J- •li# IT ; ■ ► f b m M, .S, _ NortííUJPHtórn Mitioprattß SItbrartr Euanatiin, HUtnoifi löäpii» nvxübbs 463x0 466. 1898. «•tSI SfO&l QUE LlVliS FfiOH Ï0 KEAE" &SÍKWieABI!. « ALL THE YEAR ROUND. ♦ A WËËELT JOURNAlto ' . M.'ÍMC": • !»"t /1 * ' ' 1 b^nwotidn ¥ chaelbs dickens. • j| • with wafa is inoabpoäatia) hoüsehoi-d wobhs. 1 i Part 107. LONDON: 26, WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.; CHAPMAN & HALL, 193, PICCADILLY, W. AND ALU BOOKSBLLEItS AND N£trS9lt£N. 6.wiRTUfe,l Price ITtaepence. [..osno!». ADVEKTtSBKENTS we t» be swt to .VDAMS & FKAIÏOIS» ê9. Fleet Street. 1 No. <3CCCI^I ThS HOONSrora. MOB diopter X^„ 28» diapterXVlI. a»2 I>oconK>tion in Loadon 295 Red HuRh 288 In the Air SM ^auceivBiii^sh in the Sales m The Squire's Temper-Trap. In Seven Chapters. Chapter 1. 306 Chaptinrll 309 OiapterllL tfee>ee»Me«»H8MM»8***MefMiMao«» SU 'CJ irt ilBMST "■'CiÍ|Í¿il)Hp|ip¡ OOKtENTA OF FAST OVS. Ne.COCCLXIir. Tte XoonMM. Chapter Xflll. StS C^terXiX SU ^ Chapter XX. gme veivM^Utersture fW woodiaad MnsihLi.ii.L s» Xolidqr Roinàoée. lu Tour Farts. 8^ Squire's Teinpet.Trtip. In Seven Chapters. (^ptor IV.i 331 Chapter V. S32 Ctoter VI. 333 VU* aMaeeeeeaaaaMeeeMeaaeeaaeatMaeaaveeaooaeaeee'oo 339 No. CdOChXV TnHMMnn. MAS OiapterXXI. ChMttwXXII. 8« AnOiwrtBassian Peasantry 843 David Garrick - A SisMeet R^aut 85» Told Iv a Skipper 854 NaCCOCLXVL TUAlCooirBioitx. Chapter XXIS (oentintted) 861 Cbi^XXin 868 Oaraboho •»«••s»e**e4e»«*«»v»s*»e***eee«eeee«eeee*eeeaeea*ee*o********** 367 The RTreek of the Pocahontas 871 Poison of the Battleenake 378 Sent to tte Tower ••eee«e«eaeee»eaow»«eeeeeeee»e*e«*eeeea*»eeee»*e 876 ThaDsamatic Cardinal. . » . 381 -.r -»1 TABLE DELICACIES, Of tbe Ugliest Ouality, Manufactured by iCROSSE^BLACOVELi: PURVEYORS TO THE ÇUEEN. ^ aaonastoBS or 1 CAPTAIN WHITE'S ORIENTAL PICKLE AND CURRY PASTE. Sold retail in all farts of the tforldf and IVhoUsált at the Manufactory, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON. ^^8 Hua «»AIS, PAHS mmifw, i»»?. o bp Connoisseurs THE ONLY "600D SAUCE," to ask for LEA&PERHHiS" See frame on wrapper, labd, bottle, and stopper. Sold bp Crosse te Blackwell, London, and by all dealers in Sauces. BEWARB OP COUNTERFEirS; LEA & PERRINS, WORCKSTER. _ ^ sai Past CVIL, April, 1868. ALL THE YEAR ROUND ADVERTISER. A CLEÂK COMPLEXION ! !l ' GODFREY'S EXTRACT OF ELDER FLOWERS recommended for Softening, Improving, Beautifying and Preserving the öKlN. and giving it a blooming and charming appearance. It will completely remove Tan, Sunburn, Redness, &c., and by its Balsamic and Healing qu^ties, render the skin soft, pliable, and free from dryness, &c., clear it from every humour, pimple, or eruption, and by continuing its use only a short time, the skin will become and continue soft and smooth, and the complexion perfectly clear and beautiful.— Sold in Bottles, price 2s. 9d., by all Medicine Vendors and Perfumers. SEWING MACHINES. PURCHASERS SHOULD SEE THE FLORENCE. Which was awarded a Silver Medal, the Highest Premitun for a Family Sewing Machine, at the Paris Exposition, July, 1867. The Oold Medalt were awarded thue; one {Honorary), under the head tf " Co-operateurs,") to a Promoter of the Sewing Machine bueineet, (Promoteur de la Machine à coudre) ; the other for a Machine to make Buttonholes, ("machine a coudre A faire les boutonnières)" ; »«ífAcr of fAem being for Family Sewing Machines, as erroneously advertised. See Official Catalogue. The PLORBNCB aiso received the Uiirliest Prize, a Cíoid Medal, at Biliibition of the American Institute, New York. ISCS, (in competition with every well-known Machine ) It executes in a superior manner all kinds of Sewing ever required in a family, makes four different stitches, including the Lock Stitch, has patent reversible feed-motion, fastens otf its seam without stopping, and ia warranted superior to all others for family use. If any parchÄser is dis- „ . satisfied with it, after a fair trial, we will give in exchange any Sewing MMhine of ninilar pnce known to tha trade- Prospectus and Samples of work, post-free. Agents Wanted. Address. Dc-voEi cotir.xrr, Cheopsids, London; 19 db 21 Blackfriars Street, Manchester; on; Broadway,New Tork; 111, Montgomery Street, San Francisco, aar, (Oxford Street Hntrance), London; F, BAPTF, 39, Grafton California. Ágents: MAYdb SttAW, Sohd' Street, Dublin, MAPPIN AND WEBB, NEW AND SPLENDID STOCK •AN INSPECTION EARNESIR^ EE op WEDDING PRESENTS. BIRTHDAY PRESENTS. CHRISTENING PRESENTS. STERLING SILVER AND ELECTRO-SILVER PLATE, Of the highest Quality and Desisin. DBESSIN6 CASES, DRESSING BAGS. FANCY ELEGANCIES of every description. TABLE CUTLERY Of the Best Quality only. THE NEW SILVER STEEL TABLE KNIVES do not require cleaning by Board or Machine, are uninjured by acids, and can thus be used iu eating Fish and Fruit. These beautiful Knives, in Case, are a most useful and elegant Wedding Present. MAPPIN & WEBB have lately remodelled their Premises, for the better display of their greatly- increased Stock of Manufactures. ffftieles now m Slock have gained two Prize Medals at the Paris Exhibition, 1867. COMPLETE ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUES POST FREE. 7I&72C0RNHILLH&77&780XF0RDST 2 ADVEBTISEMENTS. True to the spirit cf the time. The Exeebsí looks to a large number of readers at a low price, rather than to a comparatively fete at a high price. PRICE ONE PENNY, Wdt iSxpvt^^ EVENING NEWSPAPER. THE BEST JOURNAL FOR FAMILY READING. Early Information on all Subjects of Interest. Foreign Telegrams and Correspondence, recording all useful facts | and important occurrences. Opinions of the Morning Papers. Summary of Intelligence (Home and Foreign) that may arrive in the course of the day. Beports of the Markets—^Money, Railway, Com, Produce, Cattle and others. These are supplied by the best authorities. Proceedings in Parliament, a carefully prepared Summary; with Reports of all the more important Speeches. Abstracts of the Proceedings of Learned Societies. Reviews, with Extracts from important New Books, and from the Magazines. ^ Criticisms on Art, with Notices of Exhibitions, Picture Collections, &c. Music and Drama, including Criticisn?^ on th®,^ Opera, Concertsy | Theatres, New Music, &c. v Leading Articles, by some of the ablest pens« \ Miscellanea, likely to interest theiinformed ànd the intelligent. ( . Maecb, 18(>8. There ¡8 nothing in which the enterprise of modern times' and the increaring intdligede« of the public are more strikingly shown than in the continued improvement of the Newspaper. Avoiding all interference with private life, it now rests its claim to suppoi^i on honesty, intelligence, and enterprise. This, at least, is the case with The Express, which cfaerisfaea^he ambition of being excelled by no Journal either as regards fulness of information, or fairness in communicating it. That the opinion of every one is in some degree moulded by tfee Jonfnal he constantly reads, is ' a consideration which should have its weigh«; both with the condnotors and read^jti ef a Newspaper. It is true the judgment will frequently err, but honesty of purpos^the public has a right to expect —and to this merit The Expkess boldly lays claim. ■ Believing a B|beml policy to be the one best ' calculated to improve the condition of society, to maintain public ordê»;'io preserve a manly freedom, and to afford security to the labour of tlie industrious as well as to the property of the wrâlthy, Tub Express is the consistent advocate of Liberal principles. Being a Newspaper, it exhibits Life and Society as they are; but being also a journal for Families, it excludes ftom its pages every paragraph unfit for general perusal. TO ADVERTISERS. ! The high character of The Express and its rapidly extending circulation among all classes of the community render it one of the very best cliannets for Advertising, the more especially as the space devoted to Advertisements is limited, and they are typographically arranged in a way to increase their efiect. PUBLISHING OFFICE: 10, BOUVEEIE STREET. Sold by all NewsTendors and at all Bookstalls. BUNTER'S NERVINE. TRÜ IfrfiTAUT CT7RE FOR TOOTB-AOBX, May be had of äl! Gherhists, Is. 1^. per packet, or post free from J. R. Cooper, Maidstone, for 15 Stamps ADVDBTISEMENTS. 3 BROWN & POLSON'S CORN FLOUR, FOE CHILDEEN'S DIET. CAUTION. —To obtain extra profit by the salé, other qualities are sometimes audaciously substituted instead of BROWN & POLSON'S. ELAZENBÏ & SON'S PICKLES, SAUCES, • AND CONDIMENTS:— E. LAZ^NBY & SON, sole ]^nl9.*' This label is protected by perpetual injunction in Chancery of the Wh July, 1858, and without it none can be genuine. E. LAZENBY and SON, of 6, Edwards Street, Portman Square, London, as sole proprfetors of the receipt for Harvey's Sauce, are compelled to give this caution, front the fact that their labels are closely Imitated with a view to deceive purchasers. I , Sold by all respectable Grocers, Drusidsts, and Oilmen. piOLUMBIAN HAIR DYE.—UNWIN and \J ALBERT'S, 24, Piccadilly—is so effective and instananeous that grey hair -iv" is coloured permanently a natural brown, or blaek the moment it is toucned by the dye, leaving it perfectly clean and soft as before the application. In eases at 6s. M., 10s. Od., and 21s. Sample case 2s. 6d, By post 40 stamps. AURICOMUS fluid, for golden ^ir harmless as pure water, has the astonishing power of quickly imparting a rich golden flaxen shade to hair of any colour. Its patronage has caused many imitations.—6s. Od., 10s. Od., and 21s, UNWIN & ALBERT, 24, PICCADILLY, PERFUMEBS to the ROYAL FAMILY. E LAZENBY and SON beg to direct attention e to the following Price List of Wines; per dozen Sherrim—Good dinner wines..... 24s., 80s, — Fine wines, pale or golden .86s., 418. Amontillado and Manzanilla 48s. Vino de Pasto, a full, dry wine 64s. Ports—Crusted 86s., 44s., 50s. — newly bottled SOs., 36s., 42s. Clarets —Pure sound wines 18s., 24s., 80s. — Fine, with boquet 36s., 428., 64s., 00s. Champagnes—Light and fine dry wines, quarts ...30s« 648. ; pints. 20s.. 30s. — First Brands, rich and dry, quarts. 66s., 72s. ; pints, 36a, 39s. Cognac Brandies—Old, Pale, and Brown, 48a, 60s., 72s., 90s. The bottles are included in the apove prices. Foreign Liqueurs, Spirits, and Corditds of all kinds. E. LAZENBY & SON have been induced to embark in the Wine Trade, by the numerous inquiries of their customers for good sound Wines, and have imported and laid down a large and carefully selected stoek, which their numerous Foreign connections have enabled them to do to great ad¬ vantage. Their cellars are now open for inspeotien, and lists of prices and samples of wines will be forwarded if desired. E. LAZEnBY and SON, Wine Merchants, 6, Eldwards Street, Portman Square, London, W. A REAL BLESSINB TO MOTHERS. The Teething of Infants forms one of the chief anxieties of mothers, but MRS. JOHNSON'S AMERICAN SOOTHING SYRUP, free from any Narcotic, affords im¬ mediate relief to the Gums, pre¬ vents Convulsions, and during 40 years has attained a world-wide reputation. Mothers should see Mrs. JOHNSON'S Name on each Bottle; also that of Baeclxt a Sons, 95, Farrlngdon Street. Sold by all Chemists, with full instructions, at 2s. 9d. a bottle. USE ONLY THE GLENFIELD STARCH, THE QUEEN'S LAUNDRESS USES NO OTHER. KEATING'S COUGH LOZENGES. — The best and safest remedy for COUGHS» EATING'S COUGH LOZENGES relieve the difficulty of breathing in ASTHMA. KEATING'S COUGH LOZENGES— Important remedy incases of INCIPIKNT CON¬ SUMPTION^ KEATING'S COUGH LOZENGES.—A certain remedy for relieving the IREITATION of the BRONCHIAL TUBhS. KEATING'S COUGH LOZENGES— WHICH ABB BAItT RECOBrMENDED BT THE EACÜLTT.— Testimonials from the most eminent of whom may be seenv Sold in Soxes, 1«. I^d.; and Tins, ts.9d.,4s, 6(i., and 11«. each, by Treating, chemist, 79, St. Paul's Churchyard, XV London. Sold retail by all Druggists, Ac. Important Testimonial from a CLERGYMAN in Essex. August iSth, 1866. Dear Sib,—I have derived so much benefit from using your Cough Lozenges, that I write to make you acçuainted with the circumstance, and with the view of benefiting some who may be inconvenienced by a winter cough For many years I have been more or less troubled with a cough, but during last winter it became so bad that I could scarcely read aloud. Having taken other remedies, some of them very nauseous, among them Cough no More, without obtaining relief, I tried yoiir Lozenges, which are very palatable, ana was agreeably surprised at the result of the trial. Tou are at liberty to make use of this communication.— I remain, faithfully youra H. L. H. Testimonial from Colonel 1JÉH ETT, J.P. and D.L.,Srd Brigade Cardiff Artillery Folunteers. Ter. Mab. Ellis. Bonty-Pridd, Glamorgan, May, 1866. Deab Sib,—I was attacked with a severe cough, which your Lozenges removed in a few days. My servants also, by taking your Lozenges were soon cured. I feel it a duty to the , public to Oder my testimony to their efficacy, which you are at liberty to publish. Yours truly, W. HEWETT. To Mr. Thomas Keatieo. PRESENTSI PRESENTSI! PRESENTS!!! George Richardson & Co., CENTRAL CHAMBERS, SOUTH CASTLE ST., ^ VholMale and Bet^ Dealers in Lanterns and Slides, Telescopes, Uicroscopes, Ooera, Field and Marine Glasses, Model Telegraph, the Electric Light, Spectacles, Eyeglasses, Beadutg Glasses, Barometenu rbermometers. Mathematical Instruments, Tool Chests, Water Color Paints, dc.. Croquet, and all kinds of Indoor and Outdoor Games, de. . WW -A • A MAOIO 1,A.TEIIN8. £ n, L Magic Lantern, with l|.incb Condensing Lens, Brass Adjnstlng Tuhe, Lamp Eedector, and 1$ Comie Slides, oontaining 86 subjects .. *.07 % Do., with. l| inch Lens, dc., and 12 Comic Slides, contamina 48 subjecta .. .. O IS Z, Do., with ij inch Lens, de., de. .. .. O 18 4. Do., with 2|-inch Lens, ^..containing 50 subjects 1 7 6. Do., with 8-lnch Lens, dCw ditto 1 15 6. Sujierior do.,with 8>in. Lens, Solar Lamp, Befleetor, Glass and MandciL Piano-Convex Lens in Ad- Justingtube,andl2Slides,containmg50subjects 8 IS Phantasmagoria Lantern, of best constmction, T.Ph fitted with pair of S-inch Condensing Lenses in brass cell, pair of Foenssing Lenses in brass slidingtube,8olar Lamp with Befleetor, Glass and MandnL and 12 Slides, containing 50 subjects.. 3 16 6 O 8, Do., do.,of behest quality, with pair of d^-tnch Con¬ densing Lenses, In brass cell, pair of Focussing LensM in brass Tube, Superior Solar Fountain Lamp, Befleetor Glass ana Mandril, 12 Slides, containing 50 views Idustrating fairy tales .. 6 For 8 ▼ariety of other sizes see Catalogue. STBASt ENGINSS. L Vertical Fn^liie Oscillating Cylinder Boiler Fly-wheel, Crai^ Lamp, dc. .. ..066 Do. witíi Brass Oscillating Cylinder, Screw Piece Pulley and Supports, Spirit Lamp, dc. .. O 10 6 8. Do. superior quali^, with Brass Fly-wheel. .. O 15 6 A. Do. with two upright Pillars, Safety valve, de... O 17 6 4. 1 O 8 O STSAfC S1TOIKS8.—Contimiod. • £ s. 8. Vertical Bn3lne,befoTementioned,extraUrge size, oí superior qnali^ 1 5 O 6. Do.mthtbeaddinonofbrickworkStand. •• 1 6 6 7. Do. with addition of Brass OG Stand. .. 1 11 6 8. Horizontal Engine, vrith Brass Fly wheel, C^inder and BccentriCg Copper Steam Pipe dc. 1 9. Do. with BrassBoiler. on two Brasssopports,Stop Cocks to Steam Pipe, larae Fly-wheel, with Eccentric and 8 Pulleys, Safety Valve, Waste Steam Pipe,ll-in. Cylinder Brass Bed-plate on four Brass pillars. Spirit Lamp, dc., on stand. 8 10. Docomothre Bnjrine, with Boiler, Brass Chimney, Safety valve, two Brass Cylinders with Steam Boxes, Water-tap and Pipe, Tender, Spirit Lamp with 8 Jets, mounted on 6 Brass flanged wheels. .. «• .. 8 10 11. Do. do. rery superior. .. .. .. 3 10 O 12. Marine Bn^ne, wUh two Paddle Wheels, Boiler, with water-tap. Spirit Lamp, steam Connecting Pipe with Tap, Waste steam Pipe, Safety Valve,2 Brass Oscillating Cylinders. Brass Steam Box, Crank ^alt CyUnder Begulators, mounted on Brass Bod'plate, supported hy 4 Brass PiUan. .. .. .. 3 10 O 18- Do. do. double Mse of ditto. .. .. 5 0 O The Enpiaes are all thoroualily tested hy steam, previous to despatch. For a yariety of other Enfirihes see Catalopue. THE "LORD BROVGHÀM TELESCOPE.'* Lord Brougham thinks so highly of this cheap and powerful Instrument that he bos given G. B. d Co. fiill permission to call It ** The Lord Brougham Telescope. —This splendid Telescope will distinguish the time by a church clock five mil^. and a flagstaff ten miles, windows ten miles, landscapes thirty miles off, and wUl define the satelUties of Jupiter and phases of Venns, Ac. This extraordinary cheap and powerful Glass is of the best make, possesses Achromatic Lenses, and u equal to a Telescope that costs d5. Piiee 88. Cd. post free. For about 20 other varieties see ILLUSTRATED CATALOOXTE. THE NEW MICROSCOPE. This highly-finished Microscope is warranted toAow the animalculœ in water, eels ip paste, dc., magnifving several hundred timea. The Microscope is mounted on a brass Stand, and has a compound body with Achromatic Lenses, Test Objects, Forceps, and spare Glasses for mounting objects, Ac., 4;c. The whole contained in a higblv polished mahogany case. Price 8s. 6d.. carriage paid. For about 18 other varities eee ILLUSTRATED OATALOdUE. > »a O. RICHARDSON ansraviBffs of Steam Entine. Lithoi Co. have published a Catalogrue of 100 pa?03, illustrated 'with full paso Lithographed Drawii^, beautifully printed In colours, of Screw dt Paddle Steamers and Sailing Vachts. and views of Maffic Lanterns and sUdes, with fUll particulars of Micro> Bcopes, Telescopes. &c. O. R. & Co. invite every one to procure a copy. Sent ûroe on receipt of ftamp Ibrpostaffo. p. o. Orders Payable to o. R. & Co., Liverpool. Chechs crossed . ALMOND FLAVOUR. ESSENCE of BITTER ALMONDS, FREE FROM PRUSSIC ACID. This delicious Essence is the only kind that icey be safely used for flavouring Custards, Blanc manges, &c., and ail kinds of Pastry. Sold Retail by Chemists, Grocers, 4c., in Bottles, 6r. l.ococh'8 Wafers). The above it from Mr. E. H. Basitish, Druggist, Market Place, Wigan. SE3®íiMroSlS® Dr. Locock's Wafers give instant relief to asthma, consumption, coughs, colds, and all disorders of the breath and lungs. The.v have a pleasant taste. ' Price la. Ud. and 2s. 9d. per box. Sol<^by all Chemists. SACCHARATED WHEAT PHOSPHATES, A Dietetic Preparation supplying an impertant deficiency in the ordinary food of Invalids and Children ESPECIALI.T IN BREAD AND MILK. Sold in Bottles at Is., 2s., ctid is. 8d. each. Nosi Gesvisz vriTBotrr ITxasb Mabe. Prepared by T. H0R80N A SON, SI, SS, * 124, SOUTHAMPTON BOW, LONDON, W.O. SOLD BY ALL CHEMISTS AND DRUGGISTS. THE LONDON SEASON. To all who court the Gay and Festive Scenes, the following are indispensable. ELEQANVj BOWLAND'S MACÂSSAB OIL, A delightfully fragrant and transparent preparation for the Hair, and as an Invigorator and beautifier beyond all pre¬ cedent. Price 3s. 6d., 7s., 10s. 6d., and 218. per bottle. BOWLAND'S KÂLYDOB For imparting a radiant bloom to the complexion* and a softness and delicacy to the Skin, and for eradicating all cutaneous defects. Price 4s. 6d. and 8s. 6d. per bottle BOWLABD'S ODONTO, or Pearl Dentifrice. For giving a Pearl-like whiteness to the Teeth, fragrance to the Breath, and for strengthening the Guma Price 2s. 9o per box. Sold by Chemists and Perfumers. V ASK FOR " ROWLANDS' ARTICLES." BROKEN CHINA, GLASS, EARTHENWARE, woods, CABINET WORK, AND FANCY ARTICLES, Securely, strongly, and neatly mended with DAVY'S ORIGINAL DIAMOND CEMENT (DAVY'S.) Catttiok.—^All are spurious, unless having the name of "E. DAVY/'the original inventor. AT.H. Manufactured by Babclat A Sows, 95, Fi^ngdon Street, and sold by all respectable Chemists, iu Is. Bottles. LAMPLOUGH'S PYRETIC SALINE. HAVE IT IN YOUR HOUSES, it makes a most agreeable invigorating drink that gives instant relief in Headache or Bilious Sickness, and puickly Cures the worst form of Eruptive or Skin Complaints. The various diseases arising from Constipation, the Liver, or Blood impurities, inoculation, breathing air infected with Fevers, Measles, or Small Pox, are cured by its use. Sold by all Chemists and the maker. In Patent glass stoppered bottles, at 2s. 6d., 4s. 6d., lis., and 21s. each. K. TiA imPIiOlTGH. 113, Holliom Hill,' Iiondon, E.C. PARIAN, CHINA, GLASS, &o. ' JACKSON'S CEMENT Surpasses in neatness, in strength, in cheapness, and retains its virtues in all climates. It has stood the test of time, and in all quarters of the world. Sold by Chemists, Fancy Stationers, Bazaars, &c. A sample Bottle per post, free for 14 Stamps, from the Proprietor, JACKSON, Strangeways, MANCHESTER. LESSEES MARKING INK, FOR WRITING ON LINEN, SILK, COTTON, &c. Is distinguished from all imitations by the intense blackness of its colour, which is increased by exposure to light. ** London. 2Í, Bloomsbury Square. July Slst, 1848. "I hereby certtfy that the Marking Ink prepared by Mr. John Lessey, for writing on Linen, Ac., without preparation, bears boiling with soda and soap, and does not corrode the fibre of the cloth. (Signed) '* ANDREW ÜBE, M.D., F.E.S., Analytical Ohemist." Sold at Sixpence and a Shillingy by Chemists and Stationers throughout Great Britain and the Colonies. A Sample Bottle per post free for 14 stamps irom the Laboratory. JACKSON, Strangreways, MANCHESTER. 6 ADYBRTISXMENTS. PARIS EXPOSITION, 1867. SOLE SILVER ME9ÂL D^HOEEEVB. Jnron^ Report—"Perfection of PreparatiMi.*' &e- TRY IT OECE| and jou Trill never use any other Com Flour. "MAIZENA," Makes in a short time, and at trifling cost, delieious Puddings, Blancmange, Cakes, etc. Sold everywhere. LONDON EXHIBITION, 1862. GELY PRIZE MEDAL AWARDED. With Juroks' Rbfoiit—" Exceedingly excellent Food." THE CONVERTIBLE OTTOMAÑT FORMING TWO SETTEES AND TWO EASY CHAIRS, FOR CENTRE OF ROOM. FILMBR and SON respeotAiIly call attention to this elesant and onmmodious article, which with their LABOB STOCK OF SUPBBIOB FUBNITUBE, EAST OHAIBS, and SOFAS, magr be aeeu at their Oid-Bstablished Manufactory and Show Boome. 31 & 32, BERNEBS ST.. OXFORD STREET; FACTORY, 34 & 35, CHARLES ST., LONDON, W. An Illustrated Priced Catalogue, with 1,000 Woodcnts, post-firee. KINAHAN'S LL WHISKY-DUBLIN EXHIBITION, 1865. 'pHIS celebrated Old IRISH WHISKY gained the Dublin Prize Medal. It is Fure^ Mild, Melldw, Delicious, and very Wboiesome. Sold in Bottles, 3s. ed., at the Retail Houses in Lendou} by the Agents in the principal towns in England; or Wholesale at 8, GREAT WINDMII.I. STREET, ZsONDOR, W. Observe the Red Seal, Fink Label, and Cork branded "KiMABAH'a LL Wbiskt." Obwnre this Trade Hark on evMy Bottle. " Title RegUtered.** BRONZONETTE. This liquid may be used for imparting a beautiful BSONZE surface to any non- absorbent article. A single bottle ie euffieient to BBONZB four Straw Hats or Bonnets. Old Hats are made equal to new by this preeesa A single bottle is suf¬ ficient to entirely BBONZB two Fenders, imparting to them a new and brilliant appearance; a pretty effect is obtainable by just brushing lightly over the pro¬ jecting parts of the metal with the brush nearly dry. By this mt<»r process a vast amount of work may be done with a shilling bottle of Bronzonette. The same remarks apply to Fire-Stoves, Gas-Fittings, and ail kinds of in-door Metal Work. BKONZONETTE is useful for ornamental writing and illuminatii». FLASTEB Busts and Ornaments that have been painted, look very huidsome aner receiving a coat of Bronzonette. GLASS and POBCELAIN ornaments may be Bronzed with good effect. ARTIFICIAL FLOWERS may be painted with Braazonette. Nume¬ rous uses for Bronzonette will be found by the ingenious in oruameiitation, DIRECTIONS FOR DSB: Empty some of the liquid into an egg cop; proceed to paint the surface of goods required to be bronzed with a tolerably bard brush (a glue or gum brush). Retail of all Chemists and Stationers. Wholesale of Patent Medicine Venders, or direct of DANIEI. JU080M & SON, 19a, Coleman Street, Xdnulon. Price One Shilling per Bottle. Brushes Twopence each. JUDSON'S SIMPLE DYES FOR THE PEOPLE. •• ANY ONE CAN USE THEM." Price Sixpence per Bottle. A basin of Water is ail that is required to produce the most Brilliant and Fashionable Colours on Silas, Woollens, Ribbons, Feathers,Ac. in ten miuut«&—The hands need not bo soiloci MAJENTA I VIOLET | SCARLET | " ORANGE I PINK I CERISE MAUVE I GREEN | BROWN | CRIMSON j BLUB | PURPLE Every bottle is labelled " Judsoii's Simple Dyes for the People." Beware of Counterfeits ! May be proeured of Che¬ mists everywhere, or Wholesale of DANIEL JUDSON and SON, 19a, COLEMAN STRB ET, LONDON. astebtisements. 7 TBADE UABK. THOMSON'S "ZEPHYRINA," OR " WINGEDUUPON," A new SATSTY. CBINOLHf £,'.Begistered January Idth, 1868. An entirely new form, which no written or pictorial description can possibly con¬ vey. Complete freedom of motion. No possibility of the feet becoming entangled. Made in two shapes, one the most perfect train ever effected in Crinoline ; the other a round shape, specially adapted for . walking costume dresses. Can be had in both shapes half-lined, if preferred. W. S. THOMSON & Co., MANÜFACTÜBERS of the " GLOVE-FIITING " CORSETS. "I BAVE NO APPETITE." THEN USE "WATERS' QUININE WINE," The finest tonic hitter in the world. Sold by grocers, oilmen, confectioners, Ac., at 30». per dozen. WATERS & WILLIAMS, the Original Makers, 2, Martin's Lane, Cannon St., London. Galvanism t. rheumatism, nervous exhaustion, pains, paralysis. Gout. Lumbago, and Neunlgia, Indigestion. Epilepsia, Sciatica, Puuctioual Disorders, &c.—On LOAN. A Test for ascertaining the extraordinary emcacy of PULVERMACHER'S galvanic chain bands, belts, and pocket batteéies 'sent gratis for a week) will furnish positive evidence of tlie remarkable effects of these real Voltaic-Electric appliances. J'rices from 6». to 22».. according to power. Combined Chain Bands, for restoring exhausted vital energy, 30«. to 40». : Pocket Self-restoraWe CMn Batteries, £i to £4. Por authenticated medical reports and private testimonials, see pamphlet post free^J. L. PULYERMACHER and CO., Patentees, 200, Regent Street. London, W. PRIZE MfiDAZta MORINGy medueval & modern (Íngta&er anb gesigner, IMONOGRAHS, BRASSES, Crest on Seal is., on Die 7s. 44, HIGH HOLBORN, W.C. Illustrated Price List Pest Tree. HOLLOWArS OINTMENT AND PILLS, All persons afflicted with bad legs, sores, ulcers, and skin dis( ases, who from want of means, or other reasons, cannot avail themselves of surgical treatment, may release them¬ selves from their complaints by using HOLLOWAY'S purifying, soothing, and healing remedies. In evwy Outward ailment this wonderful Ointment brings about the most beneficial results, by checkingluflammalio. s, rleaiising ulcerations, and restoring soundness. 't'winberrow's dandelion, camo- A MILE aird RHUBARB PILLS, an effectual eure of Indigestion, all stomach complaints, and liver affections. In eases of constipation these pills never fail in producing a healthy and permaneutt action of the bowels ; so that in a short time aperients will not be repaired, and, being quite as innocent aa castor oil, they may bo given to children. 2, EDWARD STREET. PORTMAN SQUitRP. IfwriON ADYEBTISEMENTS. WILLIAM S. BURTON, GENERAL FURNISHING IRONMONGER, By Appointment to H.B.H. THE PBINCE OF WALES, Sends a CATAItOQITE gratis and post-paid. It contains upwards of 600 Illusibatioks of his unrivalled Stock of Sterling Silver and Electro Plate, Nickel Silver, and Britannia Metal Goods, Dish Covers, Hot-Water Dishes, Stoves, Fenders, Marble Chimney pieces. Kitchen Hanges, Lamps, Gaseliers, Tea Trap, Urns, and Kettles, Clocks, Table Cutlery, Baths, Toilet Ware, Turnery, Iron and Brass Bedsteads, Bedding, Bed-Boom and Cabinet Furniture, &c., with List of Prices and PLANS of the TWENTY LARGE SHOW ROOMS AT 39, OXEOBD STREET, W. ; 1, la, 2, 3, & 4, NEWMAN STREET; 4, 5, & 6, FERRTS PLACE; and 1, NEWMAN YARD, I.ONl>ON, W. CÏÏTLER7, WARRANTED. Tha most varied dMortment of TABLB CUTLBRT in the World, all warranted, is ou sale at WILLIAM 8. BURTON'S, at prioee that are remunerative only because of the largeness of the sales. lYORT HANLLEa Si-Inch Ivoiv handles si-inch fine Ivory balance handles é-inch ivory bahmce handles 4-inob fine ivory handles 4-inch finest African ivory handles Ditto, with silver ferules Ditto, carved handles, silver fe¬ rules - Nickel electro-silver handles Silver handles of any pattern BONB A HORN HANDLER Knives and Forks per dozen. White bone handles..« Ditto, balance handles Black horn, rimmed shoulders ... Ditto very strong rivetted handles TsU* KnlTM p«* dozen. », d. IS .. 18 .. ■ 21 ■ 28 .. 34 .. 42 - 88 .. 25 .. 84 .. 13 « 23 .. 18 .. U 6 KbiTM perdeMo. S. d. 10 C 14 •• 16 .. 21 .. 27 .. 38 .. 46 .. 18 .. 84 .. 11 .. 17 .. 18 6 8 6 Csxren pw]wSr. s. d. 5 .. 8 S 8 8 8 .. 18 .. .13 8 18 6 7 « & - S .. 4 6 4 6 5 .. The largest stock in existence of PLATBD DESSBRT KNIVES and FORKS, and ef the New Plated Fish-Eating Knives and Forks, and Carvers. CLOCKS, CANDELABRA, BRONZES, AND LAMPS. WILLIAM 8. BURTON invites inspection of his Stock of these, displayed in Two large Show Rooms. Each article is of guaranteed quality, and seme are objects of furo Tertu. the productions of the first manufacturers of aris, from whom William S- Burton imports them direct. Clocks, from 7s. 6d. to £48. Candelabra, from 13s. 6d. to £1610s. per pur Bronzes, from 13s. to £16 16s. Lamps, Modérateur, from 6s. to £9. Fare Colza Oil ..Ss. 9d. per gallon. FENDERS, STOVES, FIRE- IRONS, & CHIMNEY-PIECES. Buyers of the above are requested before finallv deciding tovisit Wll LlAM a BURTON'S SHOW ROOMS. They contain such an assortment of FKNDERS, STOVES. RANGES, CHIMNEY-PIECES, PIRE-IRONS, and GBNBR.AL IRONMONGERY, as cannot be approached elsewhere, either for variety, novelty, beauty of design, or eiqulsiteness of workmanship. Bricht stoves, with ormolu ornaments, £3 8s. to £33 Us. ; bronz-d fenders with standards. 7s. te £312s.; steel fenders, £3 3s. to £11 ; ditto, with rich ormolu ornaments ; from £3 3s. to £25 ; chimney- pieces from £1 8s. to £101; fire-iroiis fiom 3s. 3d. the set to £4 4.Ï. The BURTON and all .other PATENT STOVES, with radiating hearth-plates. BEDSTEADS, BEDDING, AND FURNITURE. WILLIAM 8. BURTON'S Stock on Show of IRON and BRASS BEDSTEADS and CHILDREN'S COTS, stands unrivalled, either for extent or moderateness of prices. He also supplies Bedding nunufactured on the premises, and Bed B aiigings of guaranteed quality. Patent Iron Bedsteads, fitted with dovetail joints and patent sacking, from 12s. each. Ornamental Iron and Brass Bedsteads in great variety, from £14t. to £28, Complete suites of Bed-room Furniture in mahogany, fancy woods, polished and japanned deal, always on show. These are made by WILLIAM S. BURTÖN, at his manu- factery, 8^ Newman Street, and every article is guaranteed. China Toilet Ware in great variety, from 4s. the set of five pieces. THE PERFECT SUBSTITUTE FOR SILVER. The real NICKEL SILVER, introduced more than thirty years ago by WILLIAM S. BURTON, when plated by the patent process of Messrs. Elkington and Co., u beyond all oomparison the very best article next to sterling sUVer that can be employed as such, either nsefullv or ornamentally, as by no possible test can it be distinraished from real silver. A small useful set, guaranteed of first quality for finish and durability, as follows;— 12 Table Porks 12 Table Spoons 18 Dessert Forks 18 Dessert Spoons 18 Tea Spoons 6 Egg Spoons,gilt bowls 8 Sauce Ladles IGra^ Spoon 8 Salt Spoons, gilt bowls 1 Mustard Spoon, gtbwl 1 Pair of Sugar Toiigs... 1 Pair of Fish Carvers.. 1 Butter Knife 1 Soup Ladle 1 Sugar Sifter Total IMdle or Old SUrar Pauom. Boad PotMca. ThrwS PettWB. Ktaig*. « Thñíad ud SheQ P.ttwn. £ 9. d. £ «. d- a $. d. a s. d. 1 IS 8 .. .. 8 4.. 8 10 .. 1 13 8 .. .. 8 4.. 8 10 .. 1 4 .. 1 10 . 1 U .. 1 18 .. 1 4 • e 1 10 .. 1 18 .. 1 IS .. ..16 — 1 .. .. 18.. IS.. ..14 .. ..18 .. . .13 .. ..18 6 .. 6 .* .. 8 .. .. 8 .. .. 8 .. .. 6 6 .. 8 .. ..10 .. ..11 .. .. 8 4 .. 4 .. .. 4 .. ..4 6 .. 1 8 .. 8 .. .. 8 . -.8 8 .. 8 6 ..8 6 ..8 6 .. 4 .. 1 4 V. 1 10 .. 1 10 .. 1 10 .. . 8 6 .. 4 .. -.8 6 •• 6 .. ..10 • • ..18 .. ..16 .. ..17 .. .. 8 3 ..4 6 -.4 6 .. 8 .. 4 19 9 18 9 0 13 8 6 14 17 's Any artiele to be had singly at the same prices. An oak chest to contain the above, and a relative numW of kni^m Ac., £8 18«. Tea and Coffee sets, dish eovers, and cornmr dishes, cruet and liqueur frames, Ac., at proportienata prices. All kinds of re-plating done by the patent process. TEA-URNS Of LONDON MAKE ONLY.—The Largest Assortment of London-made'IE A-URNS in the world (ineluding all the recent novelties, many of which arc registered) is on SALE at WILLIAM S. BURTON'S, from tOarto £6. " THE STOBY OF CUB LIVES FBOM YEAB TO YEAB."—Shakespeakk. ALL THE TEAR ROUND. A WEEKLY JOUKNAL. CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. WITH WHICH IS INCOBPOBATED HOUSEHOLD WOBDS. N°- 463.] SATURDAY, MARCH 7, 186S. [Peicb 2rf. THE MOONSTONE. By tbi Avtbob of "Tbe Woman in Wbitb," ie. &c. chapter xvi. We found my lady witli no liglit in the room but the reading-lamp. The shade was screwed down so #s to overshadow her face. Instead of looking up at us in her usual straightforward way, she sat close at the table, and kept her eyes fixed obstinately on an open book. "Officer," she said, "is it important to the inquiry you are conducting, to know beforehand if any person now in this house wishes to leave " Most important, my lady." "I have to tell you, then, that Miss Ve- rinder proposes going to stay with her aunt, Mrs. Ablewhite, of Frizinghall. She has ar¬ ranged to leave us the first thing to-morrow morning." Sergeant Gulf looked at me. I made a step forward to speak to my mistress—^and, feeling my heart fail me (if I must own it), took a step back again, and said nothing. "May I ask your ladyship tcAen Miss Ve- rinder first thought of going to her aunt's ?" in¬ quired the Sergeant. "About an hour since," answered my mis¬ tress. Sergeant Cuff looked at me once more. They say ola people's hearts are not very easily moved. My heart couldn't .have thumped much harder than it did now, if I had been five-aud-twenty again ! " I have no claim, my lady," says the Ser¬ geant, "to control Miss Verinder's actions. All 1 can ask you to do is to put off her de¬ parture, if possible, till later in the day. I must go to Trizinghall myself to-morrow morning— ^nd I sb^ be back by two o'clock, if not before, if Miss Yerinder can be kept here till that time, I should wbh to say two words to her—unex¬ pectedly—before she goes." My lady directed me to give the coachman her orders, that the carriage was not to come for Miss Rachel until two o'clock. " Have you more to say P" she asked of the Sergeant, when this had been done. "Only one thing, your ladyship. If Miss Yerinder is surprised at this change in the ar¬ rangements, please not to mention Me as being the cause of putting off her journey." My mistress lifted her head suddenly from her book as if she was going to say something —checked herself by a great effort—^and, looking back again at the open page, dismissed us with a sign of her hand. " That's a wonderful woman," said Sergeant Cuff, when we were out in the hall again. "But for her self-control, the mystery that puzzles you, Mr. Betteredge, would have been at an end to-night." At those words, the truth rushed at last into my stupid old head. Tor the moment, 1 sup¬ pose I must have gone clean out of my senses. 1 seized the Sergeant by the collar of his coat, and pinned him against the wall. "Damn 3'ou!"I cried out, "there's somer thing wrong about Miss Rachel—and you have been hiding it from me all this time !" Sergeant Cuff looked up at me—flat against the wall—without stirring a hand, or moving a muscle of his melancholy face. "Ah," he said, "you've guessed it at last." My hand dropped from nis collar, and my head sunk on my breast. Please to remember, as some excuse for my breaking out as I did, that I had served the family for fifty years. Miss Rachel had climbed upon my knees, and pulled my whiskers, many and many a time when she was a child. Miss Rachel, with all her faults, had been, to my mind, the dearest and prettiest and best voung mistress that ever an old servant waited on, and loved. I begged Sergeant Cuff's pardon, but I am afraid 1 did it with watery eyes, and not in a very becoming way. • " Don't distress yourself, Mr. Betteredge," says the Sergeant, with more kindness than I had any right to expect from him. " In my line of life, if we were quick at taking offence, we shouldn't be worth salt to our por¬ ridge. If it's any comfort to you, collar me again. You don't in the least know how to do it ; but I'll overlook your awkwardness iu con¬ sideration of your feelings." He curled up at the corners of his lips, and, in his own dreary way, seemed to think he had delivered himself of a very good joke. I led him into my own little sitting-room, and closed the door. "Tell me the truth. Sergeant," I said. VOL. XIX. 463 290 pviaroh 7,1888.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Conducted by " What do you suspect ? It's no kindness to hide it from me now." " I don't suspect," said Sergeant Cuff. " I know." My unlucky temper began tb get the better of me again. " Do you mean to tell me, in plain English," I said, " that Miss Rachel has stolen her own Diamond ?" " Yes," says the Sergeant ; " that is what I mean to tell you, in so many words. Miss Ve- rinder has been in secret possession of the Moonstone from first to last ; and she has taken Rosanna Spearman into her confidence, be¬ cause she lias calculated on our suspecting Rosanna Spearman of tlie theft. There is the whole case in a nutshell. Collar me again, Mr. Betteredge. If it's any vent to your feel- ings, collar me again." God help me! my feelings were not to be relieved in that way. " Give me your reasons !" That was all I could say to him. "You shall hear my reasons' to-morrow," said the Sergeant. " If Miss Verinder refuses to put off her visit to her aunt (which yoù will find Miss Verinder will do), I shall be obliged to lay the whole case before your mistress to¬ morrow. And, as I don't know what may eome of it, I shall request you to be present, and to hear what passes on both sides. Let the matter rest for to-night. No, Mr. Better- edge, you don't get a word more on the subject of the Moonstone out of me. There is your table spread for supper. That's one of the many human infirmities which I alwOTS treat ten¬ derly. If you wiU ring the bell, I'll say grace. ' For what we are going to receive ' " "I wish you a good appetite toit. Sergeant," I said. " Ify appetite is gone. I'll wait and see you served, and then I'll ask you to excuse me, if I go away, and try to get the better of this by myself." I saw him served with the best of every¬ thing—and I shouldn't have been sorry if the best of everything had choked hijp. The head gardener (Mr. Begbie) came in at the same time, with his weekly account. The Sergeant got oa the subject of roses and the ments of grass walks and gravel walks immediately. I left the two together, and went out with a heavy heart. This was the first trouble I re¬ member for many a long year which wasn't to be blown off by a whiff of tobacco, and which was even beyond the reach of Robinson Crusoe. Being restless and miserable, and having no particular room to go to, I took a turn on the terrace, and thought it over in peace and quiet¬ ness by myself. It doesn't much matter what my thoughts were. I felt wretchedly old, and worn out, and unfit for my place—an¿ began to wonder, for the first time in my life, when it would please God to take me. With all this, I held firm, notwithstanding, to my belief in Miss Rachel. If Sergeant Cuff had been Solomon in all his glory, and had told me that my young lady had mixed herself up in a mean and guilty plot. I should have had but one answer for Solomon, wise as he was, "You don't know her; and I do." Mv meditations were interrupted by Samuel. He brought me a written message from, my mistress. Going into the house to get a light to read it by, Samuel remarked that there seemed a change coming in the weather. My troubled mind had prevented me from noticing it before. But, now my attention was roused, I heard the dogs uneasy, and the wind moaning low. Looking up at the sky, I saw the rack of clouds getting blacker and blacker, and hurry¬ ing faster and faster over a watery moon. Wild weather coming — Samuel was right, wild weather coming. The message from my lady informed me, that the magistrate at Frizinghall had written to re¬ mind her about the three Indians. Early in the coming week, the rogues must needs be released, and left free to follow their own devices. If we had any more questions to ask them, there was no time to lose. Having forgotten to men¬ tion this, when she had last seen Sergeant Cuff, my mistress now desired me te supply the omission. The Indians had gone clean out of my head (as they have, no doubt, gone clean out of yours). I didn't see much use in stirnng that subject again. However, I obeyed my orders on the spot, as a matter of course. I found Sergeant Cuff and the gardener, with a bottle of Scotch whisky between them, head over ears in an argument on the grow¬ ing of roses. The Sergeant was so deeply interested that he held up his hand, and signed to me not to interrimt the discussion, when I came in. As far as I could understand it, the question between them was, whether the white moss rose did, or did not, require to be budded on the do» rose to make it grow well. Mr. Begbie said. Yes ; and Sergeant Cuff said. No. They appealed to me, as hotly as a couple of boys. Knowing nothing whatever about the growing of roses, I steered à middle course— just as her majesty's judges do, when the scales of justice bother them by han^ng even to a hair. " Gentlemen," I remarked " there is much to be said on both sides." In the temporary lull produced by that impartial sentence, I laid my lady's written message on the table, under the eyes of Sergeant Cuff. I had got by this time, as nearlv as might be, to hate the ¿ergeant. But truth compels me to acknowledge that, in respect of readiness of mind, he was a wonderful man. In half a minute after he had read the mes¬ sage, he had looked back into his memoi^ for Superintendent Seegrave's report ; had picked out that part of it in which the Indians were concerned ; and was ready with his answer. A certain great traveller, who understood the Indians and their language, had figured in Mr. Seegrave's report, hadn't he ? Very well. Did I know the gentleman's name and address? Very well again. Would I write them on the back of my lady's message ? Much obliged to Charle« Dtofcens,] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [UardtT.lses.] 291 me. Sergeant Cuff would look tliat gentle¬ man up> wlien he went to Erizinghall in the morning. " Do you expect anything to come of it ?" I asked. " Superintendent Seegrave found the Indians as innocent as the habe unborn." " Superintendent Seegrave hw been proved wrong, up to this time, in all his conclusions," , answered the Sergeant. "It may be worth while to find out to4norrow whether Superintendent Seegrave was wrong about the Indians as well." With that he turned to Mr. Begbie, and took up the argument again exactly at the place wlyei-e it had left off. " This question between us is a (question of soils and seasons, and patience and pains, Mr. Gardener. Now let me put it to you from another point of view. Yon take your white moss rose " By that time, I had closed the door on them, and was out of hearing of the rest of the dis¬ pute. In the passage, I met Penelope hanging about, an¿ asked what she was waiting for. She was waiting for her young lady's bell, when her young lady chose to call lier back to go on with the packing for the next day's journey. Further inquiry revealed to me, that Miss Rachel had given it as a reason for wanting to go to her aunt at Frizinghall, that the house was unendurable to her, and. that she could bear the odious presence of a policeman under the same roof with herself no longer. On being informed, half an hour since, that hçr departure would be delayed till two in the aft ernoon, she had flown into a violent passion. My lady, present at the time, had severely rebuked her, and then (having ^parently something to say, which was reservea for her daughter's private ear) had sent Penelope out of the room. My girl was in wretchedly low spirits about the changed state of things in the house. " Nothing goes right, father ; nothing is like what it used to be. I feel as if some dreadful misfortune was lianging over us all." That was my feeling too. But I put a good face on it, before my daughter. Miss Rachel's bell rang while we were talking. Penelope ran up the back stairs to go on with the packing. I went by the other way to the hall, to see what the glass said about the change in the weather. Just as I approached the swing door leading into the hall from the servants' offices, it was violently opened from the other side; and Rosanna Spearman ran by me, with a miserable look of- pam in her face, and one of her hands pressed hard over her heart, as if the pang was in that quarter. " What's the matter, my girl?" I asked, stopping her. " Are you ill ?" " For God's sake, don't speak to me," she answered, and twisted herself out of my hands, and ran on towards the servants' stahcase. I called to the cook (who was within hearing) to look after the poor girl. Two other persons proved to be within hearing, as well as the. cook. Sergeant Cuff darted softly out of my room, and asked what was the matter. I answered, " Nothing." Mr. Franklin, on the other side, pulled open the swing-door, and beckoning me into the hall, inquired if I had seen anything of Rosanna Spearman. " She has just passed me, sir, with a very disturbed face, and in a very odd manner." " I am afraid I am innocently the cause of that disturbance, Betteredge." " You, sir !" " I can't explain it," says Mr. Prankhn ; but, if the girl Ù concerned in the loss of the Dia¬ mond, I do really believe she was on the point of confessing everything—to me, of all the people in the world—not two minutes since." Looking towards the swing-door, as he said those last words, I fancied I saw it opened a little way from the inner side. Was there anybody listening ? The door fell to before I could get to it. Looking through, the moment after, I thought I saw the tails of Sergeant Cuff's respectable black coat disap¬ pearing round the corner of the passage. He knew, as well as I did, that he could expect no more help from me, now that I had discovered the turn which his investigations were really taking. Under those circumstances, it was quite in his character to help himself, and to do it by the underground way. Not feehng sure that I had really seen the Sergeant—and not desiring to make needless mischief, where. Heaven knows, there was mis¬ chief enough going on already — I told Mr. Franklin that I thought one of the dogs had fot into the house—and then begged him to escribe what had happened between Rosanna and himself. " Were you passing through the hall, sir?" I asked. " Did you meet her accidently, when she spoke to you ?" Mr. Franklin pointed to the biUiard-table. " I was knocking the balls about," he said, "and trying to get this miserable business of the Diamond out of my mind. I happened to look up—and there stood Rosanna Spearman at the side of me, Uke a ghost ! Her stealing on me in that way was so strange that I hardly , knew what to do at first. Seeing a very anxious expression in her face, I asked her if she wished to speak to me. She answered, ' Yes, if I dare.' Knowing what suspicion attached to her, I could only put one construction on such 1am- guage as that. I confess it made me uncom¬ fortable. I had no wish to invite the girl's confidence. At the same time, in the difficulties that now beset us, I could hardly feel justified in refusing to listen to her, if she was really bent on speaking to me. It was an awkward position ; and I dare say I got out of it awk¬ wardly enough. I, said to her, " I don't quite understand you. Is there anything you want me to do ?" Mind, Betteredge, I didn't speak unkindly ! The poor girl can't help being ugly —I felt that, at the time. The cue was still in my hand, and I went on knocking the balls about, to takeoff the awkwardness of the thing. As it turned out, I only made matters worse still. I'm afraid I mortified her without mean¬ ing it ! She suddenly turned away. " He looks 292 [March 7,186S.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [OoDdncted by at tbe billiard balls," I beard her say. " Any¬ thing rather than look at me !" Before 1 could stop her, she had left the hall. I am not quite easy about it, Betteredge. Would you mind telling Eosanna that I meant no unkindness ? I have been a little hard on her, perhaps, in my own thoughts—I have almost hoped that the loss of the Diamond might be traced to her. Not from any ill-will to the poor girl ; but " He slopped there, and going back to the bil¬ liard-table, began to knock the jbaUs about once more. After what had passed between the Sergeant and me, I knew what it was that he had left unspoken as well as he knew it himself. Nothing but the tracing of the Moonstone to our second housemaid could now raise Miss Rachel above the infamous suspicion that rested on her in the mind of Sergeant Cuff. It was no longer a question of quieting my young lady's nervous excitement ; it was a question of proving her innocence. If Hosanna had done nothing to compromise herself, the hope which Mr. Franklin confessed to having felt would have been hard enough on her m all conscience. But this was not the case. She had pretended to be ill, and had gone secretly to Frizinghall. She had been up all night, making something, or destroying something, in private. And she had been at the Shivering Sand, that evening, under circumstances which were highly suspicious, to say the least of them. For all these reasons (sorry as I was for Hosanna) I could not but think that Mr. Franklin's way of looking at the matter was neither unnatural nor unreasonable, in Mr. Franklin's position. I said a word to him to that effect. " Yes, yes !" he said in return. " But there is just a chance—a very poor one, certainly— that Hosanna's conduct may admit of some explanation which we don't see at present. I hate hurting a woman's feelings, Betteredge ! Tell the poor creature what I told you to tell her. And if she wants to speali to me—I don't care whether I get into a scra^ or not— send her to me in the library." With those kind words he laid down the cue and left me. Inquiry at the servants' ofiSces informed me that Hosanna had retired to her own room. She had declined all offers of assistance with thanks, and had only asked to be left to rest in quiet. Here, therefore, was an end of any confession on her part (supposing she really had a con¬ fession to make) for that night. I reported the result to Mr. Franklin, who, thereupon, left the Ubrary, and went up to bed. I was putting the lights out, and making the windows fast, when Samuel came in with news of the two guests whom I had left in my room. The argument about thifc white moss-rose had apparently come to an end at last. The gar¬ dener had gone home, and Sergeant Cuff was nowhere to be found in the lower regions of the house. I looked into my room. Quite true—nothing was to be discovered there but a couple of empty tumblers and a strong smell of hot grog. Hra the Sergeant gone of his own accord to the bed-chamber that was prepared for him ? I went up-stairs to see. After reaching the second landing, I thought I heard a sound of quiet and regular breathing on my left-hand side. My left-hand side led to tlie corridor which communicated with Miss Rachel's room. I looked in, and there, coUed up on three chairs placed right across the passage—there, with a red han^erchief tied round his grizzled head, and his respectable black coat rolled up for a pillow, lay and slept Sergeant Cuff! He woke, instantly and quietly, like a dog, the moment I approached him. "Good night, Mr. Betteredgi," he said. " And mind, if you ever take to growing roses, the white moss-rose is all the better for not being budded on the dog-rose, whatever the gardener may say to the contrary 1" "What are you doing here?" I asked. " Why are you not in your proper bed ?" " I am not in my proper bed," answered the Sergeant, "because I am one of the many people in this miserable world who can't earn their money honestly and easily at the same time. There was a coincidence, this evening, between the period of Hosanna Spearman's return from the Sands and the period when Miss Verinder took her resolution to leave the house. Whatever Hosanna may have hidden, it's clear to my mind that your young lady couldn't go away until she knew that it was hidden. The two must have communicated privately once already to-night. If they try to communicate again, when the house is quiet, I want to be in the way, and stop it- Don't blame me for upsetting your sleeping arrangements, Mr. Betteredge—blame the Dia¬ mond." "I wish to God the Diamond had never found its way into this house !" I broke out. Sergeant Cuff looked with a rueful face at the three chairs on wliich he had condemned himself to pass the night. " So do I," he said, gravely. chapter xvii. Nothing happened in the night ; and (I am happy to add) no attempt at communication between Miss Rachel and Hosanna rewarded the vigilance of Sergeant Cuff. I had expected the Sergeant to set off for Frizinghall the first thing in the morning. He waited about, however, as if he had something else to do first. I left him to his own devices ; and going into the grounds shortly after, met Sir. Franklin on his favourite walk by the shrubbery side. Before we had exchanged two words, the Sergeant unexpectedly joined us. He made up to Mr. Franklin, who received him, I must own, haughtily enough. " Have you anything to say to me ?" was all the return he got for politely wishing Mr. Franklin good morning. " 1 have something to say to you, sir," an- CharlM Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 7, IMS.] 393 swered the Sergeant, "on the subject of the inquiry 1 am conducting here. You detected the turn that inquiry was really taking, yester¬ day. Naturally enough, in your position, you are shocked artd distressed. Naturally enough, also, you visit your own angry sense of your own family scandal upon Me." " What do you want ?" Mr. Franklin broke in, sharply enough. " 1 want to remind you, sir, that I have at any rate, thus far, not been proved to be Wrong. Bearing that in mind, be pleased to remember, at the same time, that I am an ofBcer of ^e law acting here under the sanction of the mistress of the house. Under these cir¬ cumstances, is it, or is it not, your duty as a good citizen to assist me with any special infor¬ mation which you may happen to possess ?" " I possess no special information," says Mr. Franklin. Sergeant Cuff put that answer by him, as if no answer had been made. " You may save my time, sir, from being wasted ofi. an inquiry at a distance," he went on, "if you choose to understand me and speak out." ( " I don't understand you," answered Mr. Franklin ; " and I have nothing to say." " Cue of the female ^rvants (I won't men¬ tion names) spoke to you privately, sir, last night." Once more Mr. Franklin cut him short; once more Mr. Franklin answered, "I have nothing to say." Standing by in silence, I thought of the movement in the swing-door, on the previous evening, and of the coat-tails which I had seen disappearing down the passage. Sergeant CuiT had, no doubt, just heard enough, before I interrupted him, to make him suspect that Hosanna had relieved her mind by confessing something to Mr. Franklin Blake. This notion had barely struck me—when who should appear at the end of the shrubbery walk but Hosanna Spearman in her own proper person I She was followed by Penelope, who was evidently trying to make her retrace her .steps to the house. Seeing that Mr. Frank¬ lin was not alone. Hosanna came to a stand¬ still, evidently in great perplexity whati to do next. Penelope waited behind her. Mr. Frank¬ lin saw the girls as soon as I saw them. The Sergeant, with his devilish cunning, took on not to have noticed them at all. All this happened in an instant. Before either Mr. Franklin or I could say a word. Sergeant Cuff struck in smoothly, with an appearance of continuing the previous conversation. " You needn't be afraid of harming the girl, sir," he said to Mr. Franklin, speaking in a loud voice, so that Hosanna might hear him. " On the contrary, I recommend you'to honour me with your confidence, if you feel any in¬ terest in Hosanna Spearman." Mr. Franklin instantly took on not to have noticed the girls either. He answered, speaking loudly on his side : " I take no interest whatever in Hosanna Spearman." I looked towards the end of the walk. All I saw at the distance was that Hosanna sud¬ denly turned round, the moment Mr. Franklin had spoken. Instead of resisting Penelope, as she had done the moment before, she now let my daughter take her by the arm and lead her back to the house. The breakfast-bell rang as the two girls dis¬ appeared—and even Sergeant Cuff was now ooliged to give it up as a bad job I He said to me quietly, " I shall go to Frizinghall, Mr. Bet- teredge; and I shall be back before two." He went his way, without a word more—and for some few hours we were well rid of him. " You must make it right with Hosanna," Mr. Franklin said to me, when we were alone. " I seem to be fated to say or do something awkward, before that unlucky girl. You must have seen yourself that Sergeant Cuff laid a trap for both of us. If he could confuse me, or irritate her into breaking out, either she or I might have said something which would an¬ swer his purpose. On the spur of the moment, I saw no better way out of it than the way I took. It stopped the girl from saying anything, and it showed the Sergeant that I saw through him. He was evidently listening, Betteredge, when I was speaking to you last night." He had done worse than listen, as I privately thought to myself. He had remembered my telling him that the girl was in love with Mr. Franklin ; and he had calculated on that when he appealed to Mr. Franklin's interest ki Ho¬ sanna—in Hosanna's hearing. " As to listening, sir,''' I remarked (keeping the other point to myself), "we shall all be rowing in the same boat, if this sort of thing goes on much longer. Piying, and peeping, and listening are the natural occupations of people situated as we are. In another day or two, Mr. Franklin, we shall all be struck dumb together— for this reason that we shall all be listening to surprise each other's secrets, and all know it. Excuse my breaking out, sir. The horrid mys¬ tery hanging over us in this house gets into my head like liquor, and makes me wild. I won't forget what you have told me. Til take the first opportunity of making it right with Ho¬ sanna Spearman." " You haven't said anything to her yet about last night, have you ?" Mr. Franklin asked. " No, sir." " Then say nothing now. I had better not invite the girl's confidence, with the Sergeant on the look-out to surprise us together. My conduct is not very consistent, Betteredge—is it ? I see no way out of this business, which isn't dreadful to think of, unless the Diamond is traced to Hosanna. And yet I can't, and won't, help Sergeant Cuff to find the girl out." Unreasonable enough, no doubt. But it was my state of mind as well. I thoroughly under¬ stood him. If you will, for once in your life, remember that you are mortal, perhaps you will thoroughly understand him too. 29é [March 7,1848.] ATA THE TEAR ROUND. [Conducted by Tbe state of tilings, indoors and out, while Sergeant Cuff was on his way to Frizinghall, was briefly this : Miss Rachel waited for the time when the carriage was to take her to her aunt's, still obstinately shut up in her own room. My lady and Mr. Franklin breakfasted together. After breakfast, Mr. Franklin took "What is it?" " Please to let me go on with my work." Penelope followed her, and offered to help her. She answered, "No. I want to do my work. Hank you, Tenelope." She looked round at me. " Thank you, Mr. Betteredge." There was no moving her—there was nothing more to be said. I signed to Penelope to come away with me. We left her, as we had found her, sweeping the corridor, like a woman in a dream. " This is a matter for the doctor to look into," I said. " It's beyond me." My daughter reminded me of Mr. Candy's illness, owing (as yon may remember) to the chill he had caught on the night of the dinner-party. His assistant—a certain Mr. Ezra Jennings— was at our disposal, to be sure. But nobody knew much about him in our parts. He had been engaged by.Mr. Candy, under rather pe¬ culiar circumstances; and, right or wrong, we none of us liked him or trusted him. .There were other doctors at Frizinghall. But they were strangers to our house ; ' and Penelope doubted, in Rosanna's present state, whether strangers might not do her more harm than good, I thought of speaking to my lady. But, re¬ membering the heavy weight of anxiety which she already had on her mind, I hesitatea to add to all the other vexations this new trouble. Still, there was a necessity for doing something. The girl's state was, to my thinking, downright alarming—and my mistress ought to be in¬ formed of it. Unwillingly enough, I went to her sitting-room. No one was there. My lady was shut up with Miss Rachel. It was impossible for me to see her till she came out again. I waited in vain till the clock on the front staircase struck the quarter to two. Five mi¬ nutes afterwards, I heard my name called, from the drive outside the house. I knew the voice directly. Sergeant Cuff had returned from Friz- inghall. LOCOMOTION IN LONDON. Forty-two years are but a small space of time in the histcuy of a great nation or a great city, though they form a large slice in the life of a man who scarcely hopes to live beyond seventy. But forty-two years, short as they are, have operated very great changes in the huge assemblage of cities, ooroughs, towns, and villages, which is called the British metropolis. In the year 1826 the population of this busy hive—which even then was considered to be so immense and overgrown as to be a wonder of the world—did not much exceed a million; it did not reach a million and a half until five years later. It now reaches nearly three millions and a half, and is daily in¬ creasing. No city in the world, not even in the United States, where cities seem to spring up in a night like gourds or mushrooms, has grown so rapidly. Men, stUl in the prime of life re¬ member when the sites of Belgravia andTyburnia were marshes, meadows, and market-gardens ; when sheep and cattle grazed in the green fields of what is now Camdenia; when Kentish (origi¬ nally Cantelow's) Town was a remote village ; when Trafalgar-square, the National Gallery, and the lordly clubs of Pall Mall and St. James's-street were unbuilt and unimagined; when Waterloo-bridge — which is now, save one, the oldest—was the newest metropolitan bridge over the Thames; when Stevenson thought a train upon the rail might safely travel at the rate of twenty miles an hour, and was considered a crotchety enthusiast for his pains ; and when his majesty's mails, with their drivers and guards in royal livery, and with fast-going steeds, the pride of the road, as¬ sembled every evening before the General Post Office, preparatory to a start to every point of the compass, carrying their small comple¬ ment of passengers and the scanty correspond¬ ence of the day. At this time—odd as it may seem to the fast young men who are now be¬ tween twenty and thirty—there were in this great metropolis neiiher policemen, cabs, nor omnibuses. How the people of London, who happened to be in a hurry, managed in those early days to travel from place to placé in the great city, is not very clear. The quickest conveyance to be procured was a hacxney coach, with two horses—a great, cast-off, lumbering, dirty, shabby vehicle, perhaps with a royal crown, or a coronet, and a flaring coat-of-arms upon the panel. The hackney coach was an old institution, and had 296 [Uiroli 7,18S8.J ALL THE TEAR ROUND. [CondacUd by been but little improved for a century. As it was in the days of Addison and Steele, so it was in those of Henry Carey, who makes one of the characters in the mock-heroic Chrononhoton- thologos exclaim : Go, call a coach, and let a coach be caU'd ; Let him that calls it be the caller. And in his calling let him nothing call But coach ! coach ! coach ! oh, for a coach, ye gods ! Until the last years of the reign of George the Fourth, the drivers were as antiquated as their vehicles. They were commonly called Jarvies—for what reason, perhaps, not even the learned editor of Notes and Queries can tell; and were distin^ised for the general " beeri- ness" or, it mi^t be said, "ginsomeness" of their faces, and for the drab greatcoats which they wore, with multifarious capes lapping over their venerable shoulders like the scales up^u the rhinoceros. But a change was at hand. People began to take houses in the suburbs, for the sake of more elbow-room and a purer atmosphere than the dense old city afforded ; and some daring speculator, named Bell, whose stables were m Oxford-street, hit upon the happy idea of establishing light one-horse vehicles to replace the heavy old hackney-coaches like those in use across the channel. The new ventures were called cabriolets—a French word that did not suit John BuU, who very speedily abbreviated it into the monosyllabic "cab." Cabs did not resemble either the modem hansoms or the four-wheelers. Originally the driver sat inside along with his fare—an arrmigement which did not work well, inasmuch as it admitted but one passenger, and, if the intending passenger hap¬ pened to be a kdy, prevented her from accept¬ ing a seat in such questionable company. After a short interval, a place was made for the driver in a little perch to the right-hand side of the vehicle, leaving room for two persons inside. The cab-drivers were younger and smarter than the old hackney-coachmen; but it does not appear that their characters were of the best, if a judgment may be formed from a caricature of the year 1829. It represents a barrister, in full legal array of wig and gown, jumping into one of the new vehicles, and de¬ siring cabby, who has all the air of being a re¬ turned convict—there were no ticket-of-leave men in those days—to drive him to the Old Bailey. " Don't know the place, your honour ; never heard of it," is Cabby's prudent reply— a strong proof of his reluctance to revisit a spot whicli was only too familiar. This kind of open cab did not long suit the taste of the town, and was replaced by the covered and more com¬ modious four-wheelers which we now see in the streets. The "hansom," so named from its inventor, and not for its beauty, was of later date ; and, in spite of its elumsy shape and awk¬ ward shutter, that in rainy weather does, or may, come down upon the head of the incautious fare inside, with the force and something of the effect of a guillotine, has been doing duty in the metropolis for more than a quarter of a century. Somewhere about 1829 or 1830, and very shortly after the public had become accustomed to the convenience of cabs, such as they were and unfortunately are, Mr. Shillibeer, an undertaker, bethought him that it might be pleasanter and more pro6table to carry the living than the dead, and invented and in¬ troduced a new vehicle, which he called by a Latin name, suggestive of its uses " for all"—the omnibus. This name also was too long for the popular tongue, and the new hearse, adapted for the quick and not for tiie dead, was designated by its more pronouncible last syl¬ lable. Mr. Shillibeer was a public benefactor. His omnibuses supplied a public want ; and for the comparatively limited traffic of the streets at a time when London had not attained half its present population, or spread itself Over half of its actual mileage, answered the public need sufficiently well. He had, of course, com¬ petitors ; and year by year, as population in¬ creased, the numbers of omnibuses plying in every direction from the centres to the extre¬ mities of London increased also, though not in the same ratio. Strangely enough, no one ever thought it worth while to make any considerable improvements upon Mr. Shillibeer's design. In other great cities and towns of England and Scotland — such as Uverpool, Birmingham, Manchester, Glasgow, and Edinburgh — and also in Paris, the omnibuses are roomy and convenient, and if not altogether what such vehicles should be, are vastly superior to those of London. Public vehicles now whizz and dart about through every main thoroughfare, and, com¬ bined with carts, trucks, waggons, and private carriages of all kinds, make up a rushing, roar¬ ing tide or whirlpool of traffic unparalleled in the world. The growing danger of the streets is told in a few suggestive figures in the report of the Registrar-General for 1867. During that year, tms useful functionary informs us that the deaths were registered of one hundred and sixty-four persons who were killed by horses or carriages in the streets. The less serious accidents that occurred amounted, during tiie same period, to the large number of one thousand four hundred and sixty- seven ; the two accounts showing that an average of one person was killed every second day, and four persons injured every day thi-oughout the year, either by the reckless¬ ness of the drivers—public and private—or by their own incapacity to steer their way with safety through the streets. Everjbody knows the danger of railway travelling, and when an accident does occur, how frightful it is; but figures show conclusively that the perils of the street are greatly iu excess of those of the rail, and that, while one hundred and sixty-four pedestrians were killed in one year in London in a population of three millions and a half, only oue person in ten millions met his death in a railway accident. It is thus much safer, on the average, to travel by rail from Lon¬ don to Inverness, or across the whole continent ChïTleB Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 7,1868.] 297 of Europe, than to attempt to cross Cbeapside or Oxford-street,unless jou are young and strong, and have ^ your vrits about you. The Registrar- General, in view of this fact, suggests, and all whose business or ill fate compels them to be much in London will agree with him, that at all the more important crossmgs—such, for instance, as at the junction of Regent-street and Oxford-street, or at the point where Ear- ringdon-street and Bridge-street, Blackfriars, meet Fleet-street and Lud^ate-hill, and many other crossings as crowded and as dangerous —light bridges for foot-passengers should be thrown across, or subways, such as go under rail¬ way stations, should be constructed ; and doubt¬ less, when a few more hundred children, infirm persons, and r^ed men and women shall have been kUled, with perhaps a bishop, a member of parliament, or a highly respectable million¬ naire among the number, the bridges and the subways will be provided. Bridges or no bridges, the cataract of horses and vehicles in the metropolitan streets will continue to in¬ crease in wolume and force as population aug¬ ments; and something will have to be done, either to divert, to~ regulate, or to economise it, if this great city is to remain habitable any longer for that rather large and very intelligent class of people, workers or non-workers, who value their health, their comfort, or their safety. When railways were first established, their termini were generally placed at considerable distances from the metropolitan centre. The London and North-Western came nearest at Euston-square, where it still has its head¬ quarters; the South-Eastern stopped at the Surrey side of London-bridge; the South. Western, still more modest, stopped at Vaux- Ml. But the introduction of railways right into the city of later years, though it must have diminished a certain amount of cab and omnibus traffic, does not seem to the eve of any ordinary observer to have sensibly disen¬ cumbered the streets. Even the greatest boon of all the means of locomotion yet accorded to the peripatetic and travelling public of London, the Metropolitan or Underground Railway, which cames its millions of passengers per annum, does not seem to have rendered uune- cess^ the employment of a single cab or omnibus that previously plied for hire in our busy streets. Open out whatever, mode of relief we may, the great thoroughfares remain as crowded as ever. London is in this respect like Niagara : the torrent roars as furiously as before, though a hundred mills and factories, each of which requires and takes away a certain amount of water-power, may be established on either side. The main stream is inexhaustible, and can only be diverted in rills and driblets, that create no sensible diminution of the mighty current. London locomotion in our day presents itself under a twofold aspect to the consideration of the daily increasing inhabitants of this nation within a nation—this people of three and a half millions, almost double in number to the whole population of the immense continent of Australia, greater also than the whole population of Scotland, though cooped up in a space about the extent of the Isle of Wight. The first point that requires consideration in a time when people must ride in public vehicles is the comfort, convenience, and economy of the car¬ riages, small or great, which are licensed to convey them from place to place ; the second is the safety of the multitudinous army of pedes¬ trians who traverse, on their business or plea¬ sure, such comparatively short distances as do not make riding compulsory upon the feeble or the hurried. The nret question leads to an examination of the existing cabs and omni¬ buses, and whether the accommodation they offer, and the rates at which they supply it, are " of a kind to meet the public requirements ; and the second leads to the mquiry whether, under a better system of management, the streets could not be relieved of at least one-half of the number of horses and of vehicles that now almost blockade them, without diminishing the amount of accommodation afforded to the public. On the first point there is little to be said that needs saying. Onr cabs are a disgrace to a civilised city, but might easily be improved under better mnnicipal regulations, and per¬ haps by removing some of the restrictions that now fetter this branch of trade, and per¬ mitting the introduction of superior vehicles at such rates of fare as the proprietors chose to demand and the public would be eon- tent to pay. But bad as are the cabs, the om¬ nibuses are ten times worse. Tll-constructed, ill-ventilated, dirty, close, narrow, unfit when crowded (as they usually are) for a decent woman either to press into or out of, with an amount of seat-room per individual inconsistent with the deference due to the modesty of the one sex or the convenience of the other, the omnibuses of London are models of " what to avoid." A few years ago, when the proprietors of the various lines united, and formed what is known as the London General Omnibus Com¬ pany (Limited), the public was promised that the quasi-monopoly they established would con¬ duce to the general interest, inasmuch as a rich and powerfm company would be in a position to provide better vehicles and charge lower fares than the poor proprietor of one or perhaps two carriles. But all these pro¬ mises came to nothing. No improvement worth record has been made, and lares, instead of being lessened, have been raised. But while the omnibus proprietors have it in their power to construct their vehicles on a better principle as regards ventilation, to bestow more attention upon cleanliness, they are not able to provide carriages of a greater width than those they now employ, so as to allow ample room to every pas¬ senger and a clear space down the middle, unless upon conditions which would tend to encumber the streets still more fearfully than they are encumbered at present. The space which an 298 [March 7,18«3.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Condnctedhy omnibus occupies in the roadway is to' be measured, not by the. width of the body of the vehicle in which the passengers are cramped and confined, but by the ■width be¬ tween the tires of the wheels. If the whole of this amount of space could be made available for the passengers, they would have all the elbow-room, that the most fastidious could re¬ quire, and omnibuses would be as comfortable as first-class railway carriages. If the wheels were, as in the present vehicles, placed ex- ternily, the omnibuses would occupy a much larger portion of the roadway than they now do, and would thus increase the obstruction in the public thoroughfare, which it is absolutely necessary to diminish. If, on the other hand, the wheels were placed under these enlarged vehicles, as in railway carriages, it would re¬ quire the work of at least three horses to do the work of one, and the streets would be blockaded by a new cause, and rendered more impassable than ever. This leads to the remedy. What London requires is, not the abolition of the existing omnibuses, but a relief to the enormous pressure on the streets, by the introduction of wider car¬ riages, not occupying more space than the omnibuses, and with the wheels inside of the projecting bulk and under the carriages, as we see on the railway, and the laying down of tram¬ ways, by means of which one horse might draw the load that, without the aid of the rail or tram, would be too much for the strength of three or four. In one sentence, London must have tramways such as are established in America, and which work so satisfactorily to the public in all the great cities of the United States and Canada. Under the operation of tliis system, one car, not occupying more width of road than an ordinary omnibus, will be able to convey thrice the number of passengers, out¬ side and in, at about half the cost which the omnibus monopoly demands- and receives from a patient and helpless pubhc, and with a com¬ fort and convenience which no omnibus, under any system of management or èonstruction, unaided by the rail or tram, could hope to afford. That portion of the public which, had it lived eighty or even forty years ago, would have ob¬ jected to gas, to the " new police," to railways, or to any other great improvement, objects, as a matter of course, to street tramways ; but, also as a matter of course, these objections will be overruled. The tramway will be laid down in London, as it has been laid down in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Boston, Washington, Chicago, San Prancisco, Toronto, Montreal, Quebec, and in scores and hundreds of populous towns and cities, and the first people to express surprise at the convenience, economy, and utility of the new arrangement will be those over-zealous or over-interested conservatives of the status quo in locomotion, who believe, or affect to believe, that the rail in city streets is a nuisance. The rails laid down eight years ago in London were a nuisance, for they some¬ times wrenched off the wheels of carriages that had as much right to the use of the road¬ way as cars. But this nuisance is not in¬ herent to" the' reform sought, and a new rail has been patented, perfectly level with the road, which will not interfere with the wheels of or¬ dinary carriages. Cheap fares, commodious car¬ riages, easy running, diminution of the number of horses at present employed in the streets, and a saving of highway rate to every parish through which the trams shall be laid — are a little bead-roll of advantages which the practical people of the metropolis will not be slow to appreciate, however much the omnibus interest may object to the good tiling. The old stage-coach proprietors opposed the rail ; the Thames watermen opposed the penny steam-boats ; the old Tories opposed the Reform Bill of 1832 ; the old fogies of 1809, alarmed at possible explosions iu the dead of night, op¬ posed the introduction of gas-lamps in the streets ; the steady old chiefs of the Post Office, when Rowland Hill promulgated his revolu¬ tionary and, to their minds, -wicked idea of a universal penny post, were dead against him ; but what of that ? We have got the railway, we have got steam-boats, we have got gas, we have got the penny-post, and we shaU have tramways in all the business thoroughfares and streets of London that are available for the purpose. BED HUGH. O PLBASANT whisper on the heath Beside the moorland rill ! 0 happy meetings 'neath the moon- When all the -winds were still! ■What kisses when we plighted troth, What partings by the pine ! 1 murmur'd Alice in my dreams,. And long'd to call her mine. Her father was a yeoman, ' A kindly man and good, Who farm'd the acres of his sire. And dwelt in Femdale Wood ; And I—I fancy at that time My work brought little gain ; The chiefest labour of my life Was loving Alice Rayne. I wrought for the approval That shone in her sweet face. When -Whit-tide came, in. every- game- I held the foremost place; Mine was the stoutest cudgel Our Cumbrian yeoman knew. At wrestling mitre the only a-nn Could vanquish strong Bed Hugh. The rivalry between us Was- bitter from the- first, An enmity of envy bom. Which even love had nurst ; For in his churlish fashion He liked her well ; and she. Flay'd with his fancy, womanlike. It wrought a pain in me ; Ourles Pickens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 7,1868.] 299 For Alice, thongh she loved me well, Would praise him, and would say- Bed Hugh should bring the flowers next year And crown her Queen of May ; And when I left her sore displeased, And Hugh would come elate. She struck him dumb -with scornful fro-wn And mocked his forward glances down ; And so she earned his hate. Me too he held his enemy. In that I overthrew The triumph of his braggart strength : Men spoke no more of Hugh, Kor vaunted now bis quarter-staff Nor what his heart could dare. He hated me that I was strong. And her, that she was fair ; In his dull anger, many a day He vow'd a deadly deed should each— My stronger arm, her sharper speech— Most bitterly repay. He knew how Bumour's Ij'ing tongue Would spread.his harmful tales. He feign'd rough pity for her youth ; Aid evil never fails ' To spread, like fire upon the moor When autumn winds are strong. He whisper'd strange and direful words. To do her wicked -wrong. If he but outwardly had shown His wish to work her harm. His evil features soon had borne The vengeance of my arm ; But still he kept a kindly guise. And shrank from open strife ; And whUe I knew that words could kill, I could not face the nameless ill That shadow'd all her life. Before the half-averted glance. The beck of silent scorn. She droop'd : her form grew slighter. Her features pale and worn. When bolder grew the whispers. And Slander wagg'd its tongue. Long nights she passed in prayers and tears Beneath the weight of wrong. And one day flashed her anger, When, struck with sudden pain At what our small world mutter'd, She spoke with slow disdain : Were I a man, and love of mine Were slander'd thus, I trow I'd brand the coward where he stood, And, ere be made his vile words good, There should be Liar writ in blood Upon the coward's brow!"_ No knight in ages olden Had blither heart than mine. When I made oath to seek Bed Hugh, Since Alice gave the sign ; And there, before her father, I swore -with lusty breath To bind Bed Hugh to silence Or face the grip of death. I sought him at the harvesting I did not find him there. I sought him at the ale-house bench Where oft he would repair. His boon companions answer'd. Lounging about the door, " Bed Hugh is wont to wander About the Bavenmoor; " To day he had his bag and gun. Haply in quest of game." And forth for Bavenmoor I set. My eager heart aflame. The morning turn'd to noon that bum'd Its arrows in my soul. And ere the fainting August heat Had melted into evening sweet O'er gorse and fern, I set my feet Upon the tardy goal. We stood upon a lofty crag, A black tarn underneath. A careless foot, or crumbling rock. Had plunged us into death. " By all the fiends that sent thee here," He cried, " a ball of lead I'd drive, if but my gun were charged. Into thy lovesick head !" And by its shining barrel The gunstock brandishing. Madly he sprang upon me ; But I withstood his spring. We closed. No word was utter'd. But, deadly foe to foe. Throats clutched, hot hands, and hotter breath, A space we struggled. Black as death Gloom'd the abyss. His strength was spent. And, with one wavering shriek, he went Down to the tarn below. There came an awful silence On all the hills around. And, save the rustle of the leaves, I never heard a sound. I saw the circles in the tarn, That broaden'd till they died. I felt the ancient curse of Cain ; And, but for love of Alice Bayne, I fcould have wish'd Bed Hugh again Were standing at my side. Yet, nerving courage to the task, I sought the place beneath. All trembling lest mine eyes should see Bed Hugh in grasp of death. .The dark tarn had a smooth, blank face. And not a thing was there To tell of what my hand had done, Or save me from despair. The heavy hand that God has laid On murderers from the first Lay on my soul that night. I stray'd Into the further North, afraid To know the fearful worst— To know if they had found the corse In sluggish water by the gorse, (Dread secret Night had nurst I) Or if he lay there still death-pale. • Thus on—by flowering rise and vale I roam'd, a man accurst. Months past. A hunger to behold Her winsome face once more. To Ferndale village brought me back. I stood beside her door. 300 [March 7,1808.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Condocted hr The ruddy firelight shone within. I entered : in her place She sat ; and then she started up And met me face to face. " My Alice !"—But her cheeks were pale, Her- look was stern and cold. She was not wont to greet me so In happy days of old. I flung myself before her feet, I bowed my heavy head ; She tore her garment from my grasp— " Red Hugh I" was all she said. And thus the fulness of my crime Had eam'd its cruel meed. Self-charged before the judgment-seat, I told the rash red deed ; Yielding to vengeful law a life Too bitter to be borne. I thought, " 'Tis blood for blood : I die. Her tears may one day sanctify The grave none else shall mourn.". They bore me to the prison Amid the savage crowd. And cries of " Give us Hugh—Red Hugh !" From voices stem and loud. The warders guarded me from blows ; They bore me swift along. Or I had fallen on the spot And perished 'mid the throng. All through my weary vigils Throughout both day and night, The vision of the silent tarn Was ever in my sight. I heard the echoes give again The shriek when Red Hugh died. I fancied that his shadow stood Accusing at my side. My span of life grew shorter With every sinking sun. I wearied till the night had past. Yet fear'd when it was done. One day into my cell she came. My Alice—and I ween Her tears of sorrow sweeter were Than all her love had been. 0 Then rose the fatal morning. I heard the workmen go And rear the heavy beams on high With many a sounding blow. I heard the sullen murmur Of voices in the to^vn. And knew that I should never see Another sun o'er Ferndale lea In crimson rays go down. A still, blood-eager multitude Stood round the awful thing, Glimmering, a dreadful skeleton. In the misty mom of spring. I looked upon the faces That came to see me die— Refreshing odours from the fields Were wafted through the sky. One dreadful face enchained my glance : It gloated on my plight. And seem'd to love the deathly scene. And linger o'er the sight. I saw it pressing nearer. Haply for freer view. I watched it. Then—a sudden thrill : " 'Tis Hugh !" I cried—" Red Hugh !" A start—a break—a murmur ! I see it from my place. A hundred eyes are gathered On the sullen, startled face. A hundred hands outreaching. Thrust him from where he stood. The wondering masses onward roll, Bearing Red Hugh. 'Tis done. My soul Is innocent of blood. They told me, when my swoon was past. The tale that he confess'd : How half dead from the tarn he crept, A purpose in his breast To hide himself from sight, and lekve Blood-guilt upon my head ; Until the morn he came elate To view me borne unto my fate Betrayed him ; for his heart of hate Hunger'd to see me dead. What boots it that I tell you more ? For here my story ends. Here 'mid the leaves of Ferndale And troops of ancient friends. And Time has washed the stain of blood From my dark web of life : One silver strand runs in the woof. For Alice is my wife. THE AIR. We finished the paper. On the Wing, in our last number with this sentence; "Flight con¬ sists of two things — buoyancy and waftage : and without saying that wings have nothing to do with buoyancy, and lightness nothing to do with waftage, it may be submitted that buoy¬ ancy (like that of a balloon) depends on gaseous structure, and waftage on the mechanism of wings ; flying being the combination of the two as guided by the instinct or will of a bird." Upon this text we would preach a little longer : What are the gases which give buoyancy ? How much are they lighter than the air ? By dissecting flying animals under water, the pre¬ sence of the gases in their bones and bags and cells is easily detected. No chemist, as far as I know, has ever caught and analysed these gases, to ascertain either their nature or their weight. This would be worth doing by some chemical members of a London or Paris flying society. But guesses sufficiently near the truth for my argument may be made mter considering what is known respecting the gases of the breath and the blood. Oxygen forms twenty-one of every hundred parts of the air, the proportion being pretty much" the same everywhere, in towns and on mountains, only rather less in populous cities than in forests. All sorts of tiny things float in the air. The controversy which has heen kept up with vivacity of late years on the Con¬ tinent, respecting soontaneous generation, has caused much attention to be given to the bodies ChMles Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Mardi 7 18«8.] 301 which float in the air. Some observers find many, and some few, seeds and eggs, according as the observers look for proofs of generation from germs and sperms, or for proofs of deve¬ lopment. M. Pouchet, the zealous opponent of those he calls the panspermists (the most emi¬ nent and numerous of the physiologists) gives the following account of the things he has found : At sea, and on hiU-tops, these flotsam and jetsam of the air are rare, while they are marvellously plentiful in old and crowded towns. Pood, clothes, furniture, houses, everything, in faet, furnishes partieles to become the motes dancing on the sunbeams. Plour is most com¬ mon. Particles of the corn for which Joseph and Iris brethren went to Egypt may be still hidden in cracks and crannies, or floatmg about —adhering to an insect's wing, or eau^t in a snow-flake. There are scales of moths, skele¬ tons of infusoria, and living animalcules in the air. Dust and smoke contribute to the mote-dances. But the floating things do not remain in the air; they go into the iusides of animals* Not merely flour, but living micro¬ scopical crustaceans have been found ahve in the lungs of a dead man. Filiments of wool and silk, richly dyed, were once drawn from the bones of a peacock, the pet of a château. Flour has been uiseovered stuffing the bones of a baker's poultry ; while the bones of the fowls of a dealer in charcoal contained partieles of charcoal dust. Dust of leaves and bark pene¬ trates inside the woodpecker. Vegetable dust, and filaments of cotton and wool, are found in¬ side the bones of crows and magpies. What is the law in such eases ? Heat has much to do with locomotion. Heat affects gravity, the law which makes stars and tears round. The earth is continually rolling out of cold air into warm. Glaciers likewise glide towards the warmth ; icebergs float from ley towards tepid seas ; and the aërial and aqueous oceans obey the solar and lunar rays. Temperature has much to do with the pollings and pushings of particles, or electrical and mag- netieal phenomena, to which are ascribed the rotations in vegetable cells. The antheridiœ, or pollenaria, of mosses and ferns rotate ac¬ cording to the law of the Archimedean screw. No less distinguished a physiologist than Pro¬ fessor J. Mueller, of Berlin, has emitted the opinion that, whilst the bones of birds are un¬ doubtedly made empty that they might be lighter than they would be if they held marrow, the air in the aerial bags does not much lessen the weight of the birds, because it is nearly as dense as common air. He does not, however, say who the observer was who weighed the gases in the aërial bags and bones of birds when flying; and how he ascertained their density when they were inside the pelican or the alba¬ tross, apparently asleep in the storm. Birds are six or seven degrees warmer than men, because they contain, proportionally, more carbon and hydrogen to combine with oxygen, and produce warmth. The difference between summer heat and blood heat is twenty degrees ; and, probably, six or seven degrees more in birds than in men. The temperature of a young sparrow eight days old fell sixteen or seventeen degrees in an hour of separation from its nest and its mother. Fledging is- warming ; feathering is lightening. The heart of a hybernating bat beats some fifty times a> minute, and of a summer bat two hundred times. Fishes are called cold-blooded animals, yet they are half a degree to a degree and a half warmer than the water they swim in. The • fish that can live in ice, keep the water around them from freezing. The arterial blood of a bat is less crimson in winter than in summer, and arterial blood in general is a degree or two warmer than veinons blood. Animal heat, the chemists tell us, is due to the combination in- the lungs of the oxygen of the air with-the carbon and hydrogen of the blood. The car¬ bonic acid which is exhaled is developed in the whole vascular system. If the observation and calculations of Magnus are to be credited, arterial blood is more gaseous than veinous blood. Carbonic acid gas and oxygen gas both existing in the blood, numerous experi¬ ments seem to prove that the carbonic gas is- expelled, not by the atmospheric air, but by the other gases. Blood contains oxygen, carbon, and azotic gases ; veinous blood more carbonic- gas than arterial, and arterial more oxygen than veinous blood. The miracle of the vivifi- cation of the blood, the change from death to- life, is ascribed to thk predominance of oxygen gas. Carbonic acid gas is disengaged in respi¬ ration when lungs are distended ; in fermenta¬ tion when liquids are swelled ; in combustion, which turns solid wood and coal into smoke and flame ; in putrefaction, which brings dead- bodies above the surface of water ; and this dis¬ engagement of gas, wherever it occurs, makes its subjects lighter. A summary of the facts I have collected' will make it more and more evident still that buoyancy in air, as in water, is due to the presence of gases. Flying animals are built to hold gases everywhere—in their bones, their bodies, their skins; and, as their blood is- several degrees warmer than the blood of walking or running animals, their gases are, probably, several degrÄs lighter. Azote, or hydrogen, or whatever the gas held in the gaseous structures may be, it is proportionally warmer, and therefore proportionally lighter, than air. But the bat, it is said, has not the structure of birds, and yet it flies well. A word on bats. I have just mentioned that- the heart of the flying bat beats four beats for one beat of the hybernating bat; and I have- been proving that greater warmth implies greater lightness. Digestion having gone on during hybernation, and all the stores of fat having been absorbed, the bat awakes from torpor ex¬ tremely light and thin, a resuscitated mummy,, and, from hanging to projections, takes every evening to a few hours of flying and feeding. The bat is, like the bird, provided with aërial oars, although they have membranes instead of 302 [Uarcä 7, 1868.] Âlit THE TEAR BOUND, [CoadueMdby featliers. As there are octapoda which swim by means of membranes instead of fins, there are mammals which fly by means of membranes instead of wings. Batsj called by the Savans, hand-wings (Cheiroptera), hand-rats (Cheiro- mus), and cat-monkeys (Galespithecus), can fly by means of membranes. The bat flies best. But the flight of the bat, compared with the flight of the swallow, pigeon, or pelican, is a poor performance. When a Boy I have knocked down many a bat with mv Highland bonnçt on the roads, of Aberdeenslure. No boy ever thought of trying this game on with a swallow or a sparrow. The bat spends most of his time hanging to some projection in a hole, and flies only for a few hours in the evenings of a few weeks in the year. The aye-aye, or rat-monkey of Madagascar, has a flat tail like a squirrel, and derives its name fpm the exclamation of as- tonishpaent which it excites when seen leaping, bounding, or almost flyii^ from tree to tree in the dusk of the evening. The cat-monkeys have been mistaken for bats. The fingers of the bat are long, thin, light, cylindrical, and. hollow ; and the bat flies by using the fine membrane between them as a wing. The membrane of the cat-monkey, on the contrary, is not a wing, or aerial oar, but is a .sort of parachute spread¬ ing over the back,, and expanaed and regulated by the four arms and hands. The parachute spreads over the whole back of the body from the lips to the fingers, and covers the tail. Some of these cat-monkeys can fly a hundred yards, or more in. an oblique and inclined line. The female flies with her little one at her breast. Now, not merely is. the humerus of all these animals with membranes on their hands and backs, long, slim, and hollow; there, are con¬ nected with it one or two holes, and one of these holes communicates with the instruments of smell. Certain bats have also a curious "rotule brachiale," as the French call it, or arm-wheel (Patella brachialis), which was dis¬ covered by Mechlin in the extensor muscle of the fore arm of the vampire bat. The swimming lizards have also this bone, which, iJierefore, is probably useful for floating in water and air. The kalong, or fox-bat, is said to take long, straight, slow flights from forest to forest, and from plantation to plantation, in search of fruit. The differences between bats and birds, viewed as flying machines, are mere differences of form. The birds owe their buoyancy to gaseous struc¬ ture, and their wattage to their feathered wings ; and the bats owe their buoyancy to gaseous structure, and their waftage to membraneous wings. 'Jhe flying-fish have pectoral fins, so long and wide that they serve as wings for a time. The skin of the flanks of the flying squirrels, extending from their fore to their bind legs and feet, forms a parachute under them, as the skin of the cat-moukeys forms a parachute over them. On the whole, then, I submit that buoyancy is proportional to gaseous, and waftage to wing structure ; and when both are most perfect, the flying is most perfect. A strong confirmation of these views is ob¬ tained from an oKaminatioB of the floating ma¬ chines which ingenious men have successfully built, and from, the attempts which they have unsuccessfully made to build flymg machines adapted for the air. Mechanical invention can produce ships wldch float in the air, but it cannot guide them there. Balloons are'ships at the mercy of the winds and tides, udthout sails and rudders.. By throwing out ballast they can -be . sent up, and by letting off gas they can be let down; but they cannot be steered to any given spot- Any master mariner can say, " Hoist a flj^ on any spot you like of the ocean, which covers three-fourths of the globe, and I will take my ship to it ;" but the sailors in the air can go up and be swept about, and they can come down, and this is all they can doi When shall they be able to say, "Hoist a flag on any peak you like of the Andes, or the Himalayas, and 1 will anchor my air-ship there?" The best models for air-ships or boats were probably the wing-fingers or ptérodactyles, now only found as fossils. These bats had aerial oars of membraneous structure, measuring some (hirty or forty feet from tip to tip. The imitation of wings seems to have been the first notion of the an sailors : Then with expanded wings he steers his flight, -Aloft incumbent on the dusky air, That felt unusual weight, says Milton, describing Satan ; and the makers of flying-machines, from the earliest of them on record down to the members of the British and French Aeronautical Societies of the present day, have always persisted in the error of attaching undue importance to wings, and in¬ sufficient importance to gas tubes, bags, and cells. The young monk of Malmsbury, who, it is said, flew from the steeple and moke his bones, boasted that he would have succeeded quite if he had only had a broad tail of feathers. The Marqub de Bacqueville, who started to fly aeross the Seine, from the roof of his house, to the Garden, of the Tuileries, about a hmidred and thirty years ago, found the working of his wings beyond his strength, and fell down, and broke his leg against a floating wash-house in the Seine. Five or six. hundred years ago a man, who is said to have flown from a hill at Bologna into the river Reno, was neither killed nor drowned. Proving clearly, to the satisfac¬ tion of the Holy Inquisition, that he was in league with Satan, he was burnt. Some success •was obtained several centuries ago in the construction and use of aerial velo¬ cipedes. Friar Bacon, Bishop Wilkens, and the Marquis of Worcester, all mention these inventions. The editor of the pamphlet on Aerial Locomotion, from the Transactions of the Aeronautical Society of Great Britain, quotes the following passage from "Astra Castra," by Hutton Tumor: "Soon after Bacon's time, projects were instituted to train up children from their infancy in the exercise of flying with artificial wings ; which seemed to Charles DickeoB.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 7, Ige&l 303 be the fawurite plan: of the artista and philo¬ sophers of that day. If we credit the accounts of some of these experiments, it would seem that considerable progress was made that way. The. individuals who used the wings could skim over the surface of the earth with a great, deal of ease and celerity. This was accomplished by the combined faculties of running and flying. It is stated that, by an alternately continual motion of the wings against the air, and the feet against the ground, they were enabled to move along with a striding motion, and with incredible speed." Kites have been used to assist ascension. Experiments have proved that a surface of only fifty-five square feet can support a weight of nmety4wo and a quarter pounds. The author of the History of the Char-volant, or kite car¬ riage, says r " These buoyant sails, possessing immense power, will, as we have before re¬ marked, serve for floating observatories Elevated in the' air, a single sentinel, with a perspective, could watch and report the advance of tW most powerful forces, while yet at a great distance. He could mark their line of march, the composition of their force, and their general strength, long before he coidd be seen by the enemy Nor was less progress made in the experimental department, when large weights were required to be raised or transposed. While on this subject we must not omit to observe, that the first person who soared aloft in the air by this invention was a lady, whose courage would not be denied this test of its strength. An arm-chair was brought on the ground, then lowering the cordage of the kite by slackening the lower brace) the chair was firmly lashed to the main line, and the lady took her seat. The main brace being hauled taut, the huge buoyant sail rose aloft with its fair burden, continuing to ascend to the height of a hundred yards. On descending, she ex¬ pressed herself much pleased with the easy motion of the kite, and the delightful prospect she had enjoyed. Soon after this, another ex¬ periment of a similar nature took plaee, when the inventor's son successfully carried out a de¬ sign not less safe than bold, tliat of scaling, by this powerful aerial machine, the brow of a cliff two hundred feet in perpendicular height. Here, after safely landing, he again took his seat in a chair expressly prepared for the pur¬ pose, and, detaching the swivel-line which kept it at its elevation, glided gently down the cordage to the hand of the directon The buoyant sail employed on this occasion was thirty feet in height, with a proportionate spread of canvas. The rise of the machine was most majestic, and nothing could sui-pass the steadi¬ ness with which it was manoeuvred, the cer¬ tainty with which it answered the action of the braces, and the ease with which its power was lessened or increased Subsequently to this, an experiment of a veiy bold and novel character was made upon an extensive down, where a waggon with a considerable load was drawn along, whilst this huge machine at the same time carried an observer aloft in the air, realising almost the romanee of flying." Volumes upon volumes miglit be filled with descriptions of unsuccessful flying machines. The'council of the Aëronautical Society are deluged with suggestions, plans, and specifica¬ tions, and " secret inventions certain of success upon receipt of funds." What I wish to record in the briefest possible way are the partial suc¬ cesses. Agreeing cordially with the pawky Scot, who said, " Next to knowing what will do, it is well to know what will not do ;" and with the "'cute" Yankee, that "there is only one thing beats trying, that's doing," I have pre¬ scribed for myself the task of saying only now nature does it, leaving to others the recording of the ways of not doing iti Before leaving the kite carnages, I may mention that the Duke of Sutherland will give a hundred pounds to anybody who shall fly up to the roof of Stafford House. A hundred years ago. Dr. Black, the pro¬ fessor of chembtry in the University of Edin¬ burgh, exhibited the first balloon, a large skin bag full of hydrogen gas, the very gas which most likely gives their buoyancy to the birds and the bats. The most fatal accidents seem to have been caused by machines embodying sound principles in untried and unsuitable forms. The Montgolfier and Tytler balloon was a contrivance for filling a large bag with smoke from a brazier, being pulled up, fire¬ place, fuel, and all, by the smoke. Tlie Black and Charles balloon was a sack full of hydrogen gas ; and this is the balloon which has become, in our day, Glaisher's sky observatory. Hosier, wishing to be able, to regulate his specific gra¬ vity by making gas, combined the two bal- loons^ the one of which set fire to the other, and he fell down and was kiUed. This power of heating their gases, the flying animals, as I have shown, possess, and tiie air sailors will in turn have to obtain it. Hosier's object must be at¬ tained and his fate avoided. A Cocking pa¬ rachute might be tried, with tubes of india- rubber or gutta-percha, or with bladders, in¬ stead of a material so unsuitable as tin. Cracked tin may one day justify the opinion of Mr. Green, who took poor Cocking up, attached to the Nassau balloon, that his death was not a mad freak, but was a sad accident. Nineteen years after Black's balloon had been exhibited in Edinburgh, a Swede made a dish of the most beautiful fruits, which were brought in as dessert at the banquets of great personages. Whilst the guests were still admir¬ ing the fruits, and probably- desiring to partake of them, they were seen to rise out of the* splendid dishes which contained them, and float away in the air. The French Court having been enchanted with these toys, it was explained to the personages who held the purse-strings of the nation, that nothing but money was wanted to enable two ingenious brothers of the name of Montgolfier to rise up hanging from balloons and float away as the apples and oranges had done. In 1782, the servants of the royal sports 304 [March 7,1868.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Coodseted hy under the direction of the senior Montgolfier sent a balloon up at Versailles in presence of the court, a balloon with a car oontaining a sheep, a duck, and a cock; the first aeronauts ; the next in the same jear were the Montgolfier brothers. Birds having been described as high-pressure locomotives, a Manchester correspondent of the Aeronautical Society B.D.A. gives an interest¬ ing, valuable, and Thumourous account of his experiments. When a very young man he saw the experiments with locomotive engines at Rainhill, near Liverpool, which prepared public opinion for the railway between Man¬ chester and Liverpool ; and thought he could easily make an engine to fly by steam. Power and lightness, and nothing more were necessary. He made the wings valvular for the up-stroke to let the air through, an obvious departure from nature. His flying engine, and its first performance shall be described in his own words : " The eylinder of the engine was onei inch bore, and three-inch stroke, tne slide valve was worked by an arrangement of tappets, and the piston reciprocated rapidly without fly¬ wheel or eceentric; the cylinder was firmly fixed to the steam generator, or boiler. The piston-rod was attached to a pair of wings, of a triangular shape, and about two feet six inches long. These opened somewhat like a Venetian blind at the up-stroke, and closed during the down-stroke, and moved through an arc of eighty degrees. The heating surface in the generator was about one hundred square inches. " I have forgotten the weigiit of the whole, but as there were only thin sneets of water in the generator, it would perhaps be about six or seven pounds. "VThen all was ready for a trial, I suspended the machine by a cord from the ceiling of a room to about five feet from tiie floor, then got up steam, and allowed it'to accu¬ mulate, so that there would be a good pressure to start with. When the steam was turned on, the wings worked vigorously, but the macliine jerked up and down, whirled round, rushed from side to side, and, in fact, performed «11 kinds of gymnastic movements within its limits (except flying), to the great amusement of the particular friends invited to witness the experiment. With some difficulty I cauglit the model, and turned off the steam, and was preparing for another trial, when lo ! the boiler exploded, filling the place with steam, and scattering the red-hot charcoal about the room. When the fog had cleared up I looked up for my friends, but they had aU ' skedaddled ' away, as many ' friends' do in the time of misfortune. Thus ended my first attempt to fly by steam." Grown a little wiser oy experience, he next tried to ascertain if his engine would not abso¬ lutely fly, what amount of gravity it would overcome by the action of its wings. He sus¬ pended the engine from a long balance or screw- beam, so that he could counterbalance it with weights at the opposite end, but the up-stroke of the engine drove the engine down and the down-stroke up, so that when at work it beat up and down violently. A subsequent experi¬ ment with vanes proved to him that great power is not necessary for flying. Bats, birds, and insects make no violent exertions. The motion of the wings of the rook, for example, would, according to the doctrine of resistance, produce only a few drachms instead of a pound of buoy¬ ancy. The wing strikes elastic globules of air, which propel it. The air nuises up against the wing, somewhat like the breath which makes the pea dance in the tobacco-pipe. The last ex¬ periment of this gentleman was a very remark¬ able one. ... "I made another engine lo be moved by steam. Its construction was as fol¬ lows : On the top of a small but strong steam generator I screwed a steam-tight, movable joint; to this joint was secured a long brass pipe, about three-eighths in internal diameter, and to the end of this pipe I fixed my engine and wings only {i.e., not the boiler). The brass tube gave no support to the engine, for it was jointed to the top at the steam boiler, as before stated, and in some measure represented the string of a kite, only it conveyed steam to the engine. When all was ready, the generator put on the fire of the smith's forge ; the engine and wings, at the end of the long pipe, rested on a post or stump about two feet from the ground. I turned the steam on at the genera¬ tor, when, to my great satisfaction, the engine instantly flew into the air, and kept itself up to tlie length of its tether. I increased the power of the steam until the wings began to emit a drumming sound, when suddenly they both broke off close to the engine, which, of course, came down like a stone." The editor of Aerial Locomotion remarks, that if the vulcanised india-rubber flexible steam pipe had been known at the time, the author of this paper would probably have preferred it; and adds, "the idea is very ingenious and worthy of the attention of experimenters." The idea thus partially realised was anticipated by the Poet Darwin. And after all the doubts cast upon his prophecy in reference to aerial navigation, it may happen yet that tlie couplet on it shall be seen to be just as prophetic as the couplet upon steam on land and water : Soon shall thy arm nnconquered steam, afar, Draw the slow barge, and drive the rapid car; Or on wide waving wings expanded bear. The flying chariot through the streams of air. Tennyson, like Darwin, has seen in vision the coming age of flyiug machines, and both predict war in the air. Very few years elapsed after the publication of Darwin's prophecy, before four lines of it became actual fact. Fair crews triumphant leaning from above, Shall wave their fluttering kerchiefs as they move ; a scene which most of us have witnessed ; and a quarter of a century had not passed before the Trench gained a victory by reconnoitring their enemies from a balloon, a step towards the time when the lines will be realised— Or warrior bands alarm the gaping crowd. And armies shrink beneath the shadowy cloud. The vision of aerial war may be only too truly in accordance with human nature ; but I Charlen Qiekenn.] AXiL THE TEAR ROÜNP. [Uarch 7, IMS.] 3G5 see a gentler and nearer vision, the show of flying machines promised for midsummer next by the Aëronautical Society. Many most curi¬ ous machines are already prepared for inspec¬ tion. The illustrations of mathematical, me¬ chanical, chemical, and physiological truths, already existing in museums, laboratories, and workshops, if collected together for study, cannot fail to enlarge, correct, and deepen the opinions of all who have studied the subject, and especially by enabling the men of science and the men of skill to understand each other. Machines and engines are sure to be plentiful, and I suppose every kind of balloon and kite, skeletons and dissections of every kind of flying animal, and as many as possible of the living animals themselves. But there are two things which may be overlooked—gases and toys— which I submit would be injurious omissions. The whole series of the experiments of Cigna, Priestley, and liavoisier, on the composition of air, if exhibited, would show why the flying animals have the warmest blood and the least specific gravity, and how pure air, or oxygen, burns fixed air, or carbon ; and how inflammable air, or hydrogen, produces buoyancy. And aërial toys ought not to be overlooked. The toys are the boys for inventions and discoveries, as the histories of inventions and discoveries prove to all who read. As for grave and grey, reverend and rheumatic seniors, what could be better for them than to get new leases of life from the enjoyment of new toys, to see cars from China flying along English swards, or kites up in the English blue sky, which had come all the way from Japan, representing elderly gentlemen walking arm-in-arm, or gigan¬ tic crawling centipedes f As for Barmacide desserts of gaseous fruits, without preceding courses of solid refreshment, they might not be popular in- England. On the whole, and seriously, those of us who have seen steam making travel marvellously easier on the earth and over,the water may, at the coming exhi¬ bition, have our hopes strengthened of the ap¬ proach of the day when men shall become freedmen of the airy sphere. CHAUCER-ENGLISH IN THE DALES. What we call provincialisms, are very often the echoes of the long-forgotten national Ian- guage, and the last remains of primitive national habits. This is certainly the case ih the north country—which I will call "Cumberland" broadly ; the slight differences existing among the four northern counties not being sufficiently wide to need a separate classification. The old writers of the fourteenth century are full of Cumberland peculiarities. When Chaucer says of the Wife of Bath that she was " somdel deef," he was talking pure Cumberland. The Jobby of to-day, saying the same thing of Aggy, might exchange some-deal for summut if he thought fit, and he might probably add, " an' that's a pity," instead of Chaucer's " and that was skathe," for he is fond of the phrase " an' that's a pity but he would understand the line as it runs, without the glossary which the puir daft Southron body needs. Jobby would also understand the knight's troubles in hus¬ bandry though only metaphorical. I have God wot a large field to ere, And wayke ben the oxen in my plough. But he would undoubtedly laugh as he lounged against the chimley-lug in his heavy broad-shouldered way, and would most pro¬ bably call out as hb comment, "But la'avin days ! wha' iver heerd tell ov a bodie, not fairlie daft an' dune, pleughmg wi' beests!" And, by the way, that word daft is good old English, though Chaucer and his contempo¬ raries use daf for the noun—as a daf, a fool— and bedaffed for the past tense of the verb to bedaf or to be bedaffed—made a fool of. We have it only as an adjective ; though sometmes I have heard a man called "a dafty " as well.' Chaucer elides the o in to, and the e in the, before a vowel ; so do our dalesfolk. Tathens, themperor, thexperiens, are all written and pro¬ nounced according to the rules of good Cum¬ berland ; and saistow, seestow, for sayest thou, seest thou, are also of our manner. The dalesfolk always say seeste for see thou, look here ; talking Chaucerian without knowing it. " Seeste, lass I t'kye's in't garth out by ! hie thee ways an' put them ooti" or, "sayste sae? surely!" for "do you say so? surely!" with the last syllable strongly accented, jkn- other word also well descended is wax, in the sense of to grow. "Ay ! he waxes finely!" is the common expression for he grows well ; but how the modern slang meaning of anger came to be given to it, I do not know. Chaucer uses pure for very, and we of the dales have purely in the same sense ; also gaily, which I do not find in the old writers. " I'se gaily weel," says Jobby; or more shortly, "I'se gaily or more shortly still, " gaily," if even yet more laconic than usual ; and he has never a great flux of words ; said with a side-fling of his head by way of salutation in the mode most used by him, as he swings his tall figure down the fell?, with his colley at his heels, or gather¬ ing in the sheep far ahead. If the wind is rising as he walks, it is " soughing" in the trees and down the sharp ravines. Those two pic¬ torial lines in the Knight's Tale, In which ther ran a swymbul in a swough. As it were a storm schuld berst every bough— expressive of the sighing that ran through the deeper soughing of the winds, would be quite understood down in the dales ; but " the cruel ire as reed as any gleed" would puzzle Jobby and all his household. 'For to him a glede is a kite, and he knows no other meaning—to the men and women of the fourteenth century it was a burning coal, a red-hot living ember ; and to them the description held good, and the analogy was perfect. But to Jobby's under¬ standing a red glede or kite would be difficult. "Al ful of chirking was that sory place," says Chaucer ; and " t' lite geslings' churking gaily amang t' bracken," says Jobby—chirking 306 March 7,1668.] ALL THE YEAR ROUHD. [Conducted bj for cliirping, or whispering, being one of those poetic words which never die out of the lan¬ guage of the people. Stynt o-r stint, for have done with, give over, or, more rightfully, "gie ower," is also a Cumberland word. " A ! doughter stynt tbyn heavynesse," says Dyane to Emelye the bright; and when the Reede calls out, " stint thi clappe !" any dalesman of them all would understand that quite as well as " hand thee clapper which would be his own natural form of enjoining silence—most probably with a thundering expletive for addi¬ tional emphasis. The "A," too, as an excla¬ mation, is quite north country. We never say Ah I but just the flat A, when we do not say " lo ye to which we are partial as a vehicle of feeling. " Schal it be holde for a cast or elles for noon ?" asks Child Gamelyn, when he wrestles witii the doughty champion, and, flinging him by one of his " tomes," " kast hym on the left syde, that three ribbes to-brak;" just as any Musgrave or Graham might ask, after he has thrown his man at the Carlisle wrestling matches or the Wigton races. We are proud of our wrestling down in the dales, and main¬ tain that ours is the only true form of that sport; that the Cornish hug and the Lan¬ cashire grip are both out of the right rule, and that we alone practise the " tomes"—we call tliem by other names now—in use when Robin Hood and Little John' wrestled "under the grene schawes." Our Musgraves and Grahams would hold themselves "fouled" if they did what Pol, and Tre, and Pen think quite worthv play; and the Carlisle umpire would think twice before he allowed the victory to be claimed by Cornish cantrips or Lancashire sleights. The Welsh would understand better than we the miller's description of the carpenter's young wife : " Hir mouthe was sweete as bragat is or metb," but, "wynsyng sehe was as is a jolly colt," would come to us by virtue of that word wynsyng ; though we would call it winsome, like our friends over the Border—to imrthern ears one of the pleasantest words in the language. If a lassie belonging to us is not winsome, she is nothing of all that woman should be. She may be douce, and honest, and clever, and well favoured ; but if she is not winsome, she is like all the virtues without charity. The " riche gnof ;" who boarded students at the University, would find himself lengthened by a syllable if he came into Jobby's hands, and would be a gonof ; said with an emphasis that would be quite worth an adjective ; and the " persone obstinat," whom the " pore persoun" " wolde snybbe scharply for the nones," might be fbund, so far as obstinacy went, wherever the holy man chose .to look for him in the dales. Siker is Chaucerian for sure ; it is good Cum¬ berland, and good Scotch (as are many expres¬ sions here noted) also; and we "mak siker" when we make a rope or a bargain, or anything else sure. Hals is neck in the older tongue, and hawse, or hause, is the modern representative, for the most part given only to the sick or neck between two hills. Algates, or always, has its motif preserved in tie dale word of gate, for way—" Gang yer ain gate, ye lile donnet,'^ is mither's formula for giving up to itself and destruction, by means of red cows and trout-holes, the "lile donnet" who will not be sufficiently obedient to maternal counsel. A " dicket" is Chaucerian for a key ; and we have the verb to click for to snatch. " He clicked it clean oot o' my hand;" "Nay, what he cop an' clicked me ofl" my feet afoor I kenned whaur I war!" — both dicket and click probably phonetic in the begiiming, as, indeed, are most of the early words in all lan¬ guages—as it is to be supposed were all the first words when men were beginning to learn the use of speech, and taking natural sounds as the models to be imitated. < The frere in the Sompnour's tale says, " Have I of your softe brede but a schivere." .^d Aggy, upon the fells yonder, gives her bairns slivers; or shivers, of bread; and sometimes Harry-lad-shives, when more generous than usual—generous to the extent of a whole round, instead of the mommocks or gobbets, in general all that she allows of soft bread. " Clap-bread" (oat-cake), or "snap and rattle,'' are good enough for bairns, " mak fine lads div they ; gie 'em bluid an' banes, not fleck-milk an' putty. The softer pronunciation of ir, in the com¬ posite of three, is comparatively a modernism ; and one which has not found its wav yet down among the mountains ; where we still say thretty for thirty, and thretteen for thirteen, aU the same as in the fourteenth century, when the pojite world was not afraid of a little rough¬ ness on the tongue. Indeed, we Cumbrians are fond of putting the "r" before the vowel where the south places it after ; as in this same instance of thretty for thirty, crully for curly, crud for curd, and the like. Our Scottish neigh¬ bours do the same. Necked and nicked are fell-side renderings of notched, for which the old Chaucerian word was nokked. A field of corn laid by the wind is said by us to be necked, and the swan with two necks is a corruption, the genesis of which is known to everybody. THE SQUIRE'S TEMPER-TRAP. in seven chapteks. i. That Taffey was a Welshman no one who had ever made an attempt to spell the locality in which he had been born and bred would ven¬ ture to deny. But we cau accompany the lyrist no fui'ther. Taffey was not a "thief." The piece of beef which formed his Sunday's dinner was not mlfered from my house nor any¬ body else's. ' Taffey stole nothing but the hearty goodwill and liking of everybody that knew him. He was a swarthy feflow, on work¬ ing-days, as you would desire to see ; but when he came out on the Sabbath, close shaven, and in a shirt as white as his own conscience, smoking a Michaelmas daisy (his wife never Obttiles Diekens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 7,1868.] 307 permitted anything of a more exciting nature until after morning service), there are, I am ■warranted in saying, dnkes—I repeat the ex¬ pression, dukei—who have appeared to less advantage. Taffey was, in fact, a blacksmith. The science of farriage (if there is no such word, there ought to be) was held to have attained its climax in the school of Taffey. Until nature should remodel hoofs, art could do no more to supply her deficiencies. His plates might be worn till nothing remained between the wearer's hoofs and the hard Welsh roads, but a wafer bright as silver, bendable into a double ring for your wife's little finger; yet they were never lost nor loosened. It was an often- quoted saying of the squire's (uttered, if you please, in a moment of enthusiasm, but never tormaUy recanted), that if he—Theophilus Hur- baodine, of Llbwyddcoed, in the shure of Tlint —resided habitually in Grosvenor-square, he would, nevertheless, send down every horse in his stable to be shod, as usual, by Edward Taffey. Taffey loved his business. Business returned his affectfon. That shed of his was never vacant for half an hour together.* "Bless the brutes! Wheer they comes from I do' know—nather why they comes to me so thick," would Taffey remark, sweeping the moisture from his brow with the dingy turban formed by his tucked-up sleeve. And still the stamping of impatient hoofs and switch¬ ing of uneasy tails went on Jrom morning till night; the fire never ceasing its roar, the little crowd of idlere round the half-door of the forge never diminishing, imtil boys stood in their fathers' places with their fingers, like those fathers', in their moutiis—their eyes carrying on the wink at the sparkling fount of fire, into another generation. It ■will be readily believed that Taffey was a man well-to-do. Blacksmiths, when not given to drink, are almost always thriving men. So, I have observed, are millers. And whereas, nine times in ten, according to statistics about to be taken, your miUer has a lovely child with blue eyes and a skin white as her father's meal- sacks, so, in this instance, our blacksmith had a blooming daughter, with a cheek as brown as, though considerably smoother than, that of her respected sire. Katy was the prettiest girl, known of, from Llbwyddcoed to Abertlhery. Her hair was of the colour of the horse-chestnut fresh from his rough green overcoat ; and, with regard to the blush with which, among many other pretty things, she returned from market excursions, on something that resembled a bale of bearskins on castors, but was popularly believed to be a pony within—as touching, I say, that blush, I can only aver that, were I a woman, I would rather wear that natural rose for six months certain than be turned out, beautiful for ever, from the hands of the most accomplished dis¬ penser of loveliness that ever compounded a Bond-street wash. Next to jier Hebe face, and when you had sufficiently admired her lithe supple figure, you would probably find yourself attracted by Katy's foot—not so much on account of the fascination of a pair of bright steel buckles, once the pro¬ perty of her grandmother, which it was her whim to wear, as of the symmetry of the mem¬ ber they adorned, and the light decisive tread, displaymg a grace no dancing-mistress could have taught. Katy was graceful from her very cradle. The honest folks about her admired before they well knew why. As she grew up, this peculiar grace—it was almost dignity-;-of manner and movement pro¬ cured her the title of " my lady" : invented, it was believed, by her father himself ; and by this she was genermly known, it being considered merely anticipative of what was to follow. Eairy godmothers have still adherents in Wales, and it was an article of faith with a large portion of Katy's friends, that the benignant influence which liad conferred such attractive gifts upon "my lady" in infancy, would, in due course, bring forward the expectant prince, or other eminent person, destined to claim Katy for his bride. The pew tenanted by the family of Mr. Taffey being situated just within the porch of the Ettle village church, its occupants were usually among the first who issued forth. But they were too well held and popular to be suf¬ fered to escape thus easily. Overtaken and surrounded, pleasant were the conversations that ensued around a certain stile at which Mr. Taffey's Sunday route diverged from the general way, and led across the meadows towards a httie farm he rented from the squire, Mr. Hur- bandine aforesaid, and at which he always spent the remainder of his day of rest. Many were the greetings from the passers-by, and none more cordial than from the squire himself, who, walking between his handsome haughty-looking sons, suspended a rather ani¬ mated conversation in which he was engaged with the elder, in order to exchange a word of kindness with his humble friend. " Trot up to the place to-morrow, Taffey, if you have half an hour to spare," he turned to add, " and speak to me about Ten-Tree Meadow. Never mind Hardham; you and I will settle the matter between us." Taffey bowed ; but, though he ■was pleased with the squire's affability, his countenance was somehow overcast, as he gazed after the retreating three. The sons of Mr. Hurbandine, of Llbwyddcoed, were thought to have inherited, with their mother's patrician blood, something of her pa¬ trician pride. She was a Vere-Vavasour. _ To have been at once a Yere and a Vavasour might well have turned an ordinary brain. Something had affected the poor lady's; and, as one of her fancies was that her veins were filled with the brightest Prussian blue, it might he fairly concluded that pride of ancestry was not devoid of blame in the matter. Lady Géraldine was now at rest with a select and polished circle of her exalted line, who enjoyed a mausoleum all to themselves, in a picturesque comer of the ancestral domain. 308 [March 7,1868.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Condncted b; where a rank of stately yews and cypresses, representing the stalwart lacqueys who had once kept aloof the tide of common humanity, shut carefully out the vulgar little ivy-covered church, to which were merefy entrusted the marble vir¬ tues and granite honours of the departed V. V.s. The squire was a good squire ; and, shun¬ ning none of those mysterious responsibilities i wealth is supposed to bring, lived much among I his tenantry, and made his forty thousand a year as serviceable to the interests of the land and its cultivators, as his lights permitted. Of course, he was in parliament—a back-bone con¬ servative, and—need it be added ?—voted with his diminishing party, like a man. Reports are silent as to any oratorical display. Why ? He had a weakness so great as to be little short of ca¬ lamity—that of giving way to gusts of sudden passion, terrible in their intensity, and rendered more grievous to witness by the dispropor¬ tion to them of the exciting cause. These paroxysms were fortunately very rare, and the poor squire's subsequent remorse, not to men¬ tion the profuse liberality with which he strove to atone in some measure for the wrongs his passion had inflicted, went far towards recon¬ ciling those about him to the occasional inter¬ ruption of harmony. Lady Géraldine was the only magician who could control these paroxysms. This was not by reason of her exalted rank. The squire had no particular aversion to Vere-Vavasours and made many of the race welcome to his halls ; but he saw no more in them than ordinary (some¬ times very ordinary) gentlemen, and treated Jack Homidge, whose genius resided exclu¬ sively in a profotind judgment of "beasts," with the same distinction that was paid to the most illustrious of Lady Geraldine's lineage. In the very height of the squire's fury, his lady had been seen to raise ner thin white hand, without a word. As if stunned with the -dint of some fell weapon, her husband would reel back, his hands unclenched, the flre dying •out of his eyes, the fierce invective faltering into silence. None understood the s|k11, for even Prussian blue has its virtues, and Lady Géral¬ dine suffered none to see that when, in lifting her hand, the bracelet slid back, it revealed a wvhite scar. In the first passionate outburst after their marriage, Hurbandine had seized his wife's arm with such inconsiderate violence, that her bracelet, unclasping, cut into the de¬ licate flesh, causing a painful wound and an indelible scar. This was the remembrance that, in moments of the most unreasoning fury, -could strike down the manly squire, shocked, shamed, discomfited. Hence was it that the Lady Géraldine, with all her pride, was a favourite with those who saw how promptly this soothing influence was exercised, at need ; and when it was the poor lady's fate to become, as we have said, insane, the loss of her benign interposition was felt by not a few. For tempers are quick, in Wales, and not even the respect due to a landlord could always overcome.tbe resentment excited by that landlord's bearing, in his hurricanous rages. We must hasten back to the party at the stile. When the squire and his sons passed them, as described, the younger, Rochford, had joined in his sire's greeting, with the addition of a rather saucy smile and a glance, ^a trifle more prolonged than was absolutely necessary, at the blushing Katy. As to his brother, he had neither Dowed nor looked, but strode haughtily forward, hardly checked by his father's mo¬ mentary pause. " Something wrong with squire again," re¬ marked Mr. Taffey, moodily, as he turned away "Wants a nail, somewheer. 'Tis Mr. Roch- ford, I'm afeerd." " Well, now, I don't think there's so much harm in him" said Mrs. Taffey, on whose frank, pleasant face an expression of reproach or sus¬ picion looked so little at home, that it was instantly detected. "I declare to goodness, no. A nicer-mannered, freer-spoken, merrier- laughed " '' Hallo ! here's a bust of elokence !" ejacu¬ lated Mr. Taffey, stopping short, the more con¬ veniently to admire the speaker.- " Why, Maggie, you've been a-borrerin of David Apreece! Yôu're a good creeter, and never censers anybody. Consekently, when you has to find fault, you doos it by praising thissen too much, and saying nuthen, or less, o' thafn. That's how I reads you," added Mr. Taffey, tri¬ umphantly, for his one vanity was a (supposed) gift of divining character. " And who is thafa ? Why, who coold it be, but Mr. Gerald ? And what's he done, for to offend you ? That's how I reads it," concluded the worthy smith, with, it must be owned, less point than usual, his in¬ terrogative look proving that he did not read it at all. " I never said he done anything," replied his wife; "I only said, Ed'ard,'that a nicer-man¬ nered, freer-spoken, merrier-1 " "I knows wot jousaid," retorted Mr. Taffey. "Question is, wot you didn'i say! Freer- spoken ! he's a — trot on, a little, Katy, my pet — deuced deal ioo free with some of us, specially such as weers caps and ribbings. Merry! Course he is. 'Tis a joke to him; that's how / reads it. He'd better take to an¬ other line o' business, and not be hanging s' much about the village, turning the heads ■ Did you see your nice-mannered gent making eyes at — at ihafa ?" (Mr. Taftey gulped some¬ thing, and shot out his brawny fist in the direc¬ tion of Katy's twinkling heels), "makingthe lass turn as red's a peony I" "I saw it, but I'm not afeerd," said the mother. " She don't like it. That's all." " When I was young," observed Mr. Taffey, " when a young 'oman turned as red's a rose, she did like it." " It's not him—Mr. Rochford. There !" said his wife, " I outs with it. Why, you blessed old babby ! can't you see ? It's Mr. Gerald !" " Whe-ee-ew !" whistled the student of cha¬ racter; "here's a kittle full! And very hock- ard fishes they be. Coom, how is it all, old 'oman ? Queer that I, as reads ^ngs quicker than most, shouldn't have put my finger on Charles Dickens.] ALL THE YEAK ROUND. [March 7 1868.] 309 what you sees ! The girl's took by that haughty, stuek-up fellow, wot despises his own father, 'cos he wan't born a lord ? Is that it ?" " Well, that's a little of it,'- replied his wife. " I don't think but 'tis all on his side. Why, when they passed, just now, the young squire didn't give her so much as a look !", " I see. Do you think, old 'oman, nobody has eyes in their heads butyo«? He doon't care a rusty nail for her. That's how I reads it," said Mr. Taffey. "You reads it upside down, then," replied his helpmate; "or p'raps you doon't read far enough. That means, he do like the girl ; that he's afeerd of's father ; that Mr. Rochford knows it, and likes to let the child see he does. Then, they do say that Mr. Roehford an't best friends with his brother. Now, he's the squire's fa¬ vourite, and if there eome any terrible to-do between the father and t'other, whieh's tem¬ per's as bad, one as t'other," explained Mrs. Taffey, " Mr. Roehford might come for to be squire of Llbwyddcoed ; and if Katy " "That'sJikereadin' to the end of thevollum, and a little furder," replied Mr. Taffey. " Well, well, the long and short of it's this : I 'ont have these town swells—no, narrer one of 'em, squire or lord—a-dancing 'bout our Katy. I'm going up to squire's to morrow—you heerd'n ask me — about Ten-tree Meadow, and if I don't tell'n " " Never be such a noggerhead 1" exclaimed his wife, in great alarm. " Squire have been very bad lately, that's certain. Something have gone wrong, making his furies worse than they was ever know'd to be. Nobody's sure of him, poor gentleman. One moment as smooth as—as butter, the next like a mad thing. Don't think of speaking to him—now don't ye, Edward." - " Take the admonition, 0 vicine (that b, O my neighbour, whence 'vicinity')," piped a small voice at Mr. Taffey's elbow. It was that of Mr. David Morgan Apreece, the village schoolmaster. " Isn't she your ' plaeens uxor' ?" "Well, she's summot in that line o' busi¬ ness," replied Mr. Taffey, guardedly; "'spe¬ cially when the wind's nor'-east. We was just talking of the squire. My missis have heerd he's been in his tempers, horrid." " Let him get another wife," said Mr. Apreeee, decisively. " A wife 1" " While my lady lived," continued the school¬ master, " the squire's tantrums were few, and over directly. They never got beyond her. She caught 'em, like rats, or such vermin, and turned 'em out where they couldn't hurt anybody. My wife called her the squire's temper trap." " I've seeit her shut him up," said Mr. Taffey, " in less than half a jiffy 1 She only up with her hand. Curiousest thing I ever see 1 I wanted to try it on my missis, but she doon't give a man a chance." " Get the squire married, and all's right again," said Mr. Apreece. " Well, I'm a-goin' up to hall to-morrow," said Mr. Taffey, " and, if squire asks my opi¬ nion on the pint o' marriage, I'll give't him hot and strong. I can't begin the subject, 'cos it doon't belong to Ten-tree Meadow 1" "Do your best, then," said Mr. Apreece, laughing. "Here I must leave you, neigh¬ bours." n. As they neared the little farm-house, a figure that had been dimly noticed flitting—let us rather say, lurking—among the trees came to- light, in the stalwart person of young Thomas Fullafield. Even in his well-brushed velveteen coat, and waistcoat of a pattern so rich and varied that it might have passed for an attempt to epitomise the flora of South Wales, Thomas looked every cubic inch the lout he was. That he was in love with Katy, and had as much hope of winning her as of allying himself with, the reigning house of Britain, was written legibly upon his broad face. Sharp-sighted Mrs. Taffey probably knew that, and, if she did not warn off the unlucky Thomas, her reasons were threefold. The matter had not been presented to her official notice. The attempt by a person of Mr. Ful- lafield's mental calibre and general style to win such a fay as Katy deserved all the punish¬ ment disappointment could entail. Finally, the rumour that sturdy Thomas Fullafield, whose fistic prowess was county-wide, was keeping company (or persuading himself that he did so) with Katy Taffey, was serviceable in warning off many troublesome youths inclined to venture too dangerously near that pretty Catherine-wheel. Ihomas, however, was human. He was also practical. Unlike those troubadours who pre¬ ferred obdurate mistresses—else what would be¬ come of their melodious despair?—Mr. Fullafield saw no fun in unrequited passion. He had now been for nearly two years dancing—or, to speak more accurately, prowling—about Miss Taffey. Jokes, he had reason to apprehend, were being, cut at his expense. Thomas had resolved to bring matters to a crisis of some sort; and, accordingly, throwing an extra amount of splendour into his attire, and of sullenness (meant for determination) into his broad visage, he marched, as we have seen, upon the foe. At the first sight of the vanguard—Katy— Thomas was thrown into such disorder, that he fell back upon tiie plantation, but, rallying, was the first to commence the action. " Mornin', miss." " Good morning, Mr. Thomas," said Khty, showing her pearly teeth in such wise that Thomas's teeth danced in his head. " You'll dine with us? Father's just behind." And she vanished into the house. Thomas encountered the main body with his usual duck and salutation ; " Mornin', Mrs. Taffey. Mornin', Mr. Taffey." Greetings exchanged, Mrs. Tafley remarked (as though his coming were a matter of conrse), " You'll take a snap with us, Mr. Thomas ?" And, without waiting for an answer, followed her daughter. A dreadful feeling that this one, of many " snaps," might be his final one in that house. 310 [March 7,1868.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Condoetad by kept Mr. Fullafield silent for a moment, when tlie smith said ; "The women ■woon't be ready yet awhile. Coom mid look at the cow-'us I've ran np t'other side thc slusL" Thomas glanced at his own apparel, and tiiought that this agreeable excursion might have been more happily timed. There's a season for everything. Slush and a cow-house are excellent things in their war, but do not harmonise well with au exalted condition of mmd ; nor is their ai-oma, though healthy, sug¬ gestive of tender and poetic sentiment. But the opportunity was too good to be lost. The two gentlemen walked away; Thomas's great pale blue eyes would have opened wider still had he known that the cow-'us was a myth, and the smith no more intent than himself on soiling hb Sunday boots in the locality he had described. Mr. Fullafield had been the last suWect of conver¬ sation between Mr. and Mrs. Taffey, as they concluded their walk; and the former, like Thomas, had taken a resolution. Mr. Fullafield had been enough " about the place," aud the worthy smith, who knew his daughter's feel¬ ing, and drew a wide distinction Between an honest, though misplaced, affection, and a fine- gentleman caprice mr a rustic beauty, resolved to warn off Thomas, for his own good, as he would have done the squire's sons, in Katy's inte]jests. Both strode on for a moment in silence. Then Thomas, fearing that the slush, to which they were undoubtedly approaching, might in¬ terfere with the dialogue, commenced it. It was a peculiarity, well known to his friends, that though Thomas might have been in conversation with one of them for an hour, he always commenced any new and interesting topic with a repetition of the morning greeting; consequently, "Mornm', feother," said Thomas. " Momin', Thomas," responded Mr. Taffey ; then making, so to speak, a butt at the subject, added, " but I'm not thy feother, lïbr au't like to be." " Now, don't ye say that," said Thomas, in a choky voice. " I say't, and I mean't ; and 'tis for your sake I doos say't," returned his companion. " Come now, my lad, here's good two year you've been tryin' to put the shoe upon the wrong horse, and she won't have it, at no price." " That ben't fair, I do say," said Thomas, warmly. "I've called you feother, 'fore her face, and she never—i-" " If you'd called me your grandmother 'twould ha' been all the same," replied the plain-spoken smith. "Katy wean't ha' none o' thee." " If Mrs. Taffey and yourself was to •" " Stop a moment," said Mr. Taffey, halting suddenly. "Putt the twitch on Katy, to make her marry a man she don't want ? Not if I knows it. Now, lad, I doon't want to quar'l wi' thee. 'Twas natterai thou liked'st our lass—equal natterai she didn't take to fiee; for though there be a kist o' good in thee, when one gets at it, thou'rt a bit thick in the rind. When Katy marries, 'twill be somethin' different from thee. Coom, now, you says to yourself, 'Taffey'sright,' you says. 'I'll go wheer I'll be cared about, and be looked up to, and be made much of, and have trouble took concern- in'," concluded Mr. Taffey, argumentatively. " That's how / reads you." Mr. Fullafield did not answer. His chin had sunk upon his breast, and his eyes were fixed upon his gorgeous waistcoat. It seemed to him that even the unconscious garment had been affected by the shock, and that the roses and sunflowers shot up a lurid, angry glow, as if they said, "Thomas, Thomas, was it for Ms that such as we were wrought and worn?" What other thoughts passed through his brain we (who have been singularly successful in attachments) cannot say. But when Thomas did look up, his face was such that the stout smith involuntarily recoiled, and asked him what was the matter. " Matter ! 'nothing," said Thomas, with a grin. " Nothin' don't turn a man the colour of a biled turnip !" remarked Mr. Taffey. " Coom, my lad, take 't like a man. No need, 'cause you can't marry our Katy, that we shouldn't be good neighbours," said the worthy smith. " Coom, let's trot home. I tiiink we needn't go to the cow-'ouse ?" " I think not," said Mr. Fullafield. " Then coom to dinner." " I've had dinner enow, for one day," replied Thomas. And the pxpession that had shocked the smith came back into his face. Mr. Taffey did not press his invitation. At the turn, up to the farm-house, they parted. "You'll coom up to forge to-morrow, lad, with a smile on your face, 'stead of a glower like bottled thunder ; and you'll say, ' All right, Taffey, ym know'd best.' That's how I reads you," said the smith. "But don't coom early. I'm going up to squire's." The other turned round suddenly. " Going up to squire's ! What for ?" " That's tellin' " replied Mr. Taffey, jocosely, and without any real desire to make a mystery of it. " P'raus about a meadow, or*—or mar¬ riage," he added, smiling, as the suggestion of the little schoolmaster occurred to him. Yoimg Fullafield looked at him fixedly for an instant, then, without speaking, turned and walked away. " Going to squire's ? To talk o' marriage ?" be muttered. "Whose marriage? Her^n? They call her 'my lady,' and tliey 'spect to make her one. I'll spoil that game." And Thomas shot back at the farm where bis lost love was innocently boiling leeks for the Sunday dinner a glance so fiery that it might have ignited the thatch above her. He had loved the girl, according to his nature, heartily ; and love, being in all essential points, the same, whether it be clad in satin or Charles Diekens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 7,1868.] 311 in fustian, expressed in doprgrel or in Idylls» Mr. Fullafield s wrong would have commanded all our sympathy, but for the manner in which he took it. There is a pathos, a dignity, in the tranquil sufferer, which is wholly wanting in the man who runs a muek. m. Mr. Taïtet, on presenting himself, next morning, at the hall, was shown into the study. The squire had been walking up and down for some minutes. Now and then, he would pause to scowl upward at one or other of the Vere-Vavasojirs that adorned the wall, whose self-complacent but ráther vacant faces re¬ turned the look with delightful indifference. There was another picture, a gay gallant wooing, or affecting to woo, a peasant girl, and this appeared to be a favourite of Mr. Hurban- dine's; for, as he gazed, the hard expression faded from his countenance, and gave way to an approving smile. " Ten-tree Meadow is yours, from Lady-day," he called oq^;, the moment Mr. Taffe/s nose was visible within the door. " That's settled. Now come and look at this" Mr. Taffey looked, and expressed his decided opinion that the young lady was a nice, modest- mannered young woman, sure euough, while the fentleman showed a good fall in the back, and lood (he thought) about the pasterns. "Right, Taffey, said the squire. "He had blood, and, booby as he looks, was a gentle- roan, which is more," he muttered, "than I would say of all his kin. He lost, to Miss Sukey Bubbs, the cotter's daughter, his heart, which was supposed to be about the size of a marrow-fat pea. But it proved bigger; for he married her." " Good luck to 'em !" cried the honest smith as cordially as if the pair had been just start¬ ing on their wedding tour. "They was happy, I hope, sir ?" " Merry as grasshoppers, their lire-long days," said the squire. "They've been dead these fifty years ; out all the frin of the family died out of it with Sukey Bubbs, that is. Lady Vavasour, the cotter's daughter. They've been a dull lot since, proud as peacocks, and as worthless," he added, sinking his voice as be¬ fore. " Our blood is too good, Taffey ; there's the secret of it." "Well, I don't think hut that perpetiwal breeding in-and-in an't no good, in the end," remarked the smith. "A cross that do give substance " " That's a nice-browed lassie of yours, Taffey," said the squire, suddenly changing his topic. " So I've heerd'm say," returned the smith, trying to look as if he hadn't quite made up his own mind on the subject. " Blue eyes and cheriy lips are rather abun¬ dant in our neighbourhood, I think,'' continued Mr. Hurbandine. "My wife used to tell me the Llbwyddcoed girls were as good and mo¬ dest as they were pretty." "They 'as good mothers," said Mr. Taffey, significantly. " That's how I reads it." " Right. They cannot be too careful. Danger's everywhere," remarked the squire. " These young fellows, boy-guardsmen and the like, who do me the honour to come down, with my sons, to recruit their exhausted frames with wholesome' food and twelve o'clock bed, won't disdain to chuck a country chin." " It's wer^ kind of 'em, I'm sure, squire I" said Mr. Taffey, his eyes glistening with his own warm speech. " Kind !" " Seeing 'tis a game we don't play at, in these parts," explained the smith, " and guards¬ men's heads an't quite so hard as our fistes, if they come to disagree." " You speak warmly. Have you anything to —to complain of, in that way ?" demanded the squire. " Yes, sir, I have," was the frank reply. But' then he hesitated. " Out with it, man !" said Mr. Hurbandine, his face assuming the expression recognised in the familv, as indicative of an approaching " squall." While Mr. Taffey still stood, silently debating whether he would speak what was in his mind, or no, the squire pointed suddenly to a writing- table ; " Look at those scrawls. Do you know the hand. No," he continued, hastily ; and, strid¬ ing across the room, he crumpled up the letters, and flung them in a heap on the fire. " Look you, Taffey, sundry nameless individuals, whose pothooks it has cost me an hour's labour to de¬ cipher, accuse me of sanctioning (I presume, by my non-interference) acts of impertinence and intrusion on the part of my London guests—my sons, I take it, included—which, if persisted in, may lead to painful consequences, and, at the least, engender feelings the very reverse of those which have hitherto happily subsisted between the tenantry and the hall. This, in plain Eng¬ lish, and with a certain regard to grammar and significance, is the purport of the letters I have destroyed. Tell me all about it." " 'Tan't such as I eax tell, squire," replied Mr. Taffey. " Howsoever, what I doos know I'll say. Fir^t place, I can't make out who's been and written them letters. There's not many of us as doos much in that way, 'cept my wissiney." " Your what ?" " My neighbour," translated Mr. Taffey— " David Apreece. It wan't him. He an't the man for to write anything he 'oodn't put his name to ; and in very big letters, too, specially his capital A's. It's a great thing, squire, is hedication." Mr. Hurbandine admitted'that it had its ad¬ vantageous side; but, at present, willed Mr. Taffey to keep to the point. Had he, or not, reason to beheve that the villagers had taken * offence at some indiscretion on the part of the visitors at the hall ? And what did he, Taffey, mean, by saying that he himself had cause to complain ? Thus urged, the smith blurted out the truth. It so happened that the valley and hamlet of S12 ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 7,186a] Llbwyddcoed were, as the squire had hinted, rather celebrated for the beauty of the rustic damseldom. Many, down to the lowest cottage class, boasted respectable descent ; and all, as is noticeable in parts of the principality, showed tokens of a haughty and independent spirit, especially towards those who used tlwm with what they regarded as undue familiarit;^. The manly squire approved and fostered tins feeling; and nothing was more calculated to evoke his auger than any complaint like those addressed to him by his anonymous con-e- spondents. We caimot be surprised that Mr. laffey, aware of this, confessed, with a reluct¬ ance and embarrassment unusual with him, that that there was something in the alleged griev¬ ance that needed to be put to rights. Gentle¬ men of polisiied aspect, with whiskers of paly gold, shooting-coats of fashionable design, and highly condescending manners, had discovered picturesque beauties in the little hamlet, which had escaped less observant visitors. A lounge and a smoke in the immediate purlieus of Llbwyddcoed had grown to be an apparent necessity with the squire's male guests. Fami¬ liarity with danger leads to contempt of it. Despite their habitual reserve and self-respect, the rustic belles soon began to notice, witnout alarm, the Honourable Tom Castleton's singular predilection for hollyhocks, and receive, with¬ out resentment, my young Lord Leatherhead's humble request for information respecting the manufacture of goats'-milk cheese. What harm could there possibly be in youths who, even in depraved London, could maintain a pure and healthy affection for hollyhocks and cheese? We need not follow up the story pace by pace. The curly whisker and the flattering tongue carried the day—until, on the part of fathers, brothers, and sweethearts, jealousy and distrust succeeded to gratified pride. There had been one or two serious disturbances; and it was understood, in the village, that, among other individuals " cautioned," my Lord Leatherhead had been openly requested to complete his dairy educa¬ tion elsewhere; whilst the Hoiifiurable Tom Castleton was in the receipt of almost daily invitations of a pugilistic character, which it had become exceedingly difficult to decline. Such was the substance of Mr. Taffey's re¬ presentations, which could scarcely have been given in his own words, without retarding the narrative. As he spoke, the gloom deepened on his hearer's face, and a lurid gleam, as the squire raised his eyes for an instant and dropped mem again, showed that a storm-burst was at baud. He was striving against his own rising passion. "You—you spoke of yourself, Taffey," he said, in a stifled voice. " Let me understand that none of these lisping jack-puddings have insulted her—^your pretty Katy, I mean ?" The smith's forehead flushed. He hesitated. "Speak out, man!" said the squire. (An idea seemed to flash upon him.) " My sons ! Do they—does either of them—date ? I see it is so. Which f" he thundered, starting from his chair. His imperious tone roused the spirit of the sturdy smith. " Mr. Rochford, then," he shouted, in a voice as loud as the squire's, " since you musí have it, he's dawdling and dodging about our place, more than I and my missis like—or the girl, either, for that matter. I was thinking of speaking to one or t'other of you; and now you've heerd it, why, take notice on it." And Mr. Taffey caught up his hat from ,the ground. Nothing checks a man's passion more effec¬ tually than the unexpectedly finding his inter¬ locutor in a greater passion still. The squire grew pale and quiet, and re-seated himself in his chair. "Leave me now, my man. Go, my old friend," he continued*, quickly. " I will see to this matter. There shall be no more cause of complaint. I have known your pretty Katy as the oest-behaved, as-she is the prettiest, girl in all the county. She and I have been friends from her cradle. Sukey Bubbs—^Lady Vava¬ sour, I mean—must have been Katy herself at fifteen. No fopling that bears my name, and is ashamed of it, shall turn her pretty head, and torment her imiocent heart, for the amusement of an idle hour ! Leave it to me." " 'Twas as precious near a blow up between us as ever I see,"- thought Mr. Taffey, as he walked home; " but I've shod'n nicely all round, and he'll do for a while. Squire's not so wicious, and tenderer in the mouth than he was—least¬ wise, with a good hand upon him. Hallo! School up already, wissiney?" he added, as the little schoolmaster skipped across the road and joined him. " We begin betimes, you see," said Mr. Apreece. " ' Diluculo surgere,' you know." "No great luck in going to a surgery, I should think," remarked Mr. Taffey. " You've arranged that matter with the squire?" inquired the schoolmaster, with a smile. " What matter, wissiney ?" " About his marrying again, you know." "We was talkin' of summot else," replied Mr. Taffey, " but, now you speak of it " He stood still suddenly, and looked in the other's face with a curious expression. "Now I speak of it " prompted Mr. Apreece. " I've seen onlikelier things come to pass," said the smith. And they parted. The third Portion ot HOLIDAY ROMANCE, ,Bt CHARLES DICKENS, Will he published during the present month, and the Romance will be concluded in the monthly part for April. The Right of Translating Articles from Au. THE Year Rouhp is reserved bg the Authors, ' published at the Office, Ko. 26, WelUngton Street. Strand. Printed by C. Wnmso, Beaufort House, Strand. - THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO YEAR."—Shaksspeakb. ALL THE YEAR ROUND. A WEEKLY JOUENAL. CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS. N®- 464.] SATURDAY, MARCH 14, 1868. [Price Id. THE MOONSTONE. Bt tbb Adthob op " The Wohah in White," &c. &e. CHAPTEK XVm. Going down to the front door, I met the Sergeant on the steps. It went^ainst the grain with me, after what had passen between ns, to show him that I felt any sort of interest in his proceedings. In spite of myself, however, I felt an interest that there was no resisting. My sense of dignity sank fr-om under me, and out came the words : "What news from Frizinghall?" " I have seen the Indians," answered Ser¬ geant Cuff. " And I have found ont what Ho¬ sanna bought privately in the town, on Thurs¬ day last. The Indians will be set free on Wed¬ nesday in next week. There isn't a doubt on nw mind, and there isn't a doubt on Mr. Murthwaite's mind, that they came to this place to steal the Moonstone. Their calcula¬ tions were all thrown out, of course, by what happened in the house on Wednesday night ; and they have no more to do with the actual loss of the jewel than you have. But I can tell you one thmg, Mr. Bettered^—if we don't find the Moonstone, fhey will. You have not heard the last of the three jugglers yet." Mr. Franklin came back from his walk as the Sergeant said those startling words. Govern¬ ing his curiosity better than I had governed mine, he passed us without a word, and went on into the house. As for me, having already dropped my dignity, I determined to have the whole benefit of the sacrifice. " So much for the Indians," 1 said. "What about Hosanna, next ?" Sergeant Cuff shook his head. " The mystery in that quarter is thicker than ever," he said. " I have traced her to a shop at Frizinghall, kept by a linendraper named Maltby. She bought nothing whatever at any of the other drapers' shops, or qt any milliners' or tailors' shops; and she bought nothing at Maltby's but a piece of long cloth. She was very particular m choosing a certain quality. As to quantity, she bought enough to make a nightgown." " Whose nightgown ?" Ï asked. " Her own, to be sure. Between twelve and three, on the Thursday morning, she must have slipped down to your young lady's room, to settle the hiding of the Moonstone while all the rest of you were in bed. In going back to her own room, her nightgown must nave brushed the wet paint on the door. She couldn't wash out the stain ; and she couldn't safely destroy the nightgown—without first providing another like it, to make the inventory of her linen com¬ plete." ' " What proves that it was Hosanna's night¬ gown ?" I objected. "The material she bought for making the substitute dress," answered the Sergeant. " If it had been Miss Yerinder's nightgown, she would have had to buy lace, and frilling, and Lord knows what besides ; and she wouldn't have had time to make it in one night. Plain long cloth means a plain servant's nightgown. No, no, Mr. Betteredge—all that is clear enough. The pinch of the question is—why, after havmg provided the substitute dress, does she hide the smeared nightgown, instead of destroying it? If the girl won't speak out, there is only one way of settling the difficulty. The hiding-place at the Shivering Sand must be searched—and the true state of the case will be discovered there." "How are you to find the place?" I in¬ quired. "I am sorry to disappoint you," said the Sergeant—" but that's a secret which I mean to keep to myself." (Not to irritate your curiosity, as he irritated mine, I may here inform you that he had come back from Frizinghall provided with a search-warrant. His experience in such matters told him that Hosanna was, in all pro¬ bability, carrying about her a memorandum of the hiding-place, to guide her, in case she re¬ turned to it, under changed circumstances and after a lapse of time. Possessed of this memo¬ randum, the Sergeant would be furnished with all that he could desire.) " Now, Mr. Betteredge," he went on, "sup¬ pose we drop speculation, and get to business. I told Joyce to have an eye on Hosanna. Where is Joyce ?" Joyce was the Frizinghall policeman, who had been left by Superintendent Seegrave at Ser¬ geant Cuff's disposal. The clock struck two, as he put the question; and, punctual to the Vol. XIX. 464 314 [March U, 1868,] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Oondneted by moment, the carriage came round to take Miss Rachel to her aunt's. " One thing at a time," said the Sergeant, stopping me as I was about to send in search of Joyce, " I must attend to Miss Verinder first." As the rain was still threatening, it was the close carriage that had been appointed to take Miss Rachel to Frizinghall. Sergeant Guff beckoned Samuel to come down to him from the rumble behind. "You will see a friend of mine waiting among the trees, on this side of the lodge-gate," he said. " My friend, without stopping the car¬ riage, will get up into the rumble with you. You have nothing to do hut to hold your tongue, and shut your eyes. Otherwise, you will get into trouble." ■Vnth that advice, he sent the footman back to his place. What Samuel thought I don't know. It was plain, to my mind, that Miss Rachel was to be privately kept in view from the time she left our house—if she did leave it. A watch set on my young lady ! A spy behind her in the rumble of her mother's carriage ! I could have cut my own tongue out for having forn:otten myself so far as to speak to Sergeant Cuff. The first person to come out of the house was my lady. She stood aside, on the top step, posting herself there to see what hap¬ pened. Not a word did she say, either to the Sergeant or to me. With her lips closed, and her arms folded in the light garden cloak which she had wrapped round her on coming into the air, there she stood, as still as a statue, waiting for her daughter to appear. In a minute more. Miss Rachel came down stairs—^very nicely dressed in some soft yellow stuff, that set off her dark complexion, and clipped her tight (in the form of a jacket) round the waist. She had a smart little straw hat on her head, with a white veil twisted round it. She had primrose-coloured gloves, that fitted her hands like a second skin. Her beautiful black hair looked as smooth as satin under her hat. Her little ears w«te like rosy shells—they had a pearl dangling from each of them. She came swiftly out to us, as straight as a lily on its stem, and as lithe and supple in every movement she made as a young cat. Nothing that I could discover was altered in her pretty face, but her eyes and her lips. Her eyes were brighter and fiercer than I liked to see ; and her lips had so completely lost their colour and their smile that I hardly knew them again. She kissed her mother in a hasty and sudden manner on the cheek. She 'said, " Try to for¬ give me, mamma"—and then pulled down her veil over her face so vehemently that she tore it. In another moment she had run down the steps, and had rushed into the carriage as if it was a hiding-place. Sergeant Cuff was just as quick on his side. He put Samuel back, and stood before Miss Rachel, with the open carriage-door in his hand, at the instant when she settled herself in her place. " What do you want ?" says Miss Rachel, from behind her veil. " I want to say one word to you, miss," an¬ swered the Sergeant, " before you go. I can't presume to stop your paying a visit to your aunt. I can only venture to say that your leaving us, as things are now, puts an obstacle in the way of my recovering your Diamond. Please to understand that ; and now decide for yourself whether you go or stay." Miss Rachel never even answered him. " Drive on, James !" she called out to the coachman. Without another word, the Sergeant shut the carriage-door. Just as , he closed it, Mr. Franklin came running' down the steps. " Good-bye, Rachel," he said, holding out his hand. " Drive on !" cried Miss l^chel, louder thm ever, and taking no more notice of Mr. Franklin than she had taken of Sergeant Cuff. Mr. Franklin stepped back thunderstruck, as well he might be. The coachman, not knowing what to do, looked towards my lady, stiU stand¬ ing immovable on the top step. My lady, with anger and sorrow and shame all struggling to¬ gether in her face, made him a sign to start the horses, and then turned back hastily into the house. Mr. Franklin, recovering the use of his speech, called after her, as the car¬ riage drove off, "Aunt! you were quite right. Accept my thanks for all your kindness—and let me go." My lady turned as though to speak to him. Then, as if distrusting herself, waved her hand kindly. " Let me see you, before you leave us. Franklin," she said, in a broken voice—and went on to her own room. ' '*Do me a last favour, Betteredge," says Mr. Franklin, turning to me, with the tears in his eyes. " Get me away to the train as soon as you can !" He too went his way into the house. For the moment. Miss Rachel had completely un¬ manned him. Judge from that, how fond he must have been of her ! Sergeant Cuff and I were left face to face, at the bottom of the steps. The Sergeant stood with his face set towards a gap in the trees, com¬ manding a view of one of the windings of the drive which led from the house. He had his hands in his pockets, and he was softly whistling the Last Rose of Summer to himself. "There's a time for everything," I said, sav^ely enough. " This isn't a time for whistling." At that moment, the carriage appeared in the distance, through the gap, on its way to the lodge-gate. There was another man, besides Samuel, plainly visible in the rumble behind. "All right!" said the Sergeant to him¬ self. He turned round to me. " It's no time for whistling, Mr. Betteredge, as you say. It's time to take this business in hand, now, without sparing anybody. We'll begin with Rcsanna Spearman. Where is Joyce ?" We both called for Joyce, and received no Oharies Pickens.] ALL THE TEAS ROUND. [March U, ISSS.] 315 answer. I sent one of the stable-bojs to look for him. "You heard what I said to Miss Verinder?" remarked the Sergeant, while we were waiting. " And you saw how she received it ? I tell her plainly that her leaving us will be an obstacle in the way of my recovering her Diamond—and she leaves, in the face of that statement ! Your young lady has got a travelling companion in her mother's carriage, Mr. Betteredge—and the name of it is. The Moonstone." I said nothii^. I only held on like death to my belief in Miss Rachel. The stable-boy came back, followed—very unwillingly, as it appeared to me—by Joyce. "Where is Rosanna Spearman?" asked Sergeant Culf. " I can't account for it, sir," Joyce began ; "and I am very sorry. But somehow or other " " Before I went to Erizinghall," said the Ser¬ geant, ■ cutting him short, " I told you to keep your eye on Rosanna Spearman, without allow¬ ing her to discover that she was being watched. Do you mean to teU me that you have let her give you the slip ?" " I am afraid, sir," says Joyce, beginning to tremble, " that I was perhaps a little ¿00 careful not to let her discover me. There are such a many passages in the lower parts of this house " " How long is it since you missed her ?" " Nigh on an hour since, sir." " You can go back to your regular business at Frizinghalk" said the Sergept, speaking just as composedly as ever, in his usual quiet and dreary way. " I don't think your talents are at all m our Ime, Mr. Joyce. Your present form of employment is a trifle beyond you. Good morning." The man slunk off. I find it very difficult to describe how I was affected by the discovery that Rosanna Spearman was missing. I seemed to be in fifty different minds about it, all at the same time. In that state, I stood staring at Sergeant Cuff—and my powers of language quite failed me. " No, Mr. Betteredge," said the Sergeant, ^ if he had discovered the uppermost thought in me, and was picking it out to be answered, be¬ fore all the rest. " Your young friend, Rosanna, won't slip through ray fingers so easily as you think. As long as I know where Miss Verinder is, I have the means at my disposal of tracing Miss Verinder's accomplice. I prevented them from communicating last night Very good. They will get together at Frizinghall, instead of getting together here. The present inquiry must be simply shifted (rather sooner than I had anticipated) from this house, to the house at which Miss Verinder is visiting. In the mean time, I'm afraid I must trouble you to call the servants together again." I went round with him to the servants' hall. It is very disgraceful, but it is not the less true, that I had another attack of the detective fever when he said those last words. I forgot that I hated Sergeant Cuff. I seized him confidentially by the arm. I said, "For goodness sake, tell us what you are going to do with the servants now ?" The great Cuff stood stockstill, and ad¬ dressed himself in a kind of melancholy rapture to the empty air. " If this man," said the Sergeant (apparently meaning me), " only understood the growing of roses, he would be the most completely perfect character on the face of creation !" After that strong expression of feeling, he sighed, and put his arm through mine. "This is how it stands," he said, dropping down again to busi¬ ness. " " Rosanna has done one of two things. She has either gone direct to FrizinghaU (before I can get there), or she has gone first to visit her hiding-place at the Shivering Sand. The first thing to find out is, which of the servants saw the fct of her before she left the house." On instituting this inquiry, it turned out that the last person who had set eyes on Ros¬ anna was Nancy, the kitchenmaid. Nancy had seen her slip out with a letter in her hand, and stop the butcher's man who had just been delivering some meat at the back door. Nancy had heard her ask the man to post the letter when he got back to Frizing¬ haU. The man had looked at the address, and had said it was a roundabout way of delivering a letter, directed to Cobb's Hole, to post it at FrizinghaU—and that, moreover, on a Satur¬ day, which would prevent the letter from getting to its destination until Monday morning. Ro¬ sanna had answered that the dehvery of the letter being delayed till Monday was of no im¬ portance. The only thing she wished to be sure of was that the man would do what she told him. The man had promised to do it, and had driven away. Nancy had been called back to her work in the kitchen. And no other person had seen anything afterwards of Ro¬ sanna Spearman. " Well ?" I asked, when we were alone again. " Well," says the Sergeant, " I must go to FrizinghaU." " About the letter, sir ?" " Yes. The memorandum of the hiding- place is in that letter. I must see the address at the post-office. If it is the address I sus¬ pect, I shall pay our friend Mrs. Yolland an¬ other visit on Monday next." I went with the Sergeant to order the pony- chaise. In the stable-yard we got a new light thrown on the missing girl. CHAPIEE XIX. The news of Rosanna's disappearance had, as it appeared, spread among the out-of-door ser¬ vants. They too had made their inquiries ; and they had just laid hands on a quick little imp,niek- named "Duffy"—who was occasionally employed in weeding the garden, and who had seen Ro¬ sanna Spearman as lately as half an hour since. Duffy was certain that the girl had passed him 316 [March 14,1868.) ALL THE TEAR ROUND. [Conducted by in the fir-plantation, not walking, but running in the direction of the sea-shore. " Does this boy know the coast hereabouts ?" asked Sergeant Cuff. " He has been bora and bred on the coast," I answered. " Duify !" says the Sergeant, " do you want to earn a shilling ? If yon do, come along with me. Keep the pony-chaise ready, Mr. Bet- teredge, till I come back." He started for the Shivering Sand, at a rate that my legs (though well enough preserved for my time of life) had no hope of matching. Little Duffy, as the way is with the young savages in our parts when they are in high spirits, gave a howl, and trotted off at the Ser¬ geant's heels. Here again, I find it impossible to give any¬ thing like a clear account of the state of my mind in the interval after Sergeant Cuff had left us. A curious and stupefying restlessness got possession of me. I did a dozen different needless things in and out of the house, not one of which I can now remember, I don't even know how long it was after the Sergeant had gone to the sands, when Duffy came run¬ ning back with a message for me. Sergeant Cuff had given the boy a leaf torn out of his pocket-book, on which was written in pencil, " Send me one of Rosanna Spearman's boots, and be quick about it." I despatched the first woman-servant I could find to Rosanna's room ; and I sent the boy back to say that I myself would follow him with the boot. This, I am well aware, was not the quickest way to take of obeying the directions which I had received. But I was resolved to see for myself what new mystification was going on, before I trusted Rosanna's boot in the Sergeant's hands. My old notion of screening the girl, if I could, seemed to have come back on me again, at the eleventh hour. This state of feeling (to say nothing of the detective fever) hurried me off, as soon as the boot was put ii^iny hands, at the nearest approach to a run which a man turned seventy can reasonably hope to make. As I got near the shore, the clouds gathered black, and the rain came down, drifting in great white sheets of water before the wind. I heard the thunder of the sea on the sand-bank at the mouth of the bay. A little further on, I passed the boy crouching for shelter under the lee of the sand-hills. Inen I saw the raging sea, and the rollers tumbling in on the sand-bank, and the driven rain sweeping over the waters like a flying garment, and the yellow wilderness of the beach with one solitary black figure standing on it—the figure of Sergeant Cuff. He waved his hand towards the north, when he first saw me. "Keep on that side!" he shouted. " And come on down here to me !" . I went down to him, choking for breath, with my heart leaping as if it was like to leap out of me. I was past speaking. I had a hundred questions to put to him ; and not one of them would pass my lips. His face frightened me. I saw a look in his eyes which was a look of horror. He snatched the boot out of my hand, and set it in a footmark on the sand, bearing south from us as we stood, and pomting straight towards the rocky ledge called the South Spit. The mark was not yet blurred out by the rain— and the girl's boot fitted it to a hair. The Sei^ant pointed to the boot in the foot¬ mark, without saying a word. I caught at his arm, and tried to speak to him, and failed as I had failed when I tried before He went on, following the footsteps down and down to where the rocksand the sand joined. The South Spit was just awash with the flowing tide ; the waters heaved over the hidden face of the Shiver¬ ing Sand. Now this way and now that, with an obstinate silence that fell on you like lead, with an obstinate patience that was dreadful to see. Sergeant Cuff tried the boot in the footsteps, and always found it pomting the same way— straight to the rocks. Hunt as he might, no sign could he find anywhere of the footsteps walking/row» them. He gave it up at last. He looked again at . me ; and then he looked out at the waters before us, heaving in deeper and deeper over the hidden face of the Shivering Sand. I looked where he looked—and I saw his thought in his face." A dreadful dumb trembling crawled all over me on a sudden. I fell upon my knees on the sand. " She has been back at the hiding-place," I heard the Sergeant' say to himself. " Some fatal accident has happened to her on those rocks." The girl's altered looks, and words, and ac¬ tions—the numbed, deadened way in which she listened to me, and spoke to me—^when I had fomid her sweeping the corridor but a few hours since, rose up in my mind, and warned me, even as the Sergeant spoke, that his guess was wide of the dreadful truth. I tried to tell him of the fear that had frozen me up. I tried to say, " The death she has died. Sergeant, was a death of her own seeking." No ! the words wouldn't come. The dumb trembling held me in its grip. I couldn't feel the driving rain. I couldn't see the rising tide. As in the vision of a dream, the poor lost crea¬ ture came back before me. I saw her again as I had seen her in the past time—on the morning when I went to fetch her into the house. I heard her again, telling me that the Shivering Sand seemed to draw her to it against her will, and wondering whether her grave was waiting for her there. The horror of it struck at me, in some unfathomable way, through my own child. My girl was just her age. My girl, tried as Ro¬ sanna was tried) might have lived that miser¬ able life, and died this dreadful death. The Sergeant kindly lifted me up, and turned me away from the sight of the place where she had perished. "W'ith that relief, I began to fetch my breath again, and to see things about me, as things really were. Looking towards the sand-hills, I saw the men-servants from out-of-doors, and the fisherman named Yolland, all running down to us together, and all, having taken the alarm, calling Charles Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 14,186a] 317 out to know if the girl had been found. In the fewest words, the Sergeant showed them the evi¬ dence of the tootmarks, and told them that a fatal accident must have happened to her. He then picked out the fisherman from the rest, and put a question to him, turning about again to¬ wards the sea. " Tell me tliis," he said. " Could , a boat have taken her off, from that ledge of rock, where her footmarks stop ?" The fisherman pointed to the rollers tumbling in on the sand-bank, and to the great waves leaping up in clouds of foam against the head¬ lands on either side of us. " No boat that ever was built," he answered, " could have got to her through í//aí." Sergeant Cuff looked for the last time at the footmarks on the sand, which the rain was now fast blurring out. "There," he said, "is the evidence that she can't have left this place by land. And here," he went on, looking at the fisherman, "is the evidence that she can't have got away by sea." He stopped, and considered fora minute. " She was seen running towards this place, half an hour before I got here from the house," he said to Yolland. " Some time has passed since then. Call it, altogether, an hour ago. How high would the water be, at that time, on this side of the rocks ?" He pointed to the south side—other¬ wise, the side which was not filled up by the quicksand. " As the tide makes to-day," said the fisher¬ man, " there wouldn't have been water enough to drown a kitten on that side of the Spit, an hour since." Sergeant Cuff turned about northward, to¬ wards the quicksand. " How much on this side ?" he asked. "Less still," answered Yolland. "The Shi¬ vering Sand would have been just awash, and no more." The Sergeant turned to me, and said that the accident must have happened on the side of the quicksand. My tongue was loosened at that. " No accident !" I told him. " When she came to this place, she came, weary of her life, to end it here." He started back from me. " How do you know ?" he asked. The rest of them crowded round. The Sergeant recovered himself in¬ stantly. He put them back from me; he said I was an old man ; he said the discovery had shaken me; he said, "Let him alone a little." Then he turned to Yolland, and asked, " Is there any chance of finding her, when the tide ebbs again?" And Yolland answered, "None. What the Sand gets, the Sand keeps for ever." Having said that, the fisher¬ man came a step nearer, and addressed himself to me. " Mr. Betteredge," he said, " I have a word to say to you about the young woman's death. Four foot out, broadwise, along the side of the Spit, there's a shelf of rock, about half fathom down under the sand. My question is —why didn't she strike that ? If she slipped, by accident, from off the Spit, she fell in, where there's foothold at the bottom, at a depth that would barely cover her to the waist. She must have waded out, or jumped out, into the Deeps beyond—or she wouldn t be missing now. No accident, sir! The Deeps of the Quicksand have got her. And they have got her by her own act." After that testimony from a man whose know¬ ledge was to be relied on, the Sergeant was silent. The rest of us, like him, held our peace. With one accord, we all turned back up the slope of the beach. At the sand-hillocks we were met by the under-groom, running to us from the house. The lad is a good lad, and has an honest respect for me. He handed me a little note, with a decent sorrow in his face. " Penelope sent me with this, Mr. Betteredge," he said. " She found it in Rosanna's room." It was her last farewell word to the old man who had done his best—^thank God, always done his best—to befriend her. " You have often forgiven me, Mr. Betteredge, in past times. When you next see the Shiver¬ ing Sand, try to forgive me once more. I have found my grave where my grave was waiting for me. I nave lived, and died, sir, grateful for your kindness." There was no more than that. Little as it was, I hadn't manhood enough to hold up against it. Your tears come easy, when you're young, and beginning the world. Your tears come easy, when you're old, and leaving it. I burst out crying. Sergeant Cuff took a step nearer to me— meaning kindly, I don't doubt. I shrank back from him. " Don't touch me," I said. " It's the dread of you, that has driven her to it." "You are wrong, Mr. Betteredge," he an¬ swered, quietly. "But there will be time enough to speak of it when we are indoors again." I followed the rest of them, with the help of the groom's arm. Through the driving rain we went back—to meet the trouble and the terror that were waiting for us at the house. chapteb xx. Those in front had spread the news before us. We found the servants in a state of panic. A& we passed iny lady's door, it was thrown open violently from the inner side. My mis¬ tress came out among us (with Mr. Franklin following, and trying vainly to compose her), quite beside herself with the horror of the thing. "You are answerable for this !" she cried out, threatening the Sergeant wildly with her hand. "Glabriel! give that wretch his money—and release me from the sight of him !" The Sergeant was the only one among us who was fit to cope with her—being the only one among us who was in possession of him¬ self. " I am no more answerable for this distress¬ ing calamity, my lady, than you are," he said. 318 [March 14, ma] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Goodacted by "If, in half an hour from this, you still insist on my leaving the house, I wiU aceept your ladyship's dismissal, but not your ladyship's money." It was spoken very respectfully, but very firmly at the same time—and it had its effect on my mistress as well as on me. She suffered Mr. Franklin to lead her back into the room. As the door closed on the two, the Sergeant, looking about among the women-servants in his observant way, noticed that, while all the rest were merely frightened, Penelope was in tears. "When your father has changed his wet clothes," he said to her, " come and speak to us, in your father's room." Before the half-hour was out, I had got my dry clothes on, and had lent Sergeant Cuff such change of dress as he required. Penelope came in to us to hear what the Sergeant wanted with her. I don't think I ever felt what a good dutiful daughter I had, so strongly as I felt it at that moment. I took her and sat her on my knee—and I prayed God bless her. She hid her head on my bosom, and put her arms round my neck—and we waited a httle while in silence. The poor dead girl must have been at the bottom of it, I think, with my daughter and with me. The Sergeant went to the window, and stood there looking out. I thought it right to thank him for considering us both in this way—and I did. People in high life have all the lusuries to themselves—among others, the luxury of in¬ dulging their feelings. People in low life have no such privilege. Necessity, which spares our betters, has no pity on us. We learn to put our feelings back into ourselves, and to jog on with our duties as patiently as may be. I don't complain of this—I only notice it. Penelope and I were ready for the Sergeant, as soon as the Sergeant was ready on his side. Asked if she knew what had led her feUow-servant to destroy herself, my daughter answered (as you will fore¬ see) that it was for love of Mr. Franklin Blake. Asked next, if she had mentioned this notion of hers to any other person, PenelopS^ answered, " I have not mentioned it, for Rosanna's sake." I felt it necessa^ to add a word to this. I said, " And for Mr. Franklin's sake, my dear, as well. If Rosanna Aas died for love of him, it is not with his knowledge or by his fault. Let him leave the house to-day, if he does leave it, without the useless pain of knowing the truth." Sergeant Cuff said, "Quite right," and fell silent again; comparing Penelope's notion (as it seemed to me) with some other notion of bis own which he kept to himself. At the end of the half-hour, my mistress's bell rang. On my way to answer it, I met Mr. Franklin coming out of his aunt's sitting-room. He mentioned tliat her ladyship was ready to see Sergeant Cuff—in my presence as before—and he added that he himself wanted to say two words to the Sergeant first. On our way back to my room, he stopped, and looked at the rail¬ way time-table in the hall. "Are you really gobg to leave us, sir?" I asked. " Miss Rachel will surely come right again, if you only give her time." " She will come right again," answered Mr. Franklin, "when she hears that I have gone away, and that she will see me no more." I thought he spoke in resentment of my young laa^s treatment of him. But it was not so. My mistress had noticed, from the time when the police first came into the bouse, that the bare mention of him was enough to set Miss Rachel's temper in a fiame. He had been too fond of his cousin to like to confess this to him¬ self, until the truth had been forced on him, when she drove off to her aunt's. His eyes once opened in that cruel way which you know of, Mr. Franklin had taken his resolution —the one resolution which a man of any spirit could take—to leave the house. What he had to say to the Sergeant was spoken in my presence. He described her lady¬ ship as willing to acknowledge that she had ^oken over hastily. And he asked if Sergeant Cuff would consent—in that case—to accept his fee, and to leave the matter of the Diamond where the matter stood now. The Sergeant answered, "No, sir. My fee is paid me for' doing my duty. I decline to take it, until my duty is done." " I don't understand you," says Mr. Franklin. " I'll explain myself, sir," says the Sergeant. " When I came here, I undertook to throw the necessary light on the matter of the missing Dia¬ mond. I am now ready, and waiting, to redeem my pledge. When I have stated the case to Lady Verinder as the case now stands, and when I have told her plainly what course of action to take for the recovery of the Moon¬ stone, the responsibility will be off my shoulders. Let her ladyship decide, after that, whether she does, or does not, allow me to go on. I shall then have done what I undertook to do—and I'll take my fee." In those words, Sergeant Cuff reminded us that, even in the Detective Police, a man may have a reputation to lose. The view he took was so plainly the right one, that there was no more to be said. As I rose to conduct him to my lady's room, he asked if Mr. Franklin wished to be present. Mr. Frankhn answered, " Not unless Lady Verinder desires it." He added, in a whisper to me, as I was following the Sergeant out, "I know what that man is going to say about Rachel ; and I am too fond of her to hear it, and keep my temper. Leave me by myself." I left him, miserable enough, leaning on the sill of my window, with his face hidden in his hands—and Penelope peeping through the door, longing to comfort him. In Mr. Franklin's place, I should have called her in. When you are ill used by one woman, there is great comfort in telling it to another—^because, nine times out of ten, the other always takes your side. Per¬ haps, when my back was turned, he did call her in ? In that case, it is only doing my daughter justice to declare that she would stick at no- Cbarles Didiens.] ALL THE TEAB BOUND. [Maroh 14,1S68.] 319 thing, in the way of comforting Mr. Franklin Blake. In the mean time. Sergeant Cuff and I pro¬ ceeded to my lady's room. At the last conference we had held with her, we had found her not over willing to lift her eyes from the book which she had on the table. On this occasion there was a change for the better. She met the Sergeant's eye with an eye that was M steady as his own. The family spirit showed itself in every line of her face ; and I knew that Sergeant Cuff would meet his match, when a woman like my mistress was strung up to hear the worst he could say to her. SOME VERY LIGHT LITERATURE. It is a curious experience to glance through the pages of some magazine or other perio¬ dical of comparatively recent date, and to observe the enormous difference which the lapse of even a few years makes, not only in our m^pners and habits, our costumes, the hours which we keep, our mode of travel¬ ling, and the like, but also in the style of literature of the lighter kind, which the taste of the age demands, and which those who live by catering to that taste, as a matter of course, employ. Accident has lately thrown in the way of the writer an old volume of that once-popular and well-known magazine. La Belle Assemblée ; and the reflection with which this article opens was inspired by a careful and wondering examination of its contents. It is astonishing how soon a newspaper or periodical of any sort gets to be old and obso¬ lete, and how queerly some of the facts and opinions contained in such works show when looked at with the knowledge of the subse¬ quent issue of events present to our mind. It was but the other day, after au interview with Constance Rent at the Penitentiary, Milbank —where I found her engaged in the harmless occupation of ironing linen—^that, on referring back to a number of the Annual Register for the year in which the Road murder was com¬ mitted, I found it stated as an instance of what absurd theories people will sometimes put forward, that certain persons had even gone so far as to suggest that the murdered child had been the victim of Miss Constance' Kent, a daughter of the house ! Knowing what we do now, this paragraph reads oddly enough. And so with this other periodical. La Belle Assemblée. In its pages also we light upon many things which, remembering simsequeut events, read oddly enough. Knowing, for example, what we do now of the author of the Waverley Novels, does it not seem strange to find him alluded to in these pages as " Mr. Scott, the northern poet"? Or, again, ac¬ quainted as we are now with the properties and capabilities of iron, is it not marvellous to read an article on the construction of fire¬ proof theatres, without one mention of this now much-prized metal from beginning to end of the treatise? The use of stone every¬ where is the panacea against danger by fire set up by the writer of this article, who actually ad¬ vocates the adoption of a vaulted stone roof for every theatre that is built, even though it should necessitate the introduction of flying- buttresses in the external construction of the building. It furnishes, by-the-by, a curious subject fôr reflection to find that people were yearning for fireproof theatres when they knew of no more suitable material of which to con¬ struct them than blocks of granite ; and that even now, in 1868, when we know of a material which is more convenient to use, and which would render the attainment of this most desirable object comparatively certain, we are still no better off as to security from fire in our theatres than we were in 1809. For this specimen of periodical literature— this volume of La Belle Assemblée—every word and every illustration in which suggests a state of things utterly obsolete and done away with—was, after aU, published no longer ago than in the year of grace just mentioned, and must be regarded, in truth, as part of the light literature of the great nineteenth century. Its contents consist of long extracts from books of tales, of letters from fancifully named correspondents, of occasional theatrical criti¬ cisms, of biographical sketches, and of selec¬ tions from the works of the British poets— Drydeu, Pope, Gray, Thomson, and the rest, with occasionally some original verses, by un¬ known hands, and of inscrutable badness. Lastly, there is—and this perhaps is the most marked feature of the elegant and feeble work before us—an elaborate article on ladies' cos¬ tumes, which, with two coloured illustrations, is appended to each monthly number. Upon the whole I am afraid that it must be admitted that the literature of the Belle As¬ semblée is not of an exalted tone, and would certainly not suit the captious tastes of this cavilling and fastidious age. The stories which are contained in it are hardly inviting. The scene of them is commonly laid in the East, or in other foreign parts, and the tales are of the most high-flown description. The vocative case is largely employed, and the notes of admiration have not an easy time of it. The reflections are not always of startling originality. " Ah," says the heroine of one of these tales, " the heart of mankind is insatiable: it always requires novelty, new ideas, and impressions, which re¬ novate and strengthen its feelings," or again, after congratulating herself on her own high regard for virtue : " Alas I this alone comforts me, this alone supports me I Nor ever, holy virtue, wül I become unfaithful to you ; ever shall you remain my friend. Oh ! I shall see you, and embrace your counterpart, in the Meness of my never-to-be-forgotten Boris!" Boris being the remarkable name of this lady's husband. There never were such powerful morals as those conveyed by the stories in the B. A. 320 [March 14,1863.] ALL THE YEAB BOUND. [OoDdacted by f fa There is never any possibility of a mistake about them, they are so strong and so obvious. Sometimes, as in case of Conradine, or Inno¬ cence Triumphant, or of Leontine and Be¬ linda—a Moral Tale, the good intention is in¬ dicated on the very title-page. Always it is pro¬ claimed before you are many pages deep in the story. In the two consecutive numbers of the Belle Assemblée for the mouths of March and April, 1809, a fair example of the story " of the period" is set before us. It is an Eastern tale, called Hulkem ! a simple and striking title enough. The narrative opens with a de¬ scription of the extraordinary hospitality and generosity of Hulkem. He is a philanthro¬ pist, whose sole object in life is the promo¬ tion of the welfare and happiness of his fellow- creatnres, and who, with this end in view, sets up an establishment where anybody who chooses to apply for shelter is received with all sorts of honourable ceremonials, conducted to perfumed baths, waited upon by female slaves of the rarest beauty, fed upon the most sumptuous dishes, clothed in the richest garments, and finally supplied with money on his departure, whenever he is foolish enough to p. The fame of Hulkem's good deeds spread :ar and wide, and at last extended to the ears of Hassam, a young man possessed of enor¬ mous wealth, who instantly determines to emu¬ late his popular neighbour, and set up a rival establishment for tne reception of strangers which shall outdo Hulkem's in splendour aud luxury. His determination is promptly carried out, and it is the universal opinion that Hassam's Temple of Hospitality furnishes better quartern than even that of Hulkem himself ; that his apartments are more comfortable, his entertain¬ ments more luxurious, his baths more richly perfumed, his female slaves more astoundingly beautiful, and his pecuniary gifts more munifi¬ cent than those of the origmal philanthropist. Hassam finds, nevertheless, that Hulkem is more popular than he is, and that &e visitors who patronise him set a higher value on the comparatively plain hospitality of Hulkem than on his own more splendid style of entertain¬ ment, and esteem a single gold piece of Hulkem's fiving more than a score of them coming from is own generous hand. Much puzzled and annoyed, Hassam busies himself in efforts to account for this strange phenomenon, and, after long and careful research, finds that it is Xiaaway in which Hulkem confers his benefits wbich in¬ vests them with so great à charm, and that the gifts and favours of his rival are doubled in value m consequence of the sympathetic manner which characterises every one of Hulkem's benevo¬ lent acts. Unfortunately, this particular grace is just what Hassam is unable to assume, though he makes many attempts to master it ; and so indignant does he at last become in consequence of his failure to make any advance towards pro¬ pitiating that ungrateful company of paupers to whose service he has devoted his fortune and his labours, that his admiration for Hulkem degenerates gradually into such a measure of hatred that he resolves to put a period to his rival's existence, and see whether he cannot nianage at last to become a popular idol when his rival is no longer in the field. He sets off, with a dagger hidden under his cloak, full of murderous intentions towards the unhappy philanthropist. Hassam, after going to Hulkem's "man¬ sion," and not finding him at home, now begins wandering about the country in a purpose¬ less way, throwing himself down on the ground and getting up again, plucking flowers and scattering their leaves to the wmd, and gene¬ rally losing a great deal of time as assassins fre¬ quently do in story-books and melodramas. He wanders into a wood where he beholds a damsel of exquisite beauW, seated on the turf before a cottage-door, mssam addresses her, and is well received by the jroung lady. The inter¬ view is beautifully detailed in the narrative : " ' You are a stranger,' said she to Hassam, with a voice as sweet as the notes of the lute, and blushing with the most enchanting mo¬ desty; 'will you step into the cottage? You come ' " ' From Hulkem's mansion.' "'You are welcome,'resumed the maiden, smiling, 'to whatever our humble cottage can afford.' " ' Your cottage contains more than all the wealth in Hulkem's possession could procure.' " ' You are very kind. But will you not step in ?' " ' Why may we not continue on this spot, the abode of everything that can be called amiable ?' " The beautiful damsel brings out the inevi¬ table dates and milk, and, taking up a lute, plays to the enraptured Hassam "in a style which affected the inmost fibres of his heart." Of course, the pair fell in love with each other, and the father, who has been absent, returning in the course of the afternoon, is entirely favour¬ able to their union — only he remembers an obstacle which he fears is insuperable, and which is nothing less than a prior claim upon his daughter's hand and heart, which is pos¬ sessed by no less a person than the great Hnlkem himself, Hassam's rival, as it seems, in all things. Hassam declares that now the doom of Hulkem is sealed. And the father of Zulima (which is the heroine's name), falling into his views with singular alacrity, points out a çlace in the wood hard by, to which Hulkem is in the habit of resorting every morning to say his prayers. Next morning Hassam repairs to the spot, dagger in hand, finds his victim bent to the earth in an attitude of devotion, makes several offers at him with his blade, but, re¬ lenting, at last throws away the dagger. Upon this Zulima rushes forward to embrace her lover, ^d Hulkem, the rival, rabing himself from his praying-carpet, discloses to view the intelligent features of Zulima's father, who has adopted the little ruse in order to test the virtue of his future son-in-law, and who was no other. Oharle« Dtekeni.] ALL TUE TEAB BOÜUD. [Uarcb 14,1868.] 321 all the time, than the benevolent Hulkem him¬ self. Of eonrse Hassam acknowledges himself to be outdone in generosity and in every other quality by Hulkem. Of course the lovers are united, and of course they are happy ever afterwards. In addition to stories, there is, in the Belle Assemblée, a good store of letters profess¬ ing to come from all sorts of queer people, wuich partake also of the nature of narra¬ tives, and some of which appear month after month almost like the parts of a serial stoiy. Of this sort are the letters of Hymensea m Search of a Husband; the idea founded, of course, on Gœlebs in Search of a Wife. Their design seems to be to show forth how many blockheads, oafs, rogues, and v^abonds will set themselves to work within a given time to win the affections of a yoimg lady gifted with some personal attractions and possessed of forty thousand pounds. One after another the rognes and blockheads are exhibited for the reader's benefit, aiyi made to go throngh their paces, which, to say truth, are lame and clumsy in the last de^ee. Throughout these letters there is an obvious determination to be dever which is extremely trying. The delineations of cha¬ racter, the strictures on fashionable life and morals, and the descriptions of what goes on in society, are all intended to strike one as the work of a first-class observer, but fail, for some reason, to do so. The correspondents of the B. A. are nu¬ merous, and some of them absurd. Here is a specimen of a correspondent whose domestic happiness has heen destroyed in consequence of one of her sisters having once heard Catalini, the celebrated singer, at a Bath concert ! Philomela is a " girl of very animated spirits," she informs the editor, blest with a very good voice, which has been much admired m the narrow circle of her village, and the exercise of which used to afford intense delight both to herself and to her mother and sisters, as they sat at their work. But this blissful state of things was not to be allowed to go on. "About two months since," writes the fair vocalist, " an aunt whom I have at Bath invited my sister Kitty to come and pass a month with her. Kitty went, and has returned ; and here, sir, is the cause of all my uneasiness How miserably changed is she since she left us. She talks about nothing but Catalini ; and if I begin a song, tells me, and tells others, that if 1 were to hear Catalini I should never attempt to sing again. She passed the room, the other day, whilst I was singing her former favourite song, ' 'Twas withm a mile of Edinburgh Town,' and I heard her sw to my brother, who was with her, 'Willthat Phill never have done squalling?' If, in the midst of my work, I insensibly slip into a tune, she stops her ears without ceremony, and crossly asks me if I mean to murder her. She has got, moreover, several outlandish words which she occasionally throws in my face to jeer me ; the other night 1 happened to cough so as to drown my tune. when siie clapped her hands, and cried ' Bravo ! Encora!'" Bather "outlandish," under the circum¬ stances, it must he owned. Philomela goes on after this to tell of all the disgrace engendered in the family by her sister's affected admiration of Catalini, and entreats the editor of the Belle Assemblée to write something in his magazine, which her sister wiU see, and which may bring her to a sense of the impropriety of her present proceedings; something like what she herself writes, she thinks, would do, " but in better language, and more like a sermon." The miser¬ able Philomela concludes thus : " Kitty is not the same girl that she was; she talks some¬ times very strangely, and frequently, instead of remin^g me of my prayers, as she used to do, falls asleep and forgets them herself. The other night, when we had been out daucing, we both fell asleep without saying them ; I awoke about two in the morning, and, remem¬ bering the omission, waked my sister after much difficulty ; she was in a dreadful passion, and absolutely beat me. Now, sir, this was all Bath." A magazine which addresses itself to the fashionable world should have something to say about its leaders. In each number of the B. A. there is a biographical sketch of some member of the British aristocracy, accompanied by a portrait. These portraits are chiefly after pictures by Hoppner, and exhibit the female aristocracy of the time clad in loose robes, and with unconfined locks blown about, as it seems in most cases, by a high wind. The biographical notices are very brief. In one of his " Sketches," not having much else to say, the author goes into ecstacies about the highly moral tone of the existing arrangements at court. "There probably never was'a period in which the females of the British court exhibited a more laudable and splendid pattern of those virtues which adorn the sex in eveiy station of Jife. • • • The court—at least the female part of it— under the controlling and matronly prudence of the queen, is made what it ought to be—the conservator and example of morals and chastity of manners in fashionable life, the source from which refinement flows, and in which, however fashion may bear sovereign sway, she is never suffered to ' infringe upon the severity of virtue." It is evident enough, then, that, in a general way, the compiler of these biogi^hies is a good deal put to it to find matter with which to fill up h¿ space. This is, indeed, so obvious, that when this unfortunate chronicler of nothings does get a chance of having something to say about one of his " illustrious ladies," one feels almost a sense of relief. Such a chance comes in his way at last when he gets to work at the life of Lady Charlotte Campbell, and he makes the most of it. After treating of the beauty of this lady, of her high position in the fashion¬ able world, he tells of her real claim to fame and distinction in these words : " Her ladyship will always maintain a conspicuous place in the 322 [March 14,186S.J ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Coaducted by records of fashion; the time in ■which she flourished will, if we mistake not, be celebrated as a kind of jEba in the decoration of the female world. It is, perhaps, unnecessary to inform those female readers who are possessed of experience in the science of costume, and can count the revolutions of fashions with ac¬ curacy and precision, that Lady Charlotte Camp¬ bell was the flrst inventor of what is technically called short waists" To get hold of a personage who is at once an inventor—an inventor of a waist, too— and who is besides a member of the female aristocracy is such a chance as does not come in the way of a compiler of biographical sketches every day. The portion of La Belle Assemblée which was dedicated to the subject of female costume and the fashions was not regarded as the least valuable part of the elegant compila¬ tion. Let us ascertain what was prescribed for a lady who wished to be dressed " like other people" in the month of May, 1809. She was expected to wear " a fine cambric round gown, with high collar, finished ■with needle-work and scolloped lace A Spanish spencer of black or puce-coloured velvet, edged with gold lace. A waistcoat or wrap-front of marble, or leopard satin, with collar the same as the spencer, edged also with gold lace. The Vigonian helmet, or patriotic bonnet (!), composed of the same ma¬ terials ; the helmet edged with gold lace, and the crown crossed with gold cord terminating on one side with a cone tassel. Hoop earrings of wrought gold ; necklace of variegated amber : gloves, York-tan, and half boots of tan-coloured kid, laced with black cord." Such was the morning costume. That for the evening is too elaborate in description to be quoted entire. There seems to have been a strong leaning towards the antique and Eastern. The " robe " was to be a Spartan robe ; the head¬ dress a Spartan cap, ■with Persian diadem, com¬ posed of various gems, while a "Carthage cymar" was to be suspended gracefully from one shoulder, and, crossing the skirt of the figure behind, was to be " confined towards the front by the natural disposition of the adverse kind"—^whatever that may mean. The word, "adverse," seems to be a favourite ■with the writer. In describing the illustration to this very notiee he says, speaking of a mirror which is introduced in the background, that it is placed there in order to display the tasteful effect of this costume on the adverse front of the figure—meaning apparently the back. The changes are rung perpetually upon Roman sto¬ machers, Armenian collars, Alcantara hats and mantles, Carthage cymars, Cossack pelisses, Vigonian helmets, and Patriotic bormets— articles, to judge by the illustrations, one and all, of unexampled hideousness. The reader cannot have any idea of the horrible aspect presented by a figure in a white robe tightly wrapped about the feet, and loosely wrapped about the waist, shrouded in an Alcan¬ tara mantle, and wearing an Alcantara hat upon its bead. No notion can be given in words of what a Vigonian helmet is like, or a Patriotic bonnet. They are weird things, all of them, and the "fashionables," who are represented as wearing them, have all a phantom-like look whieh, curiously enough, reminds one of the ghosts and spectres that William Blake used to draw—Blake, who lived about the time, and when youthful imagination may, without hb knowing it, have been impressed by the figures clad in Alcantara mantles and Patriotic helmets, which he encountered flitting about in lonely places. The author of these descriptions sometimes ventures to demur to the taste displayed in some of the smaller details. There is a walk¬ ing costume, some of the component parts of which are " a Chinese parasol of lilac sarsnet, with deep Eastern awning, with shoes and gloves of pea-green kid ;" of which the writer ventures to say—" the parasol strikes us as being more correct when chosen of the same colour as the lining of the coat or the shoes." Generally, however, he is profoundly satisfied with the beauty of the illustration on which he writes. Sometimes this gentleman give hb fair readers the benefit of his opinion on dress in a more abstract form, and as distinct from the fashion- plates, which it is generally his practice to illustrate. " Mantles and cloaks," he says, speaking now on his own authority, "of green Vigonia or merino cloth of various shades, from the sombre hue of the Spanish fly to the more lively pea-green, have succeeded to the purple, which, though a colour most pleasing in itself, is now become too general to find a place in a select wardrobe. Scarlet eloaks are no longer to be seen on genteel women, except as wraps for the theatre ; the satiated eye turns, overpowered by their universal glare, to rest on more chaste and more refreshing shades." At other times our author warms with his subject, and is betrayed into an outburst of the finest eloquence. "Buds and blossoms," he cries, speaking of the month of May, "now burst forth into gay luxuriance, and the spirit, reno¬ vated by the charming scene, lights anew our hopes, awakens our slumbering energies, and gives to our mortal essence a second spring. It is now that the village-maid throws aside her woollen cloak and vestment of humble brown. It is now also that the fair fashionable discards the velvet mantle and coat of Georgian cloth, for those of more seasonable elegance. Now is seen the unconfined pelisse of gay and pliant sarsnet, the rich and graceful scarf, yielding to each gentle breeze, and sporting "gay with zephyrs." Something like a fashion-chronicler this! Fashion would die of the "vapours " without news, and, in the form of a letter from a young lady in London to a friend in the country, the B. A. gives intelligence of all that is going on in the world of fashion, conveying her infor¬ mation in a style which is both easy and familiar. This young lady is staying in London with friends who appear to be very high-flyers in¬ deed. Their house, " which is in Grosvenor- ALL THE .YEAR ROUND. [March 14,18(».] 333 Chulea Dickens.] square, is one of the most spacious and sump¬ tuous mansions in town. It is just furnished in the highest style of the present mode. The drawing-room comprises a most attractive as¬ semblage of the Greek and Chinese." A remark¬ able and bewildering combination, this " assem¬ blage," the colours brought together in our young lady's boudoir being, as she informs us, " p^-green and pale rose-colour." Dress naturally occupies a great share in these letters. There is a beautiful countess who comes to stay in the house, and who in¬ dulges continually in the most gorgeous and ever-new toilettes. This lady supplies matter for the elegant letter-writer, who is very minute and perhaps a little spiteful in her manner of describing the different articles which go to make up the countess's costume. These letters contain a strange jumble. At the end of each there is appended a little literary intelli¬ gence—some announcement of new books about to appear, or an intimation that the writer has forwarded to her friend, along with the fashion- Îirints, sonle work in which she herself has been ately revelling. She speaks of forwarding, in her next packet, Gleanings from Zimmerman's Solitude, and describes the work as a " care- soothing and amiable little production while in another place she announces some novel pro¬ ductions by the " ingenious " Miss Porter, asking her friend, " who can but look forward with pleasurable expectation to any forthcoming work from the authors of Thaddeus of Warsaw and the Hungarian Brothers ?" Here, then, roughly sketched—the main points alone insisted on, and only some of those, lest the reader's patience should weary— is a brief abstract of the contents of an average serial magazine of light literature, published during the early part of this present century. Here b a link in the chain which connects the Tatler, the Spectator, and the Rambler with the periodical literature of our own day. The link IS a flimsy one, made of pewter or pinch¬ beck at best. It will not bear any severe kind of testing, or to be dealt with at all roughly ; but still it Û a link, and as such not to be alto¬ gether ignored. It b melancholy to think that those fine works mentioned above should have had such a successor. The decline of any art, indeed, b always a melancholy fact to con¬ template. When a thing once well done, in¬ stead of advancing and getting to be better done, goes back, and is done very rauch worse than it was before, it must always—^in a world of which progress is the first law—^be painful and unnatural. Yet these temporary declines —chiefly because theyare temporary—are not really discouraging. When La Belle Assemblée fiourbhed, everything connected with matters of taste was at its worst. Was anything—one is tempted to ask—done well in 1809 ? In what a condition was art, costume, public taste, as manifested in the buildings erected at that time, and in all things decorative of wliatever Ûnd I The literature of La Belle Assemblée was no exception to the general weakness and bad taste of them all. Yet art, and literature,' and taste have sur¬ vived. They were not really dead. It is truer to say that they slept, and have awakened again. WOODLAND MUSIC. What saith the hum of the woodlands, The undertone of the air ? Can fancy understand it. Or human words declare ? Mine can ; at least, I dream so, As I listen and compare. The trees, from leaves and branches. All seem to whisper and sigh, As lovers might to lovers. Under the moonlit sky. As passionate and foolish- Letting the world go by. The grass to the grass makes music. As the wind in its current rolls, The sedges sigh to the willows. The flower with the flower condoles. Each in its little circle. As if they were human souls. The tiniest life in the sunbeam In the pebble's caverns dark. In the ripple of the shallows. Where a straw may be an ark,— In tbe shelter of the mosses, -In the crinkles of the bark. In every pulse and movement Of Nature's mighty breath, Enacts for ever and ever The tale of Life and Death— Of Hope, and Struggle, and Effort, Of Life, and Love, and Death. There's war among the myriads. That flutter, and float, and crawl,— There's cruelty, and bloodshed. And agony 'mid them all— The strong consuming the feeble. The large oppressing the small. In their little world they suffer. As man in his larger sphere ; Yet not, in God's great bounty. Without some blessings clear, And the kindly compensations That balance a fate severe. Their voices, though we hear not. Keep time to the tune of spring ; The bee in the rose is happy. And the moth upon the wing ; And the worm has as much enjoyment As the birds that soar and sing. Ay, here in this breezy woodland, Under the bright blue sky. 324 [March U, 1808.] ALL THE To me all Nature whispers, And the grass and the flowers reply, The old, the eternal chorus— " We live, we love, we die." HOLIDAY ROMANCE. Br Charles Dickens. in eoue parts. Part III. romance. erom the pen oe lieutenant- colonel robin redforth.* The subject of our present narrative would appear to have devoted himself to tiie Pirate pro¬ fession at a comparatively early age. We find him in command of a splendid schooner of one hundred guns, loaded to the muzzle, 'ere yet he ( had had a party in honour of his tenth birthday. It seems tliat our hero, considering himself spited by a Latin-Grammar-Master, demanded the satisfaction due from one man of honour to another. Not getting it, he privately withdrew his haughty spirit from such low company, bought a second-hand pocket-pistol, folded up some sandwiches in a paper bag, made a bottle of Spanish liquorice-water, and entered on a career of valour. It were tedious to follow Boldheart (for such was his name) throimh the commencing stages pf his history. Suffice it that we find him bear¬ ing the rank of Captain Boldheart, reclining in full imiform on a crimson hearth-rug spread out upon the quarter deck of his schooner the Beauty, in the China Seas. It was a lovely even¬ ing, and as his crew lay grouped about him, he favoured them with the following melody : 0 landsmen are folly, O Pirates are jolly, O Diddleum Dolly Di! (CTortis) Heave yo. The soothing effect of these animated sounds floating over the waters, as the common sailors united their rough voices to take^p the rich tones of BoldhearL may be more easily conceived than described. It was under these circumstances that the look-out at the mast-head gave the word, " Whales !" All was now activity. "Where away?" cried Captain Boldheart, starting up. "On the larboard bow, sir," replied the fellow at the mast-head, touching his hat. Por such was the height of discipline on board the Beauly, that even at that height he was obliged to mind it or be shot through the head. " This adventure belongs to me," said Bold- heart. "Boy, my harpoon. Let no man follow ;" and leapmg alone into his boat, the captain rowed with admirable dexterity in the direction of the monster. All was now excitement. " He nears him !" said an elderly seaman, following the captain through his spy-glass. * Aged Nine. ROUND, (Condncted by " He strikes him !" said another seaman, a mere stripling, but also with a spy-glass. " He tows him towards us f' said another seaman, a man in the full vigour of life, but also with a spy-glass. In fact the captain was seen approaching, with the huge bulk follow^. We will not dwell on the deafening cries of "Boldheart! Boldheart !" with which he was received, when, carelessly, leaping on the quarter-deck, he pre¬ sented his prize to his men. They afterwards made two thousand four hundred and seventeen pound ten and sixpence by it. Ordering the sails to be braced up, the cap¬ tain now stood W.N.W. The Beauty flew rather than floated over the dark blue waters. Nothing particular occurred for a fortnight, except taking, with considerable slaughter, four Spanish galleons and a Snow from South Ame¬ rica, all richly laden. Inaction began to tell upon the spirits of the men. Captain Boldheart called all hands aft, and said : " My lads, I hear there are discontented ones among ye. Let any such stand forth." After some murmuring, in which the ex¬ pressions, "Aye, aye, sir," "Union Jack," " Avast," " Starboard," " Port," " Bowsprit," and similar indications of a mutinous under¬ current, though subdued, were audible. Bill Boozey, ca^ain of the foretop, came out from the rest. His form was that of a giant, but he quailed under the captain's eye. " What are your wrongs ?" said the captain. "Why, d'ye see. Captain Boldheart," re¬ turned the towering mariner, " I've sailed man and boy for many a year, but I never yet know'd the milk served out for the ship's company's teas to be so sour as 'tis aboard this craft." At this moment the thrilling cry, "Man overboard !" announced to the astonished crew that Boozey, in stepping back as the cap¬ tain (in mere thoughtfnlness) laid his hand upon the faithful pocket-pistol which he wore in his belt, had lost his balance, and was struggling with the foaming tide. AU was now stupefaction. But, with Captain Boldheart, to throw off his uniform coat regardless of the various rieh orders with which it was decorated, and to plunge into the sea after the drowning giant, was the work of a moment. Maddening was the excitement when boats were lowered ; intense the joy when the captain was seen holding up the drowning man with his teeth; deafening the cheering when both were restored to the main deck of the Beauty. And from the instant of his changing his wet clothes for dry ones. Captain Boldheart had no such devoted though humble friend as William Boozey. Boldheart now pointed to the horizon, and called the attention of his crew to the taper spars of a ship lying snug in harbour under the guns of a fort. " She shall be ours at sunrise," said he. " Serve out a double allowance of grog, and prepare for action." All was now preparation. Chulea Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 14,1848.] 325 When morning dawned after a sleepless night, it was seen that the stranger was crowding on all sail to come out of the harbour and offer battle. As the two ships came nearer to each other, the stranger fired a gun and hoisted Roman colours. Boldheart tlien perceived her to be the Latin-Grammar-Master's bark. Such indeed she was, and had been tacking about the world in unavailing pursuit, from the time of his first taking to a roving life. Boldheart now addressed his men, promising to blow them up, if he should feel convinced that their reputation required it, and giving orders that the Latin-Grammar-Master should be taken alive. He then dismissed them to their quarters, and the fight began with a broad¬ side from the Beauty. She then veered round and poured in another. The Scorpion (so was the bark of the Latin-Grammar-Master appro¬ priately called) was not slow to return her fire, and a terrific cannonading ensued, in which the guns of the Beauty did tremendous execution. The Latin-Grammar-Master was seen upon the poop,^ the midst of the smoke and fire, encoun^ing his men. To do him justice, he was no Craven, though his white hat, his short grey trousers, and his long snuff-coloured sur¬ tout reaching to his heels—the self-same coat in which he had spited Boldheart—contrasted most unfavourably with the brilliant uniform of the latter. At this moment Boldheart, seizing a pike and putting himself at the head of his men, gave the word to board. A desperate conflict ensued in the hammock nettings—or somewhere in about that direction —^until the Latin-Grammar-Master, having all his masts gone, his hull and rigsing shot through and through, and seeing Boldheart slashing a path towards him, hauled down his flag himself, gave up his sword to Boldheart, and asked for quarter. Scarce had he been put into the cap¬ tain's boat, 'ere the Scorpion went down with all on board. On Captain Boldheart's now assembling his men, a circumstance occurred. He found it necessary with one blow of his cutlass to kill the Cook, who, having lost his brother in the late action, was making at the Latin-Grammar- Master in an infuriated state, intent on his de¬ struction with a carving-knife. Captain Boldheart then turned to the Latin- Grammar-Master, severely reproaching him with his perfidy, and put it to his crew what they consi¬ dered that a master who spited a boy deserved ? They answered with one voice, " Death." " It may be so," said the Captain, " but it shall never be said that Boldheart stained his hour of triumph with the blood of his enemy. Prepare the cutter." The cutter was immediately prepared. "Without taking your hie," said the Cap¬ tain, " I must yet for ever deprive you of the power of spiting other boys. I shall turn you adrift in this boat. You will find in her, two oars, a compass, a bottle of rum, a small cask of water, a piece of pork, a bag of biscuit, and my Latin grammar. Go! And spite the Natives, if you can find any." Deeply conscious of this bitter sarcasm, the unhappy wretch was put into the cutter, and was soon left far behind. He made no effort to row, but was seen lying on his back with his legs up, when last made out by the ship's telescimes. A stiff breeze now beginning to blow. Captain Boldheart gave orders to keep her S.S.W., easing her a little during the night by falling off a point or two W. by W., or even by W.S., if she complained much. He then retired for the night, having in truth much need of repose. In addition to the fatigues he had undei^ne, this brave ofhcer had received sixteen wounds in the engagement, but had not mentioned it. In the morning a white squall came on, and was succeeded by other squalls of various colours. It thundered and lightened heavily for six weeks. Hurricanes then set in for two months. Waterspouts and tornadoes followed. The oldest sailor on board—and he was a very old one—had never seen such weather. The Beauty lost all idea where she was, and the car¬ penter reported six feet two of water in the hold. Everybody fell senseless at the pumps every day. Provisions now ran very low. Our hero put the crew on short allowance, and put himself on shorter allowance than any man in the ship. But his spirit kept him fat. In this extremity, the gratitude of Boozey, the captain of the fore- top whom our readers may remember, was truly affecting. The loving though lowly William repeatedly requested to be killed, and preserved for the captam's table. We now approach a change in affairs. One day during a gleam of sunshine and when the weather had moderated, the man at the masthead—too weak now to touch his hat, besides its having been blown away—called out, " Savages !" AD was now expectation. Presently fifteen hundred canoes, each pad¬ dled by twenty savages, were seen advancing in excellent order. They were of a light green colour (the Savages were), and sang, with great energy, the foUowing strain : Cboo a choo a choo tooth. Muntch, muntcb. Nycey ! Cboo a cboo a choo tooth. Muntch, muntcb. Nyce ! As the shades of night were by this time closing in, these expressions were supposed to embody this simple people's views of the Evening Hymn. But it too soon appeared that the song was a translation of " For what we are going to receive, &c." The chief, imposingly decorated with feathers of lively colours, and having the majestic appear¬ ance of a fighting Parrot, no sooner understood (he understood English perfectly) that the ship was the Beauty, Captain Boldheart, than he fell upon his face on the deck, and could not be per¬ suaded to rise untU the captain had lifted him up, and told him he wouldn't hurt him. All the rest of the savages also feU on their faces with marks of terror, and had also to be lifted up one by one. Thus the fame of the great Bold- 326 [Uarch 14,1868.] ALL THE TEAK ROUND. [CoBdncted by heart had gone before him, even among these children of nature. Turtles and oysters were now produced in astonishing numbers, and on these and yams the people made a hearty meal. After dinner the Chief told Captain Boldheart that there was better feeding up at the village, and that he would be glad to take him and his oflBcers there. Apprehensive of treachery, Boldheart ordered his boat's crew to attend him completely armed. And well were it for other commanders if their precautions—but let us not anticipate. When the canoes arrived at tiie beach, the darkness of the night was illumined by the hglit of an immense fire. Ordering his boat's crew (with the intrepid though ilhterate William at their head) to keep close and be upon their guard, Boldheart bravely went on, arm-in-arm with the Chief. But how to depict the captain's surprise when he found a ring of Savages singing in cnorus that barbarous translation of " For what we are going to receive, &c.," which has been given above, and dancing hand-in-hand round the Latin- Grammar-Master, in a hamper with his head shaved, while two savages floured him, before putting him to the fire to be cooked ! Boldheart now took counsel with his officers on the course to be adopted. In the mean time the miserable captive never ceased begging pardon and imploring to be dehvered. On the generous Boldheart's proposal, it was at len^h resolved that he should not be cooked, but should be allowed to remain raw, on two con¬ ditions. Namely, 1. That he should never under any circum¬ stances presume to teach any boy anything any more. 2. That, if taken back to England, he should pass his life in travelling to find out boys who wanted their exercises done, and should do their exercises for those boys for nothing, and never say a word about it. Drawing his sword from its sheath. Bold- heart swore him to these conditi^ on its shining blade. The prisoner wept bitterly, and appeared acutely to feel the errors of his past career. The captain then ordered his boat's crew to make ready for a volley, andafter firing to re-load quickly. " And expect a score or two on ye to go head over heels," murmured Wilham Boozey, " for I'm a looking at ye." With those words the derisive though deadly William took a good aim. " Fire !" The ringing voice of Boldheart was lost in the report of the guns and the screeching of the savages. Volley after volley awakened the numerous echoes. Hundreds of savages were killed, hundreds wounded, and thousands ran howling into the woods. The Latin-Grammar- Master had a spare nightcap lent him, and a long- tail coat which he wore hind side before. He pre¬ sented a ludicrous though pitiable appearance, and serve him right. ■We now find Captain Boldheart, with this rescued wretch on board, standing off for other islands. Atone of these, not a cannibal island, but a pork and vegetable one, he married (only in fun on his part) the King's daughter. Here he rested some time, receiving from the natives great quantities of precious stones, gold-dust, elephants' teeth, and sandal-wood, and getting very rich. This, too, though he almost every day made presents of enormous value to his men. The ship being at length as full as she could hold of aU sorts of valuable things, Boldheart gave orders to weigh the anchor, and turn the Beauty's head towards England. These orders were obeyed with three cheers, and ere the sun went down full many a hornpipe had been danced on deck by the uncouth though agile William. We next find Captain Boldheart about three leagues off Madeira, surveying through his spy¬ glass a stranger of suspicious appearance making sail towards him. On his firing a gun ahead of her to bring her to, she ran up a flag, which he instantly recognised as the flag from the mast in the back garden at home. Inferring from this, that his father had put to sea to seek his long-lost son, the captain sent his own boat on board the stranger, to in¬ quire if this was so, and if so, whether his father's intentions were strictly honourable. The boat came back with a present of greens and fresh meat, and reported that the stranger was The Family, of twelve hundred tons, and had not only the captain's father on board, but also his mother, with the majority of his aunts and uncles, and all his cousins. It was further reported to Boldheart that the whole of these relations had expressed themselves in a becoming manner, and were anxious to embrace him and thank him for the glorious credit he had done them. Boldheart at once invited them to breakfast next morn¬ ing on board the Beauty, and gave orders for a brilliant ball that should last all day. It was in the course of the night that the captain discovered the hopelessness of reclaim¬ ing the Latin-Grammar-Master. That thankless traitor was found out, as the two ships lay near each other, communicating with The Family by signab, and offering to give up Boldheart. He was hanged at the yard-arm the first thing in the morning, after having it impressively pointed out to him by Boldheart that this was what spiters came to. The meeting between the captain and his parents was attended with tears. Hb uncles and aunts would have attended their meeting with tears too, but he wasn't going to stand that. His cousins were very much ^tonbhed by the size of his ship and the discipline of hb men, and were greatly overcome by the splen¬ dour of his uniform. He kindly conducted them round the vessel, and pointed out every¬ thing worthy of notice. He also fired hb hundred guns, and found it amusing to witness their alarm. The entertainment surpassed everything ever seen on board ship, and lasted from ten m the morning until seven the next morning. Only one dbagreeable incident occurred. Captain Ohartos Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. plaroh 14, ISes.] 327 Boldheart found himself obliged to put his Cousin Tom ia irons, for being disrespectful. On the boy's promising amendment, however, he was humanely released, after a few hours' close confinement. Boldheart now took his mother down into the great cabin, and asked after the young lady with whom, it was well known to the world, he was in love. His mother replied that the object of his affections was then at school at Margate, for the benefit of sea-bathing (it was the month of September), but that she feared the young lady's friends were still opposed to the union. Boldheart at once resolved, if necessary, to bombard the town. Taking the command of his ship with this intention, and putting all but fightmg men on board The Family, with orders to that vessel to keep in company, Boldheart soon anchored in Margate Roads. Here he went ashore well armed, and attended by his boat's crew (at their head the faithful though ferocious William), and demanded ^ see the Mayor, who came out of his office. " Dost know the name of yon ship. Mayor ?" asked Boldheart, fiercely. " No," said the Mayor, rubbing his eyes, which he could scarce believe when he saw the goodly vessel ridin» at anchor. " She is named the Beauty," said the captain. " Hah !" exclaimed the Mayor, with a start. " And you, then, are Captain Boldheart ?" " The same." A pause ensued. The Mayor trembled. " Now, Mayor," said the captain, " choose. Help me to my Bride, or be bombarded." The Mayor begged for two hours' grace, in which to make inquiries respecting the young lady. Boldheart accorded him but one, and during that one placed William Boozey sentry over him, with a drawn sword and instructions to accompany him wherever he went, and to run him through the body if he showed a sign of playing false. At the end of the hour, the Mayor re-ap¬ peared more dead than aUve, closely waited on by Boozey more alive than dead. " Captain," said the Mayor, " I have ascer¬ tained that the young lady is going to bathe. Even now she waits her turn for a machine. The tide is low, though rising. I, in one of our town-boats, shall not be suspected. When she comes forth in her bathing-dress into the shallow water from behind the hood of the machine, my boat shall intercept her and pre¬ vent her return. Do you the rest." " Mayor," returned Captain Boldheart, "thou hast saved thy town." The captain then signalled his boat to take him off, and steering her himself ordered her crew to row towards the bathing-ground, and there to rest upon their oars. All happened as had been arranged. His lovely bride came forth, the Mayor glided in behind her, she be¬ came confused and had floated out of her depth, when, with one skilful touch of the rudder and one quivering stroke from the boat's crew, her adoring J^lcmeart held her in his strong arms. There, her shrieks of terror were changed to cries of joy. Before the Beauty could get under weigh, the hoisting of all the flags in the town and harbour, and the ringing of all the bells, an¬ nounced to the brave Boldheart that he had nothing to fear. He therefore determined to be married on the spot, and signalled for a clergyman and clerk, who came off promptly in a sailing-boat named the Skylark. Another great entertainment was then given on board me Beauty, in the midst of which the Mayor was called out by a messenger. He returned with the news that Grovemment had sent down to know whether Captain Boldheart, in acknowledgment of the great services he had done his country by being a Pirate, would con¬ sent to be made a Lieutenant-Colonel. For himself he would have spurned the worthless boon, but his Bride wished it and he consented. Only one thing further happened before the good ship Family was dismissed, with rich pre¬ sents to all on board. It is painful to record (but such is human nature in some cousins) that Captain Boldheart's unmannerly cousin Tom was actually tied up to receive three dozen with a rope's end "for cheekyness and making games," when Captain Boldheart's Lady begged for him and he was spared. The Beauty then refitted, and the Captain and his Bride departed for the Indian Ocean to enjoy themselves for evermore. COAL. " Pay 'em well to keep him, that it would ! T' owners would never make a better bargain than by just takking him from t' shop he keeps and settling him down among our men. He's just emptied t' public-houses and got every one of our bands to work on P Monday morning fust thing. Niver such a thing known since I've had ought to do with t' Cornope colliery, and that's, man and boy, more years than you can recollect, master. I don't reckon him much of a preacher myself ; but he just hits the men's mark, that's where it is. He keeps a little shop out Doortose way, but he's one of the ' Connexion, and has just come down here on his circuit and done wonders. Our men have listened and took to him tiU the worst and roughest among 'em won't either drink or swear, and as for working How many are there down this morning ?" (turning to an under-viewer). "There, gentlemen, you hear that? The whole number that's due within three I Why, one of our greatest difficulties is to get the men to work regularly. On a Monday we won't varry often hev more than a quarter of the number down the pit we want—drinking, or larking, or playing the fool one way or the other, that's what they're after ; on a Tuesday, when t' money's spent, more will turn in; but it's often Wednesday and the week harrf gone afore we're in full work. Now it stands to reason, don't it, that with all the machinery and other expenses 328 (March 14,1868.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Condneted hy going on, this is a heavy loss, and makes coal cost twice as much to get to the surface ? and, as this preacher has the knack of getting 'em to work, what I say is, let the owners buy up his Doortose shop, and jest plant him down here to look after the men." " Wouldn't answer. Muster Black ! wouldn't answer, sir!" interposed an underviewer, re¬ spectfully; "the instant they found out he'd ought to do with t' owners they wouldn't listen to him. They know he don't get a penny by coming among 'em, ' all for love of their poor souls,' as he says; and once they knew he was planted here to coax 'em to work, he might wnistle and pray until he were blue." We are in a northern county of England ; and are holding this conversation in the dark, and thousands of feet underground. I am called over the coals* for the second time, and am ex¬ ploring one of the largest and deepest pits in the kingdom. Above us is a village with a popu¬ lation of two thousand souls, every one of whom is directly dependent upon the pit. Twelve years ago, not one of those symmetrically ranged dwellings was to be seen, and the schools and chapels, shops and taverns, which have rapidly followed in their wake, are of still more recent date. Take a section of Aldershott or Shorncliff, and spread their huts over a larger space ; or magnity the toy-houses of your children until their monotonously even sides and sloping roofs are large enough to hold men and women ; plant your dwellings in long rows so as to make a succession of streets lead¬ ing to and coming from nowhere in particular ; let your pathways be unpaved and muddy, your public-houses numerous, and your shops of a decidedly "general" kind; throw in several chapels, and some well-built schools, and you have the pit-village of Cornope. It is early morning, and we have driven miles to be with the chief viewer before he sets out on his inspection for the day. At his house we have doffed our clothes and hats, for blue flannel garments and black leather skull-cape. Divining- rods, or wands of a prescribed length, and with¬ out handle or curve, are put into our hands, and in a few minutes we are crouching in the " cage," and descending swiftly down a bricked shaft into the earth. The descent is not unpleasant. There is none of that foul hot stench, that op¬ pressive sensation of being choked with sulphur, that parched scorching of lungs, and eyes, and tongue, which distinguished my first visit. Nor does the mingled wet and coal-dust come down in great black blobs upon our face and hands. It is rather warm and close, but nothing more. The crouching attitude, the darkness, the creaks and grunts of the machinery, the very knowledge that we were bottoming one of the deepest pits in England, make the jaunt remark¬ able; but its pleasures exceed its pain. A passing jangle of chains and the other cage passes us on its upward way, and a short time afterwards I am handed out by two giimy giants in waiting. See page 112 of the present volume. A tremendous draught, which whistles by our ears and gives our beards the sensation of being brushed by machinery, is the first feeling. Many pairs of mighty bellows are focused at our legs and bodies, and we mechanically turn up our pea-jacket collars, stamp upon the ground, and fold our arras sturdily, like the wind-beset traveller in the fable. " Nice ventilation, you see 1" sounds like a mockery, but it is given in good faith, and we plod our way along under¬ ground tramways for miles. There is very little stooping; for the excavations are a goodly height, and we pass from workings to stables, and to the brick-work where new shafts are- being sunk, noticing little more than that the gradations from heat to cold are sudden, and that we are treading on a jointed tramway which has a tendency to trip one up every twenty yards or so. Changes from gusty windiness to tropical heat are sudden. Lifting a coarse canvas curtain, and passing under it, takes us at once from Siberia to the torrid zone. In the first we are among vast currents of air coming fresh and cold into the pit; in the second we stand amid hot and exhausted air which is being forced outwards by the furnace. Canvas or " brattice-work" divides the two, and the vast labyrinthian passages along which coal has been or is being worked are cold or hot according to the turn the ventilation has been made to take. It is in a particularly hot passage, and after I have knocked my head against a cross-beam, in obedience to the cry, "No need to stoop, sir, plenty of room here—six- foot heading this," that I am favoured with an explanation of the talk about the preacher. " He has made 'em serious for a time, like the revival people did ; and while it lasts, which won't be long, they'll work better—that's all. Our men are a roughish lot ; good fellows in the main, you know, but fond of their own way, and liking their own pleasures. Cock-fighting (in a whis¬ per, as if even underground walls might have ears) is a favourite sport of theirs ; many of 'em have dogs they'll match for a ten-pound note for fighting, von know ; and here and there is a boxer who'll back himself, and get his friends to back him for money. Times aren't good just now, and the coal trade's flat ; but when work's plentiful, and wages high, you can't prevent them indulging as they hke. T' owners set their faces again' it, t' parson preaches again' it, t' children are taught t's wrong. But it takes a long time to alter t' habits which have grown and got strong all along t' country-side. We're doing it, however, we're doing of it. Billiards was a foine thing for t' pitmen, foine thing. No, sir, I dawn't mean skittles, and I dawn't mean lorn-billiards, as ye call 'em. I'm just meaning a green table, and the long sticks they ca' ' kews,' and balls, and pockets, and cushions, and such like. A regular bilhard-table such as t' gentlefolks play on, that's what I mean. They've got 'em m cottages knocked into one happen, or a hoose older and bigger than the rest, and a small subscription of a few pennies a week, and the men jest play when they Hke. They're let smoke, and they can have coffee and Charles Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. plarch 14,1868.] 329 tea—^in some places beer, but it is not common. It's a grand thing, cause they know it's t' game the biggest gentlemen play at, and that there's no c^l to be ashamed o' playing it. For it's a great mistak' to suppose you can treat our men like children, or amuse 'em wi' wot wouldn't amuse yoursen. That's the fault I've found wi' o' many t' people. They borrers t' big school-room of t' owners, and perhaps gives 'em a lectur' which is made up out o' childer's books. Shows 'em a magic lanthom, and tries to mak 'em laugh at wot they know is rubbish. Pitmen aren't fools, sir ; and they have their bit of ' cocking,' and their dog-match, at holi¬ day time, because they like it, and you'll never get a stop put to it till you get 'em to like some¬ thing else better. So any game ; I don't keer whether it's cricket for out-o'-doors, or play¬ ing at markers, or at billiards, or quoits, I'm glad to see 'em come in, and so is t' owners when they're wise. For you cau't mend t' men's condition without making it better for t' trade. T owners foiud our pitmen in a good deal. He has a Imose rent free; all his coals and water are led to his door for almost nought -^that is, he only pays a few pence a fort¬ night for leading. A school's found for his children, and when he's working full toime he cau earn as much wages as many a mon who's had a fair eddication and sits all day at a desk. Hoose- rent, and coab, and eddication aren't bad things to hav' for next to nothing ; and if a pitman is a real worker, and sober and clever, he's pretty certain to rise. Many o' the chief viewers in these parts hav' been colliers ; so hav' some of t' principal owners. You see oor great point is to keep oor men's working power at full pitch, and to waaste none of it ; and every pit in t' north has a regular staff of helpers and sur¬ veyors like, besoides the pitmen. Here, now, in the very spot you're down in now, we've a manager who's a first-rate practical coal en¬ gineer (he wer" once a pitman, and has raised hisself by work). Often, mind you, there's a head-manager who, besides, looks after several collieries, and is a scientific mon, who'll have a salary and commission of a thousand or more a year. Then comes the under-viewer, whose nearly alius come up from t' ranks. He goes down t' pit iwery day, and reports, generally in writing, upon t' state of t' workings, whether P arches want roofing, whether there's any escape of gas, state ot t' roads, t' quantities worked, and such like. Under him are overmen, deppities, and firemen, all helping iu superintend¬ ence ; and tiien there's fillers, and pitters, and getters—the last being those who actually get the coal. Iwery thing's done wi' us to keep t' men to their real work, and not to let 'em fritter away their time by undertakking hauf-a- duzzin' things—ower many. Them little ponies are not much bigger than Newfoundland dogs, and t' lads with 'em are not ower large. That's to keep down t' size of t' headways and t' work¬ ings. You see each working, or what I dare say you'd ca' each passage, mun' be as high as the biggest thing that hes tu gang through it. TAai's reason, aren't it ? And if we were to use horses and men instead of ponies and lads, it would just mak' a difference of thousands o' pounds to t' owners. Not so much in the six-foot workings you've been through to-day. T seam o' coal reaches as deep as that, and it pays well enoo' to get it oot. But weer there's stone above and stone below perhaps, and t' coal's only perhaps three or four feet high, to mak' a spot big enough for a horse wo'd be just madness. Ponies do t' work iwery bit as well too, for we've t' trams made in proportion and quickly filled. We work double shifts here too, that is, hauf our getters work for eight hours, an' the rest for another eight ; t' remaining eight of t' twenty- fower bcin' takken up wi' inspection and fire¬ men work. Then we've three men at a face, so as to work it out, and go on to another as quick as possible. I'm certain it's best. You'll find a different method iu Waales, weer you say you're going; but our plan of hewing iwery- thing brought down to t' smallest compass, and compressing t' men's work as much as possible, ansers roight weel, and we dinna seek to mend it. For small parts weer t' seam runs varry narrow, we've small ' corbs,' wi' sharp kiels at t' bottom, which t' men can shove before 'em ; and t' workings are theer only big enough for a mon to creep alang shovmg nis corb in front of him. We sometimes lose t' seam for a bit, and find it fallen or risen for siweral yards. Look here now (tapping a stratum at the side of the dark passage with his divining-rod), these marks show us weer we sho'd foind it again : if they run up, t' coal will be above us ; if they run down, t' seam will be below. (Turn¬ ing round quickly to what was a distant and flickering glowworm a moment ago, but is now a grimy man dangling a lantern.) Weel, Tom lad, thoo'se come to work, hes thee ? Good lad, good lad !" From this time the lights, and voices become frequent, and " the second sldft," or reserve army, come in for their eigiit hours' work. Our guide's accent became broader and deeper as he addressed them, and the tone and manner of their rephes were highly sugges¬ tive of a sturdy, free-and-easy independence. When, too, we have squatted on the cage for the ascent, four miners, whose turn of work is over, jump on with us after the bell has rung for starting. Of course they'd more right there than we had, and we prudently held our tongues ; but for all that I couldn't help feeling injured when one black mass of animated coal-dust plumped down upon my knee, and another familiarly held on with a naked, blackened, and recently perspiring arm about my neck. Three days later I am in South Wales—in a fertile valley surrounded by lofty hills which rise and fall in graceful undulations against an horizon murky with coal smoke. Pits are every¬ where. Coal is apparently at every comer, and iron to be had for the working, which has been discontinued latterly as unremunerative. The pilasters supporting the balcony which stretch from end to end of the mansion I am staying at are of irou extracted from the soil around ; 330 [March 14,186a.] ATT, the year bound. [Conducted by the railway nmning by the iodge-gate carries coal down to the sea-port a dozen miles off ; the new buildings and improvements, the mended roads, the enlarged houses, the erections for machinery, the schools, the capital amateur band whieh greeted us by playing outside our window during dinner on the night of our arrival, are all due to coal. " How does the system here differ from that in the north ?" repeated the young engineer who accompanied me to see a new method of ventilation at work. " Why principally in lack of intelligence and obstinacy of prejudice. There's no double shift here, to begin with—^the men work twelve hours at a stretch, and then knock off altogether.; they only employ one man and a boy to 'a face,' instead of three men as in Northumber¬ land and Durham, and the miners 'prop,' the roofways for themselves, instead of leaving it to people whose regular business it is. Then, they employ big horses and enormous trams ; so that each working is thrice the size it need be. And what is the result? Why just this: With coal which is more easily got, and with the finest quality of coal for steam purposes in the world, with abundance of material and plenty of hands, the popula¬ tion here is worse off, and the coal more expen¬ sive to procure, than in any other district I know. There cannot be a question as to its superiority, for the government have been trying a series of experiments as to how much steam a given quantity of it would produce against the same amount of northern coal, and the re¬ sult has been that they've decided in favour of the former. It's all want of system from first to last; but the people about here are so conservative, that when you propose any im¬ provement they at once look on you as a per¬ sonal enemy of the Principality. What can be more senseless than letting one man and a boy fiddle for a twelvemonth at a face, which three men would exhaust in a third of the time ? Yet it is done, because it's the custom of the country, and for no other reason whatever. Remember the expense, too ! ]^r the longer a face is worked at, of course, the more it costs, as the maintenance and wear and tear of props, arching, and what you may call per¬ manent way add enormously to the price of production. In the other case a working is ex¬ hausted, and another begun, in the time it takes to get one fairly started here; and, of course, when it is not wanted as a roadway to anywhere else, it can just be left to take care of iteelf, or blocked up at no cost to speak of. You'll perhaps remember that the coal you saw in the north," continues our informant, " takes good stiff work with pick and shoulders berore it is dug out. Here, you may almost slip it off the seam with a walking-stick, so lightly does it lay. Yet no one gets the benefit, through the faulty plan pursued. As for the cost of horses agwist ponies, I daren't attempt to say what it is. Resides the size of the passage to be scooped out, a man has to be em¬ ployed to drive, as well as a boy to lead, when, with a pony one boy would do all the work, and better ; then there's the difference in the cost of the two animals, and the difference in their keep, so that it comes to a pretty penny alto¬ gether. As for lettmg each pitman prop his own roof as he works on, it's not merely silly, but wicked, for it wastes labour, and endangers life. How is it likely that a man whose proper function is to hew can turn his hand to a dis¬ tinct branch of worlananship without disastrous results, as well as waste of time ? For he has to go about and get his prop, mind, to carry it to the pit, and then to put it up in his own awkward way. To show you what I think of it, I'll venture to say there are as many deaths in collieries from roofs falling, through the amateur props giving way, as from any other simple cause connected with the mechanism of a pit. And, mind you, I'm not sure that, if statistics were carefully gone into, the explosions that shock every one so are the most serious foes to httman life. But, keeping to the faults of the Welsh system, it seems to me too great a waste of human energies to make the men carry them own supply of coal home, instead of leading it to their doors. You'll see them after twelve hours' labour staggering to their cottages with a sack of coals upon their back, because " as much as they can carry" is their perquisite, and, though the trouble is saved, one can't help thinking that the additional work taken out of the labourer must tell upon his producing power. Perhaps you may think this a small matter ; but to show what older and shrewder heads than mine think of the system altogether, I'll tell you what happened here last week. The Welsh coal-owners met in conclave at Cardiff, and determined to reduce wages fifteen per cent. One of their number, however, and the man¬ aging partner of the largest concerns hereabouts gave his men the option of receiving ten per cent out of the fifteen back again, if they'd agree to work on the Englbh system. They actually hesitated, and refused at fiist; but they've come in since, and the offer was re¬ newed for several of the large pits. I look upon this as the thin end of the wedge, and, in spite of local prejudice, am persuaded that the double shift, and the north-country mode of working generally, will come into play here to the advantage of all. Already, we're inau¬ gurating some important improvements in ma¬ chinery (opening a door, and showing a wheel, the size of a small house). This flapper at the top of the shaft acts instead of a furnace at the bottom, which is, after all, an objectionable and sometimes dangerous mode of ventilating a pit. Both create a vacuum which the teesh air rashes in to supply. But as this is worked by an engine, its speed can be regulated, so that on a damp day greater pressure can be put on, and the foul air withdrawn as fast as generated. You can't regulate a furnace with half the cer¬ tainty you bring to bear on this ; and if we suc¬ ceed in making it do full duty for the old kind of ventilation, we quite believe that explosions and accidents will be made infinitely more rare. Vt e're fixing some atmospheric engines, too, at another pit, which are to have some nine-inch ObarlM Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR BOUND. [March li, ists.] 331 cylinders attaclied to tbem, and to lessen human labour on the trams ; but we won't say much about them, as we're not quite certain how they'll work. No ! there hasn t been much prejudice against these things yet, perhaps, because they're not known ; but our great diflSculty is to deal with a people who reverence old habits as a religion, v^o are ' clannish' to an extent which makes trades-unionism unknown and un¬ necessary, who preserve their language and their prejudice as a sacred trust from their forefathers, and who regard all improvements and reforms with suspicion and dbtrust." THE SQUIEE'S TEMPER-TRAP. IM SEVEN CHAPtEES. IV. " You wished to see me, sir," said Mr. Roch- ford Hnrbandine, sauntering into his father's study, and flipping off the lighted end of his cheroot as soon as he was witñn the door. " I begi sir, you wül not deny yourself a moment's sensual gratification on my account," said tiie squire, politely. " Permit me to offer you a light." "Thanks. I've done for the present," re¬ plied Mr. Rochford. " Castleton and I are going for a trot in the village, and, not to be vulgar, go in for the universal cla-ay." " If Mr. Castleton and yourself would infuse a little variety into your auernoon excursions," said the squire, with the same suavity as before, " it would, I think, afford increased gratification to all parties concerned. With beautiful rides in all directions " " We prefer the life of the village," said Mr. Rochford, calmly. "The livers, sir, are surely beneath the notice of gentlemen of such lofty fashion," re¬ marked Mr. Hnrbandine, with some asperity. " ' The proper study of mankind is man,' " said his son. " And, therefore, not exclusively woman, sir," retorted the squire. " If your visits had reference to our general improvement — the advancement of cottage architecture, the pro¬ gress of my village schools—I should Lave nothing but thanks to offer. As it is, I fear that the introduction of the Mayfair element into Llbwyddcoed will resemble that chemical combination which results in a report and a conflagration." " The yoimg ladies in whose birth, parentage, and general training you are so philanthropically interested seemed gratified with our respectful homage." " 1 have no doubt of it," returned his father. " They don't see such a brace of finished puppies every day. Did it strike you, however, that their tolerance of your 'homage,' as you call it, might have been partly owing to their respect for me V " It assuredly did not, sir," said Mr. Roch- ford, frankly. " You now comprehend my wishes, sir," said the squire, growing angry. " Your proceedings elsewhere I cannot control. Here, at least, I will be master." Mr. Rochford coughed. " What do you mean, sir ?" asked his father, sternly. Mr. Rochford opened his great blue languid eyes to their utmost extent, and looked at his father for a moment, as if striving to compre¬ hend him past any mistake. Then he burst mto a low well-bred laugh. " I mean, my dear father, that we could not, in any case, espouse the entire village ; nor have I, believe me, the slightest intention of presenting another Sukey Bubbs for your paternal benediction." " No, sir, I suspect you of no such sensible purpose," replied the squire, his face darkening. " But may I ask how the Lady Susan Vavasour has merited this polite tribute to her memory ?" "Simply by being bom Bubbs," said Mr. Rochford. "A family misfortune, sir—no more." " You forget, perhaps, that your great-grand¬ father was a small farmer ?" said Mr. Hurban- dine. " One of them was," replied his son. " BKs maternal colleague was a peer. Speed the plough, sir, as much as you please, but don't run it over my mother's ancestors." The incautious words had barely left his lips when the squire, his eyes blazing with rage, sprang from his chair and confronted him so closely, that for an instant the young man ap¬ prehended violence. "Insult me to my face, you puppy! you cold-blooded offshoot of a race of effete boobies, with not so much red blood in their whole line as would paint an aee of hearts I" thundered the angry squire. " Leave the room, sir I Begone ! And mark this," he added, sinking his voice to a lower but not less furious tone ; " see that I do not give you a second Sukey Bubbs for your mother !" " What say you to a stretch across the hills, Tom ?" said young Hurbandine to Mr. Castle¬ ton, who was playing at croquet by himself on the lavm. " In a balloon ?" inquired his friend, shading his eyes, and pretending to survey the heights in question with great alarm. " They have been pronounced accessible," ' ' said Rochford. "At least, my aunt. Lady Clamborough, scaled one of the loftier peaks last year in her Bath chair, attended only by her fat lap-dog and one devoted page, and actually returned to dinner ! But she was a remarkably plucky person at eighty; and if you really think " "Say no more. I share the peril and the glory," said Mr. Castleton, flinging away his mallet. "Still, if you have anything to do in the village." " But I haven't. On my word, now, I haven't," said the Honourable Tom, promptly. " To-day I'm in a mountain mood. Away !" That Mr. Castleton's mood inclined to the mountain rather than the plain might have been partly due to the fact that he had in his pocket 332 [Uarch 11, IMS.] ALL THE YEAB BOUND. at that moment a letter, conveying in distinct, not to say emphatic, terms an invitation to a fistic encounter with a gentleman named Cor¬ nelius Podgerbot, whose feelings had been out¬ raged by his—the Honourable Tom's—bearing in reference to one " Ally Davis of the mill." Tor, though far from being deficient in courage, Mr. Castleton's soul revolted at the idea of actual personal conflict, and the prospect of a possible defeat at the hands of the burly clown was intolerable. Lighting their pipes at the lodge, and sending back word from thence that they might not re¬ turn to dinner, the two gentlemen accordingly set forth. It was late when they returned, for the ascent had proved practicable, and there was even a very comfortable inn—the Welsh Harp—at the top, at which the enterprising travellers ob¬ tained a dinner that would not have discredited Prancatelli, accompanied by an appetite that not even he could provide. It was still daylight, however, when, on nearing the lodge, they met Gerald Hurbandine striding hastily along. " Anxious about us ?" asked Mr. Castleton, with feeling. " Really, my dear Hurbandine, this is too—too much." (He wiped his eyes with the cuff of his coat.) " ' Touching anecdote of an elder brother 1' " Gerald laughed, but seemed disposed to con¬ tinue his way. " I shall be back in half an hour," said he. His brother took him aside. " Is all right ? Where's the governor ?" " About the grounds, I think. Why ?" asked Gerald. " Sweet ?" " As sugar. Again, why ?" " He does not suspect you. Gerald, I know where you are going. Take my advice," said the young man, earnestly—" don't." " I must and will," replied Gerald, his forehead flushing. " She is alone to-night—alone at the farm. I have not had such a chance these six months." "Rude to whisper in company^' said Mr. Castleton. " I think I shall leave'you. I also think I felt a drop alight on my nose." " It does rain," said RocÈford. " Come, Gerald. Well, if you mil," he added, as the other turned away, "take my overcoat. I don't like the sky." And he flung him that garment (of a light fawn-colour), which he was carrying on his arm. " Thanks, old fellow." And Gerald, throw¬ ing it over his shoulders, hastened away. v. It was a fact, howsoever Gerald arrived at the knowledge of it, that " my lady" Katy was alone that evening at the little farm-house, the rxsuai week-day garrison, an old woman and two stout boys, having gone to a neighbouring fair. But they would, of course, return before night, when Katy would, in all probabiliU. trip across the fields to the town mansion in Llbwyddcoed. As young Hurbandine hurried along, he de¬ bated whether he would abide this chance or [Condoeted by boldly attack the cottage. In the former case, Katy might not be alone ; in the latter, she cer¬ tainly would be ; and that which Gerald had re¬ solved up(fn demanded both time and secresy. A side door, standing ajar, decided hiin ; but, though conscious of an ally within, a whisper in Katy's heart that stood hb friend, a tremor unusual with him—arising, perhaps, from the consciousness of taking an unfair advantage— checked him, as he raised his hand to knock. After a moment's irresolution, he pushed the door a little wider open. Katy was nefore him. Her back was towards the door, and, intent on her occupation, she was as yet unconscious of any beholder. The queen of beauty of Llbwyddcoed was not attired in satin and gold. She was neither working tapestry nor playing the lute. Her dress was a very full, short petticoat of some grey stuff, disclosing, as the wearer bent over her work, a beauty and amount of limb rarely vouchsafed to the gaze of mortal man ; for Katy's heart was not purer than her taste, and, fair as she seemed, her ordinary attire rather disguised than augmented her loveliness. She had thrown off, for the moment's exigence, her upper dress, and pearly shoulders and rounded arms were having it all their own way, in a manner so entrancing that it was no wonder Gerald stood rooted to the ground, like the bold hunter who surprised Diana. The bewitching creature was doing something with a tub, but whether with milk or meal— inasmuch as her arms emerged from the white contents hardly whiter than before—^it would have been impossible to say. "Katy!" The girl sprang round, as if a shot had struck her. The next instant the colour rushed into her face.^ She snatched her scarlet cloak from a clothes-horse that stood near, and wrapping it hastily round her neck and bosom, confronted her visitor with an air that had in it certainly more of anger than of love. " It seems you knew that I was left alone !" she said, in a voice of unmistakable resent¬ ment. Gerald pointed to the open door. " That IS part of my excuse. For the rest, time is precious. I have that to say " " You will leave the house, without another word," said Katy. " Then, I am not sure that I should be justified in listening to your ex¬ cuses—even from the upper window." " Consider my excuses made," said the young man ; " and, for pity's sake, bear " "Not where you stand," returned the im¬ perious young lady, as, with an air a duchess might have envied, she pointed to the door. Policy, as well as good taste, suggested obedience, and Gerald, retreating, closed the door, and walked round the angle of the cot¬ tage into the little garden. As if to reward this docility, Katy presently opened the lower window—mmost within arm's length. The brief interval had sufficed her nimble fingers to arrange her dress in its usual form, and when Katy appeared in the window, her face was Charles Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND, [Marob U, 1868.] 333 calm and rather pale. There was, moreover, a look of resolution in the lucid blue eyes she bent upon her lover, which be did not at first understand. "My lady," however, partook her father's taste for coming to the point ; and, taking ad¬ vantage of Geräd's momentary perplexity, did so now. " You did wrjng in coming hither, Mr. Hur- bandine," she began. " My name is Gerald, Katy," put in Gerald, softly. " And mine Taffey," said Katy. " It is no matter ; you did wrong, as I said, in coming—but, strange to say, I wished to see you, and " " Strange!" "Your imprudence and selfishness have done me harm—much harm and wrong," continued the girl, her tears rising. "I have warned— reproached—entreated, in vain. Now, I have to tell you, you will never " " Stop. Will you not listen ?" pleaded Gerald. " Certaiijly, if you will," said Katy, with a sad little smile. "My speech first—it may shorten the discussion. My mother has spoken to me, and does not, I am afraid, quite believe that I have done all in my power to check this —what shall I call it ?—this habit, this fancy of yours, for singling me out, among the other village girls, for the high favour of your notice." "Not so, Katy. I have ever been most guarded " " In the presence of your father. Yes," said Katy. " To do you justice, nothing, on those occasions, could be stonier—more becoming, that is—^than your demeanour. Your brother is more daring. He smiles !" " He did so for my sake—and yours," added Gerald, hastily." " To distract papa's attention from the really naughty boy," said Katy, with a curl of the lip, which, nevertheless, quivered in the act. " It is very kind of Mr. Rochford. Indeed, you are both very kind—very thoughtful—for your¬ selves. On my account, at least, Mr. Hurban- dine, you shall have no more trouble. Let this little amusement end. It has served its turn, and London must be pining for your reappear¬ ance. Henceforth, 1 am the blacksmith's daughter ; you, the squire's son. And if I am entitled to any wages for my part in the pretty little play, let it be ¿Ais"—and the girl drew her¬ self up with unconscious dignity—" that neither yourself nor your brother presume to address me again. Do not, Mr. Hurbandine, do me the wrong of believing this coquetry or caprice. These arts are for nigh-bred ladies in London. Here, we show what we feel, and mean what we say. Our acquaintance is ended. Now—— Who is that ?" she added, with a look of unmis- "Who? What? Where?" exclaimed Gerald. " I thought some one stood in the shubbery- Sath, and moved away when I cried out !" said [aty : " I—I am not quite myself. Perhaps it was my fancy," she added. " Now, go." " Now for my speech," was Gerald's reply, as he moved a step nearer to the window. "I, too, have made my resolutions. I have been dreaming, but I awoke to-day ; and to what con¬ viction, what reality ? Even this, my darling— that the whole tribe of Veres and Vavasours, from the remotest patriarch down to my humble self, are not to be weighed against one black¬ smith's daughter, nay, not against her smallest finger or one lock of her silken hair!" He stopped for an instant. " Katy, will you marry me ? Love, will you be my wife f" The girl, white with emotion, pressed her hands to her bosom. " Mr. Gerald !" she gasped. " Say Gerald, and I am answered," pleaded the lover. " But—your father ?" " Leave that to me. All will be well. Speak, dear—your answer ?" " You are foolish, and I am wrong," said Katy, after a moment's struggle ; " but—but— I love you, dear," and she burst into a passion of tears. vi. It was a few minutes before the satisfactory termination of the quarrel just described, that the worthy squire, while pausing, in his evening stroll, to prune a tree, was, to his great astonish¬ ment, cannoned against by a young man, who, with his dress disordered, and a face inflamed with heat and passion, came dashing through the trees, as if regardless of all obstructions. " Hallo, Tom Eullafield ! what game's this ?" shouted the squire, recovering his equilibrium. " It's a providence — squire — findin' you here," gasped the young farmer. " Go you on to the corner, íAafu leadin' to Taffey's farm— and—and you'll see." " See ! See what, man ? Rick on fire ?" " Worse, you'll say," returned young Eulla¬ field, with a sullen fierceness that provoked the impatient squire into grasping him by the collar. " What d'ye mean, you blockhead ?" he thundered. " Have you lost both brains and tongue ?" . " There's your son a-kissin' Taffey's daughter, that's all," returned Thomas, choking with ex¬ citement and insensate rage. " My son ? Which ?" " Mr. Rochford—curse him !" added Tom, in a lower voice. The squire's eye flashed, but he displayed no outward anger. " Get home, Eullafield," be said ; " compose yourself, and say nothing." He turned and strode away. " The boy defies me, then ? He shall repent it! Aye, to the next generation!" he mut¬ tered, furiously. At the turn of the road, the little farm-house, indeed, came into view. It was now dark, but forms were clearly distinguishable, and it so chanced that, at the moment the squire ob¬ tained a view of what was going forward, Gerald was being permitted to take (through the window) a parting embrace of her whom he now regarded as his affianced wife. The brothers 334 tMarch 14, lli68.] ALL THE YEAR ROÜlíD. [Oondaeted by were much alike, in build and stature. The squire's eye caught the familiar light-brown overcoat usually worn by Rochford, and not a doubt that it was bis younger son ever entered his mind. He ground his teeth together, and his face grew white, as he vowed in his mind to execute a certain resolution to vhich he had been striving to come. He turned, and hur¬ ried homeward. Suddenly, a suspicion occurred to him. " Can the boy be in earnest ? Is it possible that, in spite of his disdainful denial, he is willing to make that pretty girl his wife? I will test him, at least," thought the squire. " Youth is changeable. Yes, that's but fair." Rochford, on returning, as he said, from the stables, was informed that he was again required in the library. " Rochford," said the squire, " I spoke hotly to you this morning, but I think you will ac¬ knowledge that I have not been, on the whole, an arbitrary, tyrannical, or even an irritable parent." His son—not without a shade of compunction for his own shortcomings—admitted that such was the fact. "You will have less hesitation, then," re¬ sumed the squire, " in owning the exact truth, although it may not be in strict accordance with what you have already given me to understand." " As yet, I do not comprehend your meaning, sir," said Rochford. "You told me, this morning, that nothing should induce you to present ' another Sukey Bubbs' for my paternal blessing. By that sarcasm you meant, I presume, that you would not condescend to marry beneath your station ?" " You are right, sir. That was my meaning," replied the young man, steadily. "Take care, Rochford; you cannot have forgotten our conversation of the morning, nor my strongly expressed desire that you should henceforth refram from your harmful intercourse with ray cottage tenantry. Now, take care," said the squire, biting his lip ominously. "I have neither forgotten youj^ commands nor the emphasis with which they were deli¬ vered," replied his son, whose inclination to retort too frequently overcame him. " Then what do you mean by your conduct since ?" thundered the squire. " Since when ? Restrain yourself, sir, if you can," said the young man, haughtily; "and suffer me to understand of what I am accused. I have done nothing contrary to your com¬ mands." " That is a falsehood, sir !" Rochford started to his feet. " A falsehood !" "Am I not to believe my own eyes and ears ?" shouted the squire, his passion increasing every moment. " You have disobeyed me. Now you would deceive me. Is tíiis the honour of the Veres and Vavasours, of wiiich you are so tender ? There is not a lout on my land that does not better understand the word. Y(^ shall repent this. Yes, before you are a day older, you shall bitterly regret your defiance oí me. Have you anything to say?" he added, as his son turned to leave the room. " Not one word, sir," said the young man, proudly. And the squire was alone. The morning that succeeded this interview was bright and fresh, tempting more than one habitually earl^ bird to be astir earlier still. Among these were Messrs. Taffey and Apreece, who lingered for a moment at the forge-door, in conversation. "That's most as passed," Mr. Taffey was remarking ; " and I'm glad it wan't more. He's a good heart, and a wile temper—that's how I reads him. And if he'd make up his mind for to marry any one as 'ood ¿eícA that wile temper, an' let it fly out o' the winder, as my lady did as is gone, there'd be no better man. Hnllo ! Talk of the Hem ! here's the squire himself.'-* It was, indeed, Mr. Hurbandine who came trotting briskly down the street, and reined up at the forge. " A word with you alone, Taffey." The smith beckoned one of his swarthy fol¬ lowers to take the squire's horse, and they walked a little apart. "Taffey," said Mr. Hurbandine, laying his hand on tlie smith's sleeve, " I have made up my mind to marry again." The honest smith could not forbear a start, so aptly did the remark succeed to his late conversation with Apreece. But why come to Aim f Did the squire think that he could forge him a wife to order? His doubts were in¬ stantly resolved. " You have a daughter, my old friend," con¬ tinued the squire, " fair, modest, sweet, intel¬ ligent. She is worthy of any station. SAe is seventeen ; I am forty-seven. If she were willing to sacrifice her bright youth, to partake the lot of such a patriarch as I must appear to her, give her me to wife. Be sure that I will deal with your precious flower as tenderly, with affection as observant and as confiding, as any lowlier lover whom I may have baulked of the prize. What say you?" Mr. Taffey was far too much bewildered to say anything. He could only stare at the eager speaker, shift from one leg to the other, take off his cap and put it on again, and wish for his wife. As if the squire had divined this thought, he proposed an instant reference to that lady. To the cottage they went. Fate willed that Mrs. Taffey should be " out and about." So vague an indication of her whereabouts was too much for the impatient squire, and, Katy being in her apartment, Mr. Tafiey was prevailed on, much against his inclination, to undertake the office of plenipotentiary, and lay before his daughter the singular proposal, in which he himself could hardly yet believe. " They did say as she should marry a lord," thought Mr. Taney, as he went out, scratching his head ; " and a squire's next door to'n." He was absent so long that the squire, find¬ ing the suspense intolerable, was about to dis¬ turb the conference, when the ambassador returned, somewhat flushed and out of sorts. Charlea Dlekena.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. (March 14,1668.] 335 " She won't ha' nothing to say to't till she have seen y. [Conducted b; ' priests come for money. They are all of the peasant class, without education or refinement. They are very humble in the presence of the great man, who is rather brusque and impatient with them; but they are persistent and they get what they came for, though my friend begins to wince and look grave at the demands made on him. We dine quite alone, no guest or civilised being within hail anywhere ; and by- and-by an old woman, who was my friend's nurse, comes in with a bottle of some home¬ made medicine, for the making of which she, is famous. We have some talk with her, and she takes away a present and some kind words. Towards nine o'clock we go to bed tired out, weary with travel, dazed by the wind. The next morning I find the colonel's brother, who is one of his sub-agents on another part of the estate, waiting for me in a britzka ; and we are soon galloping through the brisk morning air towards the quarters of the wolves. Rus¬ sian gentlemen have little taste for sport, and my friend remains at home to settle accounts with his agent. Nevertheless, great preparations have been made to ensure us success. All the country side are out; perhaps a hundred beaters with sticks, and a score of yeomen on horseback with guns. We have met on the borders of a large forest. Here and there are beehives about ; and the sale of honey appears a considerable branch of local trade. The beaters are soon lost in the wood, and the sports¬ men are posted at convenient places to wait for the game. We hear the cries and shouts of the country people in the distance, but hour after hour passes away and no wolves appear. Just as I am growing drowsy, however, and have almost ceased to think of them at all, a large grey wolf comes through the wood at a slouch¬ ing trot, stops suddenly on the borders of a ditch, and looks across at me. I have time to take up my gun leisurely enough and fire. When the smoke has cleared away the wolf has dis¬ appeared. It was almost impossible, however, to have missed him, so we go in pursfdit and find the beast a few yards off, hidden in some brush¬ wood, but quite dead. Though we wait many hours after this, some hundred men besides horses and servants, we see no more wolves nor any other living thing, but a single wüd cat ; and so when the evening comes on we scamper homewards again. It seems a poor day's sport for so many people ; but although the peasautry cannot be induced to work, they are always glad of any excuse for throwing away their time ; and appear quite content to have stood about in the wind all day doing nothing. For my own part I am rather proud of having shot my first wolf, and call out rather excitedly to my friend to come and look at it. As he does not answer I go into the house to search for him, and find him enjoying the nap of solitude and boredom. He, too, is pleased by my marksman¬ ship, and wakes up briskly to witness its result. I am certainly not gone five minutes; but when I return to the britzka, where 1 left my game, it is stolen. No wonder : the skin, ob¬ serves my friend briefly, is worth about three roubles. DAVID GARRICK. Eablt in 1716, Peter Garrick, a lieutenant of dragoons, serving in Colonel James T^rrel's regiment, came on recruiting service to Here¬ ford. He put up at the Angel Inn, an old timber- framed house (burned down a hundred years ago), where, on the 19th of February, in thb same year of 1716, his wife gave birth to a son—^their third child—known afterwards to fame as David Garrick, the aetor. This future Roscius was not altogether an Englishman. His grandfather, the founder of the family so far as England was concerned, was originally De la Garrigue, a Huguenot of Bor¬ deaux,-forced to fly from Franee in 1685, to escape the storm then sweeping over the re¬ formed church; Madame de la Garrigue, or Garric, following some months later, hid in the hold of a small fourteen-ton skiff, belonging to one Peter Cock, of Guernsey. In that piteous plight she remained a month, tossed about in heavy gales and fearful tempests, in peril of her life by shipwreck on the one hand, or by ecclesiastical zeal on the other, should she fall into the hands of the authorities. It was not until a year and a half after their own flight that they received their little son Peter, the future lieutenant of dragoons, and our David's father ; the persecution of the moment extending even to babes and sucklings, on the principle of crushing the eggs of the cockatrice betimes. In fulness of time Peter made a love-match ; about as imprudent as love-matches generally are. He married Arabella, the daughter of a certain Reverend Mr. Clough, a vicar- choral of Lichfield, and herself the dau^ter of an Irish mother; and thus in little David's veins were mingled the three streams of French, Irish, and Englbh blood, affording good tracking- ground to the ethnologist, and first-rate elements for dramatic talent and steady success. That dramatic talent soon began to show itself; for, when only eleven years of age, David enrolled a small company of hb own, drilling them carefully, and finally giving, "in the large room," Farquhar's Recruiting Officer, keeping the part of Sergeant Kite for himself. He gave that of the Chambermaid to one of hb sisters. Soon after this first amateur performance David was sent off to an uncle, a wine-merchant in Lisbon, where he remained but a short time ; the details of a clerk's duties suiting ill with one whom nothing short of the excitement and vivacity of the stage would have satbfied. It was well for him and his, and all of us, that he disliked the wiue trade, and came back to England. Had he been less restless and deter¬ mined, " brands " and " vintages " would have cost the world dear. To his family his return was an immense boon ; for in 1731, Peter, now Captain Garrick, went off to Gibraltar, leaving dUbTlea Dickeiis.] ALL THE TEAB ROUND. [March 21,1868.] 347 bis wife nearly broken-hearted for his loss, ill, poor, and despairing, but leaving also behind him " Little Davie," or, as Mr. Fitzgerald describes him, " a usefvd comforter—a boy of surprising sense and spirit—the most zealous and affec¬ tionate of children—who seemed now to take tiie whole responsibility of the family on his «hildish shoulders with a tact and ardour sur¬ prising in one who was barely sixteen." He wrote to his father by every mail, and these letters are among the most charming parts of Mr. Fitzgerald's hook.* His acknowledgment of the captain's first letter, announcing his safe araval, is very cha¬ racteristic in its enthusiastic affection. "It is not to be expressed," he says, " the joy the family was in at the receipt of dear papa's letter. Mamma was in very good spirits two or three days after she received your letter, but now begins to grow moloncolly, and has little ugly fainting fits. My mamma," he goes on, " received the thirty pounds you was so good as to send. She paid ten pounds to Mr. Rider, one yen's rent, and ten pounds to the baker ; and if you can spare her a little more, or tell her you will, she is in hopes of paying all your debts, that you may have nothing to fret you when you come home." Another time he writes that " my mamma has cleared off all the debts" save the irrepressible butcher, who had received a sop, and would wait for the remainder; then he tells "dear papa" that he has been presented with a pair of silver breeches-buckles, and that he hears "velvet is very cheap at Gibraltar, Amen, and so be it." Then, his sisters "Lenny and Jenny, with the greatest duty and obedience, request a small matter to purchase their head-ornaments for how other¬ wise are people to distinguish them from the vulgar madams ? Again, " my mamma is very weak, attended with a lowness of spirits, which compelled her to drink wine, which gives a great deal of uneasiness upon two accounts, as it goes against her inclination and pockett." Sometimes they are all very "moloncolly and sometimes he tells the absent one of all the fine doings in the town; then he goes off into loving praise of a certain miniature, "one piece of Le Grout" which he values above all the pieces of Zeuxb, and of which he would sooner have one glance than look a whole day at the finest picture in the world. " It is the figure of a gentleman, and I suppose militaiy, by his dress," he says. " I think Le Grout told me his name was one Captain Peter Garrick ; perhaps, as you are in the army, you may know him. He is pretty, and, I believe, not very tall." But all these loving messages could not soften the hard fact of absence. Time dragged wearily on, and it was not until 1736 that the " pretty" captain managed to exchange his exile at Gibraltar, for home, wife, and children once more at Lichfield. The next year he died, leaving over two thousand pounds among his * The Life of David Garrick, by Percy Fitz¬ gerald, M.A. children, but giving to David only the traditionary shilling. This, as Mr. Fitzgerald says, was not, on account (ff any estrangement or displeasure with the loving boy, but because his uncle, the Lisbon wine-meiiehant, with whom David would not stay, had put him down in his will for a legacy of a thousand pounds, and so the father thought him sufficiently provided for without his help. This death took place only a month after David's enrolment as a student at Lincoln's Inn; but about the same time, too, died the wine-merchant, whereby the youth came in for his legacy at once, and so was as well off as if his father had Uved. His first act, now that he was his own master, was to put himself under the tuition of the Reverend Mr. Colson, of Rochester, supposed to be the Gelidus of the Rambler ; which shows that his ambition was of the right kind, and .that he knew the dif¬ ference between reality and sham. After a time he set up a wine business, in partnership with his brother Peter—^Peter living at Lich¬ field, and looking after the interests of the firm, among " the most sober decent people in Eng¬ land, the most orthodox, the genteelest, in proportion to their wealth, and who spoke the purest English," as Johnson said of the Lich- fieldites; whUe David represented the same interests in London, dating from Durham-yard, where he had his vaults and offices. Even then it was said that they contrived to form a sort of theatrical connexion, most of the coffee-houses about the theatres giving them their custom. Mr. Cooke once saw a business receipt of the firm's, to a Mr. Robinson, of the Strand, close by, who had given an order for two dozen of red port, at eighteen shillings a dozen. It was signed, " For self and Co., October, 1739, D. Gar¬ rick." "When the actor was rich and fiourish- ing, Foote was often heard to whisper that he remembered Garrick in Durham-yard, with three quarts of vinegar in the cellar, calliug himself a wine-merchant. One of David's most intimate friends at this time was an Irish actor of rough humour and ability, belonging to Dmry Lane, a good fives player, and fuU of promise in his pro¬ fession. He was strugghng hard to get rid o#» a very " pronounced" brogue, and had already so far anglicised himself as to change his un¬ couth name of M'Laughlin into Mechlin, and later, Macklin. He was quarrelsome and over¬ bearing, full of genius; but as Garrick was not a man who would quarrel with any one— indeed, one might almost apply to him the coarse expression of an American paper, " that the boots were not made which could kick him into a fight"—the two got on very well together, and for some five or six years were scarcely a day out of each other's company. Later, they quarrelled, as was, perhaps, only the natural reaction from such an excessive intimacy. Dr. Barrowby was also Garrick's friend in those days, as were Johnson, Hogarth, Chancellor Hoadley, and others of the greater, with some of the minor, notabilities. But his heart lay 348 [March 21,1888.] ALL THE with the tlieatre—neither with business nor with literature ; and whenever he had an oppor¬ tunity, he let his inclinations assert them¬ selves. After a time they developed in the old, old way of men and heroes, whatever the spe¬ cial professional bent; and he fell in love, as might have been expected. His charmer, to use the cant word of his day, was the new Irish actress, Margaret, or, as she was generally called, Peg Woffington—the dashing Sir Harry Wildair of the period. And she fell in love with him iu return, much to the disgust of another aspirant. Sir Hanbury Williams, who, as the manner then was, besieged her heart by verse, writing the gay and popular song, "Lovely Peggy," as his claim to her grati¬ tude and consideration. With such proclivities and such associations the end of Garrick's career as a wine-merchant was certain. In 1741, the little theatre in Goodman's Fields brought out a small panto¬ mime, called Harlequin Student, with Yates as Harlequin. One night poor Harlequin was too ill to appear—failing just as the piece was beginning ; and " the gay and sprightly young wine-merchant secretly agreed with the manager that he should take his place." The world did not know of the exchange at the time, and it was only long after that it became public ; but this was literally his first appearance, unim¬ portant as were both occasion and result. Soon after this, Giifard and Dunstall went with a troupe to Ipswich. Among the actors was a débutant of the name of Lyddal, who made his first appearance as Aboan, the black lieutenant of Oroonoko. He was received very warmly, the Ipswich public recognising stuff of rather uncommon quality in the beginner. After Aboan he played Ghamont in the Orphan ; passing on to other characters as he gained confidence and footing; soon taking Mrs. Wof- fington's own particular character of Sir Harry Wildair, as much her creation at that time as Lord Dundreary is Mr. Sothern's in the pre¬ sent day. He made a hit, his success being due, perhaps, to the rattling, dashing part itself; for it was afterwards counted as one of his failures ; and then, flushed with his provincial triumphs, Lyddal applied for an engagement to Rich and Fleetwood, the managers of the two greater houses. His offer was declined. Ips¬ wich credentials were all very well, but Ipswich prestige would not carry the metropolis ; and " a small, well-made young man, of genteel appear¬ ance, seemed scarcely the stuff for a tragedian of the first class." Still he was resolved. Genius such as bis could not, indeed, be gain¬ said. Lyddal was Garrick, and Garrick had to feign a little before his solemn brother Peter. The struggle between family affection and strong personal inclination threw him into deep dejection of spirits, and finally brought on an ill¬ ness. But he made his preparations all the same, and went on his appointed way securely, if not serenely. Suddenly, in the year 1741, on a certain morning in October, Mr. Peter Garrick re¬ BODND. (Coadoctad by ceived two letters—one from Dr. Swinfen, a family friend and physician, who knew and at¬ tended the Johnson and Garrick families ; the other from his brother, Mr. David Garrick. "Both were to the same effect, and both con¬ tained the fatal piece of news, broken t« the shocked Peter with every sort of excuse and appeal to brotherly affection and personal inter¬ est. The step had been taken, ' the Rubicon crossed ;' on the night before (October 19th), Mr. David Garrick had appeared before a Lon¬ don audience, at Goodman's Fields Theatre, with the most astounding success." He came out as " crook-back'd Richard," and, as Mr. Swinfen testifies to his friend Mr. Peter Garrick, " with the most general applause." There was no question now as to tne future, and the world had gained what the wine trade had lost. As yet, though, Garrick played without his name—only as "a gentleman who never ap¬ peared on any stage"—which was more telling theatrically than correct, with Harlequin and the black lieutenant of Oroonoco at Ipswich in the background ; but he made quite as much sensa¬ tion, anonymous, as if he had had one of the best- known patronymics in the world. On the 2nd of November, Pope, though he was then sickly and failing, and had long ago given up theatres, came to see the new actor. He said of him, "That young man never had his equal, and will never have a rival ;" and came again and again to see him, young, anonymous as he was. On the 2nd of December, the night of his benefit, the veil was raised, and the town learnt the name of its latest wonder. Mr. Garrick, it was announced, the gentleman who had played King Richard, would now appear in the Fair Penitent, which was to be given gratis; for Goodman's Fields Theatre had no licence for acting plays, and therefore could take no money, save for the concert which was the ostensible entertainment. The reality, the play, which was performed between the two parts of the concert, was advertbed as gratis, and thus, by a transparent fiction, escaped the stringency of the well-known Licensing Act. For this benefit the prices were raised a shilling, the pit and boxes Oeing four shillings—equd to about seven-and-sixpence of our time—while the gallery was oue-aud-six- pence. The servants were required to be in their mistresses' places by three o'clock, to keep them till tlie fine ladies themselves came at SIX or seven. All tiiis testified to the furore which the young actor had created. Newton, the future bishop, at present only tutor in Lord Carpenter's family, was one of Garrick's fast friends and staunch admirers. The great Mrs. Porter, the retired actress, said " The youth was a born actor, and knew more at his first appearance than others after twenty years' training." Ladies of quality made up parties to see this " neat and genteel" young man, playing at a small theatre miles awaj from every fashionable place of resort ; andf then envy and detraction — inevitable shadows of success—followed close upon the heels of his Charles Dlokena] ALL THE YEAR BOUKD^ [March 21, im] 349 fame. Old Gibber was the most obstinate in re¬ fusing to recognise his merit. One night Garrick had been plajing Fribble. "You should see him," said Gibber to a certain lord. " He is the completest little doll of a figure—^the prettiest little figure." " But in other characters," said the lord, " has he not great merit ?" He did not answer for a moment ; then, suddenly, "What an admirable Fribble!—such mimick¬ ing, ambling, fidgeting* Well, he musí be a clever fellow to write up to his own character so excellently as he has done in this part." Later, when Fleetwood, in the green-room, asked Gibber when they were to have another comedy from him, " From me !" cried the old man. " But who would take the characters ?" " Well, sir," was the answer, " there's Garrick, Macklin, Clive, Pritchard." " Oh yes," said Gibber, "I know that list very well; but then, my dear fellow," he said, taking a piimh of snuff very deliberately, " wiere the devil are ywr actors f" Quin was neither disloyal nor bitter. " If this voung fellow be right, then we have «been all wrong," he said, truly enough with reference to his own mouthing style. He called Garrick "the Whitfield of the sts^e;" which was in no wise a disre¬ spectful manner of epitomising his functions as reformer, innovator, and unloosener of conven¬ tional bandages. Yet no one, perhaps, suffered more in artistic repute by this revolution than did Quin himself, which made his present modera¬ tion and future friendship specially honourable. Seven months' hard work and brilliant triumph had neither fatigued nor sated Garrick; and his season was no sooner over in Goodman's Fields than he set off with Mrs. WofiBngton and Signora Barberiui, the dancer, to try the temper of the Irish. If his success had been great in London, in Dublin it was sub¬ lime. His name became a cant phrase. "As gay as Garrick;" "That's your Garrick;" and an epidemic which broke out about this time, and which they pretended arose from the overcrowded houses m Smock-alley, was long remembered as the Garrick fever. The city was full of "persons of quality ;" and they all crowded to see him. The lords justices, the primate, the lord chancellor, and the speaker went in great state to see hb Busy Body ; and it was in Dublin, at this time, that the name of Boscius was first given to him. Henceforth his footing was secure, and his life was now one long series of prosperities; at times, perhaps, a little checked and broken, but always steady in the main result—always advancing, always prosperous. In 1747, Garrick saw his future wife—the Violette, as she was called—the lady-dancer, about whose birth and belongings there was always a mystery, and whose journey to England was a romance in itself ; for she came over from Vienna, disguised as a page, in company with two Hanoverian gentlemen—or what passed as a Hanoverian baron and his suite. Among the party on board was the handsome, lively, and not too strait - laced Dr. Garlyie, of Inverness, then a gay young Scottish student returning from a Dutch university, who detected the woman through the disguise. She was the reputed daughter of John Veigel, a respect¬ able citizen of Vienna; and it was said that it was Maria Theresa herself who made her change her name from Veigel—a patois cor¬ ruption of Veilchen, a violet—into the prettier French name corre^onding. She had better friends, though, and more influential patrons in Vienna than seemed to belong, of nght, to a mere citizen's daughter, even though she had a pretty face and a genius for dancing ; but no one ever got to the heart of the secret, or, if any one md, it was never told. She brought letters of introduction to the Earl of Burlington and his family, and they took her up with extra¬ ordinary warmth and affection. Indeed, it was whispered about that she was nearer of kin to the earl than my lady the countess knew of when she first protected her ; but the Violette herself, when asked directly about her forbears, denied that she came from Burlington House, by the right hand or by the left, though she said that she was of "noole birth"—as, indeed, seemed very likely, by the manner in which she was treated. With this Watteau-like beauty with " the small round face, ripe lips, and cloud of turquoise-coloured drapery floating about her," as represented in a dainty little miniature by Petitot, young Mr. Garrick, the play-actor, fell in love. By all accounts, she uaa fallen in love with him first, fronr seeing him on the stage in One of his favourite characters, when she mil sick of that mysterious malady which sometimes attacks the young. No one knew what ailed the pretty creature, till a doctor, with brains and insight, found out the cause, and told Lady Burlington what was amiss. *1110 countess had designed a very different kind of marriage for her protégée, and would not hear of the new manager oi Drury Lane, for all his money and talent. She forbade their meeting, and was so strenuously opposed to the whole thing that the lover was obliged to disguise himself as a woman for the purpose of conveying a letter to the Violette, which else would never have been allowed to reach her. Time and love, however, conquer most things, and the engagement was at last sanctioned. On the 25th of May, 1749, a premature an¬ nouncement in the paper set torth the mar¬ riage of " Mr. Garrick, the comedian, to Made¬ moiselle Violette, the dancer;" but when the event actually took place, as it did on the 22nd of June following, it was "David Garrick, Esq., to Mademoiselle Eva Maria Violette," with no profession specified on either side. After the names, came the sum of ten thousand pounds, announced (as was the newspaper fashion then) as the bride's fortune ; of which the Burlingtons gave six, and Garrick himself four. Garrick's feet were now securely set on the great ladder of success, and hb whole after-life was one series of advances. Enemies, of course, he had—what successful man has not?—and detractors by the score. Foote was one who 350 [March 21,1868.] ALL THE TEAK ROUND. [Coadueted by always plucked at him; "for you know he hates me," said Garrick. Junius, offended by an indiscretion, threatened him. with the statute still in force, whicii would treat him as a vagabond, and deal with him as a rogue. Kenrick libelled him ; actresses struck work, pouted, rebelled, and created schisms in the green-room and on the stage ; all sorts of an¬ noying little shadows fell darkling upon the edges of his glory, but still the central light remained the same, and even increased as time went on. He had some ingratitude to contend with, as of course ; and among those who repaid favours with frowns was the intemperate and unscrupulous Arthur Murphy. Rogers used to tell one unvarying anecdote about Murphy, which some of our readers inay have heard at first hand. " Mr. Murphy, sir, you knew Mr. Garrick?" — "Yes, sir, I did; and no man better."—"Well, sir, what did you think of his acting?"—After a pause, "Well, sir, off the stage he was a mean sneaking little fellow ; but on the stage"—throwing up his hands and eyes—" oh my great God !" " This was the in¬ variable formula," adds Mr. Fitzgerald: "no¬ thing less general could be obtained from him." If he had enemies, however, he sometimes deserved them, for he often committed follies, and more than one fault to help. For though Mr. Fitzgerald amiably tries to show him as heroic throughout, the general voice of contemporary history is too loud, and its verdict too uniform, to be easily silenced or upset. What this latest biographer insists on as lawful thrift does in¬ deed seem to have been rank parsimony ; what he says was sweetness of temper reads marvel¬ lously like meanness of spirit ; while the justice and placidity he praises so constantly look more like that universal cringe which will not see an in¬ sult, even when grossly evident, and which dreads nothing so much as to offend. But, saint or sin¬ ner, he did good work in the world so far as his own profession went ; he did more to raise the stage than any man who had then lived, and his very pride in always insisting on his gentle¬ hood was a help to the " vagaïonds" ne re¬ presented. We owe it primarily to Garrick that the stage has come to be looked on as a pro¬ fession like any other profession ; that actors and actresses are allowed to be gentlefolks, although actors and actresses ; that purity of living and the footlights can go together ; and that Bohe- mjanism and vagabondism and riot and rascality, are not necessarily the adjuncts of a calling which has included some of the noblest women and most honourable men among its followers. Garrick took his leave of the stage on June the 10th, 1776. He played Don Felix, in The Wonder, and had sucn a leave-taking as no actor ever had before, and none since. It was like the parting of lovers when he said adieu to his old friends in pit and gallery, and was almost as pathetic. He did not live long after this uprooting—not more than two years and a half ; dying Of a painful malady on the 20th of January, 1779. His savings amounted to nearly a hundred thousand pounds ; but he did not leave the whole to his wife. She had a good provision ; his relations were also thought of, though not one personal friend. She had the two houses at Hampton and the house at the Adelphi. At Hampton, which she allowed to get into sad disrepair, she was often visited by Queen Charlotte and the king. The queen found her once peeling onions, and took a laiife and began to peel onions with her. She was generally surrounded by her " hundred head of nieces," as Miss Berry called them, and lived in excellent preservation till October the 16th, 1822, when she died without a sigh, quite quietly and quite suddenly, as she was contem¬ plating her dresses laid out for her to choose from for that night's wearing. She was going to see Drury Lane, newly decorated by Elliston, and perhaps the little flutter of the anticipation was too much for her. A DISCREET REPORT. "Theke is," writes Dr. Jonathan Swift, "no talent so useful towards rising in the world, or which puts men more out of the power of for¬ tune, than that quality generally possessed by the dullest sort of men, and in common speecn called ' discretion ;' a species of lower prudence, by the assistance of which people of the meanest sort of intellects pass through the world in great tranquillity, neither giving nor taking offence." A report by the medical oflScer of the Poor Law Board upon forty-eight pro¬ vincial workhouses in England and Wales, is redolent of this useful quality. In every one of its hundred and fifty-seven pages, its author. Dr. Edward Smith, skates upon thin ice with a dexterity which speaks volumes for his official training ; and, with his colleague or chief, Mr. H. Fleming, invites appreciative praise. This latter gentleman, as secretary of the Poor Law Board, framed the official instructions to Dr. Smith in a letter, which is a model of " lower prudence." The object being to combine a show of candour with a reality of concealment, these sixteen ounces of blue book are worth, not the paltry one - and - eightpence charged for them, but their weight in gold. First, as to their origm. The country had been visited with one of those unpleasant spasms of conscientiousness which are tue bane of faulty systems. The starving, the poisoning, the torturing, and the killing of workhouse inmates had been exposed in parliament and by the press. Men had asked angrily who was responsible ? and The Department had, in reply, issued a dignified protest against sensationalism. But this did not wholly satisfy the country. The several districts in which barbarism had been proved were known to be controlled nomi¬ nally by the inspectors of the Poor Law Board, and a dim notion took possession of the public mind that the duties of these gentlemen, and of the authorities over them, might, on the whole, be more efficiently performed. Some active minds went so far as to taink that skilled knowledge Charles Dickens.] ALL THE. YEAR ROUND. [March 21. 18$S.] 351 might be useful iu the controlling and managing of state hospitals. " Deficiencj of the medicm element," was the cry when scandals became frequent, and Dr. Smith was appointed, first, a poor-law inspector, eventually, "medical officer" and adviser-in-chief. But as aged, infirm, and sick paupers continued to be sacrificed to the false god. System, the public were unreasonable enough to imagine that even a change in official designation did not meet the whole difficulties of the case. Questions were put in the House of Commons, and the newspapers teemed with inculpatory statements concerning paupers who maliciously refused to Uve ; so the department made another laborious effort. The shameful facts, familiar to every man and woman in England who could read or talk, were not known "officially" at WhitehaU. It was determined to despatch Dr. Edward Smith on a voyage of discovery through the poor-law dis¬ tricts of the kingdom, and to so learn how matters really stood. Six workhouses were to be visited in each district ; and in order that the inwtigation should be searching, and impartial, the people whose characters were chiefly at stake were actually asked how much and how Uttle of their deficiencies they wished to disclose. Mr. Secretary Gathorne Hardy, was the president of the Poor Law Bo»d when these astounding instructions were given, and the Report under consideration may therefore be taken as a guide to the form of composition of which Mr. Hardy approves. Upon the 16th of August, 1866, Mr. H. Pleming writes Dr. Edward Smith an official letter that the president heing dissatisfied with the treatment of the sick in country workhouses, "he requests you, in conjunction with"—not some impartial witness, not a skilled authority, not even an unbiassed official, but " the inspector of the district, to visit some five or six work¬ houses in each district, and to report upon the sufficiency of the existing arrangements." Then comes a sentence which is either a model of dis¬ cretion, or, as a public document presented to the House of Commons, the climax of audacity. " The Board do not think it necessary to par¬ ticularise the workhouses in each district which you should visit, as they think the selection of the workhouses will he best made in consultation between you and the inspector of the district." On what principle in law are men before the bar of justice allowed to dictate to judge and jury the offences for which they will be tried? Was it innocently thought that these negligent inspectors would sacrifice themselves for past wrong-doing, and call Dr. Smith's attention to the most flagrant instances of workhouse neglect and mismanagement ? In other words no pains were spared to make his inspection an empty form. The ten subjects discussed are less important than those to be avoided. 1. Classes of sick cases. 2. Officers in charge. 3. Site of the workhouse, and arrangements for exercise. 4. Character and construction of wards. 5. Separate sick wards and detached sick wards. 6. Sanitary appliances, as cleaning water- closets, baths, lavatories, and kitchens. 7. Nurses' apartments. 8. Eurniture for the wards. 9. Medical appliances. 10. Dietary, cooking, and distribution of food. Let us ask whether Dr. Smith examined the workhouse medical officer's report-book, and, if so, why the significant information it affords was not incorporated in his statement? whether the drugs furnished to the sick were inspected, and with what result ? why no return is given of the number of personal attendances made by the medical officers of each workhouse, and the. circumstances under which ill-informed or un¬ informed attendants or pupils are sent in their masters' stead ? and, lastly, why our inspector of inspectors passes over in comparative silence such vital points as water-supply, drainage, and main-sewer arrangements ? These are surely matters within the province of a medical adviser; and their omission suggests unplea¬ santly that there are drawback as well as advantages in leaving the inspection of pro¬ fessional men in purely professional hands. The habit of herding together patients suffering from different complaints, which prevails in many parish establishments, might have fairly been made a subject for discussion. Dr. Smith only tells us that in the majority of instances classin- catiou would involve " placing a sick person iu a room alone," and that " to a case of consumption likely to live for many months this would be in¬ tolerable, and would render the workhouse ward little better than a prison." This does not meet the question. Is it not the case that in some rural workhouses asthmatical and consumptive cases are warded side by side with noisy imbe¬ ciles ; and would our medical adviser sanction any such possibility save in workhouse wards ? In comparing the relative advantages of a work¬ house and a poor man's house in time of illness, our teacher admits rather unnecessarily that a poor man's " wife, with all her defects, has often the great advantage of affection and devotion." So that we have it on official authority that paupers are really men and women. But when he touches the question of nursing. Dr. Smith's reticence becomes amazing. In the face of recent disclosures, and with the alleged object of his report in view, the follow¬ ing placid statement will be read with wonder : " The feeling is now very general throughout the country that paid nurses should be ap¬ pointed to the care of the sick, and a very large number have been elected within a very recent period. In very large or moderately sized workhouses these officers exist; but in numerous small country workhouses none have been ap¬ pointed." Why have they been elected within a very recent period, and why are any country workhouses left without paid nurses now ? Dr. Smith devotes three pages to a laboured state¬ ment, which reads like a wordy brief for the 352 DUardi 21, IMS.] ALL THE TEAR ROUND. [OoBdneted I? defence, but leaves this essential point nn- touched. Can it be that Mr. Hardy's friends, "the sensational writers," have brought about what the Poor Law Board and its officers shamefully neglected to enforce; and can Dr. Smith be unaware that his department can compel guardians to appoint paid nurses ? " In moderately sized and small workhouses," we read, " one nurse may properly attend to thirty sick cases. In the larger workhouses, where there is a properly built infirmary, and where the wards are large, it is possible that more than that number might be allotted to one nurse." This is a reasonable estimate enough for day- nursing, but how are the patients to be looked after at night ? We have seen during the work¬ house experiences recorded in this journal, paid nurses who have secured their night's rest by putting several locked doors, long passages, and stone staircases between themselves and their patients whenever they went to bed ; and unless some special arrangements for night- nursing be made, the thirty sick people confided to one nurse would be certainly overlooked. And now as to local medical officers. One of them said to the writer of this article not long ago : " I can't do my duty to my patients for the simple reason that I can't aiTord it. The wards of my workhouse and its classification will not bear scrutiny. When I first put on harness here, I was young and enthusiastic, and tried hard to get the guardians to pro¬ vide what I knew to be absolutely necessary. But I only gained ill-will for myself, and did no good for my patients, so I've just struggled on as well as I could. The parish board could soon make a man's life a buraen if they took a prejudice gainst him ; and I could tell you of mstances in which a really zealous man has been worried into resigning, and a selfish drone appointed in his stead, who has been popular because he let things alone—^in other words, because he neglectea the paupers and did not trouble the guardians. Why, there's many a country workhouse where tfie doctor attends pretty much as he likes, and if it cOuld be found out I haven't a doubt that deaths from medical neglect are far commoner than you'd sup¬ pose." Dr. Smith's admissions are confirmatory of this appalling statement ; for at page fifteen of the Keport we find him saying calmly, " In practice there is much diversity of action amongst visit¬ ing medical officers, as to the frequency of their visits and the time devoted to their duties. In very many country workhouses the medical officer is required to attend but thrice (sometimes only twice) a week, and if he attend oftener it is on special requisition, or from a conviction that the cases require more frequent attention. Having regard to the fact that in almost every workhouse there is at least one case requiring constant medical supervision, I think" (wonder¬ ful boldness I) "it very important that arrange¬ ments should be made so that every medical officer of a workhouse shall attend daily, and also that he shall make his visit at or about a convenient and fixed hour. He should go into every sick ward daily, and should not wait to be requested to see any particular case. It should also, I think, be a part of his official duties to inspect every part of the workhouse once a week, and to report in writing to the ^rdians. This is not his duty at present, but it would do much to supply the defect which very generally exists in the unfrequent visits of the visiting committee." " Much diversity of action," b Dr. Smith's discreet phrase for abominable neglect. It is not difficult to foresee the end of a sick man who requires medical attention every day, and whose doctor only sees him twice a week A paragraph concerning the power given to medical men to order stimulants for their patients de¬ scribes the length of time during which they are ordered, and the quantity consumed to be " suf- ciently astonishing," and names it as a subject which " will ultimately en^ge the attention of the Poor Law Board." If it be true that Dr. Smith is an ardent teetotaller, this side-blow at stimulants is ingenious and effective. It has already increased the difficulties of medical men. To the unprofessional mind it would seem that stingy and ignorant guardians should be precluded from dictating or even hinting to doctors what should be prescribed for patients. The only true way out of this and similar diffi¬ culties would be to make the medical officers' salaries wholly payable by the crown. Already half the workhouse doctor's income is derived from this source, while half is paid out of the rates ; and by making him solely responsible to the Poor Law Board, we should at least rescue him from guardians and ensure uniformity of discipline. A detailed account of the forty-eight work¬ houses visited comes next. The different inspec¬ tors having informed Dr. Smith which vrork- houses in their district they would prefer his see¬ ing, the two officials pay their call together, mea¬ sure wards, examine furniture, patrol yards and kitchens, and come away. Dr. Smith gives un¬ certain particulars of the workhouses he has visited, and with these is printed the last offi¬ cial statement of the inspector of the district. One of these gentlemen gives, in two places, " There is no cattle-plague here now," as part of his report upon the condition of a workbouse, as if paupers and animals were legislated for and classed together. Dr. Smith's record is dry and lifeless. Such headings as " There are no paid nurses," "The stimulants are adminis- tered by paupers," convey a world of bitter meaning to the initiated ; Wt there is nothing to show that our medical adviser-in-chief con¬ siders such negligence reprehensible. One piece of information will be welcomed. It has often been asked what the ordinary process of workhouse inspection is, and why the flagrant evils brought to light by independent witnesses should have remained undetected or ignored by the gentlemen whose special duty it has been to find them out. The following list of ques¬ tions by the government official and answers \ Charles Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR BOUND. [March 21,1M8.] 333 by the delinquents solves the mystery, and speaks for itself: Extract from Report of E. Gulson, Esq., after a visit to Keynsham Union Workhouse, on the 10th April, 1866 : Is the workhouse generally adequate to the wants of the union in respect of size and internal arrange¬ ment? Yes. Is the provision for the sick and for infectious cases sufficient ? Yes. Are the receiving wards in a proper state ? Yes. Are there vagrant wards in the workhouse, and are they sufficient ? Yes, for the present. . Are the arrangements for setting the vagrants to work effective, and is the resolution of the guardians, under 5 and 6 Vict, c. 57, sect 6, duly observed? Yes. Does the visiting committee regularly inspect the workhouse? They visit frequently, but do not always fill up the book.^ Do any of their answers to the queries in the workhouse regulations suggest the propriety of any interference on the part of the commissioners? No. Insert a copy of any entry made since your last visit in the visiting committee's book, or other report book, by a Commissioner in Lunacy. None. Has the maximum number of inmates of the workhouse, fixed by the commissioners, been con¬ stantly observed since your last visit? Yes. Has any marked change taken place in the state of the workhouse, the number of the inmates, or the general condition of the union, since your last visit? No. Observations not falling under any of the pre¬ ceding heads, and points (if any) upon which it is suggested that the board should write to the guardians. None. Dr. Smith's reports are so arrranged and worded that an ordinary reader might plod through them without knowing they revealed shameful defects; and their author's profes¬ sional knowledge is rarely exercised on behalf of the pauper. Where blame is given, it is so gentle, that it seems like modified praise, and it is only by a careful comparison and analysis of the different portions of the book that even a proximate understanding can be arrived at of the conclusions it conveys. Let us compare Äfr. Hawley, the district inspector, with Dr. Smith. The former reports of the workhouse of Oldbury Union in August, 1866 : Is the workhouse generally adequate to the wants of the union in respect of size and internal arrange¬ ment? Yes. Is the provision for the sick and for infectious cases sufficient ? Yes. Are the receiving wards in a proper state ? Yes. Are there vagrant wards in the workhouse, and are they sufficient? Are the arrangements for setting the vagrants to work effective, and is the re¬ solutions of the guardians under ô and 6 Vict, c. 67, sect. 5, duly observed ? There are no vagrant wards; the sick vagrants are sent to the workhouse. Dr. Smith remarks in the following month of the same uuion house : Two sick women sleep in one bed. The ventilation is effected by fireplaces, windows, and a few ventilators ; but there were not any ven¬ tilators in the infectious wards. There is not a paid nurse. Hence there are many defects in this workhouse. .The medical officer attends about four days weekly, and remains about three-quarters of an hour at each vbit. So that, in spite of reticence and discretion, we come to the bare fact that the medical in¬ spector in chief finds " many defects," where the local inspector declares " internal arrange¬ ments to be adequate." Mr. Andrew Doyle, who recently distin¬ guished himself by the rudeness with which he charged one of the Lancet commissioners with falsehood, reported of the Birkenhead union workhouse, in July, 1866 : Is the workhouse generally adequate to the wants of the union, in respect of size and internal arrange¬ ment? Yes; except that the schools have not yet been built, although a school has been organised in the body of the house. Is the provision for the sick and for infectious cases sufficient ? Yes. ■And the value of his certificate will be ga¬ thered from Dr. Smith's guarded report in February, 1867, which says : There is no system of ventilation whatever in the hospital, except the ordinary one of doors and win¬ dows, and the latter were in some wards opened at the top. It is, in my opinion, essential that a system of ventilation should be introduced, and air bricks placed in the outer walls. Large openings over the doors, and ventilators in the ceilings of the upper rooms, were also suggested. At present the ventilation is defective. There are iron gratings in the corridor floors. There are two paid nurses, man and wife, in charge of the hospital and fever wards, who, with pauper help, attend to all the cases, by night and day, and give each dose of medicines and stimu¬ lants. There is not a paid night nurse, and consi¬ dering that there are fever cases now in the wards, and probably always will be, I do not think that it is satisfactory. Some few inspectors, notably Mr. Cane, Mr. Famall, and Mr. Graves, make frequent sug¬ gestions in their reports, and in several instances go far beyond Dr. Smith in their advocacy of reforms. Mr. Robert Weale, too, writes as follows : The Hatfield Union presents a very different appearance from any other in my district, and I have repeatedly referred to it in my inspectional reports. The Commissioners in Lunacy have fre¬ quently referred to this workhouse in terms depre¬ catory of its condition. The guardians, of whom the Marquis of Salisbury is the chairman, have re- 354 [March 21,1808.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Conancted by plied to communications addressed to them on the subject, that inasmuch as the workhouse resembles the general habitations of the labouring classes, they believe it to be more agreeable and satisfactory to the inmates than a buUding of a more regular and systematised character. I submit that the Poor Law Board should write to the guardians, and say that I have forwarded to them a copy of the report 1 made of my inspection in the visitors' book, and re¬ quest to be favoured with the remarks of the guardians upon it. It would be curious to know what action was taken on the above, and whether Mr. Fleming and the Marquis of Salisbury had any an^y correspondence respecting what is " agreeanle and satisfactory." At Nottingham, which, if we mistake not, is in the district formerly in¬ spected by Dr. Smith himself, we find from his report that hale children were " lying in a ward in which were others suffering from scarlet fever." Of Sheffield workhouse, Mr. Farnall complains of the internal arrangements, and says certain sick wards in it " are dark and cheerless, too dark, in fact, to enable the medical officer to examine the cases with accuracy;" and Dr. Smith explains that It is situate in the centre of the town of Sheffield, on the low land on the hanks of thp riv^, where it has been found difficult to obtain very good drain¬ age and ventilation. The main building is a disused mill, and was not constructed as a workhouse, and hence the rooms are large in all their dimensions, and not so convenient for the purpose in hand as is desirable. Dr. Smith concludes his general report by saying, plausibly enough, " it iä proper that any defects which exist should be removed, and that the state of the sick wards in workhouses and the treatment of the sick should contrast not unfavourably with the arrangements of a fairly conducted general hospital." It is much to be regretted that his information is not so conveyed as to lead up to this result. Valour would, in ihis instance, have been the better part of discretion. If he had had the courage to speak out boldly, he would ha«e presented the authorities with a report which they might condemn as " sensational," but which "his own conscience would tell him was true. TOLD BY A SKIPPER. We were bound up the noble river Yang-tsi- Kiang, the Chinese Son of the Sea, my old friend Mellen and myself, in our respective lorchas, making for Nankin. Side by side, our lorchas had kept each other company nearly all the day. We made but little progress, for the wind came in. light and fitful gusts, so that for every three feet we sailed against the strong current we were drifted back about two. As the splendid autumn day wore on, and the long dark shadows falling across the face of the earth began to herald the approach of the de¬ lightful tropical evening, the mconstant breeze fell away altogether, and we were compelled to anchor for the night. Mellen frequently hailed me to join him at dinner, to which I gave a willing assent, for not only «was I mone on board my own vessel, that is to say without any European companion ; but I well knew the many comforts possessed by my friend, he being accompanied by his wife, and a woman does somehow bring the amenities of civilised life to any community. MeUen was a native of Savannah ; his better half came from Macao, and was a full-blooded Chinese. Though a daughter of the Celestial Empire, Mrs. Mellen neither had those fright¬ fully artificial deformities called " small feet," nor did the outer corners of her purely Chinese eyes point upward. Hers were unusually straight, full of expression, of the most brilliant liquid black, now melting into tenderness, now. flashing with the fiery passions of the East ; her complexion was a rich tawny olive, with that smooth, close-grained skin so peculiarly a pleas¬ ing attraction of the Chinese. Her teeth were perfect and dazzlingly white ; though the mouth, small and pretty as those of her countrywomen generally are, seldom parted sufficiently to show them; tnis rather imusual immobility tending to produce an expression of firmness. Her hair was raven black, hanging in the luxuriance common to Celestial beauties, and her semi- European dress admirably became her lithe, graceful, and petite figure. One day, having made all snug on board my own vessel, I joined my friends. When dinner was over, and the unexceptionable manilla and fragrant coffee produced, and my friend's wife had seated herself lovingly at his feet, I re¬ minded him of a promise to tell me how he managed to escape from the Imperialists when they took him prisoner during the last war, " It was all owing to my orave Httle wife," he said. Mrs. Mellen would not let her husband com¬ mence until the cradle containing their only child had been brought from an inner cabin and placed by her side. " You must know," began my friend, without further preamble, " that wen you Britishers had determined to make a war upon the Chinese for endeavouring to enforce their own revenue laws in the case of the Arrow—I was busily engaged with a vessel of my own,ruBning cargoes of tea from Canton to Hong-Kong, and taking back opium for native merchants anxious to realise coin before the commencement of hos¬ tilities. If that trade had lasted, I should have made a pretty considerable fortune. But, somehow, your officials seemed to have made ready for a war long before any event oc¬ curred to justify their preparations. A large fleet of gun-boats had gradually been collected at Hong-Kong, and formidable operations were initiated at Canton. " Upon the part of the Chinese, the notorious commissioner Yeh had arrived, and during a desultory and unproclaimed warfare, I made several veir successful trips. My lorcha was well armed; I had a crew devoted to my interests, and although every day brought Ohwles DtekensJ ALL THE TEAR ROUND. [March 21,18«8.] 355 tidings of the capture of some vessel engaged in the same trade, with full details of the horrible butchery of tlieir crews, success had made me blindly couddent. I laughed to scorn the roclamatiou of Teh offering a reward of ve dollars for every white man's head, twenty-five for every prisoner, and a propor¬ tionately higher amount for the capture of any 'barbarian' officer. " The Canton river, from the sea to the city of that name, is a vast labyrinth of different chan¬ nels; some wide and majestic as the main branch, others narrow, nameless, and tortuous. I doubt whether any European ever possessed so good a knowledge of these waters as myself. I trusted to my acquaintance with the intricate channels to escape^bservation ; I trusted to the swiftness of my lorcha to avoid pursuit if dis¬ covered, and I trusted to our heavy armament and strong crew in case of attack. " I had just safely reached Hong-Kong with a full cargo of choice teas, and the place was in a tremendous uproar about the attempt the Chinese had made to poison the whole colony by mixing arsenic with the bread, when I re¬ ceived the offer of another and still higher freight, to be taken up at Whampoa, the small town Wow Canton, where vessels lie to take in and discharge their cargoes. The service had now really become extremely dangerous, the river and coast being scoured by Chinese row-boats and war-junks, the crews of which were eagerly looking out for every available chance to pocket the liberal blood money offered for the head of any and every ' foreign devil.' " My friends tned hard to dissuade me from the venture ; my wife, too,, did her best—wc had only been married about thirteen months —and a mother's tender solicitude for her first- bom made her timid. Against the prudent cotmsel of wife and friends my wayward nature rebelled. The native merchant who made the agreement hinted at the best route by which to reach Whampoa, declaring that all others were now watched by the Imperialist gunboats and their bloodthirsty crews. A shade of suspicion crossed my mind at this statement, for I did not entirely believe it, feehng pretty sure that the mandarins had not a sufficient number of vessels to accomplish so much. StUl, it was too late to retract; the agreement had been signed ; I had publicly announced my determina¬ tion to make the voyage, ^d was, moreover, getting the lorcha under weigh when the China¬ man came on board with the information. " My crew now consisted of myself and mate. Jack Ikey, a young English sailor who had been some time with me ; also of a European just engaged as supernumerary or second mate, Joe —the only name ^ which he was known—a tall and powerful l^enchman, who had a well- earned reputation for prowess, and who was the hero of many a perilous adventure in Chinese territory; also six Manillamen, and, lastly, a complement of twenty-five Chinese sailors, officered by my father-in-law and his one assistant. " The lorcha was well found in everything— sails, spars, stores, ammunition, nothing was wanting ; and she was heavily armed with two pivot guns, a long eighteen amidships, a car- ronade of the same cajUbre forward, as well as three nine-pounders on each broadside. Be¬ sides this, we carried a supply of the dreaded ' stinkpots,' those suffocatmg, burning hand- grenades common to Chinese warfare. Not a vessel on the coast could overhaul her ; as for the Imperialist ti-mungs (sea-going war-junks), she could sail three feet to their one. " Thinking of all this, as I puffed away at my cheroot, and bent over the weather rail, watch¬ ing the deep blue water glide rapidly astern, I laughed to seom my former suspicion and resentiment; my spirits became elate as my eautiful lorcha dashed away from the safe Hong-Kong anchorage, a fine fresh breeze filling her canvas, a clear blue sky, and a bright golden sunshine smiling propitiously at the com¬ mencement of her voyage. " A-choong, my father-in-law, in whose sagacity I had every confidence, had been so certain of our charterer's good faith, that I determined to follow the route indicated by the latter; not only to avoid the enemy supposed to be on the alert elsewhere, but also because it formed one of the most direct channels I knew. " About four o'clock in the afternoon we passed the celebrated Bocea Tigris, that rocky throat, between the sides of which the great estuary of the Canton river becomes narrowed to a breadth considerably less than two miles. We passed it in the far distance, and could only just distinguish the outlines of the British men-of-war forming the blockading squadron, behind which appeared the blackness of the pass, thrown into deep shadow by the tail impending cliffs on either hand. Sailing along the coast, about half way to Macao, amongst a numerous cluster of-small islands, we came to the eharmel I had been ad¬ vised to take ; but, as it was getting dark, we were obliged to anchor till daylight. Scarcely had the anchor reached the bottom, when a small quiek-puUing boat put off from the shore, and a yeUow-skinned, bony, squinting, and altogether villanous - looking Chinaman scrambled on board ; he made his way aft, ' chin-chinning,' grinning, and wishing to know whether we required a puot. " ' Chi loh ! (be off), you ugly sinner,' cried my mate. " But the intruder woxdd not budge, and as he excused the delay by asking whether we required any fruit or vegetables, or a gang of coolies to work the cargo upon reaching our destination, I could not exactly tell whether, with his horribly squinting and oblique eyes, he was looking at me, or taking a survey of my vessel, her crew and armament; I rather fancied the latter. " ' Pass him over the side. Jack,' said I, feel¬ ing assured, from his general appearance, that the fellow was no pilot. " The mate responded by seizing the China¬ man's tail close up with one hand, and the I 356 [March 21, isea.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Ooitdaeted by hinder part of his voluminous inexpressibles with the other, and then running him to the gangwajr, where a parting salutation sent him quickly into his boat. "Poor Jack! He payed dearly for that thoughtless act and playful kick. " As the boat pulled away ashore, never shall I forget the frightful expression illuminating the Chinaman's naturally repulsive countenance! As he shook his fist at my unfortunate mate, he chuckled to himself with a fiendish sort of glee; he seemed to revel, by anticipation, in some revenge. "Upon getting close in shore, several men crept from beneath the little mat awning in tlie Wt, put out fresh oars, and urged her at a rapid rate up the channel we were waiting to follow in the morning. 1 did not take any par¬ ticular notice of this proceeding, thinking that the soi-disant pilot was in a hurry to get home, and had therefore called the rest of his boat's crew from their sleep or opium-pipes. The Prenchman, Joe, having lit his pipe, carefully smoked it out. At the end of his meditations, he said : "'Capitan, pe gar! I have see him be¬ fore!' " Further than this indefinite declaration, I could only elicit Joe's belief that he had met the man a long time ago in an encoimter with pirates. This did not in the least surprise me, for the amphibious natives of the Chmese seaboard are, like their naval defenders, as much pirates as anything else. Leaving a strict watch on deck, I joined my wife in the cabin, and thought no more of the self-styled pilot. " The early part of the following day continued wet and stormy. As both tide and wind were against us, we were obliged to wait for the making of the flood shortly after noon. The weather cleared up at the same time. Not a sign of Imperialist gunboat could we see. All things appeared favourable as we entered the river and proceeded on our voyage. " We were just gettmg luncfrin the cabin, when Joe, whom 1 had left in charge of the deck, rushed up to the skylight, and sang out : "'Capitan! capitan! com up to de deck! Yite ! Quick ! quick ! De Chinois—de manda¬ rins have come ' Before he could say more, the loud roar of artillery told me that we were attacked, and several shot came crashing through the lorcha's topsides. "Hastily snatching up our revolvers. Jack Ikey and myself rushed on deck : before doing so, I made my wife lie down on the cabin floor, which was below the water-line, and conse¬ quently safe from the enemy's fire. At a glance I saw how matters stood. We had iust turned an angle in the channel, and lad sailed right into a formidable ambuscade of four ti-mungs, two on either side, lying in wait for us behind the projecting piece of land. Two of them had already cut off our retreat (we having shot past them) by sheering broadside on across the stream, and opening fire at us in conjunction with their consorts—the latter bearing down one on either bow. It was plain that our only chance of escape con¬ sisted in standing on, getting past the two vessels ahead, and trusting to our superior sailing qualities. Fortunately, instead of steer¬ ing across our bows, and so completely hemming us in, they were edging down to engage us broadside to broadside. I at once ordered my lorcha to be steered right between them. The guns were then loaded with a half chai^ of powder and a double charge of grape and canister. Both my European comrades were capital marksmen, and to them I entrusted the half-dozen rifles on board, ordering them to conflne'their attention to the helmsmen of the approaching enemy, whilst I personally superin¬ tended the working of our big guns. " On came the two he^most warJunks, painted in the most horrifying manner, with huge eyes and hideous faces, their colours flying, gongs beating, and crews yelling—altogether a most tremendous din, and in which these ' celestial' warriors placed considerable hope of terrifying us. A man was stationed at each of their mastheads, and by his side a basketful of those terrible ' stmkpots.' I followed their example by sending one of my crew to the fore and another to the main mast-head, where supplies of the missile were already hoisted. " The vessels astern were engaged reloading a long operation, the guns being lashed as fixtures to the broadside, in the usual Chinese fashion, which makes it necessary for the men to get outside the rail (and stand upon a plat¬ form built for that purpose) to load them. Con¬ sequently, we had a short time to devote exclu¬ sively to the junks ahead. These latter were now within a couple of hundred yards, one about four points on each bow, and were thus getting into the best position to become targets for our pivot guns ; moreover, being end on, they offered us a capital opportunity to rake them fore and aft. " I ran to the foremost gun, training it at the ti-mung on our port bow, waiting until she WM within a hundred yards, and then firing with a long and steady aim. The double charge of grape and canister swept her decks, and, by the confusion and the cries that ensued, must have caused great havoc. Leaving the gun to the crew to reload, I went aft to the long eighteen, and gave the ti-mung on our starboard bow a similar dose. Again rose the cries and shouts, for my second shot had proved as effective as the first. However, the Imperialists were not to be conquered easily; a savage yell of de¬ fiance soon rang forth, and, as they came fairly abeam, we were greeted with the simultaneous discha^e of their heavy broadsides—each vessel mounting from ten to fifteen guns a side. For¬ tunately, I had made all hands lie fiat on deck, to avoid the coming fire, whieh, ill aimed and irregular, mostly flew high above our beads, tearing huge rents in our sails, but only wound¬ ing one man with a splinter from the mainmast. "Scarcely had the last shot whizzed and hurtled through our rigging when my men Charles Dickens.] ALL THE YEAK ROUND. [March 21, ises.] 357 were on their feet : they gave the enemy a lend shout of defiance, and foflowed it up by letting drive our broadside guns—again with terrible effect, for I saw great gaps cut amidst the numbers erowding the decks of the ti-mungs, whilst the splinters flew from their bulwarks in a cloud. " During this time my two mates were not idle, the diseharge of their rifles having been incessant. As I expected, my fiery little wife, here, would not remain where I had placed her in safetv, but had stationed herself on the companion-ladder; and when I went aft, there I found her busily employed reloading the rifles for my comrades. " Having turned that bend in the river, we now had the wind right aft ; but our two im¬ mediate antagonists had been obliged to sail close-hauled, and so approach us on an oblique line. Upon getting abeam and delivering their broadsides, they were necessarily brought head to wind, and compelled to put about. While théy were attempting this, my two sharpshooters picked off ^very man that showed himself at the helm, and consequently threw them into a state of confusion : being unable to steer, they could not accomplish the necessary manoeuvre of tack¬ ing. At this moment, the sternmost vessels, having reloaded, let drive another broadside, but in so thoroughly Chinese a manner that at least half the shots intended for us took effect on their consorts. " ' Skipper,' cried poor Jack Ikey, ' I've potted nine yellow skins at the helm of that port ti-mung, for certain ; Joe says that he can score thirteen for the other; they can never tack while we keep this going, so luff up and slap another broadside or two into them.' En¬ raged at the treachery of the ambuscade into which I had been enticed by the deceitful native merchant, and excited by the fell spirit of war, as well as influenced by my mate's request, I ordered the helm to be put a-starboard, brought the lorcha to the vrind, and foolhardily accepted the proffered but unequal combat. The ti-mung that had passed us on the port hand, we disabled in no time; but meanwhile, the other ti-muBg had been neglected. The crew of this vessel, having recovered from their con¬ fusion, had successrally effected the manœuvre of tacking; she was now sailing up to us, closely followed by her two sternmost consorts. She was the largest, heaviest armed, and most formidable of our antagonists ; and now, from her position and the course she was steering, right across our bows, would certainly grapple and try to carry us by boarding. I instantly made arrangements to counteract the danger. From the mtered position of the vessels, my sharpshooters were no longer able to pick off the enemy's helmsmen; so I directed them to confine their attention to the fellows at the mastheads, whom it was desirable they should shoot down before getting within stinkpot range, as if any of those missiles landed on our decks, the burning, suffocating explosion would prevent either the efficient working or fighting of our vessel, and would thereby cause us to fall an easy prey. Seeing that it would be impossible to avoid coming to close quarters, I ordered the boarding nettings to be triced up. Then the muskets were brought on deck, loaded, and served out to all hands, with bayonets and ammunition. The big guns were quickly recharged, and this time with bags of musket balls, excepting only the after pivot gun —the long eighteen—which I had caremlly double-shotted, and reserved for a particular purpose. By thb time the leading ti-mung was close upon us, her decks crowded with men— some ready to board, others standing by their guns, match in hand, and the rest handling their bows and arrows or matchlocks. "A moment of concentrated suspense fol¬ lowed, every breath restrained, every faeulty absorbed in expectation of the coming deadly strife. The.creaking aloft, and the rippling of the waters cut by the approaching vessels, alone broke the oppressive silence. Suddenly the sharp and simultaneous crack of two rifles terminated the painful interval, and I saw on the face of each of my mates a stern, satbfied expression. From the enemy's junk there came a loud cry of mortal agony, as a man fell heavily from her mainmast-head, and another at the fore clung helpless and wounded to his giddy perch. " Those rifle cracks had broken the charm, and now the hideous noise of war once more re¬ sounded over the glittering waters. A savage yeU burst forth from the enemy as they began shooting away with their gingals, matchlocks, bows and arrows. A couple of fresh men, nimble as monkeys, sprang up aloft to the missiles at her mast-heads. " ' Now then, Frenchy,' cried my mate to his companion, getting warmed by the fray, ' bring them down again !' " We were now within twenty yards of the ti-mung ; another two or three seconds would bring us muzzle to muzzle. " ' Ready, there, with the guns ?' I shouted. " * All ready, sir,' promptly responded my ManiUamen. " I cried to the steersman, ' Fort a little— port 1' and, as the lorcha answered her helm, gave the command—' Fire 1' " Both vessels delivered their broadsides at the same moment, and with terrible effect at that short range. Only four of the ManiUamen came aft in obedience to my orders to resist boarders on the quarter ; the other two, and six of my Cantonese, had been killed by the enemy's round shot. Our broadside inflicted a much heavier loss upon our antagonist. Yet, in spite of the numbers kUled and wounded, she stiU held on her course, closed with us, and grappled fast. Her decks presented a ghastly spectacle, but I had little time to notice it, for fresh numbers of men swarmed up from where they had been sheltered in her hold, and rushed to board us. Fore and aft, on the bow, on the quarter, amidships, and everywhere, they clustered to the attack, uttering the most dreadful yeUs, the 358 [March 21,18«8.] ALL THE TEAR ROUND. (Cooducted by ferocious cry, 'Tab! tah-h-h!' But we were ready for tliem, musket or rifle in hand. Every man that touched our boarding nettings lost his life, many falling between the two vessels. Fortunately, my mates prevented the enemy using dheir terrible 'stinkpots,' by shooting down man after man as they tried to ascend the rigging for that purpose. Upon our side, the two men at our mastheads, not being exposed to expert marksmen, had managed to throw several of their missiles. These, however, had not taken effeet, having been caught by men specially told off for that duty, and who were stationed at different parts of our antagonist's deck.* " ' Tab ! tah !' yelled a particularly shrill and savage voice, giving the commands on board our assailant. " Jack Ikey was standing by my side. He started at the sound of that voice, lowered lis rifle, and exclaimed : "'By Heaven! skipper, it is that raseal I helped over the side last night !' " Sure enough there he stood, the sham pilot, the spy who had so cunningly boarded us in order to ascertain our strength and armament, bedecked in mandarin hat, button, and feathers, as commodore of the squadron. " Jack hastily capped his rifle, hissed between his teeth two words, took a steady aim, and fired. " The mandarin, however, had seen his move¬ ment and intention, and sprang aside, too late to avoid the shot, but quick enough to spoil my mate's deadly aim, and only receive a woimd in the arm, instead of a bullet through the heart. "At this critical instant, when, in all proba¬ bility, we should have been able to get clear of the vessel that had run us aboard, by taking advantage of the confusion consequent upou her commander's injury, we were compelled to fore¬ go the opportunity by turning to defend our¬ selves in a new quarter. The two sternmost ti-mungs had been enabled to come up since our way had been checked through being grappled by their consort. The nearest of them was now rounding-to under our stern, and pre¬ paring to rake us with a broadside that would be delivered within pistol range. This was the moment for which I had reserved our ' Long Tom.' Shouting to my men forward to let go the fore-sheet, so as to cause the lorcha to fly up in the wind, I took the trigger lanyard in my own hand ; then, as our rapidly altered position brought this fresh assailant two or three points on the quarter (in the Very place I desired, and which prevented her delivering a broadside * Chinese vessels generally carry two or three hands expressly engaged for the doty of catching stinkpots, at which they are very expert. No one else could catch the thin clay jars without breaking them. The missiles are harmless if not broken, as the combustible contents do not then come into contact with the pieces of burning char¬ coal, or joss stick, fastened outside. through fear that it might injure her commo¬ dore's vessel), I fired my long eighteen, and had the satisfaction to see its double charge of two round-shot tear a great rent in her bow, betwixt wind and water. "Fortunately, the heavy recoil of the gun gave so great a shock to the lorcha that it parted the principal fastening by which the big ti-mung had lashed herself alongside, and which had already been strained to the utmost as we flew up in the wind, after letting go the fore-sheet, (uagging the lumbering and heavy war-junk after us. Not a second was to be lost. With a loud shout I ordered my mates—Manü- lamen, Cantonese, and all, to throw off the re¬ maining grapnels. In another instant we were free, and slowly forging ahead. "But now the second of the sternmost vessels had overhauled us, and for some ten or fifteen minutes we maintained a running fight, almost muzzle to muzzle, right between her and our big antagonist, one on either beam. Pro¬ videntially the breeze increased, and in a few moments our superior sailing qualities enabled us to leave the enemy astern, otherwise they would certainly have sunk or captured us. As it was, more than half my crew were placed hors-de-combat. " Poor Joe ! Whilst so closely engaged with the two ti-mungs, a round shot, fired while almost touching hiin, had cut his body in half. " Our decks were an awful sight, and t left Jack Ikey to clear them directly we en¬ tered a channel intersecting that which I had originally taken, and which led to the sea within a short distance of Macao. We had gained considerably on our pursuers, who gave up the chase as soon as we entered this branch of the river, feeling satisfied, no doubt, that as long as the breeze lasted, they would not be able to overhaul us again. " Little did I suspect the cuuuing course they were about to pursue ! " Having received a slight but painful wound in the shoulder, I went below for my wife to dress it. I began to feel sick and mint, and as no trace of our late assailants could be seen, as notiiing but a number of trading junks were in sight, and although the breeze was failing with the approach of night, I could not resbt the inclination to sleep ; I turned in. How long I had been sleeping I cannot tell, when, suddenly, in the middle of the night, I was aroused by a violent shock, followed by the report of firearms, the trampling of many feet overhead, and the hideous yelung of Chinese war¬ fare. I snatched up a revolver, and rushed on deck, accompanied by my wife. " The first glimpse was enough : we were in the hands of the Imperialists ! The decks were full of them, and still they came. They were jumping on board by dozens from the cocked-up ends of a couple of big junks of the trading class that were hanging fast to us, one on each side. " We were lying at anchor off the coast, and I knew in an instwt how the affair had taken Charles Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [iiIatch21,18S8.] 359 place, for I had narrowly escaped capture by pirates upon several previous occasions in a similar manner. The junks, their position, the secrecy of the attack, and the sudden crash alongside, all told me plainly enough the nature of the cunningr and successful stratagem. In¬ stead of contmuing the stern chase in their heavy ti-raungs, the enemy had transferred their men to the trading junks, leisurely sailed after us, and passed ahead when we had cleared the river without exciting my mate's suspicion. Their course was then easy : they had waited until the flood tide made us anchor, had then moved right ahead, and, connecting themselves together hy a strong rope, had dropped silently down upon us with the current, steering, using their long sweeps, or hauling on the line as re¬ quired until it caught across our cable, when the strong tide instantly sheered them alongside. " When I reached the top step of the com¬ panion-ladder, by the glare of the lanterns and torches carried by the swarming boarders, I saw Jack Ikey fighting desperately in their midst, and striving cut his wav aft. A tall figure, with lifted sword, stole up behind him. I recognised the false pilot, the mandarin commanding the squadron by which we had been attacked ; and it was at this moment that I again saw upon his repulsive countenance the frightful expression to which I referred when describing the look he gave poor Jack after being turned out of the lorcha when he boarded us at the entrance of the river. All this took place during the second or two I stood concealed in the cabin hatch¬ way, gazing at the scene on deck. I lifted my revolver to shoot the wretch, but my wife snatched it out my hand, and concealed it under her own clothes, whispering, "'Do not fight now; it is too late; Our only chance is to submit quietly, and then watch for an opportunity to escape. Perhaps they will not kill us at once.' " In a second the sword had fallen upon my unfortunate young mate and he sank upon the deck. We retreated to our cabin, and in less than two minutes were bound hand and foot. We had bidden each other a last farewell, every mo¬ ment expecting to be slaughtered. But it seemed that we were not to be killed yet. The villanous-looking mandarin—the murderer of poor Jack — ordered away his blood-stained men, directing them to get out of the hold and take ashore what cargo and opium we had, whilst, with his principal officers—^the captains of the other ti-mungs, I concluded—he pro¬ ceeded to make merry over my wine, brandy, and other stores. " They were talking about us, the wretches ! and I understood Chinese well enough to know what they were saying. " ' Sar ?' (cut) said one, significantly sawing the air sideways with his hand, whilst making the laconic inquiry. "'Nd,' replied his chief. 'We will take them aUve to his excellency Yeh. The Pan- kwei ('foreign devil') we shall be able to pass off as an officer, and so obtain the offered reward. as well as have the gratification of seeing him treated—as all his barbarian countrymen should be—to the ling-chy' (i.e. the horrible torture of ' cutting into ten thousand pieces'). ' As for the woman, she has inflicted a disgrace upon the " children of Han" (the Chinese), so the Imperial commissioner will no doubt think proper to make an example of her, in order to deter our countrywomen from contracting such alliances with the " outer barbarians." ' " After gulping down large quantities of my brandy, the four rascals went on deck to look after the opium and other articles that their men were carrying off and stowing away on board the junks. "Scarcely had they vanished up the com¬ panion-way when a slight tap came against the bulkhead across the fore part of the cabin, and I heard the voice of my father-in-law, the lowder. " ' Captin Mellen,* said he, ' mi no have die. Twelve piecee man have makee hide down fore side. 'Spose by-em-by some mandarin man makee go shore, 'spose you talkee makee fight can do, can catchee lorcha back again.' " ' AJI right, A-choong,' said I. ' Keep close where you are. They are getting out the opium and things ; I think some of them are likely to go ashore with the plunder ; if they do, knock down the bulkhead when I tell you, get these ropes off my hands and feet, then we wUl soon have the lorcha under our own charge again. Have the men kept their arms ?' " I now understood that twelve of my men were battened dovm in the forecastle, whilst my lowder had hidden himself in the hold, and, after having communicated with the men on the other side of the foremost bulkhead, had come aft to that dividing the cabin from the hold, through which he had spoken to me. " My heart thrilled at the thought of escape ; but how could it be possible. "'Oh, Ma-le! Ma-le!* I cried to my wife, when we were left alone, ' why did you prevent me shooting the mandarin? We should then have been kiUed at once ; but now I' " ' Wait, my husband. Remember I am armed. I have your revolver and my dagger. We have yet a chance. I heard the mandarin ^ sending those men away with the junks and the plunder. When they nave gone, there will not be many soldiers left on board; then I slip my hands out, cut the ropes with which you are bound, and we shall be able to make a last effort. If we fail, then it will be a quick death. But our poor little child !' " My wife was interrupted by the return of the mandarin, and at the same time we heard the junks casting off from alongside. " Our captor was accompanied by one attend¬ ant, who carried writing materials. Seating himself at the cabin-table, he wrote a letter and gave it to the man, saying : " ' Be off, now, and take this to the officer in charge of the ti-mungs. You can remain on board, and assist in bnnging them here. Take half the men with you; leave me the other twenty- 360 ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Uarch 21, isca} five. Use the "fast boat," and, mind, make the men bend to their oars, for I am in a hurry to have the ti-mungs brought round. Tell the ofiScer I have another expedition in view.' " Away went the b«irer of the letter. I felt my heart heat audibly with hope and excite¬ ment. Only twenty-five men to be left on board ! Oh, if my brave wife should he able to set me free ! If I could liberate the men in the forecastle 1 "'Hi! Fan-kwei!' exclaimed the villanous mandarin, addressing me. ' How muchee dol¬ lar have got P What place keepee he ?' " I had only two or three hundred dollars on board, and it occurred to me that by giving them up and indulging the passion of avarice gleaming from his cunning, squinting, oblique eyes, I might throw the wretch off his guard. " ' Have got inside that smallo piecee box in other cabin, I replied. " He quickly went into the after cabin, where the old nurse was lying bound, and where, also, our first-born was sleeping in its cradle calmly. " In another moment the monster returned, the money in one hand, our poor little infant in the other. " ' More dollar,' said he—' more dollar. What placee have got more dollar ?' And he shook the little innocent threateningly. " ' Man,' I cried, ' there is not another dollar on board !' " Alas ! my bonds were firm and immovable. Every second I expected to see Ma-le shoot or stab him. But she had nerves of iron. She knew that an alarm would sacrifice all, and she restrained herself, though by so doing she be¬ came a witness to the murder of our cmld. The man then turned to my wife, saying : " ' Dollar I dollar ! 'Spose you no talkee mi what placee have makee hid, mi killee you smallo piecee chillo.' " Oh, the agony of that moment ! My poor Ma-le, how you must have suffered !" My friend|s wife sobbed loudly at this point of his narration, and drew the cradle closer to her side. I now appreciated her motive in having it brought to her when he commenced the tale. " Well," continued Mellen, " my wife threw herself before him, entreating him to spare the child, and assuring him that there was not another dollar on board. " Before she could rise, our infant was killed by the mandarin. Then, turning to go on deck, he said : " ' 'Spose you no talkee mi what placee have got more doDar, mi give you alio mi man—alio man takee you alio same wife.' " I shuddered at the hideous nature of this threat, and bowed down my head, unable to gaze upon the bleeding form of our murdered child-. " A sudden noise, then a low moan, made The Right of Translating Articles from. All me look up. By the light of the dimly burning cabin lamp I saw Ma-le drawing her dagger. She had sprung upon our enemy like a tigress, just as he had turned his back to ascend the companion- ladder, and her sharp poignard, driven with fatal precision through the neck, had struck him lifeless to the floor. So true, so deadly was the mm, that only one low moan escaped him. "In another moment my hands were free; then, Ma-le, you cut away the cords from my feet, placed the revolver in my hand, and be^n to load the double-barrelled fowling-piece that you took from the case under my bed, whilst I stealthily crept up the companion-way on deck. It was just that silent, chilly, oppressive hour of the morning — between black mid¬ night and grey dawn—when, on a dark night, the darkness is most profound, and its peculiar haziness makes all objects most invisible. Neither moon nor star could be seen, and step by step I safely crawled past the whole of our captors then on board. 1 dared not breathe as I stole along beneath the shadow of the bul¬ warks. The suspense of that moment was something fearful, and my heart throbbed pain¬ fully. "The Imperialists were assembled round a a couple of big lanterns, followiug the usual and besetting vice of Chinese soldiers and sailors—that of gambling. They were so in¬ tent upon their small wooden cards, and their flaring lanterns threw every other part of the decks into such deep shade, that I managed to reach the forecastle hatch undiscovered. I re¬ moved the fastenmgs, and softly descended to my men, nine Cantonese and three Manilla^ men. All were armed. In a few seconds I explained how matters stood, and called upon them to follow me; then, one by one, we crept up the ladder. " ' Fire I' I cried. The volley swept half the gambling guard into eternity, and with the bayonet we drove the rest overboard, just as my father-in-law ran up from the hold to assist us. "With the exception of the twelve men who assisted me to recapture the lorcha, mv crew had fallen during the hot engagement with the enemy and the subsequent night attack. "Wewere free—nee at last! My story is over. Before eight o'clock in the morning we were riding safely at anchor in the spacious harbour before the town of Victoria." It was late when Mellen finished his tale. Two bells (one_ a.m.) had struck. I bade my friends good night, roused out my " Celestial" mariners from the opium-pipes and good cheer with which the çrew of the lorcha had supplied them, and returned to my own vessel HOLIDAY ROMANCE, Br CHARLES DICKENS, Will be concluded In the Mokiblt Pakt for April. the Year Rohhd is reserved hg the Authors, Fubliehed at the Office, Ko.26, IVellington Street, Strand. Printed by C. Wui-miG, Beaalort House, Strand. N® THE MOONSTONE. Bt IBB ADTHOB OV "TBB WoKtB in WbIIB," ftc. &c. CHAPTER XXn.—(CONTIMUED.) I WALKED to the window to compose mjself. The rain had given over ; and, who should I see in the courtyard, but Mr. Begbie, the gar¬ dener, waiting outside to continue the dog-rose controversy with Sergeant Cuffi. " My compliments to the Sairgent," said Mr. Begbie, the moment he set eyes on me. " If he's minded to walk to the station, I'm agree¬ able to go witii him." " "Wnat !" cries the Sergeant, behind me, " are you not convinced yet ?'| " The deil a bit I'm convinced !" answered Mr. Begbie. " Then I'll walk to the station !" says the Sergeant. " Then I'll meet you at the gate !" says Mr. B^bie. I was angry enough, as you know—but how was any man's anger to hold out against such an interruption as this ? Sergeant CulT noticed the change in me, and encouraged it by a word in season. " Gome ! come !"■ he said, " why not treat my view of the case as her ladyship treats it ? Why not say, the circumstances have fatally misled me?" To take anything as her ladyship took it, was a privilege worth enjoying—even with the disadvantage of it's havmg been offered to me by Sergeant Cuff. I cooled slowly down to my customary level I regarded any other opinion of Miss Rachel, than my lady's opinion or mine, with a lofty contempt. The only thing I could »o¿ do, was to keep off the subject of the Moonstone! My own good sense ought to have warned me, I know, to let the matter rest —^imt, there ! the virtues which dist^uish the present generation were not invented in my time. Sergeant Cuff had hit me on the raw, and, though I did look down upon him with con¬ tempt,' the tender place still tingled for all that. The end of it was that I perversely led him back to the subject of her ladyship's letter, "lam quite satisfied myself," I said. "But never mind that ! Go on, as if I was still open to conviction. You think Miss Rachel is not to te believed on her word ; and you say we shall hear of the Moonstone again. Back your VOL. XIX. 2a. opinion. Sergeant," I concluded, in an airy way. "Back your opinion." Instead of taking offence. Sergeant Cuff seized my hand, and shook it till my fingers ached a^in. " I declare to Heaven," says this strange officer solemnly, " I would take to domestic service to-morrow, Mr. Betteredge, if I had a chance of being employed along with You ! To say you are as transparent as a child, sir, is to pay the children a compliment which nine out of ten of them don't deserve. There! there! we won't begin to dispute again. You shall have it out of me on easier terms than that. I won't say a word more about her ladyship, or about Miss Verinder—I'll only turn prophet, for once in a way, and for your sake. I have warned you already that you haven't done with the Moonstone yet. Very well. Now I'll tell you, at parting, of three things which will happen in the future, and which, I believe, will force themselves on your attention, whether you like it or not." " Go on!" I smd, quite unabashed, and just as ai^ as ever. " First," said the Sei^eant, " you will hear something from the Yollands—when the post¬ man delivers Rosanna's letter at Cobb's Hole, on Monday next." If he had thrown a bucket of cold water over me, I doubt if I could have felt it much more unpleasantly than I felt those words. Miss Rachel's assertion of her innocence had left Rosanna's conduct—the making the new night¬ gown, the hiding the smeared nightgown, and all the rest of it—entirely without explanation. And this had never occurred to me, till Sergeant Cuff forced it on my mind all in a moment ! "In the second place," proceeded the Sergeant, " ^ou will hear of the three Indians again. You will hear of them in the neighbourhood, if Miss Rachel remains in the neighbourhood. You wUl hear of them in London, if Miss Rachel ^ goes to London." Having lost all interest in the three jugglers, and having thoroughly convinced myself of my young lady's innocence, I took this second pro¬ phecy easily enougL " So much for two of the three things that are going to happen," I said. " Now for the third !" " Third, and last," said Sergeant Cuff, " you will, sooner or later, hear something of that money-lender in London, whom I have twice 466 "THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO YEAR.'—Shakespeaeb. . ALL THE YEAE ROÜND. A WEEKLY JOURNAL. CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS. • 466.] SATURDAY, MARCH 28, 1868. [PEICE 362 [March Ü8,18$8w] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Condoeted by taken the liberty of mentioning already. Give me your pocket-book, and I'll make a note for you of his name and address—so tbat there may be no mistake about it if the thing really happens." He wrote accordingly on a blank leaf:— "Mr. Septimus Luker, Middlesex-place, Lam¬ beth, London." " There," he said, pointing to the address, " are the last words, on the subject of the Moon¬ stone, which I shall trouble you with for the present. Time will show whether I am right or wrong. In the mean wliile, sir, I carry away yrith me a sincere personal liking for you, which I think does honour to both of us. If we don't meet again before my professional retirement takes place, I hope you will come and see me in a little house near London, which I have got my eye on. There will be grass walks, Mr. Betteredge, I promise you, in my gardrai. Aud as for the wliite moss rose " " The deil a bit ye'll get the white moss rose to grow, unless ye bud him on the dogne-rose first," cried a voice at the window. We both turned round. There was the ever¬ lasting Mr. Begbie, too eager for the controversy to wait any longer at the gate. The Sergeant wrung my hand, and darted out into the court¬ yard, hotter still on his side. " Ask him about the moss rose, when be comes back, and see if I have left him a leg to stand on 1" cried the great Cuff, hailing me through the window in his turn. " Gentlemen, both !" I answered, moderating them again as I had moderated them once already. "In the matter of the moss rose there is a great deal to be said on both sides !" I might as well (as the Irish say) have whistled jigs to a milestone. Away they went together, fighting the battle of the roses without asking or giving quarter on either side. The last I saw of them, Mfr. Begbie was shaking his obstinate head, and Sergeant Cuff had got him by the arm like a prisoner in charge. Ah, well! well! I own I couldn't help liking the Sergeant—though I hated him all jhe time. Explain that state of mind, if you can. You will soon be rid, now, of me and my contra¬ dictions. When I have reported Mr. Frank¬ lin's departure, the history of the Saturday's events wiU be finished at last. And whmi I have next described certwn strange things that happened in the course of the new week, I shall have done my part of the Story, and shall hand over the pen to the person who is ap¬ pointed to follow my lead. If you are as tired of reading this narrative as I am of writing it- Lord, how we shall enjoy ourselves on both sides a few pages further on I chapteb, xxm. I HAS kept the pony-ehaise ready, in case Mr. Franklin persisted in leaving us by the train that night. The appearance of the lug¬ gage, followed dovfn-stairs by Mr. Franklin himself, informed me plainly enough that he had held firm to a resolution, for once in his' life. " So you have really made up your mind, sir ?" I said, as we met in the hall. " Why not wait a day or two longer, and give Miss Rachel another chance?" The foreign varnish appeared to have all worn off Mr. Franklin, now that the time had come for saying good-bye. Instead of replying to me in -words, ne put the letter which her lady¬ ship had addressed to him into my hand. .The greater part of it said over again what had been said already in tiie other communication re¬ ceived by me. But there was a bit about Miss Rachel added at the end which will account for the steadiness of Mr. Franklin's determination, if it accounts for nothing else. " You will wonder, I dare say" (her ladyship wrote) " at my allowing my own daughter to keep me perfectly in the dark. A Diamond worth twenty thousand pounds has been lost— and I am left to infer that the mystery of its disappearance is no mystery to Rachel, and that some incomprehensible obligation of silence has been laid on her,'by some person or persons utterly unknown to me, with some object in view at which I cannot even guess. Is it con¬ ceivable that I should allow myself to be trifled with in this way ? It is quite conceivable, in Rachel's present state. She is in a condition of nervous agitation pitiable to see. I dare not approach the subject of the Moonstone again until time has done something to quiet her. To help this end, I have not hesitated to dismiss the police-officer. The mystery which baffies us, baffles him too. This is not a matter in which any stranger can help us. He adds to what I nave to suffer; and he maddens Rachel if she only hears his name. " My plans for the future are as well settled as they can be. My present idea is to take Rachel to London—partly to relieve her mind by a complete change, partly to try what may¬ be done by consulting the best medical ad¬ vice. Can I ask you to meet us in town ? My dear Franklin, you, in your way, must imitate my patience, and wait, as I do, for a fitter time. Tiie valuable assistance which you rendered to the inquiry after the lost jewel is still an un¬ pardoned offence, in the present dreadful state of Rachel's mind. Moving blindfold in this matter, you have added to the burden of anxiety which she has had to bear, by innocently threatening her secret with discovery, througn your exertions. It is impossible for me to excuse the perversity which holds you respon¬ sible for consequences which neither you nor I could imagine or foresee. She is not to be reasoned with—she can only be pitied. I am grieved to have to say it, but, for the present, you and Rachel are better apart. Thé only advice I can offer you is, to give her time." I handed the letter back, sincerely sorry for Mr. Franklin, for I knew how fond he was of my young lady ; and I saw that her mother's account of her had cut him to the heart. "You know the proverb, sir," was aU I said to him. " When Oharies Dickens.] ALL THE YEAK ROUND. [March 38,1888.] 363 things are at the worst, they're sure to mend. Things can't be much worse, Mr. Franklin, thaif they are now." Mr. Franklin folded up his aunt's letter, with¬ out appearing to he much comforted by the remark which I had ventured on addressing to him. " When I came here from London with that horrible Diamond," he said, "I don't believe there was a happier household in England than this. Look at the household now 1 Scat¬ tered, disunited—the very air of the place poisoned with mystery and suspicion! Do you remember that morning at the Shiver¬ ing Sand, when we talked about my uncle Herucastle, and his birthday gift P The Moon¬ stone has served the Colonel's vengeance. Better- edge, by means which the Colonel himself never dreamt of!" With that, he shook me by the hand, and went out to the pony chaise. I followed him down the steps. It was very miserable to see him leaving the old place, where he had spbnt the happiest years of his life, in this way. Penelope (sadly upset by all that had hap¬ pened in the house) came round crying, to bid him good-bye. Mr. Franklin kissed her. I waved my hand as much as to say, "You're heartily welcome, sir." Some of the other female ser¬ vants appeared, peeping after him round the comer. He was one of those men whom the women all like. At the last moment, I stopped the pony chaise, and begged as a favour tWt he would let us hear from him by letter. He didn't seem to heed what I said — he was looking round from one thing to another, taking a sort of farewell of the old house and grounife. " Tell us where you are going to, sir !" I said, holding on by the chaise, and trying to get at his future plans in tbat way. Mr. Franklin pulled his W down suddenly ovec his eyes. " Going ?" says he, echoing the word after me. "I am going to the devil!" The pony started at the word, as if he felt a Christian horror of it. " God bless you, sir, go where you may !" was all I had time to say, before he was out of sight and hearing. A sweet and pleasant gen¬ tleman ! With au his faults and follies, a sweet and pleasant gentleman! He left a sad gap behind him, when he left my lady's house. It was dull and dreary enough, when the long summer evening closed in, on that Saturday ni^t. I kept my spirits from sinking by stick¬ ing fast to my pipe and my Robinson Cmsoe. The women (excepting Penelope) beMiled the time by talking of Rosanna's suicide. They were all obstinate^ of opinion that the poor firl had stolen the Moonstone, and that she had estroyed herself in terror of being found out. My daughter, of course, privately held fast to what she had said all along. Her notion of the motive which was really at the bottom of the suicide failed, oddly enough, just where my young lady's assertion of her innocence failed also. It left Rosanna's secret journey to Friz- inghall, and Rosanna's proceedings in the matter of the nightgown, entirely unaccounted for. There was no use in pointing this out to Pene¬ lope ; the objection made about as much impres¬ sion on her as a shower of rain on a waterproof coat. The truth is, my daughter inherits my superiority to reason—and, in respect to that accomplishment, has got a long way ahead of her own father. On the next day (Sunday), the close carriage, which had been kept at Mr. Ablewhite's, came back to us empty. The coachman brought a message for me, and written instructions for my lady's own maid and for Penelope. The message informed me that my mistress had determined to take Miss Rachel to her house in London, on the Monday. The written instructions informed the two maids of the clothing that was wanted, and directed them to meet their mistresses in town at a given hour. Most of the other servants were to follow. My lady had found Miss Rachel so unwilling to return to the house, rfter what had h^pened in it, tbat she had decided on going to London direct from Frizinghall. I was to remain in the country, until further orders, to look after things indoors and out. The servants left with me were to be put on board wages. Being reminded, by all this, of what Mr. Franklin had said about our being a scattered and disunited household, my mind was led naturally to Mr. Franklin himself. The more I thought of him, the more uneasy I felt about his future proceedings. It ended in my Writing, by the Sunday's post, to his father's valet, Mr. Jeffco (whom I had known in former years) to beg he would let me know what Mr. Franklin had settled to do, on arriving in London. The Sunday evening was, if possible, duller even than the Saturday evening. We ended the day of rest, as hundreds of thousands of people end it regularly, once a week, in these islands-—that is to say, we all anticipated bed¬ time, and fell asleep in our chairs. How the Monday affected the rest of the household I don't know. The Monday gave me a good shake up. The first of Sergeant Cuff's prophecies of what was to happen— " ' namely, that I should hear from the YoUands— came true on that day. I had seen Penelope and my lady's maid off in the railway with the luggage for London, and was pottering about the grounds, when I heard my name called. Turning round, I found myself face to face with the fisherman's daugh¬ ter, Limping Lucy; Bating her lame foot and W leanness (this last a horrid drawback to a woman, in my opinion), the girl had some pleas¬ ing qu^ties m the eye of a man. A dark, keen, clever face, and a nice clear voice, and a heau- tiftij brown head of hair counted among her merits. A crutch appeared in the list m her misfortunes. And a temper reckoned high in the sum total of her defects. " Well, my dear," I said, " what do you want with me ?" 36é [March 28,1668.] • ALL THE YEAB BOUND. [Oandoeted by " Where's the man yon call Franklin Blake ?" says the girl, fixing me nrith a fierce look, as she rested lierself on her crutch. " That's not a respectful way to speak of any gentleman," I answered. " If you wish to in¬ quire for my kdj's nephew, you will please mention him as Mr. Franklin Blake." She limped a step nearer to me, and looked as if she could have eaten me alive. "Mr. Franklin Blake !" she repeated after me. "Murderer Franklin Blake would be a fitter name for him." My practice with the late Mrs. Betteredge came in handy here. Whenever a woman tries to put you out of temper, turn the tables, and put ¿or out of temper instead. They are generally prepared for every effort you can make in your own defence, but that. One word does it as well as a hundred; and one word did it with Limping Lucy. I looked her pleasantly in the face ; and I said—" Pooh !" The girl's temper flamed out directly. She poised herself on her sound fóot, and she took 'her crutch, and beat it furiously three times on the ground. " He's a murderer ! he's a mur¬ derer ! he's a murderer ! He has been the death of Hosanna Spearman!" She screamed that answer out at the top of her voice. One or two of the people at work in the pounds near us looked up—saw it was Limping Lucy—^knew • what to expect from that quarter—and looked away again. " He has been the death of Hosanna Spear¬ man?" I repeated. "What makes you say that, Lucy?" " What do you care ? What does any man care ? Oh ! if she had only thought of the men as I think, she might have been Uving now !" " She always thought kindly of m, poor soul," I said ; " and, to the best of my ability, I always tried to act kindly by ¿er." I spoke those words in as comforting a ■manner as I could. The truth is, I hadn't the heart to irritate the girl by another of my smart replies. I had only noticed her temper at first. I noticed her wretchedness now—and wretched¬ ness is not uncommonly insolent, you will find, in humble life. My answer melted Limping Lucy. She bent her head down, and laid it on the top of her crutch. " I loved her," the girl said softly. " She had lived a miserable life, Mr. Betteredge—vile people had ill treated her and led her wrong— and it hadn't spoilt her sweet temper. She was an angel. She might have been happy with me. 1 had a plan for our going to London together like sisters, and living by our needles. That man came here, and spoilt it all. He be¬ witched her. Don't tell me he didn't mean it, and didn't know it. He ought to have known it. He ought to have taken p% on her. ' I can't live without him—and, oh, Lucy, he never even looks atme.' That's what she said. Cruel, cruel, cruel. I said, ' No man is worth fretting for in that way.' And she said, ' There are men worth dying for, Lucy, and he is one of them.' I had saved up a little money. I had settled things with father and mother. I meant to take her away from the mortification she was suffering here. We should have had a little lodging in London, and lived together like sisters. She had a good education, sir, as you know, and she wrote a good hand. She was quick at her needle. I have a good education, and I write a good hand. I am not as quick at m needle as äe was—but I could have done. We might have got our living nicely. And, oh! what happens this morning? what him. pens this morning? Her letter comes, and tells me she has done with the burden of her life. Her letter comes, and bids me good-bye for ever. Where is he?" cries the girl, lifting her head from the crutch, and flaming out again through her tears. " Where's this gen¬ tleman that I mustn't speak of, except with respect ? Ha, Mr. Betteredge, the day is not far off when the poor will rise against the rich. I pray Heaven they may begin with ¿im. I pray Heaven they may begin with ¿im." Here was another of your average good Christians, and here was the usual break-down, consequent on that same average Christianity being pushed too far ! The parson himself (though I own this is saying a great deal) could hardly have lectured the girl in the state she was in now. All I ventured to do was to keep her to the point—^in the hope of something turning up tvhich might be worth hearing. " What do you want with Mr. Franklin Blake ?" I asked. " I want to see him." " For anything particular ?" " I have got a letter to give him." " From Hosanna Spearman ?" "Yes." " Sent to you in your own letter ?" "Yes." Was the darkness going to lift ? Were all the discoveries that 1 was dying to make, coming and offering themselves to me of their own accord ? I was obliged to wait a moment. Ser¬ geant Cuff had left his infection behind him. Certain signs and tokens, personal to myself, .warned me that the detective fever was begin¬ ning to set in again. " You can't see Mr. Franklin," I said. " I must, and will, see him." " He went to London last night." Limping Lucy looked me hard in the face, and saw that 1 was speaking the truth. With¬ out a word more, she turned about again in¬ stantly towards Cobb's Hole. " Stop !" 1 said. " I expect news of Mr. Franklin Blake to-morrow. Give me your let¬ ter, and I'll send it on to him by the post." Limping Lucy steadied herself on her crutch, and looked back at me over her shoulder. " I am to rive it from my hands into his hands," she said. "And I am to give it to him in no other way." " Shall I write, and tell him what you have said?" " Tell him I hate him. And you will tell him the truth." Oharies Diekens.] ALL THE TEAB BOUND. tllarcb 28,1888.] 365 " Yes, yes. But about the letter ?" " If he wants the letter, he must come back here, and get it from Me." With those words she limped off on the way to Cobb's Hole. The detective fever burnt up all my dignity on the spot. I followed her, and tried to make her talk. All in vain. It was my misfortune to be a man—and Limping Lucy enjoyed disappointing me. Later in the day, I tried my luck with her mother. Good Mrs. Yolland could only cry, and recommend a drop of comfort out of the Dutch bottle. I found the fisherman on the beach. He said it was "a bad job," and went on mending bis net. Neither fatiier nor mother knew more than I knew. The one chance left to try was the chance, which mi^it come with the morn¬ ing, of writing to Mr. Franklin Blake. I leave you to imagine how I watched for the pO itman on Tuesday morning. He brought me two letters. One, from Penelope (which I had hardly patience enough to read), announced that my lady and Miss Bachel were safely esta¬ blished in London. The other, from Mr. Jeffco, informée? me that his master's son had left Eng¬ land already. On reaching the metropolis, Mr. Franklin had, it appeared, gone straight tb his father's residence. He arrived at an awkward time. Mr. Blake, the elder, was up to his eyes in the business of the House of Commons, and was amusing himself at home that night with the favourite parliamentary plaything which they call " a private bill." Mr. Jeffco himself showed Mr. Franklin into his father's study. "My dear Franklin ! why do you surprise me in this way? Anything wrong?" "Yes; some¬ thing wrong with Rachel; I am dreadfully distressed about it." "Grieved to hear it. But I can't listen to you now." " When eau you listen ?" " My dear boy ! I won't deceive you. I can listen at the end of the session, not a moment before. Good-night." " Thank yon, sir. Good-night." Such was the conversation, inside the study, as reported to me by Mr. Jeffco. The conver¬ sation, outside the study, was shorter still. " Jeffco, see what time the tidal train starts to-morrow morning ?" " At six-forty, Mr. Franklin." " Have me called at five." " Go¬ ing abroad, sir?" "Going, Jeffco, wherever the railway chooses to take me." " Shall I tell your father, sir?" "Yes; tell him at the end of the session." The next morning Mr. Franklin bad started for foreign parts. To what particular place he was bound, nobody (himsell included) could presume to guess. We might hear of him next in Europe, Asia, Africa, or America. The chances were as equally divided as possible, in Mr. Jeffco's opinion, among the four quarters of the globe. This news—by closing up all prospect of my bringing Limping Lucy and Mr. Franklin together—at once stopped any further progress of mine on the way to discovery. Penelope's belief that her fellow-servant had destroyed her¬ self through unrequited love for Mr. Franklin Blake,.was confirmed—and thatwas all. Whether the letter which Rosanna had left to be given to him after her death did, or did not, contain the confession which Mr. Franklin had sus¬ pected her of trying to make to him in her life¬ time, it was impossible to say. It might be only a farewell word, telling nothing but the secret of her unhappy fancy for a person beyond her reach. Or it might own the whole truth about the strange proceedings in which Ser¬ geant Cuff had detected her, from the time / when the Moonstone was lost, to the time when she rushed to her own destruction at the Shiver¬ ing Sand. A sealed letter it had been placed in Limping Lucy's hands, and a sealed letter it remained to me and to every one about the girl, her own parents included. We all suspected her of having been in the dead woman's con¬ fidence ; we all tried to make her speak ; we all failed. Now one, and now another, of the servants—still holding to the belief that Rosanna had stolen the Diamond and had hidden it— peered and poked about the rocks to which she had been traced, and peered and poked in vain. The tide ebbed, and the tide flowed; the summer went on, and the autumn came. And the Quicksand, which hid her body, hid her secret too. The news of Mr. Franklin's departure from England on the Sunday morning, and the news of my lady's arrival in London with Miss Rachel on the Monday afternoon, had reached me, a^ou are aware, by the Tuesday's post. The Wednesday came, and brought nothing. The Thursday produced a second budget of news from Penelope. My girl's letter informed me that some great Lonaon doctor had been consulted about her young lady, and had earned a guinea by remarking that she had better be amused. Flower-shows, operas, balls—there was a whole round of gaieties in prospect ; and Miss Rachel, to her mother's astonishment, eagerly took to it all. Mr. Godfrey had called ; evidently as sweet as ever on his cousin, in spite of the reception he had met with, when he tried his luck on the occasion of the birthday. To Penelope's great regret, he had been most graciously received, < and had added Miss Rachel's name to one of his Ladies' Charities on the spot. My mistress was reported to be out of spirits, and to have held two long interviews with her lawyer. Certain spéculations followed, referring to a poor relation of the family—one Miss Clack, whom I have mentioned in my account of the birthday dinner, as sitting next to Mr. Godfrey, and having a pretty taste in champagne. Pe¬ nelope was astonished to find that Miss Clack had not called yet. She would surely not be long before she fastened herself on my lady as usual—and so forth, and so forth, in the way women have of girding at each other, on and off paper. This would not have been worth mentioning, I admit, but for one reason. I hear you are likely to be turned cfver to Miss Clack, 366 [March 28, i8as.j AT.T. THE after parting with me. In that case, just do me the favour of not believing a word she says, if she speaks of your humble servant. On Friday, nothing happened—except that one of the dogs siiowed signs of a breaking- out behind the ears. I gave bim a dose of syrup of buckthorn, and put him on a diet of pot- liquor and vegetables till further orders. Excuse my mentioning this. It has slipped in some¬ how. Pass it over, please. I am fast coming to the end of my offences against your cultivated modem taste. Besides, me dog was a good creature, and deserved a good physicking; he did indeed. Saturday, the last day of the week, is also the last day in my narrative. The morning's post brought me a surprise in the shape of a London newspaper. The hand¬ writing on the direction puzzled me. I com¬ pared it with the money-lender's name and ad¬ dress as recorded in my pocket-book, and identified it at once as the writing of Sergeant Cuff. Looking through tiie paper eagerly enough, after this discovery, I found an ink-mark drawn round one of the police reports. Here it is, at your service. Bead it as I read it, and you will set the right value on the Sergeant's polite attention in sending me the news of tiie day : "Lambeth.—Shortly before the closing of the court, Mr. Septimus Luker, the well-known dealer in ancient gems, carvings, intagli, &c. &c., applied to the sitting magistrate for advice. The applicant stated that he had been annoyed, at intervals throughout the day, by the proceedings of some of those strolling Indians who infest the streets. The persons complained of were three in number. After having been sent away by the police, they bad re¬ turned again and again, and had attempted to entm- the house on pretence of asking for charity. Warned off in the front, they had been discovered again at the back of the premises. Besides the annoyance complained of, Mr. Luker expressed him¬ self as being under some apprehensiousthat robbery might be contemplated. His collection contained many unique gems, both classical and oriental, of the highest value. He had only the day before been compelled to dismiss a skilled workman in ivory carving from his employment (a native of India, as we understood) on suspicion of attempted theft ; and he felt by no means sure that this man and the street-jugglers of whom he complained, might not be actiug in concert. It might be their object to collect a crowd, and create a disturbance in the street, and, in the confusion thus caused, to obtain access to the house. In reply to the magis¬ trate, Mr. Luker admitted that he had no evidence to produce of any attempt at robbery being in con¬ templation. He could speak positively to the annoyance and interruption caused by the Indians, but not to anything else. The magistrate remarked that, if the annoyance were repeated, the applicant could summon the Indians to that court, where they might easily be dealt with under the Act. As to the valuables in Mr. Luker's possession, Mr. Luker himself must take the best measures for their safe custody. He would do well perhaps to communi- KOUND. [Conducted by cate with the police, and to adopt such additional precautions as their experience might suggest. The applicant thanked his worship, and withdrew." One of the wise ancients is reported (I forget on what occasion) as having recommended his fellow-creatures to " look to the end." Looking to the end of these pages of mine, and wondering for some days past how I should manage to write it, I find my plain statement of facts coming to, a conclusion, most appropriately, of its own self. We have gone on, in this matte», of the Moonstone, from one marvel to another; and here we end with the greatest marvel of all—namely, the accomplishment of Sergeant Cuff's three predictions in less than a week from the time when he had made them. After hearing from the Yollands on the Monday, I had now heard of the Indians, and heard of the money-lender, in the news from London—Miss Kachel herself, remember, being also in London at the time. You see, I put things at their worst, even when they teU dead against my own view. If you desert me, and side with the Sergeant, on the evidence before you—if the only rational explanation ÎOU can see is, that Miss Kachel and Mr. lUker must have got together, and that the Moonstone must be now in pledge in tbe money¬ lender's house—I own I can't blame you for arriving at that conclusion. In the dark, I have brought you thus far. In the dark I am coMclled to leave you, with my best respects. Why compelled? it may be asked. Why not take the persons who have gone alon^ with me, so far, up into those regions of superior en- ligbtment in which I sit myself? In answer to this, I can only state that I am acting under orders, and that those orders have been given to me (as I understand) in the in¬ terests of truth. I am forbidden to tell more in this narrative than I knew myself at the time. Or, to put it plainer, I am to keep strictly within the limits of my own experience,, and am not to inform you of what other persons told me—for the very sufficient reason that you are to have the information from those other per¬ sons themselves, at first hand. In this matter of tbe Moonstone the plan is, not to present reports, but to produce witnesses. I picture to myself a member of the family reading these pages fifty years hence. Lord I what a compli¬ ment he will feel it, to be asked to take nothing on hearsay, and to be treated in all respects like a Judge on the Bench. At this place, then, we part—for the pre¬ sent, at least—after long joumeving together, with a companionable feeling, I liope, on both sides. The devil's dance of the Indian Diamond has threaded its way to London ; and to London you must go after it, leaving me at the country- house. Please to excuse the faults of this com¬ position—my talking so much of mysdf, and being too familiar, I am afraid, with you. I mean no harm ; and I drink most respectfully (having just done dinner) to your health and prosperity, in a tankard of her ladyship's ale. Charles Dickens.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 28,1S68.] 367 May find in tliese leaves of ray writing, what Robinson Cmsoe found in hb Experience on the desert island—namely, "something to comfort yourselves and to set in the Description of Good and Evil, on the Credit Side of the Account."—^Farewell. ire end oe the eiest eebiod. CARABOBO. Before leaving Valencia, that pearl of Venezuelan cities, I resolved to visit the field of Carabobo. The name is little familiar to English ears, yet here Bolivar fought the battle which decided the liberties of the South Ameri¬ can republics, and here British valour achieved a victory which deserves to be recorded in bronze and marble. The battle-field is situated about eighteen miles south of Valencia. As I foresaw it would take some time to examine the groimd, besides four or fi stance, the teeth may strike at a disadvantage, and be suddenly doubled backwards, whereupon the venom occasionally goes down the snake's throat, and, as we shaU see, does him no such harm as drugs usually do the apothecary ; or it chances that, the sequence of actions miling as to their due order, the venom is ejected before the fang enters, or escapes at the base of the tooth on account of the duct not being drawn neatly upon the aperture of the tooth. Let these incidents occur, and at the same time let the sharp and hooked teeth of the lower jaw wound the skin, and we shall have all the material for a case of rattlesnake bite, in which we may administer an antidote with great surety of success. A snake strikes you, the skin is wounded, and the conclusion is naturally drawn that you are also poisoned; whereas both in man and animals, as we have semi many times, the victim may drag the snake some dis¬ tance, hung to the tissues by the harmless little hooked teeth of the lower jaw. It is abo a matter of moment lAether, being bitten, you have received two fang-wounds or only one, because the two glands are as inde¬ pendent of one another as two rival drug-shops ; and, if you get both fangs in you, the dose of the venom b twice what it would bie if only one of them entered. Luckily, it often chances that, in small members like the fingers, one tooth goes aside of the mark, and so fails of ^^urpose, thus bssening the risk exactly one These keenly tempered fangs are liable to be lost by accidents, and abo to fall by natural decay. When the former occurs, the snake is unarmed for the time ; but in a few days a re¬ serve fang—which always lies behind or to one side of the active tooth—becomes firmly set in its socket, and comes into apposition with the opening of the duct. It is therefore not enough to pull out the active fang, since numerous others lie ready for use in the gum beliind it. A young frieua once showed me a small rattle¬ BOUHD. [OoBdaetedbjr snake, from which he had taken the active fangs three months before, supposing the rep¬ tile thus disamed for life. He was accustomed to handle it freely, and had never been bitten. On opening the mouth, I pointed out to him the new and efficient teeth which had taken the place of those he had removed. How mudi danger he thus ran it were hard to say, since the snake may be handled with impunity, if care be taken not to hurt it or to use abrupt motions. A yerj startling incident illustrative of thb occurred some years ago in Philadelphia. A tavern-keeper had in a box two large rattle¬ snakes, perfectly wild, and not long captives. Coming into his bar-room early one morning, he found hb little daughter, about six years old, seated beside the open snake-box, with both serpents lying in her lap. He was wise enough, seeing her unhurt, to ask how they got out, and hearing, in reply, that she herself had lifted them from the box, he ordered her to re¬ place them, which she did without harm, finally closing upon them the lid of their cage. Snakes long confined very often become so tame that, M we have found, they will allow mice, reed-birds, or pigeons in their cage without at¬ tempting to injure them. If any still doubt that the rattlesn^e may be handled with im¬ punity, the experience of the naturalist Water- ton may end Us doubt. Hb biographer de¬ scribes Urn as sebing and holding pobonous serpents with an inmfference which b only credible to those who have studied tlieir habits with care. We are persuaded, however, that certain snakes are more likely to strike than others, some requiring the utmost provocation. TUs is veiy apt to be the case after the serpent has bitten a few times vainly upon a sti<^ or other hard body ; so that it seems probable, not only that the snake has memory, but that in¬ dividuality may exbt in forms of life even as low as thb one. Where in the descending scale does this cease ? Are there clever earth¬ worms and stupid earthworms—^no two things anywhere precisely the same ? Let us now pursue our inquiry, see how we may get the venom for study, and what physi¬ cally and chemically this marvellous liquia may be. Many ways of handling the serpent were tried before one was found simple and safe enough. While the complicated methods were used some narrow escapes were made, until at last we Ut on a plan which answered every pur¬ pose. A stick five feet long, cut square at the end, was fitted with a thin leather strap two inches wide, tacked on to one side of the end, and then carried over it and through a staple on the other side, where it was attached to a stout cord. Fulling thb leather out into a loop, and leaning over the snake-cage, which b five feet deep and now open above, we try to noose one of the snakes. This has been done so often as to be difficult. At first, when it was slipped oyer their heads, they crawled for¬ ward through it ; now always they have learned OlMrtéB Diakau.] ALL THE TEÂB BOUND. [Uareh38,18^] 375 to draw back on its approach. At last one is t^en, the leathern strap is drawn tight around his neck bj palling the cord, and is kept so near to the head that he cannot turn to bite the stick, if the pressure should provoke his wrath. Thus secured, we lift him from his dozen of friends,^ and, holding the noose firm, so as to keep hkn well squeezed against the end of the stick, we put him on a tame. Next, resigning the staff and string to an assistant, we open the snake's mouth, and, with the edge of a little saucer, catch and elevate the two fangs. This is an old snake, nulked often before, and now declining to bite unless compelled. Holding the saucer in one hand we seize the snake's head over the venom gland, and, with a thumb and forefinger, press the venom forward through the duct. Suddenly a clear yellow finid fiows out of the fangs. This is the venom. The snake is four feet long, untouched for two weeks, and has given us about twenty drops of poison. The assistant replaces him in his cage, and we turn to look at the famous poison which a living animal carries unharmed in his tissues for the deadly hurting of whom it may concern. There is some of this fiuid in a phial on the table before me, and here some of it dried for three years—^a scaly, yellow, shining matter, like dried white of egg, and as good to kill as ever it was. No smell, if fresh; no taste; faintly acid, and chemically a substance which is> so nearly like this very white of egg that no chemical difference may be made between them. Two things so alike and so unlike ! Indeed, it seems hardly fair of Nature to set us such pro¬ blems. We fall back upon an imagined diffe¬ rence in the molecular composition of the two— very consoling, no doubt; but, after all, the thing is bewildering, explain it as we may. We would like not to believe iL We think of poisons as unlike what they hurt. Let us take from a dog's veins a little blood, keep it a few hours in the open air, and throw it back into his circulation, and very surely you have given him his death. Ugly facts of disease, where the body gets up its own poisons for home use, make the wonder less to the doctor ; but even now to him it must still seem wonderful, this little bit of white of egg to nourish, and this, to no human test differing in composition, good for destroying alone. It was once thought that the poison ceased to be such when not injected by the maker. Fontana disproved this, and so we may safely use it in our researches as we get it from the snake, with the great advantage of knowing what dose we administer. Let us now study the symptoms which this poison produces, and then learn, if possible, how it acts, and on what organs ; because, as modern science has shown, all poisons have their especial organs, or sets of organs, upon which chiefly their destructive in¬ fluence falls. This sort of analytic separation of the effects of poisons is always difficult, and never more so than as regards venom. Battlesnake poison is not fatal to all life. You cannot kill a crotalus with its own venom. nor with that of another. Neither can you poiscm a plant with venom. And, in fact, if you manage the experiment cleverly, canary-seed mav M made to sprout from a mixture of venom and water. We have seen, too, that the serpent often swallows his own poison. for him, if it will not hurt being put under his skin, the wonder of its not injuring him-when swallowed is little enough. It only excites amazement when we leam that it poisons no creature if ingested. We have fed pigeons with it, day after day, in doses each enough to have killed forty had it been put within the tissues. Placed in the stomach, it lies within some thousandths of an inch of the blood-vesseb, only a thinnest mucous membrane between; and here it is harmless, and there it means death. Let us follow this problem, as has lately been done. Why does it not poison ? We give a pigeon fifty drops of venom, which, otherwise used, would kill a nun- dred, and that surely. For three days we collect all the excret», and then, killing the bird, re¬ move with care the contents of the intestinal canal. Knowing well what fluids dissolve the venom, we separate by this means whatever poison may be present from all the rest of the substances passed by or taken from the bird. Then, with the fiuid thus obtained, we inject the tissues of pigeons. No injury follows; our poison has gone. But where, and how ? Let us mix a little of it with gastric juice, and keep it at body-heat for an hour. It still poisons ; but we leam at length, after many essays, that very long digesting of it in constantly added quantities of gastric juice does change it some¬ what ; and so, as we do not find it in the ex¬ creta, we come to think that, being what we call an albuminoid, it is very likely to be altered during digestion, and so rendered innocent enough, it may be. Here, at last, we must rest, having learned, first, that venom will not pass through the mucous surfaces ; and, second, that it undergoes such change in digestion as to make it harmless. In these peculiarities it stands alone, if we except certain putrefying substances which may usually be swallowed without injury, but slowly kill if placed under the skin. As regards also the mode in which venom is * hurtfultoanimal life, this potentagentis altogether peculiar. Let us examine a single case. We inject through a hollow needle two drops lof venom under the skin of a pigeon. On a sud¬ den, within a minute, it is dead, without pang or struggle ; and the tissues, when examined, reveal no cause of death. The fatal result is rarely so speedy ; but here, as with all poisons, personal peculiarities count for a good deal, and one animal will die in a nainute from a dose which another may resist for hours. We repeat ' the experiment, using only half a drop. In a few minutes the bird staggers, and at' last crouches, too feeble to walk. The feebleness increases, vomiting occurs, the breathing be¬ comes laboured, the head falls, a slight convul¬ sion follows, and the pigeon is dead. This is all we see—merely a strange intense weakness. 376 plaTCh2«,1868.J ALL THE YEAR BOUND. tOondneled by Before trying to explain it, we shall do well to watch tliat which takes place when a larger animal, surviving the first effects, perishes after a few hours or days. Here is a record of such a case. A large dog, poisoned with five drops of venom, lives over the first few hours of feebleness, and then begins to sliow a new set of symptoms. Some horrible malady of the blood and tissues has come upon him, so that the vital fluid leaks from the kidneys or the bowels, and oozes from the gums. The fang-wounds bleed, and a prick of a needle will drip blood for hours. Thus exhausted, he dies, or slowly recovers. Meanwhile, the wound made by the injecting needle or the fang has undergone a series of changes, which, rightly studied, gave the first clue to the true explana¬ tion of how thb hideous agent acts. A large and growing tumour marks where the needle entered. We cut into it. There is no inflammation at first ; the whole mass is fluid blood, which by and by soaks every tissue in the neighbourhood, and even stains the bones themselves. If, for the sake of contrast, we wound any healthy part with a common needle, without venom, we open thus a few small blood¬ vessels, which presently cease to bleed, because the escaped blood quickly clots, and so corks their open mouths by a rarely failing providence of all-thoughtful Nature. The conclusion seems easy, that the venom destroys the power of the blood to clot, and so deprives the animal of this exquisite protection a^nst hemorrhage. If the creature live long and the dose be heavy, the collected blood putrefies, abscesses form, and more or less of^ the tissue becomes gan¬ grenous. Nor is this evil only local. The venom absorbed from the wound enters the cir¬ culation, and soon the whole mass of the blood has lost power to clot when drawn. We are not willing to assert that this is a putrefactive change ; but it is certainly in that direction, because this blood, if drawn, will now decay faster than other blood. By and by it begins to leak through the various tissues, arid we find blood escaped out of the vessels Und into the brain, lungs, or intestinal walls, giving in eaeh case specific symptoms, according to the part injured and the function disturbed. A further step has of late been gained towards comprehending this intricate problem. A young rabbit was made senseless and motionless with chloroform. Then its abdomen was opened, and a piece of the delicate membrane which holds the intestines was laid under the micro¬ scope, and kept moist by an assistant. The observer's eye looked down upon a wild racing of myriad blood-discs through the tiny vesseb of the transparent membrane. Presently the assis¬ tant puts a drop of venom upon the tissue we are studying. Por thirty seconds there,is no change. Then suddenly a small vessel, giving way, is hidden by a rush of blood-discs. A little wav off another vessel breaks, then a third, and a fourth, until within five minutes the field of view is obscured by blood, which at last causes a rupture in the delicate membrane between whose double folds the vessels run to and from the intestine. We are now as near to the centre of the maze as we are likely to come ; nearer than we have come with most poisons. We have learned that this bland, tasteless venom has the subtle power to forbid the blood to clot, and in some strange way to pass through the tissues, and to soften and destroy the little blood-vessels, so that they break under the con¬ tinuing force of the heart-pump. The same phenomena may be seen on the surface of an open wound treated with venom ; and that which happens in the wound, and, in tbe experiment just described, goes on at last everywhere in the body, so that in dozens of places vessels break down, while the blood is powerless to check its own wasteful outflow, as it would have done in health. We have dwelt so long upon the symptoms of the protracted cases of snake-bite as to have lost sight for a time of the smaller class of suf¬ ferers, who perish so suddenly as to forbid us to explain their deaths by the frets which seem so well to cover the chronic cases. These speedily fatal results are uncommon in man, but in small animals are very frequent. It is common to see pigeons die within ten minutes, and in these instances no trace of alteration can be found in the blood or solid tissues. Upon considering, therefore, the two sets of cases, it seems pretty clear that the venom has, besides its ability to alter the blood and enfeeble the vessels, some direct power to injure the great nerve-centres which preside over locomotion, respiration, and the heart's action. To describe the experimental method hy which these conclusions were reached would demand the space of another article, and in¬ volve a full explanation of the modern means of studying the effects of poisons ; so that for this reason we must beg the reader to accept the proposition without being troubled with the proof. It were well if the record of horrors ended with the death or the recovery ; but in countries where poisonous snakes are abundant and cases of bite numerous, it is not uncoiñmon to find that persons who survive become the victims of blindness, skin disorders, and various forms of palsy. Fortunately the average snake-bite, even in India or Martinique, is far less fatal than was once believed ; so that even d<^s, when bitten, are by no means sure to die. Thus, of nine so treated on one occasion, only three perished ; while among the eighty cases of venom poison¬ ing in man recorded in American medical journals up to 1861 We have but four deaths. This un¬ looked-for result is due chiefly to the fact, that the danger is directly as the amount of venom, and that the serpent, unless very lai^e and long at rest, or in captivity, can rarely command enough to kill a man. Once aware of these facts, it is easy to see why so many remedies got credit as antidotes in a disease supposed to be fatal, and in reality not at all so. Charles Diekens;] ALL THE TEAK ROUND. [Uarch 28,1863.] 377 Among the most absurd of the tales which rest on tlie common belief that a mere prick of a Tcnomed fang may kdl, is that of the farmer who was stung by a snake, which not only slew him, but left its fang in the fatal boots, which, falling to his descendants, proved fatal to two of them also. This story is to be traced to its original in the " Letters of an American Farmer," by St. John (de Crèvecœur), where it loses none of the piquancy of the later ver¬ sions. The reader will by this time understand that it is impossible the mere wound of the dry fang could destroy three persons in succession, so that we may confidently dbmiss this tale to the limbo of other snake stories. A few words must suffice to tell all we know as to the prpper treatment. There are in America at least a hundred supposed antidotes, and in Martinique about as many. It is an old saying of a wise doctor, that diseases, for which there are numerous remedies, are either very/ mild or very fatal. Taking the mass of cases of snak*-bite in America, few die; and this is why, as we said before, all means seem good alike. Tested fairly, where the dose of venom has been large, they are all alike worthless— a beautiful subject for the medical statistician. Looked at with an eye to symptoms, we see in the first effects of venom a dangerous de- Îiression of all functions, exactly like what fol- ows an over-dose of tartar emetic. The ob¬ vious treatment is to stimulate the man, and this is the meaning of whisky for snake-bite— a remedy, by the way, which enormously in¬ creased the pumber of snake-bites in the army on the American frontier. The intensity of the depression is shown best by the amouut of whisky which may then be taken with impunity. In one case, a well-known physician of Tamaqua, Pennsylvania, gave to a child aged two years a pint of whisky in two hours. A little girl of nine years old in South Carolina received thus a pint and a half of whisky in four hours. Neither patient was made drunk by these doses, and both recovered. It is likely thjit too much whisky is often given in such cases, since all that is desirable is to keep the person generally stimulated, and not to make him drunk. Nor does stimulus destroy the venom—it only antagonises its activity, as is best shown by mixing venom with alcohol, and then injecting the mixture under the skin, when the subject of the experiment will die, just as if no alcohol had been used. As to local treatment, whatever gets the venom out of the tissues is good. Cross-cut the wound through the fang-marks, and suck at it with cups or with the mouth, if you like the bitten person well enough. Cut the piece out, if the situation allows of that, or burn it with a red-hot iron—milder caustics being mostly valueless. One other measure has real utility. Tie a broad band around the limb above the bite, so as to stop the pulse. Now give whisky enough to strengthen the heart. Let us then relax the band, and so connect again the circulation of the bitten part with the general system. The poison, bemre in quaran¬ tine, is let loose ; the pulse becomes fast and feeble. We tighten the baud, and give more liquor. The principle is this : You have ten men to fight, and you open the door wide enough just to let in one at a time. So much of the venom as your local treatment leaves in the tissues has to be admitted to the general system soon or late ; we so arrange as to let it in a little at a time, and are thus able to fight it in detail. Stripped utterly of its popular surroundings, and told in the plainest language, the mere scientific story of the venom of the rattlesnake is full of a horrible fascination, such as to some degree envelops the history of all poisons. One would like to know who first among the early settlers encountered the reptile, and what that emigrant thought of the original inhabitant. What they wrote of him soon after is told in the following quotations, with which we shall close. They have a peculiar interest, as the first printed statements about the rattlesnake, and as giving the earliest expression to certain fallacies which still retain their hold upon the popular mind. From New English Canaan, or New Canaan. Written by Thomar Morton, of CHfford's-inn, Gent. Printed at Amsterdam, 1637. " There is one creeping beast or longe creeple (as the name is in Devonshire) that hath a rattle at his tayle, that does discover his age; for so many yeares as hee hath lived, so many joynts are in that rattle, which soundeth (when it is in motion) like pease in a bladder, & this beast is called a rattle¬ snake ; but the Salvages give him the name of Sesick ; which some take to be the Adder ; & it may well be so (for the Salvages are significant in their denomination of anything) & is no lesse hurtful than the Adder of England & no more. I have had my dogge venomed with troubling one of these, & so swelled that I had thought it would have bin his death ; but with one saucer full of salet oyle poured downe his throate he recovered, & the swelling assuaged by the next day. The like experiment hath bin made upon a boy, that hath by chaunce troad upon one of these, & the boy never the worse. Therefore it is simplicity in any one that shall tell a bugbeare tale of horror, or terrible serpents that are in that land." (p.82.) From New England's Prospect. By William Wood. London, 1636. " That which is most injurious to the person & life of man is a Battlesnake, which is generally a yard & a hälfe long, as thick in the middle as the small of a man's legge she hath a yellow belly, her backe being spotted with blacke, russet yellow, & greene colours placed like scales ; at her taile is a rattle with which shee makes a noyse when shee is molested, or when shee seeth any approach neere her ; her neck seemes to be no thicker than a man's thumbs, yet can she swallow a Squerrill, having a great wide mouth, with teeth as sharps as needles, wherewith shee biteth such as tread upon her ; her poyson lyeth in her teeth, for she hath no sting. When any man is bitten by any one of these crea¬ tures, the poyson spreads So suddenly through the veins. Si so runs to the heart, that in one hour it causetb death, unlesse he hath the Antidote to ex- 378 [March 28,1868.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. I [Conducted hy pell the poyson, which is a root called Soakeweede, which must be champed, the spittle swallowed & the Tcote applied to the sore ; this is present cure against that which would be present death without it ; this weede is ranke poyson, if it be taken by any man that is not bitten, unlesse it be physically com¬ pounded ; whosoever is bitten by these snakes his flesh becomes spotted like a leaper untill he be per¬ fectly cured. It is reported that if the party live that is bitten, the snake will dye, & if the party dye the snake will live. This is the most poysonous and dangerous creature, yet nothing so bad as the report goes of him in England. For whereas hee is said to kill a man with his breath, & that hee can.flie, there is no such matter, for he is naturally the most sleepie & unnimble creature that lives, never offering to leape or bite any man if he be not trodden on flrst : & it is their desire in hot weather to lie in pathes, where the sun may shine on them, where they will sleepe so soundly that I have known foure men stride over one of them & never awake her : flve or six men have been bitten by them, which by using snakeweede were all cured, never yet any losing his life by them. Cowes have been bitten, but being cut in divers places & this weede thrust into their flesh were cured. I never heard of any beast that was yet lost by any of them, saving one mwe." (p. 38.) From New England's Rarities. Discovered by John Josselyn, Gent. , London, 1672. " The Rattle Snake who poysons with a vapour that comes through two crooked fanges in their mouths ; the hollows of these fanges are black as ink. The Indians when weary with travelling, wili take them up with their bare hands, laying hold with one hand behind their head, and with the other taking hold of their tail, & with their teeth tear off the skin of their backs & feed upon them alive, which they say refresheth them." Ugh ! ! (p. 38.) We are aware of no earlier accounts ; so that, in the scope of this article, the reader has the first and the very last words concerning the ser¬ pent in question. SENT TO THE TOWER, Neither for my stubborn patriotism, like Owen Glendower ; nor for my Mthfulness to my sovereign, like Sir Simon Barley; nor through my weakness of character, like Richard the Second ; nor because of the jealousy of ambitious relatives, like the Henrys and Edwards; nor on a charge of witchcraft, like Lord Hastings; nor for aspiring to marry above me, like Arundell of Norfolk ; nor for my religious zeal, like Sir Thomas More, Cran- mer, Ridley, Latimer, Anne Askew, and the seven bishops; nor for my royal blood, like the venerable Countess of Salisbury; nor for my ambition, like the Dudleys ; nor as a victim to court intrigues, like Raleigh, Crom¬ well, and Essex; nor for my treason, like Balmerino and Lovat ; nor wr defying the Speaker's warrant, like Sir Francis Burdett —have I been sent to the Tower. A sense of shame, combined with ignorance, pure and unadulterated, has brought me here, and I place myself in the custody of a warder with a complete sense of humility and sub¬ mission. " Whilst contemplating the Tower of London," my guide-book tells me. " the mind spontaneously reverts to the Norman Conquest." "l^at has been the matter with my mind, that, instead of "spontaneously reverting," as it ought to have done, I have lived all these years in London without visiting its famous fortress P I once penetrated secret chambers in Nantes ar¬ mouries, and discovered an inscription, "Arthur and Thomas Jackson of Bristoü, prisoners of Warr 1703," as myreward; I have journeyed to Champ- tocé for the express purpose of gazing on the ruined castle of that Sieur de Retz, who is said to have been the original Blue Beard ; and have visited modern dungeons and ancient donjohns, castles, galleries, ami fortresses in most of the countries in Europe. But the show-places of my own city are unknown to me. I have never been up the Monument, nor through West¬ minster Abbey. My knowledge of St. Paul's is limited to distant views of its dome, and nearer views of its railings. The Thames Tunnel is a picture, a magic-lantern slide, the top of my old nurse's workbox, a stopping pier for Greenwich steamboats, a gaudy paper¬ weight ; but it is not a reality for me. 1 could not tell you the way to the Mint ; and I saw the state apartments at Windsor. Castle for the first time on Tuesday week. In short, after living in London more years than I care to say, its sights are as strange to me as those of Paris and Vienna, of Munich and Florence, of ^me and Milan, are familiar. Taking myself seriously to task, I determine to devote time to the sights of London, and at once find myself at sea. On asking to be taken up to the ball of St. Paul's I find divine service going on, and the beadle scandalised at my request. Walking on to Monument-yard, the janitor points silently to a painted board, which says " no one admitted while the Monument is under repair," and looks as if be thought me a barbarian for troubling him under the circumstances. It b now dusk, and I defer my visit to the "Tower until next day. Ex¬ cited and eager, I rise early, perform a journey by railway and by steamer, and present myself at the gates at nine, to find that the warders do not begin duty till half-past ten, and that the first "show-round" will not be for one hour and fifteen minutes later. So much for a Londoner's ignorance of London. A country cousin, or an intelligent Zulu visitor, would have managed better; and having made pil- rimages to the city in vain on two separate ays, I take a penny steamboat ticket at West¬ minster on a third, with my confidence consider¬ ably shaken in my own knowledge of town. My first thoughts on board are, why have I neglected this mode of conveyance so long, and why are not the steamers fuller of the class who ride in hansoms, and to whom personal economy is not an object in life ? Within given points, your steamboat is a swifter as well as a cheaper means of gaining your destination, but I see few people on board to whom the saving of time is. likely t o be of consequence. Yet any one going, we will say from the Houses of Parliament to OharlMDIekeBs.] ALL THE year ROUND, [Harch 23,1868.] 379 London Bridge, would Save manj minutes if he went by water instead of drivmg, and there seems to be a link wanting between the express steamers and the carriage-driving and cab- riding public. The literature and the refresh¬ ment sold on board confirm my views. The illustrated and facetious broad-sheet belongs to a bygone time, and speaks to even a lower order of intelligence than our penny comic periodicals appeal to now. The pictorial Police News, with fancy woodcuts of the latest mur¬ derer disembowelling his victim, and of the latest murderer but one swinging on the gallows (the evil man's moustache and features being quite visible through the white cap), is not an intellectual form of literary solace ; and though the boy shouts astutely "with portraits of the gallows for the last time, through 'angings goin' to be done in private," he meets with as little encouragement as the vendor of oranges and almond paste. The young men and boys on board, who remind one somehow of a third-rate theatre, have an air of truant play¬ ing, and such of them as have parcels put them under the seats to place hands in pockets and patrol the deck unconcernedly. Look¬ ing about among the passeneers, we also notice clerks, old and young, aged nondescripts, whose garments bear the traces of many years' conflict with a greasy and cloth-staining world, and a few idlers who gaze critically on the Thames Embankment, and call it " a tidy bit of work," as if it were a composition in Berlin wool, and remind each other how long they "said it would be about, when it was fust begun." But no one on board seems of suffi¬ cient importance to himself and to the world to make his time valuable, and we land at All Hallows' pier, with a troubled conviction that we have not made out why the classes who are at once busy and prosperous do not avail themselves of the steamers of the Thames. Through cavernous passages which, though open at the top, are dungeon-like in their blank high walls ; past the quaint old tavern, where " warm" sea-faring men and hard traders take their half-pints of heady port from the wood, with " morsels"—say a six-inch cube—of cheese at eleven in the day ; past, too, its antithesis, the large-windowed café of the Italian confectioner who sells hot maccaroni, sweetmeats, cheap wine, and light dishes of eggs, and grease, and salad, and who seems to have transported his esta¬ blishment bodily from one of the quays of Genoa or Leghorn to Thames-street, E.G. ; we arrive at our destination and find the Tower straight ahead of us, but hidden by bulging ware¬ houses, and bales, and cranes. The shops around have the distinctive marks of the district, and the trade taste and decora¬ tion savour strongly of realism. Thus, every fish-dealer seems to sell cod-liver oil, and rows upon rows of bottles of bright golden liquid fringe and border the bodies of the huge cod themselves. Unpleasant looking toads, lizards, and puny crocodiles swing in bottles from one warehouse door ; and a poetical publi¬ can, who declines to rival his dry-goods neigh¬ bour by selling tea, winds up a distich to that effect, with— Nor deal in goods sold by my grocer-brother. But live in harmony with one another. Going round by Tower Dock, the dryness of which is relieved by a couple of taverns in near contiguity, we see precisely the same string of listless ragged figures we left here yesterday. Forlorn, weary, wretched, they seem to have neither washed nor slept nor moved since that time. " Labourers-on-the-look-out-for-a-job, would - you - give - a - poor-man-out-o' -work-the- price-of-a-crust-of-bread-master ?" (all in one word) is the answer of the nearest of them to our question as to why th^ are there and for what they are waiting. We incautiously give the poor man out of luck the price of a crust of bread, and at once find ourselves a centre of attraction to an unsavoury crowd. Faces so seamy, unkempt, nnshora, and fierce, that it is difficult to think of them as ever having been babies, or ought else unrepulsive and human, cluster round and plead roughly for help. " There has been no work to get latterly, times are so bad and hard, and wort't we give 'em what we've given the other man, who hasn't a family, so help them, he hasn't, and had a job, too, the day before yesterday." Not a pleasant in¬ troduction to sight-seeing, this hoard of hungry desperate men; and distributing some small money, we pass through a sentry-guarded gate to the right, and stand face to face with a httle knot of town beef-eaters with a considerable sense of relief. "'Beefeaters,' if you like to call us so, of course," said the fine old veteran we struck up a friendship with upon the instant ; " and beef¬ eaters I believe we're mostly known as among the commoner sort o' people. But ' Warders of the Tower,' " drawing himself up an inch or two, " is our proper title, and our uniform is the same as the leomen of the Guard at St. James's, who walk next before the Queen when she opens parliament in state and has her eight cream-coloured horses out. Not this thing; this is only our working everyday dress, but a ^ coat of all scarlet covered with gold, very hand¬ some and expensive. We're all old soldiers who've never bin tried by court-martial. I was sergeant in the 9th Lancers myself, and well remember Sir Hope Grant joining us in Glasgow, when he was a mere boy, in 1826. Got on wonderfully since then, hasn't he, sir? So young, you see, to be in his position ; but he were ¿ways a kind, good man to the soldiers, and every one of 'em was glad when he was promoted up and up as he has been. The great Duke of Wellington appointed me here four-and-twenty years ago, when he was Con¬ stable of the Tower, and it is a comfortable Uttle thing enough, added to one's pension, though it wouldn't do without that. No, sir, we don't all have apartments Wnd us. There's a certain amount of accommodation for the warders, and as one set of rooms gets vacant 380 [March 28,18«8.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Conducted by the next man in seniority takes them. For¬ merly it used to be that when a man died who had rooms, the one appointed to fill his vacancy stepped into them in his place; but that's altered now, and very properly, and the warders who've been longest "here get them in their turn. When shall we be going round ? In exactly six minutes from now. You see, we arrange it this way : there's forty-four warders, and we take it in turn to show visitors about. Every quarter of an hour, from half-past ten to four a party starts from this refreshment-room, and goes right through the armouries and to the regalia- room. But if, mind you, twelve people are ready before the quarter's up, we just start with them without waiting. You'll get two tickets at sixpence each, and that's all the ex¬ pense you'll be at. Never bin here before, sir ? Well, that's wonderful that is. A stranger to London, sir ? No ! and never seen the Tower ! Well, don't you bother yourself with that guide¬ book while I'm with you. I'll show you everything worth seeing, take my word, so you keep the book to amuse yourself when you get home." Out of the gorgeous scarlet and gold upon the surpassing beauty of which my old friend evidently loved to linger, and in their work-a-day attire, the warders look like some¬ thing between a modern fireman and Gog and Magog. A black velvet biscuit-box, or a stiff inverted reticule adorned with the ribbons of the reeruiting-sergeant disfigures their beads (" time of Henry the Seventh—this hat is a part of our regular uniform"), while the green cloth tunic, patched with red and ornamented on the chest by a crimson lion of acrobatic demeanour and pursuits, and the dingy purple macintosh capewhich surmounted it are far more suggestive of modern masquerading than ancient costume. If our party of sight-seers had been bound to deliver a verdiet upon what our good old warder showed us in his round, I venture to think we should have evolved something startling and unusual. There was a deaf man, with a shrewish wife, who repeated every de¬ scription as if it were a taunt^and darted arrowy little sayings into her husband's ear with a precision which showed the fine old English custom of torture had not gone out with the thumb-screw. There were three sailors who either did not speak English or dis¬ dained to avail themselves of a language which was shared by the four private soldiers who accompanied us ; and there were some ladies of mature age who convoyed two children—em¬ phasising our warder's sonorous words by in¬ genious twistings of their vietims' necks and by nudges in their backs. Lastly, there was your servant, the avidity of whose thirst for know¬ ledge compelled him to silence, that he might hear the more. I have no doubt we aU enjoyed it immensely, but a less demonstrative dozen it would have been difBeult to find. The policemen practising cutlass-drill in the dried-up moat awakened as much expression of interest as the Traitor's Gate; and the pencilled name of a vulgarity of yesterday was grinned over with more palpable sympathy than the autograph of Dudley. The armoury, containing the mounted knights, " with their armour and horses exactly as they were in life," gave much quiet delight, which, in my case, was not lessened by the dis¬ covery that Edward the Fourth carried a striped barber's pole as a lance, that the Duke of Wel¬ lington's celebrated horse, Copenhagen, was of a dull crimsou hue, and that several of the other steeds pranced and curveted under their riders in a highly groomed condition from black lead. If it be not irreverent to hint at " ginger" in connexion with these fiery animals, it really ex¬ presses their condition. All are of wood, and of an abnormal friskiness, which has been caught and fixed. Thus, one spirited ammal champs his bit, so as to show quite an array of front teeth, and grins in ghastly fashion under the weight of his rider's armour. Another paws the ground impatiently and stands with one foot in the air, like some highly trained circus-steed suddenly impressed with the reali¬ ties of life ; while a third b skittishly ambling, as if meditating a bolt through the stained glass window and intervening wall into the Thames. Each horse has a different and dbtinct attitude of its own, and this row of rigid painted animals, all immovable and all imitating motion, has an effect which is partly humorous and partly ghostly. Six centuries have goue by since the owner of the first suit drew his sword, as his effigy b represented to be doing now ; but the armour does not seem to have missed him much, and remains unmoved while our friend the warder points out its deficiencies and advan¬ tages as compared with the next suit. Fast tilting lances, vam-plates, war-saddles, spiked chanfrons, ear-guards, cuirasses, helmets, breast-plates, and leg-armour, all on effigies, and all reminding one rather unpleasantly of death in life—and we are facing the old mask formerly worn by the headsman, and the false face and grotesque ears of Henry the Eighth's fool. We are here between two fires, for the door by which we entered has just admitted another party of twelve, headed by a warder, and from the stairs above me a third party is having the Tower treasures explained. The result b that the descriptions mingle, and " George Viiliers, Duke of Buckingham, in a full soot o' plate, a wheel-lock petronel in his hands, and a spanner or instrument to wind up the spring," blends strangely with " Two kettles taken at Blenheim in the year 1704," and "Suit belongmg to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk—a tidy- sized sort o' man to sit upon a horse." All b given in the conventional showman voice, full of sonorous mouotony, and as at one time we are three separate parties in one room, the confu¬ sion of description is rather startling. " Enights used to faint under their armour, and could not rise," and, "Sword of the celebrated Tippoo Sahib, captured at Seringapatam," sounded like portions of the same sentence, and we don't get rid of this anomaly until we are in Queen Eliza¬ beth's armoury in the White Tower, and gazing on her effigy mounted on a carved white horse ObarlM Dlekent.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 28,18Ctl.J 381 of surpassing rigidity. We all take great in¬ terest in the weapons here. The " morning star" and "the holy water sprinkle," or the balls of wood armed with spikes and hanging loosely from apole, which were in use from the Conquest to Henw the Eighth's time, gire us infinite deliglij;. The deaf man is made to prod hiinself descriptively, and his interpretess ex¬ plains that she thinks he'll understand that : the children are asked patronisingly whether thej'd like to feel such a morning star on their heads, as if the superiority of the people talking made them indifferent to physical pain. We spend quite fire minutes in this armoury, and leareit with a confused sense that we hare been fierce soldiers at some prerious stage of our existence, and that we hare carried halberts and pounded our enemies with the military flail ; afterwards losing our heads on the block upon which Kilmarnock and Lorat suffered. The narrow prison of Sir Walter Raleigh, with its thick and gloomy walls, and the cell in which he slept ; the ancient chapel of St. Peter, containing the dust of Lady Jane Grey ; and the rast armouries filled with recentlr conrerted breechloaders, and swords and bayonets tastefully arranged, all come in rotation. We follow one another up and down turret-stairs, across courtyards, and into chambers, like so many sheep, asking few ques¬ tions, and with a certain distrust, as if each were afraid of exposing his ignorance to his neighbour. The warder treats us like children with an uncontrollable propensity to do the wrong thing at the wrong time. " Now, then, step a little forward, ana take a good look up¬ ward now, and round about you, if you be so minded; but on no account don't touch any¬ thing, because that's strictly forbidden. There's a pretty design for you now—a passion-flower that is, ana made up entirely of pistols and sword-blades. That one overhead is taken from the top of the Prince of Wales's wedding-cake, and is made up of three thousand pieces—pistols, bayonets, and sword-blades. Then there's sun¬ flowers, and yondePs the rising sun and some serpents, all inade out of arms, and as pretty designs as you might wish to see." These substantial efforts of fancy are interspersed throughout a room holding sixty-five thousand stand of arms, and are really not unlike what they purported to be. They vie with the re¬ gaba in arousing interest, and utterly outshine the historical portions of the Tower. Indeed, it was difficult to ascertain from the demean¬ our of my fellow sight-seers whether they knew anything concerning these, except what they learnt then and there from the warder. " Does the Queen ever live here now ?" and " Wasn't there some prisoners to be seen as well ?" did not convey a high idea of the knowledge of the visitors, and, from the manner of our guide's reply, we judged such questions to be common to his experience. But the regalia rouses everybody into sighs and grunts of admiration. Passing through an ante-room, we are face to face with the British crown, and vñth a variety of baubles which are gaudy and commonplace enough, save for their intrinsic value and associations. Then a female custodian comes forward to explain. She puts us in position round the glass and iron c^e, and repeats her little lesson with the liveliness of a funeral dirge. From the "crown worn by her present Majesty, with heart-shaped ruby m the centre" to the " staff of Edward the Confessor, four feet long, and of pure gold," and the " swords of Justice and Mercy, that of Mercy having a blunt edge," her manner never altered, and we rejoined the jolly warder outside, convinced that oontem- plating other people's jewels, even when regal, all day and every day has in it something crushing to the soul. From the regalia we pass to Beauchamp Tower, across a damp yard, where the site of the old be¬ heading block, and some three square yards of grimy turf are railed off as the " Tower Green," on which Anne Boleyn and others were be¬ headed. The warder carefully remains at the foot of the stairs while we rush up to gaze igno- rantly at inscriptions, and, if we choose, to pur¬ chase a fecial handbook with the inscribers' names. This is the last thing shown, and it elicited the most animated comment I heard : " H'hy the doose don't they light up the stoopid old place with gas, instead o' makin' one stumble up stone stairs with no more light in 'em than my coal cellar at home ?" We are at Traitors' Gate again, as our guide reminds us, in exactly one hour and five minutes from the time when we left it. If we ever return to the Tower, we should prefer to re-visit it without companions, save of our own choosing, and to plod mowly through its dungeons and chambers with no other assistance than the. history of our country affords. THE DRAMATIC CARDINAL. That the great Cardinal de Richelieu took so lively an interest in the drama that he may almost be looked upon as the father of French tragedy, is a fact pretty generally known ; also that he tried his hand as a dramatic author, and produced plays, the weakness 'of which ^ contrasted remarkably with the strength of his poUtical operations. With his habitually nice discrimination of the minute details of character that are proper to every one of the illustrious personages of history whom, by the magic of his pen, he recalls to life. Lord Lytton, in his admirable play, has set down among the causes that induced the cardinal to eye with favour the somewhat suspicious De Mauprat, the cir¬ cumstance that the latter was one of the chosen few who applauded the tragedy written by the former, and the allusion to his emi¬ nence's weak point is always thoroughly ap¬ preciated by the audience. But that many persons are aware of the important figure made by the cardinal in the early history of the French stage we very much doubt. Never¬ theless there is a certain period in the chroni- 3S2 [March 28.1868.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Coodocted by des of the Parisian drama, during which Riche¬ lieu is as ubiquitous as Pigaro, and has equal right with the Barber to cry, " Largo al fac¬ totum." He builds theatres ; he writes plays ; he causes pkys to be criticised. The theatricd biography of the cardinal seems to begin with his patronage of Gros Guillaume, Gaulthier GaVguille, and Turlupin, three journeymen bakers, who, displaying a cer¬ tain amount of crude and coarse humour in cer¬ tain broad farces, became so exceedingly popular that they seriously frightened the actors of the Hôtel de Bourgogne, then esteemed the home of the classical and the legitimate. Let it not be imagined that, like the new actors of a more recent date, they contributed towards the fall of the dxama. In the days of the"Turlupi- nades," as the farces were called, after the pro¬ fessional name of one of the actors therein, the French stage had not even begun to rise. Poets there were, indeed, of lofty ambition, but the results of their inspiration now only hold a place among the curiosities of literature. Pierre Corneille is the earliest dramatist who is allowed to hold a niche in the French Panthéon, and the first comedy of the immortal Pierre (Melite) was not brought out before 1630. The Cid, from which his fame may be dated, did not see light till about six years afterwards.: In 1634 the three drolls were all gathered to their fathers, dying, it is said, in the same week, in consequence of the terror with which they were seized on finding themselves involved in a serious scrape (owing to an exaggerated imitation, on the part of Gros Guillaume) by one o'f the Parisian magistrates. When the haughty artists of the Hôtel de Bourgogne complained to the cardinal of the misconduct of Turlupin and Co., his eminence ' resolved to look into the rights of the case, and inviting the three trespassers to the Palais Car¬ dinal—the present Palais Royal—which he had' recently built, induced them to give a taste of their quality in his presence, an alcove being the stage on which they were to display their abilities. So successful was theii^erformance that the discomfited company of the Hôtel de Bourgogne were enjoined to take them into their own body ; the cardinal remarking that whereas the more dignified artists always left him sad, the introduction of the comic element would, * doubtless, prove beneficial. The joke which so much tickled the car¬ dinal was not of the most refined order. Gros Guillaume, dressed as a grotesque woman, was supposed to be the wife of Turlupin, who, violently enraged, threatened to cut off the head of his ridiculous better half with a wooden sabre, but was suddenly appeased when the lady sued for mercy in the name of the cabbage soup which she had made for him the evening before. The sabre fell/from his hands, and he exclaimed, "Ah, the hussy! she touches me on the weak point; the fat of the soup still sticks to my heart." The victory of the three bakers over their adversaries did them, aftmr all, more harm than good; for, had they remained in their old quarter, they would.not have got into a scrape with the magistrate. In 1600 me company of the Hôtel de Bour¬ gogne liaving divided itself into two parts, one of them left the old house to sojourn at the Marais, while at the Hôtel du Petit Bourbon an Italian company had been performing since 1577. Such was the predilection of the car¬ dinal for theatrical amusement that one private theatre in the Palais Cardinal was not sufficient to meet his demands. A small theatre was constructed, capable of holding six hundred, and a larger one, that held more than three thousand. In the former of these the ordinary pieces of the Hôtel de Bourgogne and the Marais were represented; the latter was re¬ served for grand occasions. But if Richelieu wished to be renowned as a Maecenas of the drama, he was still more ambi¬ tious of the fame of a dramatic poet. He gene¬ rally worked with assistants, who might be called professional, and who were the osten¬ sible authors of the piece ; but it was usually understood that, in some way or other, it pro¬ ceeded from the cardinal, and, consequently, fault could not be found with it, save at the risk of giving offence in high quarters. The poetical assistants were usually five in number, and the first piece that resulted from the grand combination of intellectual labour seems to have been a comedy, entitled Les Thuileries. This, it appears, was constructed by the cardinal, and written by the five, one of whom—no less a person than Corneille, whose Cid, however, had not yet seen the light—sug¬ gested that the plan of the third act might be advantageously altered. Far from taking the wholesome advice kindly, Richelieu told Cor¬ neille that he ought to have an " esprit de suite"—an expression proper to the idfiomatic tongue of the cardinal rather than to that of Parisians in general. It was, in fact, an euphemism for " blind obedience." Colletet, another of the five, and likewise a member of the French Academy, afforded more unmixed satisfaction. Three lines which he wrote in reference to the piece of water in the Thuileries were considered so exceedingly feli¬ citous by the cardinal, that he rushed at once to his escritoire, and taking out fifty pistoles, thrust them into the hand of the fortunate genius, at the same time declaring that this sum was only intended to reward the specially beautiful lines, and that the king himself would not be wealthy enough adequately to reward the rest. The gem so l^hly prized may be eonstrued in Engli^ thus : The duck bedews herself witti liquid mud. Then with brave voice and widely flapping wings Bouses the drake, that lingers at her side. The happy man expressed his gratitude in a eouplet, wmch declared how gladly he would sell his whole library at the price which the cardinal had given for a few lines. Whatever may be deemed the merit of these lines, on Charles Diekens,] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. (March 38,1888.] 383 them only depends the fame of Coiletet. He pat into verse a tragedy called Cymiade, which had been written in prose by the Abbé d'Aubignao, and which, although produced, has since sunk into oblivion; but tue three lines and the Mateful couplet are to be found in every col¬ lection of French theatrical anecdotes. Far more celebrated than Coiletet was Jean Chapelain, who wrote the íprologue to Les Thuileries, and who was likewise one of the earlier members of the Academy; for he has left behind him the reputation of being the very worst French poet that ever put pen to paper. However, the unwieldy poem on the subject of the Maid of Orleans, which was en¬ titled La Pucelle, and which raised him to the summit of his bad eminence, did not make its appearance till more than twenty years after the first performance of the cardinal's comedy at the Palais Royal, which took place in 1635. This prologue, at any rate, answered its purpose ; for Richelieu was so highly pleased witn it, that he requested Chapelain to lend him his name, adding (hat in return he would lend him his purse on some future occasion. Middling as the plays might be that were issued by the dramatic firm of Richelieu and Uo., there was at the time glory in being con¬ nected with them. The illustrious five had a bench to themselves in the best part of the theatre; their names were honourably men¬ tioned in the prologue, and their pieces were always played in the presence of the king and court. Pierre Corneille was the only poet of the five who attained a really great reputation. _ Of the rest the most noted was Desmarets de Saint Sor- lin, who, it seems, had not the least natural incli¬ nation to become a dramatic poet, but whose genius, latent evento himself, was somehow de¬ tected by the cardinal The light which he pos¬ sessed unknown he would willingly have kept under a bushel, even after it had been discovered by the great man ; but Richelieu pressed him so hardly to try his hand at a plot, that refusal at last became dangerous. The plot once achieved, some other gifted mortal might writé the verse. At all events, the cardinal wished to break in the recalcitrant man of talent by degrees. Working with the fear of Richelieu before his eyes, Desmarets produced the skeleton of a comedy called Aspasie, the success of which, with his patron, literally exceeded his hopes ; for whereas ne had done all that he had desired to do, and a great deal more, he was now enjoined to write the verse, and encouraged by the remark that no other was worthy to perform a task so noble. Aspasie was accordingly finished, in spite of the poet's repugnance, played in the presence of the Duke of Parma, and, by com¬ mand of his eminence, applauded to the skies. Left to himself, Desmarets would have pre¬ ferred epic to dramatic poetry; and when Riche¬ lieu, rendered more urgent than ever by the success of Aspasie, proposed that he should supply a similar work every year, he endeavoured to shield himself against the new infliction by alleging that his hours were fully occupied by the composition of an heroic poem on the subject of the ancient King Clevis, of which he had already written two books, and which would throw the poetic lustre over France in general, and the cardinal in particular, and ma^ the reign of Louis the Thirteenth famous in the annals of poesy. The man who wants a comedy is not to be put off with an epic, and Richelieu, who had given Desmarets two snug places imder government, besides making him a member of the Academy, replied that the serious duties of his protégé demanded more recreation, and that the composition of dramatic pieces was a light and pleasant amusement. He added, more than a lifetime would be required for the completion of Clovis ; and in this respect he was wrong, for in 1657, more than twenty years after the prodnction of Aspasie, the ponderous epic appeared in twenty-six cantos, which iiyere afterwards reduced to twenty. Desm^ets having been thus fairly bagged by the cardinal, the conqueror and the captive set their shoulders to the wheel, and turned out a comedy called Les Visionnaires, which really acquired something like a grand reputation. The noise that it made originated no doubt in the will of the all-potent cardinal, but it was a good loud noise at any rate, and owed much of its wide-spreading effect to the circumstance that it was virtually a "hit" at actual cele¬ brities of the day. The Visionnaires named in the title were persons respectively distinguished by some particular crotchet, and all the initiated among the audience were perfectly aware for whom the dramatic portrait was intended. One lady could bestow her affections on none but Alexander the Great, and she was understood to represent Madame de Sablé, one of the most famous of the so-caUed "précieuses," who had dared to repel the advances of the cardinal himself, and who was castigated in the play accordingly. The arch intriguer, Madame de Chavigny, who is so conspicuous in the history of Anne of Austria, figured as the coquette of the story. And there was a third female " vision¬ ary " who was never happy save at the theatre, and who was meant for the great Madame de Rambouillet, queen and hostess of "précieuses" ^ in general. All this was vastly amusing. Many persons have learned by worldly ex¬ perience that it is easier to form a connexion than to get rid of one, and this lesson was received by Desmarets, who, from the time when Les Vision¬ naires was first brought out, could not write a piece without exciting a suspicion that the cardinal bad a finger in the pie. There was no . direct information to the effect that a tragedy called Roxane, which was brought out in 1640, Wd any other author than Desmarets ; but the world insisted that the cardinal had lent his valu¬ able assistance. On the strength of this belief the poet Voiture, renowned in his day, extolled the play in the most disgusting spirit of adula¬ tion ; and results proved that the hypothesis of the cardinal's partnership was the safest, if not the most correct that could be adopted; for the 38é ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [March 28, 1868.] Abbé d'Aubignac, a man of decided talent- erudition, was not allowed a seat in the French Academy ; nor could his rejection be ascribed to any cause, save his atrocious opinion, openly ex¬ pressed, that Roxane was but an indifferent work after all. But the dramatic work in which Richelieu took the greatest pride was the tragedy Mirame, of wliich Desmarets was the only nominal author, but which certainly owed its existence partly to the cardinal, who built the large private theatre in the Palais Royal with the sole view of producing it in effective style. On the first representation the play failed miserably, and Richelieu, in despair. Sent for Desmarets, who shook in his shoes on receiving the summons, and had the precaution to take with him a friend, in whose practical wisdom he felt great confidence. " Sad want of taste in the French," cried the cardinal, as they both en¬ tered ; " they don't even like Mirame." "Nay, your Eminence," said the judicious friend, " the public is not to blame—still less the author of that piece ; but those actors—ah those actors ! Your Eminence must have noticed, not only that they had not learned their parts, but that they were disgracefully intoxicated." Richelieu found tiie explanation satisfactory, and the second performance of Mirame—the actors having been duly admonished, and the audience carefully selected—went off with the most brilliant success, the cardinal himself being the ringleader of approbation, violently using hands and feet in the work of applause, and some¬ times thrusting his body far out of his box to secure silence and a proper appreciation of the choice passages. Much less fortunate was Europe, another joint production, which, like Mirame, was nomi¬ nally the sole work of Desmarets, and the dul- ness of which must have been surprising. The interest of the piece was intended to be purely political; allegorical representations of Spain, France, and other European countries, stalk upon the boards, and discourse of their power, their resources, and their relations with each other. Richelieu, when the work was com¬ plete, found it so' very admirable that, in order to have a special opinion, he sent it to the French Academy, with the request that the forty members of that grave body would favour him with an impartial opinion. The Academi¬ cians, forgetting for the nonce that they were the cardinal's creatures, looked rather at the letter than at the spirit of this request, and re¬ turned the play with such a severe criticism that his eminence, stung to the quick, tore up the manuscript, and fiung it into the fireplace. Had the season been winter, the cardinal would have been spared further annoyance, and a fight famed in the annals of French literature would have been avoided ; but, as it happened, the season was spring, and there was no fire ; so The Right of Translating Articles from All the cardinal, who had changed his mind in the course of the night, was enabled to collect the precious fragments in the morning, and to have a fair new copy made with all possible speed. A few slight alterations alone distinguished the second from the first edition of the play, and the intellect of the Academicians had undergone an amelioration likewise. They now clearly saw that their approval was expected, and, like wise and learned gentlemen as they were, they sent in praise without measure, having carefully avoided a reperusal of the work, partly to save themselves trouble,partly to avoid every risk that an unfavourable impression might be revived. But the misfortunes of Europe were not to be averted. Elated with the applause of the Academy, the cardinal could no longer be con¬ tent with a private triumph, but must needs have his play brought out at the Hôtel de Bour¬ gogne, the great public theatre, during the first "run" (as we should now say) of the Cid. Besides his earlier comedies, Corneille had al¬ ready produced a tragedy on the subject of Medea, with slight success; but the Cid, brought out in 1636, was a work to which nothing comparable had ever been seen in Paris, and about which everybody was in ecstacy. Into the midst of the general entiiu- siasm was thrust the poor insipid Europe, doomed to confront a throng composed of people in general, and consequently including some irreverend souls who feared not Richelieu. So when, after the termination of the play, one of the actors announced it for repetition on the following day, unequivocal sounds of disap¬ probation arose on all sides, and a general cry was raised for the all-popular Cid. A severe critique written on Comeille's play by the Academy, at the instigation of the cardinal, in consequence of this mishap, is among the me¬ morabilia of French literary history. A thought has occurred to us while collecting the materials for this paper. The generality of Englishmen, including those who are passion¬ ately fond of French prose, have a natural anti¬ pathy to French heroic verse, and avoid Cor¬ neille and Racine with an instinctive dread of boredom, which only the genius of a Rachel was able to subdue. To the educated Parisian, a contest between Richelieu and his creatures on one side, and the great Corneille on the other, places the former in a purely ridiculous position ; but we doubt whether many English¬ men, masters of theFrenchlanguage, would, with¬ out having undergone an acmmatising process, arrive at the conclusion that a play by Desmarets was so very, very bad, granted that the best tragedy by Corneille was so very, very good. HOLIDAY ROMANCE, Br CHARLES DICKENS, Will be ooncladed in the nest Number. the Yeab Round is reserved by the duthors. Published at the Office, Xo 26, Welliogton Street, Strand. Printed by C. WBrnsG, Beaufort House, Strand. LONDON l/ LONDON! WARD, LOCK, & TYLER, WARWICK HOUSE, PATERNOSTER ROW. NOW READY, PRICE Is. 6d. EACH, to bb continttbo morthbt, Illustrated with Plates of the highest merits in Colours and Tints^ and with Woodcuts and Vignettes^ NUMBERS ONE, TWO, and THREE. or science;, uterätüre;, and art. ¿tuUnit irill answer to its name in supplying from month to month, the information required by those who delight to contemplate the wonderful and beau« tiful works of Nature, or to investigate the most important phenomena pertaining to the developments of Human Society, embracing a series of articles of permanent value on subjects of Natural History, Microscopy, Astronomy, Geology, Chemistry, Physics, Archaeology, etc., etc., embodying all the most important discoveries and researches of the present time. Literary subjects will receive their due proportion of attention, a preference being given to such as are of general and permanent interest, and which are not discussed in ephemeral publications. As Technical Education is beginning to receive the attention it deserves Che ^tubent will endeavour to promote it, by the diffusion of knowledge relating to the Applied Sciences, and by cultivating a taste and habit of scientific thought, without which, efforts to raise the character of our manufacturing system cannot succeed. Cht ^tuttent will not forget the Becbeaiive Aspects op Knowledoe, or faû to mingle amusement with the learning it will place at the disposal of its readers. Study has its delights, beguiling toil. Science, Literatime, and Art are not only pillars of a nation's greatness, but likewise the ornaments of every civilized and cultivated Home. Their treasures belong to women as well as to men, for all are Students who feel the duty and enjoy the pleasure of employing the faculties with which the Creator has endowed them, and to all who are so disposed, ^tubmt will offer aid. CONTENTS The Screw Pine (Pandanus) and its Allies* By John R. Jackson. (With a ColowreA Plate.) The Silkworm Delusion. By Shirley Hibberd. The Rocky Mountain Goat. By John Keast Lord, F.Z.S. (With a Coloured Plate^ Womankind: In all Ages of Western Europe. By Thomas Wright, P.8.A. Chapter I. Woman in Gaul and Britain under the Celt and Roman. The History of Ozone. By C. W. Heaton* The Microscope in Education. Meteorologicid Observations made at the Eew Observatory. By G. M. Whipple. (With a Plate.) Astronomical Notes for February. By W. T. Lynn, B A.^.R.A.S. Storms and Hurricanes: Their Motions and Causes. By Henry White, Ph. D. CONTENTS Womankind I In all Ages of Western Europe. Bj Thomas. Wright, F.S.A. Chapter I. (Continued.) Woman in Gaul and Britain imder the Celt and Roman. (JWith a Coloured Plate.) The House of Lords. By Francis W. Rowsell, Barrister-at-Law. On the New Theories in Chemistry. By F. S. BarfP, M.A, Cantab., F.C.S., Assistant to Prof. Williamson, F-R-S., University CoUege. Notes on Nebulas. By Richard A. Proctor, B.A., P.R.A.S. (With a Tinted Plate.) White's Massacre of St. Bartholomew. Storms and Hurricanes: their Motions and Causes. (Concluded.) By Henry White, Ph.D. Astronomical Notes for March. By W. T. Lynn, B.A., F.B.A.S. CONTENTS Turacine. A New Colouring Matter. By Pro¬ fessor Church. ( With a Colowred Plate.) The Surface of the Moon. By W. Birt. Womankind : In all Ages of Western Europe. By Thomas Wright, F.S.A. Chapter II. Simon's Town. By Lieut.-Col. Halliday. Notes on Professor Huxley's Lectures. Astronomical Notes for ApriL By W. T. Lynn, B.A., F.R.A.S. Darwin's Animals and Plants nnder Domesti¬ cation. Holothuriae (Sea Cucumbers). By the Rev. W. Houghton, F.L.S. (With a Coloured a/nd a Tinted Plate.) OF No. I. Archaeologia. Progress of Invention :— Manafacture of Alcohol. Fireproof Floors and Ceilings. Indicating Taps. Conversion of^Cast into Wrought Iron. Portable Lamps. Vinegar Manufacture. Proceedings of Learned Societies. Literary Notices. Notes and Memoranda :— The Rotation-Period of Mars. Star Colours affected by Aperture. .The Newton Forgeries: Fresh Bvidence. Bicision of the Spleen. * Synthetic Chemistry : Formation of Npvrine. New Treatment of Wounds. Accuracy in Astronomical Observation. Improvements in Electrical Apparatiu. OF No. II. Microscopical Varieties. The Dragon Tree of Teneriffe. By John R. Jackson. Ackland's Dividing Machine. Progress of Invention :— Galvanic Battery with Picric Acid. Ornamental Bookbinding. Purification of Paraffine. Improvements in Fountain Inkstands. Machine for Hatching Eggs, Galvanic Batteries. Literary Notices. Notes and Memoranda :— Scientific Soirees. Mare' Rotation-Period. Permeability of Cast Iron Stoves. Graptolites. Changes in Polar Temperattire. Heating Powers of the Moon. OP No. III. Fungus in Teak. By H. J. Slack, F.G.S. Thapsia Garganica. By John R. Jackson. Archaeologia. Progress of Invention :— Manufacture of Charcoal. Aluminium Glass. Experiments on Air in Bootns Lighted by Artificial Light. An improved Sink Trap. New method of applying Cold in Disesss. Proceedings of Learned Societies. Literary Notices. Notes and Memoranda. *#* The following Critical (binions welcomed the first appearance of " The Student." ** Etcellently printedp eharmingly Unutrated, ably trritten and pat together ; there is eveiy prospect in these times of soeeeas for the * Stadent. It is a credit to all oonaected with Mechanic, ••This magazine promises» as far as we can judge from the first number» to ne a great success. It is written by real stndents» and students of great attainments, and has adopted the admirable idea of making its illustra^ tions» which are beautifully executed in colours» scientiSc illustrations. The whole magazine appears to us thoroughly good, and to justify its title. It is only Eighteenpence, and contains eighty pages full of attainment and research.**— **Ifüie'Student' be continued as it has begun, it must meet with undoubted success. 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