honsehold duties done, she will dis- 
 appear for the whole day. I pass a good deal 
 of time in the Ancient's library, reading 
 yellow British classics, out of the old scuttled 
 ship. They are interleaved with book-marks, 
 each a delicate feminine linfjer beckoning to 
 a place of refreshment and rest. It is a 
 question of time and season, and perhaps 
 Victoria herself will tell me when to speak. 
 
 But 1 tire of waiting at last, the sooner 
 because, till now, she has shared all her 
 tlioughts with me ; and, one day, I track her 
 to a silent shelter of woods south of the ridge. 
 She lies in the high grass, picking a flower 
 to pieces, but otherwise quite still. 
 'Victoria.' 
 
 'Ah! thinking of you has bronght you." 
 she says, turning her head with no sur- 
 prise. 
 
 ' How could I know you wanted me ? ' 
 ' I did not know it myself till to-day.' 
 ' Why must ijou suffer, Victoria ? ' 
 
122 THE ISLAND 
 
 'I do not suffer at all as you think ; but 
 they do ; anyone can see that.' 
 
 ' Well, that is their concern, or, at most, 
 your father's. You are not Governor of the 
 Island.' 
 
 ' I am the Governor's daughter,' she said, 
 in another tone. ' And what can my father 
 do ? What can anyone do, but you, perhaps ? 
 You must help us. Only you can help us. 
 We are a poor lost people, without you.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' This sorrow ' 
 
 ' Will pass in a week. Let it run its 
 course.' 
 
 ' I do not want it to pass like that, to die 
 of mere numbness. So much else will die 
 along with it, if it does.' 
 
 ' Fight it down.' 
 
 ' No, no, no ! What a bludgeon man you 
 are ! You must be killing something. And 
 you can't kill a sorrow or a Aveakness by what 
 you call fighting it. Perhaps it will kill you 
 instead. I know ; do you think I have never 
 had to try? Now listen to what I say- 
 Whenever you are weak, or whenever you 
 are bad, you are not to go into battle witli 
 
A MISSION 123 
 
 your own heart and twang off little texts at 
 it. Heart will put on its casing, and turn the 
 points of the texts ; or, perhaps, twang back 
 at you, and you will both be wounded and 
 worried, tliat's all. And, if you win, you 
 iiave either a corpse before 3'ou, or a slave, 
 and there's a nice union till death do us 
 part ! ' 
 
 ' You are to run away, perhaps. Is that 
 your woman's science of war ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, now we have heard the mocking 
 l)ird on the Island ! ' she said, in grave rebuke. 
 'But that is just it ; you are to run away, but 
 ahvays to higher ground. Leave your weak- 
 ness and your badness alone, and try for good- 
 ness, that is all. Don't waste yourself in the 
 marshes ; tlie mountain is the best place. An 
 old man who had lived in India witli the 
 priests told me that, and I gave liim some 
 yams for it. He was cook to a whaler. Yet 
 you say we don't know how to trade.' 
 
 ' But what has all this to do with my 
 healing powers? Tliat is what puzzles me.' 
 
 'Lead us to the hiijher ground,' she said, 
 laying her hand on my arm. 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' 
 
124 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' Civilise us. Make us like England. Give 
 us lamer thinjxs to live for. Tell us what we 
 must do. There must be something wanting, 
 but I cannot tell what it is. It all seems so 
 beautiful here — the shining sun, friends to 
 love, peace, the singing, the sea, the very 
 wind in this wood ! Yet I know there must 
 be something. That is why the Queen's ships 
 never come again. We are like children, 
 perhaps.' 
 
 ' Keep so.' 
 
 ' Xo, no, we want to be like you. This 
 is babyland. Make us great and good. You 
 know the secret : you have lived there.'' 
 
 ' What am I to do ? ' 
 
 ' Speak to father. Father will speak to 
 the people. He does not see it as I do, but you 
 can open his eyes. Then well have a meeting, 
 and beoin to be like Ensfland at once.' 
 
 It was inviting, no doubt : to be a Moses 
 of the Pacific, and to shape a nation ! Perhaps 
 they are in a bad way, if one conies to think 
 of it. I remember that test case of the barter 
 of the yams. It seemed nothing in passing ; 
 it is everything, if you look at it in the proper 
 light. What poverty of spirit ! they cannot 
 
A MISSION 125 
 
 SO much as dispose of a vegetable on first 
 principles. They liave no principles at all, 
 only beautiful emotions ; no science of life ; 
 at best, but an unconscious art. Upon my 
 word, they live like so many lilies of the 
 field, not even like orchids, which, in a general 
 Avay, are at least brought up. They are a 
 mere flowery mead of humanity. By the 
 time I have brought them to this state, in 
 swift meditation, I myself might be a Scotch 
 landscape gardener, for my j^earning to lay 
 them out in walks. 
 
 ' Very well, Victoria ; anything to make 
 you happy — you and yours. You wish to 
 have your people civilised ? ' 
 
 Her smile was answer enough. 
 
 ' I must warn you beforehand : it hurts.' 
 
 ' How else could we expect it to do us 
 good ? ' 
 
 ' Sometimes you will think me your worst 
 enemy,' 
 
 ' ! be still ! when will you speak to 
 father?' 
 
 ' To-night. But you must take care to 
 keep us to ourselves — us three. We want no 
 outsiders.' 
 
126 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' I will take care.' 
 
 ' Xow go, dear child, and leave me alone 
 to work it out.' 
 
 She liad gradually lowered her voice, as 
 though to kill me to rest in a blessed promise 
 and a blessed resolve. Now she ceased speak- 
 ing altogether, and only looked ineffable 
 gratitude and hope, as she stole away softly 
 throujih the long; OTass. 
 
127 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A PLOT. 
 
 No better opportunity could have been desired. 
 His Excellency was very chatty that night, in 
 mere reaction of mood, perhaps, against tlie 
 prevailing gloom of tlie Island. We met on 
 the lawn ; and he was as full of glowing 
 courtesies, before passing indoors to his 
 supper, as the gracious Duncan on another 
 occasion, while he ran the same risk of 
 deadly intent against the peace that was his 
 very life. I, knowing what was making ready 
 for him, could not but feel like a Thane 
 of Cawdor, while Victoria, I am sorry to say, 
 filled the part of the lady of the castle. She 
 watched me, even more than she watched 
 him, and whenever I showed symptoms of 
 recoil from the dreadful venture, she impelled 
 me by a look. 
 
 ' We're getting better, sir,' he said cheerily 
 
128 THE ISLAND 
 
 when he had finished his meal, ' but it's a slow 
 cure. I'm going to fine some of 'em to- 
 morrow for cutting the trees. It'll wake 'em 
 up, and give 'em something else to think about. 
 Not but what things might have been worse ; 
 only three new love-knots, according to my 
 reckoning, four initials with crown and 
 anchor, two hearts with arrows, one ditto 
 without — and I think I've been all over the 
 place.' 
 
 Now for it. 
 
 ' What else can you expect, my friend ? 
 They must do something. Things are rather 
 slow here.' 
 
 It was the horrid first blow, and it quite 
 staggered the poor old man. 
 
 ' As how ? ' he faintly said. 
 
 I could have stopped for pity, but Victoria 
 smiled at me from behind his chair. Then, I 
 shut my eyes and struck on. 
 
 ' Eatlier humdrum, you know. No spirit, 
 no careers ; one man as good as another, and 
 not even a good deal better, as the saying 
 goes.' 
 
 ' It never troubled me,' he meekly said. 
 
 ' Yet you are the Chief Magistrate ! ' 
 
A PLOT 129 
 
 ' Well, if we are in fault, sir, I shall be 
 glad to hear of it. What's amiss ? ' 
 
 ' Not very much, perhaps ; only I think 
 you want variety of formation, that's all.' 
 
 ' We shall get it right, sir, I dare say, if 
 it is to be got right. Please go on. You 
 have travelled ; you are able to speak,' 
 
 ' Well, by variety of formation I mean the 
 division of classes. Look at the beautiful 
 gradation at home— an aristocracy for the 
 fine art of life ; a middle class for the moral 
 qualities, which are not fine art, but only 
 helps to it ; a lower for the mere drudgery 
 outside of both art and morals. The great 
 mark of all progressive nations is that struggle 
 of each man to make some other do his dirty 
 work for him, which is commonly known as 
 aspiration for the higher life. A few live in 
 dignity, unhaste, affluence, and wear the fine 
 flower of manners ; but, to sustain the costly 
 show, and help them so to live, the many 
 give up all hope of these things on their own 
 account, sometimes forming perfect castes, 
 who do the dirty work from father to son, as 
 others fill the office of Earl Marshal.' 
 
 K 
 
I30 THE JSLAxXD 
 
 ' I do assure you, sir, we've nothing of 
 that sort here.' 
 
 ' This self-denying section has many names. 
 Sometimes it is called the slave class ; but 
 " working," or " lower " class, or " sons of 
 toil," is usually preferred, as being the politer 
 and less descriptive term. They engage in 
 all the mal-odorous tasks, to the end that 
 the others may smell sweet, and accumulate 
 porcelain, where the concej)tion of beautiful 
 living is in that somewhat rudimentary stage. 
 Now you are in a curious, not to say an un- 
 exampled, position. You are without tliis 
 indispensable class ; and how you have got on, 
 even so far, without it is a mystery to me. 
 Being without it, you are, of course, without 
 the other two. Your middle term of the great 
 combination is nowhere ; and, for your aris- 
 tocracy, where is it to be found ? You may 
 have your own way of bettering yourselves, 
 but what it is I fail to see.' 
 
 ' Of bettering ourselves by making others 
 worse ? ' 
 
 ' Well — if you choose to put it in that 
 way. Inequality is our religion, as a great 
 man has so finely said. Our humblest grocer 
 
A PLOT 131 
 
 likes, in liis way, to have an eldest son, and 
 even sometimes, in modest imitation of his 
 superiors, a youngest daughter.' 
 
 ' We can't alter it,' he said, fumblin<T 
 in his pocket; 'it ain't allowed under the 
 rules.' 
 
 ' A new law ? ' I suggested — ' a sort of con- 
 stitutional amendment ? ' 
 
 ' They wouldn't stand it ; that's my humble 
 belief.' 
 
 ' They might be made to stand it,' I 
 said darkly. 
 
 ' Who's to make 'em ? ' asked the Chief 
 Magistrate. 
 ' Hum ! ' 
 
 But his Excellency said nothing to help 
 me out. 
 
 'You've no one you could rely upon, I 
 suppose, if you thought it necessary to save 
 society — no band of patriots devoted to your 
 person — no arms? ' 
 
 ' There's the public hammer ; that's all I 
 know of.' 
 
 ' Well, well ; turn it over in your mind. 
 See what we have done at home. A few cen- 
 turies ago we were no better off than you ; 
 
 K -2 
 
132 THE ISLAND 
 
 every man with his bit of land for tillage, his 
 common for grazing, a rather demoralising 
 plenty in every hut — no really efficient slave 
 class, in fact. But a patriotic nobility soon 
 put a stop to that, enclosed the commons, 
 broke up the small farms, and made a pro- 
 letariat that is, to this day^ the wonder and 
 envy of the world. Then began industrial 
 and imperial England. The old state was 
 England for the English ; but really they did 
 not know what to do with it ; the new one is, 
 England for her betters — and see where we 
 are now.' 
 
 ' Ah ! it is wonderful how you manage 
 things over thei^e ; it's like a piece of watch- 
 making. But, bless you, our fingers are too 
 clumsy.' 
 
 ' You have to master the principle of the 
 movement — that is all. Teach a whole com- 
 munity to unite riches with righteousness as the 
 object of its hunger and thirst ; and the thirst, 
 especially, will beget a tremulous cerebral ex- 
 citement which will keep it always on the go. 
 Do not carry this to excess, for it will never 
 do to have your social movement confounded 
 with the drinker's "jumps." Only remember 
 
A PLOT 133 
 
 that, as we argue, no wealth — no luxury ; 
 no luxury — no crumbs for Lazarus.' 
 
 ' Oh, dear ! ' said Victoria, 
 
 ' Oh, deary, deary me ! ' said the Ancient, 
 wiping his brow. 
 
 ' You yourself might set an example in this 
 matter. Such things often grow from very 
 small beginnings. The Island diet, I perceive, 
 is chiefly fish and vegetables. Now, in your 
 position as Governor, you should eat meat 
 at least three times a week. It would mark 
 a difference ; and, by-and-by, you might 
 manage to get the more toothsome things, 
 such as the sweetbreads and the guavas, 
 reserved for your own table. The great prin- 
 ciple is, not — as, I fear, you imagine — that one 
 man's best of service ought to count like 
 another man's best, in respect of his right to 
 the needful things of life, but that, on the 
 contrary, each bit of human helpfulness should 
 be weighed in a balance, and more pudding 
 given to those whose morsel weighs most. 
 The nice adjustment of the quantity of the 
 pudding to the nature of the service is our 
 economic and, indeed, our moral ideal. We 
 have long since given the requisite superfluity 
 
134 THE ISLAND 
 
 to our governors and other men of action ; 
 now the cry is, " More pudding to the seers ; " 
 and it is one of the most exhilarating cries of 
 the day, in its evidence of our progress in true 
 spirituahty. A great preacher, a great pen- 
 man, a great revealer of the beautiful in 
 plastic art, soon has his plate heaped up.' 
 
 ' But won't the others get less ? ' said Vic- 
 toria, now beginning, I thought, to repent of 
 her part in the plot. 
 
 ' yes ; but the others are stupid.' 
 
 ' They are brothers.' 
 
 ' Only by courtesy, I think you will find. 
 " Brothers in Christ Jesus," I believe, is the 
 exact term.' 
 
 ' They get hungry three times a day, all 
 the same,' said the girl, flashing revolt. 
 
 ' I am afraid you will begin to think 
 I want to civilise you against your will,' 
 I returned, after a pause. — The rising was 
 quelled. 
 
 ' Then, excuse the remark, my friend, but 
 your Church puzzles me a little. I see no 
 hierarchy, to use the proper expression ; no 
 grade upon grade, each, as aforesaid, enjoying 
 more pudding than the one below, until, with 
 
A PLOT 135 
 
 the highest, we reach a tableland covered 
 with acres of this delicacy. To tell the honest 
 truth about it, the Church began in a very- 
 small way, and it will not do to ignore the fact 
 that the old stable has become a prosperous 
 house of business, with a frontage in the best 
 thoroughfares. Some of the Apostles, re- 
 spectable as they undoubtedly were, must 
 have smelt strongly of fish — though modern 
 research has, I believe, discovered that 
 they were not mere hands before the mast, 
 but owners of smacks. Their successors — 
 this Bishop from York or Canterbury, this 
 Cardinal Prince from Rome — never offend in 
 that way. Their lives testify to their faith 
 in a manner that must carry conviction to 
 the most sceptical minds. They do not merely 
 say that religion is a good thing, and an all- 
 sufficient, for this world and the next ; they 
 show it forth. Step into their houses — 
 hangings and raiment of price, cabinets of 
 medals, rarest parchments, bindings, curios, 
 gems of ])ainting, six courses and dessert every 
 day but fast-day, and kickshaws innumerable 
 to make a mere gastronomic symbol even of 
 that. Their very pastoral staves are wrought 
 
136 THE ISLAND 
 
 in fine gold ; and, to preclude all possibility 
 of their employment in coarser nses, are so 
 adroitly filled in with ornament that, by no 
 exercise of human ingenuity, could they be 
 made to hook so much as a leg of lamb. Thus 
 has a religion of humility been saved from its 
 earlier accidental association with low life, and 
 become a calling fit for a gentleman, until the 
 middle, and even the upper, classes have not 
 disdained it, nor professional investors of 
 talent considered it unworthy of their regard. 
 All its original difficulties as a creed of morbid 
 self-denial have been cleared away by the 
 beautiful modern development of the symbol. 
 Is it awkward to watch and Avork for the 
 needy, day and night ? Well, wash their feet 
 at Easter, and you may wash your hands of 
 them for the rest of the year. In my travels 
 have I seen an Emperor and an Archbishop 
 condescending to tliis exercise, one quite busy 
 with the scented water, the other at hand with 
 the serviette of fine linen edged with lace. 
 'Tis a peppercorn rent of service and of com- 
 passionate deeds ; and for this, what generous 
 holdings in the good things of life, in park, 
 moorland, and forest, in palaces of splendour 
 
A PLOT 137 
 
 that open to no wayfarer without an intro- 
 duction, yet are often symbolled for bound- 
 less hospitahty by some pretty device ! The 
 symbol ! tlie sj^rabol ! precious contrivance 
 for effecting a true modus vivendi between the 
 tastes of a gentleman and the duties of a creed. 
 With this to aid, my friend, your Church will 
 be the fitting mainstay of your social arrange- 
 ments, being indeed truly of them, bone of 
 bone, flesh of flesh, its meanest curate fired 
 with the laudable ambition of getting on in 
 the world, and, to this end, not regardless of 
 snug spinsters with the talent laid by in the 
 napkin of the Three per Cents. But where are 
 you in all this ? I ask. Where is even your 
 beginning of better things ? What note have 
 you of a living Church, when you have not so 
 much as a great doctrinal contest to settle the 
 metaphysical reasons for goodness, before you 
 begin to be good ? ' 
 
 'That's what I was just thinking,' said the 
 Ancient ; ' whereabouts are we ? ' 
 
 'Parties are the life of the Church: is 
 there no way of starting a question ? Do you 
 do anything in pew rents ? ' 
 
 ' No,' he said, ' there's my place a little 
 
138 THE ISLAND 
 
 nearer the schoolmaster than the others, but 
 that's only because I'm rather deaf.' 
 
 ' Vestments ? You could not put your 
 pastor in bands ? The great thing is to mark 
 him off from the rest, and to give him his 
 badge, as a being engaged in special communi- 
 cation with the Unseen. He is not to be like 
 yourselves, a simple work-a-day creature, 
 feeling his way to the law by the perpetual 
 revelations of the conscience and the heart, 
 and only getting a little beyond you in the 
 knowledge of it, because he feels and labours 
 more. No, he is to be a creature apart, in- 
 terpreting a message from behind the Veil — 
 a message delivered, not merely a meaning 
 found. This solemn function must have its 
 uniform ; so we think ; and, for some time, a 
 quarrel over the cut of the uniform was one 
 of the most stimulating exercises of our faith.' 
 
 ' Quarrels are fines with us,' said his 
 Excellency, ' but we might strike that out.' 
 
 ' I do not see what father is to do in all 
 this,' said Victoria. 
 
 ' Then I am afraid I have failed to make 
 my meaning clear. He might do everything ; 
 he miixht become the father of his country by 
 
A PLOT 139 
 
 sowing the seeds of a governing caste. Your 
 worst danger, at present, is the want of all 
 distinction in externals between governors 
 and governed. I have already suggested a 
 slight improvement in the matter of domestic 
 style. There are others. Your father dwells 
 in the same sort of hut as his people — why 
 not raise the roof of the hut ? Six inches 
 would do it. He is altogether too easy of 
 approach. Is there no one who could act 
 as chamberlain, usher, or go-between ? ' 
 
 'Eeuben hasn't got much to do of eveninixs,' 
 said the Ancient, in a musing tone that seemed 
 to betoken no displeasure. 
 
 'That's it; live like yourself, and take 
 your place ; guide your people ; rouse them 
 out of this sloth of comfort and happiness ; 
 give them national ideals, great ambitions, 
 OTeat strufTcrles.' 
 
 He shook his head. ' I really don't think 
 you could get up a fight about anything 
 here.' 
 
 ' I don't mean that exactly ; but why not 
 have a foreign pohcy, and then it would all 
 come in the way of nature ? Have you no 
 neighbours ? ' 
 
140 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' None.' 
 
 'There's that Island Eeuben found out, 
 fatlier,' said Victoria. 
 
 ' Why not place it under your protec- 
 torate ? ' 
 
 ' There's nothing to protect, only some 
 dead coral and a cave full of bones. Besides, 
 it's a hundred and fifty miles away.' 
 
 ' Oh, my good friend, your motto should 
 be " distance no object," if you want to get on. 
 But is there nothing nearer .^ ' 
 
 'Well, there is another — only eighty miles 
 off; but that's worse — dead coral without the 
 bones.' 
 
 ' You are certainly unfortunate. But I 
 should protect these places, all the same, and 
 leave a garrison. Never tell me ! if you push 
 on far enough, you must come to something 
 to fight at last. Providence can hardly have 
 meant you to be shut up in this place with- 
 out an enem}^ in the Avorld. Only take care, 
 wlien you do come within touch of your fellow 
 creatures, to have a weapon in your hand.' 
 
 The fjirl shuddered. — ' More kilHncr ! ' 
 
 ' You've got to find your excuse for hitting 
 'em. even then,' he said. 
 
A PLOT 141 
 
 ' Oh, insist on protecting them, and that 
 will do.' 
 
 ' But how are you to find an excuse for 
 that ? ' 
 
 ' Why you seize one place to-day, to make 
 good your hold on another that you seized 
 yesterday ; and to-morrow you seize one place 
 more, for the same reason. It is a process 
 known as " inevitable expansion " ; and if only 
 you follow it out logically, it leads you all 
 round the world.' 
 
 ' But where's the good ? ' 
 
 ' It employs your young men and your 
 bolder spirits ; it doubles the wealth and the 
 luxury of your capitalists ; it leaves even a 
 few more crusts from their table for your 
 poor ; and it provides a receptacle for your 
 overflow of destitution when the crusts o-ive 
 out. In earlier days, when this system of 
 main drainage on the colonial system was 
 almost unknown. Nature had periodically to 
 step in with a Black Death or a Plague to 
 clear the heaps of human refuse away.' 
 
 ' It seems rather a roundabout way, after 
 all. Why not try to make 'em happy at 
 home ? ' 
 
143 THE ISLAND 
 
 * Well, my friend, you cannot argue about 
 these things, you must feel them. Civilisation 
 is an acquired taste. Take your time, and 
 let me know how you like the flavour, to- 
 morrow night.' 
 
 Neither returned my parting salutation. 
 The Ancient was lost in thought, and did not 
 hear it : Victoria had stolen out to gossip 
 with the stars. 
 
143 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 KEPENTANCE. 
 
 I FOUND her next morning seated on the 
 Peak, and looking out to sea. She turned at 
 my approach, as I came up the steep patli 
 from the market-place. 
 
 ' That is where the fighting is to begin, 
 tlien,' she said, pointing north and north-east 
 into the infinite blue. ' We are to go there 
 and look for something to kill — you said so. 
 Father says you did not ; I say you did. Oh, 
 why must they always begin these things by 
 killing something ? Is there no new way ? ' 
 
 ' Only just a little killing, Victoria ; it will 
 soon be over ; and only aborigines to kill ! I 
 believe they hardly mind it at all. It would 
 make you a people in no time ; you have no 
 idea how soon it would change the look of 
 everything here.' 
 
 She stood up and turning landwards, cast 
 
144 THE ISLAND 
 
 a wistful gaze over the settlement. ' I sup- 
 pose it would change tilings a good deal.' 
 
 ' You really would not know the place 
 again.' 
 
 ' And yet ' 
 
 ' Come, Victoria, look on the bright side, 
 and don't go back on yourself. Where shall 
 we put your father's palace ? He will want 
 a palace, or a castle, or something of the 
 sort, in time. He cannot always hve with 
 Thomas and Eichard and the other one, down 
 there. Suppose we put him on the other 
 Point, facing this. Then we will build a 
 little arbour here for you, and rail it off, and 
 you shall have it all to yourself.' 
 
 She answered never a word, but soon I 
 wanted no one to answer, for the excitement 
 of laying out this domain for the higher civil- 
 isation was enough in itself. ' We will keep 
 all this northern half of the Island for the 
 governing classes, and put the people on the 
 other. The views are so much prettier on 
 our side. If you could persuade your good 
 folk to give up the settlement altogether, it 
 would make a sweet little park for the castle ; 
 and the market-place, below, might easily 
 
REPENTANCE 145 
 
 be rigged up as a preserve. I should put a 
 factory on the popular section. It would amuse 
 them. The chimney need never show, if you 
 know how to choose your site.' 
 
 ' What is a factory ? ' asked Victoria. 
 
 ' What is a factory ? Well, a factoiy is — 
 a factory. Dear me, fair Islander, you are 
 sometimes too elementary for profitable talk ! 
 A factory is a place where a number of people 
 work together to simplify the process of 
 appropriating their earnings to one. You 
 give them a little of it back, for provender, 
 and keep as much as you can for yourself. 
 What you keep back is called capital. They 
 make it all, of course, or some of their fore- 
 runners made it, every sou or cent. You get 
 it — that is the main point. Your share is 
 claimed as cost of superintendence, charge 
 for the loan of your brains, or, by-and- 
 by, as interest on your savings — a very 
 superior plea. But it all comes out of labour 
 ■ — all, all, ALL. Labour does not mind, poor 
 thing, if you give it just enough to go on 
 with. According to the best authorities, 
 there must be, at least, one meal a day. The 
 half-meal experiment is discredited : it cuts 
 
 L 
 
146 THE ISLAND 
 
 tilings too fine. This is the starting-point 
 — just what will keep people alive. How 
 much more they will insist on having is a 
 matter of bargain between you and them. 
 But only fight hard against their greediness, 
 and it is astonishing how you can keep it 
 down.' 
 
 ' But why do you want to keep it down, 
 and take so much for yourself? ' 
 
 ' For the use of your precious brains, for 
 direction, for vigilance, for keeping your eye 
 on 'em. Think how they would idle, else ! 
 There's a good deal of idling in tliis settle- 
 ment. I caught two the other day — supposed 
 to be hoeing potatoes — really pelting each 
 other with wild flowers. It was in the great 
 dip of green turf and shrubbery, just beyond 
 the gorge. And now I think of it, why not 
 put the factory there — on the slope ; so that 
 all you will have to do with your refuse is 
 to shoot it out at the back door ? It will 
 take years to fill up the hollow, and when it 
 is filled up, there are others just as good, to 
 right and left. That is the way they make 
 the valleys useful in Lancashire ; I have 
 seen it done. The people can have their 
 
REPENTANCE 147 
 
 little cottages on the edge ; and, as the 
 rubbish hardens, it makes a handy play- 
 ground for the children, right under tlie 
 mother's eye. Keep your eye on 'em all 
 round, from the cradle to the grave — that's 
 the essence of the system. So, there is your 
 factory, Victoria, and now what are you go- 
 ing to manufacture ? Tappa cloth ! Turn it 
 out cheap, and run it as a new kind of 
 shoddy? Potatoes! Potato spirit ! How did 
 that man make his tipple — the fellow that 
 went mad, and jumped off the steep place ? 
 Import machinery, and get the whiskey 
 monopoly of the South Seas ? Sugar ! Are 
 we quite in the right place for that ? Taro ! 
 Why, of course : — " Taro, the new Vegetable 
 Food ! Testimonial from his Excellency the 
 Governor of Pitcairn." How do you like that 
 for a poster ? Birds, beasts, and fishes — 
 what can you do in that way ? Sea birds ! 
 If we could get up something for ladies' hats, 
 your father might be a rich man in ten years.' 
 ' Oh, bother ! ' said she. 
 ' I need hardly remind you, Victoria, that 
 this is not the lanuuaire of economical dis- 
 cussion.' 
 
 L 2 
 
148 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' Well, I cannot help it ; you seem so fond 
 of beginning at the wrong end.' 
 
 ' Excuse me, that is just what I was going 
 to say about your people here. It is all the 
 fault of their unhappy geographical situation. 
 Quite upside down, you know. I could show 
 you in an instant, if I had a map.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know, but I sometimes wonder 
 which 18 the right side up. All your plans 
 seem to begin by taking sometliing for your- 
 self, everlasting No. 1 ; " take, take, take," 
 and so your world goes round. I wonder if it 
 would not go round as well to " give, give, 
 give." Think of others first ; self is sure to get 
 its turn. How would that be, I wonder? I 
 do so wonder sometimes ! Do the hardest 
 thing first, and get that right. I do not think 
 things can ever come right, unless you begin 
 by giving up. Don't you think it is just as 
 disgusting to make as much as you honestly 
 can, as to eat as much as you honestly can ? 
 Why do you want to stuff so ? That is what 
 I thought you meant yesterday. And you did 
 mean it ; you may say what you like. Sup- 
 pose you are cleverer than the others ; well, 
 be thankful you can do something more for 
 
REPENTANCE 149 
 
 tliem. That seems the natural way. Are 
 you sure you haven't got a twist ? I only ask. 
 Why should brains be so greedy? All the 
 harm in the world that I ever saw or heard of 
 comes from greediness, gobbling. Give up, 
 give up, give up. Oh, only that makes men 
 different from pasturing brutes ! Once I read 
 a natural history book, and the gentleman that 
 wrote it was trying to find out what made a 
 man a man. The two legs wouldn't do, you 
 know, because there's the chickens. Then 
 he tried " no tails ? "— " no feathers ? " Oh, 
 how he did try, taking off this and that, till the 
 thing seemed almost ready to put in the oven. 
 He made me laugh so. I came up here, and 
 thought about it, just like a riddle ; and at last 
 I said, " give it up ; " and then it came upon 
 me, all of a sudden — why that was the very 
 answer ! That is why man is not the same as 
 the pasturing brutes : because he can give up, 
 because he can think of all, and himself as 
 only one of them. He is real man when he is 
 doing that, and real brute Avhen he is doing 
 the other thing. That is what I thouglit you 
 were going to tell us last nioht — how much 
 
 CD C 
 
 more we could give up. Do show us how 
 
ISO THE ISLAND 
 
 they give up in England ; that's what we want 
 to know.' 
 
 ' Victoria, don't be troublesome. I am 
 planning the estate.' 
 
 I turned and looked down upon the Island, 
 north, south, and west, in all its heavenly 
 beauty ; ah, what a dish to carve ! Blue sea, 
 patches of coral sand, silver cascades gushing 
 from the rocks ; glory of trees and flowers, of 
 clear skies, and of rainbow-tinted mists, fleck- 
 ing here and there the background of perfect 
 turquoise ; glory of the soft beauty of the 
 grove and settlement, of the wild beauty of 
 the hills, of the ordered beauty of the happy 
 mean in the plantations beyond, all visible, 
 from this height, to the farthest rocks that 
 stood Arm for ever against the beat of 
 the waves. The delight of it came up to 
 me through every sense ; in its odours, from 
 the groves and gardens, the soft breeze sigh- 
 ing my way ; in its sounds, from the tinkle of 
 a tame goat's bell here and there, or from the 
 faint echoes of the woodman's axe, following, 
 in due measure of seconds, after the flash of the 
 sunlight on the polished steel. And, for sight 
 again, there was more of the exquisite human 
 
REPENTANCE 151 
 
 life in tiny groups dotted all over the fields in 
 leisured toil, or in opalescent green sliapes 
 in the water, off the far Point, that I knew to 
 be the bodies of divinir orirls. 
 
 Then, for the inner eye, the scene changed, 
 and I was once more on the steps of the 
 Koyal Exchange, with that other sight below 
 me wrestling its way out of the London mist — 
 the Blessed of Dividend day ; the dandy 
 clerks making for the turtle ; the shabby 
 clerks making for the buns ; the parson hurry- 
 ing away to his preaching, as per bequest of 
 pious founder ; the hungry-looking wretches 
 peddling the pocket combs ; the flower girls 
 in tlieir foul finery, mal-odorous of gin all this 
 way off, types of that fatallest of all divisions 
 of labour which puts tlie work in absolute 
 non-relation to the life of the worker ; the 
 slouching beggar; the shunting policeman; the 
 demonstrating rabble with the average 76'. G(/. 
 to the hundred pockets, divided by a wall 
 only from the bullion wells of the Bank ; tlie 
 nondescript thousands in black, and brown, 
 and russet, and all, all, as explained, from 
 the beggar upwards, tormented with tlie 
 jsecret itch of civilisation, all scratching on 
 
152 THE ISLAXD 
 
 the sly, and, with the scratching, throwing 
 themselves everlastingly out of focus for my 
 grand pictorial composition of a happy family 
 of human kind. 
 
 And, as the grim pageant faded out again, 
 I was once more back in the Blessed Isle — 
 the Isle that I was laying out afresh for 
 civilisation, to make it like the isle of my 
 birth. I looked again, and hardly a point 
 had changed in my short excursion to the 
 other side of the world. The axe that was 
 poised in the air was now buried in the tree, 
 ■and the shining body of one of the girls had 
 come to the surface, to catch the sunlight in 
 its stead. Victoria was looking too, but with 
 her head turned from mine ; and, as we 
 travelled in opposite directions round the 
 circle of vision, our eyes had to meet at last. 
 
 I read in hers what she, I know, must 
 have read in mine : ' Oh, the pity of it ! ' 
 
 And, with this pang, came a strange ques- 
 tion. As that scene was the beginning of the 
 disease that drove me so far afield for ease 
 from torment, is not this scene the beginning 
 of the remedy ? For, what may be the mean- 
 vim of that troubled vision of the Exchange 
 
REPENTANCE 153 
 
 steps, what but ' Each for himself,' and the 
 Devil ever on the track of the hindmost, till 
 there is but one left for first and last ? While, 
 of this vision, the ever blessed interpretation is 
 clear and true — ' Each for all ' in love, and 
 truth, and mutual helpfulness, in real brother- 
 hood and sisterhood — the core of the whole 
 mystery, in morals, politics, religion, law and 
 life. 
 
154 THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 A DECLARATION. 
 
 ' When are we to begin the alterations ? ' said 
 the girl. 
 
 ' Not yet, my Victoria ! No, not yet ! Let 
 all things stay as they are, and let me stay 
 with them, here by your side. Beautiful, per- 
 fect creature ! Let me speak what must be 
 spoken : I love you ! ' 
 
 A moment before I had no thought that 
 these words would ever pass my lips. They 
 were almost as much of a shock to me as to 
 the girl. It had been my secret ; or shall I 
 say that it was almost a secret to me ? Ex- 
 quisite charm ! In my calmer moments, I 
 should have hated the thought of ever tear- 
 ing this tender veil of mystery and reserve, 
 behind which all that is sweetest in emotion 
 dwells. To be able to love her as at first one 
 
A DECLARATION 155 
 
 loves the light, without analysis, was the most 
 stimulating of joys ; to have it all set down in 
 quantitative inventory of vows, and bonds, and 
 declarations, might be quite another tiling, 
 j^ow, my heart was naked to her gaze, and I 
 stood silent with a sort of shame. 
 
 She, too, was silent. She had taken her 
 hand from mine, and clasped it in the other, 
 behind her, just as on the day of our first 
 meeting ; and there she stood, erect, contem- 
 plative, almost on the same spot. Tlie feet 
 were drawn together, the head was thrown 
 back ; it was her characteristic attitude for 
 emergencies. So had I seen her first, the 
 beautiful piece of life, the divine animal, flaw- 
 less in health and strength and freshness 
 as a Venus of the Louvre, yet all touched 
 with spiritual loveliness by the great eyes — 
 fierce now, as I feared — and by the heaving; 
 breast. 
 
 ' I cannot help it,' I said, with a sort of 
 sullen passion. ' I felt so sure that I could 
 keep this thing back that I set no guard 
 over myself. Since it is out, take the truth. 
 Whatever comes of it, we can never be the 
 same to each other a^ain.' 
 
156 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' We must be the same,' she said, uith al 
 the deep liquid softness in her voice, that was 
 missing from her gaze. ' Oh ! I knew this 
 would come one day, I knew it would. And 
 I did nothing to prevent it. The fault is all 
 mine.' 
 
 'The fault?' 
 
 ' I am the wretchedest woman that ever 
 lived,' sobbed Victoria, suddenly sinking to 
 the ground in a passion of tears, and beating 
 it, in the wild despairing way of her sister- 
 savages, when the boat took their sweethearts 
 away — statue no longer, but very flesh and 
 blood in everj^ quivering nerve. 
 
 I did not try to raise her, I did not stir. 
 In a few moments, when the paroxysm had 
 passed, she raised herself, and then came, in 
 the tenderest way, and took my hand, and 
 looked straight into my eyes, this time, through 
 the blessed dews that dimmed her own. 
 
 ' You must know it. Some one else loves 
 me. The word has been spoken. I am 
 promised. Come with me — but never tell a 
 living soul ! Then, I should die.' 
 
 She led me swiftly to a small grove of wild 
 trees, nestling in a dip of tlie rock, and thin 
 
A DECLARATION 157 
 
 and poor, for they saw neither the eastern nor- 
 the western sun. And, plunging into it, her 
 hand still holding mine, then climbing again, 
 after the sharp descent, she stopped before a 
 dwarf-tree, where the Ancient would never 
 have thought of looking for any infraction of 
 his forest laws. A rude monogram was carved 
 on the tree, with a date and two crosses. 
 
 ' We cut them together on our last day,' said 
 the girl, laying her fmger on one of the crosses, 
 ' and this was mine. This was cut from his 
 coat the same day,' and she drew the wretched 
 old navy-button from its nest in her pure 
 bosom. ' Now you know all. I am promised ; 
 and if I forget it, how can I ever say my 
 prayers again ? ' 
 
 The monogram was V.A., and the A., I 
 suppose, was the baptismal initial of the 
 mysterious Curly, who won the great battle 
 with the slave-dhow, and whose laugh and 
 smile divided the honours of admiration with 
 mankind. Victoria's poor secret was hardly 
 worth the telling, for, of course, I had 
 guessed it long before. But what I had not 
 guessed was this fidelity of daily, hourly re- 
 membrance to the vanished hero of a vanished 
 
158 THE ISLAND 
 
 ship — now, perhaps, firing her guns of joyous 
 sakitation in some haven on the other side of 
 the world. 
 
 Did I hint this to tlie beautiful devotee ? 
 Not I ! One moment of temptation came, but 
 it passed ; and I was spared the meanness of 
 tormenting her with a doubt. Since Curly 
 was her relioion, let him be her relio-ion still. 
 Here was his shrine. It Avas hung all about 
 with strange little memorials of him that looked 
 like aids to worship, votive offerings of bits of 
 ribbon on the branches of his sacred tree. A 
 necklace of shells, fastened in its place with 
 pins, formed a border in alto-relievo for the 
 monogram and the date. In due course, no 
 doubt, there would be an altar for the navy- 
 button and a temple for the altar — so such 
 things grow. I remembered what the girl 
 had told me of the old strain of idolatry in 
 her blood. Yet truth and love are so en- 
 trancing to the gaze that, in regarding them, 
 the real amateur soon loses all thought of self. 
 The picture in this virgin's soul was a master- 
 piece, not to be marred by a touch — Curly in 
 his orisons, ever praying with his face towards 
 the Isle ; seas and continents between them, 
 
A DECLARATION 159 
 
 yet the electric tliread of sympatliy only the 
 longer on that account. 
 
 All this I fancied forth, and, as usual, in 
 that kind of snap-shooting at truth, I could 
 not be quite sure of my mark. With all her 
 hope and trust in Curly, Victoria seemed full 
 of a strange disquiet about him, not easy to 
 explain. 
 
 ' Five ships here since he left, ' she said, 
 ' and no word or token from him — not so much 
 as one of these,' and she returned the button 
 to her breast. ' The black people have killed 
 him, perhaps. Every night and every morning 
 this last month 1 have come here to ask for a 
 sign of him, living or dead. You remember 
 that night I saw the shape on the Eidge : T 
 half fancied — that was wliy I was so afraid ; 
 just because I was with you. Have I done 
 anything wrong ? Have I done wrong ? 
 Nobody helps me. I seem to stand all alone.' 
 
 ' Victoria, if you talk like that, I must tell 
 you that I am by your side.' 
 
 ' Dear, good friend, yes, I seem to be 
 ■ forgetting you. Why is it so hard to do 
 right? Why is our choice always between 
 pain and pain ? ' 
 
i6o THE ISLAND 
 
 ' You shall not choose, princess ; I will 
 choose for you. Be my comrade, and only 
 that. I will ask for no more. As for me, 
 let me be to you what I like, what is best 
 for me. All wisdom is in loving you, and I 
 want to be wise. If I must not speak to you, 
 let me spend precious hours by your side, 
 looking, learning, for your eyes light for me 
 the dark places of the world.' 
 
 'Comrades then,' she said, smiling; and 
 she irave me her hand. 
 
i6i 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A MEDITATION. 
 
 So now, I think, I begin to see why I have 
 been sent here — not to give lessons, but to 
 take them. My education has been neglected, 
 and I am coaching for a pass in the higher 
 learning of life. I am reading with Victoria — 
 reading in the deep eyes, without book. It is 
 a course of social economy by a new method. 
 The method is to look on this image of 
 the Divine, as intently as may be without 
 being caught in the act. I must not be 
 caught ; half of the gusty anger of the gods 
 with adoring mortals comes of their dislike 
 of being stared at. And, besides looking, 
 there must be listeninsr — listenincr with the 
 heart. The ear will not do ; the true mes- 
 sage of this exquisite piece of being is only 
 for a finer organ. Put a microj)hone in a 
 cave, and it will register the beat of the earth's 
 
 M 
 
l62 THE ISLAND 
 
 breathing : with a still more delicate instru- 
 ment, perhaps, this girl's elemental nature, at 
 its stillest, will be heard to speak. As soon 
 as my heart was stirred, then trul}- she began 
 to be audible to me — blessed day ! 
 
 And to give me delight, as well as profit, 
 she has not the faintest idea of her function. 
 Often I get the benefit of a whole morning's 
 lecture, requiring copious notes, while, for all 
 she knows of it, I have but watched her as 
 she manoeuvred a battalion of fowls. 
 
 A grand provision of leisure for the true 
 work of life seems to be her chief instinctive 
 aim. She has the genius of indifference to 
 trivial things ; she is never busy with aught 
 that does not truly count. The idleness of 
 hurry is unknown to her ; she is always free 
 for essentials — a true word, a noble action, 
 a great thought. 
 
 But this is lover's talk. I cannot help 
 that ; lover's talk let it be, so only she 
 cannot overhear. 
 
 I am a true lover in this, that the things 
 she says to me are as nothing to the things 
 she seems to say. I do not want her to say 
 much. I can say for her all I most want to 
 
A MEDITATION 163 
 
 hear. She idealises the world for me. She is 
 a sublime suggestion. She only starts the 
 game ; I play. Worship is in tiie worshipper. 
 She brings out my highest, truest, best. A 
 something is within me ; she is its mystical 
 correspondence in warm life. She seems to 
 sjoeak things to me, she seems to be things to 
 me. Are these things true of her? What 
 care I : they are true of me ! 
 
 So, then, for me, she is a great artist hi 
 being. She lives to beauty, the sole end. 
 She does naught only for the thing done ; 
 there is also the way of doing it. I note 
 her placid disdain of a certain hen, that has 
 an absurd habit of hatching by quantity, and 
 addles half the brood. The other half, for 
 want of due maternal care, are a species of 
 bush-fowl that have lost their way in civilisa- 
 tion, and Victoria spends days over their bags 
 of bone and feathers, to bring them into 
 harmony with her great law. T am sure she 
 thinks, though she might never know how to 
 say it, that every problem of being is, in the 
 profoundest sense, a problem of manner. How 
 do you love, hate, suffer, and rejoice ; nay, 
 how do you eat and drink ? There are higher 
 
 M 2 
 
i64 THE ISLAND 
 
 proprieties, even in this art, than the manage- 
 ment of peas with the fork. Is it after the 
 manner of the farmyard, or after the other ? 
 I remember her little touch about the pas- 
 turing brutes. The brutes, too, renounce, 
 but not as a fine art. It is only their ' needs 
 must when the devil drives.' That was her 
 meaning. They only do without ; man gives 
 up, because man alone is the artist, and art is 
 choice. Living or dying, how slight as ends 
 in themselves ! but how you live, how you 
 die ! Is the piece well acted, or have you but 
 got through your part ? Who wants it, merely 
 as a part got through ? Not that greater 
 than Theseus, for certain, before whom this 
 dream-play is played. 
 
 That picture of the old life troubled me 
 so, that grand composition of the Exchange 
 steps. It would not come right. Here is one 
 whose mere presence brings everything into 
 its place. Let her but stand beside the easel, 
 and I get the key at once. Now I see where 
 it was wrong ; now could I go among the 
 rushing, blurred figures of my sitters, and ask 
 them, for the love of God, and, still more, for 
 the love of man, to keep still. I could say to 
 
A MEDITATION 165 
 
 tliem, as at her bidding, ' Piano ! piano ! you 
 are perishing of over strain. You, the higher 
 up, why this frantic scraping for useless 
 currency ? What can it do for you ? How 
 much of peace comes out of it, how much 
 of fineness of Hfe ? What are you when 
 all is done — when you have sat at meat with 
 my Lord, and added the Hall in the country 
 to the mansion in town ? Have you yet found 
 out the faintest inner meaning of one of the 
 pictures on your wall, of one of the books 
 on your shelf? You think Walter Map is 
 for monkish Latin, and that other's vision of 
 " all the wealth of this world, and the woe, 
 both " merely for a scholar's treat. 21aU 
 keureux ! rushing away to your daily drive for 
 more canvases, more bindings, more horses 
 of swiftness, more furniture, in a word, and 
 more dinners of the stalled ox. The greed 
 riiakes the hurry, and the wasteful idle hurry 
 spoils the life. Oh, the grim set of your 
 jaws, the thinly veiled hardness of your 
 eye, even at the sacred hour of rest and re- 
 laxation ! What are you but a huge river- 
 pike in black and white ! More leisure, 
 friend, less lust of gear. Cut away the liin- 
 
1 66 THE ISLAXD 
 
 drances to living, and begin to live. Take 
 nothing in but what you can digest to true 
 use, which is beauty of life. What a scandal, 
 if you were caught and opened in an un- 
 guarded hour, and half your stomach were 
 found lined with vanities as profitless as the 
 bits of shoe leather and old corks so often 
 found in the maw of your prototype — vanities 
 of things bolted to the end of bolting, titles 
 of park and meadow where you can never find 
 a flower, visiting-lists where you can never 
 find a friend, cards for music where you may 
 never hear a note that breathes one of the 
 secrets of Heaven. Your bolting for waste 
 takes so much out of the common stock for 
 use. Your grab for superfluity baulks so 
 much honest craving for need ! ' 
 
 Y"ou work for it ! Will no one deliver us 
 from the tyranny of that cry ? Work for 
 what ? — to have and to hold, to leave less and 
 less for the weaker, till finally, in the lowest 
 hell of it, the huge crowd of the uncanny have 
 to learn to call their base scramble for your 
 leavings the battle of life? More leisure for 
 these, from the obsession of the one degrading 
 thouo'ht — how to ffet the dry crust and the 
 
A MEDITATION 167 
 
 cold potato for the day's meal. For, true living 
 begins only when such things are done with, 
 when the belly is timbered with victual, and 
 the back clothed, and v^lien the spirit, that is 
 the all-in-all, is left free for its shaping work. 
 More leisure for love and friendship, and 
 kindly deeds, and joy — the true business, 
 which, if we were not blinded, would have 
 their banks and their depots, and their pushing 
 agents in every street. The real ' Theory of 
 Exchanges,' what is it but the philosophy of 
 the diffusion of the humane self.^ Oh, the 
 hard world of the self-helpers, with their 
 Smiling apostle ! oh, the hard world !— the 
 hard world of all the workers, high and low, 
 leisureless for profitable toil, the real task 
 hardly so much as begun — too hard even for 
 the very martyrs, robbed of their right to 
 smile in the death-hour, by the horrid fear 
 til at all eternity will never set the muddle 
 straight ! Jesus, what a sight ! the sight of 
 the factories, right through, from the tiniest 
 monkey-faced minder, up to the gaudy 
 boss-bird in his mahogany cage. This or- 
 ganised labour ? fie ! oh fie ! Organised ? for 
 what? for the sake of the labour, or for 
 
1 68 THE ISLAND 
 
 the sake of the labourer — the only product 
 that really counts — for the sake of the cottons, 
 or for the sake of the garment-stuff for the 
 souls of men? Is labour man's end, or his 
 means ? his master, or his ministrant ? Surely 
 the first true end of makinij cottons well is 
 to make the maker better. And, if one must 
 be spoiled in the process, for Heaven's sake 
 let it be the cottons, though, of that, no need. 
 Every thread of their fineness must come 
 out of some inner fineness in him. How pa- 
 thetically absurd to have them smooth, and 
 white, and close-textured, and firm in the 
 pull, and him coarse, foul, loose-minded, tear- 
 ing in the Devil's hand under any strain of 
 lust or rage ! But why insist on a common- 
 place when all the wisest feel that truth, and 
 speak it now ? The work exists for the 
 worker ; let us never cease to proclaim it, 
 and have done with the old lie — the worker 
 for the work. How sad the sight when you 
 pass from one to tlie other ! The expectation 
 born naturally of the fine thing is always 
 of some finer animate thing behind. Hence 
 the craving for sight and knowledge of 
 heroes. But see the slop-made piece of human 
 
A MEDITATION 169 
 
 handiwork that skulks as maker, beliind the 
 screen of drawing-room intrigue, or behind 
 my lady's fan — shabby, shambling, beer- 
 bedewed, only so much of him washed as 
 might soil the satins and brocades he shapes 
 for others' uses I Go into the dismal slums 
 that manufacture for Mayfair, and follow the 
 dainty casket for jewels from one end to the 
 other of the line — from the rickety workshop, 
 airless, and only not lightless, too, because the 
 light is wanted for the labour, to the still 
 daintier casket for men and women, in which 
 it finds its cushioned rest. If this beautiful 
 correspondence, why that grotesque incon- 
 gruity ? If these who touch it as owners are 
 as fine as itself, why not, also, they who touch 
 it as makers, at least with the inner fineness, 
 and a certain amplitude of material life ? But 
 no : a dozen have died to all the true 
 ends of being to make that pretty toy, have 
 been reared in the belief that all the fine- 
 ness they have is to go into that direct, 
 and not, in 'the first place, into their own 
 lives. 
 
 For nothing sanctifies a wrong, not even 
 a headache in doing it ; and ' honest industry,' 
 
I70 THE ISLAND 
 
 wliicli makes of patience and tlirift but the 
 foothold for its spring upon the back of 
 stupidity or improvidence, is the sinfullest sin 
 of all. Be not so sanctified of air, new 
 hot-gospeller of work ! Your sole right over 
 knaves and fools is but the right to help them 
 to better wisdom out of your heart and hand. 
 Your virtue was not given to you for invest- 
 ment at forty per cent. The knaves and fools 
 are diseased — that is all ; and you, when you 
 stoop to personal profit out of their infirmity, 
 are worse diseased than they. A terrible 
 malady, yours, of hard work to self-regarding 
 ends ; infectious to the last degree ; a sort of 
 dry rot of life. 
 
 Believe this — individualism, self-help, to 
 any other end than the help of all, is the great 
 untruth. Believe it, in spite of the Smiling 
 apostle, who has done more harm with the 
 nostrum of his title than Abernethy with 
 his invention of blue-pill. Go on being self- 
 helpful, if you must, for thirty, forty centuries 
 more ; only not for ever ! Take a lease of 
 five times nine hundred and ninety-nine years, 
 yet fix some term ! Give us a little hope, and 
 
A MEDITATION 171 
 
 name the liappy clay when tlie freeliold of light 
 and life and jouissance shall revert to all. 
 
 Try the otlier tiling as a regimen, once in 
 a way, as a new diet for your soul's health — 
 as a new quack medicine, then, powerfully 
 recommended by a sufferer : will that appeal ? 
 One poor little pill — it cannot hurt overmuch. 
 Cut off some of the work that ministers but 
 to your ease and luxury, and that, with 
 interest piled on interest of infamous wrong, 
 makes the ever-growing load of sorrow for 
 the mass. Cease to be competitive and self- 
 helping, at least in precious moments when 
 you feel your heart sick. Go back to it, if 
 you will, if you can, when you feel a man 
 aoain, as convalescents resume their mulli- 
 gatawny and hot lobster when the plainer 
 roast and boiled have set them ricrht. Treat 
 your mind like a stomach, and give it a touch 
 of nature once in a while. Then, if you have 
 a taste that way, still return for your gorge 
 at tlie banquet of work. Only, try to include 
 in it some concern for the most truly helpless, 
 tlie stupid and the base, and to find the relish 
 in the end rather than the means. For the 
 
172 THE ISLAND 
 
 end is not to make riches of mind, body, or 
 estate for yourself, but to lift up life for one 
 and for all. 
 
 This is how I interpret Victoria. This is 
 what I think she means. Let me put it to the 
 proof. 
 
^73 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A LOKD OF INDIA. 
 
 I HAVE to tell her one day of the Empire, th e 
 power, the stretch of it, the count in millions 
 of miles, in millions of souls ; the largest em- 
 pires, living or dead, mostly but parishes 
 beside hers and mine. In mere size, Russia, 
 even, beaten by an eiglitli, the Grand Re- 
 public beaten all but three times over, the 
 late Darius tlie Great beaten five times clear 
 — more tlian forty Germanys, more than fifty 
 Spains ! Our own Mother Island but a dot in 
 a waste beside it, Victoria's Island but a dot 
 on the dot, the parasite of a midge. With 
 this, the figures for commerce, the figures for 
 sails on all the seas that wash the ball, the 
 figures for wealth — a round nine thousand 
 millions sterling, if we were sold up to-mor- 
 row, and, for all the bad years since 'seventy- 
 five, a steady hundred and eighty millions 
 
174 THE JSLAAD 
 
 added year by year to tlie hoard — our 
 swelling liver almost putrid witli the gorge of 
 gold. 
 
 Victoria is delighted ; wants to measure 
 Pitcairn with her sash — is stopped ; be- 
 comes light of heart, effusive ; carolleth ; 
 offers to take me to the Cave on the 
 ledse, for a treat — the Cave of the Great 
 Scrape, I have always called it — pays me a 
 sort of reverence, as one who has come from 
 the sun of this colossal system — is stopped 
 again. Then, after purring foolishly over the 
 totals, like a great happy kitten that has got 
 all the thread in the Avorld for a ball, asks to 
 have them unravelled in measured inventory. 
 Is told something about Australia, about 
 Canada, about the Indies. Seems to see it all 
 with ever-dilatiufT pupils, as a child before a 
 pageant of pantomime. Sees it in procession 
 of countless tribes, armies, emblemed indus- 
 tries, brother peoples, subject kings ; warriors 
 coated in mail, in crimson, or only in the 
 black of their own skins ; priests bearing every 
 symbol, from the notched stick to the cross ; 
 mechanics, from them that smooth with the 
 flint hatchet to them that smooth with the 
 
A LORD OF INDIA 175 
 
 Whitwortli plane ; Nature's experiments with 
 the type, from the biisliman to the man from 
 Mayfair. At this, and long before the pro- 
 cession closes, sliows signs of worshipping 
 me again, as a sort of deputy lord of India 
 and the other dependencies in Europe, Asia, 
 Africa, and America. But I turn away. 
 
 For modesty forbids, not to speak of the 
 fear of detection. All the lords of India are 
 not so plump ; and I sometimes wonder what 
 the lordship means. I am a lord of India, it 
 is true, but so is Snip there, in his sweating- 
 shop, and Swart carrying the sandwich-board, 
 ' lords of human kind,' as it was once put ; but 
 let us keep within bounds. I think of the 
 lordship whenever I meet Swart, whenever I 
 take stock of all the figures that make the 
 huge stain of shabbiness upon our movinif 
 crowds. A lord of India, too, the man in 
 threadbare who turns out every morning from 
 Kentish Town or Somers, or other of the 
 circumjacent wastes, to look for a job in the 
 City, plodding steadily forward for the hun- 
 dredth time, with fifteen shillings a week as 
 tlie goal of hope. Clean shaven this lord, got 
 up for ' respectable appearance,' down to his 
 
I7|6 THE ISLAND 
 
 last ha'penny, in shining boots, inked for the 
 cracks and patches, and shining coat ; every- 
 thing shinini? about him, but the hard and 
 hopeless face. He is certainly of the Imperial 
 breed — no one can deny him that — a lord of 
 India, an heir to the ages of struggle and 
 victory on battle plains dotting our fifth of 
 the globe. 
 
 But Swart is the best example, and Victoria 
 is easily stimulated to the entreaty that I will 
 tell of him all I know. It is worth telling, in 
 g-ood faith. 
 
 ' I first met Swart in Eegent Street, a little 
 while before I came out here. He was sand- 
 wiched between two boards of " India in 
 London," and there was something so spiri- 
 tually picturesque in the ruin of him, from his 
 baggy hat to his mere suggestion of a boot, 
 that it drew me to his side. I was drawn by 
 curiosity rather than by pity, as a naturalist 
 who might want to see how the wood-louse 
 lives.' 
 
 ' Where is Regent Street ? and what is a 
 sandwich-man ? ' said Victoria as I began the 
 tale. 
 
 ' We must reserve all that for the foot- 
 
A LORD OF INDIA 177 
 
 notes. If I am to keep on moving, you must 
 let me get under way.' 
 
 ' Well, we struck up acquaintance, Swart 
 and I. Did I say that he was tallish, thin, 
 bent, and grizzled, and foul? I want to get 
 all that over as soon as may be. Sixty, or 
 thereabouts, I should say, as to age ; a not 
 unkindly face, and not unhandsome, but for 
 its furrows and puckers of mean cares — a 
 good face spoiled.' 
 
 ' 1 wish I knew what a sandwich-man is,' 
 she murmured ; ' but it does not signify. 
 Please go on.' 
 
 ' We struck up acquaintance, and I used 
 to walk with him up and down his beat — he 
 in the gutter, I on the kerb. He had been a 
 soldier, and had helped to win India back for 
 England at the storming of Lucknow. He 
 was quite proud of the whole achievement, 
 and of his share in it. " They was nigh slip- 
 ping clean away, sir," he woukl say of his 
 Indian fellow-subjects. " You cannot think 
 how nigh they was ; but we just cotched 'em 
 by the tail." It was pleasant to see Swart 
 proud of anything ; it did so much to im- 
 prove his air. At such moments, lie seemed 
 
1 78 THE ISLAND 
 
 almost a man. They were but sun-rifts in a 
 black sky, of course. Sometimes the police- 
 man would threaten to run him in, for tres- 
 passing on the kerb with the edge of his 
 board. This would tend to drive him wide 
 of the gutter ; then, his foreman would come 
 by, and growl an oath at him for not walking 
 straight in his furrow, and threaten him with 
 the sack.' 
 
 ' " The sack ! " 'said Victoria softly ; ' " run 
 him in ! " I am not interrupting, you know, I 
 am only saving up.' 
 
 ' I asked Swart to let me go and see him, 
 but he said " Not yet." He was living in a 
 common lodging-house, and he was not allowed 
 to receive visitors, " If I was allowed," he 
 said frankly, " I shouldn't like you to come. 
 They really ain't fit company for a gentleman, 
 or, for that matter, for a common man. We 
 had three took out of their beds last night for 
 robberies from the person, and one for bur- 
 glary and murder. What with the police 
 coming in and out of the room, and flashing 
 their lights on your faces, there was no getting 
 a wink. There was sixty sleepin' in our room, 
 and the row woke most of us up. You may 
 
A LORD OF INDIA 179 
 
 fancy what it was after that. Besides, I'm 
 gettin' too old to fight for my place by the 
 kitchen fire, and I'm cold half the time. Then, 
 if you ain't got your fourpence every night, 
 out you go ; and I can't tackle the Embank- 
 ment no more. I want a place of my own." ' 
 
 ' You might tell me about the Embankment 
 now,' she said, ' but, of course, we'll make a 
 note of it, if you are going to get cross.' 
 
 ' It is an open thoroughfare, the finest in 
 London, bordered, on one side, by gardens 
 and public palaces, on the other, by the river. 
 Tlie people who cannot afford to sleep as 
 Swart sleeps are allowed to sleep there, as a 
 favour, for it is against the law.' 
 
 ' But do you mean to say ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, I do ; that is just what I do 
 mean.' 
 
 ' But how can tlie others go to bed, then ? ' 
 
 ' Well, how can you, for that matter, now 
 you know it ? You get used to such things.' 
 
 ' I would never go to bed if I lived there. 
 Never, at least, till ' 
 
 ' A week or two later Swart told me that 
 his place was ready, and that I might call. 
 lie had beonjaving slowly for his furnishing, 
 
 N 2 
 
i8o THE ISLAND 
 
 for, as be observed, what can you do on 
 1.^. Zd. a day ? He merely " had his eye " on 
 a table. I let him keep his eye on it. The 
 experiment was too interesting to be spoiled 
 by help from me. 
 
 ' His place was in White Horse Yard. 
 White Horse Yard, you must know, Victoria, 
 is a London slum, one of hundreds as clearly 
 marked on the map, and as well known, as 
 Buckingham Palace or Grosvenor Square. 
 The description would interest you, as a 
 semi-savage, but to us worn children of civili- 
 sation it is too trite for pleasure or profit. 
 Every social reformer begins by describing 
 White Horse Yard : it is the sign of the 
 " 'prentice hand." Swart's place was reached 
 by a narrow causeway, reeking Avith ever}- 
 kind of abomination, and by a staircase, dark 
 and rotten, and swarming with vermin, as I 
 had afterwards good reason to know. Here, 
 at the summit, was his back garret, with his 
 bed of shavings, and his table, made of a 
 packing-case turned upside down. His neigh- 
 bours worked at manj' trades, including tliat 
 most ancient one of private plunder. The 
 front garret was the home, as distinct from 
 
A LORD OF INDIA i8i 
 
 the place of business, of " one of them gals." 
 Swart could never be induced to be more ex- 
 plicit. On the floor below, they made lawn- 
 tennis aprons at threepence a dozen, and 
 army coats. They did something with rabbit- 
 skins in the back drawing-room, for, one day, 
 when Swart opened his window for air, we 
 were nearly choked with a furry adulteration 
 of the precious fluid that came in with the 
 fog. A housebreaker who had been out of 
 work for six months or more, owing to an 
 injury received in a scuffle with a poHceman, 
 occupied the front kitchen, and, by general 
 consent, he was the quietest man in the house. 
 The back kitchen — but no, nothing of these 
 premises below the ground level, if you please ; 
 nothing, even in distant allusion, in veiled hint ; 
 nothing about the back yard either, or about 
 the water-butt therein ! If you are going to 
 be foolish, Victoria, I shall just leave off.' 
 
 ' I am not foolish.' 
 
 ' What are you crying about ? ' 
 
 ' If we let people live so, we should be 
 afraid of God ; I think we should be afraid 
 of every thunderstorm.' 
 
 ' The liglitning is very tender with us 
 
l82 THE ISLAND 
 
 — a chimney-stack now and then ; seldom the 
 steeple of a church.' 
 
 'It is not true. You are just saying 
 thino's to me. There are missions in all the 
 
 o 
 
 cities to look after the poor people. I have 
 read books.' 
 
 ' Of course. There were four missions in 
 this very circumscription of Swart's, and one 
 Inspector of Public Health. 
 
 ' The chief thing the missionaries preached 
 was the sanctity of submission, or that sanc- 
 tity of property which had made this dismal 
 hole what it was. They preached it in a 
 pair of parlours, only less dismal than Swart's 
 garret. Their object was to effect a change 
 of heart as a condition precedent to the 
 chano-e of linen — the cart before the horse. 
 Of the night of material ugliness around that 
 was, on one side, the parent of all this spiritual 
 ugliness, they seemed to have no idea. On 
 Sunday, some of the poor people in the yard 
 went to the preaching, dubiously, yet still 
 hoping there might l)e something in it, their 
 dim intuitions of logic being hardly strong 
 enough to expose the mockery of its gospel 
 of love. Others went to the drink-shops, and 
 
A LORD OF INDIA 183 
 
 tliey were the wiser, for they found a little 
 brightness there. There was one drink-shop 
 to every two hundred inhabitants ; and the 
 missionaries, who were quite as dull as their 
 hearers, never understood the reason why. 
 
 ' Swart read his paper meanwhile, and 
 joined the crowd in the " pub," when he had 
 a penny to spare. He never missed his paper, 
 being quite a hopeful kind of fool, and in- 
 clined to believe that the better luck was just 
 o'oing to bemn. He had revelled in that 
 anticipation, from Sunday to Sunday, for at 
 least five-and-thirty years. The foreign in- 
 telligence, especially, used to cheer his soul. 
 We were always taking something to round 
 our Empire off; soon it would be quite trim, 
 and then ! " You may reckon we've got 
 Burmah, sir," he said to me one day, when 
 news came of the execution of a fresh batch 
 of dacoits. " It's as good as ours. There'll 
 be fine times, I'm thinking, soon. Such a 
 rumpus, indeed, when it's all for their good ! " 
 He was really angry with the Burmese. He 
 regarded their war, and all the other little 
 wars, as only so many accidents of human 
 perversity that tended to defer the grand 
 
1 84 THE ISLAND 
 
 opening of a vast humanitarian entertain- 
 ment known as " Better times all round." 
 He had hoped the curtain Avas going to 
 rise, when India was quieted down, in the pit. 
 Then came the stupid interruptions from the 
 Abyssinian and Ashantee sections of the 
 gallery. Then the Afghan and Zulu fights at 
 the doors. Next, " tliem there fellers in the 
 Soudan." Now, " the Burmah lot." Swart 
 had been waiting through all this for a 
 curtain that never stirred.' 
 
 ' Tlie curtain is to hide the stage when 
 they are changing the scenery,' she said, 
 wandering from the subject for a moment, 
 like the bis^ child she was. ' It is let down 
 five times in most of Mr. Shakespeare's plays. 
 I know.' 
 
 ' Yes, you know, Vickey, and so did Swart. 
 Swart was just the man for that kind of 
 stage-play, being one of those profounder 
 fools who take everything as it is ofiered to 
 them, and who will very contentedly accejjt 
 two deal boards and a sheet of canvas for a 
 blossoming tree. They had told him that he, 
 too, was a lord of India, and he believed it ; 
 and he was quite touched, as with the sense 
 
A LORD OF IXDIA 185 
 
 of an accession of personal dignity, when his 
 Sovereign was made Empress as well as 
 Queen. As he would often observe, all the 
 people in his court were lords of India, if they 
 only knew it, heirs to the Great Mogul — for 
 he had a smattering of history — conquerors 
 at Plassey, Mooltan, Moodkee, Sobraon, and 
 the rest. All Clare Market and Collier's 
 Eents, and all the Minories had their share in 
 that great heritage, yet they never gave it a 
 thought. 
 
 ' They could not be got to see it in that 
 way, there was the difficulty. Swart had 
 endless arguments with them on the calm 
 Sabbath afternoons, while they waited at tlie 
 street corners, ankle deep in slush, for the 
 opening of the houses. He would hurl his 
 figures at their heads ; totals for imports and 
 exports, the growth in shipping, the growth 
 in trade. There was sometimes an inert 
 obstructive force in their stupidity against 
 which he could not prevail. The brighter 
 witted mocked him openly, and always led 
 the argument back from tlie pageant of 
 Empire to his own rags. The didler merely 
 spat, but there was dissent in their expectora- 
 
1 86 THE ISLAND 
 
 tion ; and sometimes he was obliged to fancy 
 they spat at liim. He Avould ask me for help 
 in his , strait, and I lent him some of the 
 popular literature of Federation, where the 
 riijht arfyuments are all set down.' 
 
 ' We have begun praying for Federation, 
 every Sunday — just after the Collect. The 
 schoolmaster is writing a Federation hymn.' 
 
 ' Try to interrupt me as little as you can, 
 my dear. It checks the flow. Make notes, 
 and we'll settle it up afterwards.' (She took 
 off her girdle and tied a knot for 'Federation.') 
 
 ' But I felt less interest in Swart's deal- 
 ings with others than in his dealings with 
 himself. That was the ever-present w^onder. 
 I found, on probing his wound of penury, 
 til at he had been waiting for relief, not for 
 live-and-thirty years merely, but, in a sense, 
 ibr five hundred. He was of a most ancient 
 stock, as indeed are most of us, if you will 
 but think of it ; and for all the years it had 
 flourished on this earth, in so far as the 
 straining vision could trace it through the 
 night of time, that stock had never escaped 
 from its parent dunghill. And Swart's gaze 
 carried back verv far. For a man of his class, 
 
A LORD OF INDIA 187 
 
 lie had a quite exceptional knowledge of 
 funnily history, partly oral, partly recorded 
 on the fly-leaf of a family Bible, which, for 
 the purpose of our researches, I lent him the 
 money to get out of pawn.' (She tied another 
 knot at ' pawn.') 
 
 ' The Swarts knew themselves as far back 
 as Anne; nay, with allow^ances and conjectural 
 emendations, as far back as the second Charles. 
 Here, then, was my opportunity, unique, as 
 far as I know, to get at a real pedigree of a 
 Poor Stupid ; how infinitely more interesting 
 than any pedigree of the baronage, if only 
 by reason of its rarity. I encouraged him, 
 therefore, by every means in my power, to 
 leave the current affairs of the Empire for a 
 season, and to talk about the past of his own 
 race. He was nothing loath, and, after weeks 
 of labour, w^e had a family tree drawn out for 
 him that, for hoary age, might not have been 
 unworthy of a seventh Earl. We had some- 
 times to make a perilous leap from bough to 
 bough, as in the best performances of this 
 description, but we kept that secret to our- 
 selves.' 
 
THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID. 
 
 ' Swart then, to cast it in proper form, was of 
 the Swarts of Norfolk, and his family had 
 been settled in that part of the country from 
 an extremely early time. They had subse 
 qiiently removed to London, and had planted 
 offshoots in many of the great towns, but their 
 earliest family seat was a swineherd's hovel 
 on the bank of one of the Broads. S wart's 
 father, Jeremiah Swart, more commonly 
 known as " Jerry," had assisted at the rise of 
 our great cotton industry, not exactly as one 
 of the cotton lords, but as one of the others. 
 Swart had often heard his history from his 
 own lips. He was born in 1800, and in 1816 
 lie took another infant to wife, without the 
 formality of a visit to the parson. Babes of 
 every age, from five and six upwards, were 
 common enough in the factories at that time, 
 
PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID 189 
 
 and tliey worked from twelve to fourteen and 
 fifteen hours a day. Puberty began early, for 
 the temperature of the factories was the tem- 
 perature of Bombay, yet, even with this 
 chance in their favour, half the children never 
 reached a marriageable age. They perished 
 hke flies, and the few that were left, like flies 
 of a certain sort, had just time to arrange for 
 the propagation of their species, and then to 
 die. Boys and girls, men and women, worked 
 together, lived together. Inspection was un- 
 known; control of any sort, on the part of 
 law, equally so ; their common lodging-houses, 
 not to put too fine a point on it, were common 
 stews. They toiled for just as much as would 
 keep their l:)odies together ; and the rate of 
 pay was calculated on the sound economical 
 assumption that they had no souls. 
 
 'Swart's father seems to have taken the 
 same interest in public aflairs as his more 
 famous son. He Avould often tell the boy of 
 his patriotic satisfaction in the Act of 1816, 
 which regulated the detention of Xapoleon at 
 St. Helena. He felt, as he used to say, that 
 they had got Boney safe at last, and he 
 could now breathe as freely as his flufly cough 
 
I90 THE ISLAND 
 
 Avoiild allow. Swart's infant mother was 
 indifferent to that great event, for she was 
 ])earing Swart in her bosom, at the factory, 
 within three days of her delivery of him into 
 this joyous world. Having performed this 
 function, she went to join her ancestors, whose 
 pedigree, I regret to say, it is impossible to 
 trace. Swart's father used to remark that lie 
 had been less fortunate than Prince Leopold, 
 who, on taking the Princess Charlotte to wife, 
 at about this time, secured 50,000/. a year 
 with her, dead or alive. He meant to say, 
 of course, that the grant was to be continued 
 to the Prince in the event of the lady's demise. 
 It was a generous gift, for the nation had 
 been left in extreme poverty and misery by 
 the great war. The Marquis Camden subse- 
 quently surrendered his sinecure, " towards the 
 relief of the public burdens," in the handsomest 
 way in the world, and the Prince Eegent 
 found he could spare 50,000/. a year from his 
 own ample revenues, for the same purpose. 
 Swart's father w^as particularly touched by 
 this last act of self-denial, and he expressed a 
 hope that his Prince might never want a 
 meal. The wish must have been heard in 
 
PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID 191 
 
 Heaven. The people at large were not so 
 fortunate : they became like wild beasts with 
 hunger ; they rioted at Ely, they rioted at Spa- 
 Fields. The country blazed with incendiary 
 fires, as though for a second celebration of 
 the Peace. The hero who had conquered the 
 Peace was not forgotten ; and Strathfieldsaye 
 was purchased for the Duke of Wellington. 
 
 ' Swart's father had once enjoyed tlie 
 felicity of seeing his Grace, and had taken 
 so careful a note of him that he knew the 
 number of buttons on his blue frock-coat. It 
 was not his only souvenir of greatness : — 
 " Father once met the Marquis of Waterford, 
 when his lordship was out on one of his larks. 
 The Marquis gave father a black eye, and 
 half a crown."' 
 
 Victoria knotted something again : I fancy 
 it was ' black eye.' 
 
 ' Darkness covers the Swarts for a brief 
 space, but in the middle of the eighteenth 
 century they flash into view again with 
 " Father's great grandfather," sold into the 
 Plantations for indigence, in the flower of his 
 age. Some of the workers had their fixed 
 tenu of servitude, just like the burglars now ; 
 
19^ 
 
 THE ISLAND 
 
 their masters were at liberty to whip thern, and 
 to impose additional years of servitude, if they 
 ran away. " He got nabbed in a rumpns," 
 says Swart, " when they was taking old Com- 
 modore Anson's treasure to the Tower. You 
 look in the books, sir ; you'll find that right. 
 This here Commodore had sailed round the 
 world, and liad made many rich prizes ; 
 and a million and a quarter in treasure was 
 taken down to tlie Tower to be stowed away. 
 There was thirty-two waggon loads of it, 
 the old man counted 'em, and somehow our 
 family's never forgot the number. All our 
 sort turned out, as you may fancy, to see the 
 waggons go by. Father's grandfather was a 
 bit pushed at the time, and used to sleep on a 
 brick kiln, with a few other chaps out of luck. 
 There was no sleep that niglit ; they couldn't 
 have closed their eyes, he said, if it had been 
 a bed of down. It was such a great day 
 for England ! They all sat up singin' songs 
 out in the fields, till it was time to start and 
 see the procession. The old man alius said he 
 wasn't a bit drunk, for he hadn't tasted bite 
 or sup that day. It was the sight of the 
 waggons, somehow, seemed to make him turn 
 
PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID 193 
 
 faint. Anyhow, I suppose he behaved fooUsh, 
 for they collared him, and as I told you, he 
 was sold off. He couldn't give no account of 
 hisself — they've alius been very hard on you 
 for that. Father's grandfather's wife went 
 out after him, all the way to this 'ere Plan- 
 tation, wherever it was. It took her three 
 months to go, but she lost his address, and 
 so she had to come back. They never met 
 again. She once did some washing for Mr. 
 Pitt, him that was made a nobleman : you'll 
 find that right. She died at the washtub, 
 that was the end of her. She was a game 
 'un, she was ; no mistake about that ! " ' 
 
 Poor Vickey ! I see the great drops 
 gathering, and I know they are just going to 
 roll over : so I push on. 
 
 ' " Some of our women didn't turn out so 
 well. I don't want to foul my own nest, sir, 
 you understand, but it's sometimes a great 
 struggle in a poor man's family to get enough 
 to eat for growing gals. They always aimed 
 above 'em though, our women did : I will 
 say that. One of 'em took up with a master 
 bootmaker in Bond Street by the name of 
 Simmons — made for the Eoyal Family. That 
 
194 THE ISLAND 
 
 was my grandmother, as she might be called. 
 I've heard tliat I might give myself the name 
 of Fitz-Simmons, if I chose, but Swart '11 do 
 for me. I only mention it to shoAv that she 
 had not demeaned herself so much as some 
 might tliink. 
 
 ' " Father's grandfather was the man in the 
 corner of one of Mr. Hogarth's pictures — the 
 one 'avin' his 'ed battered with the pewter. 
 Ah, they was 'igh old times ! " 
 
 ' I could but regard this reference to a 
 family portrait as another note of antiquity of 
 race. There was even some trace of a family 
 library in a street ballad sung by a progenitor 
 of Swart at the Coronation of George IV., and 
 still in excellent preservation between t]ie tiy 
 leaves of the book of Truth. In rugged, but 
 heartfelt and effusive verse, it called on the 
 whole earth to rejoice. A family museum of 
 curios, often another note of lineage, was 
 wanting, except in so far as it might be found 
 in a red waistcoat that liad belonged to Mr. 
 Townsend, the famous Bow Street runner, who 
 had " once locked grandfather up." Swart 
 had heard that it was worth money, but he 
 could never get more than sixpence on it at 
 
PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID 195 
 
 tlie tally shop, and lie had offered it in vain 
 to Madame Tussaud. 
 
 ' Here the Bible record, and S wart's 
 memory of the direct oral tradition ended, but 
 I could not have his story stop. I, therefore, 
 went down to the Heralds' College, and to the 
 Eecord Office, and by liberal fees to certain 
 yellow men called searchers, found out a 
 good deal more. They proved to me beyond 
 question, as I had long expected, that the 
 Swarts had been always with us as actors in 
 the great drama of history, only the managers 
 had not thouo;ht it worth while to give them 
 a line in the bills. As soon as I made it 
 worth while to search beyond the bills, Swarts 
 seemed to become as plentiful as blackberries. 
 We found that nothing had been done with- 
 out them. Dig down into the foundation of 
 any fair structure of Imperial greatness, and 
 you were pretty sure to come upon a Swart, 
 if only as rubbish for the filling-in. One 
 of them was certainly among the two-and- 
 seventy thousand vagrants hanged, or other- 
 wise despatched, in the reign of Bluff King 
 Hal. They were enclosing a good deal at 
 that time, and the Bluff one had broken up 
 
 2 
 
196 THE ISLAND 
 
 the monasteries, wliere the Swavts had often 
 found a meal. These operations filled the 
 country with vagrants, and the vagrants had 
 to be removed. They were flogged, and fined 
 in one of their ears, for a first offence, and 
 hung up like flitches, for a second, and thus 
 effectually cured. A Swort or Swyrt, of 
 Norfolk, which, as before stated, was their 
 country seat, had been branded as an able 
 bodied loiterer as far back as 1547. 
 
 ' To form an idea of their situation, one 
 must watch a fly trying to crawl out of a pot 
 of jam. You leave him there in the morning: 
 3'ou find him there at night. Never, never, 
 in the summer's day, nor in dateless eternity, 
 shall that fly get clear ! ' 
 
 ' You talk cruel on purpose : somebody 
 just helps him out.' 
 
 ' Victoria, give me a chance ! Suppose 
 nobody helps him. When, by heroic labour, 
 he has cleared his forelegs, his wings are still 
 coated with the sugary mire; and, as he plants 
 the forelegs down, to attend to the rest of 
 him, the forelegs are besmeared again. Let 
 him resolve to leave them behind, in his de- 
 speration, and he will but lose his balance. 
 
PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID 197 
 
 and foul the wings once more. Poor fly ! 
 Poor Swart ! Poor, Poor Stupids ! whose 
 history through the ages is my humble theme. 
 The only difference is that the Swarts are 
 sunk in slime instead of jam, and that they 
 have the power of breeding there, and leaving 
 their heritage of fruitless struggle to countless 
 generations. Always the slime is peopled 
 with this race, and never shall they get out, 
 till God send a brother to scrape them. The 
 tragi-comedy of the situation is found when 
 one, by miracle of discovery of a brother's 
 body for foothold, wriggles himself free, and 
 then stands on the brink, to comfort the 
 others with Penny Eeadings from the author 
 of " Self Help." 
 
 ' For full seven centuries, as I could trace 
 it now, had the Swarts been waiting for tlie 
 deliverer with a potsherd. Their history was 
 a history of illusions in the belief that he had 
 come at last. Once, clearly, they thought it 
 was Kett, for there was a Swart in his re- 
 bellion in 1549. I hear him at their foolish 
 Litany of human riglits : " Look at them 
 and look at us! have w^e not all the same 
 form, are we not all born in the same way P ' 
 
198 THE IS LA AD 
 
 Eteriical protest ! Nature's everlasting wliispcr 
 to tlie innermost heart of man — never suffi- 
 ciently answered by a knock on his head 
 from the outside ! The Earl of Warwick and 
 his mercenaries were prompt enough with 
 this response, yet the Swarts were still un- 
 convinced. There was a Swyrte — I can hut 
 think it w^as the same family, and I am 
 confirmed in that opinion by one of our 
 kings-at-arms — in Wat Tyler's affair, in the 
 fourteenth century. The conjecture is that 
 he was one of the " landless men," whom the 
 lawyers of the time were trying to bring back 
 into serfage, after their extremely informal 
 manumission by the Black Death. Nearly 
 sixty thousand persons, it may be remem- 
 bered, perished of that pest in Norwich alone, 
 and this had probably convinced the Swyrtes 
 that it M'as time to be stirring. A sort of 
 insane joy in the ravage wrought by the dis- 
 order, as in a clearance for right and free- 
 dom, by the Devil as redeemer, is apparent in 
 some of the sayings of the time ; and the 
 surviving Swyrte in the train of Tyler may 
 have felt, in his extremity, that he was open 
 to a fair offer from that other side. The 
 
PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID 199 
 
 sentiment is perliaps hereditary, for I re- 
 member to have noticed a strange eLation in 
 the Swart of the Victorian era, when the late 
 visitation of Asiatic cholera was threatened, 
 or as, I fear, he took it, promised, to our 
 shores. His manner exhibited the tremulons- 
 ness of a great uncertain hope, and his read- 
 ing of the telegrams from Marseilles and Paris 
 in his Sunday paper took a rhythmic cadence, 
 as though they were portions of a saga. The 
 circumstance is perhaps, incidentally, sug- 
 gestive of his Norse descent, but we must not 
 go too far. Local Kentish records tend to 
 show that the earlier Swyrte just mentioned 
 had risen to a certain eminence in the move- 
 ment, the highest perhaps the family ever 
 attained, for a man of that name undoubtedly 
 acted on one occasion, as deputy tub-bearer 
 to the " mad priest of Kent," John Ball. Ball, 
 as we know, was preaching, five centuries 
 ago, just what they are preaching at Clerken- 
 well Green to-day. " Good people, things will 
 never go well in England so long as goods be 
 not in common, and so long as there be villains 
 and gentlemen. But what right are they 
 whom we call lords greater folk than wc ? 
 
200 THE ISLAND 
 
 Wliy do tliey hold us in serfage ? If we all 
 came of the same father and mother, of Adam 
 and Eve, how can they say or prove that they 
 are better than we, if it be not that they make 
 us gain for them by our toil what they spend 
 in their pride ? They are clothed in velvet, 
 and warm in their furs and their ermines, 
 while we are covered with rags. Tliey have 
 wine and spices and fair bread ; and we eat 
 oat cake and straw, and water to drink. 
 They have leisure and fine houses ; we have 
 pain and labour, the rain and the wind in the 
 fields. And yet it is of us, and of our toil, that 
 these men hold their state." We may easily 
 imagine the effect of such words on one of 
 this stupid race. 
 
 ' When Ball was thrown into prison, his 
 deputy tub-bearer seems to have joined Tyler 
 as a man of action, for the name turns up in 
 a rude muster-roll of the gathering at Black- 
 heath. He was possibly one of the band that 
 forced their way into the Tower, and pulled 
 the beards of the scandalised knights, pro- 
 mising to be their equals and good comrades 
 in the time to come. He never came within 
 touch of chivalry again, unless he happened 
 
PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID 201 
 
 to be among that village remnant of revolt 
 that fell under its maces in the wood at 
 Billericay, after a two days' fight, for " the 
 same liberties as their lords." But this is only 
 matter of supposition, and it is more likely 
 that the Swyrte of Blackheath sunply sneaked 
 into town on the death of his leader, to root 
 his offshoot of tliis great family in the London 
 slime. 
 
 ' I cannot find any trace of a Swart at 
 Cressy or at Poitiers, though many of that 
 sort unquestionably left their bones in France. 
 They were not without a monument, however, 
 but it was in their works. Circumspice. It 
 was in the wasted fields of Aquitaine, the 
 stretches of utter solitude, the patches of 
 direst poverty, league upon league of burnt 
 homesteads, and of famine-struck hordes going 
 mad with misery and rage. Eor the French 
 lords being captive, the French serfs had 
 naturally to raise the money for their ransom, 
 and the agony of the operation at such a 
 season of ravage drove them into sheer revolt. 
 The captive lords, after tlie manner of their 
 order, exhibited an admirable self-control ; 
 and, with much dignity, took their meals with 
 
C02 THE ISLAND 
 
 the family in the English castles, while they 
 mvaited the remittances that were to set them 
 free. So blood will alwa3's tell ! The Swarts 
 of England, to their ruin, had wrought this 
 ruin to the Swarts of France — as it was in the 
 beginning, and, probably, ever shall be, world 
 without end. Victoria, there is a final word ! ' 
 
 But she onl}' smiled faintly, and shook her 
 head. 
 
 ' Here, I confess, I quite lose the scent of 
 this interesting race, stroni^ as it must natur- 
 ally be. That some of them were doing 
 something at the time of the Conqueror, the 
 heralds, and even the physiologists, assure me 
 is beyond a doubt. I have looked for them 
 in the Bayeux Tapestry ; and in one prostrate 
 figure that is being used as a foot warmer, 
 while his betters are presumably enjoying a 
 view of the English landscape, I fancy I re- 
 cognise the family nose. For my own part, I 
 am tolerably certain that some of them were 
 alive at Troy time, and that somebody was 
 sitting on them then. 
 
 ' A wonderful old family, the Swarts, the 
 Percys of the record but a set of jiarvemis 
 beside them, a family that, in all aijes, has 
 
PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID 203 
 
 lielped to make the dark background for tlie 
 ]>icture of the beauty and the pride of \\'(^ ; 
 for the frolic group of Chaucer, for Cressy's 
 firework blaze of triunipli, for the Armada, 
 for Blenheim, and for Waterloo ; for the 
 grandiose spectacle of pomp and vanity in 
 every field. Hey ! for the idle literature that 
 all this while could sing its blasphemous song 
 of perfumed bowers, while the wynd reeked ; 
 for the idle art that could find nothing: more 
 serious than a scheme of colour in the con- 
 trast between these Royal purples and these 
 l)eggar's broAvns ! And hey ! for the old, old 
 Swarts, the true Ancients of Days ! Surely 
 they are as venerable as the Yedas, and, be- 
 side them, the best of merely historic stocks 
 is but a mushroom growth. What a strujisle 
 
 I- CO 
 
 among the tuft-hunters to get the Swarts to 
 dinner, could they but see this! Such a 
 family only want a blazon, to commend them 
 to the workl. I would suggest a Jackass, 
 gules, between a stick (uplifted) and a bimdle 
 of wet hay. Motto (the same as that of the 
 old King of Bohemia — blind, like the whole 
 race that bear it in good faith): "I serve." 
 Crest : a Fool's cap. Ever has that cap of 
 
204 THE ISLAND 
 
 the Swarts gone up for the victory, while the 
 caps of the Swarts' leaders have been held 
 out for the reward. How have the Swarts 
 shouted, honest folk, as province after pro- 
 vince rolled into the mass of Empire, till it 
 stretched beyond the purview of the sun ! 
 
 'Whatever he had lost through the ages, 
 Swart's joint-stock lordship of India remained, 
 and he was proud of it, as I have tried to 
 show. A Lascar was associated with him, as 
 a boardman, in the Indian exhibition : they 
 were the best of friends, but Swart made a 
 point of walking first. It was a question of 
 mere precedence, and it was not unkindly 
 done ; they always took their pipe together, 
 at the midday halt in the mews. The Lascar 
 was really Swart's hierarchical superior, in a 
 business point of view. He received three- 
 pence a day more than the others, because 
 liis complexion w^as suited to the character of 
 the show. With this natural advantage, and 
 with a turban manufactured with rare self- 
 denial from the tail of his own shirt, he was 
 altogether a speciahst of pubUcity for such 
 tilings as Indian Bitters, and the Turkish 
 liath. He was more of a philosopher than 
 
PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID 205 
 
 Swart. He Lad accepted caste as a law of 
 Nature and of God, while the other, in the 
 muddled English way, only took it as it came. 
 He could give chapter and verse for it from 
 his holy books. " For the sake of preserving 
 the Universe, the Being supremely glorious 
 allotted separate duties to those who sprang 
 respectively from his mouth, his arm, his thigh, 
 and his foot " — Eead the Dharma Sastra ; 
 and be still ! 
 
 ' But the difference, as he was wont to 
 observe, did not end here, for the foot is a 
 thing of five toes, and there are toes, and toes. 
 Chancing one day to meet in the gutter another 
 Lascar, whom he suspected of a descent from 
 the little toe, he spat on the ground, and 
 exhibited every sign of repulsion, though his 
 countryman, who was advertising an Arabian 
 gum-drop, was in the same business as himself, 
 and, to all appearance, was as good a man. 
 There were really three toes between them, 
 as he explained to Swart. 
 
 ' There had been an attempt to bring him 
 into the fold of Christianity, but it broke 
 down. He had been led to the gate by a 
 member of a special mission who, without his 
 
2o6 THE ISLAND 
 
 knowing it, had given his colleague of the 
 little toe a rendezvous at the same place. He 
 endured the hateful presence as best he might, 
 until the rite of Communion required him to 
 touch the cup that had just been pressed by 
 the other's lips. Then he set down the un- 
 tasted pledge of love and brotherhood, and 
 turned awa}^ 
 
 ' He had brought his lady over with him, 
 and she lived in the seclusion of a White- 
 chapel zenana, in continual fear of the effect 
 of our foggy climate on her lord's remaining 
 lung. She w^as far from her own people, and 
 if she became a widow, how could she hope 
 to be treated with the requisite indignity 
 during the funeral rite? Burning was, of 
 course, out of the question, but who would 
 tear out her nose-ring, and the cartilage with 
 it, in the regular respectable way, or buffet 
 her, and load her with reproaches, for daring 
 to survive him ? She knew her Manu and 
 her Sastras as many of our own estimable 
 poor know their own Holy Books, and they 
 liad taught her that great lesson of humihty 
 to man which, in the end, all such books are 
 made to teach. " A woman is not to be 
 
r ED I G REE OF A POOR STUPID 207 
 
 relied on" — she liad the text by heart — '-a 
 husband must be revered as a god by a 
 virtuous wife." Poor slaves of the slave ! 
 beautiful and tender creatures, ever the most 
 apt in the learning of subjection ! when 
 will your turn come ? Victoria, my tale is 
 done.' 
 
 Victoria toyed with her scarf awhile as 
 though to remember all the points, then 
 untied it knot by knot, in sheer weariness 
 of soul. 
 
 ' And is that England, is that the Empire ? ' 
 she said, fixing me with her eyes in a way I 
 did not exactly like. 
 
 ' Oh no, not altogether. Don't let me be 
 unfair. There are hundreds of square miles 
 of beauty, refinement, luxury ; exquisitely 
 ordered homes, fine-natured men, courteous, 
 suave, poised, high-bred fiom the bone ; 
 while women, oh, so white ! some of them 
 able to read Greek — 'Learning robed and 
 perfumed. And for parties, picture galleries, 
 libraries, when they give their minds to such 
 things, they are not to be matched. We are 
 particidarly proud of one square mile bounded 
 by Oxford Street, Piccadilly, Eegent Street, and 
 
2o8 ■ THE ISLAND 
 
 Park Lane ; and are wont to repeat the boast 
 at public dinners that, for intelligence, culture, 
 wit, and the high qualities of civilisation, it 
 has not its territorial equivalent on the face 
 of the earth.' 
 
 ' The greater shame for them ; why do 
 they leave the otlier square miles as they 
 are?' 
 
 ' There are charities, you know.' 
 ' Charities ! — ointment for a cancer. What 
 makes the disease ? There must be something 
 going on that none of you find out. I know 
 there must be. How can all those fine people 
 live a day, an hour, till they do find it out ? 
 What do they talk about while they are 
 having: their dinners ? I know thev could 
 find it out, if they tried. Let us try and find 
 it out, before we go home : we have still half 
 an hour left. I have been thinking, all the 
 time you talked : it must be selfishness. 
 Everybody gets what he can, instead of what 
 he ought, and of course the clever people get 
 most. Then they give a little of it back to 
 the Poor Stupids in what you call charity, 
 and go on making the money and the misery 
 all the same. That is the way it strikes me. 
 
PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID 209 
 
 How do the rich people get rich ? Don't you 
 know you can't be rich without doing wrong, 
 whether you know you are doing wrong, or 
 not. Can j^ou now ? At the best, even, if 
 you are not a robber, you are using your 
 cleverness to take some one else's share. And 
 to think of all those people looking so nice, 
 and smelling like flowers, and talking like 
 expensive books, and trying to get richer than 
 other people all the time ; oh ! the sly things ! 
 How do you grow rich ? I wonder how it is 
 done.' 
 
 ' Always, at the beginning, of course, by 
 getting as much as you can for yourself, and 
 giving as little as you can to others ; buying 
 in the cheapest, and selling in the dearest is 
 the accepted phrase. Sometimes, this has 
 happened so long ago that the possessors are 
 able to forget it ever happened. They are 
 usually put up to do the talking about un- 
 selfishness.' 
 
 ' Just what I thought ; so the dealer that 
 buys the match boxes made in Mr. Swart's 
 house buys them, not for what he ought, but 
 for what he can.' 
 
 ' Can is the only ought in practical life.' 
 
 p 
 
2]o THE ISLAND 
 
 ' I see ; and tliat makes the poor people 
 hungry and cold.' 
 
 'I suppose so.' 
 
 ' And when they are very hungry, and 
 very cold, the dealer, and his well-to-do friends 
 give them a little soup and a blanket.' 
 
 'That's about it.' 
 
 ' Oh, how funny ! how funny ! liow funny ! ' 
 
 ' What would you have him do ? ' 
 
 ' What would you ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know.' 
 
 ' You do know. Is there anything but one 
 thing — take less himself, and give them more ? ' 
 
 ' Then he would not be so rich as the 
 other match box makers.' 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 ' And he would have to live in a smaller 
 house.' 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 ' And give up his carriage.' 
 
 'Well?' 
 
 ' Then he'll be damned if he'll do it, 
 Yickey, so there ! ' 
 
 ' That may be ; I am only talking of what 
 he ought to do. But I tliink you are wrong. 
 He would, if he kncvv, only he does not know. 
 
PEDIGREE OF A POOR STUPID 211 
 
 Perhaps the clergyman sometimes forgets to 
 tell him. Never mind that ; let us go on ; it 
 is so amusing. Tell me some other ways of 
 making money.' 
 
 ' Well, you invest in Companies, and take 
 the profits as they come.' 
 
 ' Without asking how tlie profits are made, 
 how the people live that make the profits ? ' 
 
 ' Usually so. Now and then the question is 
 asked, but the questioner is called an eccen- 
 tric. There was one shareholder that made 
 a great fuss about the tramway people, who 
 are worked almost into brutishness for the 
 sake of the dividend. It was only a woman, 
 you know ; and her out-of-the-way proceeding 
 made her quite notorious at once. The truth 
 is, everybody feels that the poor people would 
 grind each other just as hard, if they could.' 
 
 ' Ah, the poor people would like to be just 
 as wicked as their betters ! Is that what you 
 mean ? ' 
 
 ' I think it is. Miss Socrates.' 
 
 ' But how do the betters spend the money ? 
 What can be the use of it after all ? ' 
 
 ' The use of it ? Did you never hear of 
 yachting, hunting, pretty pictures, pretty 
 
 p 2 
 
212 THE ISLAND 
 
 women, good Avine ? Poor little savage, you 
 have never had so much as a taste of life ! 
 Wliy you may spend twenty or thirty thousand 
 pounds in fjetting a good breed of race-liorses, 
 if that is your hobby. You get a hobby, 
 that's the way it's done — liorses, hounds, 
 women, pictures, or china, anything will do — 
 and keep on sinking your money till you 
 have the rarest and the best.' 
 
 ' Is there any taste in that way as to im- 
 proving the breed of men ? Does a rich man 
 ever buy a slum, and keep on playing with it 
 till he has turned it into a paradise ? ' 
 
 'No ; breeding is chiefly done for the shows.' 
 ' Are all the people in Europe as funny as 
 that ? ' said Victoria, ' or is it only the Eng- 
 lish ? But see, tlie sun has struck the big 
 banyan : it is dinner time ! What a lot you 
 have told me, but you have only told me lialf. 
 There are Rich Stupids, I see, as well as Poor 
 Stupids, and I think the rich ones are the 
 worse off.' 
 
213 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 A VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 
 
 It lias never occurred to me till this moment, 
 but certainly we two live here alone. There 
 are a few other people on the Island, I believe, 
 and I see them every day, but only as pictures. 
 I talk to them too, but only as one talks to 
 pictures, not much heeding the answer back. 
 
 I have seen the Ancient, of course, and 
 have had many a talk with him. There are 
 the evenings ; and it is not Victoria all the 
 time. I am one of the great family, and I 
 come and go in that unnoticed way which is 
 the true footing of friendship and love. 
 
 I am more particularly aware of the 
 Ancient just now, because he is issuing a 
 proclamation. There is to be a public holiday 
 in celebration of the Queen's birthday, and 
 the proclamation is to regulate the order of 
 proceedings. It is written on a slate, and 
 
214 THE ISLAXD 
 
 ]iimg outside his Excellency's hut. He 
 has been elaborating it for days, with my 
 modest help, for the text, and Victoria's, for 
 the common sense. Whenever we are cfoinsf 
 to do anything foolisli, she interrupts from 
 the window, Avhere she sews by the fading 
 liglit. She has thus effectually vetoed the 
 following projects — a review of the garrison ; 
 a banquet with speeches ; and a levee at 
 Government House. 
 
 It is all settled now. There is to be a 
 Spelling Bee at the school-house, followed by 
 a lecture on the Antiquities of the Island, b}^ 
 tlie schoolmaster. The populace will then be 
 released for Sports and Pastimes, with prizes 
 ranging from a nosegay to a sack of potatoes. 
 For the wind-up, there is to be another lecture, 
 ' to steady their minds,' and I am to be the 
 lecturer. 
 
 I fought hard against it ; I honestly did, 
 but I was overborne. ' Something about 
 England, sir ; we are never tired of that.' 
 The voice from the window assented, and then 
 I gave way. 
 
 It begins, it begins ; never mind the pre- 
 liminaries, the blessed day is here ! Y'we la 
 
A VILLAGE FESTIVAL 215 
 
 joie ! Three fowling-pieces fire a salute, the first 
 tiling in the morning, and proclaim our revel 
 to the universe. The Union Jack is run up 
 at the flag-staff. Our breakfasts are despatched 
 in a few minutes, and in less than an hour 
 we are amid the fierce excitements of the Bee. 
 The competition is open to all comers, but 
 it is, in effect, confined to the younger folk. 
 The scholars, in their best, sit at one end of 
 the schoolroom, with the schoolmaster in 
 front of them, to call time, and an admiring 
 audience beyond. The severity of the struggle 
 betokens much secret preparation. The first 
 heat is the spelling of proj)er names from 
 Scripture. ' Achaiclius ' is attacked with mucli 
 spirit, and carried with a shout, but we have 
 to mourn the loss of some of our number 
 before the flag waves over the conquered 
 word, ' Achaicharus ' yields in time, though 
 it leaves but few survivors of a forlorn hope. 
 ' Habaziniah ' covers the field with slain, yet 
 still we win. ' Geuel,' owing to some in- 
 vincible difficulty in the placing of the vowels, 
 plunges many of the competitors into tears. 
 ' Gezerites ' restores us all to good humour 
 with a sense of universal failure. We cannot 
 
2i6 THE ISLAND 
 
 manage the final ' s,' Avliere it is emphatic — a 
 disabihty common to all our Island folk. 
 
 I pass over the other heats, to come to that 
 lecture on Antiquities. Like the memorable 
 trial, it is a function held in the open air. 
 We break up the Bee, and troop forth, the 
 man of learning at our head, and examine a 
 few huge flat stones, which we have seen a 
 hundred times before. They are the grave- 
 stones of our pre-historic race. There is one 
 in front of a cottage, whither it has been 
 removed to make a flag-stone for the porch. 
 Another lies, where the vanished men left it, 
 in a field on the other side of the Eidge. We 
 know what we should find beneath, if we 
 took it up — a human skeleton sleeping the 
 long sleep, with a pearl sliell for a pillow. 
 For centuries it has slept there ; for centuries 
 let it sleep on. We cross the Eidge again, 
 to the Peak where I first met Victoria ; and 
 we are told to look for the traces of four 
 rude stone figures that once stood there on a 
 platform, as though to keep eternal watch 
 upon tlie sea. Most of us have seen these 
 traces from our earliest infancy, but we look 
 for them again with great diligence, and com- 
 
A VILLAGE FESTIVAL 217 
 
 iiiunicate the result witli tlie cries appropriate 
 to sudden and unexpected discovery — all to 
 please the schoolmaster. We ask how they 
 came there ? what they signify ? — 'tis a part 
 of the game. We are told that they afford 
 undoubted evidence of a remoter Island race. 
 But how did the race reach the Island ? 
 The lecturer bids us guess. Is there one 
 of us so ill-bred as to hazard the suggestion 
 of a boat? Not one! We play out our 
 honest piece honestly, to the last scene. 
 We hold our tongues : our virtue, or our 
 habit, or verbal veracity will not allow^ us to 
 do more, A rosy brown infant, wdio cries 
 ' I know,' is hustled to the rear by Victoria, 
 and has his mouth stopped Avith an orange. 
 For that matter, the whole comedy is devoid 
 of o-uile. 
 
 The lecturer knows that we might all echo 
 the cry of the infant ; only he must have an 
 opening for his line : — ' How about a raft from 
 the Gambler Islands, three hundred miles 
 away ? ' ' Ah, yes, a raft to be sure ! But 
 then, why sliould they come here ? ' It is 
 impossible to deny him that. ' Suppose they 
 came because they couldn't help it,' returns 
 
2i8 THE ISLAND 
 
 tlie man of lore. 'Tliat ■would certainly alter 
 the case. But ]iow?' He needs no more. 
 ' In earlier times, especially, and even Avitbin 
 living memory, it was the custom of the rude 
 natives of the South Pacific to put their 
 vanquished enemies on a raft, and commit 
 them to the mercy of the waves.' There is 
 more of it, but this may serve. 
 
 ' Come, and I will show you something,' 
 says the good man ; and we follow him again 
 — this time down the steep path to the market 
 grove, and up the other steep path to the 
 settlement, and through the settlement, till we 
 stop at his own cottage door, and come to a 
 final halt in his bedroom, which is the museum 
 of the Island. What matter, if we have 
 already seen the solitary shelf that holds the 
 entire national collection ! What matter, if 
 these spear heads and axe heads of stone are 
 only less familiar to the hand than our own 
 knives and forks ! We are doing a fellow- 
 creature a kindness — that is enough. And 
 the way of doing it is so pleasant to ourselves ! 
 It is the ideal combination duty and dehght. 
 For, that walk to the museum was a walk 
 through the fields of Paradise, with bare- 
 
A VILLAGE FESTIVAL 219 
 
 legged cliildren for attendant angels, fleet as 
 any shapes with wings. Behind these, the 
 bigger lads and lasses, too old for play, too 
 young for love, trod tlie rock, as though it 
 were soft cloud, in the hghtness of their 
 perfect strength. And behind them, man and 
 maiden, maiden and man, draijofed the slow 
 foot of the deepest spiritual joy. May the 
 time be far distant when they, too, shall sleep 
 on the pearl shell ! 
 
 I have forgotten all about my lecture, 
 until the schoolmaster reminds me of it, at 
 the conclusion of his own. He uses the 
 freedom of a brother artist to make a 
 courteous inquiry as to my choice of a topic, 
 and I am obliged to confess that no thouglit 
 of preparation for the coming duty has once 
 entered my mind. ' We shall expect you to 
 do your best for us,' he says, with a smile. 
 ' I could not venture to do less,' is my answer, 
 ' after what I have just heard.' But this, like 
 most smooth sajdngs, leaves us just where we 
 were. I begin to cast about for a theme. 
 ' I have seen your festival ; how would you 
 like to hear of a festival on a larger scale, 
 on the other side of the world ? " A 
 
220 THE ISLAND 
 
 Roman Holiday " — what do you think of 
 that ? ' 
 
 ' But you said you v/ould tell us something 
 about England.' 
 
 ' I mean a holiday in modern Eome ; and 
 modern Eome, you know, is on the banks of 
 the Thames.' 
 
 ' That would do perfectly. Would you 
 like to sit in my bedroom, and collect your 
 thoughts ? ' 
 
 ' He will collect nothing there, but stones 
 and bones,' says Victoria, who has lingered 
 with us. ' He wants watching, if you are to 
 get any work out of him. Nobody can 
 manage him, but me. Come, sir, come 
 along ! ' 
 
 One may be in leading like a bear, or like 
 a man of genius ; and I hope I am not a bear. 
 My leader makes straight for the Peak, by 
 the grove sacred to her tenderest thoughts. 
 She establishes me on the ruins of the plat- 
 form, solitary now% for it will not be the scene 
 of a lecture for another year. As she leaves 
 me, I receive the order to remain perfectly 
 still, in profitable meditation, until her return. 
 I promise, and I perform. I throw myself 
 
A VILLAGE FESTIVAL 221 
 
 down on my back, watch the floating biUions 
 of light globules that seem to make the 
 substance of the air, and wonder if each of 
 them, all proportions preserved, holds a divine 
 Victoria, and a contemplative Me. What a 
 conception of the infinite in happiness, if it 
 could be so ! Then, anon, a light footstep 
 warns me that she is here again ; and I leave 
 all speculation for the sweet and sufficient 
 certainty that the larger globule holds us two. 
 She has a basket of fruit in her hand ; but 
 is it Flora or is it Minerva? Tlie emblems 
 are confusing, for a pencil and a little note- 
 book lie on the top of the store. The 
 bananas and the guavas are to make a lunch 
 for the lonely tliinker ; the pencil and the 
 paper are to preserve his precious thouglits 
 for the lecture, ere they fly away. I stretch 
 out an eager hand for the eatables, but she 
 offers me the pencil first. 
 
 ' Put down what you have been thinking 
 about while I was away.' 
 
 How doubly delicious it would be if there 
 were but a shade of coquetry in it ; but there 
 is not — not the shadow of a shade. 
 
 ' I have been thinking about the Infinite.' 
 
222 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' What a waste of time ! I tlioucrlit it was 
 to be about Roman Holidays.' 
 
 ' It ! What ? Oh, the lecture. Yes.' 
 
 ' Do you mean to say you have not been 
 — oh, how lazy you are ! ' 
 
 ' And how silly, you, my Victoria ! but I 
 like you best that way.' 
 
 ' What have I to do with it ? ' 
 
 ' So much that, without you, the whole 
 world ' 
 
 ' Will you eat a banana ? ' 
 
 ' I do not mind, if you will eat one too.' 
 
 ' I have no appetite.' 
 
 ' Nor I.' 
 
 * You seemed quite hungry just now.' 
 
 ' So I was.' 
 
 She was kneelmg with the basket before 
 her, and she began to straighten her shape, 
 always, with her, a sign of a certain concentra- 
 tion of feeling. But she still retained her 
 posture, and she looked like a fragment of 
 a o;rand statue, broken short off at the hem 
 of the robe. 
 
 ' Don't you think you are a little uncertain 
 in your sayings and doings, sometimes ? If 
 you are hungry, why won't you eat .^ ' 
 
A J/JLLAGE FESTIVAL 223 
 
 ' It is a hunger strike.' 
 
 ' What is that ? ' 
 
 ' An invention of the Siberian captives. 
 When they are very sick of everything, they 
 strike against their dinners, and die.' 
 
 ' You need not starve yourself to get any- 
 thing in our gift,' she said, and her glance 
 intensified the grave beauty of her face. 
 
 It was too delicious ; who could have 
 helped going on ? 
 
 ' Yes, I know ; I have everything, and 
 still I want one thing more.' 
 
 ' Oh, now I understand,' she said, rising to 
 her full height, and making a great fitter of 
 fruit and writing materials, as she overturned 
 the basket. 'Oh, I understand perfectly ; I 
 know exactly what you want to say. You 
 need not go on with your half meaning^:, 
 in that sly way. You said it once before, 
 and you promised you would never say it 
 again.' 
 
 Silly Victoria, she has spread all the cards 
 on the table, and killed the game ! One short 
 half-hour's lesson in a London boudoir, for 
 tliat matter, in a London schoolroom, would 
 have taught her how to play. This comes of 
 
224 THE ISLAND 
 
 being brought up to tell the truth like a 
 Quaker, by an Ancient in a savage isle. 
 
 ' All the same, Victoria, I won't eat my 
 lunch.' 
 
 ' Dear friend, dear, dear friend, if I might 
 only say to you all I want to say ! But why 
 do you trouble me so, why do 3^ou try to 
 make me do wrong ? ' 
 
 It was my turn to jump up now, and to 
 take her hand, which she did not refuse. 
 
 ' Victoria, who can contend against you ? 
 You play by your own rules, and mine seems 
 the sharper's game. Come, the hunger strike 
 is over ; hand up the fruit.' 
 
 Victoria peeled the bananas, and I ate 
 them. This arrangement was nearly as good 
 as the best. It was glorious sunshine again in 
 her face, as in the sky above. ' Not more 
 than others I deserve, yet God hath given me 
 more,' was my humble grace. 
 
 By-and-by, but all too soon, I was left to 
 my reflections once more. Victoria withdrew, 
 on the understanding that I should work at 
 my lecture during her absence. I watched 
 her to the foot of the slope, fixing myself in 
 an attitude of meditation when she turned 
 
A VILLAGE FESTIVAL 225 
 
 to watch me. I saw her skirmisliing with a 
 band of infant wanderers who wanted to cUrab 
 to my study, and heading them off, with much 
 ingenuity, into an orchard beyond tlie Eidge. 
 I really tried to work, but it was impos- 
 sible. The sounds and sights of the fete 
 came up to me, on my lofty post of observa- 
 tion, from all the peopled region of the Isle, 
 and from the more distant summits on the 
 other side, that rose like towers from the wall 
 of rock. Distance subdued every laugh and 
 shout, every cry of bird or beast, into perfect 
 harmony with the rhythmic beat of the waves ; 
 and the sounds seemed but varied modes of 
 musical silence. There was the same harmony 
 in the tints, seen through the wide stretches 
 of summer mist. It was sometimes almost 
 impossible to say wdiere the flowers ended, and 
 the men and women began. You might tell 
 it only by the motion of the figures darting in 
 and out of the patches of blossom, as pursuers 
 and pursued. The pairs that sauntered soon 
 became absolutely one with the landscape, as 
 they moved further from the point of view. 
 It was exquisite to the sense and to the soul, 
 as an image of the unity of nature. Sky and 
 
 Q 
 
226 THE ISLAND 
 
 earth and sea, man and woman, flower and 
 tree, seemed but so many forms and manifest- 
 ations of one universal element of beauty, 
 each separate perception of the beholder 
 realising them in a uniform impression, in 
 its own way. I was busy with this fancy, face 
 downwards in tlie grass, and trying to work 
 it out in consultation with a wild-flower, when 
 Victoria surprised me again. If she had 
 sought my life, it would have been hers, for 
 she was within a yard of me, before I knew 
 that she was there. 
 
 ' Princess, hear my confession before you 
 begin to frown. I have done nothing ; noth- 
 ing — nothing done ! Now I will begin, just 
 wlienever you like. Only I cannot work here ; 
 I must go somewhere else.' 
 
 ' Houie to your own room ? ' 
 
 ' Stuffy ! ' 
 
 ' Where then ? ' Tapping the turf carpet 
 with her naked foot. 
 
 ' I know ; only I mustn't say.' 
 
 ' Just say it out.' 
 
 ' To the Cave ; the Cave of the Great 
 Scrape, where we went before.' 
 
A VILLAGE FESTIVAL 227 
 
 ' Madness ! You'll just be killed, if you 
 try it.' 
 
 ' Was I killed the first time ? ' 
 
 ' I helped you.' 
 
 ' I want you to help me again.' 
 
 ' I wonder why I like you at all, and I do 
 like you so much.' Then, after a pause, ' If 
 God meant to let you be killed, He would 
 never make me help to do it. Come along.' 
 
 This feat of enwineerino- havins; been once 
 described, the courteous reader may wish to 
 be spared the repetition of its details. It is 
 enough to say that I was socm walking along 
 the narrow ridge, with my eyes closed, by 
 order, and with my hands on the shoulders of 
 Victoria, who led the way. Just before the 
 eyes closed, they caught one look of tenderest 
 concern in hers that was a thing to remember 
 for a lifetime. When I was allowed to 
 open them again, we were both in the Cave. 
 Victoria left, the moment she saw me safe, 
 promising to come back in an hour, and 
 fetch me out. 
 
 a 3 
 
THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A ROMAN HOLIDAY. 
 
 I WAS alone with the clouds, the ocean, and 
 my note-book. I could attend to tlie note- 
 book, only by forgettmg the ocean and the 
 clouds ; so, after one last look at them, I 
 retired to the back of the Cave, and set to 
 work. 
 
 Notes for the Lecture. 
 
 ' Old England and Old Borne ; Parallel. — 
 England, my friends, you are to understand, 
 is in the position of Old Rome after the 
 conquest. She is sitting down to enjoy the 
 world she has won. She wants no more : 
 after dinner, the lion woukl not hurt a fly. 
 S]ie feels the lassitude of digestion, especially 
 in governing circles. Yet, somehow, the 
 duties of empire are still carried on. Eome 
 fed all her children from the subject realms, 
 and they all grew lazy. England feeds only 
 
A ROMAN HOLIDAY 229 
 
 some of hers, and, what with need and hunp^er, 
 the watch of empire is duly kept. The rehefs 
 are sent out to tlie distant provinces ; the 
 pro-consuls come home regularly to die of 
 liver-complaint in ancestral halls. Take a 
 bird's-eye view of our hemisphere, and you 
 would see its main roads of earth and ocean 
 speckled with the foam or dust that marks the 
 movements of her legions. 'Tis a pretty 
 siojht ! 
 
 ' Holiday Preparations. — The public holi- 
 days in England are ordained by law, and, 
 three or four times a year, there is a gene- 
 ral suspension of work in this workshop of 
 the world. It is a Sabbath of popular fes- 
 tivity. One of its first signs is the general 
 migration from town of the select few. 
 All who can possibly manage it get out 
 of the way — only, of course, to leave more 
 room for the others. It is just like them. 
 
 ' London is given up to its masses, with 
 all its spacious environs. The streets are 
 theirs, the parks are theirs. Every lamp-post 
 in the slums is turned into a screw swing. 
 
 ' Adaptiveness of the Race. — The diver- 
 sions of infancy among the English masses 
 
230 THE ISLAXD 
 
 are of primitive simplicity. The youthful 
 slummer plays, as the mature savage wrought, 
 Avith the rudest tools. His swing is the 
 knotted fragment of a clothes-line ; and, in 
 tlie national game, he demands no more than 
 a bundle of old coats for the wicket, with a 
 splinter of deal for the bat. This healthy 
 contempt for " plant " shows the adaptiveness 
 of the race, its readiness in making the most 
 of the materials that come to hand. Water- 
 loo Avas won in the playing fields of Eton, and 
 Australia in the playing fields of Seven Dials. 
 Walk through St. James's Park on a public 
 holiday, and you can no longer doubt it. 
 Cricket is contrived with the implements 
 aforesaid ; football, with an old hat, or a 
 broken kettle. The same adaptiveness is 
 shown in all the arrangements : the average 
 of breech, to the extent of nakedness it has 
 to cover, may be put at about three-fifths. 
 Yet there are no glaring whites to mar the 
 beauty of the landscape ; and even the faces 
 are in a sort of keeping of pale green. Artists 
 might picture this Bank Holiday scene in the 
 Park ; it could hardly fail to attract attention 
 at Burlington House. The sicklier children, 
 
A ROMAN HOLIDAY 231 
 
 and tlie very young, play in the alleys nearer 
 home, where the dust is considerately left in 
 sufficient abundance to enable them to make 
 their nmd-pies. Many play in the old grave- 
 yards adjacent to these alleys, recently opened 
 to them by the munificence of a public- 
 spirited society. This is perhaps the highest 
 example of our national readiness to make 
 the best of circumstances. 
 
 ' ISiote. — Sketch of Tom All Alone's — real 
 or supposed — on a public holiday, as one of 
 the most suggestive sights of the universe : 
 " Tom All Alone's ; with a few observations 
 on Eussell Court and Vinegar Yard." Ancient 
 cemetery or native barrow of district, consist- 
 ing of three back-yards rolled into one ; now 
 a public playground, dedicated for ever, etc., 
 with becoming circumstance, as local " boon." 
 To get it into focus, should be seen from the 
 meadows about Eton College. So seen, will 
 inspire sentiments of devout gratitude to God 
 for the mysteries of patience, far surpassing 
 the mysteries of faith, in the souls of men. 
 Tom All Alone's, as something to be thankful 
 for. Ha! ha! ha! (try to laugh here). Oh, 
 by what magic, by what magic, do we get 
 
232 THE ISLAND 
 
 them to take tliis irreducible miiiimiim in 
 settlement of the human claim ? (try not to 
 weep). 
 
 ' Same adaptability, too, in grown-up 
 natives of region — veritable note of our race. 
 Require no costly machinery of enjoyment. 
 Take a plank of wood, put a row of taps and 
 glasses on one side, and, on the other, a kind 
 of horse box in which fifteen or twenty people 
 may manage to stand upright, and you have 
 " house of entertainment." A young woman 
 turns taps, as fast as she can, and fills glasses ; 
 people in horse-box empty them with equal 
 dispatch ; and public enjoyment is at its 
 height. Marble tables, public gardens, 
 flowers, music, not indispensable. A trough 
 would be simpler still ; but horses do not 
 care for gin, and the higher animal would ob- 
 ject to it, as it implies the unsound principle 
 of community of goods. 
 
 ' Here, in these houses of entertainment, 
 they exchange their artless confidences, and 
 settle their family affairs. Not inquisitive 
 about future ; have learned to take short 
 views. Whenever perplexed about problems 
 of destiny, and their own relations of joy 
 
A ROMAX HO LI DA Y 233 
 
 to' this joyous world, they nod to yoiinir 
 woman, wdio turns tap, and their perplex- 
 ities disappear. 
 
 ' Kote. — The beautiful modesty of their 
 demand on life might teach even shepherds 
 a lesson in content. Their simple attainable 
 standard in wine, in woman, in music, in 
 hght, in joy. Their conversation — direct 
 and plain, free from tortuous refinements 
 of studied Avit ; their badinage, usually no 
 more than the light play of the pewter on 
 one another's heads. All their pleasures of 
 the same simple description. Will spend 
 their leisure very contentedly in watching a 
 dog worrying a pitfuU of rats, or two men 
 beating each other into insensibility with 
 gloves that only seem to hurt. A.s childlike 
 as the North American Indians, and not 
 unlike them in the race type — high cheek 
 bones; a wide mouth, massively lipped; slits 
 for the e5'es. See them on the great public 
 days, pouring out in myriads to a horse race, 
 boat race, or Lord Mayor's Show ; and own 
 the wonders of a social and religious system 
 that has suffered them to lind satisfaction in 
 this state, or us to find content. 
 
234 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' Amplify admiration of tlie system, in the 
 lyric vein — rhythmic prose, etc. 
 
 ' Their Women. — Like their North Ameri- 
 can sisters, fond of feathers and bright hues. 
 No gaudier thing in nature than the coster 
 girl in her holiday dress of mauve, with the 
 cruel plume that seems to have been dyed in 
 blood. Relation of female to male, singular 
 survival of primitive state. Love-making 
 always, in form at least, an abduction of the 
 virf^in. A meeting at the street corner in the 
 dusk, for the beginning of the ceremony ; 
 then a chase round the houses, the heavy 
 boots after the light ones, with joyous shrieks 
 to mark the line of flight ; after that, the 
 seizure, the fight, with sounding slaps for 
 dalhance that might knock the wind out of a 
 farrier of the Blues. Li the final clutch, 
 skirts part in screeching rents, feathers strew 
 the ground. Then the panting pair return, 
 hand in hand, to the street corner, to begin 
 again. 
 
 ' A Night Piece. — Nightfall brings the 
 whole slum together, at the universal rendez- 
 vous, from every near or distant scene ; men, 
 and those that were once maidens, mumbling 
 
A ROMA A' HOLIDAY 235 
 
 age and swearing infancy, stand six-deep before 
 tlie slimy bar, till the ever flowing liquor 
 damps down their fiercest fires, and tlie great 
 city is once more at rest. The imagination of 
 him that saw Hell could hardly picture the 
 final scene.' 
 
 ' Are you ready ? ' 
 
 The voice came from the rock above, and 
 it w^as hers. 
 
 ' Yes, pining for liberty — please let me 
 out.' 
 
 ' Have you done your Avork ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Word of honour ? ' 
 
 ' "Word of honour ! ' 
 
 ' I am coming — you may come and look 
 at me, if you like ; but mind : don't you try 
 to look down.' 
 
 I walked to the mouth of the Cave, and 
 thej^e, a few yards above me, was the beautiful 
 head peeping over the summit, the eyes smiling 
 down into mine. Only the face was visible ; 
 slie must have been stretched full lengtli on 
 tlie rock, 
 
 A few moments, and I was in soft delicious 
 
236 THE ISLAND 
 
 touch of her again, as we crept ah)no- the ledge ; 
 and I kept toiicli, as we crossed the angle of 
 the slope on our way to the schoolhouse, for, 
 though help was no longer needed, Victoria 
 still let me guard her hand. And so we 
 Avalked throuo;h the twilioht, without wantin<^ 
 to speak a word. 
 
 That lecture Avas never delivered. When 
 I saw all their happy faces in the schoolroom, 
 I felt that I could not spoil their holiday. I 
 accordingly chose another subject, while the 
 Ancient was making his introductory speech, 
 and trusted to my star. The star was friendly. 
 The Ancient wasted a good deal of time ; 
 and, when he sat down, I was ready for a 
 spirited improvisation on the Benefits of the 
 Printing Press, with which they were per- 
 fectly content. 
 
 ' Light the torches, Eeuben,' said the old 
 ]nan when the applause had subsided, ' and 
 let the youngsters go bird-nesting on the 
 Ixidge, for the wind-up. Victoria, and all the 
 girls that are good girls, will stay behind and 
 sing us a song. There is light enough on tlie 
 Green.' 
 
''17 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 MISUNDEESTAXDIXG. 
 
 A QUARREL with Victoria ? — no, not a quarrel, 
 I want another word. Only 'a somethino;.' 
 What is it ? I do not know. 
 
 Victoria has become ' unaccountable ' we 
 
 will put it in that way. There is no knowinir 
 what to be at with Victoria : the grievance 
 is there. And 1 have tried so hard to find 
 out. 
 
 That affair of the Peak was a lesson, or I 
 tried to make it one. ' Leave Victoria alone,' 
 it seemed to say, ' and keep your homa^-e. 
 respectful and other, to yourself. Victoria 
 wants to tell you something, but does not 
 know how to begin. Cannot you save her 
 the trouble ? You confuse her with your 
 homage, respectful and other, and she wants 
 you to leave her alone. Curly slops tlie 
 way. 
 
238 THE ISLAND 
 
 • What matter that Curly is as vague as 
 something in Orion ! He lias taken her heart 
 with him into space. Leave her alone. 
 
 ' Do you want further proof of it ? How 
 many more times must you see her prostrate 
 before his shrine in the thicket, as you saw 
 her yesterday, when you clogged her footste])s 
 like a spy ? How many more times must you 
 hear her cry, " Come back, come back, and 
 help me ! " between her passionate kisses of 
 the bits of fetich on the boughs ? 
 
 ' And, if there were no Curly, how would 
 that avail ? Victoria is not for you. Are you 
 to stay here for ever ? You know you are 
 not. And how could you take Victoria 
 away ? 
 
 ' Victoria is a savage ; and who would 
 have her anything else ? Will you put Po- 
 cahontas in crepe de Ciiine and surah, in lace, 
 embroideries, and gimp, and transplant her to 
 the London drawing-rooms, to make sport for 
 the London crowd ? Are you looking forward 
 to this : " A lady whose tall figure is well 
 known in London society wore black silk, 
 opening over a front of white silk muslin, 
 draped from neck to feet, and confined at the 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 239 
 
 waist with a pointed band of black velvet, 
 fastened by a diamond clasp " ? 
 
 ' It will not do. 
 
 ' Friendship is impossible on your side : 
 when you are with her, you invariably play 
 the fool. Keep out of her way.' 
 
 So, I am no longer Victoria's shadow. I 
 wander alone. I make up to the Ancient, 
 and borrow his fowlino- piece, to pay my 
 respects to the wild birds. The wild birds 
 do not mind. I trouble them a good deal less 
 than I trouble Victoria. It is an old fowling 
 piece ; how did men contrive to kill anytliing 
 in the days when it was made, especially to 
 kill one another ? The slau2[hter of Mai- 
 plaquet quite enhances one's respect for tlie 
 race, and takes rank with Stonehenge and the 
 Pyramids among material marvels wrought by 
 simple means. 
 
 I have kept this up for some days, and I 
 am popping at a flock of gulls this morning, 
 with so slight a breach of the good under- 
 standing between us that the flock increases, 
 by the effect of intelligent curiosity, as the 
 sport goes on, when Victoria stands between 
 me and the light. 
 
240 THE ISLAND 
 
 It is here that Victoria begins to be unac- 
 countable : on the strength of tliis incident, I 
 made the charge. 
 
 For Victoria has come to look for me. 
 There is no need to guess it : she saj's so in 
 terms. Only mark wliat follows this admis- 
 sion, and say if I am without a grievance. 
 
 ' Why have you come to look for me, 
 Victoria ? ' 
 
 ' I am so miserable.' 
 
 ^ Why?' 
 
 ' You make me miserable.' 
 
 ' What have I done, Princess ? ' 
 
 ' What have / done ? You have hardly 
 spoken to me for three days.' 
 
 ' I thought you would like that best, 
 Victoria.' 
 
 ' Why should you think so ? What would 
 this place be to me, if we were bad friends ? ' 
 
 ' I trouble you.' 
 
 ' Leave me to judge of that. There cannot 
 be any harm in seeing you, in talking to you.' 
 
 So, I leave the disgusted gulls ; and we 
 ramble to the further side of the Island, to the 
 place where I landed in the dawn of history 
 to find the New World. 
 
MISUNDERSTANDING 241 
 
 We do not talk much at first. I am work- 
 \\\^ out the situation, with due aid from certain 
 plirases of convention that help to reconcile 
 poverty of thought to self-respect. These 
 little felicities of epigram on the inconsistency 
 of Woman never helped anybody to compre- 
 liension of her ; yet, if they were taken out of 
 its phrase books, the world would be acutely 
 sensible of the void. Few people are incon- 
 sistent, but a good many people fail to under- 
 stand. I wish I were not so dull. I seem 
 to have found Victoria to about as much pur- 
 pose as a savage might find a watch. 
 
 So, for some precious moments, it is the 
 old footino; ag'ain. We are as free as the other 
 animals about us, and perhaps still more ex- 
 quisitely happy. It might be rash, though, 
 to attempt to answer for any but ourselves. 
 Our myriads of birds and insects, and our 
 select assortment of beasts, seem to have a 
 good time — a life in the sun, and a quick 
 death in their prime of strength, with their 
 business hours mainly employed in dining, and 
 in exercise in the open air. Most of the 
 beasts belong to the Island family as much as 
 the men and women ; and Victoria could give 
 
 E 
 
242 THE ISLAND 
 
 tliein eacli a name. With her, tliey only play 
 at being wild ; and the outlaw goats seek her 
 as regularly for their morning caress as their 
 friends who have made their peace with civili- 
 sation. 
 
 If she and I could be like this for ever ! 
 But we cannot. We seem to be friends and 
 strangers, by turns ; for the life of me, I know 
 not why. We move to and from each other 
 in some mysterious way. For, what hapj^ened 
 just now, happens again and again. I am 
 witli her, as I could always w^ish to be, till 
 some subtle change in her manner makes me 
 think she wants me to keep away. I keep 
 away, and she seeks me out, with reproaches 
 for coldness and neglect. We reach perfec- 
 tion, and then imperfection begins. Slowly, 
 slowly, as some change in the colour of a 
 plant, comes Victoria's new" mistrust of me, or 
 of herself What is it ? what can it be ? 
 It is a movement of some strange law of her 
 emotions ; but what is the law ? The savage 
 has learned so much about his watch as to 
 feel the utter inadequacy of the reflection 
 that watches have curious ways. He cannot 
 examine, but he begins to guess. There is 
 
MIS UNDERS TAN DING 243 
 
 but one guess to make, the old one — it must 
 be the phantasm of the living Curly that 
 stands between us and the perfect light, We 
 know what came of that guess before. If I 
 step back to make way for him, Victoria will 
 follow, to know the reason why. A pest on 
 him for a phantom that plays us on and off: 
 it is neither my fault, nor Victoria's ; it is the 
 phantom that does not know its own mind ! 
 
 &2 
 
244 THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ANOTHER SAIL. 
 
 Lht him be forgotten for the moment. There 
 is a new ship off the Point ! 
 
 Not an Enghsh ship this time — a Yankee, 
 by her beautiful flag. 
 
 It is the old scene — the hurried assem- 
 bling of the people ; the signals and answering 
 signals ; the manning of the surf boat ; the 
 meeting of the elders for consultation as to 
 ways and means of reception. But this meet- 
 ing is for serious work. The new ship is a 
 trader ; and only a ship of war imports no 
 danger to these defenceless folk. There may 
 be a rough crew, not too well in hand, fierce 
 men, beyond punishment for excess, imme- 
 diate or remote. If they choose to go wrong, 
 the whole Island is at their mercy, not only in 
 goods and chattels, but in the honour of the 
 women, the fives of all. 
 
ANOTHER SAIL 245 
 
 The troubled Ancient, I think, would like 
 to bury his treasure of maidens for awhile, if 
 only he might hope to dig them up again, safe 
 and sound, when the danger is past. He looks 
 about him with the furtive glance that seeks 
 a hiding-place, like some Jute progenitor on 
 the approach of a pirate horde. But he wisely 
 gives no public sign of alarm, and he sets out 
 in his whaler to board the new-comer, with a 
 cheerful face. 
 
 All depends upon the character of the 
 Captain, and we are re-assured upon that 
 point the moment he steps ashore. He gives 
 a ' candy ' from his pocket to a child, and lifts 
 his hat to one of the girls in a way that is 
 unmistakeable as a sign of genuine respect. 
 
 He is unlike all other sea captains, past 
 and present, if not to come. He is a j^oung, 
 blonde dandy, with his hair parted in the 
 middle, regular features, and a silken mous- 
 tache. These appearances would be altogether 
 difficult to harmonise with his functions, but 
 for the firm set of the lips, and the glance 
 of the clear blue eye. His handkerchief is 
 slightly scented — there cannot be a doubt of 
 it. and he is above the suspicion of a quid. 
 
246 THE ISLAXD 
 
 Ilis speech sometimes betrays liis origin, but 
 does not, in the least, betray his calhng. He 
 ' shivers ' no ' timbers ' — but none of tliem 
 ever do that. He occasionally talks like a 
 book, and rather like a book read aloud in 
 class. This, however, is only when he has 
 time to think of himself, and to behave at his 
 best. At these moments, happily rare, his 
 construction is anything but idiomatic ; it is 
 classically ornate. The Americanism appears 
 in his puritanical anxiety to give every word, 
 and every letter of every word, its full pho- 
 netic value. He extends the principles of the 
 Declaration of Independence to his syllables, 
 and makes them all free and equal, without 
 a trace of accentuation that might render 
 one the tyrant of the rest. His orthoepic 
 constitution for the language, in short, is a 
 constitution without a king. Yet he has 
 the fear of Webster ever before his eyes, 
 and that authority is evidently his Supreme 
 Court. 
 
 We lodge him in our house, at my request. 
 This, I believe, anticipates a desire of the 
 Ancient, who, while awaiting fuller knowledge, 
 wants to have him under his eye. He shares 
 
ANOTHER SAIL -z^l 
 
 my chamber, and is accommodated with a 
 spare bed therein. His crew, with one or two 
 exceptions, abide on the ship, but they have 
 shore leave, and, before they have it, so says 
 the Ancient, who brought liim off, he makes 
 them a short speech, which is evidently 
 remembered throughout their entire stay. lie 
 is a restless man. Almost as soon as he takes 
 up his quarters under our roof, he leaves them ; 
 and, before sundown, he has walked all over 
 the Island ; has inquired into its systems of 
 government, laws, agriculture, commerce, and 
 manufactures ; has recognised the clock as a 
 gift from Chicago, the organ as a present from 
 Salem ; and has suggested improvements in 
 nearly every process of industry, that would 
 double the yield. He has also asked to see 
 our newspaper ; and, without waiting to learn 
 that we do not possess such a thing, has offered 
 us a bundle of journals of both hemispheres 
 which, he says, may supply ' items ' of interest 
 for the compilation of the local sheet. 
 
 At first he was taciturn, or merely interro- 
 gatory ; and he showed extreme caution in his 
 communications to us. But, towards evening, 
 all this disappeared, and his fluency, and 
 
248 THE ISLAND 
 
 readiness to relate his own story left nothing 
 to be desired. 
 
 It was the typical American career of the 
 past, and so, for all his freshness and alertness, 
 I thought him an old-fashioned man. The new 
 generation of Americans are mostly men of 
 one career, as we are : this one was of half a 
 dozen. He had begun life as an office boy, 
 had been a real-estate agent, a lawyer, an 
 editor of a newspaper, and was now a skipper, 
 by what he considered a process of quite 
 orderly development. He had sailed from San 
 Francisco, and he was going to make the tour 
 of the world, by way of Suez and the Medi- 
 terranean, Liverpool and New York. His 
 ship was his own property, and her cargo 
 was his pocket-money for the voyage. The 
 Ancient asked him how he learned the trade 
 of the sea, but he seemed unaware that there 
 was a trade to learn. He could hardly 
 remember a time when he did not know it, in 
 its elements. As a boy, he used to sail a 
 yacht about New York Bay ; and he had 
 served a year in a whaler, before the mast. 
 At one time, he had thought of o-oinrr into art. 
 
 How had he learned editing, then ? That, 
 
ANOTHER SAIL 249 
 
 too, he liardly knew. All crafts, he assured 
 us, were governed by the same general 
 principle of common sense. Editing a news- 
 paper was but sailing a ship, under new con- 
 ditions. You put your mind to it, and you 
 rounded your back for the bnrden of your 
 inevitable mistakes. If he had a natural turn, 
 he thought, it was for scheming things, and 
 getting down to first principles. In the course 
 of his journalistic experiences, it had once 
 been his duty to turn out a weekly column of 
 jokes. He was not a joker by taste, nor by 
 choice, but he could invent jokes, of course, 
 if it had to be done. He studied out the prin- 
 ciples of the thing, and he found that they lay 
 in startling contrasts, and in startling simili- 
 tudes. With a little practice, he soon became 
 able to make a joke on anything — the ink- 
 stand on his desk, the rent in the carpet, the 
 passing shower. He settled the points before- 
 hand, and then worked up to them, straight 
 and sharp. The failures came from ' fooling 
 around ' the subject. He made two or three 
 jokes for us, as specimens. He did this with 
 a perfectly grave face, apologising for a cer- 
 tain rustiness of habit due to his having been 
 
2 so THE ISLAND 
 
 for some time out of that line. They were 
 really very fair jokes ; and, if we had not been 
 so fully forewarned of the expected result, I 
 think we might have laughed. They had to 
 be 'popped' on you, as he explained. The 
 Ancient promised to try them on Eeuben, and 
 our new acquaintance warranted they would 
 make him gay. On the same general prin- 
 ciple of observation, he had invented a way of 
 simplifying a ship's rig, saving 45 per cent, in 
 cordage and blocks ; and he promised to show 
 us a model of it, made on the voyage. 
 
 By nightfall, we felt that he had exhausted 
 us and our little island, and that he would 
 fain be off. This, however, was impossible 
 for the moment : the ship wanted more fresh 
 provisions, and she was, besides, under slight 
 repairs. It fretted him sorely, for he could 
 not be still. Never did I see such feverish 
 activity, such a passion for doing something. 
 His meals were a mockery of Divine Provi- 
 dence ; but, as he did not choke, he must 
 have been reserved for special uses. In ten 
 minutes he had disposed of fish, flesh, and 
 his hunk of pie. Only a Rabelais could con- 
 ceive the war of elements within. There was 
 
ANOTHER SAIL 251 
 
 no rest in him, nor near liim ; he was busy all 
 over the surface of life, with no sense of the 
 true uses of any one thing. It was a sheer 
 fury of industrial action, like the old Berser- 
 ker fury of war. He worked for the love of 
 it, as the children of Starkader fought ; and 
 he seemed to have no more profit of his 
 labour than they of their shedding of blood. 
 It seemed quite a triumph to get him to bed. 
 
 He slept in my room, as I have said, or he 
 was to sleep. But he coidd not lay him down 
 till he had analysed the composition of the 
 mattress, and thrown out suggestions for a 
 new kind of stuffing, to be made of something 
 that grew wild at tlie foot of the Peak. In 
 the midst of his discourse on this point, he 
 fell asleep, as suddenly as though he had 
 turned himself off at the main. I, too, dropped 
 off in a few minutes, and I slept soundly for 
 a few hours,until I was awakened, long be- 
 fore dawn, by the gleam of a candle in my 
 eyes. 
 
 He, of course, had lit the candle ; and he 
 was sitting upright in bed, and peering intently, 
 through an eyeglass, at something which he 
 held betwixt his finser and thumb. 
 
252 ■ THE ISLAND 
 
 ' See here,' lie said, without any apology 
 for wakinsf me ; ' if that don't beat all ! ' 
 
 ' What is it ? ' I asked in some alarm. 
 
 ' Just the strongest moth you ever saw in 
 your life — pulls like a little cart-horse. I 
 was lighting-up for a bit of quiet thinking, 
 and in he buzzed.' 
 
 ' Let him go again.' 
 
 ' Oh, he can go : I shan't want him yet,' 
 and he flung the insect off. ' Are there many 
 of his sort here, I wonder ? We must ask 
 old Forelock,' so he called our host. 
 
 ' What if there are ? ' 
 
 ' See here,' he said, propping himself up 
 M'ith his pillow, and, to my dismay, prepar- 
 ing for a lono- talk. ' See here : I'll tell 
 you something ; that insect is undeveloped 
 Power.' 
 
 ' Well, wliat of that ? ' 
 
 ' Can't you see ? ' he asked in a tone ex- 
 pressive of his certainty that I could not. 
 
 I gave him the desired negative, and he 
 went on. 
 
 ' That insect means half the motive power 
 in Nature clean thrown away.' 
 
 ' I do not follow you, as yet.' 
 
ANOTHER SAIL 253 
 
 ' I dare say, but you wiil come to it. How 
 about all the beasts of the field and the rest 
 of tliem being created for the service of 
 man ? ' 
 
 ' How about it ! ' I was still only half 
 awake. 
 
 'Well, they skulk their work, that's all. 
 Half of them do nothing for their keep; do 
 you begin to follow me now ? ' 
 
 ' How should they ? ' 
 
 ' Set them to work ; that's the idea.' 
 
 I was wide awake now. It seemed like 
 a disclosure of some new invention in crime ; 
 and, so far, it was approj)riate to the mid- 
 night hour, the darkness, and the deadly quiet 
 of the scene. 
 
 ' You surely never mean to say that you 
 want to put the song birds into factories ? ' 
 
 'That is just what I do mean. It is only 
 a fad of mine at present, but I shall work it 
 out to something by-and-by. Did you ever 
 see the performing fleas ? ' 
 
 ' No ; it is the only thing I have not seen.' 
 
 ' Well, sir, I have, and, from that moment, 
 I was a changed man. It is a mere toy witli 
 tlie showmen ; to a man that can put two and 
 
254 THE ISLAND 
 
 two together, it is what tlie fall of the apple 
 was to Newton. The first time I saw it, I did 
 not sleep for three nights. I went into a dime 
 show in Broadway, and there were these 
 things, along with a Circassian lady, and, I 
 believe, a calculating boy. I began with the 
 fleas, and I never gave another thought to the 
 rest. There were a dozen of them, of various 
 sizes and nationalities — English fleas, Russian 
 fleas, American, and so on ; and there was a 
 good deal of patter, that meant nothing, as to 
 wliat each nationality could do, all winding up, 
 of course, in honour of the Stars and Stripes. 
 The Russian flea was big, but lazy ; the 
 English flea tough, but obstinate; the Amer- 
 ican flea all sprightliness, audacity, energy, 
 and good sense. I soon stopped that, by 
 making believe I was a Scotchman, when he 
 produced a creature from its bed of wadding 
 in a pill-box, and said it came from Mull, 
 and was the smartest thing in his stables. I 
 gave him a dollar, and asked him not to play 
 the fool, and he fell to business at once. I 
 wanted to get at the principle of the thing, 
 you understand. The creatures were har- 
 nessed with a woman's hair — a man's would 
 
ANOTHER SAIL 
 
 255 
 
 have been too coarse — tied round tliat dip in 
 their bodies that makes a natural waist. 
 Then, when you had them fast in this way b}^ 
 one end of the hair, you put tlie other end to 
 whatever you wanted to set going — Queen 
 Victoria's coach, in cardboard, or the miller's 
 cart. The flea naturally tried to get away, 
 and that was your motive power. Wlien vou 
 wanted him to turn the treadmill, you put 
 him up against the wheel, just like his betters 
 and, the faster he tried to run away, the 
 faster the thing went round. That was 
 always the principle of it ; utilise the move- 
 ment of flight — a new escapement beyond any- 
 thing in the watchmaker's art. Well, sir, this 
 showman saw" nothing beyond his fleas, but, at 
 a glance, I saw ahead of them to all animal 
 life. Make the animals earn their livinfr, I 
 said to myself; work up your reflex action 
 for the benefit of man. It would solve the 
 labour problem : no more strikes ! When 
 once I had got my thoughts in that groove, I 
 seemed to see nothing but loafing idleness in 
 all Nature. Take even the working animals ; 
 what do many of them do for Man ? There's 
 nothing serious in beaver dams, for instance, 
 
256 THE ISLAND 
 
 from that point of view. They are generally 
 a mere obstruction, for want of an intelligent 
 foreman of the works. And as for the ants, 
 though I admit they are too small to count in 
 business, wliy flatter them up ? I say nothing 
 of their useless lighting ; but did an ant ever 
 make anything to eat, or anything to wear ? 
 There, sir, when I got that idea into my head, 
 I couldn't read the poets, for sheer disgust at 
 the way in which they wrote about these 
 creatures, and missed the real point. It was 
 the same when I went to a menagerie, and I 
 always went wlien I could. It made me real 
 sad. Think of the waste of power in a cage 
 of apes ! Nothing to be done with them but 
 nut-cracking, and swinging on the horizontal 
 bar — never tell me ! ' 
 
 He had now settled himself for a lonsf 
 night's talk, and, all things considered, I was 
 not loath to find him a listener. There might 
 be still more in it, I thought, tlian even he 
 perceived ; and, as he had looked beyond tlie 
 showman, others, who were not without a 
 lingering tenderness for a beauty of life fast 
 perishing of the malady of use, miglit look 
 beyond him. Besides, now that one was fairly 
 
ANOTHER SAIL 257 
 
 awake, it was so sweet to feel alive a^jain. 
 For, beyond the gleam of his candle, I caught 
 a glimpse of the starry sky, and his mono- 
 tone was sometimes tempered to the ear by 
 the note of a night bird. 
 
 The bird seemed to put him in a rage. 
 'Just so! Just so!' he said with severity, 
 apostrophising the unseen musician through 
 the open casement. ' How should you know 
 better, when those who ought to know have 
 been encouraging you all their lives ? Did 
 you ever read a book called " The Birds of 
 the Poets," my friend ? It is just heartbreak- 
 ing, if you take it from the point of view of 
 an employer of labour. All this singing — 
 why do they do it ? Just because there's 
 nobody to set them to work. Who does 
 most whistling ? The loafer at the street 
 corner. It's pent up energy, sir, that must 
 find a vent. That's wliy there's so much fuss 
 about feathered love-making : they've got to 
 kill time. Develop industry, and you'll soon 
 have less billing and cooing. Look at Spain 
 and Italy — why it was nothing but that sort 
 of thing till they went into manufactures. 
 There ain't much guitar playing in Catalonia 
 
 s 
 
2 58 THE ISLAND 
 
 now ; and you'd better not go to Bilbao, if 
 you've a taste for the castanets. Men have 
 got to keep themselves employed ; and, if 
 tliey are not making cottons, or smelting iron, 
 they'll be fighting duels, or running off with 
 one another's wives. The animal kingdom is 
 full of wasted power, that's my point. You 
 can't use all of it : Ave haven't got to that 
 pitch of intelligence ; but you can begin to 
 try. Did you ever notice a cloud hanging 
 low over the water, not a yard away, and 
 stretching, perhaps, for miles and miles? 
 What do you think it is ? Young shrimps 
 bounding up and down, just to show they're 
 glad — millions, billions, trillions of 'em. 
 There's power for you, if you could work it 
 up. I don't say you could, in this case ; I 
 don't want to be fancifid. I only say what a 
 fine thing, if you could : let us talk like 
 practical men. See how the dog has sneaked 
 out of industry. One time he used to earn 
 his own dinner by roasting his master's ; but 
 that's all over now. I don't say he costs less 
 than the roasting-jack, but I'm talking of the 
 principle of the thing. What is he now ? A 
 machine for hcking the hand of his owner, 
 
ANOTHER SAIL 259 
 
 and for barking when visitors pull the bell. 
 It ain't as though he washed your hand — 
 you've got to wash it after him, instead — and 
 if the help is too deaf to hear the bell, she 
 will be too deaf to hear the dog. The dog is 
 a humbug, and his show of affection is only a 
 way of fooling us out of a free lunch. What 
 does it amount to — all this running to and fro 
 after nothing, and all this jumping about .^ 
 Sheer waste of power. The Dutchmen and 
 the Esquimaux are the only wise people ; they 
 turn it to account. Put him in harness, and 
 he'll soon leave off pawing your pants. As 
 for cats, I am ashamed of them, and I am 
 more ashamed of the human beings that 
 
 o 
 
 encourage them in their profitless ways. In 
 most houses, they don't even catch the mice : 
 it's all done with traps. A pet animal of any 
 kind is an economic monstrosity. Do you 
 know how I interpret the singing of birds in 
 their cages ? They are sniggering at man to 
 think they have done him out of their board. 
 There's a use for everything ; why, even 
 tortoises, if you know how to manage them, 
 will tell you when it's going to rain. Sir, I 
 want to make idleness a caution to the whole 
 
26o THE ISLAND 
 
 animal creation — even a caution to snakes. 
 The bloodhound — send him back into the 
 Police service, and give him a blue overcoat 
 for uniform, if you like. There's power every- 
 where ; why you've a perfect sledge hammer 
 in every alligator's tail ! How about the weight 
 of the hippopotamus for crushing cane ? I'd 
 just turn your Zoological Gardens into a fac- 
 tory, by thunder I would ! and make every 
 blessed animal do something for his living. 
 No song, no supper. The squirrels would do 
 for thread winders ; the giraffes, for reaching 
 things off shelves. You'd lose by it at start- 
 ing, just as you do by prison labour, but you'd 
 soon find out how to make it pay.' 
 
 He seemed to be growing drowsy, but I 
 was wakeful enough, and I wanted him to go 
 on. My curiosity seemed to gratify him, and 
 he roused himself for a further effort. 
 
 ' You want to begin somewhere, on a small 
 scale — in some place where there's nobody to 
 laugh. It's like any other experiment ; you'll 
 have to play with it at first, and keep your 
 own counsel. You want a little place up in a 
 corner ; this place would do. Why not this 
 place, eh ? ' he said, sitting bolt upright, and 
 
ANOTHER SAIL 261 
 
 fixing me with the inventor's eye. ' You are 
 quiet ; you are out of the world ; you ain't of 
 much account in creation — you know my 
 meaning — and you've no character to lose. 
 Just think of it ; one fine day you might send 
 your little specimen of animal manufactures 
 to a European Exhibition, and then you'd be 
 a second hub of the universe. What do you 
 do with your goats, for instance? Why not 
 put 'em into harness ? I mean real business, 
 not baby play. How about a goat tramway 
 from old Forelock's house there, all along the 
 Eidge, to the foot of the Point ? fare, a potato, 
 if you must carry your small change about in 
 that way. You are just teeming with life, sir, 
 and life is powder. Your sea birds — it's a sad 
 sight ! I know something could be done with 
 'em. Train up a happy family, new^ style — a 
 happy factory, the whole lot, cat, and dog, 
 and mouse, and guinea-pig, and barn-door 
 fowl, all at work, instead of sitting on the 
 mope, and all turning out something that 
 would sell by the yard. Then lecture on the 
 utihsation of reflex action all through the 
 States. It would make your fortune as a show, 
 and when that was played out, you could 
 
262 THE ISLAND 
 
 easily get up a company to run it as a business 
 concern. You've no monkeys, but, lord, you 
 are rich in sea birds ! I can't bring in the 
 birds yet,' he murmured, as another plaintive 
 note of a night watcher sounded from the out- 
 side. ' I can't bring in the birds.' 
 
 In another instant, he had turned himself 
 off at the main a second time, and was fast 
 asleep. 
 
263 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 A PARAGRAPH. 
 
 There was no sleep for me. This seemed the 
 final stroke of treason against the happiness 
 of sentient Ufe. I had done my best to spoil 
 humanity's share of it, till Victoria entered her 
 caveat against the crime ; and here was this 
 sleeping figure, as my logical sequel, with all 
 animate Nature for his mark. 
 
 It was a distressing thought, and I looked 
 round for something to drive it away. The 
 Captain's bundle of newspapers lay on a chair, 
 and I took them up to read myself to sleep. 
 
 I might as well have taken coffee as 
 an opiate. As I turned these fatal leaves, 
 hfe in all its littleness seemed to beat in upon 
 me, with a suffocating rush, from every 
 quarter of the globe. I was in the fever- 
 struck crowd once more, after my spiritual 
 quarantine of months. It was as a coming 
 
264 THE ISLAND 
 
 back to consciousness after chloroform : my 
 brain throbbed, every pulsation was pain. 
 I darted from column to column, from page 
 to page. I had lost the art of selection : one 
 thing was as another thing, and each im- 
 pression was a shock. Once again, I realised 
 Europe and America, Asia and Africa, but 
 only as masses in a whirl. The Ball itself, 
 with all its continents, seemed to have sud- 
 denly whizzed my way, as I lay dreaming on a 
 cloud in space. Every particle was in move- 
 ment, as well as the mass ; it was a huge 
 rolling cheese, putrid with unwliolesome being 
 — a low-bred world, not a world at all, a mere 
 glorified back-court, with all its clieatings, 
 thefts, lies, cruellies, small cares, and small 
 ambitions, multiplied into themselves, and into 
 one another, to make a whole. The liner 
 things alone seemed Avithout an entry, as 
 though, in a business reckoning, such trifles 
 could not count. 
 
 I did not know how to read it. Picking 
 and choosing was impossible ; I took it as it 
 came. ' Brigandage in the public Thorough- 
 fares ; ' ' Foreign Paupers blocking the City 
 Streets ; ' ' Outrages on English Fishermen ; ' 
 
A PARAGRAPH 265 
 
 'Parliament — two Members suspended ;' 'Af- 
 ghanistan — Five hundred killed;' 'Moon- 
 lighting in Ireland ; a Policeman's Head beaten 
 to Pulp ; ' ' Evictions — Death of an Old 
 Woman on the Eoadside ; ' 'A Hundred 
 People Burned to Death in a Theatre ; ' 
 ' Brutal Treatment of a Boy.' This was from 
 the English budget. The American was more 
 appalling in the cool devilry of its mocking 
 headlines, 'as though all the woe and all the 
 folly of the world were but one stupendous 
 joke — 'Green Immigrants sold like Cattle;' 
 ' Awful Eailway Accident ; the Luie stripped 
 bare by Speculators, and no Money to Pay for 
 Eepairs ; ' ' Mr. Chown's Dyspepsia ; In the Ac- 
 quisition of Millions, his Digestion had to go ; ' 
 ' A Crank writing a weekly Begging-Letter for 
 Fourteen Years, asking for ;^50,000 to start a 
 Newspaper ; ' ' No Holiday for Philadelphia's 
 wealthiest Bachelor ; Watching his large In- 
 terests, and Keeping the Eun of Quotations all 
 through the Hot Spell ; ' ' Mistaken Parsimony 
 makes the Insane Asylum a Pest Hole of 
 Disease ; ' ' Schevitch voted an Idiot ; ' ' The 
 last Wrinkle in Thieving ; ' ' Socialists cry 
 " Eats ; " ' ' Carbolic Acid isn't Holy Water ; ' 
 
266 THE ISLAND 
 
 ' The Bulk of the Jewelry melted into Bars ; ' 
 ' Marvellous Anecdotes of the Altitudinous 
 Aristocracy of Great Britain ; ' ' Society at 
 Saratoga — another Brilliant Week ; ' ' Pros- 
 perity of the Country ; a lady with Thirty- 
 eight Trunks ; ' ' Pa says he likes Saratoga, 
 because he has a Private Wire to the Stock 
 Exchange.' 
 
 And tlien, suddenly, in one of our own 
 papers, my own name. 
 
 ' Henry is altogether inaccurate as to the 
 
 disappearance of poor Lord . He has been 
 
 missing, or, at any rate, away from home, 
 for nearly a year, instead of " for the better 
 
 part of two months." The family at 
 
 Court have tried to keep the matter out of the 
 newspapers, and that, no doubt, is why Henry 
 has not heard of it till now. Others, who 
 were better informed, kept silent, because 
 they did not wish to cause unnecessary 
 alarm.' 
 
 ' It is certainly true that the shock has 
 been too much for the poor Dowager-Coun- 
 tess, and tliat her condition causes the gravest 
 
A PARAGRAPH 267 
 
 uneasiness. Lord was her favourite son. 
 
 It is not true that he has been lieard from 
 only once since he left England. At the out- 
 set, he wrote from Paris, as well as from 
 Genoa.' 
 
 ' The Genoa letter was somewhat enig- 
 matical: — "Running away for a ramble; news 
 when I come back." This naturally excited 
 the Dowager's apprehensions. The police 
 were consulted, somewhat too soon, and they 
 discovered that he had been seen at Geneva in 
 rather questionable company. The Dowager 
 immediately jumped to the conclusion that he 
 had fallen into a Nihilist snare. From that 
 moment, she refused to believe that he was 
 alive, and, though a subsequent letter bearing 
 his signature was shown to her, she declined 
 to accept the evidence of his handwriting.' 
 
 ' Henry is doubly wrong in saying that 
 
 Lord was never heard of after the Genoa 
 
 letter. A few weeks ago, direct news of him 
 was received in a rather extraordinary way. 
 During her late cruise in the South Seas, 
 H.M.S. " EoUo " touched at one of the Islands 
 
268 THE ISLAND 
 
 (I forget which), and there, in the best of heahli 
 and spirits, she found tlie missing man. He 
 had fallen under the spell of a native beauty, 
 and, I believe, was about to get himself 
 tattooed, as a preliminary to adoption by the 
 tribe. He sent affectionate messages to his 
 family, but he could not be prevailed upon to 
 make any promise of an immediate return.' 
 
 ' The messages have been communicated 
 to the Dowager, but she persists in regarding 
 them with incredulity. She is persuaded that 
 
 Lord fell a victim to foul play at Genoa, 
 
 or Geneva, and that all these communi- 
 cations have been forged in his name. Her 
 delusions constitute the only serious feature 
 of the case. These are the facts, if Henry 
 will condescend to accept them as such for 
 the benefit of his readers ; and I may further 
 
 inform him that Court has been shut 
 
 up.' 
 
269 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 AXOTHER PARTING. 
 
 I DROPPED the paper, and lay staring at the 
 wall, with aching eyeballs, till long past dawn. 
 What my thoughts were, need not be told. 
 They were hardly thoughts ; they were only 
 pangs of remorse. 
 
 Then, suddenly, I rose, dressed in all haste, 
 saved my paper from the leafy litter of the 
 night, and went out to find the girl. 
 
 I met her, almost on the threshold, fresh 
 from her morning dip in the sea ; and, with- 
 out greeting, put the paper in her hand — 
 ' Victoria, what must I do ? ' 
 
 I watched her face as she read, and saw all 
 its glow of youth and health die suddenly to 
 an ashen cast. There was something so awful 
 in the change that, without another word, I 
 walked away. 
 
 When I returned to the house, the Ancient 
 
270 'THE ISLAND 
 
 and the Skipper were alone, witli tlie remains 
 of their breakfast before them. Victoria, to 
 all ap])earance, had served the meal as con- 
 scientiously as though nothing had happened. 
 The old man pressed me to eat, and I broke 
 bread. 
 
 ' Xo one seems to have any appetite 
 this morning but you and me, Captain,' lie 
 said. • I wonder what's the matter with my 
 girl ? ' 
 
 There was dead silence. I would not 
 answer, and the Captain could not. He 
 seemed to have an instinctive aversion to 
 situations of that sort, and he began to re- 
 sume the conversation which my entrance had 
 interrupted. 
 
 ' Yes, sir, off to-morrow mornnig ; repairs 
 or no repairs. Time's up. I've betted a hat 
 on this voyage. It's a go-as-you-please match 
 against time, for the circumnavigation of the 
 globe. Don't try to keep me ; I shall lose my 
 hat!' 
 
 Victoria entered. If the red had not 
 come back to her cheek, the sickening white 
 had left. She seemed quite calm. 
 
 ' Our guest is going away to-morrow, girl, 
 
ANOTHER PARTING 271 
 
 said the old man. ' Tell him how we hate to 
 say good-bye.' 
 
 ' Both our guests are going away, my 
 father,' was Victoria's reply. 
 
 Her stern serenity seemed to preclude 
 debate. I could only look at her. The old 
 man, speechless, too, for the moment, glanced 
 from one to the other of us. Even the Captain 
 seemed roused to a perception of something 
 out of the common. 
 
 ' Both going away,' repeated the Ancient, 
 after a pause. ' Surely you, sir ' 
 
 ' My father,' said Victoria gently, ' I know 
 what I am saying ; and our friend knows it 
 too. He must go. Let us try to thank God 
 that we have kept him so long.' 
 
 'What's amiss?' inquired the old man. 
 ' What have we done ? I've always wanted 
 him to think that he is master here.' 
 
 ' Dearest friend ! ' I said, taking his honest 
 hand — I could say no more. 
 
 ' This is it, my father,' said the girl, coming 
 to where we sat, and kissing the old man. 
 ' Our friend's life is not our life. He has his 
 own people, and his people call him. They 
 have been calling to him ever since he came to 
 
272 THE ISLAND 
 
 US, and last night their voice reached him half 
 way round the world. The time has come for 
 another parting, that is all. Sooner or later, 
 all things end that way with us. Our little 
 Island is the house of parting, and God has 
 made us to live alone.' 
 
 ' If I only knew what we had done amiss ! ' 
 repeated the foolish old man. 
 
 ' Oh, father, won't you try. to understand ? ' 
 she said, kissing him tenderly, again. ' See 
 wliat is written here,' and she gave him the 
 paper. ' But you cannot know all it means. 
 I will tell you, if only our friends will leave 
 us together for a little while.' 
 
 We went out. The Captain, feeling the 
 situation beyond him, had fallen into a watch- 
 ful silence. I satisfied liis natural curiosity in 
 a few words, as soon as we were outside. I 
 was glad of that relief of speech, such as it 
 was. There was no relief possible, in utter- 
 ance, for my deeper thoughts. I wanted 
 something to rouse me from what seemed a 
 creeping torpor of death. 
 
 It came, as we made our way through the 
 settlement. The child that had been the 
 herald of my coming was now the herald of 
 
ANOTHER PARTING 273 
 
 my going. She was Victoria's favourite, 
 and she had perhaps received a hint when 
 the girl's resolution was formed. At any 
 rate, the sprite was running from house to 
 house, as briskly as on the day of that first 
 message: — 'Mother, mother! here's a lord.' 
 It was that scene again with a difference — 
 the people trooping out of their cottages, the 
 women crying, the men pressing forward to 
 wring my hand, and all asking questions at 
 once in the third person, though they seemed 
 to be addressed to me ; ' Why is he going ? 
 What has happened ? How did he get the 
 message .^ Oh, his poor mother ! Will she 
 ever forgive us ? Thirteen thousand miles 
 away ! Make him promise to come back. 
 What will Victoria do ? ' As tliey talked, 
 others could be seen running towards us from 
 the distant fields, leaving their work as they 
 got wind of the dire report. ' Business was 
 suspended ' for the day. 
 
 Then the Ancient left his house, and joined 
 the group. He held up his hand, and they 
 gathered about him in full plebiscitary meet- 
 ing of the settlement. ' Friends,' he said, 
 ' we are going to lose a brother. I hoped to 
 
 T 
 
274 THE ISLAND 
 
 keep him for ever, but Victoria says he must 
 go. I hoped he would forget the way back, 
 and the home he left behind ; but something 
 has come to remind him of it. Even now I 
 do not well know what it is, but something 
 has come. The women, I think, will under- 
 stand it better than we do. I hoped he would 
 stay with us, and be our guide and teacher, 
 and let me take my rest. We want a helper 
 to show us how they do things out in the 
 great world. Some say we are happier with- 
 out it — who can tell ? We are as children 
 that have never known a mother's knee. He 
 could have shown us the way. I must not 
 ask him to stay : Victoria says he ought to go, 
 and Victoria knows ' (voices, ' Yes, Victoria 
 knows'). 'If I might ask him, I would say, 
 "Take all you want here — all it is in our 
 power to give — my place, my bit of land 
 
 ' Give him the long field under the Eidge ! ' 
 cried the voices again ; ' Build a house for 
 him ! Make him magistrate next year ! Have 
 two magistrates ! ' 
 
 All turned towards me. I shook my 
 head. The children clustered about me, cry- 
 ing, and soon, with their treble, was mingled 
 
ANOTHER PARTING 275 
 
 a deeper note of woe. How shall words paint 
 the misery of that scene ? As I had felt 
 before, so I felt now — a rage of pity for the 
 sorrow that seems to be our lot in life. 
 
 A word or act of power and control was 
 wanting ; and it came. Victoria, tearless, and 
 with the set look on her face that I had 
 caught for an instant on the day she saved 
 my life at the Cave, stepped into our midst, 
 and drew the old man aside. After that, not 
 a word was spoken, and the assembly seemed 
 to melt away. 
 
 Victoria had become the leader of the settle- 
 ment ; no one seemed to question her com- 
 mands. They were not commands so much 
 as imperious wishes which all divined. It 
 was understood that the Captain was to give 
 me passage to Europe ; he was never asked to 
 do it. Still less, was I asked if I would take 
 the passage. Victoria pushed forward my 
 departure with an energy, controlling and 
 controlled, worthy of a crisis of battle. She 
 stood on the beach while the whale boat 
 laboured to and fro betwixt ship and shore to 
 complete our exchange of stores with the 
 American. The presents of the Islanders to 
 
276 THE ISLAND 
 
 me made the better part of an entire load. 
 I had brou2[ht nothinoj to the Island but the 
 clothes in which I stood upright, and a roll of 
 paper money which the Ancient had always 
 refused to diminish by the substance of a 
 single note. The money had not been useless, 
 for all that. It had enabled me to make 
 some purchases, to repair my outfit, on the 
 coming of the Queen's ship, and now it pro- 
 cured from the crew of the trader a few 
 presents for my generous hosts. 
 
 The excitement of these preparations 
 helped to suspend the anguish of parting. 
 But, at nightfall, this returned with cruel 
 force, when the people gathered on the moonlit 
 green, to sing me their simple songs of fare- 
 well. It was the whole settlement, save one : 
 Victoria was not to be found. They came with 
 cheerful faces : the sorrow of the morning, 
 I knew, would be renewed in due season, but 
 their natures lived ever in the moment as it 
 passed. The children prattled and played ; 
 and, in the murmur of talk among their elders, 
 there was no note of woe. Under the shining 
 sun, it might have been a scene of joy ; and, 
 if the moonlight touched it into sadness, this 
 
ANOTHER PARTING 277 
 
 was but a spiritual associatiou of ideas. They 
 sang all that they thought would please me, 
 all that I had ever liked — the joyous songs, 
 of course, in preference. All were sad songs to 
 me. At last, with slow and measured cadence, 
 their perfect voices rising in the perfect night, 
 they began the one I had always loved most. 
 It was a song of parting and of death, with 
 the burden, ' When I am gone — when I am 
 gone.' 
 
 Before the second stanza was over, I had 
 stolen from my place in the shadow, with 
 such a passion of sorrow stirring to the very 
 depths of my being, as I had never known 
 in all my life. 
 
278 THE ISLAND 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 
 
 I WALKED away in unutterable despondency, 
 relieved only by one purpose, one hope — to 
 find Victoria. I had not far to go to seek 
 her : her statuesque form was outlined against 
 the clear sky above the Peak. 
 
 She turned to fjreet me with a grave smile. 
 
 ' You came away before it was over ; I 
 was wiser than you, I came away before it 
 began. I suppose it is because we are wild 
 people that we make such a ceremony of 
 saying " Good-bye." Before they taught us to 
 be Christians, you know, we used to make 
 just the same fuss about death.' 
 
 ' Is it good-bye, Victoria .^ I hardly know 
 what it is. It looks like dismissal, without a 
 word of leave-taking. You seem to have sent 
 me away.' 
 
 ' I have sent you away,' she said, her 
 
AN EXPLANATION 279 
 
 voice trembling a little, and then instantly 
 recovering its tone. ' Yes, I want always to 
 be able to feel that I told you, when the time 
 had come, to go.' 
 
 A pang shot through my heart that was 
 not regret, but a sort of jealous rage. 
 
 ' You are a great observer of times and 
 seasons, Victoria. Perhaps, even now, I have 
 lingered too long.' 
 
 ' Perhaps,' she said, with tlie note deeper, 
 richer than before, but no less firm. Then 
 she added, as though to make her meaning 
 more clear : 
 
 ' If there were all the reasons in the world 
 for keeping you, dearest friend, you must still 
 go, to save your mother's life. You feel the 
 force of that reason as much as I do. Why 
 seek for more ? ' 
 
 ' That reason, from myself to myself, 
 Victoria, may be enough. It is not enough 
 from you to me.' 
 
 ' Prom me to you then,' she said ; ' will tliis 
 do ? All things leave us, as we stand here in 
 this Isle ; all things pass us by. Whatever 
 comes to us, as surely goes. Why should we 
 hope to keep it, when that must be the end ? 
 
28o THE ISLAND 
 
 God has marked us out for solitude : let ns 
 bow to God's will. Nothing could keep you 
 here : it is written. Nothing has kept others.' 
 
 The pang that had almost ceased darted 
 through me again with its full force, at these 
 last words. ' Cold, cruel heart ! ' I said in a 
 fury of pain, ' you have never cared to keep 
 me. Why had you not pity enough to let me 
 die, when the waves tossed me here ? ' 
 
 She gave me one gjance, of which I could 
 not catch the full expression in the uncertain 
 light, straightened herself, folded lier hands be- 
 hind her, and turned her face towards the sea. 
 
 The wrathful agony of my feelings endured 
 even under this rebuke, much as I felt I de- 
 served it. I was distinctly aware that I was 
 playing a pitiful part before her, and distinctly 
 unable to help playing it. The torment of 
 losing her, of being nothing to her, over- 
 powered every finer feehng : and the more I 
 felt the degradation of my violence, the more 
 desperate the violence seemed to become. I 
 felt only the goading of the pain of loss, and, 
 forgetting all my fine resolves to treat her 
 with the disdain with which I thought she 
 was treating me, I caught her in my arms 
 
AN EXPLANATION 281 
 
 and covered her lips, her eyes, her brow, with 
 passionate kisses, till she sank for support 
 upon a jutting stone. It was no timid first 
 kiss of pastoral flirtation, but twenty, following 
 as quick on one another as a rain of angry 
 blows. There was a sort of anger in them, 
 as well as love. I seemed to feel that I had 
 been made the sport of her innocence. What 
 had I not lost by trying to outdo her in 
 tenderness, in generosity, and reserve ? So I 
 interpret my feelings now : at the moment, 
 nothing could have been more devoid of con- 
 scious motive than the madness of this act. 
 The brute that is in each of us, and that is 
 only half held in check by laws, observances, 
 and uses, seemed suddenly to have slipped his 
 chain. 
 
 Yet, if the act was a surprise to me, in 
 itself, it was a greater surprise in its effect 
 upon Victoria. The girl seemed to sink down, 
 from sheer want of the power of resistance. 
 The lips parted, without word or sound, but 
 the eyes met the fierce gaze of mine with in- 
 finite tenderness ; and, when she did speak, 
 this was what I heard : 
 
 ' Oh, I love you, I love you — better than 
 
282 THE ISLAND 
 
 my own life : and I will never have you love 
 me : and to-morrow you shall go away from 
 me for ever.' 
 
 The thing had been said, and there was no 
 unsaying it. In vain, Victoria, resuming her 
 self-control almost as quickly as she had lost 
 it, disengaged herself from my arms, which 
 had sought her beautiful shape. 
 
 She sat silent, in what I could not but feel 
 was a silence of shame. For the moment, I 
 was silent too. We were both, in a manner, 
 stunned by the shock of that avowal. Victoria 
 had said what she meant never to say : I had 
 heard what I never hoped to hear. If I had 
 expectation of anything — though, indeed, I 
 think I had none — it was rather of anger and 
 fierce repulse. 
 
 I was the first to recover speech, if not 
 self-possession. I took her hand : thank Heaven 
 I had enough sense and feeling left not to 
 claim her lips on the strength of what had 
 just passed. I tried to tell her something of 
 what I had wanted to tell her all this weary 
 time — how my love for her had come, first, 
 through the divine suggestion of her shape, 
 and voice, and ways, and how her soul had 
 
AN EXPLANATION 283 
 
 completed what they had begun, and turned 
 enchantment into one of the laws of beino-. 
 
 o 
 
 She listened, and soon, as I couJd see, 
 no longer with shame. The hand I held re- 
 turned the pressure of my own, and I felt the 
 thrilling touch of the other on my brow and 
 hair. 
 
 She spoke at last. ' Listen, dear friend : 
 now all must be said. It is too late to blame 
 you for what has happened, or even to blame 
 myself for letting it happen. It was to be. 
 No human soul could be angry that knew 
 how I tried, not even ' 
 
 I would not let her utter the nam_e. * Never 
 speak of him. What can he be to you ? What 
 fate does he deserve ? ' but she laid her finger 
 on my lips, 
 
 ' I know ; my heart is yours, but only he 
 shall release my hand.' 
 
 ' Victoria ! ' 
 
 ' Oh ! listen, listen, and be still ! I know all 
 that must be said, and all that must be 
 done. 
 
 ' When you first came, my heart was his, 
 or I thought it was. I thought it had gone 
 out with him into the world — your world, or 
 
284 THE ISLAND 
 
 the next one, they are both just as far away 
 from us. I don't know what I felt about you, 
 except that I felt what was good and true and 
 right. Was it wrong to like you? How can 
 anyone help liking you that knows you ? You 
 spoke to me as no one had spoken to me 
 before. You seemed to know all things. I 
 only wanted to listen to you, and still be true 
 to him. All my hope of myself was in being 
 true. Our people do not always know what 
 that sort of truth is. There are the two 
 strains in our blood ; we are English, and 
 something else. It has shocked me, from my 
 girlhood up, to see how we sometimes forget. 
 We feel so quickly; and all our feeling is in 
 each terrible moment as it flies. I set myself 
 above our people ; I shuddered to think I 
 should ever be like that. My love was part 
 of my respect for myself Half our women 
 have had their love tokens taken away in 
 Queen's ships, and have still lived on to be 
 wives and mothers in the Isle. I could not, 
 I would not be like that. 
 
 ' I did not blame then ; I pitied ! It is all 
 so splendid when the Queen's ships come. 
 The young men in them seem to have dropped 
 
AN EXPLANATION 285 
 
 from the sky. It is like the book of tlie 
 Heathen mythology, with the gods coming 
 down. 
 
 ' When I saw you, I did not know it was to 
 be like that. I felt sure of myself, and, if I 
 had doubted, still T should have felt sure of 
 you. Then slowly, slowly, slowly, came the 
 dreadful change, though, if you had not 
 spoken that day, I might never have known 
 that it had come. When I did know, still it 
 did not seem to be too late. My pride was 
 strong : I did not know the strength of my 
 weakness. I went there every day — to the 
 thicket, and prayed to have him sent back 
 to me. I tried to shut you quite out from 
 my heart, but still to keep you in my soul. 
 You were so good ; you made me think I had 
 done it. You tried to make me think so ; I 
 knew you tried; and your very goodness only 
 made it worse and worse. 
 
 ' Then, I felt I was no longer sure of myself. 
 I tried to keep away from you ; but, to have 
 you near me, and not to see you, not to speak 
 to you, made all the world seem dead and cold. 
 So, I always came back to find you again, of 
 my own accord, wanting to keep all my liappi- 
 
286 THE ISLAND 
 
 ness, when I ought to have chosen which part 
 of it I should give up.' 
 
 ' Victoria, if only I had known ; if only I 
 had understood ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, how dreadful, if you thought me light- 
 minded, playing you off and on. All that I 
 wanted was to like you as much as I dared, 
 without having you like me more than you 
 ought. I should have done, what I see now I 
 must do — send you away, for both our sakes. 
 If I did not see it at once, pity, dear friend, 
 pity, and forgive ! 
 
 ' Then, I prayed again for help ; and see 
 how the help has come ! We might both of us 
 have been too weak for that sacrifice, but now 
 it is laid upon us without our wills. You 
 must go.' 
 
 ' I will come back, come to claim you, my 
 Victoria, to bring you your word of release, 
 to take you, whether you will or no.' 
 
 ' You will never come back,' she said in a 
 tone that seemed to be beyond both hope and 
 despair, and she held my face up to the light 
 and looked down into it with tender yet tear- 
 less eyes. ' You ought not to come back : 
 your place is in the great world — poor little 
 
AN EXPLANATION 287 
 
 great world ! Try to think there is something 
 nobler than love for one — pity for all. Go ; 
 and live for those poor people you have 
 talked about to me.' 
 
 ' I am not equal to it : I could only die 
 for them, at best.' 
 
 ' Still — I know what I am saying — others 
 must claim you : your station ' 
 
 ' Victoria, is your opinion of me so 
 low ? Do you send me back to resume the 
 " English gentleman " ; and to hide my shame 
 in being nothing in the smug proprieties of 
 that poor creature's lot ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know, dear friend, but this I 
 feel — we must lose you for ever : no one 
 returns here.' 
 
 ' Then let me never go away,' I cried, rising, 
 and clasping her again to my heart. ' Let me 
 love you, and be with you for ever, and forget 
 all the world beside.' 
 
 Once more I saw a beginning of that 
 exquisite languor which had ahnost made her 
 mine. The lips of the beautiful creature 
 parted, but only in sighs ; the eyes closed. ()nce 
 more, too, my own lips approached them, 
 when the girl roused herself, by some mys- 
 
288 THE ISLAND 
 
 terious exertion of will, tore herself from 
 my embrace, and ran to the very edge of the 
 cHff. 
 
 ' Deep into the deep sea, beloved one, 
 for ever beloved of my heart, if you come one 
 step more ! Go now, go from me, and leave 
 me to say my prayers. I love you ; take that 
 last word from Victoria ; you will never hear 
 her voice again.' 
 
 ' She shall hear mine. After such a last 
 word, my Victoria, there must be more. If 
 you could have told me I was nothing to you, 
 I would have gone for ever ; now. Death alone 
 shall part you and me. Go, I must, for a 
 season, but your blessed promise, for promise 
 it is, makes it almost easy to say farewell. 
 Be sure of this, I will come back to claim you, 
 from the other side of the world. I will 
 leave you now, since my presence troubles 
 you ; I will even set sail without trying to 
 speak to you again. But, before I go, you 
 shall give me a sign or a token — a token 
 of submission, my Victoria, I claim no 
 less, a sign that you have conquered your 
 foolish superstition of fidelity, and your cruel 
 pride.' 
 
289 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE PROMISE OF THE SKIES. 
 
 I HAD no room-fellow that night. The Ca})- 
 tain had gone on board, to sleep, leaving word 
 that he would fire his signal-gun very early 
 in the morning. I should have been ready 
 for it, if it had come at dawn. 
 
 The day was but just breaking, when I 
 heard someone stirring in the next room. I 
 ran in, with I know not what wild liope, but 
 only to find the old man. 
 
 He was standing near the recess that 
 formed her bed-chamber, with the sliding 
 panel in his hand, and staring helplessly at the 
 empty bed. It had not been used that night. 
 
 The glance he turned on me was enough ; 
 1 did not wait for his words, but rushed out 
 of the house. 
 
 That horror, thank God, was a false 
 alarm. The child who was her favourite was 
 running towards our cottage with a message 
 
290 THE ISLAND 
 
 that should have been deUvered the night 
 before. She had passed the night under a 
 neighbour's roof. 
 
 As I hurried back witli the news to tlie 
 old man, I heard the signal gun. 
 
 A week has passed, yet I cannot clearly 
 recall what followed. I am dimly aware of 
 a last look at the cottage and the settlement, 
 of a crowd of weeping villagers, of the grasp 
 of j:he Ancient's hand. There is an almost 
 absolute void of perception between the boat 
 at the landing-stage, and the ship, with her 
 solitary passenger, flying at full speed from 
 the shore. Active consciousness seems to 
 have been suspended between these two de- 
 cisive facts. Memory is resumed, with one 
 ineffaceable impression that it must hold for 
 life — Victoria stretching her arms towards 
 the ship, from the summit of the Peak. As 
 she stood there, with her background of 
 fleecy cloud, she seemed rather of heaven 
 than of earth, and her gesture was a promise 
 of the skies. Then, I knew that it was well 
 with me ; and I turned my face from tlie 
 Island with a joyful heart. 
 
 i>polli.inoode jC' Co. I'linters, Xeu-slnet Sqwin; tuiulun. 
 
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 Lindley's Treasury of Botany. 2 vols. fcp. 8vo. 12.«. 
 Loudon's Encyclopsedia of Gardening. 8vo. 21*. 
 
 — — Plants. 8vo. 42*. 
 Rivers's Orchard House. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 
 — Miniature Fruit Garden. Fcp. 8vo. 4.*. 
 Stanley's Familiar History of British Birds. Crown 8vo. Gs. 
 Wood's Bible Animals. With 112 Vignettes. 8vo. 10*. Cii. 
 
 — Common British Insects. Crowni 8vo. 3*. Gd, 
 
 — Homes Without Hands, 8vo. 10*. Gd. 
 
 — Insects Abroad, 8vo. 10*. Gd. 
 
 — Horse and Man. 8vo. 14*. 
 
 — Insects at Home. With 700 Illustrations. 8vo. 10*. Gd. 
 
 — Out of Doors. Crown 8 vo. 5*. 
 
 — Petland Revisited. Cro\vn 8vo. 7*. 6A 
 
 — Strange Dwellings. Crown 8vo. 5*. Popular Edition, 4to. Gd. 
 
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General Lists of Works. 
 
 PRIZE AND PRESENTATION BOOKS. 
 
 Jameson's Sacred aud Legendary Art. 6 vols, square 8vo. 
 Legends of the Madonna. 1 vol. 21.?, 
 
 — — — Monastic Orders 1 vol. 21.?. 
 
 — — — Saints and Martyrs. 2 vols. .31.?. 6^. 
 
 — — — Saviour. Completed by Lady Easiliiko. 2 vols. 42.?. 
 Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome, illustrated by Scharf. Fcp. 4to. 10.?. Crf, 
 The same, with Ivt-y and the Armada, illustrated by Weguolin. Crown 8vo. :?.?. 81/. 
 Now Testament (The) illustratol with Woodcuts after Paintings by the Early 
 
 Masters. 4to. 21.?. 
 
 By Dr. C. Hartwig. 
 Sea Mon.stors and Sea Birds (from 'The^ 
 
 Sea and its Living Wonders'). With 
 
 7.^ Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 2s. Gd. 
 
 cloth e.ttra, gilt edges. 
 Denizens of the Deep (from 'The Pea 
 
 and its Living Won<l(>rs '). Wich 117 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 2.?. 6(Z. cloth 
 
 extra, gilt edges. 
 Dwellers in the Arctic Regions (from 
 
 ' The Sea and its Living Wonders '). 
 
 With 29 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 
 
 '2s. ad. cloth extra, gilt edges. 
 Winged Life in the Tropics (from ' The 
 
 Tropical World '). With 55 Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo. 2.?. Gd. cloth extra, 
 
 gilt edges. 
 Volcanoes and Earthquakes (from 'The 
 
 Subterranean World '). With 30 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 2s. Gd. 
 
 cloth extra, gilt edges. 
 Wild Animals of the Tropics (from ' The 
 
 Tropical World '). With CG Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo. 3s. Gd. cloth extra, 
 
 gilt edges. 
 
 By the Rev. .T. G. Wood. 
 
 The Branch Builders (from ' Homes 
 without IKands'). Witli 28 Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo. 2.?. Gd. cloth extra, 
 gUt edges. 
 
 Wild Animals of the Bible (from ' Bible 
 Animals'). With 2!) Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo. 3.?. 6(/. cloth extra, gilt 
 edge-:. 
 
 Domestic Animal? of the Bible (from 
 'Bible Animals'). With 23 Illus- 
 trations. Crown 8vo. 3s. Gd. cloth 
 extra, gilt edses. 
 
 Bird Life of the Bible tfrom 'Bible 
 Animals'). With 32 Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo. Zs. Gd. cloth extra, gilt 
 eilges. 
 
 Wonderful Nosts (from ' Homes with- 
 out Hands'). With .30 Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo. 3s. Gd. cloth extra, gilt 
 edges. 
 
 Homes Under the Ground (from 
 ' Homes without Hands '). With 
 28 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 3.?. Gd. 
 cloth extra, gilt edges. 
 
 CHEMISTRY ENGINEERING, & GENERAL SCIENCE. 
 
 Arnott's Elements of Physics or Natural Philosophy. Crown 8vo. lis. lid. 
 Barretfs English Glees aud Part-Songs : their Historical Development. 
 
 Crown 8vo. 7.?. Gd. 
 Bourne's Catechism of the Steam Engine. Crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 
 — Handbook of the Steam Engine. Fcp. Svo. 9*. 
 
 — Recent Improvements in the Steam Engine. Fcp. 8vo. 6.?. 
 Buckton's Our Dwellings, Healthy and Unhealthy. Crown 8vo. 3.?. Gd. 
 Clerk's The Gas Engine. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 7.«. Gd. 
 Crookes's Select Methods in Chemical Analysis. Svo. 24i. 
 
 Culley's Handbook of Practical Telegraphy. Svo. 16s. 
 
 Fairbaim's Useful Information for Engineers. 3 vols, crown Svo. 31 «. 8rf. 
 
 — Mills and MiUwork. 1 vol. Svo. 2.5?. 
 Ganot'a Elementary Treatise on Phvsics, by Atkinson. Large crown 8vo. 15s. 
 
 — Natural Philosophy, by Atkinson. Crown Svo. 7.?. Gd. 
 Grove's Correlation of Physical Forces. Svo. 15s. 
 Haughton's Six Lictures on Physical Geography. Svo. 15s. 
 
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General Lists of Works. 
 
 Helmholtz on the fieusatioiis of Toue. Royal 8vo. '2Ss. 
 
 Helmholtz's Lectures on Scientific Subjects. 2 vols, crown 8vo. 7j. 6d. each. 
 
 Hudson and Gosse's The Rotifera or ' Wheel Animalcules.' Witli 30 Coloured 
 
 Plates. 6 parts. 4to. 10s. 6d. each. Complete, 2 vols. 4to. £3. lOi. 
 Hullah'a Lectures on the History of Modern Music. 8vo. 8j. 6d. 
 
 — Transition Period of Musical History. 8vo. lOi. 6d. 
 Jackson's Aid to Engineering Solution. Royal 8vo. 21s. 
 
 Jago's Inorganic Chemistry, Theoretical and Practical. Fcp. 8vo. 2s. 
 
 Jeans' Railway ProI?lems. 8vo. 12s. 6d, 
 
 Kolbe's Short Text-Book of Inorganic Chemistry. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 
 Lloyd's Treatise on Magnetism. 8vo. lOi. 6d. 
 
 Macalister's Zoology and Morphology of Vertebrate Animals. Svo. 10*. 6d. 
 
 Macf arren's Lectures on Harmony. Svo. 1 2*. 
 
 Miller's Elements of Chemistry, Theoretical and Practical. 3 vols. Svo. Part I. 
 
 Chemical Physios, 16i. Part II. Inorganic Chemistry, 24i. Part III. Organic 
 
 Chemistry, price Ms. 6d. 
 Mitchell's Manual of Practical Assaying. Svo. 31*. 6d. 
 Noble's Hours with a Three-inch Telescope. Crown Svo. is. Gd. 
 Northoott's Lathes and Turning, Svo. 18*. 
 Owen's Comparative Anatomy and Physiology of the Vertebrate Animals. 
 
 3 vols. Svo. 73*. 6d. 
 Piesse's Art of Perfumery. Square crown Svo. 21*. 
 Richardson's The Health of Nations; Works and Life of Edwin Chadwick.C.B. 
 
 2 vols. Svo. 28*. 
 
 — The Commonhealth ; a Series of Essays. Crown Svo. 6*. 
 
 Schellen's Spectrum Analysis. Svo. .SI*. 6d. 
 Sennett's Treatise on the Marine Steam Engine. Svo. 21*. 
 Smith's Air and Rain. Svo. 24*. 
 
 Stoney's The Theory of the Stresses on Girders, &c. Royal Svo. 36*. 
 Tilden's Practical Chemistry. Fcp. Svo. 1*. 6i/. 
 Tyndall's Faraday as a Discoverer. Crown Svo. 3*. 66?. 
 
 — Floating Matter of the Air. Crown Svo. 7*. 6d, 
 
 — Fragments of Science. 2 vols, post Svo. 10*. 
 
 — Heat a iloJe of Motion. Crown Svo. 12*. 
 
 — Lectures on Light delivered in America. Crown Svo. 5*. 
 
 — Lessons on Electricity. Crown Svo. 2*. 6d. 
 
 — Note* on Electrical Phenomena. Crown Svo. 1*. sewed, 1*. Gd. cloth. 
 
 — Notes of Lectures on Light. Crown Svo. 1*. sewed, 1*. Sd. cloth. 
 
 — Sound, with Frontispiece and 203 Woodcuts. Cro\vn Svo. 10*. Gd, 
 Watts's Dictionary of Chemistry. 9 vols, medium Svo. £16. 2*. Gd, 
 Wilson's Manual of Health-Science. Crown Svo. 2*. Gd. 
 
 THEOLOGICAL AND RELIGIOUS WORKS. 
 
 Arnold's (Rev. Dr. Thom.as) Sermons. 6 vols, crown Svo. 5.<. each. 
 
 Boultbee's Commentary on the 39 Articles. Crown Svo. C*. 
 
 Browne's (Bishop) Exposition of the 39 Articles. Svo. 16*. 
 
 Bnllinger's Critical Lexicon and Concordance to the English and Greek New 
 
 Testament. Royal Svo. 15*. 
 Colenso on the Pentateuch and Book of .Joshua. Crown Svo. 6*. 
 Conder's Handbook of the Bible. Post Svo. 7*. Gd. 
 
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General lists of Works. 
 
 Conybeare & Howson's Life and Letters of St. Paul : — 
 
 Library Edition, with Maps, Plates, and Woodcuts. 2 vols, square crown 
 
 8vo. ns. 
 Student's Edition, revised and condensed, with 46 Illustrations and Maps. 
 1 vol. crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 Cox's (Homershani) The First Century of Christianity. 8vo. 12.». 
 Davidson's Introduction to the Study of the New Testament. 2 vols. 8vo. 30*. 
 Edersheim's Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah. 2 vols. 8vo. 24.». 
 
 — Prophecy and History in relation to the Messiah. 8vo. 12.f. 
 ElUcntt's (Bishop) Commentary on St. Paul's Epistles. 8vo. Corinthians I. IBs. 
 
 Galatians, 8i. dii, Ephesians, 8.?. 6d. Pastoral Epistles, 10*. 6d. Philippians, 
 Oolossians and Philemon, 10.?. M. Theasalonians, 7s. 6d. 
 
 — Lectures on the Life of our Lord. 8vo. 12.?. 
 Ewald's Antiquities of Israel, translated by Solly. 8vo. 12s. Gd. 
 
 — History of Israel, translated bv Carpenter & Smith. 8 vols. 8vo. VoU. 
 
 1 & 2, 24.S. Vols. 3 & 4, 21,?. Vol. 5, 18.?. Vol. 6, IGs. Vol.7, 21*. 
 
 Vol. 8, ISs. 
 Hobart's Medical Lanf>mage of St. Luke. 8vo. 16.?. 
 Hopkins's Christ the Consoler. Pep. 8vo. 2.?. Gd. 
 Jukes's New Man and the Eternal Life. Crown 8vo. 6.?. 
 
 — Second Death and the Eestitution of all Things. Crown 8vo. 3.?. Gd. 
 
 — Tjrpes of Genesis. Crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 
 — The Mystery of the Kinfrdom. Crown 8vo. 3s. Gd. 
 
 Lenormant's New Translation of the Book of Genesis. Translated into English. 
 
 8vo. 10.?. Gd. 
 Lyra Germanics : Hymns translated by Miss Winkworth. Fcp. 8vo. Bs. 
 Macdonald's (G.) Unspoken Sermons. Two Series, Crown Rvo. 3.?. Gd. each. 
 
 — The Miracles of our Lord. Crown 8vo. 3.?. Gd. 
 
 Manning's Temporal Mission of the Holy Ghost. Crown 8vo. 8.?. Gd. 
 Martineau's Endeavours after the Christian Life. Crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 
 — Hymns of Praise and Prayer. Crown 8vo. 4s. Gd. 32mo. \s. Gd. 
 
 — Sermons, Hours of Thought on Sacred Things. 2 vols. 7s. Gd. each. 
 Monsell's Spiritual Songs for Sundays and Holidays. Fcp. 8vo. St. 18mo. 2j. 
 MUUer'a (Max) Origin and Growth of Keligion. Crown 8vo. 7.?. 6d. 
 
 — — Science of Beligion. Crown 8vo. 7.?. Gd. 
 Newman's Apologia pro Vita SuS. Crown 8vo. Gs. 
 
 — The Idea of a University Defined and Illuatrati'd. Crown 8vo. 7s. 
 
 — Historical Sketches. 3 vols, crown 8vo. fi.?. each. 
 
 — Discussions and Arguments on Various Subjects. Crown 8vo. Gs. 
 
 — An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine. Crown 8vo. 6i. 
 
 — Certain Difficulties Felt by Anelicans in Catholic Teaching Con- 
 
 sidered. Vol. 1, crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. Vol. 2, crowu 8vo. 6s. Gd. 
 
 — The Via Media of the Anglican Church, Illustrated In Lectures, 4o. 
 
 2 vols, crown 8vo. Gs. each 
 
 — Essays, Critical and HistoricaL 2 vols, crown 8vo. 12*. 
 
 — Essays on Biblical and on Ecclesiastical Miracles. Crown 8vo. 6». 
 
 — An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent. 7.?. C(/. 
 Overton's Life in the English Church (1660-1714). 8vo. 14*. 
 Supernatural Religion. Complete Edition. 3 vols. 8vo. 3fi*. 
 Tounehusband's The Story of Our Lord told in Simple Langnnee for Children. 
 
 Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 2*. Gd. cloth plain : 3.?. C</. cloth extra, gilt edges. 
 
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10 General Lists of Works. 
 
 TRAVELS, ADVENTURES, &c. 
 
 Baker's Eight Years in Ce3'lon. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 
 — Rifle and Hound in Ceylon. Crown 8vo. 5s. 
 Brassey's Sunshine and Storm in the East. Library Edition, 8vo. 21*. Cahiuet 
 Edition, crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. Popular Edition, 4to. (Jd. 
 
 — Voyage in the ' Sunbeam.' Library Edition, 8vo. 21.?. Cabinet Edition, 
 
 crown 8vo. 7s. Sd. School Edition, fcp. 8vo. 2*. Popular Editiou, 
 4to. ed. 
 
 — In the Trades, the Tropics, and the ' Roaring Forties.' Library Edition, 
 
 8vo.21<. Cabinet Edition, crown 8vo. 17.!. Cii. Popular Edition, 
 4to. ed. 
 Fronde's Of«ana ; or, England and her Colonies. Crown 8vo. 2.«. boards ; 2s. Crf, 
 
 cloth. 
 Howitt's Visits to Remarkable Places. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 Riley's Athos ; or, The Mountain of the Monks. 8vo. 21*. 
 Three in Norway. By Two of Them. Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 2«. boards ; 
 2*. ad. cloth. 
 
 WORKS OF FICTION. 
 
 Beaconsfield's (The Earl of) Novels and Tales. Hughenden Edition, with 2 
 Portraits on Steel and 11 Vignettes on Wood. 11 vols, crown Svo. £2. 2j. 
 Cheap Edition, 11 vol*, crown 8vo. 1*. each, boards ; Is. CJ. each, cloth. 
 Lothair. j Contarini Flemiug. 
 
 Sybil. Alroy, Ixiou, &c. 
 
 Coningsby. The Young Duke, &c. 
 
 Tancred. Vivian Grey. 
 
 Venetia. Eudymiou. 
 
 Henrietta Temple. 
 Braboume's (Lord) Friends and Foes from Fairyland. Crown 8vo. 6.?. 
 Caddy's (Mrs.) Through the Fields with Linnaeus : a Chapter in Swedish History. 
 
 2 vols, crown Svo. 16s. 
 Gilkes' Boys and Masters. Crown 8vo. 3*. 6d. 
 Haggard's (H. Rider) She: a History of Adventure. Crown 8vo. 6.?. 
 
 — — Allan Quatermain. Illustrated. Crown 8vo. C.t. 
 Harte (Bret) On the Frontier. Three Stories. 16mo. Is. 
 
 — — By Shore and Sedge. Three Stories. 16mo. is. 
 
 — — In the Carquinez Woods. Crown 8vo. \s. boards ; 1.?. M. cloth. 
 Ljall's (Edna) The Autobiography of a Slander. Fcp. l.s. sewed. 
 
 Melville's (Whyte) Novels. 8 vols. fcp. 8vo. \s. each, boards ; l.«. Gd. each, cloth, 
 Dicby Grand. ] Good for Nothing. 
 
 General Bounce. ! Holmby House. 
 
 Kate Coventry. I Tlie Interpreter. 
 
 The Gladiatoi-s. ! The Queen's Maries. 
 
 Molesworth's (Mrs.) MaiTying and Giving in Marriage. Crown Kvo. 2.«. (id. 
 Novels by the Author of ' The Atelier du Lys ' : 
 
 The Atelier du Lys ; or. An Art Student in the Reign of Terror. Crown 
 
 8vo. 2*. 6</. 
 Mademoiselle Mori : a Tale of Modern Rome. Crown 8vo. 2.?. Gd. 
 In the Olden Time : a Tale of the Peasant War in Germany. Crown Svo. 2.?. 6d. 
 Hester's Venture. Crown Svo. 2.s. 6i/. 
 Oliphant's (Mrs.) Ma<iam. Crown Svo. Is. boards ; l.<. dd. cloth. 
 
 — — In Trust: the Story of a Lady and her Lover. Crown Svo. 
 
 U. boards ; Is. 6d. cloth. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., London and New York. 
 
Payn's (James) The Luck of theDarrells. Crown 8vo. Is. boards ; 1«. GJ. clotli. 
 
 — — Thicker tlian Water. Crown 8vo. \s. boards ; Is. 6d. cloth. 
 Reader's Fairy Prince Pollow-my-Lead. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 — The Ghost of Braukiusliaw ; and other Tales. Fop. 8vo. 2s, 6d. 
 Sewell's (Miss) Stories and Tales. Crown 8vo. Is. each, boards ; Is. Gd. cloth ; 
 
 2,?. 6d. cloth extra, gilt edges. 
 Amy Herbert. Cleve Hall. A Glimpse of the World. 
 
 The Earl's Danghter. Katharine Ashton. 
 
 Experience of Life, Laneton Parsonage. 
 
 Gertrude. Ivors. Margaret Percival. Ursula. 
 
 Stevenson's (R. L.) The Dynamiter. Fcp. 8vo. Is. sewed ; Is. Gd. cloth. 
 
 — — Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Fcp. 8vo. Is. 
 
 sewed ; 1*. Gd. cloth. 
 Sturgis' Thraldom : a Story. Crown 8vo. Gs. 
 TroUope's (Anthony) Novels. Fcp. 8vo. \s. each, boards ; 1,?. Gd. cloth. 
 
 The Warden | Barchester Towers. 
 
 POETRY AND THE DRAMA. 
 
 Armstrong's (Ed. J.) Poetical Works. Fcp. 8vo. 5s. 
 — (G. P.) Poetical Works :— 
 
 Poems, Lyrical and Dramatic. Fcp. 
 
 Svo. Gs. 
 TJgone : a Tragedy. Fcp. Svo. Gs. 
 A Garland from Greece. Fcp. 8vo.9s. 
 
 King Saul. Fcp. Svo. 5s. 
 King David. Fop. 8vo. Gs. 
 King Solomon. Fcp. Svo. Gs, 
 Stories of Wicklow. Fcp. Svo. !).?. 
 
 Bowen's Harrow Songs and other Verses. Fcp. Svo. 2s, Gd. ; or printed on 
 
 baud-made paper, 5s. 
 Bowdler's Family Shakespeare. Medium Svo. lis. G vols. fcp. Svo. 2ls, 
 Dante's Divine Comedy, translated by Jan es Innes Mincbin. Crown Svo. \5s. 
 Goethe's Faust, translated by Birds. Large crown Svo. I'is. Gd. 
 
 — — translated by Webb. Svo. 12i. Gd. 
 
 — — edited by Selss. Crown Svo. 5s. 
 Ingelow's Poems. Vols. 1 and 2, fcp. Svo. 12.?. 
 
 — Lyrical and other Poems. Fcp. Svo. 25. Gd. cloth, plain ; 3s, cloth, 
 
 gilt edges. 
 Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome, with Ivry and the Araiada. Illustrated by 
 
 Weguelin. Crown Svo. 3*. Gd. gilt edges. 
 The same, Popular Edition. Illustrated by Scharf. Fcp. 4to. Gd. swd., li. cloth. 
 Nesbit's Lays and Legends. Crown 8vo. 5.?. 
 
 Reader's Voices from Flowerland, a Birthday Book, 2s. Gd. cloth, 3«. Gd. roan. 
 Southey's Poetical Works. Medium Svo. \is. 
 Stevenson's A Child's Garden of Verses. Fcp. Svo. 5s. 
 Virgil's .^neid. translated by Conington. Crown Svo. Ss. 
 
 — Poems, translated into English Prose. Crown Svo. 9j. 
 
 AGRICULTURE, HORSES, DOGS AND CATTLE. 
 
 Fitzwygram's Horses and Stables. Svo. 5s. 
 
 Lloyd's Tbe Science of Agriculture. Svo. l'2s. 
 
 Loudou's Ehcyclopsedia of Agriculture. '2\s. 
 
 Steel's Diseases of the Ox, a Manual of Bovine Pathology. Svo. 15s, 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., London and New York. 
 
12 General Lists of Works. 
 
 Stonehenge'a Dog in Health and Disease. Square crown 8vo. 7j. Od, 
 
 — Greyhound. Square crown 8vo. I6s. 
 
 Taylor's Agricultural Note Book. Pep. 8vo. 2i. 6d. 
 Ville on Artificial Manures, by Crookes. 8to. 21i. 
 Touatt'8 Work on the Dog. 8vo. 6*. 
 
 — — — — Horse, 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 
 SPORTS AND PASTIMES. 
 
 The Badminton Library of Sports and Pastimes. Edited by the Duke of Beaufort 
 and A. B. T. Watson. With numerous Illustrations. Cr. 8vo. 10s. M. each. 
 
 Hunting, by the Duke of Beaufort, &c. 
 
 Pishing, by H. Cholmondeley-Pennell, &c. 2 vols. 
 
 Racing, by the Earl of Suffolk, 4:c. 
 
 Shooting, by Lord Walsingham, &c. 2 vols. 
 
 Cycling. By Viscount Bury. 
 
 ',* Other Volumes in preparation. 
 Campbell-Walker's Correct Card, or How to Play at Whist. Pep. 8vo. 2«. Gd. 
 Ford's Theory and Prattice of Archeiy, revised by W. Butt. 8vo. lis, 
 Francis's Treatise on Fishing in all its Branches, Post 8vo. 155. 
 Longrman's Chess Openings. Fcp. 8vo. 2*. 6d. 
 
 Pease's The Cleveland Hounds as a Trencher-Fed Pack. Royal 8vo. 18j. 
 Pole's Theory of the Modern Scientific Game of Whiat, Fcp. 8vo. 25. td. 
 Proctor's How to Play Whist. Crown 8vo. 55. 
 Ronalds's Fly-Pisher's Entomology. 8vo. 14»-. 
 Vemey's Chess Eccentricities. Crown 8vo. 105. Gd, 
 Wilcocks's Sea- Fisherman. Post 8vo. 65. 
 
 ENCYCLOP/EDIAS, DICTIONARIES, AND BOOKS OF 
 REFERENCE. 
 Acton's Modem Cookery for Private Families. Fcp. 8vo. 45. Gd. 
 Ayre's Treasury of Bible Knowledge. Fcp. 8vo. 65. 
 
 Brande's Dictionary of Science, Literature, and Art, 3 vols, medium 8vo. 635. 
 Cabinet Lawyer (The), a Popular Digest of the Laws of England. Fcp. 8vo. 95, 
 Cates's Dictionary of General Biography. Medium 8vo. 285. 
 G^vilt'8 Encyclopaedia of Architecture. 8vo. 625. 6d. 
 
 Keith Johnston's Dictionary of Geography, or General Gazetteer. 8vo. 42s. 
 M'Culloch's Dictionary of Commerce and Commercial Navigation. 8vo. 685. 
 Maunder'B Biographical Treasury. Fcp. 8vo. 65. 
 
 Historical Treasury. Fcp. 8vo. 65. 
 
 Scientific and Literary Treasury. Fcp. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Treasury of Bible Knowledge, edited by Ayre. Fcp. 8vo. 85. 
 
 Treasury of Botany, edited by Lindley & Moore. Two Parte, 125. 
 
 — Treasury of Geography. Fcp. 8vo. Gs. 
 
 Treasury of Knowledge and Library of Reference. Pop. 8vo. 65. 
 
 Treasury of Natural History. Fcp 8vo. G*. 
 
 Quaiu's Dictionary of Medicine. Medium 8vo. 3 Is. Cd., or in 2 vols. 345. 
 Reeve's Cookery and Housekeeping. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 Rich's Dictionary of Roman and Greek Antiquities. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d, 
 Roget's Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases. Crown 8vo. lOs. 6d. 
 Willich's Popular Tables, by Marriott. Crown 8vo. 10s. Gd.^ 
 
 LONGMANS, GKEEN, & CO., London and New York. 
 
A SELECTION 
 
 OP 
 
 EDUCATIONAL WOEKS. 
 
 TEXT BOOKS OF SCIENCE 
 
 FULLY ILLUSTllATKD. 
 
 Abney's Treatise on Photography. Fcp. 8vo. 3s. 6rf. 
 Anderson's Strength of Materials. 3s, 6rf. 
 Armstrong's Organic Ohemistry. 3s. &d. 
 Ball's Elements of Astronomy. 6.i, 
 Barry's Railway Appliances. 3,». 6rf. 
 Bauerman's Systematic Mineralogy. Ss. 
 — Descriptive Mineralogy. 6s. 
 
 Bloxam and Huntington's Metals. 5s, 
 Glazebrook's Physical Optics. 6s. 
 Glazebrook and Shaw's Practical Physics. 6,!. 
 Gore's Art of Electro- Metallurgy. 6s. 
 
 Griffin's Algebra and Trigonometry. 3s. 6d. Notes and Solutions, 3s. 6d. 
 Holmes's The Steam Engine. 6.s-. 
 Jenkin's Electricity and Magnetism. 3s. 6d. 
 Maxwell's Theory of Heat. 3s. 6rf. 
 
 Merrifield's Technical Arithmetic and Mensuration. 3s. 6d. Key, 3s. 6rf. 
 Miller's Inorganic Chemistry. 3s. Gd. 
 Preece and Sivewright's Telegraphy. 5s. 
 Rutley's Study of Rocks, a Text-Book of Petrology, is. 6d, 
 Shelley's Workshop Appliances. 4s. 6d. 
 Thome's Structural and Physiological Botany. 6s. 
 Thorpe's Quantitative Chemical Analysis. 4s. 6rf. 
 Thorpe and Muir's Qualitative Analysis. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Tilden's Chemical Philosophy. 3s. 6d, With Answers to Problems. 4s. 6d 
 Unwin's Elements of Machine Design. 6s. 
 Watson's Plane and Solid Geometry. 3s. 6rf. 
 
 THE GREEK LANGUAGE. 
 
 Bloomfield's College and School Greek Testament. Fcp. 8vo. 5i. 
 Bollaud & Lang's Politics of Ai-istotle. Post 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 Collis's Chief Tenses of the Greek Irregular Verbs. 8vo. Is. 
 
 — Pontes Grseci, Stepping- Stone to Greek Grammar. 12mo. 3s. 6rf. 
 
 — Praxis Grteca, Etymology, 12mo. 2s. 6d, 
 
 — Greek Verse-Book, Praxis lambica. 12mo. 4s. 6d. 
 Parrar's Brief Greek Syntax and Accidence. 12mo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 — Greek Grammar Rules for Harrow School. 12mo. Is. 6d. 
 Geare's Notes on Thucydides. Book I. Fcp. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 Hewitt's Greek Bxamination-Papers. 12mo. Is. 6d. 
 
 Isbister's Xenophon's Anabasis, Books I. to III. with Notes. 12mo. 3s. 6d. 
 Jerram's Graced Reddenda. Crown 8vo. Is. 6d. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., London and New York. 
 
14 A Selection of Educational Works. 
 
 Kennedy's Greek Grammar. 12mo. is. 6d. 
 
 Liddell & Seott's English-Greek Lexicon. 4to. 36ji. ; Square 12mo. 7s. Gd. 
 
 Mahaffy's Classical Greek Literature. Crown 8vo. Poets, 7«. ed. Prose Writers, 
 
 7s. 6d. 
 Morris's Greek Lessons. Square 18mo. Part I. 2s. G<i. ; Part II. Is. 
 Parry's Elementary Greek Grammar. 12mo. 3s. Gd. 
 
 Plato's Republic, Book I. Greek Text, English Notes by Hardy. Crown 8vo. 3s. 
 Shoppard and Evans's Notes on Thucydides. Crown 8vo. 7s. Gd. 
 Thucydides, Book IV. with Notes by Barton and Chavasse. Crown 8vo. 5*. 
 Valpy's Greek Delectus, improved by White. 12mo. 2s. Gd. Key, 2s. Gd. 
 White's Xenophon's Expedition of Cyrus, with English Notes. 12mo. 7*. Gd, 
 Wilkins's Manual of Greek Prose Composition. Crown 8vo. 5*. Key, bs. 
 
 — Exercises in Greek Prose Composition. Crown 8vo. 4*. Gd. Key, '.'*. Gd. 
 
 — New Greek Delectus. Crown 8vo. Zs. Gd. Key, 2s. Gd. 
 
 — Progressive Greek Delectus. 12mo. is. Key, 2s. Gd, 
 
 — Progressive Greek Anthology. 12mo. 5*. 
 
 — Scriptores Attici, Excerpts with English Notes. Crown 8vo. 7s, Gd. 
 
 — Speeches from Thucydides translated. Post 8vo. Gs. 
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