The Strand Magazine, No. 133 (Vol 23)

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1 ' } THE , I ! 1 ^n JllxistratQd JYI^ontU^ EDnED BV GEORGE NEWNF.S Vol. XXIIL JANUARY TO JUNE GEORGE NEAVNES, LTO., 7, S, g. 10, 11, .^ 12, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, AND EXETER STREET, STRAND 1902

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f THE SHADOW OV SHERLOCK HOL>H':s. (Sec page 15.)

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". n .-..0 The Strand Magazine. Vol. xxiii. JANUARY, 1902, No. 133. The Hound of the Baskervilles. ANOTHER ADVENTURE OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. CHAPTER X. KX'I'KACT I-KOM 'IHK DIARY 01- UK. WATSON. O far 1 have been able tociuote from the rt-ports which I ha\e forwarded during these early days to Slierlock Holmes. Now, however, I have arrived at a point in my narrative where I am compelled to abandon this method and to trust once more to my recollections, aided by the diary which I kept at the time. A few extrncts from the latter will carry me on to those scenes which are indelibly fixed in every detail upon my memory. I proceed, then, from the morning which followed our abortive chase of the con- vict and our other strange experiences upon the moor. October 16th.— A dull and foggy day, with a drizzle of rain. The house is banked in with rolling clouds, which rise now and then to show the dreary curves of the moor, with thin, silver veins upon the sides of the, hills, and the distant boulders gleaming where the light strikes upon their wet face?^. It is melancholy outside and in. The baronet is in a black reaction after the excitements of the night. 1 am conscious myself of a weight at my heart and a feeling of impending danger —ever-present danger, which is the more terrible because I am unable to define it. And have I not cause for such a feeling? Consider the long sequence of inciilents which have all pointed to some sinister influence which is at work around us. There is the death of the last occupant of the Hail, fulfilling so exactly the conditions of the family legend, and. there is the repeated reports from peasants of the appearance of a strange creature upon the moor. Twice I have with my own ears heard the sound By CONAN DOYLE. which resembled the distant baying ot a hound. It is incredible, impossible, that it should really be outside the ordinary laws of Nature. A spectral hound which leaves material footmarks and fills the air with its howling Is surely not to be thought of. Stapleton may fall in with such a super- stition, and Mortiiiier also ; but if I have one ([uality upon earth it is common sense, and nothing will persuade me to believe in such a thing. To do so would be to descend to the level of these poor peasants who are not content with a mere fiend dog, 'hut must needs describe him with hell-fire sliooting from his mouth and eyes. Holmes would not listen to such fancies, and 1 am his agent. But facts are facts, and I have twice heard this crying upon the moor. Suppose that there were really some huge hound loose u|)on it; that would go far to explain every- thing. But where could such a hound lie concealed, where did it get its food, where did it come from, how was it that no one saw it by day? It must be confessed that the natural explanation offers almost as many difficulties CIS the other. And always, ajxirt from the iiound, there was the fact of the human agency in London, the man in the cab, and the letter which warned Sir Henry against tiio moor. 'I'his at least was real, but it might have been the work of a jjro- tecting friend as easily as an enemy. Where was that friend or enemy now ? Had he remained in London, or had he followed us down here ? Could he — could he he the stranger whom I had seen upon the Tor? It is true that I have had only the one glance at him, and yet there are some things to which I am ready to swear. He is no one whom I have seen down here, and I have now met all the neighbours. The i Vol. xxiii. — 1 Copyright, 1901, by George Newncs, Liniiie<!.

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4 THE STRAXn MAGAZjyE. figure was far taller than that of Stapleton, far thinner than that of hVankland. Barry- more it might possi[)ly have been, but we had left him behind us, and 1 am certain that he could not have followed us. A stranger then i.s still dog- ging us, just as a stranger had dogged us in London. AVe have never shaken him off. ]f I could lay my hands upon that man, then at last we might find our- selves at the end of all our difficulties. To this one purpose I must now devote all my energies. My first im[)nl.se was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. My second and wisest one is to play my own game and speak as little as possible to anyone. He is silent and distrait. His nerves have been strantrelv shaken by that sound upon the moor. I will say nothing to add to his anxieties, but I will take my own steps to attain my own end. We had a small scene this morning after break- fast. Harrymore asked leave to sj)eak with Sir Henry, and they were closeted in his study some little time. Sitting in the billiard-room I more than once heard the sound of voices raised, and I had a pretty good idea what the point was which was under discussion. After a time the baronet oj)ened his door and called for me. " Barry more considers that he has a grievance,'' he said. "He thinks that it was unfair on our part to hunt his brotlier-in-law down when he, of his own free will, had told us the secret." The butler was standing, very pale but very collected, before us. "I may have spoken too warmly, sir," said he, *'and if I have I am sure that I beg your pardon. At the same lime, I wa.s very mueh surprised when 1 heard you two gentlt-men come back this morning and learned that you had been chasing Selden. 't'he poor fellow has enough to fight against without my putting more upon his track." "If you had told us of your own free wiH it would have been a different thing,'' said the barunet. " Yuu only told lis, or rather your wife only told us, wlien it was forced from jou and you could not help yourself.'' •' I didn't think vou would have taken ■^^3. "■nil-: uuTt.Eic was standing, VtlKY I'ALIi ULT VI-KY COLLECT Ell, llEKDIii; US." / advantage of it, Sir Henry — indeed I didn't." " The man is a public danger. There arc lonely houses .scattered over the moor, and he is a fellow who would stick at nothing. \'ou only want to get a glimpse of his face to see thai. Look at Mr. Sta[)ieton's house, for example, with no one but himself to defend it. There's no safety for anyone until he is under lock and key." " He'll break into no house, sir. I give you my soliMun word n|)on that. Hut he will never trouble anyone in this country again. I assure you. Sir Henry, that in a very few days the necessary arrangements will have been made and he will be on his way to South America. For God's sake, sir, 1 beg

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THE HOUND Of TJIE nASKERVIJ.LES. 5 of you not lo let the police know that lie is still on the moor. They have given up the chase there, and he can lie quiet until the ship is ready for him. You can't tell on him without getting my wife and me into trouble. I beg you, sir, to say nothing lo the police." "\Vhat do you .say, Watson?'' I shrugged my shoulder.s. '* If he were safely out of the country it would relieve the taxpayer of a burden." " But how about the chance of his holding someone up before he goes?" "He would not do anything so mad, sir. We have provided him with all that he can want. To commit a crime would be to .show where he was hiding." *' That is true," said Sir Henry. "Well, liarrymore " "God bless you, sir, and thank you from my heart ! It would have killed my poor wife had he been taken again.' "I guess we are aiding and abetting a felony, Watson ? But, after what we have heard, I don't feel as if I could give the man up, so there is an end of it. All right, Barrymore, you can go." With a few broken words of gratitude tlie man turned, hut he hesitated and then came back. " You've been so kind to us, sir, that 1 should like to do the best 1 can for you in return. I know something. Sir Henry, and perhaps I should have said it before, but it was long after the iniiuesl that 1 found it out. Tve nc\er breathed a word aljout it yet to mortal man. It's about poor Sir Charles's death.'' The baronet and I were both upon our feet. " Do you know iiow he died?" " No, sir, I don't know that." "What, then?" " I know why he was at the gate at that hour. It was to meet a woman." "To meet a woman ! He?" *' Yes, sir." " And the woman's name? " " I can't give you the name, sir, but I can give you the initials. Her initials were L. L." " How do you know this, Barrymore?" " Well, Sir Henry, your uncle had a letter that morning. He had usually a great many letteis, for he was a public man and well known for his kind heart, so that everyone wlio was in trouble was glad to turn to him. But that morning, as it chanced, there was only this one letter, so I took the more notice of it. It was from Coonibe Tracey, and it was addressed in a woman's hand." " Well ? " " Well, sir, 1 thought no more of the matter, and never would have done had it not been for my wife. Only a few weeks ago she was cleaning out Sir Charles's study — it bad never been touciied since his death — and she found the ashes of a burned letter in the back of the grate. The greater part of it was charred to pieces, but one little slij), the end of a page, hung together, and the writing could still be read, though it was grey on a black ground. It seemed to us to be a postscript at the end of the letter, and it said : ' Please, please, as you are a gentle- man, burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o'clock.' Beneath it were signed the initials L. L." " Have you got that slij) ? " " Xo, sir, it crumljled all to bits after we movetl it." " Had Sir Charles received any other letters in the same writing ? " " Well, sir, 1 .took no particular notice of his letters. I should not have noticed this one only it happened to come alone." "And you have no idea who L. I., is?" " No, sir. No more than you have. But I expect if we could lay our hands upon that lady we should know more about Sir C'harles's death." " I cannot imderstand, Barrymore, how you came to conceal this important infor- mation." " Well, sir, it was immediately after that our own trouble t:ame to us. And then again, sir, we were both of us very fonil of Sir Charles, as we well might be considering all that he has done for us. To rake this up couldn't help our poor master, and it's well to go carefully when there's a lady in the case. Even the best of us " " You thought it might injure his repu- tation ? '' " Well, sir, I thought no good could come of it. But now you have been kind to us, rnd 1 feel as if it would be treating yoii unfairly not to tell you all that I know about the matter." "Very good, Barrymore; you can gu." When tlie butler had left us Sir Henry turned to me. " Well, Watson, what do you think of this new light ?" "It seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before." "So I think. But if we can only trace L. L. it should clear up the whole business. We have gained that nuich. \Ve know that there is .someone who has the facts if we can only find her. What do vou think we .should do ? "

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. "Let Holmes know all about it at once. It will give him the clue for which he has been seeking. I am much mistaken if it does not bring him dowti.*" I went at once to my room and drew up my report of the mornin^f's conversation for Holmes. It was evident to me that he had been very busy of late, for the notes which I ping from the eaves. I thought of the convict out upon the bleak, cold, shelterless moor. Poor fellow 1 ^Vhatever his crimes, he has suffered something to atone for them. And then I thought of that other one^the face in the cab, the figure against the moon. Was he also out in that deluge — the unseen watcher, the man of darkness? In the " KKu.M 1T> CKAU -JL'T MVeilil-I'^ ACKOSS ■[iM-, M K1..\NC1I01-V DiUVN.S. had from Bakei Street were few and short, with no comments upon the information which I iiad supplied, and hardly any reference to my mission. No doubt his blackmailing case is absorbing all his facul- ties. And yet this new factor must surely arrest his attention and renew his interest. 1 wisli tiiat he were here. October 17th.— All day to-day tiie rain poured down, rustling on the ivy and drip" evening I put on my waterproof and I walked far upon the sodden moor, full of dark imaginings, the rain beating upon my face and tlie wind wiiistling about my ears, (lod help those who wander into the Great Mire now, for even the firm uplands are becoming a morass. I found the black Tor upon wliich I had seen tlie solitary watcher, and from its craggy summit I looked out my^)elf across the melancholy downs. Rain

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THE HOUND OF THE BASKERl'lLLES. 7 squalls drifted across their russet face, and the heavy, slate-colourcd clouds hung low over the landscape, trailinL- in i;rey wrualhs down the sides uf llie flunaMtic liills. In the distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the mist, the two thin towers of IJaskerville Hall rose above the trees, They were the only signs of human life which I could see, save only those prehistoric huts which lay thickly upon the slopes of the hills. Nowhere was there any trace of that lonely man whom I had seen on the same spot two nights before. As I walked back I was overtaken by Dr. Mortimer driving in his doL^-cart over a rough moorland track, which led from the outlying farmhouse of Foulniire. He has been very attentive to us, and hardly a day has passed that he has ntH called at the Hall to see how we were getting on. He insisted upon my climbing into his dogcart and he gave me a lift homewards. I loiind him much troubled over the disappearance of his little spaniel. It had wandered on to the moor and had never come back. I gave him such consola- tion as I might, but I thought of the pony on the Clrimpen Mire, and I do not fancy that he will see his little dog again. " By the way, Mortimer," said I, as we jolted along the rough road, " I suppose there are few people living within driving distance of this whom you do not know ? ' "Hardly any, I think.' " Can you, then, tell me the name of any woman whose Initials are 1-. L. ?" He thought for a few minutes. " No," said he. "There are a few gipsies and labouring folk for whom I can't answer, but among the farmers or gentry there is no one whose initials are those. Wait a bit, though," he added, after a pause. "There is Laura Lyons— her initials are L. L.— but she lives in Coombe Tracey." "Who is she?'' 1 asked. " She is Lrankland's daughter." " What ? Old Lrankland the crank ? " " Exactly. She married an artist named Lyons, who came sketching on the moor. He proved to be a blackguard iuul deserted her. The fault from wliat I hear may not have been entirely on one side. Her father refused to have anything to do with her, because she had married without his consent, and perhaps for one or two other reasons as well. So, between the old sinner and the young one the girl has had a pretty bad time." " How does she live ? " " I fancy old k'rankland allows her a pittance, but it cannot be more, for liis own affairs are considerably involved. U'hat- ever she may have deserved one could not allow her to go hopelessly to the bad. Her story got about, and several of the people here did something to enable her to earn an honest living. Slapltton did for one, and Sir Charles for another. I gave a trifle myself. It was to set her up in a t)pe- writing business." Lie wanted to know the object of my in(]uiries, but I managed to satisfy his curiosity without telling him too much, for there is no reason why we should take any- one into our confidence. To-morrow morn- ing I shall find my way to Coombe Tracey, antl if I can see this Mrs. Laura Lyons, of eiiuivocal reputation, a long step will have been made towards clearing one incident in this chain of mysteries. I am certainly developing the wisdom of the serpent, for when Mortimer pressed his questions to an inconvenient extent I asked him casually to what type Krankland's skull belonged, and so heard nothing but craniology for the rest of our drive. 1 have not lived for years with Sherlock Holmes for nothing. I have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuous and melancholy day. This was my conversation with Barrymore just now, which gives me one more strong card which I can i)lay in due time. Mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet played eearte afterwards, The butler brought me my coffee into the library, and I took the chance to ask him a few ([uestions. "Well," said I, " has this precious relation of yours departed, or is he still lurking out yonder ? " "I don't know, sir. I hoi)e to Heaven that be has gone, for he has brought nothing but trouble here! Lve not heard of him since I left out food for him last, and Uiat was three days ago." " Did you see him then? " "No, sir, but the food was gone when next I went that way." "Then he was certainly there ?" " So you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took it." I sat with my coffee-cup half-wa)' to my lips and stared at I^arrymore. *' Vou know that there is another man, then ? ■' " Ves, sir: there is another man ui»on the moor.'' " Have you seen him?" " No, sir." " How do vou know of him, then ? "

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. ' VOU KNOW TII,\T TIIERI-: IS ANOTHICH MAN, THEN?'* " Stldun told me of him, sir, a wct-k ago or more. He's in hiding, too, but he's not a conviL't so far as I can make out. I don't like it, Dr. Watson — I tirll yon straight, sir, that I don't hke it." He spoke with a .sudden passion of earnestness " Now, listen to mc, IJanyniore ! I liave IK) interest in this matter but that of your m:ister. I have come here with no object except to lielp him. Tell me, frankly, what it i.s that you don't like." Harrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted his outburst, or found it difhcuil to ex|)ress his own feelings in words. " It's all these goings-on, sir," he cried, at last, waving his hand towards the rain-lashed window which faced the rnoor. "There's foul play somewhere, and there's black vill.-iiny brewing, to that I'll swenr ■ Wry glad I should be, sir, to see Sir Henry on his way back to I^ondon again I '' " But what is it that alarms you ? " "Look at Sir Charles's death ! Thnt was bad enough, for all that the coroner said. Took at the noises on the moor at night. There's not a man would cross it after sun- down if he was paid for it. Look at this •Stranger hiding out yonder, and watching and waiting ! AVIiat's he waiting for? What does it mean ? It means no good to anyone of the name of ]')askerville, and very glad I shall be to be quit of it all on the day that Sir Henry's new ser- vants are ready to take over the Hall." " But about this stran ger," .said I. "Can you tell me anything about him ? WhatdidSelden say? Did he find out where he hid, or what he was doing?" " He saw him once or twice, but he is a deep one, and gives nothing away. At first he thought that he was the police. i)ut soon he found tliat he had •some lay of his own. A kind of gentleman he wns, as far as he could see, but what he was doing he ^ could not make out." ^r » " And where did he say that he lived? " "Among the old houses on the liiilside the stone huts where the old folk used to live." *' iJul how altout his food ?'' " .Selden found out that he has got a lad who works for him and brings him all he needs. I daresay he goes to Coombe Tracey for what he wanls." " \'ery good, Barrymore. ^'e may talk further of this some other time." When the butler had gone I walked over to the black window, and I looked through a blurred pane at the driving clouds and at the tossing out- Ime of the wind-swept trees. It is a wild nigtit indoors, and what mu.st it be in a stone hut upon the moor? What pa.ssion of hatred can it be which leads a man to lurk in such a place at such a time? And what deep and earnest i)urpose can he have which calls for such a trial ? There, in that hut upon the moor, seems to lie the very centre of that problem which has vexed me .^o sorely. I swear that another day shall not have pa.s.sed before I have done all that man can do to reach the heart of the mystery.

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THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES. CHAPri'R XI. THE MAN ON THK TOR. The extract from my private diary which forms the last chapter has lirought my narrative up to the iSth of October, a time when these strange events begnii to move swiftly towards their terrible conclusion. The incidents of the next ft-w days are indelibly graven upon my recollection, and I can tell them without reference to the notes made at the time. I start, then, from the day which succeeded that upon which I had established two facts of great importance, the one that Mrs. l.aura Lyons of Coombe 'IVacey had written to Sir Charles Bnskervillu and made an nijpointment with him .it the very ])lace and hour that he met his death, the other that the lurking man upon the moor was to be found among the stone huts upon the hill- side. With these two facts in my possession I felt that either my intelligence or my courage must be deficient if I could not throw some further light upon these dark jilares. I had no opportunity to tell tlie baronet what I had learned about Mrs. Lyons upon the evening before, for IJr. Mortimer re- mained with liim at cards until it was very late. At breakfast, however, I informed Iinn about my discovery, and asked him whether he would care to accompany me to Coonibe Tracey. At first he was very eager to come, but on second thoughts it seemed to both of us that if I went alone the results might be better. The more formal we made the visit the less information we might obtain. I left Sir Henry behind, therefore, not without some prickings of conscience, and drove off upon my new quest. When I reached (.'uombe Tracey 1 told JVrkins to put up the hor.ses, and I made iiKjuiries for the lady whom I had come to interrogate. I had no difficulty in finding her rooms, v/hich were central and well appointed. A maid showed me in without ceremony, and as I entered the sitting-room a lady, who was sitting before a Remington tvpewriter, sprang up with a pleasant smile of wely situation." " Did you correspond with him ?" The lady looked quickly up, with an angry gleam in her hazel eyes. " What is the object of these questions ? " she a.sked, sharply. " The object is to avoid a jniblic scandal. It is better that I should ask them here than that the matter should pass outside our control." She was silent and her face was very pale. At last she looked up with something reckless and defiant in her manner. "Well, ril answer,'' she said. ''What are your (|uestions? " '* Did you correspond with Su- Charles?" " I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge his delicacy and his generosity." " Have vou the dates of those letters?" "No.'' " Have you ever met him ? " "Ves, once or twice, when he came into Coombe Tracey. He was a very retiring man, and he preferred to do good by stealth." " But if you saw him so seldom and wrote so seldom, how did he know enough about your affairs to be able lo help you, as yon say that he has done?"

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. She met my dil"hcuUy with the: utmost readinesf>. " 'i'htit; were several gentlumcn who knew my sad history and united to help me. One was Mr. Stapleton, a neighbour and intimate friend of Sir Charles. He was e.\ceedingly kind, and it was through him that Sir Charles learned about niy affairs." I kni:;w already that Sir Charles Hasker- ville had made Stapleton his almoner upon several occasions, so the lady's statement bore the impress of truth upon it. " Did you ever write to Sir Charles asking hini to meet you ? " T continued. The flush had faded in an instant, and a deathly face was before me. Her dry lips could not speak the " No " wliich I saw rather than heard. " Surely your memory deceives you," said I. "I could even quote a pas.snge of your letter. It ran, ' Please, please, as you are a gentleman, hurn this letter, and b^j at the gate by ten o'clock.' " I thought tliat she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a supreme effort. " Is there no sucii thing as a gentleman ? " she gasped. " Vou do Sir Charles an injustice. He " HICALLV, SIK, -nns l-^ h VKkV KXTUAiJklJIVAhV I,ILESTI|IV." Mrs. Lyons flushed with anger again. " Really, sir, this is a very extraordinary tiuesdon." " I am sorry, madam, 6ut I must repeat it." "Then I answer -certainly not.' " Not on tile very day of Sir Charles's " death ? " did burn the letter. Hut sometimes a letter may he legible even when burned. Vou acknowledge now that you wrote it?' *' Ves, I did write it," she cried, pouring out her soul in a torrent of words. " I did write it. Why should I deny it ? I have no reason to be ashamed of it. I wished him lu help me. I believed that if I had an

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THE HOUND OF THE BASKER 17/./.ES. IT interview I couid gain liis help, so I asked him to meet me.'' " But why at such an hour ? " " Because I had only just learned that he was going to London next day and might be away for months. There were reasons why I could not get there earlier." *' But why a rendezvous m the garden instead of a visit to the house ? '' "Do you think a woman could go alone at that hour to a bachelor's house ? '' " Well, what happened when you did get there ? ■' " I never went.'' " Mrs. Lyons I '' " No, I swear it to you on all I hold sacred. I never went. Something intervened to prevent my going." "What was that?" "That is a private matter. I cannot tcl! it." " Vou acknowledge, then, that you made an appointment with Sir Chailesat the very hour and place at which he met his death, . . but you deny that you kept the a[)punit ment ? " " That is the truth." "I Again and again I cross-questioned her, but I could never get past that point. *' Mrs. Lyons," said I, as I rose from this long and inconclusive interview, " you are * taking a very great responsibiHty and putting yourself in a very false position by not making an absolutely clean breast of all that you know. If I have to call in the aid of the police you will find how seriously you are compromised. If your position is innocent, why did you in the first instance deny having written to Sir Charles upon that date ? " " Because I feared that some false eon- ■ ^ elusion might be drawn from it, and that I might find niy.self involved in a scandal." " And why were you .so [jressing that Sir Charles should destroy your letter ? " "If you have read the letter you will know." I " I did not say that 1 had read ail the letter." *' You (pioted some of it." "I quoted the postscript. The letter had, as I said, been burned, and it was not all legible. I ask you once again why it was that you were so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy this letter which he received on the day of his death." "The matter is a very private one." "The more reason why you should avoid a public investigation.' "I will tell von, then. If vou have heard anvthing of my mihapp\' history you will know that I made a rash marriage and had reason to regret it." " I have heard so much." "My life has been one incessant perse- cution from a husband whom I abhor. 'I'he law IS upon his side, and every day I am faced by the [lossibility that he may force me to live with him. At the time that I wrote this letter to Sir Charles I had learned that there was a [jrospecl of my regaining my freud(jm if certain expenses could be met. It meant everything to me— jK-ace of mind, happiness, sclf-res[)ect — c^crj' thing. I knew Sir Charles's gmerosity, and I thought that if he heard the story from my own Hps he woukl help me." "Then how is it that you did not go ? '' " Because I received help in the interval from another source." '"Why, then, did you not write to Sir Charles and explain this ? " ''So I should have done had I not seen his death in the paper next morning." The woman's story hung coherently to- gether, and all my questions were unable to shake it. I could only check it by finding if she had, indeed, instituted divoree pro- ceedings against lier husband at or about the time of the tragedy. It was unlikely that she would dare to say that she had not been to Baskerville Hall if she really had been, for a trap would be necessary to take her there, and could not have returned to Coomhc Tracey until the early hours of the morning. Such an excursion could not Ije kept secret. The [)r()hal)ilily was, therefore, that she was telling the truth, or, at least, a part of the trulli. I came away baflled and disheartened. Once again I had reached that dead wall whieh seemed to be built across every path by which I tried to get at the object of my mission. And yet the more I thought of the lady's face and of her manner the more I felt that something was being held back from me. Why should she turn so pale ? A\'hy should she fight against every admission until it was forced from her? Why should she have been so reticent al the time of the tragedy? Surely the exi)lanati()n of all this could not be as innocent a-s she would have me believe. Lor the moment I could proceed no farther in that direction, but must turn liaek to that other clue which was to be .sought for among the stone huts ujion the moor. .\nd that was a most \ague direction. 1 realized it as I drove Kack and noted how hil|

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12 THE STRAND MAGAZINE, after hill sliowcd Iraccs of tlic ancient ])uoplt'. Barrymoru's only indication had been that the stranger lived in one of these abandoned huts, and many hundreds of them are scattered throughout tlie lengtii and breadth of tlie moor. IJut I iiad my own exijcrience for a guide, since it had shown me the man himself standing upon the summit of the Black Tor. That, then, should be tiie centre of my search. From there I should exiilore every hut ujwn tiie moor until I lighted upon the right one. If this man were inside it I should find out from his own li])s, at the point of my revolver if necessary, who lie was and why he had dogged us so long. He might sli[) away from us in the crowd of Rc\^ent Street, but it would puzzle him to do so upon the lonely moor. On the other hand, if I should fuid the hut and its tenant should not be within it I must remain there, however long tile vigil, until he returned. Holmes had missed him in London. It would indeed be a triumph for me if I could run him to earth where my master had failed. l.uck had been aj^ainst us again and again in this inquiry, but now at last it came to my aid. And the messenger of good fortune was none other than Mr. Krankland, who was standing, grey-whis- kered and red-faced, out- side the gate of his garden, which opened on to the high road along which I travelled. "Cood-day, Dr. Wat- son,"' cried he, with un- wonted good humour, " you must really give your horses a rest, and come in to have a glass of wine and to congratu- late me." iSIy feelings towards him were far from being friendly after what I had heard of his treatment of his daughter, but I was anxious to send I'erkins and the wagonette home, and the opportunity was a good one. I alighted and sent a message to Sir Wcm^ liiat I should walk over in lime for dimier. 'I'hen I followed Frankland into his dining room. " It is a great day (or me, sir — one of the red-letter days of my life," he cried, with many chuckles. " I have brought off a double event. I mean to leach them in these parts that law is law, and tliat diere is a man here who does not fear to invoke it. I have established a right of way through the centre of old Middleton's park, slap across it, sir, within a hundred yards of his own front door. \Vhat do you think of that? Well teach these magnates that they caimot ride rough-shod over the rights of the commoners, confound them ! And I've closed the wood where the Fernworthy folk used to picnic. These infernal people seem to think that there ;u'e no rights of property, and that liiey can swarm where they like with their papers and their bottles. Both cases decided, Dr. " ' (;u('i>l>AV, nr;. uaisi>\.' \\v. cn'ikd,

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rilE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES. 13 Watson, and both in my favour. 1 liaven'l had such a day since I had Sir juiin Morland for trespass, because he shot in his own warren." " Mow on cartli did you do that ? " " Look it up in the books, sir. It will repay reading— Frankland v. Morland, C!ourt of Queen's Bench. It cost me ;i^20o, but I got my verdict." " Did it do you any i;ood ? " "None, sir, none. I am proud to say that I had no interest in the matter. I act entirely from a sense of public duty. 1 have no doubt, for cxampiL-, that the l-'ernworthy people will burn me in effigy to-night. I told the police last time they did it that they should slop these disgraceful exhibitions. The county constabulary is in a scandalous state, sir, and it has not afforded me the protection to which I am entitled. The case of Frankland v. Regina will bring the matter before the attention of the public. I told them that they would have occasion to regrcl their treatment of me, and already my words have come true." "Mow so?" I asked. The old man put on a vc-rj- knowing CNpression. "Because I could tell them wlial they are dying to know ; but nothing would induce me to help the rascals in any way."' I had been casting round for some excuse by which I could get away from his gossip, but now I began to wish to hear more of it. I had seen enough of the contrary nature of the old sinner to understand that any strong sign of interest would be the surest way to stop his confidences. "Some poaching case, no doubt?" said 1, with an indifferent manner. " Ha, ha, my boy, a very much mure important matter than that ! What about the convict on the moor?" I started. " Von don't mean that you know where he is?" said I. " I may not know exactly where he is, but I am quite sure that I could hel]> the police to lay their hands on him. Has it never struck you that the way to catch that man was to find out where he got his food, and so trace it to him ? " He certainly seemed to be getting uncom- fortably near the truth. " No doubt,' said I ; " but how do you know that he is any- where upon the moor?" " I know it because I have seen with my own eyes the messenger who takes him his food." My heart sank for Uarrymnre. It was a serious thing to be in the power of this s])iteful old busybody. But his next remark took a weight from my mind. " You'll bo surprised to hear that his food is taken to him by a child. I see him every day througii my tele.scoije upon the roof. He passes along the same ])atii at die same hour, and to whom should he be going e.\cept to the convict?" Here was luck indeed ! And yet I sup- pressed all appearance of interest. A child ! Harrymore had said that our unknown was supplied by a boy. It was on his track, and not upon the convict's, that Frankland had stumbled. If I could get his knowledge it might save me a long aw^X weary hunt. I>ut incredulity and indifference were evidently my strongest r. Wat.son, (juick, before he passes over the hill ! " There he was, sure enough, a small urchin with a little bundle upon his shoulder, toiling

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14 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. KKANKLAM) CI-AI'ftJl Hl> KVK lu IT ANr» ^ ^ATISt'ACriOV." slowly up the liill. \Vhen he reached the crest I saw the ragged, uncouth figure out- lined for an instant against the cold hlue sky. He looked round him, with a funive and stealthy air, as one who dreads pursuit. Then he vanished over the hill. "Well ! Am I right ?^' '• Certainly, there is a boy who seems to have some secret errand." "And what the errand is even a county constable could guess. But not one word shall they have from me, and I bind you to secrecy also, Dr. Watson. Net a word! Vou understand?"' "Just as you wish." "They have treated me shamefully — shamefully. When the facts come out in Frankland v. Regina I venture to think that a thrill of indignation will run through the country. Nothing would induce me to help the i)olicu in any way. For all they cared il might have been nie, instead of my effigy^ which these rascals burned at the stake. Surely you are not going I Vou will help me to empty the decanter in honour of this great occasion I " But I resisted all his soli- citations and succeeded in dissuading him from his announced intention of walking home with me. I kept the road as long as his eye was on me, and then I struck off across the moor and made for the .stony hill over which the boy had disappeared. Everything was working in my favour, and I swore that it should not be through lack of energy or [lei. severance that I should miss the chance which Fortune had thrown in my way. The sun was already sinking when I reached the summit of the hill, and the long slopes beneath me were all golden-green on one side and grey shadow on the other. A haze lay low upon the farthest sky-line, out of which jutted the fantastic shapes of Belliver and Vixen Tor. Over the wide expanse there was no sound and no move- ment. One great grey bird, a gull or curlew, soared aloft in the blue heaven. He and I seemed to be the only living things between the huge arch of the .sky and the desert beneath it. The barren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the mystery and urgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Hut down beneath me in a cleft of the hills there was a circle of the old stone huts, and in the middle of them there was one which retained sufficient roof to act a.s a screen against the weather. My heart leaped within nie as I saw it. This must be the burrow where the stranger lurked. At last my foot was on the threshold of his hiding-place — his secret was within my grasp. As 1 approached the hut, walking as warilv as Stapleton would do when with poised net he drew near the settled bnlterfly, 1 satisfied myself that the place had indeed been used

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THE iiouyn OF the baskervilles. n ft as a habitation. A vague pathway anitjiig the boulders led to the dilapidated opening which served as a door. All was silent within. The unknown might be lurkin<i there, or he might be prowling on the moor. IVFy nerves tingled with the sen.se of adventure. Throwing aside my cigarette I closed my hand u[)on the butt of my revolver and, walking swifdy u[) to the door, I looked in. The place was empty. But there were ample signs that I had not come upon a false scent. This was certainly where the man lived. Some blankets rolled in a watcrjiroof lay upon that very stone slab ujion which neolithic man had once slumbered. 'I'he ashes of a fire were heaped in a rude grate. Heside it lay some cooking utensils and a bucket half-full of water. A litter of empty tins showed that the place had been occupied for some time, and I saw, as my eyes became accustomed to the che[]uered light, a pannikin and a half-full bottle of spirits standing in the corner. In the middle of the hut a flat stone served the purpose of a table, and upon this stood a small cloth bundle-— the same, no doubt, which I had seen through the telescope upon the shoulder of the hoy. It contained a loaf of bread, a tinned tongue, and two tins of pre- served peaches. As I set it down again, after having examined it, my heart leaped to see that beneath it there lay a sheet of paper with writing upon it. 1 raised it, and this was wliat I read, roughly scrawled in pencil : — " Dr. ^\'atson has gone to Coombe Tracey. ' For a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinking out the meaning of this curt message. It was I, then, and not Sir Henry, who was being dogged by this secret man. Me had not followed me him- self, but he had set an agent — the boy, perhaps — upon my track, and this was his report. Possibly I had taken no step since I had been upon the moor which had not been observed and repeated. Always there was this feeling of an unseen force, a fine net drawn round us with infinite skill and delicacy, holding us so lightly that it was only at some supreme moment that one realized that one was indeed entangled in its meshes. If there was one report there might be others, so I looked round the hut in search of them. There was no trace, however, of anything of the kind, nor could I discover any sign which might indicate the character or intentions of the man who lived in this singular place, save that he must be of S|)artan habits, and cared Hltlu for the comforts of life. When I thought of the heavy rains and looked at the gaping roof I understood how strong and immutable must be the purpose whieli had kept him in tliat inhospitat)le abode. Was he our malignant enemy, or was he by chance our guardian angel? I swore that I would ntjt leave the hut until I knew. Outside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing with scarlet and gold. Its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches by the distant pools which lay amid the Great (Jrimpen Mire. There were the two towers of Ba.skerville Hall, and there a distant blur of smoke which marked the village of (Iriinpen. Between the two, behind the hill, was the house of the Sta[)letons. All was sweet and mellow and peaceful in the golden evening light, and yet as I looked at them my soul shared none of the peace of Nature, but quivered at the vagueness and the terror of that interview which every instant was bringing nearer. With tingling nerves, but a fixed purpose, I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited with sombre patience for the coming of its tenant. And then at last 1 heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of a boot striking upon a stone. Then another and yet another, coming nearer and nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner, and eoeked the pistol in my pocket, determined not to discover myself until I had an oi)i)ortunity of seeing something of the stranger. There was a long pause which showed that he had stopped. Then once more the footsteps approached and a shadow fell across the opening of the hut. " It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson," said a well-known voice. " I really think that you will be more comfortable outside than in." {To be amtinucd.) i

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A Kings Gallery of Beanty, Bv S. K. LuDovic. I X(; ludwk; i. of ^J IIAVARIA, who died in rS6S, and lo whom the ru- nowned collection of the (lallery of Beauties at the Royal Castle at ilunich is due, was a man of exquisite gifts. Being a great connoisseur, his influence was of the utmost importance on the development of art in (lermany. One of his iirst acts when he came to the throne was to restore what was left, in the quaint old Bavarian towns, of moated walls, towers, and abbeys which French vandalism had so gravely in- jured in 1S13. His greatest in- terest was centred in the study of history, and his love of art was the out- c o m e o f his thorough know- ledge of the classics. By artists he was truly loved. Theyapi)reciated his fine under- standing and his critical ojjinion even more than his kindness. Ludwig Schwan- thaler, the celebrated pupil of 'I'hor- waldscn, owes his whole caruer to King Ludwig's encouragement and help. It is said that Schwanthaler's figures above the portal of the *' Walhalla " at Ratisbon are the finest sculptures since the antique. W'hen Ludwig was Crown Prince he was much in the society of artists, and was often seen at the Cafe Greco, the chief place 0/ meeting among the Munich painters. V\^ KlNc; I.L'UWIG I. iM- );.-\\ ,-,KI.\, was one of the gayest among them. In the new Pinakothek is a picture in which the artist- Prince is depicted sitting with his friends at a Weinkneipe and partaking of a hearty breakfast. 'I'he collection of portraits of beautiful women was not suggested with a view to pay compliments to the bearers of great names, though it Is to a great extent a highly ori.sto- cratic bevy of beauties which has been im- mortalized by the subtle brush of Joseph von Stieler, the Court painter. The Kmg desired to collect these por- traits indepen- dent of rank and position. During Ins lonely walks he succeeded in discovering many a subject for his collection. Wherever he saw a lovely woman's face he .sent his faithful Stieler with a request for the necessary sittings to secure a portrait. No woman resisted such a compli- ment paid to her beauty, and thus it came about that in the same room with the portrait of Queen Marie of Bavaria we find one of a girl who served the foaming Bavarian beer to the guests at her father's inn. These two pictures are, perhaps, among the most beautiful of the collection ; but individual taste has always more to do with the decision of the question of beauty than all the rules of art. We will nowproceed to reproduce, we believe for the fust time in this country, a selection from the portraits in this unique gallery.

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./ KING'S GALLERY OF JHIAUTY. 17 QuKEN Marie or D.WARIA wos a Prussian Princess and the wife of King Maximilian II., the son of Lud- wig I. She was the mother of Ludwig II. and Otto I., ihe two younj; Havarian Kings so sadly afflicted witli in- sanity. Lud- wig II. was of chief interest to the world through h i s great influence on the life of Wagner. Dur- ing the sad years of 1870-7 I she occupied her- self most zeal- ously with tiie comfort of tlie wounded. Every da;' during many weeks she went to the Odeon-- a large building where the famous Court con- certs take place-^and helped the ladies of the town to sew garments and make bandages and lint for the wounded. From that time dates an amusing little anecdote, which goes to show that even Queens may sometimes say things which one would rather ' _ have left unsaid. One lady whose portrait was painted for the (lalleryof Beauties about the same time as Queen Marie's also came to these charit- able meetings. On being presented to the Queen the latter looked puzzled, as if trying to fix some recollection. Then she remembered and said, with one of her sweet smiles : " Are you not the beautiful Friiulein Vetterlein whose portrait is in the C'lallery of Ileau- ties?" The lady, much flattered, replied in the affirmative. The Queen, Vvl. xxiii. — 3- i^lL'KEN MA!<!K OV li,\\'.-Mi lA. ANSA KAl'l.A- looking at her with an absent air, pensively remarked : " It is astonishing ! One would hardly have believed it." No one knew whether she was ever aware of having ex- pressed aloud lier innermost thoughts about the elderly beauty. Possibly the little story ^v as merely owing to the poor lady's former beauty having roused the jealousy of rivals. Anna Kaui,.\, known in her family circle as Nannie or Nanette, was remarkable for her great beauty. She was a gentle, sweet woman, not very brilliant, and seemed hardly aware of her loveh- nes.s. Her father was a banker in Vienna, but it is believed that he left her no particular fortune. She and her sister were brought up in Munich by an aunt. She was seven- teen years old when the King desired her portrait, and on becoming more widely known, as was always the case when a girl was beautiful enough to be painted for the cele- brated collection, she had a great many suitors. She seemed not to care for marriage. At last, when her family believed that she had decided to re- main single, she chose a man, much her senior, who could not offer her any worldly advantages and was in no way remarkable. "■ L\tfnour, oil ihi-t-il S( nichcr!'^

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iS THE STRAND MAGAZINE. Lola Montez. To those wiio still rt^meinber the freaks and escapades of this strangely-fascinating woman her presence among the noble dames of the Royal House may seem to be, to say the least, a little strange. 'J'he youni^er generation, w!io may have but a dim idea as to who Lola Montcz really was, may be interested in the following' sketch of the career of that remarkable adventuress. I-oIa was horn at Limerick, Ireland, in iSi8, her mother being a Creole of notable beauty. After havnig passed the early years of her life in an Lnghsh boarding-school at liath, her beauty and viva- city of spirit at- tracted a young Anglo- Indian officer, Captain James, who mar- ried her and took her with him to the Far Laht. But Lola found Ivist- ern life rather dull and, secretly leav- ing her husband, she embarked for Europe. Strug- gling poverty assailed the adventuress in London, and after a most chequered Ciireer as a street s i n g e r -Lola went to Madrid. Shj obtained ;in engagement in the ballet at the Porte St. Martin Theatre, in Paris, in 1839, but the director found himself bound to dismiss the irre- pressible baller- ina. We hear of her again in Berlin, where, mounted on a spirited thorouglibred, she assisted at some grand military manoeuvres, at which the King of Prussia and the ICmperor of Russia were present. The firing of the cannon frightened the animal, whicli bolted among the suite of the Lmperor of Russia. A zealous policeman caught hold of the horse's head just in time to stop its mad flight, but, not content with having done his duty, he felt called upon to administer a rebuke to the fair rider. Imme- diately the hot-blooded Lola belaboured the astonished guardian of the law with such a shower of blows from her whip thai he had to call for assistance. She escaped imprisonment on the [ilea of severe provocation, but had. to leave Berlin. Paris, the scene of her former exploits, was of course iier goal. Press and public received her with accla- mation, and Pillet engaged her as premiere Janseiise at the Opera. Soon, however, the old .spirit of recklessness broke loose, and when in a fit of daring she threw one of her satin slippers among the public she got hissed off the stage. She returned to (iermany. Ludwig II. of Bavaria, meeting heraj)pa- rently by chance at the hou.se of a courtier, ex- pressed a wish to sec her dance a fandango. Com- pletely fascinated by her feline grace and witty repar- tees, the Royal enthusiast pre- sented her to his Court as "m y best friend." She was made Baron- ess von Rosenthal an d Countess Landsfeld. A pension of 20,000 florins and a mag- nificent villa gave suitable atmo- sphere to the newly - created titles. But when he proposed that (Jueen 'Pherese should invest her with the dignity ol a Chaiioiucsse of the 'Pheresian Order all the King's Ministers sent in ihuir resignations and were replaced by new ones chosen by Lola herself. 'I'he student corps Allemania saw in Lola a sort of goddess of libeity and espoused her cause. This led to such riots that all lectures at the University had to be suspended. Lola, with her usual dare-devil temperament, ventured to walk right through the excited street mob. She was greeted witii hisses and groans, and only escaped violent treatment thanks to the I.Ol.A MONTt:^.

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^1 KING'S GALLERY OF BEAUTY. 19 % King's protection. He had seen from one of the windows of the Royal eastle what happened, and leaving the assL-mbled company came to Lola's icseiie, leading her on his arm to a place of safety. Incensed by the violent manifesta- tions of his hitherto faithful burghers the King ordered the University of Munich to be closed for one year. But this was the last straw : at first a mere riot, matters now assumed tiie proportions of a revolution to demand the ex- pulsion of the foreign ad\en- turess. At last the King yielded and a decree of expulsion was signed. Returning to England, she married an officer in the Guards^a Mr. Head, a gentleman of large fortune. The charge of bigamy brought forward by his family she dodged by giving bail for ;^r,ooo and going to Spain. There she separated from her hus- band, and two years afterwards he was found drowned near Lisbon. The artist Mauclerc was said to A.MALtE VON 5CHINTLING. MAXUIILIANA ilOKZACA. have been her third husband, but he denied the charge. In America she married finally tlie editor of a San Francisco journal, only to separate from him again. She died in r86i in New Vorlc, where "she led an exemplary life and died as a good Christian.'"' The portrait of Lola Monte/, is supposed to be the best of the collection. After King Ludwig's death it was expelled from the gallery and put into the liimher- room of the New I'inakoUiek, whence Hcrr Kugen von Stieler, after an assiduous search for it, restored it to the gallery once more. M.\XIMII.IAX.\ BOKZAGA came to Germany through King Otto L of Greece. King Otto was King Ludwig L's second son, and tiuring his lifetime a coniinual in- flux of Greek."! took place into Munich, where they found sym- pathy and congenial surroundings. Amai.ik vox Schintung belonged to an old aristocratic family, and was one of Queen Therese's ladies-in-w:iiting.

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20 THE STRAND MAGAZINE, I.AI)V JAM.: liKSKlXE. l.ADv Jane Erskinii:. In all probal)ility llie portrait bearing the name of Lady Jane Erskiiie represents really the wife of Lord Edward Morris Erskine, C.B., who was Her NEaJL-sty's Envoy Extraordinary ami Minister Pleni- potentiary to the King of the Hel- lenes from 1864 till 1872. She was married in 181 7, and probably known to I-Cin,^ Liidwig through the (Irecian Court. CORXKI.IA VeTTERLKIN was a young girl of good family, and well brouijht up. Hur [)arenls lived in a neighbouring town, and one day when she went to Munich with her elderly maiden aunt the King saw her in the Ludwig- Strasse, where he often took his walks alone. It was then customary for ladies to stand .still, lift their veils, and when the King piissed to make a deep curtsy, which he always most politely acknowledged. It often happened that he addressed the people in the street, and some \-cry original conversations some- times took place. When he saw the pretty Eniulein Vetterlein he ap- proached hur ; '* Are you from .Muuirh, my pretty child ? Vou should not wear a veil. It is a pity.'' AVhilst he spoke the elderly aunt was struggling hard with the lliinsy net which covered her faded visage. 'I'hc King turned to herand said, with his politest bow: "Pray do not trouble: such a veil is a good thing." History is silent about the friendly relations between aunt and niece after this little inci- dent. IJut when H err von Stieler appeared after a few days with the well - known re(iuest from the King, Cornelia's parents were by no means surprised. I.udwig I. sometimes came in during the.se sittings to give his opinion and to have a friendly chat with the artist and his subject, but if the chosen chaperon was more than usually plain he could not always conceal his outraged sense of beauty. CUU^KLIA VKTl-KKt-tCIN.

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J A'JNcrS GALLERY OF BEAUTY. Ladv Eli.kn- nOKOUGH. There is no- t h i ng known al)OUt laiiilie, Lady Ellen- borough, nee Lady Uigby. The peerage gives no such name, but it is possible that, through the care- lessness of tiie officials, a wrong or misspelled name was put under the pic- ture. HEr.KNF. Skdl- MAVEU. It is interest- ing to observe the difference in the dress of Regina Daxcn- b e r g e r and Heleiie Scdl- mayer. Both wear the pretty and becoming "Ricgelhaube- hcn," but the dress of Regina is that of a fashionable lady of the time, w^hilst Helena wears the exact Bavarian na- tional costume, which is unfortu- nately no longer seen in Munich. A (lernuxn beer- house is hardly the soil for a flower of beauty and purity to grow. Neverthe- less, H e lene Sedlmayer, with her sweet, girlish face and the ex- pression of a saint, grew up in her father's inn. Near the I.AllV Kl.l.KMluNdLCH. HEI.tCM'" SKOI.MAYKK. old Lsaarthor in the "Thai," where Munich still preserves its niedireval aspect, in one of the small s i d e - streets, w a s Helcne's humble home. She helped in the house, which means that she worked like a servant-girl, and served beer to her father's guests in the evening. Every three years a quaint old custom, "the Schefflertanz." takes place in this part of the town. The butchers and coopers dance in quaint medi£e\al costume round the fuunlain in the "Thai"; this festivity lasts three days and provides much amusement and gaiety for the working classes. King ],udwig, who was wont to mix among his subjects and whose kin d- heartedness re- j(jiced in seeing their mirth, was there in the midst of the crowd and saw the beautiful Helene craning her pretty neck to see what was going on round die fountain. He sent his aide-de- camp to tind the pretty maid a Iii-Ucr place of vanlaiie and to

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22 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. hull) \\^tx out of the crowd, mul the next day her fiiiher was asked to let her go in her best fiiery to Stieler's stuiho, wliere she would be painted for the King's col!ection. At one of the sitting's the Kini;, according to his wont, dropped in and chatted with die painter and Helene. He soon found out that the poor little girl had a sweetheart, who was now going to give her up because he thought she would be too great a lady for him, ns he was so poor. "Do you love him, httle Helene? Would you not rather becoine a lady? I think I could find you a husband among my Court officials who would make you a lady. 1 might give you a little dowry, because you are not only a pretty but also a good girl." No consideration lor her pose, no fear to incur the displeasure of the painter, could keep the gid back ; she knt-lt at the King's feet and kissed his ham!, with tears in her gazelle- like eyes: "Oh, would your Majesty let niu marry Hans ? I don't want any- one else." King Ludwig kept his promise, and sent his private secretary to Hans with tlic c o m m a n d t o marry Helene as soon as the picture was fin- ished. Hans did not want much persuasion, and on their wed- ding-day Lud- wig I. sent the bride a hand- some present and the deed whicli made Hans the pro- ]) r i e 1 0 r of a lucrative little hostelry. The little hostelry soon changed into a well - kept hotel, through the careful management of the young couple and the interest which the Royal family bore them. Helene's son, a godchild of the King, has not remained in the humble rank of life of his parents. A scholar and a good soldier, he is" HIiiJLNA 1IA^"1■,^ l.'i'IliUEK. now in the front rank among Bavarian officers. Rkgina 1)axkxiiergi;r. This beauty was also discovered by the Kmg during one of his walks. She was the daughter of a rich Munich burglier and master coppersmitii. The lovely Regina was born m i8ii. She must have been about nineteen when her portrait was painted for the King's collection. Through this event she made the acquaintance of her future husband, who was King Ludwig's confidential secretary. Heinrich l-ahrenliacher was nearly seventeen years older than his beautiful fiancee, but his splendid career and great intellectual gifts formed a fit ecjuivalent to his wife's great beauty and fortune. The King loved children and young people, and would sometiuies appear suddenly at some harndess little social gathering. IVau Regina I-'ahrenbacher often related to her grandchildren how gaily he played " blind- man's buff with her and her friends. She was married in 1832, and became the mother of three sons and two daughters. Her children are all in good posi- tions, and one of iier brothers is still the pro- prietor of the now famous old business in -Munich. Frau I'ahrenbacher died in her nati\e town at the age of seventy. Julie Baron- Kss VON Kru- r)r-:\KR attracttd much attention in her day, not only on account of her beauty and charm, but particulady throuuh the great in- fluence she exercised for some time over the Czar Alexander H. Books have been written about her, and Covernments have been in terror of her infiuence. Hers was a restless, ardent nature whose whole life seemed to

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A KING'S GALLERY OF BEAUTY. ^Z f p;iss ill a storm of excitement. She was bom ill Riga, 1 764, and died alsoin RujisJa in 1824. She came of a rich and distinguished family, and married, in 1783, liaron von K.riidener, who tol\ Iier to Venice, where he was Russian Am bassadur. A bout 1777 Jutic's principal attraction lay in the fact that siie was one of the richest heiresses of Livonia — for she was still an overgrown, un- developed, silent girl, with a rather long nose and uncertain com- plexion, but with ample promises of future beauty in her large bhie eyes and cliest- nut hair, and in hc-r singularly we 1 1 - s h a]ied liands and arms. When sixteen she had many suitors, and at eighteen she married Baron Kriidener, who was twenty years her senior. 'Hie Baron was a clever diplo- matist, a refined man of the world, but by no means a hero of romance. The brilliant young Ambassadress soon formed the centre of . attraction. When Haron Kriidener became Russian Ambassador in Denmark she changed from a romantic girl into a brilliant society woman. Alex- ander de .Stakieff, her husband's adjutant, killed himself for love of her. The remem- brance of this romance in her own life inspired her to write the romance "Valerie." Under pretext of health considerations she went to France, and cultivated there the society of writers. In 1802 she became a widow : then she published " X'alerie " — a book which is worth reading. She wrote Jl t.[l-: BAKONKSS VON fc:HL'l)KNKK. several other novels with more or less success. Her vt-rituble mission did not show itself until later. When her youth and beauty vanished her ardent heart turned to religion and to the good of her fellow- creatures. Her courage and her eloquence made her an aix)stlc of her con\"ic- t i o n s . After some years of sojourn in Livonia, where she was noted for her benevo- 1 e n c e . she thought herself called on to regenerate the world. She provoked per- se c u t i o n by preaching h u manitarian and socialistic doctrines. After 18 14 her ten- dencies turned to projihecy. She foretold that Xapoleon would return from Llba and take the throne again. T h e success of this prediction made the O.ar Alexander 1 1., who was much addicted to religious exaltation, wish to see her. He received her in 1S15, and was quite subjugated by her enthusiasm. He desired her to follow him to France. Installed at the Hotel Montclienu near the Palais d'Llysee, where he li\-ed, slie was for several months, so to speak, his prophetess. But the favour of the Czar began to dechne. She went to Switzerland and there preached her socialistic doctrines. She had crowds of listeners, partly owing to her eloquence and partly to her liberality. She w;is expelled from Switzerland, and, being l)anished for three years from Russia, she died at Karasou Bazar, where she had gone for her health.

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5a=il m^m^ ^mm) (M]fy Q!r\^ EV WlNIFKE!) (IkAHA.M. I. ORNA woke with a slnrt and, siiringiiiL; out of bed, mn to 9()wler," he cried, seizing the fat, elderly coachman, "look! I've got a piece of ribbon to put on our whip to-day, red, white, and blue, for the Captain. And, oh ! please meet him with Benedict, because, you know,

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A NEW YEAR'S GIFT. 25 he loves Benedict more than any of the other horses, and, coming from so far, he'll like to see an old Iriend." Bowler fell in with all the young master's wishes, for it was Bowler who had found six months ago a sobbing, tear-stained child huddled up at the hack of the hay-loft, dazed with grief, and half dead from the violence of his emotions. "You will be round at the door for us very early, won't you?" said Jack. *' We should like to get to the slation a long time before the train comes in. Lorna and I are both going — girls do look on things funnily, don't they, Bowler ? Lorna says she shall 'insist' — yes, that was the word she used^ insist on being dressed in all her best clothes. As if clothes mattered ; but I ought to get my breakfast soon, the bell rang a long time ago. I suppose you know there is a mystery going on indoors?" Bowler shook his head ; his ignorance fairly staggered Jack. " I ain't henrd of nothing of the kind, sir," answered the stolid voice. "Why, mother is preijaring a New Year's surprise for Uaddy and lor us we may not go into the West Wing. We can't think what it can be, because we have had our Christmas-tree, and we don't know of anything like that which might happen at New Year." Bowler could throw no light upon the subject, so Jiick, his heart beating faster at the thought of the wonderful day before him, fled back to the house, the wind ruffling his hair. He and Lorna talked a great deal about the mystery as they breakfasted together in the nursery. " I hojje it Is something Daddy will like," Lorna said. " I don't mind for myself. Daddy alone will be quite New Year's treat enough for me." .She heaved a pensive little sigh, adding, proudly : " He has not seen my winter coat — the blue velvet one--with the ermine collar. Both the coat and hat are new since he went away, and the hat matches ! I could not meet him in old clotiies— on such a great day ! Nurse says the tenants are going to hang flags out of their windows, and the village will be decorated. We must take our presents to the station with us, to give him at once ; I e.xpect he will like to get them directly." She slipped off her chair and ran to a drawer; Jack followed. Together they opened it and peered in. Two small parcels tied with red ribbons fully satisfied the children's eager gaze. Vot x\iii.— 4. " I'll put our presents on my velvet hat, so we can't forget ! " said Lorna. " I expect mother's surprise for him will have cost a lot more money, but I daresay he'll like ours a little too." " He will like ours very, very much," Jack assured her,, confident of having made a wise choice. IL Bowi.KK declared afterwards he should never forget that drive to the station ; it was all he could do to hold the children in the ca?t, and yet he enjoyed their hilarious excite- ment, listening amused to a torrent of innocent pr.attle. "This telegram," said Jack, feeling in his pocket, " has always stayed in every suit I happened to be wearing since the day Daddy went away. Now it won't be wanted any more (but I never mean to part with it). Have you ever had a telegram that seemed to comfort you to hear it scrunch when you put your hands in your pockets ? " " I don't know that I have," replied Bowler. " Now I come to think of it, telegrams generally bring me bad news." "Oh : poor Bowler," sighed Lorna— "like the telegram that came from the War Office to say Daddy was wounded! We didn't think then what good news it really was, because it is bringing him home, and he says he is not very ill— only a foot wound ; and Daddy doesn't mind pain, because he is a soldier and has learnt to bear it very bravely." Lorna peeped up so sweetly into Bowler's face that he was inclined to believe every word she said. She looked like a little princess with her hands in her big white muff and her dainty face and round blue eyes beaming at him. " You see what we are taking Daddy," she continUL-d, dis[)laying the berihhoned parcels. "We have each got him a little packet of chocolates ; we think he must want that more than anything, because it has always been sent out to him. It was Jack's idea." Bowler sniiled — a smile that came near to a chuckle. "Look, Lorna, look!" cried Jack, as they approached the village. " The big 'Welcome' is hanging up over the road, which only comes out for weddings ; won't Daddy bci)leased? Oh, I can see lots of people on the station all waiting for his train." I'he nearness of this longed-for joy seemed to get into the children's blood and sent them crazy — decorum went to the winds. Jack, hanging half out of the cart, produced from under the seat a large patriotic handker-

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26 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. chief, wiiich he waved to everyone he knew as they passed, shouting, " Tlie Captain's coming— the Captain's cuming in tiie train." As the entire village appt-ared to be com- prised of jack's ac(]uaintances this kept him well occupied till Howler drew up, and the irresponsible little coui^le tumbled out, making a dash for the piaiform. Bowler caught glimijsus of them shaking hands with the station-master and porters, while joining in animated conversation with an feverish, despite the frosty hile in the clear winter air. Every nerve was strained to highest tension, as they stared down the blank line, hearts beating furiously under cosy garments. Suddenly the flood-gates of their eager expectations opened wide. In the dim dis- tance a thin curl of smoke heralded the coming train. Jack had his cap off and was tiOWl.Kk CAL-CMT GI-LMFSES UK THKM SHAKINC HANDS H llll IHk: SIA i lO.N-M AMKK." interested crowd. Jack had his torn and faded telegram out, which he sliowed to a sympathetic circle, while Lorna explained about the chocolate. " Kveryonc seems to know it's Daddy's day !'■■ she whispered to iicr brother; "isn't it nice of them not to have forgotten him, as he's been away such a very, very long time? Of course, we siiouldn't forget, but that's different, because nobody could love liim like we do ! " They thought the train would never come, and at last a certain breathless silence fell upon them, in strange contrast to their previous mood. Instinctively they stood hand in hand— Jack's fingers felt hot and" waving at the engine long before he could see the familiar figure of the loved one leaning through the window. As Captain Hamilton limped out he was greeted with the gifts simultaneously forced upon him. "See, we've both got a present for you, Daddy ! " they cried together, in breathless voices. His merry laugh rang clear as of old. Then he caught the children in his arms. " How is mother ? " he asked, kissing the upturned faces lovingly. " Mother is quite well," replied Lorna, " but very busy to-day. I don't know if you will be allowed to go into the West

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A UEW YEAR'S GIFT. 27 Wing, but we mustn't yet— not till the sur- prise is ready. She is settling something for New Year." Jack eagerly untied the chocolate, as friends flocked round to shake Captain Hamilton's hand. There was nothing for it but he must eat a piece at once out of each packet. The proceeding apjxnently created much amuse- ment amongst the bystanders, who had already been favoured ^vith a private view of the httle packets, representing so much fore- tliought on the part of the ha[)py givers. To the sound of ringing ciieers Captain Hamilton drove away, I.orna nestling at his side and Jack standing up at the back of the cart with both arms round his father's neck. Even Howler, usually so stolid and immovable of feature, caught the infection — his red face resembled a beaming sun! Benedict went like the wind ; it was the merriest, maddest drive the countryside had ever witnessed. Lorna imparted news in her innocent, childish fashion ; she thought he must want to hear all they were going to do for the New Year. " We begged mother to let us sit up to see the Old Year out— we've never done it before, and she i)romised we might." "A splendid idea," said Cap- tain Hamilton. Lorna fancied from his tone his thoughts had travelled elsewhere. So she kept quite still, but let her little velvet - clad shoulders lean heavily against his arm. He was not a bit changed, she told herself; just the same dear, sweet Daddy who had left them ages ago, the I )addy who always smiled, who ap[)reciated their love. Jack's ha[)[)iness kindled still in jubilant excitement, his blood coursed like quicksilver through his veins. Captain Hamilton fancied he could liear the beating of the boy's heart, as he retained his stand- ing attitude, unable to tear his arms from that fond embrace. As IJenedict turned in at the drive, and the old house loomed before the traveller's eyes, a sigh of deep relief escaped him. He looked first at I.orna, then back at Jack, and though they could not tell what he was thinking, they guessed it must be some- thing exquisitely tender. Perhaps it was the cold, but the children fancied they detected a moisture under Daddy's eyelashes. Such a bronzed, manly face could not, of course, be guilty of a tear. The little people jumped down, bounding up the steps. Then they turned, and noticed, with a sense of shock, that Captain Hamilton alighted very slowly, the effort apparently causing him pain. He reached for his stick before entering the house. " I was so excited at the station I never saw his limp," whispered Lorna. "Nor I," answered Jack, in an undertone. Lorna bent down to touch the foot. "Does it hurt, Daddy?" she asked, a little tremor in her voice. " No, pet." I'or the first time in her life Lorna did not quite believe him. They watched him mount the stairs and turn towards the West Wing. " ^L1y we come, too ? " they asked, hardly able to bear the thought of letting him out of their sight. " No," he replied, in a very decided voice, which chilled their spirits by its unexpected solemnity. " Run away and play, but let it ' it's very odd,' SAIP LORKA."

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28 2'HE STRAND MAGAZINE. be quiet play. Mind, you are not to make any noise." J.orna and Jack exchanged glances, as they nodded their heads in assent. Not to make any noise— not to make any noise when Daddy had come home and all the world should be ringing with the news ! Tiiey walked away to a corner of tiie liall and sat down on an old oak seat. " It's very odd," said Lorna, the corners of her mouth drooping. " I never ihought mother would let Daddy come back without being at the door to meet him." Jack sighed deeply, and ran his lingers through his thick, curly hair. "'J'here is a funny hush about the house. Didn't you feel it, Lorna, directly you got inside? I would much rather give up the surprise for New Year. I thought we should all have such good times together on Daddy's day ; it seems to have spoilt everything, mother stopping upstairs. J can't think how she could!" Jack spoke vehemently, and his little face grew red. A sudden painful reaction crept over him. Lorna looked as if she were going to cry. Certainly Jack was right, the house felt strangely depressing. The ab.sence of their pretty, bright-faced mother became more marked as time crept on ; everybody ap- peared influenced by it, for the servants were flurried and talked in whispers, while even nurse iieglected her charges. Lorna had to take off her own coat and hat and ask Jack to brush her hair. When they went down to look for Daddy they could not find him. " It's a very disapjjointing evening," said Lorna, with a little .snifile. "Let us sit on the stairs and wait for Daddy," said Jack, trying to conceal his feelings. "We won't talk." They sat like two small images, staring through the big window, against which a hurrying snowstorm flung whirling atoms of feathery whiteness. AVhen at last Captain Hamilton came by he only just waited to pnt them on the head, and hurried past looking terriJjly grave and anxious. " Vou saw his face,"' whispered lack. "\\1iat did you think of it?" '*! don't know, but it seemed to me a .sad face, as if he were unhappy about something. He has been to the West Wing, and the surprise has not ])leased him. Oh \ Jack, what can we do for Daddy? It's dread- ful he should come home and look like that ! He only ate a very little of our chocolate and - left the rest on the halUtahle. I expect the. chocolate disappointed him. He may have thought there was something inside he would have liked much better." " Perhafjs he wanted it to be tobacco," said Jack. *' Mother sent out tobacco just as often as she sent chocolate, but we never thought of it, and I know there isn't aiiv in the house. You may be sure that is making him unhappy 1 He is looking for just enough to nil one pipe, and can't find a [)ii. It's New Year's Eve, and— and we've given him the wrong present ! " Jack's voice broke as he made the sorrowful statement ; he stood up as it bracing himself to a deed of heroism. "Lorna," he said, "this can't go on! I must fetch him some tobacco from the village before the Old Year's out. Nurse knows we are sitting up ; she won't miss us —she, too, is busy about the surpri.se." Lorna glanced fearfully at the ever thicken- ing snowstorm. It was quite dark outside : a wild, terrible night. In the house were great fires, hot-water [)ipes ran through the walls, all was snug : King Krost and Queen Snow could riTid no entrance, but the world, the other side of the front door, was a place ol chill desolation ! Lorna clutched Jack's arm. "People are sometimes lost in the snow," she told him, " I shouldn't like anything to happen to you, Jack, even for Daddy's sake !" "I don't mind the snow," he said, though his heart sank a litde at the sight. "I shall be sure to fmd my way ail right. Isn't it worth going out, to please Daddy? AVhv. Lorna, you know it is." His eyes glowed with enthusiasm. Lorna caught the infection of his unselfish desire. " I shall come, too," she said. " It's awful lonesome for one person to be out of doors in the dark ; and if you got buried in the snow I should be there to scrape it away." " Perhaps I ought not to take you, Lorna," he murmured. "I'm coming," she replied, gathering her courage together and forcing a faint smile. " You are not taking me. I've got twopence upstairs. \\\\\ that be enough to pay for the tobacco ? " " I expect so. 11! owe you a penny ; we must go shares. Isn't it wonderful I should just have ihought what Daddy wanted? We will get our things on at once." It was easy to talk of that long, lonely walk in the snow, with the hearth fire crackling within earshot and the warm light filling the house. The children had yet to realize the dilference of being actually exposed to the

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J NEIV YEAR'S GIFT. 29 biting .storm, with tbrknuss all round thorn and wind-driven flakes blinding their eyes. Unseen they ojiened the big front door and staggered out, fighting the elements breathlessly. '* I dichi't think it would be so cold,"Lorna confessed, clutehing Jack's arm. " 1 can feel the snow tumbling into my boots ; 1 seem to slip ^nch a long way down at every step." " That is only because you are so short," said Jack, cheerily. '* II isn't so very deep, really." He knew in his heart the night was dangerous, for the wind blew the snow into great drifts, and darkness hung over the earth like a pall. I,orna leaned so heavily upon him that he stumbled a good deal and had some difficulty in keeping to the path. " It doesn't matter," he kept saying, half to himself. " It's for Daddy we are going." The words had a marvellous effect upon Lorna's chilled spirits. No sacrifice for Daddy could be too great 1 So they battled on manfully, their faces cut by the wind and their little figures covered from head 10 foot in a thick coating of heavy wliiteness. On the verge of e.xhaustion they reached the village, and a gasp of horror escaped the boy. *' Lorna, tlie shop is shut I " She leant against the wet door, thrusting both knuckles in her eyes. Jack pulled them sliarply down. "Don't cry," he said ; " there must be some way of getting it. Look," pointing across the road, "at those lights in the Bull and Horn I A inan is singing a song ; lots of people are laughing. Couie, I.orna, they are sure to sell tobacco there ! '" " Oh ! but I mustn't go into a public-house ; mother wouldn't like it," said I.orna, draw- ing back. '* Vou can stay in the porch ; TU go and ask. ("live me the twopence.'' A t[ueer little figure came suddenly into the light of the Bull and Horn. At first the proprietor failed to recognise the youthful pilgrim under his weight of snow. Jack put down the money on the counter. and looked up hopefully. " Please," he said, "can you give me some tobacco for that ? My Daddy ha.s come home from South Africa, and we forgot about his perhaps wanting to smoke. We never thought of a'a'^- 1 it lill we saw him looking very sad. My sister is wait- ing on the door- step, and she's rather damp, so per h a ps y o u could oblige nie with the tobacco (luickly." " Lor' ! " mur- mured the pro- prietor, " it's the little master from the Manor, and the young lady outside sut:h a night as this I Did anyone ever hear the like ? " A silence fell on the assembly. .\ll eyes were turned to the small. Weather- beaten wanderer. "I should just think 1 could let you have some tobacco for the Captain I" continued the kindly voice; "the best my house affords, and long may he live 10 enjoy a pipe of peace ! " The landlord went to his own private drawer, and presented Jack with a goodly sized bundle, which set the boy's heart beat- ing quickly with delight. All the terrors of the Storm faded under the soothing inHuence of success. Stoutly declining the offer of an escort home, Jack rejoined Lorna, finding her

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30 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. "'U)r"!" murmured the proprietor, 'it's thr littlf. master from the ma\or."' seated on the doorstep, half asleep, in the snou'. It took so much shaking to wake her, nnd she suenied so tired and luiiiibed, that the long road ahead filled Jnck witli fresli pangs. The paiii home led up-hill— a weary white journey, under starless skies. U'hat matter the cold creeping into their systems; what matter the weariness and the pain, since between them they carried that precious parcel containing the whole love of two fond hearts ? The snow blew up from the ground into their faces. Jack found l.orna \-ery heavy to pull along: it seemed an unending walk! Jack thought surely the morning would come before they reached the familiar old garden. At last they saw the bright lights of home twinkling in the windows. A carriage stood in the drive ; the front door was set open. "Let us slip hi and hide behind the big curtains," whispered Jack. " W'e don't want anj-one to see us like this. I wonder who the visitor can be?" peering curiously into the hall. " Richard is helping him on with his coat-now's our chance !" Well-skilled in the game of hide-and-seek, the truants reached the shelter of the window- curtains unobserved. A white-haired gentle- man in a fur-coat passed out, and Richard fastened the door again. III. " Art: you ready, Lorna?" said a voice from the passage. " Ves — come in, Jack." The boy entered the nursery on tiptoe. Lorna in dry clothing stood before him, warm, smiling, contented in the firelight. " Got over the hot-ache ? " he asked, touch- ing her hands. She nodded reassuringly. " See, I can move my fingers quite well now. What have you done, Jack ?" " I persuaded Richard to take our parcel to Daddy. Richard .said he wouldn't at first, the Captain was in the West Wing, and must not be disturbed, but I got round him. The New \'ear will be here very soon, and we are to listen for the bells. Come downstairs and let us see if we can find Daddy." Jack had changed into a white sailor suit he wore for parties. He felt sure the sur- prise would be ready with the New Year. On their way to the hall they suddenly paused and peeped through the banisters. A thrill of excitement shook Lorna. She pinched Jack's arm violently. There below stood the Captain, his whole manner changed, his face radiant, his eyes alight with a newjoy, and in his hand the packet of tobacco they had risked so much to gain !

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A NEW YEAR'S GIFT. 31 *' We were right ! we were right ! " gasjjcd Jack, and started running down the stairs. " Oh ! Uaddy," be cried, " we guessed what you wanted, and we're so glad you are happy again ! " The ('aptain looked at their i)resent, know- ing nothing of the journey to the village, and, laughing light-heartedly, thanked them with much wnrnith and fervour for their kindly thought. " It was the very thing I needed to cheer me up," he said, with a little twinkle, and, Captain Hamilton led the way to one of the many spare rooms in the West \Ving. " Look ! he said. "This is a New Year's gift to me." His voice had a strange, sweet note in it, which set the children's i)ulses beating faster. They stared in speechless surprise at a white berceaunette. l.orna was the fust to peep curiously between the muslin curtains. "Why, Jack," slie whispered, "there's the New Year inside 1 " despite his lameness, he tossed Jack on to his sli<.)ulders. " Will you take us to the West Wing now ? " they asked, breathlessly. " Yes, but you must still be very (jLiiet.'' As Lorna followed in vvondering ex|)ecta- tion she pictured the passing of the Old Year. She wished she could have shaken hands with him. It seemed sad he should be obliged to go out like a candle at bedtime, when she fancied perhaps he had a soul. The New Year, for sure, must be something very young and small, something you wanted to kiss and cuddle and make much of I ' WHV, JACK,* rtllK WllI-^l'iaiKIl, 'TIIKRKS THE As she spoke the joyous jiealing of bells rang out across the country. " Listen, they are ringing a welcome 1 " said the sun-bronzed warrior, bending over the cot to kiss the tiny atom of humanity. "The bells are chiming for us— for us!" gasped Jack, excitedly, "for we've got the New Year here in our house ! " "And the white-haired gentleman in the fur coat must have been the Old Year going out at the ball-door," rejjlied Lorna, softly. Captain Hamilton nodded and smiled. Lie would not for the world have disturbed the pretty idea.

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Bv E. D. CuMiXG FOOT of snow on the ground and lodeg. of frost. Wild birds vire become tame birds : black- birds, song - thrushes, starlings, chaffinches, tits, hedge-sparrows, •iind half-a-dozen more stand outside on the snow-bound lawn, mule applicants for outdoor relief. None of them speak ; liungiy they are and very cold, as you may see by the way they fluff out their feathers like overcoats, but they will not beg aloud. Vou might imagine that they were *'on the' rates " and ashamed of it, or had A2<\) J. A. Shepherd. fear of the police regulations concerning beggars before them, so silent are they. A pied wagtail, smallest of our walking birds, swaggers about restlessly; many of his kind go abroad for the winter, and those that remain with us seem sorry they didn't go, too, in weather like this. Three or four rooks and jackdaws blot the snow in the background, making shallow pretence of being here merely out of curiosity. The robin, self-appointed spokesman of the crowd, is on the window-sill : there is no false shame about the robin, hungry or satisfied, and he taps on the window as impatiently as if he had ordered breakfast over-night and paid for it in advance. He won't trouble you to throw out cnmibs for ///w, thanks ; if you will just open the window he will come in and help himself from the table. The curiosity of the rooks and jackdaws becomes uncontrollable when they see the other birds busy with the crumbs, and they stalk resolutely forward with the air of guests who haven't been asked, but feel sure the omission was an oversight. One song-thrush swallows his lireakfast in rather more of a hurry than the rest, pounces on a big scrap a rook liad his eye on, and flies away with it to the shrubbery, leaving the rook surprised and angry. The conduct of the thrush needs explanation : the fact is he and his wife fell into a mistake which Is often made by birds who are guided by weather and not by the almanac. It was so mild up to Christmas that that pair of thrushes conduded winter had somehow slipped out of the calendar

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THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 33 -^'Z \ '\ ~ \r Ss- /\ y" i J \^ "TAKiN;n CARic or thfir throats." altogether, so they nested, and there i.s the unfortunate thrush shivering on five eggs and wondering how in the snow-bound world she is going to provide for a fnmily ten days hence. Probably the eggs will catch cold in the meantime ; or, what is ecjiially likely, the magpies, who love eggs for breakfast and are not particular about tlieir being newdaid, will relieve the anxious parent of all rcsponsi- bihty. Some authorities believe that a pro- portion of the thrushes go south for the cold weather. If they take care of their throats, as such professional singers ought, it would be wise of them to winter at Torquay or Ea.stbourne or some other south coast resort. Ureakfast Is over, hut ihe birds hang about the lawn waiting for something. Like the poor, they are always with us in winter ; but they can't possibly lie waiting for a distribu- tion of coals, blankets, and llannel petticoats. It sounds bad, but tlie truth is they want a drink. The pump in the stable-yard is frozen, and so are the pond and the horse-trough. A pan of water will make you as many friends as there are birds. And having slaked their thirst they disperse to go and sit in the sun as little boys cuddle down over a l)aker's grat- ing. The wiser among the brethren seek the chimney-stacks. A barn owl one cold January night frightened a respectable family mto fits by hooting down the chimney : it was so nice and warm, he tiiought it was a whifi" of summer coming u[) from the dying Vol. x.\iii. — 5. "the I'UMi' IN THE STAlil,E-VAKD IS riiuZCN."

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34 THE STUAND MAGAZINE. vnii^r i>i' summit; and slay the nii^ht " in the ivy against ihe kitchen chimney : — On a very cold night it's a very goehind, And a fiiurth on your hack, il he'll stop. It is snug in ihc middle, you're certain to find It so warm lliai ymi sleep like a lup. The host's thoughtful arrangement for liis own comfort is marred by the circumstance that each of his guests wants an inside place : whence the screaming and scolding you may hear after dark and tiie spectacle of abusive sparrows tumbling out of the ivy in bunches. nshes below, and welcomed it after the manner of his kind. The high bodily temperature of birds goes Other far to enable tlieni to disi)ense with the extra too, in clothes we chilUer creatures wear in winter. The A bird's temperature read by the human standard would suggest that the patient was in a danger- ously high fever, fo r T04deg. to loSdeg. is the avine normal — it varies in different species — but they suffer cruelly at night. It is cold work perching alone on one leg, so the birds make up sleeping parties : great tits ha\e been seen hop[)ing ^ne after the other into a favourite bedroom, where they slf[)t all together and kept one another warm. The sparrows go around about sunset and invite their friends to " coine "cold work i" " IHN.NER AND SLECl'." birds other methods — and manners the social sense. sheep, in their well-fleeced persons, advertise "(".ood Bods," and the starlings, whose welcome lalxmrs to relieve the stieep of ticks promotes good feeling between them, are in tlic habit of roosting among the flock. Some- times the bird wakes in the morning to Hnd his feet entangled in his host's wool ; then there is un- pleasantness : the starling jscolds volubly, declaring the sheep caught him on puri)ose. The sheep looks at iiim in mild reproach, and other sheep crowd round to see the {\\w. Moorhens and such shy fowl will seek shelter in a rabbit - hole when the

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THE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 35 f I weather is very bad : they don't go right indoors and disturb the family; they step into the hall as it were and sit down ([uietly, as if they had come witii a message and were wait- ing for the answer. 's£ ^ / —^ "the MIKISI' AIU'EHIISK 'goiiD IIRLIS.' The idle, melancholy hens gather in groups and comment in querulous undertones upon the weather. They are out on strike : give them warm food, and you shall have eggs ; no warm food, no eggs. This is the estah- winter, so he does not stay long abroad. The long-eared bat is thorough in his hibernation: he folds his vast ears, nearly as long as him- self, back along his sides, gives his heart a rest, and becomes cold and torpid. So profound is his slumber that it takes him about a quarter of an hour to wake up proi^erly. Tlie lizards, slow - worm, ___^^_^ common snake, and viper are "~ all abed underground. The snake and vijier must find it hard to get to sleep as they can't siuit their eyes, having no movable eyelids. That is where the slow-worm has the pull over them ; he is more nearly related to the lizard J'ss family, and ability to shut his eyes and wink betrays the fact that he is highly connected, quite apart from his elemen- tary limbs. The frogs are comfortably asleep in the mud at the bottom of the horse - pond, indifferent to the cold; the robust frog can withstand the most Arctic weather : he makes nothing of being i:ggs is iioiM--. lished rule in the egg-producing industry, and must be upheld. Happy the creatures whom Nature orders to bed for the whole winter. The common bats are sound asleep, hanging from the roof in the darkest corner of the loft or inside some hollow tree. On a fine, mild day the bat may come out for a bit, but there is nothing much fur him to do if he does come out in frozen stiff for a few days ; he thaws out again and smiles. Ves ! hibernation has advantages : — Vnii sdlvo the weighty scciet of fivoiding winiL-r ills, The fligliis to the Riviera, the colds in chest and licad , The chillilaiiis, Iniisting water-pipes, the wails, and Chiisliuas I>il!>, Ity getlinj; fal in autumn and jusl stepping into iKd !

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. <«;.',-. ,0, 5-(-V ■ niK. AM) .MlvS. l;[;i)WN-RAT AND KAMII.V C0M1-: TO TiUVN, 'I'he rat doesn't go to bed in winter ; he Is a hi.^hly civili/ed creature, the rat, and when the cold weather comes on shuts up his jilcasnnt country-house in ditch, bank, or hedgerow to take up (|uarter.s in his tuwn- tip motirnfully. The song of the robin is the song of the sorrowful, but there is no reason to sup- pose tiiis bird is more harassed with care than his neigh- bours ; on the con- trary, pugnacity and impudence com- bined rarely suffer from want, and tlie robin has more than iiis share of both. The hedge-sparrow, who, by the way, is not a sparrow at all, sings also on a fine day, but feebly ; the blaekbird gets out his music on occasion, and the thrush i)raetises now and again ; so does the skylark towards the end of the niontli : but wind and rain, or a fall of snow, reminds tlieni that the con- ■ ^is"^ ' so Mt^tC Tfl-llAV." house. Sewer and cellar are not ideal dwel- lings, hut they compare favourably with an establishment which may be flooded by rain- water or blocked by snow ; then, again, the near propinquity of corn-stack, larder, and store-room offers large facilities for earning that dishonest livelihood which has such charms for the rat. He takes pride in his profession as a thief, as witness the ingenuity with which he uses his tail to get the con- tents of an oil-bottle. The seasons make no difference to the mouse : winter and summer alike he pursues his joyous way, marrying and giving in marriage and rearing at your expense large families of children which you don't want. There is little mustc in these days: the robin in mild weather perches on some naked bough, depresses his tail, and pipes' cert season is a long way off yet, and they stop singing with an abruptness that suggests they were only waiting for an excuse. The only bird who r e a 1 1 y sings in ear- nest at this season is the song-thrush's cousin, the missel-thrush: his spirits rise with the wind; w hen other birds, so to speak, are hurriedly put- ..t-hi- Mi.si-:i.-T.,Kusn*s tukx.'

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I I J ting up their nm- brclhis and wind- ing mufilers round their throats and running under cover, the missel- thrush takes his stand on some high and exposed bough and sings with all the power of his voice, the howhny wind as his a c c o in p a n i- niL'ni ; no wonder they call him the storm-cock. 'JJ/£ ARCADIAN CALENDAR. THE aTTEH IN TROUllLE. 37 on a stone rick- post discovered quite a number of new and originiil tumbles before he was released iVoni tlie ice which his warm feet had melted and whicli froze again while he stood there. Sparrows and other small birds sitting still too long on iron gates, stones, or lumps of snow are trap- " rHi-:Y i.ivFT Titi-m; tails iiehind thi-:m. The uinicr fnr mc I On [he inp of a tree, While die north wind is playing at driving the So liriskly and free, t should jii^t like to see Tlie norlli \vin<I who'd manage In whistle down me I A fig for the spring I For a 'leli- ciili; ihint; Like the lilackcap or nlyhllngalc sunsiiitie is nicei ; Bui the bird wlm ,aii biny and make echoes Ui ring, Dons sou'-wesler and oilskins an<l now has his lling. He is the only professional vocalist who does not mind bad weather ; all the others are very particular about the conditions under which they sing. Incautious birds and beasts get into dangerous scrapes in sc\ere weather. The snijie affecting marshy ground wakes to find himself fro/.en to the earth ; a tumbler pigeon who perched sleet 'what a vmyv for a chilblain ped in the same way. An otter hrihing one very cold day from the edge of the ice on the Irfon, in Wales, grew so absorbed in his sport, or in hopes of it, he never noticed that his tail was frozen fast to the ice — a misfortune which wrought that sportsman's un- doing at the hands of a pass- ing labourer. Vou would think that the coot could keep his apology for a tail out of such diHiculttes ; but a tlock of some two hundred once sat thinking on the ice, regardless of [jossible chil- blains, till tliL'ir tails froze to it, and when frightened into getting up every bird left his tail behind him. Less com- mon is the curious fate which once cost numerous wood- pigeons their lives: they went to bed wet— a rash thing for anybody to do— and during

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3» TJiE STRAND MAGAZINE. "■nn- FKl.OS' TIT.' the night the rain gave way to hard frost, where- l>y when those unha[ipy wood-pigeons woke in the morning their wings were frozen over their tails, and they fell in a shower on the head of an astounded passer-by, who made tlie most of the opportunity. I'he inexperienced moor- hen wiio ventures u(>on the ice apparently labours under the delusion that if he seek with haste he will fuid open water: he finds reason to regret that he never learned to skate. But in much worse case is the misguided heron who alights on smooth black ice under the im- pre.s.sion that it is water ; he offers an object-lesson in the unwisdom of trying to slide on stills. The sprightly great tit joins the other birds on the lawn at breakfast-time, but finds nothing to please him on the menu unless there he a scrap of fat. \\ hat he loves above all things is a bit of suet hung by a string to a bough, in which situation he is almost the only bird who can get at it. It speaks volumes for his digestion that he should l)e able to dine standing ujiside down. The carrion crow is the only bird who is likely to dispute the great tit's right to his meal. Vou may see him sometimes perch on a convenient branch [luz/.ling over the problem. " LijoU," says he lo the til, " al that licaiitifiil bit <Jf fat, where the humans have set il. It is safu from the cat, but the iniuhle is that /c.innot make out liuw lu gel it." Says the lit to die crow ; " Why, there's nothing I know Ho easy as gelthig at suet. \'uu just jxirch Uiisidc down, like a gymnast or clown ; The veriest nestling can dti it." dymnastics are not in the crows line at all, but he has brains : he is the cleverest of a clever family, (iive him time and he will discover how to pull up the suet by the string with beak and claw. The engaging manners of the great tit mask a disreputable character. If the King's writ ran in the bird-world he would he indicted and hanged as murderer and cannibal. He kills smaller birds than himself in order to eat their brains ; the wren is a fretpient victim. (Inats and other insects on fine dajs come out of the crannies where they have been hiding to play on the sunny side of the hedge. They don't put much life into the game, hut one can hardly be surprised at that. Indoors, a weak-minded bluebottle, deceived by the warmth, conies out of his crack in die wall to look round and ascertain if it is time to get up for the summer. He is not half awake, and his bear- ing is so subdued and awkward that you hardly recognise in hini the loud and joyful insect of July. He totters in his walk ; his wings are dusty, and one is bent as if he had gone to sleep with it doubled undei- him. He blunders LKiioTTi-E I WAS.' lound thc rooui aud scttlcs 'THE tlLUEBOTTLE IX SUMMEK.

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TJJE ARCADIAN CALENDAR. 39 I on your hand : rubs his head doubtfully ; and, strolling off your knuckles, is surprised to find that he can't walk on air. After a while it dawns u[)un him that he must ha\'e made a mis- take in getting up so soon, and he staggers across the carpet, wondering if he can possibly find his way hack to bed. The spider a[)iJears, too, and prac- tises throwing his web, but he seems rheumatic and uncertain of aim. The lobster is in season now. The lobster's attractions on the J ft.- HKOUIiMf Vf. •~^-a^^*\ ' ■■■, - "ti-:\ ;)rt;nprFs of ri^osT, table are great, hut it is in its domestic capacity, as father. mother, or chilil, that the lobster best repays study. No crustacean is more carefully brought up by its mother than the young lobster, who is kept at home until he reaches months of discre- tion, under the eye of an affectionate parent. Tlie angry eye of the paternal lobster, set as it is on a stalk, must, by the way, be an awful thing for his erring son to face ; but these be mat- ters pertaining to the future, as are the private affairs of the prawn, now also in season, and ever)\vhere held in esteem — l)arlicularly in curry. 'J'he fox ought to enjoy severe weather. Can't you imagine him scanning the " Hunting Ap- pointments'' in T//e Field and chuckling over tlie fact that this frost is going to cancel them all as it did last week? Hounds are in kennel and won't rome out, except for road exercise ; and if he likes he can go and drive the whole pack to frenzy by grinning at them through the bars. 'Hien, too, he can spend the night out, as his habit is, without finding his front door " stopped " against him in the interests of hunting, when he conies iiome in the small hours. It is maddening to find the door locked at four in the morning. The stoat is alert and active in winter ; famine among birds means high carnival for him, and he and his cousins the marten weasel and polecat enjoy themselves and grow fat. 'i'he stoat must regard his cousins as poor relations : he changes his summer coat for a white one in winter, retaining only the black tip to his tail, while they wear the same clothes all the year round. It is not worth the stoat's while to make the change in the comparatively mild winter of the south of England, so he doesn't generally go to the expense ; in the north he does it as a matter of course, even as do the mountain hare and the !)tarmigan. J fs% ' HEAL- ST"A1'.

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The House Under the Sea. tJv Max I'emberton. u i CHAl'TER V. flTRANCr: SKIHTS ASMOKn, AND WHAT \VF. SAW or THEM. 0\\\ when Seth Ba.rkt'r cried out that a ship was ashore on the dangerous reefs to the northward of the main island, it is not necessary to tell you what we, a crew of British seamen, were called upon to do. The words were scarcely sfioken before I had given the order, " Stand by the boats." and sent every man to his station. Excited the hands were, that I will not deny ; excited and willing enougii tt) tell you about it if you'd asked them ; hut no man among them opened his lips, and while they stood there, anxious and ready, I had my glass to my eye and tried to make out the steamer and what had befallen her. Nor was Mister Jacob behind me, but he and Peter JJligh at my side, we soon knew the truth and made \\\) ouv minds about it. " 'i'hore's a ship on the reef, sure enough, and by the cut of her she's the Sanfa Cruz we spoke this afternoon," said Mister Jacob, and added, " a dangerous shore, sir, a dangerous sliore.'' "But full of kind-liL'urted people that fire their guns at poor shipwrecked mariners," put in Peter Bligh. I wouldn't believe him at fust, but there was no denying it, awful truth that it was, when a few minutes had passed. "Good heavens," cried I, "it can't he so, Peter, and vet that's a rifle's tongue, or I've lost my hearing." Well, we all stood together and listened as men listen for some poor cre.iture's death- ery, or the sounds which come in the stillness of the night to afiVight and unnerve us. Sure enough, you couldn't have counted ten before the report of guns was heard distinctly above the distant roar of breakers, while flashes of crimson light playing about the reef seemed to tell the whole story without another word from me. " Those demons ashore are shooting the crew," cried I; " (hd man ever hear such bloody work ? I'll have a reckoning for this, if it takes me twenty years. Lower away the boats, lads ; I'm going to dance to that music." They swung the two longboats out on the davits, and the port crew were in their seats, when Mister Jacob touched my arm and tpiL'Stioned my order, a thing I haven't known him do twice in ten years. "Beg pardon, sir," said he, *' but there's no boat that will help the Santa Cruz to- night." " And why, .Mister Jacob— why do you sav that?" " Because she's gone where neither yon tior me wish to go yet awhile, Mister P>egg." I stood as though he had shot me, and chipping my glass to my eye I took another look towards the northern reef and the ship that was stranded there. But no ship was to be seen. She had disappeared in a twinkling ; the sea had swallowed her u[). And over the water, as an eerie wail, lasting and doleful, came the death-cries of tho.se who perished with her. " (iod rest their j)oor souls and punish them that sent them there,'' said Peter Bligh ; but i\lister Jacob was still full of his i)rudent talk. "We're four miles out, and the moon will be gone in ten minutes, sir. Vou couldn't make the reef if you tried, and if you could, you'd find none living. This sea would best the biggest boat that ever a ship carried — it will blow harder in an hour, and what then ? We've friends of our own to serve, and the door that Providence opens we've no right to shut. I say nothing against humanity. Captain Begg, hut I wouldn't hunt the dead in the water when I could help the living ashore." I saw his point in a moment, and had nothing to say against it. No small boat could have lived in the reefs about the northern end of the island with the .sea that was running that night. If the demons who fired down upon the poor fellows of the Stwia Cruz were still watching like vultures for human meat, like as not the main island would be free of them for us to go ashore as we pleased. A better opportunity might not be found for a score of months. I never blame myself, least of all now, when I know Ruth Bellenden's story, that I listened to the clear-headed wisdom of Anthony Jacob. " You're right, as always. Mister Jacob.

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THE HOUSE UNDER THE SEA, 41 I've no call to take these good fellows on a fool's errand. And it's going to blow hard, as you say. We'll take in one of the boats, and those that are for the shore will make haste to get aboard the other/' Tills I said to him, but to the men I put it in a few seamaivs words. '* Lads," I said, " no boat that Soutli a m pt on ever built could swim in yonder tide where it makes between the reefs. We'd like to help ship- mates, but the chance is not ours. There's another little shipmate ashore there that needs our help pretty badly. I'm going in for her sake, and there's not a man of you tiiat will not do his duty by the ship when I'm gone. Aye, you'll stand by Mister Jarob, lads, I may tell him that ? " They gave me a rousing cheer, which was a pretty foolish thing to have done, and u took all my voice to silence them. Lucky for us, there was a cloud o\'er the moon now, and darkness like a black vaiwur upon the sea. Not a lamp burned on the Southern Cj'oss ; not a cabin window but wasn't curtained. What glow came from her funnel was not more than a hazy red light over the waters : and when five of us (for we took Harry Doe to stand by ashore) stepped into the longboat, and set her head due west for the land, we lost the steamer in fi\'e minutes — and, God knows, we were never to see her again on the high seas or off. Now, I have said that the wind had begun to blow fresh since sunset, and at two bells in the first watch, the time we left the ship, the sea ran high, and it was not over safe even Vol. xxiii. — 6. ''1 HAVK ALWAYS ACCOr.M Kl) IT MORE GOOI> I UCK THAN' GuOU SKAMANSIKl' TilAT IIKOUUHT US TO THIi COVE AT LAST." in tlio longboat to be cruising for a shore wo knew so little about. I have always ac- counted it more good luck than good sea- manship that brought us to the cove at last, and set us all, wet but cheerful, on the dry, white sand about the ladder's foot. There was shelter in the bay both for man and ship, and when we'd dragged the long- boat upon the beach we gave Harry Doe his orders and left him to his duly. " If there's danger fire your gun," said I — •'once, if you wish to call us : twice, if you think we should stand off. lUit you won't do that unless things are at the worst, and Lm hoping for the best, when vou won't do it at all." He answered, "Aye, aye," in a whisper which was like a bear's growl : and we four, Peter Rligh, Seth Barker, and the lad Dolly, besides myself, climbed the ladder like cats and stood at the cliffs head. To say that our hearts were in our mouths would not be strict truth, for I never feared any man.

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42 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. bcaxt, or demon yet ; and I wasn't going to begin that night— nor were the others more ready, that 1 will answer for them, liut remembering the things we had seen on the reef, the words whieli Ruth Bellenden had spoken to me, and that which happened to the lad and myself last time we came ashore; remembering this, it's not to be wondered at that our hearts beat a bit quicker, and that our hands went now and again to the pistols we carried. Kor, just think of it— there we were at nine o'clock of a dark night, in a thick wood, with the trees making ghosts about us, and the path as narrow as a ship's plank, and no knowledge of who walked the woods with us nor any true reckoning of what was to follow down below. What man uouldn't have held his tongue at such a time, or argued with Iiimself that it might end badly, and he never see the sun again ? Not Jasper Jiegg, as I bear witness. Not he, by all that's truthful. Kou\ I put myself at the head of our fellows and, the better to find the track, I went down on my hands and niy knees like a four-footed thing, and signalling to those behind with a bosun's whistle, I led them well enongli througli the wood to the wicker- basket bridge ; and would have gone on from there straight down to the house but for something which happened at tlie clearing of the thicket, just as I stood up to bid the men go over. Startling it was, to be sure, and enough to give any man a turn ; nor did I wonder that Peter Bligh should have cried out as he did when first he clapped eyes upon it. " Holy Mother of Mnsie," says he, " 'tis the angels singing, or I'm a dirty nigger ! " *' Hold your tongue," says I, in a whisper ; " are you afraid of two voung women, then?" '• Of three," says he, "which being odd is lucky. When my poor father " "Confound your father," says I; "hold your tongue and wait." He lay low at tins, and the rest of us gafjed, open-mouthed, as though we were staring at a fairy-book. There, before us, coming down from the black rocks above, leaping from step to step of the stone, were three young girls ; but, aye, the queerest sort that ever tantalized a man with their pretti- ness. Vou may well ask, the night being inky dark, how we managed to see them at all ; bat let me tell you that they carried good resin torches in their hands, and the wild light, all gold and crimson against the rocks, shone as bright as a ships flare and as far. Never have I seen such a thing, I say, and never shall. 'I'here were the three of them, like young deer on a bleak hillside, singing and laugiiing and leaping down, and, what's more, speak- ing to each other in an odd lingo, with here a word of I'Vunch and there a word of Clcrman, and after that something that was beyond me and foreign to my uTider- standing. " (lod be good to me — saw man ever such a sight? And the dress of 'em, the dress of em," whispers Peter Bligh. But I clapped my hand upon his mouth and stopped him that time. "Tile dress is all right," said 1; "what I'm wondering is how three of that sort came in such a place as this. And well born too, well born, or 1 don't know the meaning of the term ! " They were pretty creatures, and their dress was like the rest of them. Short skirts all looped and frilled with flowers, toggery above cut out of some white skin, with caps to match and their hair falling in big romping cuds about it— they were for all the world like the dancers you see at a stage play and just as active. And to hear their voices, sweet and musical, floating from ra\ine to ravine like a choir singing in a jilace of echoes, aye, that was somethnig you might not soon forget. But what they were doing in such a place, or how they came there, the Lord above alone knew, and not a plain seaman like jasper Bcgg. "What are they saying, Peter -what do you make of it ? " I asked him, under my breath. " 'Tis the French lingo," says he, foolish- like, "and if it's not that, 'tis the German — leastwise no Christian man that I know of could distinguish between em." " Peter," says I, " that's what you learn in the asylum. 'Tis no more the French lingo than your own. Why, hearken to it." A\'eil, he listened, and soon we heard a pretty echo from the valley, for they'd gone down toward the gardens now ; and one word repeated often had as nice a touch of music as I remember hearing. It was just this : " Rosamunda — munda— munda," and you can't think how fresh the young voice sounded in that lonely place, or what a chill it gave a man when he remembered the demons over at the reef and what they'd done to the crew of the Santa Cruz. As far as that goes, I do believe to this day that our fellows believed they'd seen nothing more nor less tiian an apparition out of the black rocks above them,

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THE HOUSE UiVBEK THE SEA. 43 "thev were for all the world likk the UANCEKS VOU SI!E AT A STAdfc: I'LAV," and it wasn't until I'tl spoken to them in good honest Enghsh thnt i got thorn to go on a^ain. " Flesh or .spirit, tliat's not a lot to whiten a man's gills," critLl 1; " why, thunder, Peter Bligh, you're big enough to put 'em all in your pocket, and soft enough they'd lie when they got there. Do you mean to tell me," said I, *' that four hale and strong men are to be frightened out of their ^Yits by three pretty girls?— and you a religious man, too, Peter ! \\'hy, I'm ashamed of you, that 1 am, lads, right down ashamed of you ! " They plucked up at this, and Peter he made haste to excuse himself. '* If they was C!iirislian men with knives in ihcir hands," says he, " I'd \i\M up a bit of a prayer, and trust to the Lord to shoot 'em ; but them three's agen all reason, at this time of night in such a lone place." " do on with you, IVterj" chimes in Dolly Venn; " three ripping little girls, and don't I wish they'd ask me in to tea ! Why, look, they're down by the house now, and somebody with them, tlunigh whether it's a man or a woman I really don't pretend to say." " I'm derned if I don't think it's a lion,'" .says Seth Barker, asking my [jardon for the liberty. \\q all stood still at this, for we were on the hillside just above the house now, and down on the fair grass- way belf)w us we espied the three little girls with their torches still burning, and they as deep in talk with a stranger as a man nnght have been with his own mother. A more remark- able human being than the one these little ladies had liappened upon I don't look to see again the world arour.d. Man or lion- God forgive me if I know what to call him. He'd hair enough, shaggy hair curling about his shoulders, to have stuffed a feather bed. His dress was half man's, half woman's. He'd a tattered petticoat about his legs, a seaman's blou.se for his body, and a lady's shawl above that upon bis shoulders — his legs were bare as a barked tree, and what boots he had should have been in the rag - shop. What was more wonderful still was to see the manner of the young ladies towards him — for I shall always call them that— they petted him and fondled liim, and one put a mock crown of roses on hi.s head. Then, with that pretty .song of theirSj " Rosamunda — munda— mnnda," they

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44 TJIE STRAND MAGAZINE. ail ran off togclher toward the northern shore and left us in the darkness, as sur- prised a party of men as you'll readily meet with. " Well/' says I'eter Bligh, and he was tiie first aaionL; us to speak, " yon's a niee ship- mate to speak on a quiet road. So help me thunder, but I wouldn't pass round the tin for him in a beauty show, no, not much ! Did ye see the hair of him, captain—did ye see the hair?" "And the girls kissing him as tliough he were Apollo," cries Dolly Www, who, I don't d(jubt, would have done the kissing willingly himself. Hut I husiied iheir talk, and with- out more ado I went straight down to Ruth liellenden's house. All the strange things we'd seen and heard, the uncanny sights, the firing on the reef, the wild man ashore, the little girls from the hills— all these, I say, began to tell me my mistress's story as a written book might never have done. "She's need of me," I said, " sore need ; and by Cod's hel[i I'll bring her out of this place before to-morrow's sun." For how should I know what long days must pass before I was to leave Ken's Island again ? _^_^ CHAPTER VI. JASI'KU HKOC. MKKTS HIS OLD MISTRESS, A\n IS w\.vrcHKi). I HAD made u[) my mind lo take every due precaution before going up to the house where my mistress lived ; and with caution in my head I left Seth Harker, the carpenter, a little way up on the hill path, while I set Peter P.ligh at the gate of the garden, and posted Dolly Yiiwn round at the northern side, where the men who had looted the Sania Cruz might be looked for with any others that I had no knowledge of. When this was done, and they understood that, they were to fire a gun if the need arose, I opened the wicket-gate and crept up the grass path for all the world like an ill-visaged fellow who had no true business there. Not a sound could I hear in all that place ; not a dog harked, nor a human voice spoke. Even the wind came fitful and gusty about the sheltered house, and so quiet was it between the squalls that my own footfall almost could scare me. For, you see, a whisper spoken at the wrong time might have undone all — a clumsy step have cost us more than a man cared to think. We were but four, and, for all I knew, there might have been four hundred on Ken's Island. You don't wonder, tliercfore, if I asked myself at times whether to-morrow's sun would find us living, or what our misfortune might spell for one I had come so far to serve. It was very dark in the garden, as I have told you, but two of the windows in the house were lighted up and two golden rings of light dirown out upon the soft grass I trod. I stood a long time debating which window lo knock upon — for it was a fearful lottery, I must say —and when I'd turned it over and over in my head, and now made out that it was this window and nowjjlumpcd for the other, I took up a pebble at last and cast it upon the |iane nearest to the door — for that seemed to me the more likely room, and I'd nothing else but common sense to guide me. You may judge of my feelings wiien no notice was taken of my signal except by a dog, which began to yap like a pup and to make such a scare that I thought every window and every door must be o[)ened that very instant and as many men out on top of me. I said, surely, that it was all up with Jasper Begg that journey : but odd to to tell it, the dog gave over at last, and no one showed himself, neither was there any whistle from my company ; and I was just making ready to throw another stone when tlie second light was turned out all of a sudden and, the long window being opened, Ruth Beilenden— or, to be more correct, Madame C/.erny— herself came out into the garden, and stood looking round about as thougii she knew that I was there and had been waiting for me. When at last she saw mc she didn't speak or make any sign, hut going about to the house again she held the window open for me, and I passed into the dark room with her, and there held her hand in mine, I do believe as though I woultl never let it go again. "Jasper," says she, in a whisper that w.ns pretty as the south wind in springtime ; "Jas|)er Pegg ! How could it be anyone else? Oh, we must light a candle, Jasper Begg," says she, "or we shall lose ourselves in the dark." " Miss Ruth," said I, " light or dark, I'm here according to my orders, and the ship's here, and as I said to you before the yellow boy to-day, we're waiting for our mistress to go aboard." She had her back to me when I said this, and was busy enough drawing the curtains and lighting the lamp again. The light showed me that she wore a rich black gown with fiiiffy stuff over it, and a bit of a sparkle in the way of diamonds like a band across her parted liair. The face was deceiving,

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THE HOUSE UNDER THE SEA. 4S » now lighted up by one of the old smiles, now hard set as one who had suffered much for her years. But there was nothing over- wonianisli in her talk, and wc two thrashed it out tht^re just the same as if Ken's Island wasn't full of demons, and the Hves of me and my men worth what a spin of the coin niiji,lit buy them at. *' You mustn't call me Miss Ruth," says she, when she turned from the lamp and tidied up her writing on the table ; "of course you know that, Jasper Bcgg. And you at my wedding, too — is it really not more than twelve long months ago?" A sigh passed her lips, such a sigh as tells a woman's story better than all the books ; and in that moment the new look came upon her face, the look I liad seen when t!iu yellow man changed words witli lier in the morning. "It's thirteen montiis three weeks since you went up with Mr. Czerny to the cathedral at Nice," was my next word; "the days go slow on this out of-the way shore, I'll be bound— until our friends come, Miss Ruth, until we're sure they haven't forgotten us." I liad a meaning in this, and be sure she took it. Not that she answered me out and away as I wisiied ; for she put on the pretty air of wife and mistress who wouldn't tell any of her husband's secrets. "Why, yes," she said, very slowly, " the days are long and the nights longer, and, of course, my husband is much away from here." I nodded my head and drew the chair she'd offered me close to the table. On her part she was looking at the clock as though she wished that the hands of it might stand still. 1 read it tliat we hadn't much time to lose, and wliat we had was no imie for fair words. " Miss Ruth," says I, without more parley, 'Mrom what I've seen to-night I don't doubt that any iionest man would be glad lo get as far as he could from Ken's Island and its people. You'll pardon what a plain seaman is going to say, and count him none the less a friend for saying it. When you left money in the banker's hands to commission a ship and bring iier to this port, your words to me were, ' 1 may ha\'e need of you.' Miss Ruth, you ha\e need of me— I should be no more than a fool if I couldn't see that. You have sore need of me, lad>', and if you won't say so for yourself, I take leave to say it for you." .She raised a hand as though she would not hear me— but I was on a clear cour.se now, and I held to it in spite of her. ■' \'es," 1 said, " you've need of your friends to-night, and it's a lucky wind liuit brought them to this shore. A\'hat has passed, Miss Ruth, in these months you speak of, it's not for me to ask or inciuire, I have eyes in my head, and tliey show me what 1 would give my fortune not to see. You're unhappy here— you're not treated well." t:AD WFST DflWM ON THE TAni.E .\ND SHE [lECAN TO SOR.

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46 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. I ^vaited for her to speak ; but not a word would she say. Wliitc she was, as a flower from her own garden, and once or twice she shivered as though the culd had struck her. I was just going on to s^ieak again, when what should happen but that her little head went do^vn on tlie tabic and she began to sob as though her heart would break. " Oh, jas[)er ]»cgg, how 1 have suffered, how 1 have suffered 1 '' said she, between her sobs ; and what could I do, what could any man do who would kiss tiie ground a woman walks uijon Inil has no right or title to? Why, hold his tongue, of course, though it hurt him cruelly to do any such thing. " Miss Ruth," said I, very foolish, " please don't think of that now. I'm here to help you, the ship's here, we're waiting for you to go aboard." She dried her tears and tried to look up at me with a smile. *-0h, I'm just a child, just a child again, Jasper," cries she; ''a year ago I thought myself a woman, but that's all passed. And I shall never go away on \our ship, Jasi^er Begg— never, never. I shall die on Ken's Island as so many have died." I stood up at this and [joinled to the clock. '* Little friend,'' I said, ''if you'll put a cloak about your shoulders and leave this iiouse with me I'll have you safe aboard the Souf/wrn Cross in twenty minutes by that clock, as God is my witness." It was no boast— for that I could have done as any seaman knows ; and you may well imagine that I stood as a man struck dumb when I had her answer. " Why, yes," she said, " you could put me on board your boat, Captain Jas[)er, if e\-ery step I took was not watched ; if e\ery crag had not its sentinel ; if there were not a hundred to say 'Cio back -go back to your home.' Oh, how can you know, how can you guess the things I fear and dread in this awful place ? Vou, perhaps, because the ship is waiting will be allowed to return to it again. But I, never, never again to my life's end." A terrible look cro.ssed her face as she said thi.s, and with one swift movement she 0[)ened a drawer in the locker where she did her writing, and took from it a little book which she thrust, hke a packet, into my hands. "Read," she said, with startling earnest- ness, " read that when you are at sea again. I never thought that any other eyes but mine would see it ; but you, Jasper, you shall read it. It will tell you what I myself could never tell. Read it as you sail away from here, and then say how you will come back to help the woman who needs your help so sorely." I thrust the book into my pocket, but was not to be put off like that. '■ Read it ] will, every line," said I ; " but you don't suppose that Ja.sper Jiegg is about to .sail away and leave you in this plight, Miss Ruth ! He'd be a pretty sort of Englishman to do that, and it's not in his constitution, I do assure you!" She laughed at my earnestness, but re- collecting how we stood and what had befallen since sun.sc[, she would hear Jio more of it. " Vou doivt understand ; oh, you don't understand I " slie cried, very earnestly. " There's danger here, danger even now while you and I are talking. 'i'hose who have gone out to the wreck will be coming home again ; they nmst not find you in this liouse, Jasper Uegg, must not, must not \ For my sake, go as you came. Tell all that thought of me how I thank them. Someday, perhaps, you will learn how to help me. 1 am grateful to you, Jasper - you know that I am grateful." She held out both her hands to me, and they lay in mine, and I was trying to speak a real word from my heart to her when there came a low, shrill whisdc from the garden- gate, and I knew that Peter Dligh had seen something and was calling me. "Miss Ruth," says I, "that's old Peter Bligh and his danger signal There'll be someone about, or he wouldn't do it." \Vell, she never said a word. I saw a shadow cross her face, and believed she was about to faint. Nor will anyone be surpri.sed at that when I say that the door behind us had been opened while we talked, and there stood Ress Denton, the yellow man, watching us like a hound that would bite presently. CHAPTER Vn. IX WHICH HV.I.V CO.MKS FKOM THFJ LAST QCARTKR \VK HAD KXPECTKI) IT. Now', no sooner did I see the yellow man than my mind was fully made up, and I determined what harbour to make for. "If you're there, my lad," said I to myself, " the others are not far behind you. You've seen me come in, and it's your intention to prevent me going out again. To be caught like a rat in a trap won't serve Ruth Bellenden, and it won't serve me. I'm for the open, Kess Denton," said I, "and no long while about it, either.''

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THE HOUSE UNDER THE SEA. 47 This 1 s:iid, buL I ilidn't mciin to phy the startled kitten, and witliout any token o{ surprise or sucli-like I turned round to Miss Kuth and gave her ''good evening." " Tni sorry you're not coming aboard, Madame Czerny," says 1 ; " we weigh in an hour, and it will be a month or more before I call in again. But you sha'n'l wait long for the news if I can help it ; and as for your brother, Mr. Kenrick, I'll trust to hear from him at 'Frisco and to tuU you what he thinks on my return. Good - night, madam," said I, " and the best of health and prosperity." 1 held out my hand, and she shook it like one who didn't know what she was doing. The yellow man came a step nearer and said, " Halloa, my hearty." I nodded my head to him and he put his hand on my shoulder. Poor fool, he thought I was a child, jierhaps, and to be treated as one ; but I'd learnt a thing or two about taking care of myself in Japan, and you couldn't have counted two before I had his arm twisted under mine, and he gave a yell they must have heard u[) in the hills. " If you cry out like that you'll ruin your beautiful voice," said I ; "hasn't anyone ever asked you to sing hymns in a choir ? Well, I'm surprised. Good-night, my boy ; I shall i>e coming back for your picture before many days have i)assed." Upon this I stepped toward the door, and thought that 1 had done witli him ; but no sooner was 1 out in the garden than some- thing went singing liy my ear, and upon that a second dose with two reports that echoed in the hills like rolling thunder. No written music was necessary to tell me what sort of a tune that was, and 1 swung round on my heel and grl[)ped the man by the throat almost before the echoes of the shot had died away. " Kess Denton," said I, "if you will have it, you shall ! " and with that 1 wrenched the l^istol from his graspand struck him a blow over the head thut sent him down without a word. "One," said I, to myself, "one that helped to make little Ruth liel- lenden suffer" ; and with that I set off running and never looked to the right of me or to the left undl I s a w P e t e r Bligh at the gate and heard his honest voice. "Is it you — is it you your- self, Mr. Begg? Thank God for that 1 " cries he, and it was no longer in a whis- per ; " there's men in the hills, andSeth Barker wiiistling fit to crack his lips. Is the young lady coming aboard, sir? f^^o ? — well I'm not suri)rised neither, though this shore do seem a queerish sort of place " I cut him short, and Dolly ^'enn running round from his place in the garden I asked him for liis news. The thing now was to fmd a road to the sea. A\'hat could be done for Ruth Bellenden that night was over and passed. Our chance lay on the deck of the Southeni Cross, and after tliat at 'I'^isco. "What have you seen, Dully Venn? Be I WREN-CHEIJ THK I'lSTOI, TKO.M HIS (ilJASt

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48 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. quick, lad, for we can't linger," was my ([uestion to him so soon as he was within hail, and for his answer he pointed to the trees which bordered the garden on tile eastward side. " 'Hie wood is full of armed men, sir. Two of them nearly trod upon me while I was lying there. They carry rifles, and seem to be CJermans— I coukhvt be sure of that, sir." "(lerinans or chimpanzees, we're going by them this night. Where's Seth Barker— why doesn't he come down? Does he think we can pass by the hill-road ? — the wooden block I Call him, one of you." They were about to do this when Seth Barker himself came panting down the hill- l)ath, and, what was more remarkable, he carried an uncouth sort of bludgeon in his hand. I could see he'd had a bit of u rough and tumble on the way, but that wasn't the lime for [tarticulars. " Come aboard, sir," says he, breathing heavy; "the gangway's blocked, but I give one of 'em a bit of a knock with his own shillelagh, and that's all right." " Ts there any more up there ? " I asked, quickly. " May be a dozen, may be more. They're up on the heights looking for you to go up, captain." **Aye," said I, "pleasant company, no doubt. Well, we must strike eastward some- how, lads, and the sooner the better. We'll hold to the valley a bit and see where that leads us. Do you, Seth Barker, keep that, bit of a shillelagh ready, and, if anyone asks you a question, don't you wait to answer it." Now, I bad resolved to try and get down to the sea by the valley road and, once upon the shore, to signal Harry Doe, if possible; and, if not him, then the ship herself as a last resource. Any road seemed to me better than this trap of a house with armed men all about it and a pistol bullet ready for any stranger that lingered. "Aboard the ship," said I, "well .show them a clean pair of heels to 'Fri.ico and, after that, ask the American Covernment what it can do for Ruth Bcilen- den and for her husband." We were four against a hundred, perhaps, and desperate men against us. If we got out of the scrape with our skins we should be as lucky a lot as ever sailed the Northern Pacific Ocean. But should we— could we } Why, it was a thou- sand to one against it ! I .said this when we plunged into the wood ; and yet I will bear witness that 1 got more excitement than anything else out of that venture, and I don't believe the others got less. There we were, the four of us, trampling through the brushwood, crushing down the bushes, now lying low, now up a-running— and not a man that wouldn't have gone through it twice for Ruth Bellenden's sake. If so be that the night was to cost us our lives, well, crying wouldn't help it— and those that were against us were flesh and blood, all said and done, and no spirits to scare a man. To that I set it down that we went on headlong and despe- rate. As for the thicket itself, it was full of men— I could see their figures between the trees ; and we must have passed twenty of them in the darkness before one came out plump on our path and cried out to us to halt. " Hold, hold," shouts he : " is it vou. Bob Williams?" " It's Bob Williams, right enough," says I, and with that I gave him one between the eyes and down he went like a felled ox. The man who was with him, stumbling up against Seth Barker, liad a touch of the shillelagh which was like a rock falling upon a fly. He just gave one shuddering groan and fell backwards, clutching the branches. LitUe Dolly Venn laughed aloud in his excite- ment; and Peter Bligh gave a real Irish '■ hurrugh" ; but the darkness had swallowed it all up in a minute, and we were on again, heading for the shore like those that run a race for their very lives. "Do you see any road, I'eler IJIigh ? " asked I, for my breath was coining short now ; " do you see any road, man ? " **The deuce a one, sir, and me weighing fourteen stone I " " You'll weigh less when we get down, Peter." " And drink more, the .saints be praised ! " " Was that a rifle-shot or a stone from the hills?" I asked them a moment later. Dolly \ enn answered me this time. "A rifle-shot, captain. 'Phey'll be shooting one another, then — it's rijiping, ripping ! " '' l.uok out, lad, or it'll be dripping f" cried I ; " don't you see there's water ahead ? " I cried the warning to him and stood stock-still upon the borders of as black a pool as I remember to have seen in any country. The road had carried us to the foot of the hills, almost to the chasm which the wicker-bridge spanned; and we could make out that same bridge far above us like a black rope in the twilight. The water Itself was covered with some clinging plants, and full of ugly, winding snakes

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TIIR HOUSE UNDER Tllli SEA. 49 whicli caused the whole pool to shine with a kind of uncanny hght ; while an overpowering odour, deadly and stifling, steamed up ' from it, and threatened to choke a man. A\liat was worse than this was or if I iiave spoken of it with moderation. A nii^ht as black as ink, mind you ; my company in tlie heart of a wood with big teak trees all round us, and cliffs on our rii;ht towering up to tlie sky like mountains. a close thicket bor- dering the pond on three sides, so that we must eitlier swim for it or turn back the way we came. The former course was not to l)e thought of. Already I could hear footsteps, and houghs snapping and [jrcakiiig not many yards from where we stood. To cross the pond might have struck the bravest man alive with terror. I'd have sooner forfeited my lifu time over than have touched one of those slimy snakes I could see wrig- gling over the leaves to the bottom of tiie still water. What else to do 1 had no more notion than the dead. "It's the end. Jasper IJegg," said I to myself, '" the end of you and your venture." Hut of Rutii llellen- den I wouldn't think. How could T, when I knew the folks that were abroad on Ken's Island ? I will just ask any traveller to stand with me where I stood that night and to say if tliese words are overmuch for the plight, Vol. xxiii. — 7. iin; \va-ii;k was i-uli. or uui.v, windinu snakes. Bufore us a pool of inky water, all worming with odd lights and lines of blue fire, like flakes of jihosphorus on a batli, and alive with the hissing of hundreds of snakes. Ujion our left hand a scrubby thicket and a marsh beneath it, I make sure ; C'/erny's demons, who had shot the poor folks on the Santa Cruz^ at our heels, and we but four against the lot of them. \^(nild any man, I ask, have believed that he could walk into such a trap and get out of it unharmed? If so, it wasn't Jasper Begg, nor Tcter Bligh, nor little Dofly ^'e^n, nor Seth Barker with the bludgeon in bis hand. They'd as good as given it up when we came to the pool and

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so THE STRAND MAGAZINE. stood there Hke hunting men that have lost all hope. "Done, by all that's holy I " says Peter IJHgh, drawini; hack from the pond as from some horrid i)it. "Snakes 1 have seen, nateral and uiinateral, but them yonder give nie the creeps " " Creeps orno creeps, liie others will be up here in five minutes, and what are you going to do then, Peter Biigh, what tlicn ? " a:^ks I, for as I'm a living man I didn't know which w;iy to turn from it. Selh Barker was the one that answered me. " I'm going to knock some nails in, by your leave," says he, and with that he stood very still and bade us hsten. The whole wood was full of the sound of "halloaing" now. Par and wide I lieard (question and answer, and a lingering yodle such as the Swiss boys make on the mountains. It couldn't be many minutes, I said, before the first man was out on our trail, and there I was right, for one of them came leaping out of the wood straight into Peter HIigh's arms before I'd spoken another word. Poor fellow— it was the last good-night for liim in this world — for Peter passes him on, so to speak, and he went headlong into the pond without anyone knowing how he got there. A more awful end 1 hope I may never hear of, and yet, (lod knows, he brouglit it on himself. As for Peter Biigh, the sliock set him sobbing like a woman. It was all my work to get him on again. " No fault of ours," said I ; " we're here for a woman's sake, and if there's man's work lo do, we'll do it, lads. Take my advice and you'll turn straight back and run for it. Better a tap on the head than a cry in yonder pool." 'Phey replied fearsomely — the strain was telling upon them badly. That much I learnt from their husky voices and the way they kept chjse to me, as though I could protect them. .Seth Barker, especially, big man that he was, began to mutter to himselY in the wildest manner possible, while little Dolly burst into whistling from time to time in a way that made me crazy. "'Phat's right, lad," cried I, "tell them you're Iiere, and ask after the health of their women-folk. You've done with this world, I see, and made it straight for the next. If you've a match in your pocket, strike it to keep up their spirits." Well, lie stopped short, and I was ashamed of myself a minute after for speaking so to a. mere lad whose life was before him and who'd every right to be afraid. " Come," said I, more kindly, "keep close 10 me, Dolly, and if you don't know where I am, why, put out your hand and touch me. I've been in worse scrapes than this, my boy, and I'll lead you out of it .somehow. After all, we've the ship over yonder, and Mister Jacob isn't done with yet. Keep up your heart, then, and put your best leg forward." Now, this was spoken to put courage into hmi — not that I believed what I said, but because he and the others counted upon me, and my own feelings had to go under some- how. For the matter of that, it looked all Lombard Street to a China orange against us when we took the woodland path again, and so I believe it would ha\e been but for some- thing which came upon us hke a thunder- fiash, and which Peter Bligh was the first to call our attention to. " Is it fireflies or lanterns?" cries he all ;it once, bringing out the words like a pump might have done; "yonder on the hill-sitle, shipmates— is it fireflies or lanterns?"' I stood to look, and while I stood Seth Barker named the thing. "Its lanterns," cries he; "lanterns, sure aiul certain, captain." " And the three ripping little girls carrying them," I uts in Dolly \'enn. " 'Tis no woman ever born that would hunt down four poor sailor-men," cries Peter Bligh. "'Po.say nothing of the he-lion they was a-fondling of," from Seth Barker. " Lads," said I, m my turn, " this is the unlooked for, and I, for one, don't mean to pass it by. I'm going to ask those young ladies for a short road to the hills - and not lose any time about it either." They all said "Aye, aye," and we ran forward together. The halloaing in the wood was closing in about w?, now ; you could hear voices wherever you turned an ear. As for the lantern.s, they darted from bush to bush like glow-worms on a summer's night, so that I made certain they would dodge us after all. My heart was low down enough, be sure of it, when I lost view of these guiding stars altogether, and found myself face to face with the last figure I might have asked for if you'd given me the choice of a hundred. Kor what should happen but that the weird being whom Seth Barker had called the "he-lion," the old fellow in pettico,it.s, whom the little girls made such a fuss of, he, I .say, appeared of a sudden right in the path fiefore us, and, holding up a lantern warninglv, he hailed us with a word which told us that he was our friend— the very last I would have named for that in ail the island.

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i THE HOUSE UNDER THE SEA. SI I ■"jASl'EK HK'U;.' CmiiU HH, ' rol-l-DW CI.AlK-UK-l.UNE. "Jasper IieL;g," cried he, in a voice that I'd have known for a Krenchman's anywhere, "follow ClairdeLuiie- follow— follow ! " He turned to the bushes behind him, and, seeming to dive between them, we found him when wu followed flat on his stomach, the lantern out, and he running like a dog up a windinj( path before him. He was lead- ing us to the hL'ights, and when I looked up to the great hare |)eaks and steeple-like rocks, up standing black and gloomy under the starry sky, I began to believe that this wild man was riyht and that in the hills our safety lay. Hut of that we had yet to learn, and for nil we knew to the contrary it might have been a trap. CIIAPTKR VIIT. THE IURD's NI-:ST in THI-: HILLS. There had been a great sound of " halloa- ing " nnd firing in the woods wlien we raced through them for our lives ; but it was all still and cold on the moun- tain-side, and you could hear even a stone falling or the drip of water as it oozed from the black rocks to the silent pools below. What light there was came down through the craggy gorge, and it was not until we had elimbL-d up and up for a uood half-hour or more that we began to hear the st-a- bree/.e whistling among the liighcr peaks like wild music which the spirits might have made. As for the path itself, it was oftentimes but a ledge against the wall of some sheer height, and none, I think, but seamen could have followed it, surely. Even I remembered where I was, and feared to look down sometimes; but danger bridges many [i perilous road, and what with the silence and diL' fresh breezes and the thought that we might live through the night, after all, I believe I could have hugged the wild old man who led us upward so un- flinchingly. I say that he went on un- flinchingly, and surely no goat could have climbed (jnickur than he did. Now standing over an abyps which made you silly to look down into ; now pulling himself up by bush or brancli ; at other times scrambling over loose shale as though he had neither hands nor knees to cut, he might well have scared the coolest who had met him without warning on such a road. As for the four men he had saved from the fiends in the thickets below, I don't believe there was one of them who didn't trust him from the first. The sea is a sure school for knowing men and their humours. If this old Frenchman chose to ])Ut a petticoat about his legs, and to wear a lion's mane down his back, we liked him all the better for tiiat. Wiiat we had seen of the young giHs' behaviour toward him made up for that which we did not know aliont him. He must have had a tender place some- where in his heart, or three young women wouldn't fondle him like a dog. Like a ship out of die night had he crossed our path ; and his pnrt must be our port, since

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52 IIIE STRAM) MAGAZINE. we kiiijw no (UIkt. 'I'hat's why, I .say, we folloucd him ovur the dangerous road hUe children follow a nia.ster. He was lending us to some good haven — I had no doubt of it. 'I'hc thinj^ tliat remained to tell was, had we the strength and the breath to reach it ? Vou may imagine that it was no light thing to run such a race as we had run, and lo be asked to climb a mountain on the lop of it. For my [larl, I was so dead tired that every step lip the hill-side was like a knife in my side ; and as for iVter liHgh, I wonder he didn't go rolling down to tiic rocks, so hard did he bri.-athe and so heavy he was. But men will do wonders to save their necks, and that is how it is that we went ui) and still up, throiiuh the black ravine, to the blue peaks above. Aye, a fearsome place we had come to now, with terrible gorges, and wild shapes I CLIMHED THE STEFT TO THE frenchman's side." ol rocks, like dead men's faees leering out of the darkness. The wind howled with a human voice, the desolation of all the earth seemed here. And yet the old man must push on— up, w\^, as though he would touch the very sky. "The Lord be good to me," cried Peter liligh, at last ; " I can go no farther if its a miilion a mile! Oh, .Mister IJegg, for the love of Heaven, clap a rope about the wild man's legs.' I [)ushed iuni on over a sloping peak of shale, and told him to hold his tongue. " ^^'ill you lie in the pool, then ? Where's your courage, man ? Another iiundred yards and you shall slop to breathe. There's the old hon himself waiting for us, and a big bill of thanks he has against us, to be sure." I said no more, but climbed tlie steep to the Frenchman's side, and found him waiting on the bank of dial which seemed to be a great cup4ike hole, black and bottomless, and the last place you'd have picked for a camp on all the hillside. Dolly Venn was already there, and Seth Barker, lying on the stones and panting like a great dog. Old Clair-de- Lune alone was fresh and ready, and able in his broken English to tell us wliat he wished. " Messieurs," he said, "speak not long but go down. I myself am ship- mate too. Ah, messieurs, you do wise to follow me. Down there no dog bark. I show you the ladder, and all be well. To- morrow you s[)eak your ship— go home. For me, never again — I die here with the children, mes- sieurs; none shall come for old Clair - de - Lune, none, never at no time— but you, you I save for the shipmates' sake ■'' It was odd talk, but no time to argue about it. I saw a ladder thrust up out of the pit, aLul when the old man went down I followed without hesitation. A lantern lighted in the darkness showed me a hollow nest soft, deep,

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THE HOUSE UN PER THE SE.i. 53 perha[)s, and carpeted over with big brown leaves and rugs spread out, and in one corner that which was not unlike a bed. Moreover, there was a little stove in the place and upon one side an awning stretched against the rain, while cooking pots and pans and other little things made it plain at a glance that this was the man's own reftige ill die mountains, and diat here, at least, some part of his life was spent. No further witness to his honesty could be asked for. He had brought us to his own home. It was time to speak of thanks. ""■ What you've done for us neither me nor mine will ever forget," said I, warmly. " Here's a seaman's hand and a seaman's thanks. Should the day come when we can do a like turn to you, be sure 111 he glad to hear of it ; and if it came that you had the mind to go aboard with us — aye, and the young kulies, too — why, vou'll find no one more willing than Jasper Hegg." \Vu shook hands, and he set the lantern down upon the floor. Teter Bligh was lying on his back now, crying to a calendar of saints to help him ; Seth IJarker breathed like a winded horse ; little Dolly Venn stood against the wall of the pit with his head upon his arm, like a runner after a race ; the old Frenchman drew the ladder down and made all snug as a ship is made for the night. '* No one come here," he said, " no one find the way. You sleep, and to-morrow you signal ship to go down where I show. For me and mine, not so. This is my home; I am stranger in my own country. Xo one remember Clair-de-Lune. Twelve years I live here — five times I sleep the dreadful sleep which the island make— five times I live where others die. Why go home, messieurs, if you not have any? I not go; but you, you hasten because of the sleep." Wc all pricked up our ears at this curious saying, and Dolly \''enn, he out with a question before I could —indeed, he spoke the French tongue very prettily, and for about five minutes the two of them went at it hanmier and tongs like two old women at charing. '* What does he mean by sleep-time, lad ? Why siiouldn't a man sleep on Ken's Island ? What nonsense will he talk ne.\t?" I'd forgotten that the old man spoke English too, but he turned upon me quickly to remind me of the fact. " No nonsense, monsieur, as many a one has found— no nonsense at all, but very dreadful thing. Three, four time by the year it come ; three, four time it go. All men sleep if they not go away —you sleep if you not go away. Ah, the good (iod send you to the ship before that day." He did his best to put it cleady, but he might as well have talked Chinese. Dolly, who understood his lingo, made a brave attempt, but did not get much farther. " He says that this island is called by the Japanese the Island of Sleep. Two or three times every year there comes u[) from the marshes a poisonous fog which sends you into a trance from which you don't recover, sometimes for months. It can't be true, sir, and yet that's wliat he says." "True or untrue, Dolly," said I, in a low voice, " v/e'll not give it the chance. It's a fairy tale, of course, though it doesn't sound very pretty when you hear It." " Nor is that music any more to my liking," exclainitd Peter Bligh, at this point, meaning that we should listen to a couple of gun- shots fired, not in the woods far down below us, but somewhere, as it seemed, on the sea- Ijeach we had failed to make. "That would be Harry Doe warning us," cried I. "And meaning that it was dangerous for us to go down." " He'll have put off and saved the long- boat, anyway. We'll hail iiim at dawn, and see where the ship is." Thev heard me in silence. The tempest roaring i:i the peaks above that weird, wild place, our knowledge of the men on the island below, the old Frenchman's strange talk — no wonder that our eyes were wide open and sleep far from them. Dawn, indeed, we waited for as those who are passing through the terrible night. I think sometimes that, if we hatl known what was in store for us, we should have prayed to Clod tliat wc might not see the day. (To he continued.)

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sporting a)id .1 fhlcfic 'J^rophies, By Hu(;h IJ. I'liii.i'orr. Mil gentle art of "[)ot-iuiiUing'' is held in .sumewhai low esteem amonij; sporlsnien and iithletcs of the better sort. And riijhtly so; for nothing — except the spirit of {^ambling is so inimi- cal to the best interests of sport. I say nothing against those who openly and avowedly make some form of sport a means of livehhood ; but whenever among amateurs the prize is the first consideration, it is a sure sporting and athletic trophies is interesting by reason of what the trophies represent rather than of what they are. Here and there one may demand attention on account of its exceptional beauty, or curious form, or intrinsic value ; but, as a rule, it is as the silent memorials of sporting or athletic con- tests that they interest us; and obviously the gorgeous and glittering cup that has onlv just been presented for competition must yield in interest to the much humbler-looking trophy Tilt: NEWMAKKKT Wil ll'^TirK (iriiKsr SI'UKllNd I Nlii'liy IN i:xlS 1 li.NLli. From a I'luilo. by llnnru Irvinn. Jiromlrj/, sign that the healthiest and most vital elements have dei^artcd from their sport The ambition, however, to possess some tangible object as a symbol and memento of a sporting victory is a perfectly legitimate thing, and the interest we take in these trophies is as healthy in its way as the interest in a collection of war maire, who was created Marl of Sussex in 1(174. Probably, therefore, Lord I )acre was the donor of [he Whip, and it is quite likely that among the ^jjectators of the earliest contests for its posses- sion would be his sacred .Hid .sportive Majesty, King Charles II. The in-st race for the whip of which the Rocifi^i^- Calen- dar contains any men- tion took place in 1764, when the trophy was won i»y the Duke of Cumber- ■Jill-: NKVfttAHKET CUT. I J> I\ 1" f-.l From a I'lwto. bu Ucivu irvinu. i!r..,.dry. t^nd s Dumplmg. Shortly

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SPORTING AND ATHLETIC TROPHIES. 55 WKST V(1l;|-OI.lC HUNT STIiMl'LlICHASE CUi'— I'HESEN'TEI) Fivmu] liY HIS MAJESTY THE KINfJ. IFIloto. nflLT this time llic sporting woild was excited \>y ilie (Iniiigs of* nn extniordinary horse named Eclipse. Our ancestors had a pleasant, easy way of recording; sporting events in round numbers, knocking off odd seconds and stretching seven furlongs into a mile, so that we are not obliged to believe— what the records of its performances would imply — that ne\er before or since was there a horse that could compare with Eclipse. There is no doubt, however, that he was by far the best horse of his day, and it was a happy thought on the part of someone — vury likuly the Duke of Cumberland him- sell — to perpetuate the fame of this admiraltle animal hy attaching a lock of hair from his tail to the handle of the Newmarket Whip, where it remains until this day. or the origin of tiie Newmarket Cup a more precise account can be given. It was purchased in 1768 by subscription amongst members of the Jockey Club and of tlie Jockey Club Rooms at Newmarket. It is a handsome cup, and, apart from the interest of its history, would be valuable as a good specimen of eighteenth century silversmiths' work. A condition attaching to both these ancient trophies is that they may not leave this country. In each case the holder keeps the trojihy until it is challenged for. The Cup has only been the occasion of eight races during the whole period of its exist- ence, but the challengers for the Whip have been more nimierous. 'I'he Cup is at present held by Lord Durham and the Whip by Sir Ernest Cassel. Erom the very old we turn to the very new. The West Norfolk Hunt Club's steeplechasing cup is an e.\anip!e in the stvle known as /'arf nonvcaif, and has been carried out by Messrs. Mappin Brothers. It was presented to the Club by His Majesty the King in April last, and is specially interesting as being the first public presenta- tion made by His Majesty since his acces- sion. The oldest trophy that has been competed for year after year without intermission is to be found in the domain of aquatic sport. This is Doggett's Coat and Badge, which was instituted by one Thomas Doggett. an actor, in the year 1716, and has been com- peted for every ist of August— unless that day happened to be Sunday, when the race was held on the following day — down to the present time. The " coat " is, in fact, a com- plete uniform of the style in vogue among watermen in Doggett's day, and the "badge" is of silver and is worn on the arm : it bears an impiession of a wild horse— the coat of arms of the House of Hanover— and an inscription. ^^1 I ~'l TOT -r-L H ^1 ri l. B 11 K i I ' mS ' k ' I i i '^^^^H III HS 1 : Is ^ff'f R % ^^^ Ki .d mt% - 'I^^^H 1 ll* v^ 1 i)Oi;i;i.:-rv ;; cciat ami iiArn;!-:. From a Photo, lis JtenrvJyeino, lirtntdest

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56 2'IIE STRAND MAGAZINE. Wiiat, il may be asked, had an acttjr lo do uiih watermen, or the House of Hanover with either? The connection is closer th;in might at first siglit appear. In Doggett's time, and long berore, the Thames watermen were a very numerous and important class. 'I'he Thames was in those days much more generally used as ii liigliway for jnssenL^ers, and the waterman discharged most of tlie functions of the modern "cabby." A large portion of his business consisted in conveying passengers to and from the riverside theatres, and it is not surprising that Doggett and many anollier actor regarded the watermen, who brought them their audiences, as their very good friends. The demise of (^uceii Anne is one of the few events in l-^iiglish history with wliich everyone is familiar, but not every- one, perhaps, fully rea- lizes the significance of that event. One result !/ ir Interesting though the race for Doggett's Coat and Badge is from an historical point of view, it e.Kcites but little public attention nowadays. Undoubtedly the liictor which more than any other arouses popular interest m athletic contests is the presence of foreign competitors. Several of our great sporting contests have become international events, and where this is the case there is never any lack of popular interest. Thousands who concern themselves very litde with athletic contests in a general way — business and pro- fessional men who declare they have some- thing more important to do than trouble about sports, ladies who don't know wiiether a mile ought to be run in three minutes or in ten — all find themselves, on the occasion of an inter- national contest, drawn into the vorte.x of popular excitement and fervendy hoping for the victory of the Englishman, the English team, or the English boat. When Sir Thomas Lipton set out on his gallant though unsuccess- ful attem[)t to " lift"— as the current phrase has it — the America Cup we all felt that he and Captain Sj'caniore and his gallant crew were as really tlie representatives of England — though in ([uite a friendly and sport- ing sense— as if they had been an army going to fight our battles. And whatever the degree of our ignorance about yachting matters, we did not fait to scan eagerly the long cablegrams reporting all the details of the famous struggle. Ne\'er, it may safely be said, in the whole history of sport has such widespread interest been taken in a Sjjorting contest. Everybody felt a personal interest in the result, from His Majesty the King, who visited the Shamrock before she left these shores, down to the little Board school boy who wrote the following essay on the race ; ".Sir Thomas Liplon wiio has a shop in Angel l^ane and another at Forest (late is going to try and win the cup with his )'ot, it is called the Shamrock^ and is painted i;iC/\ CL-i>. Vs( <£■ tion, S'lutlt'iit

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SPORTING AND ATHLETIC TROIHIES. .57 t 1 green. If Sir Thomas Li])ton wins I sliail ask mother to buy her grocery off him all except jam." But apart from the international aspect of the affair there were in truth many other features about this race well calculated to % I J^J kI [iS^^^^i^ E ^^H CUP ton YACHTING Ui> ■.i;man i£Mi'i;i;ni Strike the imagination and rouse sympathetic interest. It was exactly fifty years since the cup, first given by an Knglish yachting club, had been carried across the Atlantic by the yacht America, and all attempts to win it back had hitherto failed. The competing yaciits were beyond ({uestion the finest examples of scientific yacht building the world had seen. The contestants were prepared, in Sir .Thomas Upton's ijhrase, "to shovel on the £$ notes" if, by so doing, lliey could add ever so little to the speed of their crafts. It has been calculated that the attempt to win this /'loo silver cup lias cost Sir Thomas Upton ^100,000, and that the Americans have had to expend ;^i 50,000 in Vol. x.\iii.-8. order to retain it. It was, in truth, a case of (Ireek niecling (Ireek. Another thing which aroused [)opular sympathy was the friendly and sportsmanlike sijirit which ])revailed, in happy contrast with the wretched bickerings that marred a former contest for the cup. The attitude of Sir Thomas l.ipton through- out the whole of the content was in accord with ids first letter of challenge sent in i CliALLKNGK CLM — TillC CWWLV CoNTliSr AT IIKNI.KV KKCAIIA. From a i'hui\). by Henru Irving, Bromkl/.

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58 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \''ictoria. The cup was designed by the Emperor hnnself. The international element also appeared last year in the contest for the Cirand Challenge Cu[i, the princi[)ai race at Henley Regatta. 'I'here arc those who hold that the presence of foreign crews at Henley is to l)e deprecaled, as tending to :ilter the character which Henley has so loni^ held as the favourite ineetini^-pliitx' for British rowing men and a delighllul social function into the bargain. Our crews, it is said, will have to train more suriousiy and to devote their whole attention to one race in order to hold their own against the best foreign crews In short, length, thus retaining the fine challenge cup which they have won several times licfore. 'I'here was quite an invasion of American athletes last summer, and if they had been successful in all the contests in which they took part the number of notable trophies renianiing in this country would ha\e been considerably reduced. Not only at Henley Regatta, but at the Tennis Cham])ionsliip meetings at Wimbledon and at the Amateur Athletic Association ChanipionshiiJs at Hiiddersfield our American cousins were ver)- much to the fore. At the last-named mectuig they carried off the challenge cups for the ICO yards, the 120 yards hurdles, and From a Pholo. b'j\ '[HI-: TKNN[S ANi) CKOl^iUlir CKAM ['[DN^JHl'S. 1.1/lm;-(I. KUbfjloil. they will have to make more of a business of what has hitherto been a pleasant recreation. Others hold that it is more sportsmanlike to welcome competition from any quarter, and look to tlie pre-^ence of foreign crews to raise the standard of british oarsmanshi[). Which- ever of these views be the more reasonaltle, there can be no doubt that the great event of last year's Henley Regatta was tlie exciting struggle in the final for the (Irand Challenge Cup between our ])remier rowing club, Leander, and the crew from Pennsylvania University. After a keenly contested struggle, which aroused immense interest among the large crowd of spectators, many of whoai were Americans, Leander won by a good the high jump, with the championship title for those events. In the pole iiun[, the American representative, J. K. liaxter, tied with his opponent, and would probably have won out.'i'ht had he not omitted to provide him.self \\.:'i a jumping - pole. As the Knglish chan lion, in a very churlish and unsportsmanlike sjarit, declined to lend his pole, Ba.Kter had to improvise one from a ilag-pole on the ground. In the (juarter-mile the American champion was defeated, and in the longer distances the Americans did not even challenge our men. In the race for the mile championship — won by F. G. Cockshott, of Cambridge University — it is interesting to note that a Frencliman finished third.

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SPORTING AND ATHLETIC TROPfflES. 59 In the lawn - tennis world tlie Ajiierican visi- tors, Messrs. J. D. Davis and H. Ward, made a bold bid for the cii;im- pionship cups. They succeeded in defeating all their opponents until they came to the final round, when they were matched against the Knglisli cham[>ion jxiir, Messrs. K. V. Dohcrty and H. L. Doherty. The game was keenly con- tested, and some fme play was seen on both sides ; but in the end the Englishmen won by three sets to one, and the names of the Brothers Doherty were engra\ed for the fifth year in suc- cession on the doubles clKim[iionihi[) cup. 'J'he iiL't result, then, of the American invasion, so far as the sports of the past year are concerned, is that the Yankees have beaten us in yachting, sprinting, and jumping, but we have held our tion whether own in long distance running, in rowing, and after its long and in lawn-tennis, though not until we had fallen back on our last lines of de- fence — to wit, the Leander Club and the li r o t h e r s Doherty. These are not results which make for national complacency, for, although we may fairly pride ourselves still on being the premier athletic people of tile world, recent events ha\e shown that our sportsmen and ath- letes will have their work cut out dining the next few years if we are not to see the America Cup and the spriniinrm a I'holo. b;/ port-loving public is the final match for the Knglisii Association I'oot- ball Cup. Last season the excitement attending this contest was greater than it has ever been before ; indeed, it may be doubled whether any sporting contest, except the race for the America Cui), has ever in this country caused so much interest. 'I'lie fact that the first match resulted in a draw and had In be re-played tended to enhance the excitement, and for Londoners there was a special element ot interest in die specula- tlie cup would or would not, wandering in the North, return to the iNIetropolis. The victory of the Tottenham Hotspur^s settled that question, for a year at any rate, to the complete satisfaction of Metro- politan football de- votees. There is another football trai)by that deserves a place in our collection, be- cause it was given, and is annually com- peted for, in the sacred cause of charily. The Dewar Shield, as it is called, was presented by Mr, T. R. I.)ewar, M.P., as a periJetual trophy to be com- peted for by amateur and professional football teams, the

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6o THE STKAND JfAGAZINE. THE UI-:\VAi; i(.nilU(M.I. SIMKl.Ii — I'KUCKKDS tio 1*0 LONIION (.EJAKITIES. Fn»H a I'kuta. proceeds of tlic mntdiLS to be devoted enlirely to charities. The niatchus aru pkiycd at the Crysial Palncc, and Mctropotitan charities receive the j^ruatLst iKiiciU from thum, but a certain portion of the proceeds is given to h()^;pltals, etc., ill the district from wliirh the visiting team comes. While public interest in football has been decidedly increasinii of late years, the interest in cycle races has quite as decidedly been decreasing. One reason for this is the practice, which has become prevalent, of refusing to lake the lead, so that races have often degenerated into a leisurely procession with a desperate spurt at the end. There is still, iio\ve\'cr, some good sport to be seen on the cycle-track, and there is no lack of trophies to be comiJcted for. The highest honour obtainable in amateur cycling is the possession of one of the National CyclLsts' Union's championship nieiials. 'I'he mile championship, held this \ ear by C. Pease, of Dublin, is generally regarded as the " blue riband " of the cycling trcick. Of the more elaborate trophies none is more Tilt; luiiiiLi: sini I.I) - a A'.MTS CVCl-IXti TKUI-ICY. ','; A' II', Thoiiiitii. CYCLING CliAMI'loNsini' SIR;]AL — THE " JILUE Rl!i.\N-D' Of Ti!E CVCl.ING TRACK. Prom a Fkoto. bn G. ]V. Aiiskn, HigMtaru. interesting than the Diblile Shield, formerly known as the Anchor Shield, which perpetuates the name of a very good friend of thousands of cyclists, the late Mrs. Dibble, of the picturesque old Anchor Inn at Ripley. Mrs. Dibble gave the shield in iKSft for competi- tion .It the Southern Cyclists' Camp. When the Camp ceased to be held the shield was returned, after the donor's death, to the Misses Dihblc, by whom it was presented to the London County Club, and it is now held as a challenge tropliy by the winner of the twelve hours' path race held annually at Heme Mill. One sometimes wonder.s, in looking at a collection of sporting trophies, that the designers have shown so little inventiveness

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SPORTING AMD ATHLETIC TROPHIES. 6i 4 and rt;source in giving them a distinctive character. The same stereotyped forms re- appear again and again, and often there is little to suggest the nature of the sport for wiiich the trophy is awarded. Such a criticism certainly cannot be urged against the Wingfield Sculls, the troi)hy that carries was one of the keenest ever seen on the Thames ; so desperate were the efforts put forth by each of the competitors that they both stopj)ed, completely rowed out, some fifty yards from the winning-post, and the boats simply drifted over the line. Howell managed to get in one last stroke which gave him the VroMO. I'lioto. bi/} TilE WINGI'IICI.I* SCUl.l-S— A:^IA-1KUH SCLl.I.rNll CIIAMLION-AHII'. widi it the tide of Amateur Sculling (liam- plon of the Thames. This trophy takes the verv ap|>rupriate form of a pair of silver sriills, about gin. long, placed in a bo.\ atlorned with silver plates on which^ the names of ihc winners are engraved. These names include those of most of the greatest amateur scullers of the past seventy years, and to be numbered amongst them is an lion on r indeed. There is also a smaller pair of cros.sed sculls fastened with a laurel wreath and a clas[), on which the word " champion " is en- graved. The trophy is held this year by that fine oarsman, H. T. Blackstaffe, who won it with the greatest ease by twelve lengths. A very difTerent sort of race was the fierce struggle for the Winnfields in i SyS, when Hlackstaffe was just beaten by B. H. Howell The race •■ ['F.wTiirt roTs"— A\vAi;m:r) COLI.KllI-: HOATUACE.S From a Photo, ha G. W. victory. Uoth men were lifted out of their boats thoroughly exhausted. Some of the most interesting of trophies are those awartled in the College boat-races at Oxford and Cambridge. True to that genuine amateur spirit of which the great Universities have al- ways been the fore- most exponents, the spirit which "counts the game above the prize," the custom begun in some re- mote past (no one quite knows how long ago) of awarding pew^- ter pots as prizes has been continued down to the i)resent day. Kvery nieniber of the wimiing crew gets a pot, which, of course, is of very little in- trinsic value, and he has to get it engraved at his own expense. The most noteworthy point about the trophies of the Amateur Swimming Associa- tion is that a large proportion of them are N AM> CA.\ll;K[UGli -AN" 01,D CUSTOM. rUialan, Hi<jhbiirii.

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62 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. A.S.A. 500 YAKDS SWI.MMIM r■:^;Gt.A^;n. Vvom H VhaUi. by La/ai/elU. tHAMI'IONSIill' UL- held, and have licun for several years, by one great swimmer, J. A. Jarvis. A few years ago J- H. Tyers was enjo\- ing a similar run of almost uiiiforin success. The 500 yards champion- ship cup, which we illustrate, Is notable from the fact that it was in this race that the spell of Tyers's invincibility was broken by J. H. Derbyshire. This cup was presented to the Amateur Swinuning Asso- ciation in 1S96 by the secretary of the Associa- tion, Mr. Cleorge Pragnell. All the challenge prizes of the A.S.A., it is worthy of note, arc perjjetual trophies, the Association holding that it is contrary to the true amateur spirit for a trophy of great intrinsic value to be won outright. Quite uni(]ue in character is the fine trophy pre- sented by Sir Reginald Hanson for "athletic pre- e mincnce." The cup is competed for 1 J y clubs affiliated with the City of 1,0 n d on Ailiietic and Swim m i ng Associations, which prac- tically means all the clubs connected with the great business houses in the City. The " pre - eminence " is determined by a series KATIO\-AL PHVSICAI- KECKItV Tli IN SOCIKIVS SHIELD KdR CHAMl'ION GYMNASTIC TEAM. Fruni a P/iolo. -]■ A\VAI;l)KI> TO LUNUON CLUBS l"0[( At Hl.KTIC I'KE-KMINIiNCi;. /■ViiHi at, Chf.tt)'fiiile. of inter-cIub contests in cricket, football, swi m ming, life-saving, athletics, and tennis. The fust team in each class of sport scores one point, the second two, and so on. Obvi- ously, there- fore, the club with the low- est total, tak- ing all the competitions together, is the best all- round club, riiis distinction has >i;longed for the paSt three years to the kavensbourne Club, which is connected

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SPORTJNG AND ATHLETIC TROPHIES. 03 I "daii-v ciij.'c-iNrci.i:"Knii:i.D— rni-Kiis-TKij TOi.ovnoN schools. Prom a I'h-to. by A. W. Wihon .1; Co., Stokit .\'ti( iH^fcii. with the tireat Iioiise of Cook, Son, and Co., in St. raul's Clnirchynrd. In the R[L1. IN' SCIiOOLS. fVont a Photo, by A. W, WiUon * Co., Stoke Xewington. for its annual sports, or a public swimming bath when the London Schools Swimming Association is holding a com- petition. The associa- tion just named does an admir- able work in cncourag i n g swimming and life-saving drill in elementary sehools, and its trophies de- serve notice, if for no other reason, on ac- count of their genuine artistic merit. The shield 13 r e - scnted by the proprietors of the I> a i i y Chronicle, and awarded to the school which showsthe great- est success in im^ amiuki-, cui' j-un iti.sT boy fhp N-'irhinir (\^ swimmer under 15. swimming, was '^■'"*"" ^^«'""(""" designed by Mr. Walter Crane. The Ashbee Cup, awarded to the best boy-swimmer under fifteen, and the Fal »ian Shield, awarded to the team of boys which .shows ihegreatest pro- ficiency in life-saving drill, have l»oth been designed i)y Mr. C.R. Ash i)ee, a nd are admirable examples of what athletic tro- phies should be. Artistically they are immeasurably supe- rior to many of the more costly and prc- icniious trophies. Beauty and appro- priateness, rather than a high intrinsic value, are t!u! (|ualities to be sought in an athletic trophy, whether it be for a schoolboy or for the greatest athlete in the world. ^ ■■5... 1 W.J- .-■ ,

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Bv Roiir.RT Bakr. O fnst train stopped at Slunip- ville, so I'oiii Kenton (.lianged cars at '1 cnslrikc City and took the .slow local which followed the e.N[)i-ess. \\'hcn at last he reached Stmiipville he stood on the planks whieh formed tlic railway plat form and looked about him with a sinking of the heart. Here was a come-down for a young man who had been telegraph operator in a large city, holding one of the best positions in a numerous company of liglit- fingcred gentlemen manipulating the elec- tric keys. Stumpville presented an unat- tractive appearance. The chief building, some distance from the depot, was an unpainted two- story board structure whose signboanl bore the high-sounding title. "'I'heyiarof Empire Hotel," which had evidently taken it?i way this far westward. To the left of the tavern stood a l)ig saw-mill, whose sides were open to the winds of heaven and whose roof was composed of sawn slabs with the bark on. Up from this roof rose a tall iron smoke- stack. All down the side-track leading from the single line of railway to the mill huge square piles of sweet-smelling lumber had been built, and several fiat cars were being laden with the boards. From the mill itself came the ripping roar of a great circular saw- tearing its way through a log, and this deep" bass note was accompanied by the shriller scream of a vicious little edging-saw trimming the planks. (Grouped around mill and hotel lay a rude assemblage of shanties, each shanty seemingly made from the refuse of the saw- mill : shaky, knot-filled boards and shaggy slabs with the bark on. To the east the flat lands had been denuded of pine timber, and hideous stumps showed wliere tlie trees had stood. To the west the primeval forest still seemed mtact, exce[)t where the railway made a bee-line through it, straight as an arrow's flight, eMending so far that the trees seemed to come together as young shrubs at the distant end. Down this level canyon with its dark green sides of tall tiniber the despised local was rapidly lessening, and its departure gave 'I'om a sudden ])ang of loneliness which he would not have believed pos.sible when he boarded the train two hours before in bustl- ing Tenstrike City. " Call you this backing of your friends ? A plague on such backing ! " said Falstaff to Prince Hal, and, reversing the Shakespearean saying, so thought Tom Fenton. He had backed his friends, and Stumpville was the result. Pracl;-- cally all telegraphic America had gone out on strike. 'Fhe young man had never believed in the possibility of suc- cess, but when his comrades cjuitted their work he quitted with them. He was the last to go out and was the last in attempting a

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A MAGNETIC ATTRACTION. 65 return. His employers, illogical enough, resented his action more than they did that of the loud-mouthed demagogues who had led the telegraphers into a hopeless contest. Tom found his place taken and himself out of employment. The friends he had backed found tliL-ir situation.s again — he had the privilege of looking for a new one. Rail- roading and telegraphing were the only things he knew, and the fact that he had been one of the army of strikers proved less efficient as a recommendation than a line or two written by a train-dispatcher who liad last given him employment. The line or two from the train-dispatcher he did not possess; the fact that he had been one of the strikers he could not deny ; so it was five months before he was offered the mean situation of oi>erator at Stunijuille, on the newly-opened branch of tile C. K. &i (1. His resources were at an end, and he had been very glad to accept the position tendered him ; but now, face to face with the reality, he could not helj) contrasting it with the berth he had lost. However, he I)ossessed the grit typical of the young American, and with one final sigh i'or oppor- tunity forfeited, he set his teelh with deter- mination and resolved to do the best he could at the foot of the ladder once mure. The station-master, who seemed to be switchman, yardman, and everything else, had kicked a clutch out from the iron-toothed wheel to the west of the platform, which caused a momentary rattle of chains and the uplifting of the red arm of a signal behind the departing train. He now approached the lone passenger with a friendly expression of inijuiry on his face. " My name is Fenton," said the young man, before the other had time to address him. " I'm the new operator." " All right,'' growled the station-master. " My name's Sam Sloan, and I do pretty much everything that's required round this shanty except telegraphing. Jim Mason has been working the keys here this while back, and I guess he'll be mighty glad to slope. He says he's been expecting you these last two or three days. He's got a raise, has Jim, and he's going to Tenstrike City. He says he's had enough of the excitement of Stump- ville to last him all iiis life, and ] think lie's just vearninu to i'i\'e us the shake." " I don't blame him," said Kenton, with a momentary lack of diplomacy. The station master shrugged his shoulders, laughing good-naturedly, and his reply had a toucli of that optimism with which every citizen Vol. xxiii, — 9. regards his own town no mailer how back- ward it may appear to a stranger's eye. " Oh, well, I guuss there's worse outfits than Stumpville. Two years ago there wasn't a house in the place, and last week they . staked out a planing-inill. and they're talking of puttin' up a new hotel.' '* Vou are going ahead," commented Tom. " Vou bet your life," said Sam Sloan, complacently. *' Come on in and I'll in- troduce you to Jim, then you can take over the ticker." Jim departed, juvously, on the returning local that evening, and Tom found himself master of a plasterlcss room of ])ine-boards witli a little window projecting out over thu platform, which gave him a' view up and down the line when he stood within it. The telegraph instrument was on a bench near this window, and there was one wooden chair beside it. The door ojjening from the waiting-room was ornamented by a big cavtl labelled, "No Admittance," to which injunc- tion no one in the locality paid the slightest heed. Against the wall was a ticket-case, the product of some city cabinet shop, whose ]K)lished walnut was in striking contrast to the rough pine that surrounded it. Between the telegraph office and the waiting-room was cut, breast high, a rounded opening which had a little shelf at the bottom, and through this aperture it was part of Tom's duly to .sell tickets to any inquirer twice a day : in the morning when the local went west and in *lie evening when it returned east. h'enton took over Jim's abandoned room in 'I'he Star of Empire Hotel, and found the fare in that place of entertainment not nearly so bad as he had expected. The pumpkin- pie was particularly good and the dough- nuts a lesson to Uelmonico's. Tom settled down to his work, and he soon found that the task required of him was any- thing but a severe one. Stumpville was an unimportant station, and the amount of tele- graphing to be done there at any time was not extensive, so a man was more aj)t to die of (V/;//// than overwork at that post. Luckily he had brought some books with'him, and by-and-by made an arrangement with the conductor of the local whereby he received a morning pai)er each day, and this sheet kept him from imagining that all the world was standing still just becau.'je he was. Sam, the mnn-of-all-work of the station, was a good-natured employe, who spent most of his time at the bar-room of the Star, except when the locals came or there were

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66 TIJE STRAND MAGAZINE. some cars of ]iiml>er to I)l- attached to an enstern-bound frciglu. Tom always knew where to find him in case of emergency, but enierffcncies never happened. A.s the bar-room had no attractions fur Tom he got more and more into the habit of spending nearly all his tmie in the tele- graph office, coming there even on Sundays when there was nothing to do; liking the place for its quietness and freedom from interruption. Now and then he gave himself some quiet amusement and a little practice in his own line cf business by sending messages along the line at the rate of speed to which he had formerly been accus- tomed. On these occasions he was pleased to find there was not a man on the branch who could take his mes- sages. He was de- lighted once, when answering an in- quiry from the train- dispatcher's ofrireat Tcnstrike, to find tiiat even the city operator had to break in on him three times during his discourse and beg him to go slower. On the third interruption Tom surmised that the train -dispatcher himself took off the message, because he got a curt command to " Go ahead," which he did, and there was no further appeal for a more moderate pace until he had finished what he had to say. After a pause there came to him a message almost as fast as the one he had sent in. "Say, young fellow, are you qualifying as the demon operator of this line? You must remember you arc only a branch, and although we have some ex[)ress trains going over the rails you have all the time there i.s during the rest of the day. Don't throw us into aVever so far away from a do<'tor." "Thanks," replied Tom, over the wires. " I am glad to know there is at least one man in Tcnstrike who knows how to bundle a key." Kenton was pleased with this incident. "There," he said to himself, "thev'll know at head-quarters where to get a good oi)erator if they want one. and m order to keep m)' hand in, I think I'll wake up my next-dooV neighbour." So he began rattling on the machine the letters " Cy— Cy," which was the call for Corderoy, seventeen miles farther west, and [)resumably still deeper m the woods than .Stunijivilic. When the call was answered he poured forth a stream of chattering letters calculated to make the hair of the other operator stand on end. Jn a moment or two there came the expected break :^ '* I haven't the remotest idea what you are talking about," remarked the be- wildered operator at Cor- deroy : '^ but if it's anything important, I beg you lo telegraph slowly." '^7\11 right,"' replied Fen- ton, "that was merely my fancy speed. I practise it now and then so that people along- the line won't fall into the idea that Stunipvilleisaslow place. I was merely sending along my compli- ments and asking you what sort of a settlement Cor- deroy is." " Oh, you're the new man at Stump- ville, are you ? I heard there was going to be a change. How do you like it ? " " Not very well ; still, it isn't as bad as it looked when I came here the other day. How about Corderoy? Have you a saw-mill there or any modern improvements?" " No, we are just a little neck of the woods. Four or five shanties and a blacksmith shop for the lumbermen." "What, haven't you even a tavern?" " \o." *' Oh, we're away ahead of you. I'm boarding at The Star of Empire Hotel. ' Where do you stay ? " 1 IVAS MKKELV SK\UI.\'<; Al.iJ.Vt: MV COMI'LHIE.NTS,'

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A MAGNETIC ATTRACTION. 67 r "In one of tiie shanties, of course. Did you think I camped out ? " " 1 didn't know. That's why I asked." After a few moments' pause Corderoy inquired : — " W^as that real telegraphing you were doing a moment ago, or were you only trying to shatter the instrument ? " " Couldn't you tell it was real ? ' " No. Vou frightened the life out of me. I thought there was a disaster of some kind impending, or thai the lightning had struck the wires." " WqW, Corderoy, you are farttier \n the woods than I thought. Listen to this. I'll repeat it again and agani and see if you can make head or tail of it." The key flew up and down for a few seconds, then paused. " How's that, umpire ?" he said. " I couldn't make j'ou out. You were saying what-- — " '* I was asking, what's your name ? Give me an introduction." " Jack Moran. What's yours ? " " Tom Fenton." " Well, Tom Fenton, how is it that so good an operator is cooped up in a jjlace like Stumpville ? Drink ? " "No; strike. I went out on that strike six months ago and didn't get in again; that's all." " Let me condole with you. Had you a good situation before ? " "First-rate, but didn't know enough to hang on to it" " How old are you ? " " Twenty-three. How old are vou ? " "Oh, if you're only twenty-three, then the world's before you. I shouldn't get dis- couraged if I were you." " Fill not. Fve just been shaking up the train -dispatcher's office, and they broke in on me three times " "(lood. You'll make those people in the city have some respect for this backwoods settlement." "■J'hat was my mtenlion JUit you haven't answered my question, which was--iiow old are you ?*' "Me? Oh. I'm only seventeen." "(lood gracious I Do they put a kid like you in such an important positioa as Corderoy ? " "Now you are sneering, Mr. Thomas. Corderoy, of course, is only a kind of section- house, with a long switch where we side- track freight trains. There isn't much doing here." " How do you pass your time ? " " Oh, just grin and bear it, that's all." "Say, I can send you along some books if you would like to read, and I can give you a newspaper the day after." "Thanks. I'll be very much obliged." " I say. Jack, seeing you're a youngster, will you take some good ad\ice ? " "Send it along, and if I don't like it I'll return it." "All right. You ought to brush up your telegraphing a little. 'Vou are i)retty slow. you know." "Yes, I knuw I am. Will you send over the wire something at a good speed now and then, so that I may practise ? " " I shall be delighted. You see, now's your time to pitch in and learn ; then, when you get the offer of a belter situation, you are ready for it." "'i'hank you ever so much." This ended their first conversation, for a freight train came in, but they had inan\- another. Tom grew to be very fond of his western neighbour, who seemed so anxious to learn. There was a downy innocence about the youth that i)leascd the elder man, and under instruction the boy be- came a creditable operator. Fenton invited jack to come and have dinner with him some day when he could get away, but tlie westerner never seemed able to quit his post, for, of course, there was no one who could act as substitute. Fenton sent him hooks and the newspaper, which were gratefully received, and told him story after .story of the town and all its fascinations. '" 1 must brighten up the kid's intellect," he said to himseU" : and indeed the kid i)roved an a[)t i)U|)il. Ik- had an alert sense of humour and keenly appreciated the good things that were sent over the wire to him. This companionship between two persons who had never seen each other made a dull life more interesting for both of them, and Tom saw with pleasure that Jack's telegraphic slyle was improving greatly by the practice he was getting. One Sunday, however, an une\j)ected incident occurred which, as the novelists say, changed the lenor of Tom Fenton's life for him. Sunday was a drowsy, lazy day in Stumpville, with nothing going on, and Tom was spending it as usual in liis telegraph- room, seated on the wooden chair tilted back against the wall, with his feet elevated to the bench on which the silent instrument rested. A text-book on electricity had been thrown aside, and Tom was absorbed in a ten-cent novel. The door, slightly ajar, was quietly

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68 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. pushed open, and liie young man, glancing uj), wnfi amazed lo sue standing in tlie vaeaney a strikingly handsome young wnman. dressed in lh<j dainty fasiiion that betokened the city. '■ I beg your pardon,'' she said, hesitat- iii!^iv. Tom's ftct came down to the floor \vi[h a crash, and he arose in some confusion. Ross is the next jxiint east, is it TilE YOUNG .MAN, (ILANCING II', U AM AMAZKD TO SKK STANDING l\ IHi: VACANCV A S-l-r<lKIN<,t.V IIANUSOMK YiH^N't; WOMAN." " I wanted to know," she continued, " wiien there is a train for 'Jenstrike? " " For Tenstrike ? Bless my soid, ihure's no train until to-morrow evening !" The girl made what seemed to be a L,'esture of despair. "'rill to-morrow evening," she echoed. " Is there no way of getting 'to the city before then ? " /'Not unless you walk along the track."' paid 'lum. "Areiri there any freight trains that would take a passenger who was in a hurrv ?" The young man shook his head.' "Sunday's a day ofif on the branch," he explained. " We have rarely any Sundav freights except in the autumn when'the whc-nt is moving." The young lady was evidently troubled at this lack .of enterprise on the part of the branch, and her smooth brow wnnkled m perplexity. *' If I walked down the line to Ko.ss," she said at last, " could 1 get a train there ? not } '■' " Ves, but you would l)e no better off there. 'J'here is nothing from Ross going east which you could lake before to-morrow evenmg. So you .see there is no help for it but to wait where you are, iMiss " He hesitated at tlie word "Miss,"andlooked up inquiringly with a semi-smile hovering about the corners of his lips. The girl blushed very prettily, then said : — "Miss De Forest is my name." "A good name for this locality," re- joined Tom, easily. " Oh, but I don't live in this locality," replied t h c girl, drawing herself up with some touch of scorn in her tone for the neighbour- hood, which her auditor so sympathized wiili that he did not resent it. "I knew you didn't," he answered, hastily. '* \\'ill you come in and sit down. Miss l)e Forest?" and seeing she was in -'iftme doubt about accepting the invitation, he continued : " If you knew how lonesome it was for a person to live liere, wiio sees nobody he cares to speak to from one week's end to anotlier, you would ha\e compassion, and, by the wav, my name is I-enton. I shall be glad if you will consider us formally introduced." The girl smiled, made no objection, and Kjok the chair he offered her. "Arc you the stalion-mabter here?" she asked. "Oh, occasionally. Fin telegraph oper- ator always : ticket st-llui- when anyone wants to buy: signalman and swileli tender in an emergency; and ginural Pooh-Bah of the woods." " It must keep you busy," she ventured. " No ; it doesn't. Really the situation

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A MAGNETIC ATTRACTION 69 « sometimes filU me with dt^siKiir. Miss De Forest- 1 dare not leave this inaehine for fear something imiiortant mij^ht come over the wire, and yet nothini; important ever does come. 1 see no one but a lot of ignorant freight-train brakemen and the conductor of the locid twice a day. Then society is varied by communion with the mill-hands at meal- times. It seems rather hopeless to a man who has been acruslomed to the bustle and importance of a city office. If it wasn't for jack Aforan I don't know whul I would do." " Oil : Who is Jack Moran ? " " He is the operator at the next station fartlier west. He is only a boy, but an awful nice fellow, and I've kind of taken him under my wing, teachinL; him rapid tele- graphy. He is getting on splendidly, and will be one of the best operators on the line before long."' " Always excepting yourself, I suppose ? " said Miss i)e Koiest, looking up archly at him as he sat on the telegrajih-table, swinging his foot to and fro, ga/.ing down with much interest at her. " Yes, always exce])ting myself," replied Tom, with honest confidence. *' If I ever get again into as good a position as 1 held before I'm going to have Jack as my assistant. ' " Perhaps that is why he is so industrious," said the young woman. "Oh, no, there's nothing self-seeking about Jack. Besides, he has no notion of my iiUention. I am not going to put ideas into tlie youngster's head that I may not be able to fulfil." '* He is a lucky boy,'' said ihe girl, mus- ingly, "to have such a good friend and never suspect it. What sort of a looking fellow is he?'' "1 have never seen him." "Then how did you two get acquainted?" '"Oh, over the wires. \\'e chatter to each other when the line isn't working on official business, which is most of the time." 'I'om's visitor proved deeply interested in telegraphing, and he e.\i)lained the workings of the instrument, the grounding of wires, the care of batteries, and other electrical particulars. Never had teaching been such an absorbing, fascinating pursuit before. At last the girl jumped u|) in a panic. " 1 must be going," she said. Fenton looked at his watch and saw how time had iled. " 111 tell you what you must do. Miss De Forest," he said ; "you're coming widi nie to the hotel for dinner." " Oh no, no, no,'' cried the girl, visibly terrified by the proposal. "Why, yes. you are. It's all righl. It looks rough on the outside, but I tell you the cook's pie is worth coming to Stumpville to get a slice ot. Fm afraid our dried pumpkin is all gone and the fresh fruit liasn't come into season yet, but we are promised to-day a strawl)erry shortcake that will be a dream of delight. Vou must come." "1 really couldn't diink of it. I have no desire to meet vour eniplf)ves of the saw- mill." "That's so," said Tom, taken aback. ''Still, though they're rough chaps, they're a good lot. ril tell you what we'll do. \'ou stay here and Fli go over to the hotel and bring a meal for us both, and well enjoy it here in comfort and alone." The girl was about to protest when he con- tinued, impetuously enamoured of bis new scheme :— "You see, the folks with whom you are staying think you are gone : in fact, I am amazed that there is anyone in Stumpville who doesn't know there are no trains from here on Sunda)-. ^\'hcre are you staying, by the way ? " Kilher this <iuestion or the proposal to lunch together had so perturbed Miss de Forest that she answered liastily, and rather inconsequcntly : — " But what if someone should come here when you were gone ? " " Oh, there is no danger of that," cried Tom. *' No one ever comes here." "You are sure it won't be too much trouble?" .she asked, breathlessly. "Trouble? No trouble at all— a delight. Then that's settled," he added, hurriedly, fearing she might change her mind. " \\'hat will you drink, tea or milk ? " " Milk, if you please." Next instant he was gone. The young woman iiu)\ed quickly to the window and looked up and down the track with alarm in her eyes as if she contemplated llight. Then she went to the door, but stopped on the threshold ; with some effort recovered her composure and sat down again. Presently the amateur waiter came in jubilantly with a broati tray carrying all the components of a substantial meal. They had a jolly lunch together, and at the end of it she rose and said that now she must surely go. '' Well, if you must, you nuist," he mur- mured, with a sigh. " I'll walk down town with you, if I may."

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE, She stood opposite him and held out her hand, with an appeahnj,^ look in her liquid black eyes. " I wish you wouldn't," she pleaded. " Vou have been very kind to a stranger, so please do not embarrass me by coming with ine. I'd much rather you wouldn't." He was holding her hand and said, with a trace of disappointment in his tone : — " I shall do exactly wh:n you wish, but I will see you to- morrow when you go east on the local." " Vou will see me when I go cast on the local,'' she repeated after him. "Won't you give me your address? '' he pleaded. "I'll give it to you to - morrow : and if I forget it then I will send it to you. Good-bye, and many, many thanks ! " She was gone, and the day seemed to darken with her depar- ture. He made a motion to follow her, but arrested himself and sat ti o w n in the wooden chair. The girl walked hurriedly through the village until she was out of sight of the sta- tion, then she turned eastward into the forest. After tramping tor two miles or more with a directness intimate acquaintance SHE SI'BIJ AVVAV TOWARD THE i)t-:ci.is'tN;c: ^l'n".' which showed an with the wood she cnme upon the railway at a point where a light hand-car had been lifted from the track. Slie took a wooden lever that lay on the car and with an expertness that would have :imazed her new ncciuaintance she ))rised the wheels on to the rail. She pushed the car towards the west, sprang on board, and sped away toward the declining sun, working the walking beam with all the skill of an old rail- way hand. As she approached the long switch of Corderoy she stopped, unlocked it, and side-tracked her little car. She went direct into the telegraph office, perched her- self on the stool there, placed her capable hand on the key, and rattled forth the letters, " St— St— St— St." the call for Stumpville. 'I'om quickly answered. " Is that you, Jack? I was trying to call you up a while ago. What are you doing there on Sunday ? " "O'h, I j list ha[)[)enL-d in. i thought you might b e there an d thought I would call you up. I have nothing at all to say except to wish you good-day." " Oh, but I have heaps to tell," answered Tom. '' I beg to inform you, Jack, that I have had a visit from an angel. Imagine the exist- ence of a girl in the universe who thought trains left Stumpville on Sunday ! How- ever, it was very lucky for me, and we've had themo.st charming conver- sation, which, now that it is ended, makes this place seem duller than ever. She was the prettiest girl I ever saw." *' Keally. How was she dressed? " " Dressed ! What a question for a kid like you to ask ! What do you know about dress? I don't remember how she was dressed, but the effect was stunning. Dressed? \\'hy she looked like a girl fioni Paris." " ^Vhat is her name ? '' " Miss I)e Forest. A rattling fme girl. How in the world she ever drifted to this abandoned spot I don't know. She is going east to-morrow on the local. 1 shall merely

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A MAGNETIC ATTRACTIOy. 71 exist until tiiu local comes in. I hope it will be two hours late, iiikI rh;u she will he here an hour too soon. ' " Did you fascinate her. Tom ? " *' See here, kid, that's not the way for an infant to talk. Vou don't understand any- thing ahout Lhese things. Wail till your time comes, and then you won't try to say cynical things. Be a good boy, and some time a nice gill will come to see you ; or, what's the same thing, you'll go to see her." " Where does she live? In Tenstrike?" " I don't know yet, but Til find out to- morrow. I rather think she does, and if that is so Tm going to move heaven and earth and the railway company to get promoted to Ten- strike. I flatter myself the young lady won't object to seeing me there." '■ Tom, don't get conceited." " Kid, don't be impertinent. If Miss De Forest comes early to-morrow I'll be conceited in spite of all you can say. If she comes just in the nick of time I'll be in des|)air, and so will ask for what- ever consolation you can give." " All right, Tom ; rU stand by you, whatever happens. Remember, if the girl ignores yon, you have me to fall back upon." ■' That's very com- forting, jack, but it doesn't quite make up, you know.'' The young woman laughed at this answer as it was ticked off to her. "Oh, doesn't it?" she said to herself, and then bade good-bye to ritunijivillc. When the local came in next evening Tom tried to hold it on one pretence or another, looking down the sandy street, but no Miss De I-'orest comfortt-d his anxious eyes, and from tiiat day on she disappeared as com- pletely from his cognizance as if she had been a spirit of the forest. In vain he made infjuiry. No one in Stumpville had ever seen anyone resembling her. He put an advertisement in the Tenstrike morning pa])er : "Will the young lady who called upon the telegrapher kindly send him her address?" But this stood for a week un- noticed ; Tom rubbing his eyes and wonder- ing if he had fallen asleep that Sunday and dreamt it all. Then happened a series of events which had an important bearing on his future, and almost drove the remembrance of the lady of mystery from his mind. No. 6, the west - bound express, sped through Stumiiville each day ahout noon. At some siding to the west, whose situation was determined by the train-dispatcher, based upon a mathe- matical calculation depending upon the lateness of either or both trains, the ex- press passed No. 1 1, a fast freight going east. One day the problem was com- plicated by the inter- vention of a special, presumably carrying some of the officers over the road, and, as usual, in a great hurry. The express was late, and the fast freight ridiculously on time. Hazily Fenton gathered from the chattering of the instrument that the special was to run ahead of the express, but that no one of the three trains was to stop at Stumpville, so the young man paid but little attention to the message not intended for him. Presently the nervous call, "St — St — St— St." woke him from his reverie and he sprang to the instrument. There was something insistent in the sharp click of the sounder. The message that hmriedly followed was sufficiently ama;;ing, and he knew by the rapidity of it, if for no other reason, that it was Jack Moran who was telegraphing. '•' Stop everything east and west of Stump- ville. Set the signals at once and return instanter." ' ALL KlUHr, roll ; TlL stand by vou, WliATliVES HAI-l'EMS."

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72 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. "Sloan ! " shouted the young man, making the station ring with his stentorian call. "Set the signals against east and west."' But there was no reply. Sloan was not within hearing, so Fenton himself ran out on the platform, saw at a glance that the line was open Ijoth ways, and kicked away the clutches that allowed the semaphores to swing out over the line in each direction a prohibitive red arm. He calmed down as he saw no trains in sit-lu and returned to the telegraph-office. The call for his station was vibrating im])atiently in the air. He checked the chatter and hstcncd. "Telegraph instantly to Ross and tell them to hold No. 6 until you relea.se her. Use the train-dispatcher's signature." "Hold on, Jack," replied Fenton. "I can't do that, you know. Fm not running the line." " In God's name," came the appeal, "do as I tell you at once. I will explain later. Every moment is vital. There will be n smash if you delay." Now, for an ordinary operator to make Ross or anyone else think that a train- dispatcher was commtmicating with him when he wasn't, is an offence in railway circles that is unforgivable. Forgery outside that circle is of little matter compared with what Fenton at once set himself to do. He ordered the express stopped at Ross, and used the cabalistic letters which signified that the order came from the train dispatcher, then he turned to Corderoy for explanation, rattling out his knowledge of the crime he hgd committed. " Why didn't you telegraph to Ross your- self?" he asked Moran. "You have a firm touch on the key, and I haven't," was the answer. "There would have been inquiries, and then it would have been too late. Here is what has happened. The train-dispatcher ordered me to hold 1 1 until the special passes. No. ii had just gone out of the station as the message began to come. I knew that the special had left Ross, so I told you to hold both trains at Stumpville, but the special thinks it has a clear right-of way, and No. 6 is to follow it. If your telegram wasn't in time to stop No. 6 at Ross you must look out she does not tele- scope the special at Stumpville. There is just one more thing I want to say. I want you to lake the responsibility of everything that has been done, as if you did it' vour- self." " That's rather a large order," said Fenton. . " Vou cause me to break every rule of the. road, and then calmly ask me to lake all responsibility.'' ''I beg you to do it," pleaded Corderoy. " You see, I'm only seventeen ; you are a grown man and accustomed to the railroad business." ij "All right, Jack, don't worry. I'll stand the brunt of it. If the lay-out is as you .say. they can't make very much fuss, unless about the tram-dispatcher's signature, but I'll stand the racket." Tom .said to himself, as he turned away, " I got bounced once before for sticking by my comrades, and if it happens again, well, Stumpville won't be a big loss." There was now little time for meditation. Away to the east an angry engine was swear- ing. The short toot, toot said as plainlv as words : — "What the dickens are you stopping us here for ? Do j-ou know who we are ? " Fenton strode out to the platform and .saw dimly in the distance to the west the fast freight coming on, while the special, slowed down, was breaking all regulations by pass- nig the eastern semaphore, very cautiously. however, and ap])roaching the station for an explanation. I'his was exactly what Fenton wanted, for the still standing signal would arrest the express if she had f)assed Ross before his telegram reached there. Sloan came puffing up from the tavern, having heard the indignant whistle of the special, and therefore knew that something was wrong. ^ " Here, you confirmed loafer \ " cried Fenton. "(let a move on you. Open the upper switch and side-track No. ii." "All right, Mr. Fenton," said the culprit, as he trotted down the track toward the west. The short special came cautiously up alongside the [ilatform, and a stout man with red face and white side-whiskers, and no very pleased expression on his countenance. stepped off. " Who is in charge here ?" he demanded. " I am, sir." " Why have you stopped this special ? '' "That's the reason, sir," said Fenton, waving his hand towards the approachin^' freight. "The order to side-track No. ii at Cordero)- arrived too late. I therefore had to stoj) you until I could side-track No. I 1. Vou won't be delayed two minuteJi, sir." "Oh/" said the stout gentleman, as he glanced toward the west, where he saw the fast freight swing in like a serpent to the

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A MAGJSETIC ATTKACTION. 73 switch. The situation needed no explainhig to a raihvtiy man. " I also took the liberty of telegiapliing to Ross, and I used the train-dispatcher's code- word." "The deuce you did," growled the stout man, glancing keenly at him. " Yes, sir ; I had to hold No. 6 at Ross, or there was a danger of her telescoping your car." " Couldn't you have done that without pretending to be the train-dispatcher? " " COUI.DN- T YOU HAVE DONE THAT WITHOUT PRETEXDiNG TO HE THE THAIN-DISCATCHER?" " I could, sir, but it would have been a risk, and there was no time to lose." '' What's your name ? " " Thomas Fenton," " Vou have a good deal of confidence in yourself for a backwoodsman." " I was not always in the backwoods, sir , I was in the train-dispatcher's office on one of the Vanderbilt lines. You have a clear right-of-way now, sir." " All right. I hope you haven't smashed anything somewhere else." "I hope not, sir." r- Vul. xxiii.— 10. " Good-day." The stout man mounted liis car without a word of either thanks or censure, and the special sped to the west. Fenton released Ts'o. 6, holding No. 1 1 on the side-track until the express had passed. Three days later jiui Mason swung oil the morning local. He glanced around at Stump- vilie with an exjjression of unmodified dis- gust, and he greeted Fenton with boisterous familiarity. "Here's a cou^jle of letters for you, old man. I believe there's a chin- chin ahead of you at the governor's office, so I don't envy you ; but keep a stiff upper lip, and get back here as quick as you can, for I have to take your place meanwhile, and I tell you I don't want to be held up at Stumpville any longer tlian is necessary." One letter was from the general manager, who curtly ordered Fenton to report at the head office, Tenstrike City, next day at ten o'clock. The other note was marked private, and Fenton saw with amaze- ment that it was from the train- dispatcher, who asked Tom to call on him that evening as soon as he reached the city, and say nothing to anybody in the interval. Fenton saw at once that the train-dispatcher was trembling for his position, and he expected an appeal from that official because it must have been through his neglect that the tangle of the three trains had arisen. This rea- sonable surmise, however, proved utterly erroneous. He found the train - dispatcher an alert, capable man, who received him with abrupt good nature. " I know all the details of this matter," he said, "and I thought I would give you a jioint or two before you see the old man. You imagine, I suppose, that I was to blame for the tardy dispatch to Corderoy? I'hat is not the case. It was the fault of my assistant, who was on duty at the time. My [)osition has been made very difficult by the fact that my assistant is the old man's nephew. E\'ery- body in the general offices knows that the nephew isn't worth his salt except the old man, and I guess this has shaken him up a

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74 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. bit, because he has removed his nephew to the accountant's department, so he won't sma.sh anything but ti-ures. 'i'hat leaves the office of assistant vacant, and, at the moment, I liaven't anybody that J care to put into the place. Now, you're the man I call the demon telegrapher. Have you had any experience in train office work ?" " \"es, 1 was assistant to (lalloway." '* Von don't tell me 1 How did you come to quit?" "The strike." *'Ah, I see. Well, I'm to meet the old man to-night, and I'll ask him to let you come on as assistant, He's a rather crusty old gentleman, but a first-rate railway man, except where his nephew is concerned. Now, I want to gi\e you a word or two of ad\ice. Hon't drop a hint about the mistake, or who caused it, or anythint- of that kind, [ust hold to it that you were resolved to save the special and the express, and that you did save them." I'enton knew, of course, that by " the old man " the train-di.spatcher referred to the general manager, and he asked if that was the gentleman who was in the special. "Ves. He was taking a turn over the road, and he had his wife and two daughters with him, .so he didn't want a wreck. You've ^ot things all your own way if you work it right and keep your temper." "I'll try," said 'J'om, ''for I'm tired of Stumpville." Next morning's interview was brief and to the point. " Well, young man," said the general manager, "I suppose you've discussed this affair with various friends? What conclusion have you come to ? " ''I have no friends, sir, along this line." "But ] understand you operators com- municate with each other over the wires. Have you told them up and down how near wt: came to having an accident ^ " " No, sir." "Didn't you telegraph to Ross and apolo- gize for using the train-dispatcher's signal?" " No, sir. I owed whatever explanation there was to he made to you or to the train- dispatcher, and to no one else." "Quite right," said the old man. "I like to meet a person now and then who can keep his mouth shut. Spencer tells me you have been in Galloway's office. Is that true ? " "Yes, sir." "Then you understand the work?" "Yes, sir." " \'ery well. Report at once to Spencer, and I thmk he'll have no difficulty in fmding a place for you." "'I'hank you, sir." " I may add that no disaster occurred through your quite unwarranted use of ypencer's signature." " I am very glad to hear it, sir." "dood-day," snapped the general manager, and I'enlon went to hnd Spencer. Kenton's first pleasure after the conclusive mterview with the train-dispatcher was to write a long letter to Jack Moran. He detaded all that had taken place, then said : "So you see, Jack, I am in a position that by rights belongs to you. If you under- stood the work of this office as I do I would at once tell the whole truth and have you [)ut here in my place; but, even if 1 were deposed now, you are not qualified to accept the position if it were offered you. So here's what Tm going to do. I shall fit m here and make friends. I don't want to ask any favours of Mr. Spencer until 1 show him I'm a person to be trusted; then I shall tell hnn the progress you have made in tele- graphing in the past two months, and I shall ask hmi to give you the best place he has vacant in the office." To this he received a somewhat unex- pected answer: "I implore you not to do anythmg in the line of getting me a situation HI the city," wrote Jack, "where, even if you succeeded in getting me promotion, I would not accept it. I am perfectly con- tented where I am and refuse to be removed. This is why I asked you to take the re- sponsibility of my order. I knew that if there was any sense at head-(|uaners the saving of thes«i two trains would leatl to your promotion, and, strange as it may seem to you, promotion is the one thing I wish to avoid, and I supj)ose I am the only operator on the line of whom that can' be said. My attitude, however, will be easy to understand when I tell you that my father, who lives at Corderoy, owns about a thou- sand acres of pine -timbered land in this district, which we expect some day will be valuable. The work here is not difficult, and I live at home and help him. So, you see, I have no wish to move, and I beg of you not to speak on my behalf to the train- dispatcher, or to anyone else. If I change my mmd I will write to you." So it came about tliat the first favour Fenton asked from Si)encer was a day off, getting which, he boarded the local in the morning with a pass in his pocket for

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A MAGNETIC ATTRACTION. 75 Corderoy .and return. He wanted to see Jack anywiiy, and ex])ected very H[)cedily to show the foolish young fellow that the real way to help his father was to come to town on a much better salary than he was getting. As he stepped off at the platform of Corderoy he could scarcely resist a shout as he recognised, standing in the doorway, the young woman who had so mysteriously dis appeared from his view at Stumpviile that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday. She saw him at the same moment and instantly whipped out of sight. "Oh, you don't do that a second time," cried Tom, springing forward. The waiting-room was empty, but the door of the telegrapivoflice had closed with a bang, so Tom prec!i)itated himself against it and it gave way before his impetuosity. The girl he had so long sought in vain stood with her back against the telegraph table, facing him resolutely but with flaming cheeks. "Why, Mi.ss De Forest/^ he said, "what are you doing in Corderoy ? " "Whyshouldn't I be here ? This is my home," gasped the girl. "Your home? I thought you lived in Tenstrike ! " " I never said so." " Do you mean to tell me that you — that you— )'Ou are Jack Moran ? " "Jacqueline De Forest Moran, if you will have the whole name, ^fr. Fenton," said the girl, with a nervous little laugh. " It seems rather an imposing title for such a place as this, doesn't it? So my friends all call me Jack. You see," she exclaimed, breathlessly, " we are of French extraction, and that perhaps accounts for it, as well as for my boldness in daring to visit you uninvited." " Well, now I'm visiting you uninvited, and I can tell you, Miss Jack, Fm very glad I came. W' on't you say you're not sorry ? " " 1 certamty wanted to see you again. You understand now," she continued, hurriedly, " why it was of no use to speak to the train- dispatcher about me. You selfish men don't allow girls to have a good situation in your city offices." "Oh, I don't know about that," said Tom, slowly. " Fm glad, though, I didn't speak to Mr. Spencer, because Fm going to ofTer you a situation myself. You heard what I said, Jacqueline ? I told you when you visited me that I was resolved to have Jack Moran for my assistant. If I was fixed in that purpose then, I am ten times more so now. Are you resolved never to leave Corderoy, Jacque- hne?" The girl turned her burning face away from him, her fingers ner- vously agitating the key, and quite unconsciously re- peating the call : "St-'St— St." " It depends altogether on wlio sends the message --Tom," she said, at last. 'it UEIT.NDS ALTOGinliKK OM WHO .liKNDS THE MESSACiE— TUM, .^IIK PAID, AT I. AST." 1 ¥' .»-

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Our Graphic Humo7'ists. THEIR FUNNIEST PICTURES AS CHOSEN BV THEMSELVES. By Frederick Dolman. T is related of Sir John Tenniel that when i.i his early man- hood he wns offered a place oil the staff of Punch his first feeling was one of indignation. " Ho they .suppose there is anytiiing funny about me?" he is said to have inquired of his nearest and dearest friends. On .second thoughts, however, the artist, whose aspirations were .for classic painting, saw that the work for Punch had Its serious dignity: and now at the close of Ins long career Sir John Tenniel must feel that his early ambition has been by no means altogether frustrated. Has he not on in- numerable occasions given to the cartoon the classic power of national feeling ex- pressed in lines of severe accuracy and restraint ? At the same time, the sequel has shown that Mark Lemon, the then Editor of Punchy must have known young Tenniel better than he knew himself. In a graphic humorist no technical ability can take the place of a sense of humour, and in that meaning there must have been "some- thing funny" about the artist chosen to .succeed the celebrated Richard Doyle. Sir John Tenniel has always denied that he was a caricaturist, but he confesses to a very keen sense of Kumour, and to a belief that his drawings are some- times really fiumy. The words of this con- fession suggest an interesting question as to the relationship between the artist's and his public's sense of humour. With this question upon my lips I have been making a round of calls upon our leading graphic humorists, asking each artist to mention his most successful effort, as it seems to him, for reproduction in TheStka.vd M.\gazine. SIK JOHN TKNMEI,. From a Photo, bji Elliull )m- pany. Lord Beaconsfield is drawn standing

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OUR GRAPHIC HUMORISTS, 77 OuH Masters' Masteks. — Nkwsi-ai'ek Hawkek : "Shout away, iiili ! We're safe enough as lone as we votes ' Progressive' !! " Sir )feniiuihono/tJi«l by sik jOH:* TENNIEI.. (f roprietor* uy " i'wiie'i." on the Egj'ptian desert, wkh his finger at the side of his nose, looking at the Sphinx, on whose features tliere is a delightfully expres- sive wink. In the second cartoon, which was published in August, iSyS, after the Berlin Conference, we have Lord Buaconsfield and Lord SalisbLuy dancing a ''' pas de dcux^^ from "the Scene dc Triomphc in tlic Cirand Anglo-Turkish Ballet d'Acdon." But with- out much hesitation Sir John rejects both these efforts of his sense of humour in favour of " Our Masters' Masters." Mr. Harry Furniss had the greatest pos- sible difficulty in complying with my request. This arose, of coui^se, from the fact that fur more than twenty years his pencil has been as versatile in its humour as it has been prolific. Mr. Furniss made a calculation of the number of his contributions to Pumh during his twche years' membership of its stafT, and it ran into several thousands, and since then he has made innumerable draw- ings for Lika Joko, the New Pud^i^et, Fair Game, and othur periodicals, alive and extinct. I spent an hour or so witb Mr. Furniss one even- ing in his studio at Regent's Bark, observing, but not assisting in — I was very careful about that— the pro- cess of selection. We were surrounded by volumes of these publications, as well as by not a few of the originals, and, if ])rolonged, the task was an entertaining one — at any rate for me. Mr. Furniss's first choice was rather in favour of a caricature of (Itadstone, which had indirectly re- uei\ed high praise from Mr. John Morley. Then it leaned for a {^tw moments to a memorable Punch picture on the subject of .Sir U'illiam Harcourt ; it was entided *' Harcourts All," and was suggested by a speech of Lord Randolph Churchill, who had banler- ingly alluded to the possi- bility of the House of Lords consisting entirely of .Sir \Villiam Harcourts. " But the drawing of the picture is so bad," Mr. Furniss protested, as I laughed over the humour of its idea. " It was done rather in a hurry, I remember, at Felixstowe, where I was recuperating. Lucy wired the subject down to nie there, and the pictuie was done in the midst of a match at golf" Mrs. Furniss, Miss Furniss, and even Master Furniss were called inio council. Miss l'"urniss, who is herself an art student at Heatherley's, strongly urged the claims of one of her father's " Swelled Heads " series, the original drawing of which had been given to her as a birthday ])resent, and it certainly embodied, I thought, one of the artist's funniest conceptions. But Mr. Furniss was not to be '' rushed " by the young lady's enthusiasm. Quite suddenly, when we were all reduced to des[»air, Mr. Furniss had his inspiration. "Other artists." he exclaimed, "may think fit to choose one of their most elaborate cartoons. But for my jiart, T will stand or fall in your Sikanu Magazine article by my little 'Black Beetle.'" J^lr. Furniss's " Black Beetle " was famous in the pages of Punch during a considerable

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I'roina I'hoto. bu Hee <t Epler. A'eis York. 78 part of his con- nection with the paper, making its lirst appearance in *' The EssL'ncc of Parliament" on Marc h njlh, 1881. "One day," .said the cari- caturist in ex- plaining the birth of the creature, "I watched Cap- tain Cosset, tlie Serjeant- at-Arms, from the Press CJallery walk up the floor of the House in Court dress, his knee-lireeches show- ing off his rather bandy legs, elbows akimbo, and curious gait ; his back view at once suggested the beetle, and as 'The Black Beetle' ho became known." It was said that the caricature gave great offence to the official, but Mr. Furniss assures me that he has reason to know that this was not the case. An M.P. one day in- troduced him to Captain Gosset in ihe Serjeant-at-Arms' private room, and there in\ the wall among many portraits of Parlia- inentary leaders was a row of " Illack licetles " cut out from /'/nu/i. Mr. A. S. Boyd, who is now so well known by the humorous drawings which he contributes to J'li/itr/i, was at the beginning of his career a paintur of land- scape and ^^efif-e subjects, and afterwards under the [jseudonym of " Twym " was the author of comic iiUistrations in Quiz and T/ie Bailie, of Glasgow. It was with Mr.^ Boyd THE STRAND MAGAZINE. THE BLACK ItEETI.E. — nv MR. lIAKiJY rUKNISS. Tifi ptrmission 0/ the Proiirielora ../ " Punch." I Spent a most agreeable time at his "Hut" ui the Boundary Koad, St. John's Wood, whilst he cross-examined himself on the question submitted to liiin and rummaged through a large collection of /"/(nc/i and other drawings. Mr. Boyd was bu.sy at his drawmg-board-with some book illustration, 1 believe— but he turned gaily aside from a half-finished sketch and entered heartily into the spirit of my inquiry. After much turn- ing over of proofs and originals the artist's choice was eventually reduced to three. In tlie first the joke was concerned with a little Scotch lassie and her mother. As a Scotsman Mr. Boyd evidently preferred it, i)ut the artist and the humorist asserted themselves in him, and it was reluctantly dis- carded. The second candidate had a testi- MK. A. S, Frow a Photo, hf «nu, h'-'n^"'"-" ^-^R-i-v.-" Why [he d-d-doose don't you ring your bell? —by mk. a. s. hovd. /(;/ permmiMi of the Proprieten, uf " J'nnch.' menial from Mr. \V. \V. Jacobs, who was strongly of opinion that it was the funniest thing he had. done — a small drummer- boy walking by the side of his inamorata, a big, buxom 'Arriett, whom he is solemnly scolding for disrespect to the etiquette of the Army. The third drawing, which is here reproduced, was favoured by Mrs. Boyd, and on reflection the artist found B(JYD. Elliott d- IVii.

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OUR GRAPHIC JH'MORISTS. 79 that his matured opinion agreed with that of his wife. " Mrs. Hoyd," he remarks, " may be pre- judiced in favour of this sul)joct because it was originally suggested by her, although the treatment of it, arrangement of the figures and so forth, are my own. As a rule, the ideas for my humorous pic- tures arise out of my own persona! experi- ences. Yes, this was the case with the drawing you were laughing at just now." This was a little Punch picture which many readers will doubtless remember as well as I did. An old gentleman sud- denly turning a corner and coming into collision with a little girl's hoop, \Yilh the result that^with the cycling fiend in his mind — he im- pulsively exclaims, *' Why the deuce didn't you ring your bell ? " A day or two before this drawing was made Mr. Boyd had been w.ilking in St. John's Wood and had a child's hoop driven up against him in much the same way. It was typical of the way in which he can turn the little incidents of daily life to humorous pic- torial account. Although Mr. Boyd is forty-seven, it is only ten years since he made his home in London, and it was in 1894 thai he was admitted into the pages of /'//«iV/. Even now, with all the suc- cess which London has given him, I should say that he had the strongest " Auld I^ng Syne " feeling for (ilasgow and Glasgow life. Whilst Mr! Boyd is absent for a few "Blush! Mc bUsh! Garn ! Elusli yourself if yer wants to." BY F. C. CurLD. FrO'n the iVegtiiibtaier 'Juzetta. minutes from the studio at *'The Hut" I \m\ my hand u[)on a mass of papers and magazines, and the first which it brings forth is the last- published number of TAe Bai/u; the little Glasgow weekly on which his spuns were won as a humorous draughtsman. As a caricaturist Mr. K C. Gould's fame is now indisso- lubly associated with the personality of Mr. (Chamberlain. I was not surprised, there- fore, on calling at the IVis/jnifiskr Gitztf/c office to find that his choice had fallen on one of his inimit- able presentments of that right hon. gentle- man, it wavered for a moment, however, on a recent cartoon, wherein the Colo- nial Secretary figured in company with the Prime Minister, Mr. Jialfour, and the I^uke of Devon- shire, in the guise of " Our Pierrots " performing on "the sands of history." The cartoon reproduced on this page, as "F.C.G." reminded me, is one of a series which had its origin in a remark which w;is made by Mr. Chambedain when siieaking to a Staffordshire audience at Lichfield during the General Elec- tion of lyoo : "If it were really true that I was respon- .sible for the war I should say thnt it was a feather in my cap." -Mr. Chamberlain as a Red Indian was fcl- 1 o w e d b y M r . Chamberlain as a coster-girl. It is character- istic of Mr. tlould's work, I may add, that this caricature should have been sug- gested by a speech. He is a close I couldn't if MR. F. C. GfifLD. Frmna I'hoto. bu FratUlte it i'oimg.

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8o THE STRAND MAGAZINE. student of speeches both in and out of Parliament, and I remember his once telling me that he considered a careful study of politics to be as necessary to the cartoonist as to the leader wri.er. At the same time his happiest efforts in the general estimation are the result of a flash of inspira- tion rather than of a train of liiought. In the case of "Unblushing," as usually, "f\C.G." at once "spot- ted " the passage in the speech which became the text to the picture. As is well known, the originals of Mr. Gould's cartoons find a ready sale, and in the course of our conversation I asked him who were the most fre- quent purchasers, but he replied that as they were very often Conservative readers of tlie Westminster Gazette they might not care to have their identity dis- closed. Mr. Gould is, of course, well known to every reader of this Magazine, as his drawings have illustrated Mr. Lucy's papers " From Behmd the Speaker's Chair " for many years. .mi;, h:. T. liKKD. Proin « Vhtiio. bn lltnry Van dey WVyrf, Mr. E. T. Reed"s telegraphic address, I observed on his notepaper, is " Prehistoric." Although he is now installed in Mr. Furniss's place as Piimiis I^irliamentary artist, I (|uite expected, as 1 wended my way to Mr. Reed's West Ken.sington flat, that his choice would be made from those " Preliistoric Peeps" for which Mr. Reed has become famous. The choice of " Prehistoric Mixed Bathing-' was not at once made, however, Mr. Reed sending it by jjost a few days subsequen't to my call. 'J'he drawing, which was one of a series of three called " The Stone Age Revisited," appeared only last summer in ''Punch's Holiday Book." " There is no particular story about it," Mr. Reed assures me. The first of the "Prehistoric Peeps" appeared in the Christ- mas number of 1893, three years after his appointment on the staff of Punch : this was "The First Han.som." The original idea seems to have arisen in Mr. Reed's mind from visiting museums and examining their evidences of prehistoric life. Of prehistoric MIXED BATHING IN PREHISTORIC TIMtS. — bV MR, E. T. RliEU. By }itnni»tia\\ o/ the Propriehi-t of " Pm»c/«."

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OUR GRAPHIC HUMORISTS. 8i animals Mr. Reed made a careful study in the South Kensington Mustuni, as well as in books, but, of course, much imagination has entered into his presentments of extinct monsters and their relationship to man. his selection is made. As regards "The Desperate Householder," reproduced here, he states that there is nothing to be told— adding: " I rather think — though I ana not sure— that the idea was not my own." Mr. tKKA-iK llML'-i.HuMn-ji WiJi-nvs oLT .^[iVKHTisK-MKNi' I " To be ilisposcil of. a Wonkey. Very comical .T.id pUyful. Lively uoiiip:miori ; full of fun. Would exchange for Gold Fish, or anything uj^cful." [/'i-opi-ttdior./" l'tm(h." Uij %itrMi*RV>n uf WmI UV MR. IIERNARI) I'AKTHIDGE. Mr. Reed's first Pituch picture, it may be Partridge, who, I may remind my readers, is of interest to recall, had for its subject the a successful actor as well as artist under the three judges of the Parnell Commission name of "Bernard Could," confesses that, enjoying themselves up the river. l^ut his generally sjieaking, what may be called the first caricature he cannot quite remem- ber. At Harrow he had shown a sense of humour in his [)encil, and Mr. Reed tells a story how one day a master — as a punish- ment for caric.ituring himself — ordered him to furnish carica- tures of all the other masters in the school. Mr. Hernard Part- ridge is perhaps most favourably known in the pages of Punch as the illustrator of Mr. Anstey's "Voces Populi " and " Jab- berjee," but it is from neither of these most amusing series that Vol. xxiii,-11 MH. llli;-.AKn i-AKIHlDl^H. From a i'lwto. hu liinsell .C Sunt. literary ideas in his drawings are fur- nished by the 1-xlitor of Piiiuh or others. " I can hardly eve r invent a joke," he will frankly tell you. This being so, the pictorial humour of such pictures as "The Desperate House- holder " is the more remarkable. Mr. Dudley Hardy hnd just told me — and his experience is usual in his profe.s- sion tliat however funny a story sounded to him in the telling, it was seldom that much could be made of it in the pictorial form, The idea bad

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. to spring from his own consciousness — the incident had to be seen with his own eyes. Mr. Linley Sambourne, who has taken Sir John Tennicrs place, has on his door-front Parrot - House,' '' Mr. Sambourne says, in reply to my interrogation, " was entirely my Ovvn, and if I remember rightly it was at once accei)ted at the Funch dinner. I know I took a lot of trouble over the drawing, first going to the Zoo to make some studies of the birds. I bad many offers for the original, and it was sold to one of the Canons of Winchester whose offer arrived first." After much Continental wander- ing Mr. Dudley Hardy has once more found an abiding- place in 1 ,ondon, his house in ( lloucester Road, Kensington, being but a few minutes' walk from Mr. Linley Sam- bourne's, in Stafford Terrace. Mr. Hardy's face, whtrn I asked him for his funniest drawing, ^Yas a picture of pcrple-xity. " I forget my work as soon as it appears," he at Kensington a brass tablet, " Not at Home/' to warn away visitors on Thursday and Friday when he is in the throes of the principal cartoon {ox Punchy as arranged at the staff dinner on \\'ednesday evening. Calling another morning, however, I find Mr. Sambourne quite at leisure for a chat. At the outset th( artist mentions '' In the I'arrot- House" as his best-rc-mem- bered example of tlu comic spirit, although he has to go through the Tuuch volume for the first half of 1899 before he can fi\ the date of the cartoon. And before "In the Parrot-House" is finallydecidcd upon several other volumes are run through. Mr. Sambourne's fancy lingers for a few moments upon an earlier picture relating to the Ger- man Emperor, but it is dis- missed on the reflection that its humour is now out of harmony with English feeling towards that monarch. " Yes, the idea of ' The M^- A Rnw t\ THE Pauriit-Hi>isf.— The C-mpb-lt.-B-sn-rm-n Bii;r>; " Wli.it a noise hevrc- making ! Itan hardly hear myself shriek !" iyi/;iermi«iiono/(M BV MR. LiSLEV SAMBOURNK. VPvQj^ritiirt Qf ■' r\i.nthP

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OUR GRAPHIC HUMORISTS. 83 exclaims: "it comes out in so many differ- ent places, and 1 have never taken the trouble to file my pictures. I often wish I had, because it would sometimes save I ■' iiahi.;ai\!N<; kok the last kish- vi-:nici-:. —by mr. From the " ^kctih." me a lot of trouble. But wait a moment ; let me tliink as to whieh is the most humorous thing I can recall." 'i'o assist his reflection Mr. Hardy takes a cup of coffee and a cigarette, and slowly in the little clouds of smoke is evolved the reminiscence of a S/ct/c/i drawing in its " Light Side of Nature," the drawing of two Venetian fishermen quarrelling as to the proprietorship of the last fisli in a great haul they had just landed. "It appeared," said Mr. Hardy, " some time in 1S94, whun 1 was rambling aboul the South of l^uropt; picking up little out of-the-way subjects for the S/;e/c/i and other papers. I drew this incident as I actually saw it on the (quayside at Venice, and, slight as the drawing is, I think it contains as much real humour as anything I've ever done. "Wherever I find myself," Mr. Hardy said, a little later in our conversation, "I am always on the look-out for such inci- dents. Only yesterday, for instance, going to Netting Hill (-ate Station I passed two urchins carrying a Ijig basket of linen, and I heard one say to the other, * And she nearly broke my 'art.' 'J his reve- lation of the po.or little chap's love affairs struck me at the time as being irresistibly funny, and I daresay I may make some- thing of it. I put these suggestions into my sketch-book, and I have scores of them always at hand. It is the one thing, per- haps, that I am methodical about." As I left Mr. Hardy at the gate he gave me an actual example of the (iuit:kness of his eye for " the light side of Nature." On the opposite pavement a respectable-looking young woman w a s making pictures for the entertainment of the passers-by. She had taken up her l)osition there an hour or two before, and Mr. Hardy had already interviewed her. "She calls herself," he remark.s, "the first DUDl-t-Y HAKUV. MFi. IiL Dl.KY HAiniV. From a Photo.

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84 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. woman pavement-artist, and when 1 told her that I was in the same line of l)usiness .she simply replied, ' On canvas, I snp[)Ose ? ' So I dropped a couple of sliillings into her bag, and I think I must n o w make a sketch of her." Mr. J . A . Shepherd, whose " Zigzags at the Zoo," "l-'ables/* and otiier works liave formed memorable fea- tures of TUK Strand iM.\r.A- zi\K, rusticates at Horley, in Surrey. As admirers of his work will sup- pose, Mr. Shep- herd lias spent a good deal of his time in the farmyard, and it is by a travesty of feathered life that he has chosen to be represented in this article. " I had been making studies of chickens all day at a poultry show," Mr. Shepherd tells me, not in illustration of the fidelity of his artistic method, but in explanation of the origin of this picture. *' In the evening I was at a dance. Looking on at the company and being full of my woik I began seeing resemblances in my work to my late models (niv amusement and business at all limes), and when the barn dance struck up there was the notion ! '' "The Barn Dance/' I believe, like all Mr. Shepherd's work, was very rapitlly drawn. In fact, with a rei)utation made at lujnty - five, and such a re- cord of work as he now has at thirty - five for Thk Strand, PinicJi, and other pulflications. the artist has clearly never wasted much time. First at liromley, Kent, and now at HoHey, Surrey, Mr. Shep- herd has collected quite a menagerie of models for his distinctive "line "of work, including a number of bulldogs, the rearing of which hns been a very successful hobby with him. SUKI'HI-'.Ki). I a I'hutii. hjf I'radetle It Voitng. Jill j>f)inU»iun of Wit niK. liANN" IiANCK. — IIV MR. J. A. SlltlfllEKlJ. [Proprietors of " PuikK"

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OUR GRAPHIC HUMORISTS. 85 lUN AT HENLEY HEdATTA. — EIEK TIK ATTEMl'TS TO EXTKICATE IMS I'UNT IKOM THi; CKOU'D. Jill lieriiiLisiiiiiof the] nv mk. TOM iiKOWNE. \Proiineto7-sof " I'mieh." Mr. Tom ]^ro\vnc, K.I., sent mc liis pen and ink drawing, " Henley,' from the Rum-k Almanack of 1900. This picture may be said to be the outcome of nnicli boating experience on tiie Upper Thames, for Mr. Browne, \vl"io now Hves at Blackhealb, has been in his time an enthusiastic oarsman. His time has been only seven years — tliat is as fnr as London is concerned, for it was only in 1894 that he left his native Nottingiiam to win fame as a black and white artist. Hie career of Tom Browne is quite a little romance of art, and as it is not yet generally known I should like to tell it here. Born in 1872, educated at a National school, em- ployed for three years as an errand-boy in the Nottingham Lace Market ^that is the first chapter. Apprenticed to a firm of lithographic printers, hi.-^ artistic talent excited in this somewhat favourable atmosphere, drawing at night for obscure comic papers, attending the Notting- ham School of Art — second chapter. End of his ai)prenticesliip at the age of twenty- one, a bold descent upon London, a hard struggle to obtain a foothold in London illustrated journalism, decisive success with the Ch'aphk^ Sketch, Punch, The Ki>'i:^, and other lending periodi- cals— third chapter. Mr. Browne, who has been elected a member of both die Royal Institute and the Royal Society of Jiritish Artists, may at the age of thirty confi- dently look forward to the further chapters in his brilliant career. He has tra\"ulied a good deal in l-'rance, Spain, and Holland. Indeed, the rustic Hollander, with liis balloon-like trousers and huge wooden clogs, is one of his favourite subjects. MH, TOM tlKOVVNE. .K,

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86 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. Mr. I.. Raven-Hill, who combines the cultivation of art with the practice of agricul- ture on his estate in \Viltshire, sent me the followinj^ reply :-- " As good a thing as any of mine came out about a year ara last August or September. ]''at old woman getting into 'bus. ])ri\er says: ' Try zideways.' She says : ' Lar' - bless 'ee, I ain't got no zideways.' Actually, over- heard i ti the market-place." The market- place, I presume, was Devizes, near which town Mr. Raven-Hill dwells in a house where Napier wrote his history of tiie Peninsular War. In thus being based upon fact this picture resembles nearly all those pictorial jests with which this artist unfailingly sustains the gaiety of the nation. the batUe painter. Morot's great lesson was to apply generally the method wiiich he applied specially to horses. His system was to close the eyes until the retina became a blank and then to take a flash glimi)se-a rapid opening and shutting of the lids — and in this way an jni prossion of action can be re- tained for several seconds. Mr. Raven-Hill aims for that instan- taneous record of all he sees. But it was not for some time that he had an opportunity of making his gifts known. He returned from I ' a r i s , and, to use his o w n words, painted acres of pictures that didn't sell. He did all kinds of work, and used to go round to the newspaper offices with a port- folio of drawings; and the editors kindly Carhikk : " 'I'ry /idew;iy;^, Mrs. Jyiic;-, tiy /ideway? I " Mn-. J"M-> : " L.ti Ivlc^r. tt, Juim, 1 aiiii gol no ziiicwaysl " liji lienninvm of lhi\ iiv .mk. K.\MiN-iiiLL. [/'i^jprietoi-g (,/"i*iintfA." He received his artistic training at first in- told him how to draw, and what art meant, London and afterwards in Paris, where ha. and gave him hints about design, and were learned his art from Bougereau and Morot, hurt when he said that he could carry out

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OUR GRAPHIC HUMORISTS. 87 their ideas with a fork and a pat of butter. But success was bound to ■come; and {itw men have been more successful than the present genial member of Mr. Tuncli's staff. Mr. Raven-Hill generally invents liis own jokes, but sonictimcs, as in the case of tlie drawing he has here selected, he takes a hint from life. He is one of the best hving observers of rustic character and rural types, and liis humour lias a touch of subtlety and refinement all his own. I found Mr. James F. Sullivan in the throes of removal from one Wim- bledon villa to another, and was dis- appointed therefore of the quiet little chat I had pleasantly anticipated with the delineator of "The Queer Side of Things "^thnt most amusing series of papers which originally appeared in the pages of this Magazine. I hope to get some consolation when Mr. Sullivan gives us his sketch of the pantechnicon men at work, for it was in his troui>les as a householder, 1 find, that Mr. Sullivan found inspira- tion for what he himself con- siders to be about his funniest picture. " The vagaries of the water com- panies," Mr. Sullivan tells me, "in charging for water not supplied in conset]uence of drought or frost, or for other reasons, first gave me the idea for 'The Great Water Joke'; also their contention that a bath is not for domestic purposes and must be paid for extra." 1' '^ .L^^l ^m'^a^^m 'rM-. \ w tliL-ru'^ n droiighl." " I'm sorry T' said lliu Ciiiii]iany : " iii}' i,'ri(.'l i^ very gfLMi : The Winter's frozen up llie iii;iiiis ; luil Ivimliy pay iIil- rale. " In the course of talk over the Punch volumes Mr. J.inley Sambourne had spoken of Mr. Phil May's drawing in the number for August 2ist, i8()7, "The Fisherman and the Lunatic," as that which he would person- ally select as representative of his colleague's rich humouv.

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. Bl 1 H^^^l 1 \ ^^^^^^^^^^^^H 1^ i^iiH^ZT^>^^- ■ ^ *J0^fJ^^M ^^^^^H| ■JM pB ^^^^B?»^ ^ 1 ^v'^ jjH^^H 1 Nh^C^*'* * jO|^^^^^^^^^^^^^H Curiously enough, when I called upon Phil May, in St. John's A\'ood, a day or two later, this was the picture he selected after a minute's consideration. " I had been to AVakefield just before,' he remarked, "and noticed a lunatic asylum there which overlooks a ri\er where there are generally a numhL-r of jteople fishing, especially on HiUurday afternoon. They never catch anything -the river is probably too dirty to contain any fish. This is how I got the idea, and I may say that most of my jokes arise in this wav from things that 1 see." Phil May finds most of his subjects in the East-end of London among the coster girls, guttersnipes, and other types which he has rendered immortal. I'ut all his models have not belonged to the lower orders, and once he even had a Bishop sitting to him, "The Bishop had a splendid head and shoulders,^' snys the artist, "but ihe lower jiart of his body and his legs were 'a bit off,' so I made a prize-fighter sit for the body and legs, to the huge satisfaction of the Bishop and his friends.'' Another of his jokes came to him in this way. He went into an oyster saloon and ordered a dozen natives, when another man entered and gave a similar order, inquiring anxiously of the proprietor if the oysters were fresh. "Kresh!" echoed the bivalve merchant. "Fresh! Why "—indicating Phil May with a wave of his hand — "the first oyster that gentleman took up bit his lip 1" Lunatic (suddenly popping his head over wiill): " What .ire you doing ihere?" iJRtm-N : " Fishing," Lunatic: " Cinghi auyihiiiRT' Bkovv.v : "No." Lunatic; "How long have you hetn iliere?" Bkown : "Six hours." Lunatic: " Coir/c UV MK. I'HII. MAV. />V ixmiijiithn of the Propritlon of " V'lijicA."

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The Stroll k^io/iu. l!v J). Donovan, IIlilN, about three lumdrcd vcLir,^ ngo, sonic dariii;^ spirit cut down a treble viol and converted it into a"vioiin(t," or little viol, he probably neVLT dreamed that he was giving to the world an iiiiitrument that should ever afterwards rule as king in the vast domain of music. The potentialities of the transformed viol were at once [)erceived, and the construction of fiddles became an art. During the six- teenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth cen- turies there were masters whose names were mint - marks of excellence, and a genuine instrument by one of these makers is at the pre- sent day worth an almost fabulous sum. When it is remem- bered, however, that in those times of long ago the old makers of violins knew notiiing of the scientific lawsoi sound, the wonder is they were able to ])ro- duce such marvellous results. And wilii the dawn of the twentieth century a new instru- ment, constructed on l)urely scientific lines and called the '*Stroh Violin," after the name of its inventor, is added to die great string family. As a mere mechanical in- vention it deserves more tlian a passing notice ; while for power and (ju.ility of tone it is safe to predict th?it it will lake a high place. The inventor, Mr. A. Stroh, a genllenuin eminent in the world of science and an expert in all matters of acoustics, conceived the idea that lie could produce a stringed instrument of the violin class wiiich should be dependent for its tone and (juality on an entirely new arrangement. He worked out his theory in a series cf experiments, antl ultimately gave it practical shape. His beniiii- ful instrument is (juite a new departure ; and Vol. xxiii.— 12. From <i] TUl; STliOH VIOI. although the techni(iue and method of finger- ing are exactly the same, the Stroll violin, as will be seen by the illustrations, bears little resemblance to its predecessors. The new fiddle differs as much from the ordinary violin as a cornet differs from a trumpet. The scroll, neck, and finger-board are alike, but having .said that one has said all, as in every other essential the Stroh is difTerenl. The inventor began by discarding the usual box as un- necessary, and here he was confronted with the problem — How were the vibrations of the four strings to be conducted viii the bridge to a resonator, without devices that must necessarily inter- fere with the quality of tone, and more or less destroy the timbre of the strings? In solving this problem he never lost sight of well -recognised laws of musical sound. The .slightest check to [)erfectly free vibration would be detrimental to the (juality of lone, a very important factor in connection with the violin ; and if the enormous pressure of the strings — some- thing like 62lb. wheti tuned to pitch — were allowed to rest upon a bridge that was in direct contact with the device which he decided should take the place of the belly of the violin, the vibration would certainly be in- terfered with. His knowledge of repeating and recording instruments in connection with tele- graphy induced him to try a dia|)iiragni. or disc, and he was soon convinced that he had solved the ])roblem. The result of this research was the ])roduction ol a corrugated aluminium diaphragm, of which we give an illustration. 'J'he vibrations of the strings are conducted by means of an ordinary violin-bridge, which resl^i upon a rocking lever, to this diaphragm and resonator.

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90 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. h\ M\n u \ 1 \\\L S1I41>11 HiJl.lN. The dia- The lever supporting the bridge oscillates laterally upon tlie body of the instrument, tiie end being attached to the akimiiiium disc by a small connecting link, phragni is held in position !)e- tuccn two indiarubljer cu.-ihions by means of a specially designed holder, fixed also upon the body of the violin by two brackets. Attached to this holder is a trnm[)et or resonator, which augments the sound. The budy or cylinder of the instrument is in no way em- ployed for sounil purposes. Its main object is to hold the various [)arts of the violin to- gether, and to sustain the enor- mous i)ressure of the strings when tuned. The disc, which represents the belly of an ordinary violin, is perfectly free to vibrate, so that when the strings are set in motion by the bow the bridge and rocking- lever vibrate in unison, and everv vibration is transmitted to the diapliragm. The diaphragm sets in motion the air contained in the reson- ator, this resonator acting as a distributor of the .sound waves. The disc is of peculiar con- struction, and its possible appiicalion to the phonograph may lead to very inipuriant results in the future. The mechanism of the Stroh violin is mar- vellou.sly simple, as will be seen from the illustrations, and cannot easily get out of ordcr. h'ach part can be seen at a glance, and in die manufacture of the instrument a standard gauge will be observed, so that in the event of accident the damaged part can be easily procured. Although the diaphragm is made from aluminium there is an absolute :d3sence of metallic sound, even to ears long accus- tomed to the tones of die wooden violm. The rich, mellow tones, hitherto su[)- posed to reciuire a century to mature and perfect tbeiu, are \cry noticeablL in the Stroh. 'J'he slightest contai't with the bow will produce tiiem, and with such ease and fluency do they flow that t he player, whether lu- be professiiiual (jr amateur, can hardly fail to api)reciate this very distinctive characteristic. Much lias t)een written about what is termed the " reser\e " force of a Joscjjh (luarnerius. As a matter of fact a Stroh has the reserve pouer of three "Josephs," and is as loud as four ordinary violins. '1 he C"i-string is a dream. It pos- sesses the deep, rich quality of a fine 'cello A, but there is no unevenness in the strings. The harmonics are loud and pure, and wliat is of great impor- tance is an entire absence ol "scrape." This is a point that solo-pla\'ers w ill value highly. Of course, the idea of a new violin that can be played upon inmiedi;itely it is ^mi^;hod, and tiiut will produce marvellous tone and quality of sound, will possibly come as a shock to old-fashioned people, to whom the original violin has been a cherished idol ; but the spirit of invention resiiects no one's prejudices. And it may fd.i-; AND I.1-\K1. From a] THE VIBKATiNC DIAl'HKAGM. U'lwlo.

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THE STROII VIOLIN. 91 From flj THl^ TKUMI'KT on PRi^ONATOK. tJ'/rudj. not be out of place here to qiiote the well- known writer, A{r. Pain, who in "(irove's Dictionary of Music " says :— " A good deal of enthusiasm has been lavished by connoisseurs 011 the beauty of design and varnish of the old Cremona violins, and even in some useful and reput- able works on tlie subject this enthusiasm has been carried to a point where it can only be described as silly and grotesque. A fiddle, after all, even a Stradivarius, is not a work of pure art like a piece of painting or sculpture : it is as merely a machine as a watch, a gun, or a plough. Its main excel- lencies are purely mechanical, and though most good fiddles are also well designed and handsome, not a {i^w are decidedly ugly/' No one who examines the Stroh, however critically, can fail to admit, if he be honest, that it is a wonderful piece of mechanism, which in the hands of a trained player is capable of groat things ; while for the mere amateur or the beginner it possesses advan- tages which are pcculinr to itsulf and cannot be oveirated. In weight it is only a few ounces heavier than the (ordinary \iolin. Its increased power makes it eciiial to three or four violins of the old [jaltern, and yet it is so re markably sensitive that it can be played so as to pro- duce delicate // and ppp passages with scarcely any pressure on the y^ bow. As a solu instrument it ful- fils all the re(iuire- ments of the most exacting virtuoso ; at the same time it will be of great value in small orchestras. Two Stroh violins and one Stroh viola would be equal to eight or nine wooden fiddles. The Stroh has already received the ap- proval of some very eminent musicians. And at a recent concert in London a distinguished and critical audience pronounced it an un- qualified success ; while competent authorities predict a great future for it. Hut even if the merits i\ il is without an equal in its class. Tyndall most expressively terms this Khuii^-faH'e "clang-tint," and nothing could better convey the true mean- ing of the word, for timbre is, if the expression is allowable, the very soul and colour of sound. It is quite distinct from loudness and pitch, which, in order to con- vert them into musical sound, must be asso- ciated with timbre. In a very eminent de- gree diese three qualities are represented in the new in\ention ; and Mr. Stroh has suc- ceeded in blending thfui with such delicacy and artistic eftVct that one is almost led to believe he has reached the ultimate limit in this respect, and that further improvement is impo.ssible. The Stroh violin is certainly the creation of a man of genius and the result of long study of the laws by which we obtain the true poetry of sound. And it will, I venture to predict, in spite of prejudice, ultimately be recognised not only as a triumph of creative skill, but as worthy of taking its place with those instruments which depend for their effect up'on attuned strings. aEi^.^i.:.WT^-WK^ Tilt: v[ui,iN IN rr.s case. U'hulo.

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Sonic IVojidcrs from tlic IP'est, r)V E. Leslie (Iim-iams. XXXVII.- AN "OLD MEN'S SINCINO CLUB." XIC of llic niusl rcaiarkable cUiljs of modern times has its head - quariL-rs in Alniuda, ('alifornia, U.S.A. It is known as tlic "Old Men's Siiii^ing Club," no one being admitted to it who has not the i^ift of song and \viiu has not passed at least his si.xty-fifth birthday. The club has loi members with an ag^^re- gatc age of 6,666 years. It has been a source of regret to those who love classical nuisic and the tuneful melody of old-time ballads that "coon-songs" and nigger ditties are the only style of music popular with the youn;4er i^eneration. To this want of appreciation of old-fashioned tunes may be traced the birdi of the " Old Men's Singing Club." This clult lias been in existence for about %^ ..»,__, -m.^^ oM'-icKiis AM) uk(;.\ni;;!-:ks ui' 'iiu-; "in.i> .mens mmjIno li.ven-work socks and fancy waistcoats and pkned comic opera songs on banjos and mandolines. There was no room in their repertoire for the old-time melo- dies of the younger days of Mr. Hoeh- mer. The old man swore a mighty oath that if he could not find the music of the old days in the soul of the young men of the «_■ i t y he would turn for what he ■ought to his com- lianions in years — ■ and so the "Old Men's Singing Club "came to be. Noone was eligible whopiirted his hair in the middle, or who had any part- ing at all, or any hair on the top of his head to part; or who wore low patent leather shoes and gaudy hosier;', or gny neckties or fancy waistcoats. Ha\ing organized the club a set of rules was next in order. It was decided that no one younger than sixty- five years could become a member. I'orlunatelj', the greater number who have applied for entrance have been nearly seventy. The sole exception v»»^* >

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SOME nViVDERS FROM THE WEST. 93 was made in favour of the lion. E. K. Jaylor, sccrttaiy of the organization, who is barely forty. For nocniy a year llu-y met and [iractiscd, gaining steadily in numbers and in e.NCel- leneu ; then they annoimeed their intention of giving a eoneert for the benefit of tlie poor of Almeda. The only lady artist was the Seiiora Benina Harone, aged T03 years, who danced and sang " La Tolla." This old Spanish woman was born in Mexico in 1798; she danced in the Spanish City of Mexico while in the fi rst blush of mai- denhood, and the picturesque cavaliers of those times pelted her with roses. To the tinkling accom- paniment ot a guitar they sang love-songs un- derneath her window. Those, she says, were merry days. The weary feet, which at their owner's request danced once more in order that a f e w extra dollars might be added to the fund for the poor, were as light as in the bygone days, and if the aged voice quavered, no one noticed it. She was accompanied on the guitar by a Spanish youth — Schor Joseph Jialderamos. Thu old men were in splendid voice. Their tones rang out in sonorous cadence, and long before the evening was over the jingling airs of music-hall and vaudeville were voted as soulless as the blasts from a tin trumpet. Fritz Boehmer hailed hinisell as the musical saviour of the ("ity on the bay. "The people can't love what they don't know/' he s^iid. " If you would have citizens wiio like and appreciate good music, let them grow up with a knowledge of it- In order SliSoKA HKNINA llAUONE, WHO AT I03 l^rOiinai — SHB IS THt O.NLV tli.MA to do this melody must be breathed in with the air. It must be lived. The children must be brought up with music. In order to be musical one must be horn of a town and State and nation where music is not only an honoured profession, but a matter of course. The Germans are a musical race, and to that potent influence I lay much of the love of home, the sweetness of domestic relations, that are so much a part of its people. If we of America were to gather oftener in our homes, and to- gether raise our voices in song, it would be better for us." This concert brought this re- markable club before the pub- lic, and it gained fame in a single night. Several of the leading musical organ- izations in both San Francisco and Oakland have sought to absorb it, but it declines to be taken into any glee club, or sangerfest, or other such frivo- lous crowd. It will continue as it began, an organization for old men and old songs, but it is ambitious to <n'0\v to a club of five hundred members. Fancy it ! Five hundred old men, each one with a voice that, had he chosen, might have made him rich and famous— for none but those with fuie voices are welcomed by the old men, who claim that to the balmy climate of California they owe their gift of song. The officers of the club are as follows : i'residcnt, Fritz Boehmer, aged yr ; secre- tary, Hon. li. K. Taylor, aged 40 ; treasurer, F \V. Cireeley, aged 79 ; vice-presidents, David Martin, aged 78; K. B. Dunning, aged 66; Henry Epstein, aged 72; Judge F. A. Swasey, aged 79 ; F- \V. Downs, aged 67 ; J. F. Blanding, aged 70. IS A CIIAKMINC DANCKK ANP SINT.EIi i.E ME.M11EK OF THE CLUU. I P/lO(0.

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94 THE STRAND MAGAZINE XXXVIIL— A TRAIN-LOAD OF TWO -^rilXlON EGGS. The most remarkable cargo in the world — a train composed of twelve refrigerator cars containing about 2,000,000 eggs — was re- cently gathered by one firm in the vicinity of Newton, Kansas, and shi[)ped to San Fran- cisco, California, U.S.A. The e.xpress went as a special over the Sante I'^e road, and was the first instance of a train with a cargo con- sisting exclusi\ely of eggs passing into tlie Slate of California. The twelve cars composing the train in which was this fragile cargo were constructed in a mnnner best calculated to preserve the entirety of the breakable and delicate freight. They were built upon a plan which enabled the shippers to pack great numbers of crates so that every available bit of space in the cars was utilized. The story concerning the method of bringing this enormous quantity of eggs to one firm for shipment and the care exercised in conveying them thousands of farmers with large, lumbering waggons slowly make their way into town toward the storeiiouse, and to the observer, unacquainted with local customs, the question immediately arises, " What is the meaning of this caval- cade—is a population moving?" The storehouse is a large brick building, oblong in shape, several stories bigit, and ca[>able of housing three millions of eggs at one time. A valuable feature which distinguishes it from all other storage places is the inclined plane, connecting floor with floor, that does away with the jerking and jolting of elevators, thus pre- venting mishaps in moving the eggs to different sections of the building. At this terminus, or egg -depot, about fifty alert clerks are ready to receive consignments of eggs from the husbandmen. In order to preset ve harmony and prevent confusion each farmer must report to the clerk repre- From o] TltLl 'lU.-MV WHICH CAHNIl-::^ A C.-\l;i;0 Ol' 'IWO Mir.l.UJN LGG,-:. [I'hutO. of miles through desert and mountain is most interesting. This section of country, which is called the Middle West, is prosperous, for the egg industry is a most important factor in the business of the vicinity, and employment is given to hundreds of farmers who make their livelihood by raising chickens. For miles surrounding the town of Newton, Kansas, are heard the cackling of hens and the fluttering of the barnyard fowl. Hens, hens, every- where, until the traveller is disposed to believe iiimself in Bedlam, and wonders how many miles he \\\\\ have to drive in order to find pe:ice and ([uiet. It is estimated that about i)o per cent, of the fanners within a radius of twenty miles from the town raise hens for laying purposes and ship their products to Newton. In order to make the work of distribution as systematic as po.ssible, the firm has divided the country into sections, each portion bringing in its weekly sujjply at a .stated period, thus preventing confusion. But every day in the early morning drove* senting his section of the country; in this way knowledge of the condition of eggs shipped can easily be traced if certain lots are not up to the standard. The eggs are then placed in pasteboard bo.\es, containing compartments for each one, and these bo.xes are placed in crates ready for shipment. After the problem of finding a suitable home for the storage of eggs had been solved the difficulty arose as to the method of transporting them safely. In- genious minds, after much trouble and delay, devised what is now the most complete and easiest-going storage car in America. These cars were especially constructed for carrying their fragile cargo, and are divided into com- partments so that the jiroper amount of cold air is distributed evenly to each crate. Beneath every car are springs that enable it to proceed over the ties with as little jolting as is afforded the luxurious passenger of the Pullman. The value of the shipment aggregated about ^"5,000, including freight charges, which ainountetl to over ^1,000.

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SOME WONDERS FROM THE II EST. 95 XXXIX.-A LADY'S GLASS DRESS. The mn,-,L ni:ir\vllous and beautiful dress in the world is owned by Miss Ellenc Jiiqua, a famous singer and well-known society belle of Brooklyn, New York, U.S.A. It is a costume made of spun glass, and its shimmering folds dazzle tlie eyes and bcwiklur the brain of all who gaze upon the creation. The material for this valuable and wonder- ful gown took five months to spin^or, more correctly speaking, to blow— and was made in Dresden, C'.ermany ; the gown was cut in Paris, and does credit to the designer. The colour effects of the dress under a strong light are won- derful. Delicate shades of pale green, blue, and silver-white blend into each other witii bewilder- ing rajjidity as the light falls upon the folds, presenting an aspect of unusu;il charm, lustre, and richness. Although the gown does not sparkle, the indes- cribable sheen which it throws out dazzles the eye for the moment. The entire effect is of rajs of moonligiit cast upon a satiny silver sur- face. The cloth or body and the trim- mings of the dress consist of millions of extremely fine and delicate strands of pure spun glass, and it is only upon careful examination that an adequate idea of the great amouflit of labour put into the weaving of the material can be gained. It was a most delieate and difficult task to blow the glass until the strands or threads were strong and yet pliable enough to be woven into a cloth which would be serviceable and permit of being cut and handled. At the Chicago h^xposition in :8tj3 there was a glass dress exhibited, which becaaie MISS Illi.1£m-: JAl,lL■/^, \vi-:ai;i\g [If-.k (ii.As-; duess. Friim a I'holn. by Slacy, lifuiiklyn, S. Y. the property of the Infanta Eulalie, but this gown was only for show, and could not be worn, for so fragile were the strands of glass that the slightest effort to bend them would catise them to snap and splinter into a thousand pieces. Miss EUene Jaqua is therefore the first person to possess a glass-gown which can actually be worn, and not once only. It possesses a constitution which will enable it to live the usual space of time allotted to the ball-gown of a lady. The style of this dainty dress was designed after the latest Parisian fashion. The skitt, being of a demi- train, hangs like a soft richness of bro- cade, cut in simple fashion with full gathers at Uie back and chaste and simple in the front, outlining the figure in graceful folds. The bodice, cut low, clings to the figure with all the pliancy of silk. About the neck is a full ruch- ing, finished by fringe of spun glass ; the full fringe of glass -which finishes the ronsage is re- peated in effect about the skirt in a flounce with three bands of glass braid, which scintillates in the light. It may also be in- teresting to know that it took over fourteen yards of extra wide glass cloth, thirty-five yards of spun glass braid, and twenty -five yards of glass fringe — -in ail, seventy-four yards of material — to make up this garment. Many would suppose that this great quantity of cloth, braid, and fringe would make it a rather heavy article of wear- ing apparel, but it does not weigh any more than an ordinary evening gown of the sofiest material. Its minute strands are so artisti- cally woven and interwoven that it is perfectly

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96 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. Ttit; liNTim; dkesr and its ti!immings ARE or I'LKE Si'UN GLASS Fi-oii). a Photo, hu Slaey, Bruoklyn, A.l'. flexible nnd pliable, and can be worn witli as perfect com- fort and freedom .is any even- ing gown. The process by wbicli ihc glass is spun remains a secret with the spinner, but some idea is given in saying that specially prepared ^lass was melted and made into tube forms of various lengths and colours. These tubes were run through flames to a concen- trated point of intense heat, reducing them to a semi-melted state in order to make them ])Iiabie before coming in con- tact with the large spinning- wheel, which is several feet in circumference, having numer- ous small grooves around the outside Ijand, and revolving several thousand feet a minute. The machine was turned and operated by hand. The tubes when in the required state were then placed on the wheel, where the grooves, catching the ends of the tubes, spin them into strands of great fineness luitil they lose their brittleness, coming from the wheel even fniev than a hair and as soft as silk. These strands are hollow and so minute that it requires a microscope to detect the holes in the ends. After this process of spinning was completed the threads were gathered and placed in a hand- loom and woven into glass cloth several yards in length, in the same manner as any other material. Miss laqua, who is the proud owner of this wonderful dress, is an eminent artiste, having a wide reputation as a singer not only in her own city, but throughout the Eastern States. Till-: l>A/Z[,TNT, DKKSS AS IT AE'I'EAKS l.V A STKONG I.lGliT, SllOWINC THE IlI'AUTirUL Fioin a I'holo. ftji] Moo^LlGHT ekfect. \Stacy. lii-ooklyn. A'. Y.

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At Sttiiwich Port. Hv W. W. [.u:otw. CHAPTER XVI. H E two ladies received Mr. Hardy's information witli soniuthing akin to consterna- tion, the idea of the aiUocrat ol lujuator Lodge as a stow- away on board the ship of his ancient enemy proving too serious for ordinary comment. Mrs. Kingdom's usual expressions of surprise, " Well, I never did!" and '■ (lood gracious alive!" died on her lips, and she sat gazing helpless and round-eyed at her niece. " I wonder what he said," she gasped, at last. Miss Nugent, who was trying to imagine her father in his new rd/e aboard the Cof/- t/ueror, paid no heed. It was not a pleasant idea, and her eyes flashed with temper as she thought of it. Sooner or later the whole affair would be public property. *'I had an idea all along that he wasn't could think of a satisfactory reply Bella came to the door and asked to speak to her for a moment. Profiting by her absence, Mr. Hardy leaned towards Miss Nugent, and In a low voice expressed liis sorrow at the mishap to her father and his firm conviction that everything that could lie thought of for that unfortunate mariner's comfort would he done. ''Our fathers will probably come back good friends,'' he concluded. "There is notiiing would give me more pleasure than that, and 1 think that we had better begin and set tiiem a good example." " It is no good setting an example to people who are hundreds of miles away," said the matter-of-fact Miss Nugent. '* IJe- sides, if they have made friends, they don't want an example set them." " But in that case they have set us an example which we ought to follow," urged Hardy. Miss Nugent raised her eyes to his. "'UIIV 1>U VOL' WISH TO UK UN KrJllCNDE.V TERMS?' Slit ASKEU." in Tendon," murmured I\[rs. Kingdom. "Fancy that Nathan Smith standing in Sam's room telling us fiilsehoods like tliat ! He never even blushed." " JJut you said that you kept picturing father walking about the streets of London, wrestling with his pride and trying to make up his mind to come home again," said her niece, maliciously. Mr.s. Kingdom fidgeted, but before she Vol. xxiii.— 13. Copyright, 1901, by W. W. J.ia to be on friendly with disconcerting " Why do you wish terms ? " she asked, composure. " I should like to know your father," returned Hardy, with perfect gravity ; " and Mrs. Kingdom and you." He eyed her steadily as he spoke, and Miss Nugent, despite her utmost efforts, realized with some indignation that a faint tinge of colour was cree[)ing into her checks. hs in the United States of America.

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gS THE STRAND MAGAZINE. She renieiiiljered his covert challenge at their last interview nt Mr. W'iJks's, and the necessity of reading this persistent young man a stern lesson came to her with all the force of a public duty. " Why ? " she inquired, softly, as she lowered her eyes and assumed a j>ensive expression. '' I admire him, for one thing, as a hne seaman/' said Hardy. "Yes," said Miss N'ugent, "and " "And I've always had a great liking for Mrs. Kingdom," he continued; "she was %ery good-natured to me when I was a very small hoy, I remember. She is very kind and amiable." The bafRed Miss Nugent stole a glance at him. " And " she said again, very softly. "And very motherly," said Hardy, without moving a muscle. Miss Nugent pondered and stole another glance at him. The expression of his face was ingenuous, not to say simple. She resolved to risk it. So far he had always won in their brief encounters, and monotony was always distasteful to her, especially monotony of that kind. "And what about me?" she said, with a friendly smile. "You," said Hardy, with a gravity of voice belied by the amusement in hi.s eye ; "you are the daughter of the fine seaman and the niece of the good-natured and motlierly Mrs. Kingdom." ^Iiss Nugent looked down again hastily, and all the shrew within her clamoured for vengeance. It was the same masterful Jem Hardy that had forced his way into their seat at church as a boy. If he went on in this way he would become unbearable ; she resolved, at the cost of much personal incon- venience, to give him a much-needed fall. I'ut she realized quite clearly that it would be a matter of time. "Of course, you and Jack are already good friends?" she said, softly. "Very," assented Hardy. "Such good friend.s that I have been devoting a lot of time latelv to considering ways and means of getting him out of the snares of the Kybirds." "I "should have thought that that was his affair," said Mi.ss Nugent, haughtily. " Mine, too," said Hardy. " I don't want lum to marry Miss Kybird." For the first time since the engagement Miss Nugent almost approved of it. "Why not let him know your wishes?" she said, gently. "Surely that would be sufficient." " Hut you don't want them to marry ? " .said Hardy, ignoring the remark. " I don't w^ant my brother to do anything shabby," replied the girl ; " but I shouldn't be sorr)'-, of course, if they did not.'' " Very good," .said Hardy. "Armed with your consent I shall leave no stone unturned. Nugent was let in for this, and T am going to get him out if I can. All's fair in Ipve and war. You don't mind my doing anvthini^ shabby ? " " Not in the least,"' replied ^^iss Nugent, promptly. The reappearance of Mrs. Kingdom at this moment saved Mr. Hardy the necessity of a reply. Conversation reverted to the miss- ing captain, and Hardy and Mrs. Kingdom together drew such a picture of the two captains fraterni;^iiig tliat Miss Nugent felt that the millennium itself rould have no surfiriscs for her. " He has improved ^•ery much," said Mrs. Kingdom, after the door had closed behind their visitor ; " so thoughtful."' " He's thoughtful enough," agreed her niece. " He is what 1 call extremely considerate," pursued the elder lady, " but I'm afraid he is weak ; anybody could turn him round their little finger." " I believe they could," said Miss Nugent, gazing at her with admiration, "if he wanted to be turned." The ice thus broken, Mr. Hardy spent the following day or two in devising plausible reasons for another visit. He found one in the person of Mr. Wilks, who, having been unsuccessful in finding his beloved master at a small tavern down by the London docks, had returned to Sunwich, by no means bene- fited by his change of air, to learn the terrible truth as to his disappearance from Hardy. '■I wish they'd Shanghaid me instead," he said to that sympathetic listener, "or Mrs. Silk." " Kb ? " said die oUier, staring. " Wot'll be the end of it I don't know," said Mr. Wilks, laying a hand, which still trembled, on the other's knee. "It's got about that she saved my life by 'er careful nussing, and the way she shakes 'er 'ead at me for" risking my valuable life, as she calls it, going up to London, gives me the shivers." " Nonsen.se," said Hardy ; " she can't marry you against your will. Just be dis- tantly civil to her." " 'Ow can you be distantly civil when she lives just opposite?"' inquired the steward,

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AT suNU'Jcrr port. 99 querulously. "Siie sent Teddy over at ten o'clock kist night lo rub my chest with a bottle o' liniment, and it's no good me say- ing I'm all right when she's been spending eighteen-penee o' good money ov*_t the stuff." "She can't marry you unless you ask her," said the comforter. Mr. Ayilks shook his head. " People in the alley are beginning to talk," he said, dole- fully. "Just as I came in this afternoon old (leorge I,ee screwed up one eye at two or three women wot was gossiping near, and when I asked 'ini wot 'e'd got lo wink about he said that a bit o' wedding-cake 'ad blowed in his eye as I passed. It sent them silly creeturs into fits a'most." an'-twenty years I sailed with the cap'n and served 'im faithful, and this is my reward." Hardy pk-aded his case next day. .Miss Nugent was alone when he called, and, moved by the vivid picture he drew of the old man's loneliness, accorded her full forgiveness, and decided to p;iy him a visit at once. The fact that Hardy had not been in the house five minutes she appeared to have overlooked. *' I'll go upstairs and put my hat and jacket on and go now," she said, brightly. "That's very kind of you,'' said Hardy. His voice expressed admiring gratitude; but he made no sign of leaving his seat. "You don't mind?" said Miss Nugent, pausing in front of him and slightly extend- ing; her hand. '■UK SAM> A HIT O' WEUDIXG-CAKK All HLOWED IK HIS EVE." •'They'll soon get tired of it," said Hardy. Mr. Wilks, still gloomy, ventured to doubt it, hut cheered up and became almost bright when his visitor announced his inten- tion of trying to smooth over matters lor him at Kijuator I.otlgc. He became quite voluble in his defence, and attached much importance to the fact that he bad nursed Mi.ss Nugent when she was in long clothes and had taught her to whistle like an angel at the age of five. "I've felt being cut adrift by her more than anything," he said, brokenly. " Nine- " Not in the least," was the reply ; " but I want to see Wilks myself Perhaps you'll let me walk down with you ? " The request was so unexpected that the girl had no refusal ready. She hesitated and was lost. Finally, she expressed a fear that she might keep him waiting too long while she got ready — a fear which he politely declined to consider. " Well, we'll see," said the marvelling Miss Nugent to herself as she went slowly upstairs. " He's got impudence enough for forty." She commenced her preparations for

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THE STRAND MAGAZINE. seeing Mr. Wilks by wrapping a shnwl roiiii'l her shoulders and reclining in an easy-chair with a novel. It was a good story, but tile room was very cold, and even the pleasure of snubbing an intrusive young man did not make amends for the lack of warmth. She read and shivered for an hour, and then with chilled fmgers lit the gas and proceeded to array herself for the journey. Her temper was not improved by seeing i\Ir. Hardy sitting in the dark over a good fire when she got downstairs. " Fm afraid I've kept you wailing,'' she said, crispl}'. " Not at all," said Hardy. " I've been very comfortalile." Miss Nugent repressed a shiver and, crossing to the fire, tiioughtlessly extended her fingers over the Ijlaze. " I'm afraid you're cold," said Hardy. The girl looked round sharply. His face, or as much of it as she could see in the firelight, bore a look of honest concern somewhat at variance with the quality of his voice. If it had not been for the absurdity of altering her plans on his account she would have postponed her visit to the steward until another day. The walk to I'ullalove Alley was all too short for Jem Hardy. Miss Nugent stepped along with the air of a martyr anxious to get to the stake and have it over, and she answered in monos}llables when her com- panion pointed out the beauties of the night. A bitter cast wind blew up the road and set her yearningTor the joys of Mr. W'llks's best room. " It's very cold," she said, shivering. Hardy assented, and reluctantly quickened his ])ace to keep step with hers. Miss Xugent with her chin sunk in a fur boa looked neither to the right nor the left, and turning briskly into the alley, turned the handle of Mr. WilUs's door and walked in, leaving her companion to follow. The steward, who was smoking a long jjipe over the fire, looked round in alarm. Then his expression c:lianged, and he rose and stammered out a welcome. Two minutes later Miss Nugent, enthroned in the best chair with her toes en the fender, gave her faithful subject a free pardon and full permission to make hot coffee. " And don't you ever try and deceive me again, Sam," she said, as she sipped the comforting beverage. "No, miss," said the steward, humbly. " I've 'ad a lesson. I'll never try and Shanghai anybody else agin as long as I live." After this virtuous sentiment he sat anrl smoked placidly, with occasional curious glances divided between his two visitors. An idle and ridiculous idea, which occurred to him in connection with them, was dis- missetl at once as too jjreposterous for a sensible steward to entertain. " Xfrs. Kingdom well ? " he inquired. "Quite well," said the girl. "If you take me home, Sam, you shall see her, and be forgiven by her, too." "Thankee, mi.ss," said the gratified steward. " And what about your foot, Wilks ? " said Hardy, somewhat taken aback by this arrangement. "Foot, sir?" said the unconscious Mr. Wilks ; " wot foot?" " Why, the bad one," said Hardy, with a significant glance. "Ho, that one?" said Mr. Wilks, beating time and waiting further revelations. " Do you think, you ought to use it much ? " inrpiired Hardy. Mr. Wilks looked at it, or, to be more exact, looked at both of them, and smiled weakly. His [previous idea recurred to him with renewed force now, and several things in the young man's behaviour, hitherto dis- regarded, became suddenly charged with significance. Miss Nugent looked on with an air of cynical interest. " Better not run any ri.sk, ' said I lardy, gravely. " I shall be very |)leased to see Miss Nugent home, if she will allow me." "What is the matter with it?" inquired Miss Nugent, looking him fiill in the face. Hardy hesitated. Diplomacy, he told himself, was one thing ; lying another. He passed the question on to the rather badly- used Mr. Wilks. "Matter with it?" repeated that gentle- man, glaring at him re jjroach fully. " It's got shootin' pains right up it. I suppose it was walking miles and miles every day in London, looking for the cap'n, was too much for it.^' " Is it too bad for you to take me home, Sam ? " inquired Miss Nut^ent. softly. The perturbed Mr. Wilks looked from one to the other. As a sportsman his sjmTpathies were with Hardy, but his duty lay with tlie girl. "Til do my best, miss, ' he said : and c;ot up an<l limped, ver\' well indeed for a first attempt, round the room. Then Miss Nugent did a thing which wa.s a puz/le to herself for some time afterwards. Having won the victory she deliberately ' threw away the fruits of it. and declining to

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AT SUNWICH FORT. lOI allow the steward to run any risks, accepted Hardy's escort home. Mr. Wilks watched them from the door, and with his head in a whirl caused by the night's proceedings mixed himself a stiff glass of grog to set it right, and drank to the health of both of them. The wind had abnted somewhat in violence as tliey walked home, and. moreover, they had their backs to it. The walk was slower and more enjoyable in manv respects than ilie walk out. In an unusually soft mood she replied to his re- marks and stole little critical glances up at him. AVhen they reached the house she stood a little while at the gate gazing at the starry sky and listening to the crash of the sea on the beach. " It is a (me night/' she said, as she shook hands. " The best I have ever known,"' said Hardy. " (Jood-bye." '■,\IH. VVLLK"S DK.\^:ki T' OF T CHAPTER XVn, Thk weeks passee Con- (/ucivr was notified as having reached Port Elizabeth. The reply-- " /c// s/n'p "'—con- firmed his worst fears, but he cheerfully accepted Mrs. Kingdom's view that the captain, in order to relieve the natural anxiety of his family, had secured a passage on the first vessel homeward bound. Captain Hardy was the first to reach home. In the early hour.'i of a fine April morning the Conqueror sieamed slowly into Simwich Harl>oiir, and in a very short time th'^ (own was revelling in a description of Captain Nugeni's first voyage before the mast from lips which were never tired of re])eating it. Down by the waterside Mr. Nathan Smith found that he hnd suddenly attained the rniik of a popular hero, and his nioflesty took alarm at the put)licity afforded to his action. It was extremely distasteful to a man who ran a quiet business on old- fashioned lines and disbelieved in adver- tLsement. He lost three lodgers the same day. Jem Hardy was one of the few peoi)le in Sunwich f(jr whom the joke had no charms, and he betrayed such an utter lack of sym- pathy with his father's recital that the latter accused him at last of wanting a sense of humour. " I don't see any- thing amusing in it," said ills son, stiffly. Captain Hardy re- capitulated one or two choice points, and was even at some pains to explain them. " I can't see any fun in it," repeated his son. "Your be- haviour seems to me to have been deplor- able." "What?" shouted the captain, hardly able to believe his ears. "C'aptain Nugent was your guest," pur- siTed trie other ; *' he got on your ship by accident, and he should have been treated dccentlv as a saloon passenger." "And been apologized to for coming on [)oard, I su[>pose? ' suggested the captain. " It wouldn't have been amiss," was the reply. The captain leaned bnck in his chiiir and regarded him thoughtfully. "I can't tliink what's the matter with you, Jem," he said. " Ordinar}- decent ideas, that's all," said his son, scathingly. "There's .something more in it than that," said the other, positively. " T don't like to see this love-your-enemy business wiih you, 1 TIIK IIK-ALTH 'ir BOTH HEM."

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TBE S'IRAND MAGAZINE, ' A POPi;[.AR HERO. Jcni ; it ain't natural to you. Has your iiualth hten all right while Tve been away? " " Of course it has," said his sun, curtly. " If you didn't want (Captain Nugent aboard with you why didn't you put liini ashore? It wouldn't have delayed you long. Think of the worry and anxiety you've caused poor Mrs. Ringdoni." "A holiday for her/' growled the captain. "It has affected her health," continued his son ; " and besides, think of his daughter. She's a high-spirited girl, and all Sunwich is laughing over her father's mishap." "Nugent fell into his own trap," exclaimed the captain, impatiently. "And it won't do tliat girl of his any harm to be taken down a peg or two. Do her good. Knock some of the nonsense out of her." " That's not the way to speak of a lady," said Jem. hotly. The offended captain regarded him some- what .sourly ; then his face changed, and he got up from his chair and stood before his son with consternation depicted on every feature. " Vou don't mean to tell me,'' he said, . slowly ; " )'ou don't mean to tell me that youVe thinking anything of Kate Nugent ? '' " Why not ? ' demanded the other, de- fiantly ; " why shouldn't I ? " Captain Hardy, whistling softly, made no reply, but still stood eyeing him. " I thought there was some other reason for your consideration besides ' ordinary decent ideas,'" he said, at last. "When did it come on ? How long have you had it ? " Mr. Hardy, jun., in a studiously unfilial speech, intimated that these pleasantries were not to his taste. " No, of course not," said the captain, resuming his seat. " \Vell, I'm sorry if it's serious, \^m-, but I never dreamt you had any ideas in that quarter. If I had I'd have given old Nugent the best bunk on the ship and sung Iiim to sleep myself. Has she given you any encouragement ? " "Don't know," said Jem, who found the conversation awkward. " I'lxtraordinary thing,'' said the ca]>tain, shaking his head, " extraordinary. Like a play."^ " Play ? " said his son, sharply.

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AT SUNWICH PORT. 103 " Play," repeated his father, lirnily. " What is the name of it ? I saw it once at New- castle. The lovers take poison and die across each other's chests because their people woirt let 'em marry. And thnt reminds me. T s.iAV some phosphor-paste in the kitchen, Jem. Whose is it ? " 'Tm glad to be the means of affording yon amusement," said Jem, grinding his teeth. Captain Hardy regarded him affectionately. *' Vio easy, my lad,^' he said, equably ; " gu easy. If I'd kncjwn it before, things would have been different ; a.s I didn't, we must make the best of it. She's a i)retty girl, and a good one, too, for all her airs, but I'm afraid she's too fond of her father to overlook this." " Thai's where you've made such a mess of things," broke in his son. '* Why on earth you two old men couldn't " " Easy," said the startled cap- tain. " When you are in the early fifties, my lad, your ideas about age will bi' more accurate. Besides, Nugent is seven or eight years older than I am.'' "What became of him?" inquired Jem. " He was off the moment we berthed," said his father, suppressing a smile. " I don't mean that he bolted —he'd got enough starch left in him not to do that — but he didn't trespass on our hospitality a moment longer than was necessary. [ iieard that he got a passage home on the Columbus. He knew the master. She sailed some time before us for I.ondon. I thought he'd have been home by this."' It was not until two days later, however, that the gossip in Sunwich received a pleasant fillip by the arrival of the injured captain. He came down from London by the midday train, and, disdaining the privacy of a cab, prepared to run the gauntlet of his fellow-townsmen. A weaker man would have made a detour, but he held a direct course, and with a curt nod to acquaintances who would have stopped him walked swiftly in the direction of home. Tradesmen ran to their shop-doors to see him, and smoking amphibians lounging at street corners broke out into sunny smiles as he passed. He met these annoyances with a set fare and a cold eye, but his views concerning children were not improved by the crowd of small creatures which fluttered along the road ahead of him and, hopeful of developments, clustered round the gate as he passed in. It is the pride and privilege of most returned wanderers to hokl forth at great length concerning their adventures, but Captain Nugent was commendably brief. At first he could hardly be induced to speak of them at all, but the necessity of contra- dicting stories which Bella had gleaned for Mrs. Kingdom from friends in town proved too strong for him. He ground his teeth with suppressed fury as he listened to some of them. The truth was bad enough, and his daughter, sitting by his side with her

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I04 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. hand in his, was trembling witli indigna- tion. " l*oor father," she said, tenderly ; " what a time you must have had." " It won't bear thinking of," said Mrs. Ritii^dom, not to be outdone in sympathy. " \Voll, don't think of it," said the captain, shorUy. Mrs. Kingdom sighed as though to indi- cate that her feelings were not to be suppressed in that simple fashion. "The anxiety has been very great," she said, shaking her head, " but everybody''; been very kind. Fru sure all our friends have been most sympathetic. 1 couldn't go outside the house without somebody stopping me and asking whether there was any news of you. I'd no idea you were so popular ; even the milkman " "I'd like some ten," interrupted the captain, roughly ; " that is, when you have finished your very interesting informa- tion." Mrs. Kingdom pursed her lips together to suppress the words she was afraid to utter, and rang the bell. " Your master would like some tea," she said, primly, as Bella api)eared. " He has had a long journey." The captain started and eyed her fiercely ; Mrs. Kingdom, her good tem[)er quite restored by this little retort, folded her hands in her lap and gazed at him with renewed sym[)athy. " A\'e all missed you very much," said Kate, softly. " But we had no fears once we knew that you were at sea." " And I suppose some of the sailors were kind to you ? " suggested the unfortunate Mrs. Kingdom. " They are rough fellows, but I suppose some of them have got their hearts in the right place. I daresay they were sorry to see you in such a position." The captain's reply was of a nature known to Mrs. Kingdom and her circle as "snap- ping one's head off." He drew his chair to the table as Bella brouglit in the tray and, accepting a cup of tea, began to discuss with his daughter the events which had tran.?pired in his absence. " 'I"here is no news," interposed Mrs. Kingdom, during an interval. "Mr. Hall's aunt died the other day." " Never heard of her," said the captain. " Neither liad I, till then," said his sister. " What a lot of people there are one nevui hears of, John." The captain stared at lier offensively and went on with his meal. A long silunce ensued. " I suppose you didn't gut to hear of the cable that was sent ?'' said Mrs. Kingdom, making another effort to arouse interest. "What cable?" incjuired her brother. "The one Mr. H;irdy sent to his fatiiL-r about you," replied Mrs. Kingdom. The captain pushed his chair back and stared her full in the face. " What do you mean ? " he demanded. His sister explained. " Do you mean to tell me that you've been speaking to young Hardy?'' exclaimed tlie captain. " I could hardly help doing so, when he came here," returned his si:,Ler, with dignity. " He has been very anxious about )ou." Captain Nugent rose and strode up and down the room. Then he stopped and glanced sharply at his daughter. "Were you here when he called?" lie demanded. " \'es," was the reply. "And you — you spoke to him?" roared the captain. "I had to be civil," said Miss Nugent, calmly ; " I'm not a sea-cainain." Her father walked up and down tlie room again. Mrs. Kingdom, terrified at the storm she had evoked, gazed helplessly at her niece. " What did he come here for ? " said the captain. Miss Nugent glanced down at her plate. "I can't imagine," she said, demurely. "The first time he came to tell us what had become of you." The captain stO[)ped in his walk and eyed her sternly. " I am very fortimate in my children," he said, slowly. " One is engaged to marry the daughter of the shadiest rascal in .Sunwich, and the other " "And the other?" .said his daughter, proudly, as he paused. "The other," said the captain, as he came round the table and put his hand on her shoulder, " is my dear and obedient daughter." " Ves," said Miss Nugent ; " but that isn't what you were going to say. You need not worry about me ; I shall not do anything that would displease you." (To be umdiiiied.)

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A Stokv for Children. By Margaret Maitland. ■ K('K upon a time a King, on his dcath-bcd, sent for his two Fons and said to them : '* My sons, promise me one thing before I die. Your sister, whom you have never seen, is shut up in a tower, and you must promise never to let her out of it. The day she was born your mother and 1 put her there, because we were warned she would bring trouble on her brothers." But, having said this, the K^ing died so quickly that his sons had no time to promise him anything. And directly he died all the great men in the kingdom assembled round the new King and put the crown on his head, and clothed him in the Royal purple mantle sparkling with diamond stars and moons and suns, and cried, "Long live our King." No sooner was this ceremony ended than the two brothers, who were in the greatest hurry to see their sister, ran to the tower. Vol. xxiii.— 14. which had neither door nor stairs, so they lumped into the big basket fa.stened to a j)ullcy, ni which provisions were hoisted up, and went straight to the Princess Rosetta's chamber. She and her little dog Fretillo were sitting there, and the Princess was embroidering a beautiful brocade, but she threw down her work the moment she saw the King in his Royal robes and crown, and, falling at his feet, besought him to let her out of her prison. "That's just what we've come here for," cried both the brothers together. " We are going to take you away with \\% and find you a husband and make you happy lor ever." And though there was very little room in the big basket for a King in his Royal mantle and a Prince and Princess and a little dog as well, they all loved each other too much already to bear parting, even for a few minutes, so somehow or other they squeezed in and went down all togetlier. 'I'he tower was in a fine garden, and when

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io6 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. the Princess saw flowers and fruit and foun- tains, for the first lime in her life, she was dehghted, and ran hilhcr and thitiier pickmg things and playing with Fretillo, who l)arked and frisked round her as hapi)y as she was. He was a very odd-looking little dog, for he was green and had only one ear, but he was so clever and jiood-tcmpercd that no one could help lovmg him. Presently he ran ahead of his mistress into a wood, and she went after him, and there she saw a peacock with his tail spread out in a huge circle beliind him. And he was so linndsome that she stood stock-still looking at him until her brothers found her, and then she pointed at the peacock and said : — "What is it?" " A peacock," they answered ; "a bird that is served at Koyal tables on great feast days." '* What," cried Rosetta, " people are wicked enough to kill — to eat such a creature? I for my part vow that I will have no husband but the King of the Peacocks, and he shall pass a law that he who kills or eats a pea- cock shall die ! " " Hut, dearest sister," said her brothers, " where shall we go to find you such a husband ? We know neither who he is nor where he lives." The Princess did not know either ; so she said : "All that kind of thing I leave entirely to your Majesty. But I will marry no one else." Then the Princes and their sister and Frelillo and the peacock (whom Kosetta refused to leave) all wont to the palace, and the peacock and Fretillo had quarters in the Princess's own room. All the Court came, of course, to pay her their respects, and the great ladies brought her sugar-plums and tarts and gowns and ribbons, and shoes embroidered with precious stones ; and her manners to everyone were so gracious, and she curtsied so [lolitely when thanking people, that the whole kingdom rang with her praises. But all this time Iier |]oor brothers were in great trouble, not knowing in the very least where to turn their steps to find the King of the Peacocks. But they agreed that the first thing to do was to have Rosetta's portrnit painted to take with theni, and the artist made such a perfect picture of her, that could it but have talked it would have been the Princess herself. "Good-bye, sister," they said to her; "since you will have no husband but the King of the Peacocks, we will travel all over the world to look for him. If we find him it will make us very glad, and meantime you must govern the kingdom well." Rosetla thanked them and promised to do what they asked, and said that her only- pleasure, wiiile they were away, would be in looking at her peacock and playing with Pretillo. 'I'he two Princes asked everyone they met the same question : " Can you tell us where His Majesty the King of the Peacocks lives?" And everyone answered " No, no." So on and on they travelled until, at last, they got so far away that never had anyone been so far before. And one fine day they came to the king- dom of cockchafers, wiiere there were shoals and shoals of cockchafers, all buzzing, and buzzing, and making such a noise that the poor King nearly went deaf. Put one cock- chafer looked rather wiser than the rest, and him the King asked if he could tell him where to find the King of the IV-acocks. "Sire," said the cockchafer," his kingdom is thirty thousand miles from here, and you ha\e, unfortunately, come a roundabout way to look for it." " And how do you know that?" asked His Majesty. " Because we know your Majesty very well indeed," said the cockchafer. " Every year we pay your gardens a visit, and spend three or four months there."' On hearing this the King and his brother felt, at once, that they were among old friends, and they made themselves quite at home with the company and visited all the sights of the kingdom. The smallest litUe leaf is a curiosity there and worth a great deal of money. The two Princes now knew the direction to take, so they started on their travels again in much better spirits, and it was not so very long before they found the country they were looking for. 'i'hey knew, at once, that it was the right place, because on every branch of every tree was perched a peacock, and for miles round ihcy could be heard calling and screaming to one another. " What shall we do, brother," saitl the King, " if His Majesty turns out to be a pea- cock himself? Our sister cannot possibly marry him in that case ! " The Prince was quite as much troubled as his brother by this dreadful idea. " It is most unfortunate," he replied, "that siie ever took this strange fancy into her head. 1 can't imagine how she could ever have guessed that there was any such a King ' in (he world."

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FKINC£SS ROSETTA. 107 But when they tinivcd at the chief town in the kingdom they found the inhabitants were real men and women, just Hke other jjeople, but all dressed in peacock feathers, and wherever peacock feathers could be stuck for ornament, there they were. The King himself the Princes met, driving in his golden chariot studded with brilliants, and drawn by twelve magnificent and very fleet peacocks ; and he was so tiandsome that they were delighted with him. His hair was fair and curly and his complexion like white marble, and on his head he wore a crown of woven peacock feathers. He saw the Princes, and knowing by their picture is the portrait of our sister, tiie * Princess Rosetta. We have travelled ail the way to your kingdom to ask you if you would like to marry her. She is good as well as beautiful, and we will give her a sack full of gold for her tlowry." "Very well/' said the King of the IVa- cocks. '' I am quite willing to marry her. I love her very much, indeed, and will give her everything she wants. Hut I am determined you shall not cheat me about her beauty, and I warn you ihal, if in the very least thing she is less beautiful than her portrait, 1 will have you Ijoth put to death. Do you agree? " *' Oh, yes," said the Princes, "we gladly agree." " Go to prison, then, at once," said the King, "and stay there until the Princess arrives." dress that tiiey were stran- gers he stopped his chariot and beckoned to them to come and talk to him. " Sire," .said the brothers, " we have travelled far to show your Majesty a pic- ture." And with that they took Rosetta's jiortrait out of their carpet-liag. The King looked at it for a good long time, then said : " I don't believe there is a girl so beautiful in the whole world." "Ah, your Majesty," they answered, "she is a hundred limes lovelier than this j)icture." "You are making fun of me," said the King of the Peacocks. "Sire," said the Prince, "my brother here is a King like you, and I a Prince. This THE KING THIiN SAID: ' I DON't BEl.lEVK THFkE IS A (;iHL SO The two I'rinccs didn't mind this in the least, because they knew for certain that Rosetta was far more beautiful than any picture, and every day the King came to visit them and sent them all they wanted, and they were waited on as became their high rank.

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io8 THE STRAJ^D MAGAZINE. They wrote to Rosetta and told her to pack her things and come at once, l^ecause the husband she had chosen was waiting for licr. Only they said nothing to her about being themseh-es in prison for fear of alarming her. Rosetta was in great ddight when she got this letter, and lost no time in announcing to all tlie King's subjects that the King of the Peacocks was found and was very anxious to marry her. There were great rejoicings all over the kingdom at this good news, and for a few days there was nothing but feasting and dancing and firing of cannons ; and at the palace itself, by order of the Princess, the most delicious drinks and sweetmeats were given to all comers. And as she was going to be married, and wouldn't want her dolls and i)laythings any longer herself, she gave them all away in the most generous manner. Pesides which she handed the government of the country over to the six wisest men in it, charging them to take- great care of it and spend as little and save as much as they could, for her brother when he came back. She also left her peacock in their care and took only Fretillo and the sack ot gold and her old nurse and the nurse's only daughter and enough dresses lor two changes every day for ten years. The journey was made in a ship, and the IVincess enjoyed it very much, laughing and talking and amusing herself all the day long. But every morning the nurse used to say to the boatman, " Are we nearly there ? " And he always answered, "Not yet, not yet." Till, at last, one day he said, " Yes, soon now, soon." And then the nurse put her mouth close to his ear and said, " Do you witih to be rich ? •' "Yes," said he. "There's money to earn," said she. " I'm the man for that," said he. "Then to-night," said she, "we will throw the Princess overboard, and when she is drowned 1 will dress my daughter in lier line clothes and take her to the King of the Pea- cocks to be his bride. And for your reward you shall have as many diamonds as you can carry away on your back." The boatman was not tjuite so wicked as she was, however, and he answered that it would be a pity to drown such a pretty Princess : and he certainly never would have consented to such a thing if the cruel nurse hadn't given him a drink of some kind that had a very good taste, but made him feel so queer that at last lie didn't know when he was saying yes and when he was saying no. And then .she led him to where the Princess lay asleep in her bed, and Fretillo curled up at her feet, sound asleep, too. And the cruel pair lifted up the feather-bed, the mattress, the sheets, the (juilt, the pillows, Rosetta, and Fretillo so softly that neither the Princess nor her little dog woke, and threw the whole tiling overboard. Jiut, most fortunately, the bed was stuffed with Ph(_enix feathers, which arc very rare, indeed, and never sink ; so the bed floated, and Rosetla and Fretillo were as safe as If they still were on the sliii>. The only thing was that the spray of the waves kept dashing over them and at last woke theni ui), and then they couldn't imagine what made them so wet, nor where they were, nor what had happened to them. Fretillo, whose nose was very sharp, smelt soles and cod, and he barked so loud that he disturbed all the fishes in the sea, and dicy kept tumbling up against the bed, sending it twisting and turning this way and that, in such an extraordinary manner, that Kosctta thought she had never spent such a queer night in her life, for being dark she didn't see the sea. The cruel nurse heard the barking too and said: "He's wishing us good luck. Let us hasten to go and be Queens and Princes." Soon after that the boat landed at the kingdom of peacocks, where fine prejDara- tions had been made for the bride's arrival. A hundred carriages were waiting on the beach drawn by lions, bears, wolves, oxen, asses, eagles, peacocks, and horses. The Princess's own carriage was drawn by six blue monkeys in crimson and, gold harness, and dancing all the lime on tight-ropes, besides many other wonderful tricks. Round this carriage stood sixty lovely young ladies, chosen by the King himself to wait on his Queen, and dressed in every colour of the rainbow, not to speak of gold and silver. 'I"he wicked nurse had spared no pains in dressing up her daughter. She had Kosetta's diamonds on her head and all over her, and wore the very finest of all Kosetta's seven thousand three hundred dresses. 13ut her finery only made her look uglier than ever. Mer hair was dull and coarse, she squinted terribly ; she had bandy legs and was hump- backed, and had a nasty cross expression, and never stopped grumbling. When the King of the Peacocks' people saw her land from the ship they were struck dumb with auKuement, and they were still .more astonished (if that were possible) when

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PIUNCESS ROSETTA. loy "neither the princess KOK HER Lt'lTLIi DOG WOKE." the first thing they heard her say, screaming as loud as she could, was this :~ " What does this kind of thing mean ? What does it mean? Have you all lost your senses? Here, wretches, bring rue some- thing to eat or I'll have everyone of you hanged." "Oh, oh, ah,"' cried everybody, "what a horrid creature, as wicked too as she is Uij;ly ! Never will our King marry a horrid thing of this sort ! It was wonh while to send to the end of the world for her, indeed I'' And everything the^' said made her angrier and angrier, and everyone within reach of her arm she hit at with her fist, as hard as she could, lolling back all the time in her carriage and making believe she was accustomed to otic. It moved along rather slowly, as orders had been given by the King that the people were all to have time to see the bride. But when it passed under the trees, covered with pea- cocks, wailing to cry, " Long live our beautiful Queen Rosetta I " instead of crying what they intended, they all began to hiss: "Oh ! the ugly, ugly thing!" "Kill them," shrieked the false Princess. " Kill them ! Wring their necks, the beasts ! They insult me, insult me 1 " At which the peacocks flew away as tjuick as they could, laughing at her. Meantime the wicked boatman whispered to the nurse: "I say, mother, we haven't managed thifi affair so cleverly as we should. Vou ought to have had a prett'-r daughter for it 1 " "Hush, hush, you fool," slie answered. " Hold your tongue if you don't want to get us all into trouble." Messengers had run on ahead of the pro- cession to warn the King that his bride was coming, and the first thing he said to them was : " Did her brothers speak the truth ? Is she more beautiful than her picture ? ''

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no THE STRAND MAGAZINE. " \Vhat ! what ! " he cried, *' those two scoun- drels that I have locked safe ui) in prison Iia\'c dared to play nic a trick ? They had the imperti- nence to invite me to marry a horror of this kind? I'll have their necks wrung, and this wretch's, EVERVONE WITHIN REACH OF HEH Ali.M bHE IHT AT, *' Sire," wa.s the reply, " to be as beautiful, is to be beautiful enough." "That is true," said the Iving : "I will be satisfied with that. But 1 hear a noise in the coLiriyard. The Princess has no doubt arrived ; let us go and welcome her." There was plenty of shouting and talking. 'I'he King could hear the people saying : '■ Oh, the ugiv thing," and words of that sort, but he only thought they were laughing at the Princess's dwarf, or some other queer creature she had brought with her ; for, of course, he never dreamt that it was the Princess herself they meant. The Princess Rosetia's portrait, mounted on a long gold stick and carried like a banner, was borne in front of the K.ing. and he marched in a dignified manner after it, followed by all his barons, all his peacocks, and all the Ambassadors from foreign lands. He was very impatient, indeed, to see his beloved Rosetta ; but when he saw the creature that was there in her place he nearly died of grief and rage. He tore his clothes, he stamped his feel, he would not go near her, and she was frightened out of her senses at seeing him in such a [)assion. too, and her nurse's, and the old fellow's who came with them ! Clap uvcry one of them into the darkest dungeon at the foot of the tower this moment," he said, turning to his soldiers. Meantime, the real Princess's two brothers in prison, having lieard that their sister had come, were waiting, dressed in their very best, to be released. But instead of letting them out their gaoler came with a troop of armed soldiers and thrust ihem down into a dark cellar, full of noisome reptiles and with water in it up to their necks. The poor Princes were terribly astonished at this cruel treatment. " Alas ! " tht'y said to each other, " what a wedding feast we are celebrating. What can be the reason we are treated so ill ? '' But all the talking in the world didn't e.\plain anything. On the third day, however, the King of the Peacocks came and called out very insulting things at them through a hole. " Wretches ' " he cried. " Impostors ! King and Prince indeed ! Beggars is really what you are ! Vou thought you'd trick me into marry- ing your sister, did you ? Vou will be hanged

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FR INC ESS ROSETTA. for it— the rope is being spun to do it wiUi. Your trial won't take long with the judges I mean to give you ! " " King of the Peacocks," said the otiier King, very angry in his turn, "take care what you do to us, or yuu'll live to repent. Tm as good a King as you are, and have as good a crown and kingdom and clothes and money. Hang us, indeed \ What for, if you please? Have we stolen anydiing from you ? " But in spite of all they could say the trial took place next day, and the King and his brother were sentenced to be hanged for telling the King of the Peacocks a lie. But when this sentence was read out to them they said so convincingly that they had told no lie, and begged so earnestly for a short delay to give them time to prove their innocence, that at last the King of the Peacocks consented to a week's respite. To return now to the Princess Rosetta. When daylight came she and her litde dog were one as much surprised as the other to find that they were afloat on the wide sea, but it was the Princess who was the most frightened, for l-retillo always had a plan or two up his sleeve. "Alas! alas !" cried Rosetta. "The King of the Peacocks must have sent orders that I should be drowned. He has changed his mind, and doesn't want to marry me now. But what a pity ! what a pity ! I should have been a good wife to him, I promise him." Two whole days they floated on the sea, hungry and drenched to the skin, and so cold that the Princess must have diL-d if Fretillo had not lain in her arms and warmed her as best he could. The only food they had were oysters, which Fretillo particularly dis- liked. All night the Princess kejJt saying to him, " Bark, bark, my little dog, to keep the big fish away, or else they will come and swallow us up." So all night long Fretillo barked, until at last an old fisherman in Iiis cottage by the sea-shore heard him, and put his head out to see what it was, for no one ever passed that way and he never heard dogs barking. And when he saw the bed floating near the shore he got his long boat-liook and drew it up on the beach high and dry. " Good man," said the Princess, " wp have been two days floating hither and thither on the ocean, cold, and hungry, and wet. Can you give us something to cat and let us dry ourselves by your fire ? " And he took tlitni into his cottnge and, being a kind old man, did the best he could for them. And when he began to dry the mattress and feather-bed he saw that the sheets were the finest lawn and the coverlids made of gold and silver thread, and he knew that Rosetta must be some great lady by that and her manners, so he begged her to tell him her history. And when, with many tears, she had told him, he said to her : — " Princess, you are accustomed to delicate food and beautiful clothes, and can't live in this poor hut with a rough old man like me. With your permission I will go and tell the King of the Peacocks" that you are here, and he will hasten to come for you and marry you.*' " No, no," said Rosetta, *' he will kill me rather. And, as for food, all we need do is to tie a basket to my little dog's neck and he will be sure to bring it back full." And the old man gave her a basket, and, tying it to her little dog's neck, she said : — " Go to the best kitchen in the city, Fretillo, and bring me what you find theie." Now, in all the city there was no kitchen so good as the King's, so Fretillo hastened there, lifted the lid off the pot, and slipped all that was in it into his basket, and hurried home again. And his mistress said to him : " You are a good dog, Fretillo. But hurry back now to the store-room and bring me the best you find there." So off went Fretillo, and brought home some white bread, some muscat wine, and such a load of sweet things that he could hardly carry his basket. But when the King's dinner hour arrived there was no dinner in his kitchen and nothing in his store-room, and he fell into a great rage. "If 1 can have no dinner," he said, "I will have a good supper at any rate, so put ]-)lenty of joints on the spit." That night, however, Rosetta said to her little dog: "Go to the best kitchen in the city and bring me all the roast meat you find there." And again Fretillo went to the King's kitchen, and when the cooks were not look- ing that way, he snatched the roast meat off the spits and ran off with it. It smelt so good it was enough to make anyone hungry. And, as before, the Princess sent him straight back to the store-room, and he brought her all the preserves and sugar- plums he found there. So that day the King of the Peacocks got neither dinner nor supper, and the same thing happened three days running, until at

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112 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. last his best friend thought, if that sort of thing went on much longer, the King would die, so he went himself to watch in the kitchen what became of all his Royal master's dinners and suppers. \s\\z.X. was his astoni.shment to see a little green one- eared dog sofdy steal in and lift the lid of tlie pot, take out what was in it, and run off with it in a basket ! He followed him as fast as he could to see where he took it, and on and on he went, away out of the town to the fisherman's hut on the beach. And after that he went and told the King all he had seen. And the King commanded him to take soldiers and go at once and seize the old man whose dog stole his dinners and suppers and robbed his store-room. And when the courtier and the soldiers came to the hut and found the fisherman, Ro.setta, and Fretillo eating up the King's soup, they laid hold of them, bound them with cords, and dragged them away. " They sliall all be put to death to-morrow," said the King, " together with the two impostors wiio have not proved their inno- cence in the seven days' respite they begged for." But the old fisher- man cast himself on his knees before the King and asked leave to tell his story. And when he had told him everything, and that the Princess he had fished out of the sea was none other than the Prin- cess Rosetta, the King was so that, weak as he was after his three days' fast, he gave three jum|)S into tile air, nnd then ran to kiss Rosetta and cut the cords that bound her, and told her he loved her with ali iiis heart. Then the P r i n - cess's brothers were sent for, and, expect- ing to be hanged, they came looking very miserable. The nurse, the boatman, and the daughter were sent for. And everyone recognised one another, of course. The Princess embraced her dear brotiiers. The nurse, her daughter, and the boatman fell on their knees and begged to be forgiven, and in honour of the joyful occasion their lives were spared at Rosetta's request. As to the kind old fisherman, he spent the rest of his days in peace and happiness in the palace. And for the Princess's brothers, the King seemed as if he didn't know how to do enough to make up to them for his former unkindness. Of course, the Princess got back the sack of gold and the seven thousand three hundred dresses that the nurse had stolen ; and the wedding festivities took place with great rejoicing and lasted a whole fort- night, and everyone was happy ever after, not forgetting Fretillo, who had roast partridge wings and breast for his dinner every day all the rest of his life. "he ga^e thkee jumps into the air.'

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Nearly Roasted Alive in the Great Chandelier of Drury Lane. Kv RrDoi.iMi i>K CouuovA. RING of flaring gas beneath his feet; a ring of flaring gas aljove his head; and between the two, a boy holding on to ihc framework, of the great chandelier in the centre of tiie ceiliiiij, of Drury Kane Theatre! Into his nostrils he breathed the fumes of noxious gas; in his hands the iron rods by which he supported himself grew hotter and hotter ; and between him and the floor of the pit beneath lay a sheer drop of seventy feet of darkness ! No melodramatist seeking for a blood-curdling situation ever devised such a scene. No novelist ever imagined the possibility of placing a character in such a positi on. Vet it is true, absolutely true ; evolved by circum- stances in the simplest and'Vnost direct manner in the world. As every great sensa- tion scene should, it liad a happy ending, for .Mr. Frank Parker, l:;(|uestrian and Stage Director of the London Hippodrome, was once the hero — or should I say die victim ? — of this situation which seemed to have only one possible termination — death. To-day the great audi- torium of Drury Lane is lighted, like the stage, by means of electricity, and the turning of a switch makes the whole building ablaze with light or plunges it into complete darkness. Under the early regime of the late Sir Augustus Harris, however, things were quite different, for electricity had not been introduced, and gas was the only means of illumination. Even then, however, instead of having a pilot light by means of which all tlie burners were lighted rapidly, the work was done by liand, each burner having to be lighted separately. In those days Mr-. Frank Parker, then a mere lad, was made gas-boy, and part of his duty was to light the great chandelier in the middle of the ceiling. The audience naturally paid no heed to the massive structure of iron Vol. x.xiii,— 15 UH. FIIA.^K E'AKKl-Ji — I'Kli^lLNT DAY. From a Pkiito, and glass which illuminated the building, and it will probably surprise tiiose who recall ils appearance, through the illustration, to know that even in his most expert da)s it took IMr. Parker no less than an hour and three- quarters to light it. In order that the situation may be the better understood, let me first, like a dranialist, describe the scene in which the great sensation is to be performed. Suspended from strong steel chains was the chandelier, some 12ft. or 14ft. long, with a diameter at the widest i)art near the bottom of i()ft. or i.Sft. At the top near the point of sus[)ension there was a narrow opening, i)er- haps 2ft. acro.ss, through which the pipes for con- veying the gas to the burners passed. ICven to reach the chandelier was a task not unattended with danger. The way was up through the flies, over the " gridiron " of the stage, a narrow trellis- work of iron. There, until the gas was lighted, it was always pitch dark, and tbe boy had to feel rather than see his way, for the only light he had was a spirit torch he carried. This threw a ghostly glimmer rndier than a light around him, and revealed the ma.sks of hideous demons which had been used in previous pantomimes, and were stored along the path by which lie had to go. " Very ghostly and rather terrifying did those masks often appear to my childish imagi- nation as in the dead silence of the theatre I slowly made my way along the griring out the suggestion of horrible, grin- ning faces and demoniacal expressions," ;^aid Wv. Parker to me as he recounted his adven- ture one dny. Arrived over the chandelier there was first a sort of well to go down. This was placed above the cowl for ventilating purposes, and there was an opening some fift. in diameter

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114 TflE STRAND MAGAZINE. MK. IKANK I'A WHEN THE AiiVi /■Vow clown a Jacob's ladder to a grating shaped likt: a giy,antic H. On lliis the boy, iirmed with a rod j^ft. long, used to Lake his stand night after night. At the end of the rod was a sponge, which was dipped in nietiiylated spirit, and by the slow process of touching each burner witli the flaming spirit the chandeHer was gradually lighted. *' If ever when you'ru- lighting the chande- lier, Frank, a piece of the glass festoon should happen to break," said tlie gas-man, giving tile boy instructions when he first look up the work, "you have got to break it off somehow and let it drop into the pit. That must be done at any cost, for if you don't, and the heat makes tlie copper wire that joins the bits of glass break, the broken swag will fall on the people sitting in the pit and it may kill somebody." One night, after lighting all the thirteen or fourteen baskets around the widest diameter of the chandelier, the rod got caught in one of the longest swags of glass, and, in trying to get it clear, the force the boy used broke one of the connecting pieces of copj)cr wire, and in another moment the lower end attached to a point at the extreme circumference of the chandelier was hanging suspended over the pit. Remembering his instructions, the boy set to work with a will to break it off. Try as he would, however, he could not succeed. " If ever a piece of the glass breaks youVe got to get it off socnehow," were the words which ran through his mind. That was his duty : thai was the thing he had to do. With- out another thought he made up his mind how to do the thing. He must climb down into theclinndelier, supporting himself against the framework and the |)ipes until he reached the broken chain, twist it off, and let it drop into the pit, then climb back and set to work again in order that the chandelier might be lighted by the time the doors were opened. No sooner was the plan conceived than he began to put it into execution. He pulled up the long ])oIe, set it on one side, and started to climb down into the chandelier. A broad- shouldered lad, he had to squeeze himself through the ui)per oi)ening of the chandelier, round which was set a circle of burners in order to [M'oduce the upward draught to carry off the noxious fumes [)roduced by the burning gas. He had his little lighted hand-torch in KKI-.K AS \\V. WAS ■:ntikk occuHiJtD. o I'htiUi. his hand, and, not thinking for the moment what he was doing, he, inadvertently, in climbing through the aperture, turned on the cock which allowed the gas to escape into the sun-burner. As he went through, his torch lighted the gas of one of the tubes. In another moment the flume had run round the rest, and there was a circle of lighted gas that effectually barred the possibility of return. Intent on what he had to do, however, the boy did not notice this. Slowly, carclully, gradually, without a thought of the danger he was running, he made his way from stay to stay, [rem bar to bar, until he came to the bottom of the chandelier. The hot air from the llaring burners beat up into his face; the noxious iumes of the consumed gas he breathed into his nostrils. He took no heed of them. i le had his work to do. Slowly, carefully, gradually, he made his way across the whole diameter of the chande- lier. Steadying himself on two stays with his feet, and holding on to one bar with his left hand, he twisted round the long festoon of glass until at last be broke the connecting copper wire and the swag dropped down. There was a pause, and up through the silence came the clatter of the glass as it fell on to the floor beneath. " It's all right," said the boy to himself, and he turned to retrace his ste[is. Slowly, carefully, gradually, without a thought except for the work he had to do, he began to climb back to the grated plat- form from which he had descended. The hot air from the flaring burners beat up into his face ; the noxious fumes of the consumed gas he breathed into his nostrils. He took no heed of them. He had his work to do. As he climbed, he felt the iron bars get hot beneath his hands. He looked down and saw the blazing ring of fire beneath his feet. He looked up and saw the blazing ring of fire above his head. In an instant he realized his position, He was trapped. To attem^it to escape through the narrow circle of fire was impossible, for even when the gas was not alight he had had a dilticulty in getting through. The flare did its duty well. The ventilation was perfect, and a continuous stream of hot, vitiated air swept past the boy to make its escape through

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TsEARLY ROASTED AUVE- »T5 the little ring of flame. Kach breath he drew took fresh poison into his lungs, each second he remained his position became more un- bearable. The fumes of the gas began to overpower him. There was a choking sensa- tion in his throat. There was a bursting sensation in his head. Unless help came, and quickly, there was only one way out of the chandelier — the drop through the darkness into the pit 70ft. beneath. And tlien^ — '* Help, help, help ! " the boy screamed, with all his might, holding on with a grim tenacity of purpose to the iron stays around. Luckily for him the master gas-man was on the stage be- neath, looking every now and then through a hole in the wall of the p r o - scenium to see how the lighting of the theatre was progressing. Suddenly he noticed that though the bas- kets were lighted the greater part of the chandelier was unlit. There must be some- thing wrong with the boy, he thought, and the next instant through the silence came the cry of " Help, help, help! " Without a mo- ment's hesitation the gas-man left the stage to see what was the matter. A shout to the boy that he was coming, and he began to climb from the stage to the flies. He had to grope his way across the gridiron through the pitch dark- ness of the corridor with its hideous goblin masks until he rea'.'hed the well above the cowl. Anolher moment he was on the H- shaped gridiron looking through the opening into the body of the chandt^lier. " Hold hard, Frank, I am here," he called. 'I'he IIEI.E', HHI.P ! boy, half-suffocated, half-roasted, heard the cheering words and understood them. Anolher municnt still, the man had turned out the sun-burner. "Up you come, lad," said the man. The boy tried to make an effort, but his strength was almost gone. The deadly fumes he had been breathing for so many minutes had almost done their work. Quick as a flash the man took in the situation. He lay flat down and, stretching out his arms through the opening, he grasped the boy tightly with both his hands. Slowly, steadily, he began to pull. The grip of those strong hands .■stimulated the boy, and, tlnis sui)portcd, he began to climb. i''rom stay to stay, from [)ipe to pipe, he moved, still held by those strong hands, until at last his head was once more through the nar- row circle of the sun -burner. Partly pushing, partly dragged, he got his shoul- ders through, and then once more he stood upon the H-sha|)ed iron grid, which was to him as firm ground. If in moments of great peril people live through years, what must have been the experi- ence of tlie youth wholived through that ordeal which was reckoned not by seconds but by minutes with a ring of fire over his liead, a ring of fire beneath his feet, suffocating fumes of gas overcoming his senses, pipes growing hotter in his grasp, and in his brain the single thought that if he lost his hold for a moment he would fall to certain death ? "Even to-day,"' said Mr. Parker, " I can't think of that episode without a shudder."'

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Curiosities.^ [ IVe shall he glad io 7 aciz'e CoiKrilntlions to this St\-tii>ii, and to pay for s/n k as are atiCptcd. ] ANOTHER CURIOUS POST-CARD. " I have noticed ii\ your • Curiiisity ' pages several curious posi- cnrds. The inclosed, I am sure, is ralher a novelty. It was deli- vered lo nie in the ordinary conrse. If suitable to appear in your Magazine, I tliouglit it would in- terest several of your readers." — Mr. Kdward IJ. Lee, [, Injjham Street, Bury, Lanes. AN Or.D HKAD OX VOLTXG SHOnLDKKS. " I send you a ])lioto- graj)h for your 'Curi- osities.' It shows the body of a lillle huy aged three antl the heyd of an <j1i1 man aged sixty. I do noi re- ni e rii lier ever seei ng such a striking coml)iiiaiion l)efore may amuse ihemselves by arrangiii POST ^^ CARD THE ADDRESS TO BE WRITTEN ON THIS SIDE. , and your readers such combinations senls kissing ihc Blarney Stone— by lying on your back, calcliing the (wo rails, and bending down while someone holds your feci. The illustraliun repre.ients tills process being jierformed l»y a lady, a Miss Williams, of London." — i\rr. Frank Scanwell, 14, Douglas Street, Cork. by suhslituiing portraits of their friunds— or enemies ! " — Mr. II. C. Hall, 8, Second Avenue, Sherwood Rise, NotEinghaiu. "KISSING THE ULARNEV STONE." "The photo. I send you may be rif inlcresl to your readers. K was taken \\A liank IL)tiday, and rei^re- Copyright, 1902, by George Ncwncs, Limited,

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CURIOSITIES. 117 A NOVEL USE FOR I'OPPYSriEDS. *' I stnd you a comic fiijure made of pojipy- seed heads and ilieir stalks. I also semi a teaput, small drinking cit|), and epergne made of the seed iieads. I trust you may deem these sufficiently inter- esting to reproduce in _your high-class periodi- cal. My daughter, aged fourteen, cut out the basket, etc., and sug- gested the idea. '1 hey are made froin the seed vessels of the Shirley poppy, and were cut out when thoroughly dry, but a nighl's rain soft- ened the remainder in the garden, or we sliould have made oilier arti- cles." — Mrs. Beatrice Hay, The (irange, Up- minster, Essex. A VERY REMARKABLE DOO. "The ]-ihoiograph I send you is of a cross-bred Scotch terrier, having a record of 1S5 miles in thirty- two hours. My family and I left the ranch sixteen miles west of Rock Springs, Texas, to spend the winter in San Antonio. To reach the railroad we had to tnalce a trip by road of 1 10 miles in a hack. At Sabinal, seventy miles west of San Antonio, we took the train and the dog was put in the higgage-van. From the station up town lie lodc in a cab al uuv feel. On arrival at the hotel I handed him over to the negro porter, who sluit him up in a room for the night. Kot liking his separation from Jim, my eldest boy, and his sleep- ing companion on the trip down, he hiiwled most wofully, and was let out. The rest of ihe night he spent in search- ing thnaigh the IioIlO to find us, and was Seen aliout 4 a.m. next morning. About that time the co(;ks came and must have left the doors open, as he was not seen again. This was Friday morning, and about a week later a letter arrived from .Mr. F. J. Richardson, my father-in-law, to say that the dog had arrived at the ranch at twelve o'clock noi>n, Saturday," —Mr. C. S. Clreen, Rock Spring, Fxlward's Co., Texns. SIX I'HOTOS. AT ONK KXPO- surk: "This curious photo, of iiiys(.df was taken at one exposure by stand- ing beluecn two mir- rors. It will be noticed that there are six le- llections in perspec- tive." — Mr. A. M. Stephen, 132, Sabine Road, Lavender Hill, S.W. A BOGUS pfinjc-iiofsi:. "The public-house shi»wn in the accompanying lihotograph is an impromptu production made for the jMirpose ol jilaying a joke. The men in the picture ueie u[i their holidays, and were staying near a town in which a bieml nf theirs had recently had l>equeathed to him a public-house called the Cross Keys, This friend had never seen the hostelry in question, althougli he drew the rent, and he asked the holiday-makers- one of whom was an amateur pliotographcr— to jihoto- graiih it f"r him. Thm- converted a barn in the back gardeii of the place where they lodged into a iniblic- house, as shown in the picture, and presented it to the owner of the real ' house ' as a photograph of his pro- peity. The joke was a huge success."— Mr. A. H. tloldsrailh, 69, Maury Road, Sloke Ncwington, N.

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xi8 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. A Fossii.i;;En trkk-stump. " I shikI yuu a plmlu. I look of a fossilizL-'d Irct-stinnp found in a qimrry near licic, and now in Lister I'ark, Manniiigliam. I hope it will Ijc taken as a 'Curiosity.' Its resenibhince lu an octopus is truly rcmarkalile. "' — Mr. J. FuUia, Stonelciyh, BraJfurd, A SHIP THAT IS NOT A SHIP. " This curious Ijuilding, wliich I()ok.-> like a stranded vessel, was built in the foiin uf a ship, and is really a cluucli. Il is located in the suhiirhs of Chicago and holds ahout l,ooo people. Il was oonstrucled by two clergymen, who call them- selves the Rev. Morrill Twins, and is intended princi- pally for sailors and the lower classes. In connection wilh the religious services, meals are also served."— Mr. I). Allen Wiitey, Baltimore. iuilc of a cycle hell wliich is worked by a sjirintj, causing a cogwheel in it to revolve together with ]iarl of a rim brakewhich is attached ; this in turn presses against a wooden lever fixed tothe gas-tap, thus extinguishing the light at any time the alarm may be set for. Considering the very rough and ready mate- rials used, and the most sali.sfactory way in which it answers its purpose, this contrivance does great credit lo the in- genuity of llie maker." — Mr, Sythiey Hore, Lircoiiibe -Vvl-iuil', btieathain llill, S. \V. yi, li: WATKR I-KOM A TREE. " This is a pholograpli of rather an extraordinary spring. It conies straight up from the ground through the tree, which, at the lime of taking, was in full leaf. It is situate in a small village called (liinlcn, on the Lake of Tliun, Switzerland.''— Miss. K. Tew, (iun- fitjld, Dartnioudi. "FXONOMV IS THE MU'I HKK OF INVENTION. " I send you a phoU). of an ingenious little inven- tion made by a friend, which I think might be suitable lor yi'ur ' Curiosity ' pages. As it is neccri- sar\', in his cycle shop, lo have a light burning all night, my friend thought nut this idea and put it to practical u.se, lo cut\)ff the light at sunrise, thus saving a considerable quanlity of gas. It will be seen in the photo, that the striker of the alarm clock

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CURIOSITIES. ng \V\NTKD-THIi kICHTKUL OWNER OF THIS CURIOSITY. " Would you care to Iry to discover any possible desccriilanls of ihc original owners of ihis (|uainlly- inscribed silver shcalli for pair t>f scissors ? If so, you can hand lliis relic over to thcni, as it shoiild be of more value to ihem than to a stranger. It came into my possession ahont twenty years ago, and was found amongst some old silver bou;^lit for re-melliiig by my father, Thomas Johnson, then of 32, John Street, Bedford Row, W'.'C. The inscription on tlie sheatll runs as follows : ' These scissors were for more than 40 years used hy J. WiHiains, Esq., Comptroller of Customs, who died Oct. 27, 1S27. I lis third son, Capt. W. J. Williams, K.N., constantly carrieil them from [his date till the date of his death, Kcb. ll, 1873, when llicy jiassed to his third son, K. Williams, wh(j used them till ■' ''—Mr. Alfied Lainie, Wandsbech, Westville, near I'inelowii, Natal. Wu have pleasure in acceoin}:^ to our contribiilfjr's ret]iiesl, :ind hope that the publication of ihe above may lead lo the discovery of the rightful owner of this strange sheath. THIS SOVEREIGN SAVED A LUE. " I'm sending by this mail a photo, ui a sovereign which I thought you would like for your ' Curi- osity ' pages. I was wearing it around my anUle in u little . leather money - belt when I waswounded at Warmbad, about seventy or eighiy miles north of Pretoria. Tlie bullet (a Mauser) cut the piece clean out and left the sovereign slicking ill the wound. Lieutenant Wylly rescued me and gained the \'.C."— Corporal E. S. Brown, Tastnanian Imjjerial lJu,-.l)iiian, I'entjuln, Tasmrniia. WHO flKED THA'f SHOTV " I inclose a photograph o: a jiipe broken under the most exlraordinaiy circumstances. It happened a few weeks ago in a garden at Xewton Ablint. I was innocently smoldng it, when my friends and I were startled' to hear the report of a rifle, fired at no great distance. Siinidlanecusly my pipe was knocked out of my month and broken into two pieces, which fell to the ground, there being some /ft. between them. The plKito, , which represents the two pieces, was taken by my friend .Mr. A. S. Brtxjkes, of Clifton. ' — Mr. II. N. Wyman, Caius College, Cambridge. SNAPSHOTTING A TORPEDO! " I inclose a photo. I took of an iSin. torpedo just taking the water, fired from this lorpedod>oat destroyer, safe on the upper deck. The ship was steaming at the time fifteen ktiots. It also shows a modern torpedo taking the water horizontally instead of diving as in ihc earlier types. Many people who have not seen a torpedo fired might wonder what it w:is, as the ship is not seen in the photo. atall."—Sub.-Lieulenant Arthur L. Black- wood, R.N., H.M.S. Otter, China Station. \ MERMAID AND HER BAliV. ■■ Here is a diigong, taken by some native fishermen in their nets near Aden. I photographed it uith its young baby in its arms. The Arab standing lx;side it was about 5ft. 6in. in height, which will show the relatively large size of the dugong. They are usually called ' mermaids' locally, and possibly gave rise to the belief in those fabled beings."— Lieut. -Col. II. J. Barnes, K.A.M.C, II2, Military Koad, Colchester.

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T20 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 3. rtlcikk TklKS, THE DANCr: OF THE BOY AND THE STORK. " I am seinliiig you a scrius of sna|>shnts which I have taken of my jicl slnfk and a small nephew, hoping you nill sccepi ihem for publicatiun. \Vc tukl the little hoy ibat if he (lanced to the stork it would danco. hack tn him. lie was quite bnue as long as the stork re- mained on one leg, hut when \\ suddenly roused it- self and began lodance U".. he fled precipitately aiul, I think, rather wisely !"— Miss Mildred Olivier, Wilton Rectory, Wiltshire. A MESMERIZED BIRD. " No animal is nnre susceptible to mesmeric in- fluence than the common or duipestic cock. C^itili a bird as quietly as possible, so as to avoid akirming hini. Place him on a bare floor or a broad slab of wood, and bend his head down until his beak touches ilie wood. Then with a piece of chalk draw a broail line fioni the tip of the beak straight forward. If he ha.s been properly handled he will re- 4. — iidV i-i.ii;s. main as though paralyzed fiir several minutes. Another method is to luck the bird's head under his wing and then, hiiUling him at arms' length in both hands, to swing him gently in a circle a few limes. The induced unconsciousness is so com- plete that he may be stood in shallow water a con- siderable lime before he discovers his position. The awakening is extremely comic." — Mr. A.Williams, 7, New koad, Reading. SI. .ATE V. STONE. " This window - sill is situated in the boys' play- ground at St. Thomas's Church Day Schools, Birmingham, and being at a con- venient height from the ground has been used by the scholars for over sixty years for sharpening their slate-iienciison. The rcsultis thatlhe stone in many places has been worn away an- til almost llush with the lirickwork, as is clearly shown in the phfttc). The man- ageis have now for- bidden it 10 he ii?ed, as ihcy want to retain il afi a curiosity." —Mr. Herbert J. Mason, Carlton House, Kdgbsston.

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