Page 1


El lenT^pp^Eden Phil lpotis r B a p r y Pail S M a ^ a u g h t a n , H B.MappioitWatsof H a l liwell SuteliffaRobept Bar



I N C O L O U R .




£* foi**^3




fLtf^i ^C^fa^B



Funds over


The Largest and Wealthiest Office for Mutual Life

Assurance in the United Kingdom

Policies for Children—Educational P u r p o s e s — B u s i n e s s R e q u i r e m e n t s —

Marriage S e t t l e m e n t s — D e p e n d a n t s — O l d A g e — D e a t h Duties, &c.

All classes of LIFE ASSURANCE and ANNUITY BUSINESS are transacted

on t h e most favourable terms.

Copies of the Prospectus miy be had on application. HEAD O F F I C E : EDINBURGH: o ST. ANDREW SQUARE


fâ fieàti*&!iA

*?*<&6falû*! TDAOl M * » "



TUCKS \L00k For. l Mamè&\\\ Trade Mark None Genuine Without





Mm *


TheMost] Welcome \\ \a%thëW\ fdr/dover


efc. etc.



"70. & . ^ U/t/v.cci/w. THE WINDSOR


A Natural


Tims was when disease was thought to be due to the direct influence of evil spirits, and exorcism and magic were invoked to cast it out. Science has taught us wisdom. The evil spirits exist still. We call them " Disease Germs," and they also must be cast out. Once lodged in the stomach or intestines, fever with its hallucinations, or biliousness with its aches and pains, is the result.

Eno's ' Fruit Salt ' is the approved remedy for driving out disease germs. Its action is quick and ihorodgh. It clears the intestines, rouses the torpid liver to new life, stimulates the mucous membrane to a healthy action, and cleanses and invigorates the whole digestive tract. It may be safely taken at any lime by old or young.

It is very effective in the ejrly stage of Diarrhoea by removing the irritating cause.

Be prepared for emergencies by always keeping a bottle in the house.

Prepared only by J. C. ENO, Ltd., ' FRUIT SALT ' WORKS, LONDON, S.E.

6 cpitorc JBuruiettb ] 31xrya£ €J]B .Seac^' TO H.M. QUCEN MARY. ARE PURE WOOL CLOTHING FABRICS

with 35 years' reputation for


WEAR, AND GOOD APPEARANCE. They are really reliable Fabrics for Ladies', Gentlemen's,

and Children's wear, and being composed of Pure Wool are especially suitable for Winter Clothing.

Prices from Ï / I I J to r s / i i per yard. In Navy Blue (rich permanent colourl, Black, Grey, Cream, and choice Fancy Shades, plain and fancy weaves.



Madapolams, &c.




for Ladies' and Children.

PURE WOOL MOTOR FRIEZES, REVER­ SIBLE AND FANCY MOTOR TWEEDS for Ladies' and Children's Coats and Motor Wraps.

" S H R I N K N A U G H T S , " F L A N N E L S , W I N C E Y S ,

" V I Y E L L A S , " " L I L A 1 N E S , " &c.

for Blouses, Underwear, Pyjamas, &c.

EXCELLENT SUITINGS, OVERCOATINGS, fife, made expressly to order. Patterns, Price Lists, Illustrations of Styles, SelfMeasurement Forms, «SrV-, sent to any address, post free.

EGERTON BURNETT, Ltd., M. Dept., W e l l i n g t o n , S o m e r s e t , England. Facing Second Cover, j







FLANNELETTES of t h e Highest Quality. SEE HORROCKS'.S'

for Gentlemen and Boys.






Ask for the New

IDEAL FABRIC. See the words



on the






Reduced Facsimile of Front Cover of the New Booklet.

S T O R Y Ù T R I G G S are n o w issuing a booklet on the T H R E E G R E A T P E R I O D S O F F U R N I T U R E under the title of " Replicas 0Î Old €naliSl) ?UMifUre." T h e book is divided into s e c t i o n s : J A C O B E A N , Q U E E N A N N E , and GEORGIAN, and contains illustrations of the s t y l e s of the 17th and 18th Centuries. All those interested in Period Furnishing are invited to write for a copj', which may be had free from ONLY







A P R E S E N T which will be appreciated is

The Brown Bread You have been looking for ANY people say there is not a perfect brown loaf made — one is stodgy, another crum­ bles or gets dry so quickly, or they don't like the flavour; but they have not tried a Turog loaf, which is all a good loaf of bread should be,


UROG is light, fresh and moist. Keeps for days. It contains all those nourishing ele­ ments of wheat which by our exclusive pro­ cess are retained in their most easily assimilated form. There is no bread sold that contains so much nutriment—no bread so good for you.



The only Coffee Maker which makes peifect coffee without any skill

or //P^ \ trouble—simply put

'.'yfSSlLfii water and coffee together,

light the lamp, and wait for the WHISTLE TO


T has a distinctly pleasing flavour of its own and will be a glad change for you from ordi­ nary brown bread. Try it for a week and see. OU wijl like it so much that you will say, " Baker, bring me Turog always, n o w " — b u t see it always is TUROG, your guarantee is that name on the sides of ihe loaf, All good Bakers bake Turog for their discriminating Customers.




-THAT'S ALL. Plated I Size : 4


8 cups.

c.£.rt 15/6 21/- 25/­ Obtainable from A rmy and Navy. Alex. Clark Mf*. Co., D. H. Evans. John Barker, DcbenhaiiiA t'reebndv.Ilarroilg, Mappin & Webb, Peler Robin­ son, Maple, Selfriilge, Spiers & Pond, Hicklenton & Byddal, Swan & bîdear, Junior Army A Navy, Civil Si rviee St ores, IMeliisliip & Harris, Fisne. 's iXramli, Wilson&UÎ11, Vicktry, Wliite.ley, Ilcrry & Toms, ami all the leailin^MIorcHiiiHl Silver­ smiths throughout the country. In case of difficulty,




L WIENER, la, Fore St., London, E.C.


ORDER To AERATORS, Ltd. (Dept. A.v.21) Craig's Court Hou.-e, London, S.W. Please despatch the following " H o m e " Sodawater Makers, to arrive about Xmas, lo Name Address THE DEADLY DEED, It la n o t right, Though great h i s need, To steal FLUXITE

Solid sound soldering is done with


The p a s t s flux t h a t


And Supersedes Lead-Burning. Anyone can do soldering work with Fiuxite. It is a necessity in the tcol-kit of every motor-car, BOTH




Of Ironmongers. &c. in 6d„ Is., and 2 s . (ius.

Made by the AUTO CONTROLLER CO., 201, Vienna

Road, Bermondsey, London, S.E.

Sparklet Syphons, B size Nickelled at 2/6

Silver-plated at 5/-* ...

Sparklet Syphons, C size Nickelled at 4 / ,

Silver-plated at 7/6* ...

Boxes of 12 Sparklet Bulbs B iize at 1/4

C size at 2,'-

Total for which I enclose p~TPfod~~ * Please enclose in the parcel my card sent herewith. * These are especially recommendedfor Xmas Gifts. Name Address Date





-*af ^ r ' ^ y ^ g i r -tftf* -a&- ^tf- g y *o&> ^tf- -^fa*> ag gp +g^ ^ 5 The




ft* Satisfaction

Minimum of Trouble

I I1 !,>i

Ïi»1 SA

A delightful Christmas Present


Assorted Shortbread


T o your friends in the British Isles

Crawford's "Large Drums" ­ "Family Drums" 19 "Hound Special" Tins 19 "Royal Stuart" Tins 99

6/- post free 99 3/2 99 1/5 99 1/5

A s k y o u r o w n g r o c e r o r b a k e r for a descriptive leaflet a n d greeting cards. Select the packages you prefer, and order from him now. Your Christmas present of Crawford's Assorted Shortbread will b e posted to arrive just before Christmas. You will avoid all trouble and w o r r y of packing, and your friends v/ill be -delighted. WILLIAM

C R A W F O R D & S O N S , Ltd.

Shortbread Makers for nearly One Hundred Years




i *i r









"Accept the Help of Seven Days' FREE 'HAIR-DRILL' Before Too Late," Says the Great Toilet Specialist of the Day. , i r

P H E results of hair neglect are most alarming," so \ says Mr. Edwards, the leading Court Toilet Specialist of the day, and inventor of " Harlene Hair-Drill," regarding which he makes an extraordinary free offer to all readers. Neglect of Hair Culture means ultimately the absolute loss of the hair's beauty and strength. More than any. part of your body your hair requires constant care and attention. First, it is a most delicate and sensitive structure. This is shown by the fact that illness frequently causes all the patient's hair to fall out. Secondly, it is situated in the most exposed part of your body and feels the full attack of the destructive germs which fill the atmosphere (especially the atmosphere of cities).


a million men and women practice it every day from Royalty downwards. " Harlene Hair-Drill" has cured tens of thousands of cases of long-standing baldness. It brings back the colour to grey and faded hair. Applied to scanty thin hair, within a few weeks the lady or gentleman or child who uses it is the envy of the neighbourhood for his or her abundant, bright, and glossy hair. "Harlene Hair-Drill " removes scurf and prevents it reforming. It cleanses the fulliclcs and stimulates the roots to healthy growing action. It makes the hair bright and glossy, lustrous and silken soft. It stops hair-fall, prevents splitting at ends, and grcws abundant hair over the thin places. It greatly improves children's hair as well as the hair of men and women. It completely cures all forms of baldness, greyness, and h a i rpoverty. Yet it only takes two minutes a day to prac­ tise.

The result of neg­ lecting to "drill" your hair daily is that deposits of scurf and greasy matter accumu­ late on your scalp. Mingling with the perspiration, these d e p o s i t s of s c u r f collect around the hair and press down THE FREE TRIAL. into the tiny follicles (little sheaths in the To prove the value of skin) iu which the hair " Harlene Hair-Drill" grows. lo you, Mr. Edwards \s ill send you a complete Here they set up a outfit for practising it diseased condition of r hair The • shown about'. Tinalarming results of mgleatirg lo ' drill " for a whole week—Free. the hair - growing huir is chnked and s'rangled with accumulations of scarf mut greasy i fer. This Free Trial Out­ structures and squeeze h>s:n its strength, splits at the ends, and ewntua'ly falls out. All thzsc con­ ditions are pri united unit remedied by practising Harlene " tJair-JJrill " fit includes the follow­ the hair-roots to death. far two minutes daily. This cleanses the tcalp, stimulates Vie hair-roots, and ing gifts for your toilet The first symptom grows new hair on the bakl and thin places. The coupon given below entitles you to a complete outfit for practising Hair-Drill for seven days free. table :— is when your hair begins to split at the i. A large trial Lottie ends, which may happen without you bein aware of it. of the world-famous Tonic Dressing for your hair— Edwards' " Harlene." Then it becomes either dry and brittle or greasy, du 1, and dead-looking. 2. A large packet of the exquisite " Cremex " Sham­ The third stage in the disorder generally is that your poo Powder for cleansing the scalp, dissolving scurf, hair begins to lose its colour and rapidly turns grey and impaiting new gloss, lustre, and beauty to your hair. (sometimes, however, this stage is omitted owing to the 3. A copy of the "Harlene Hair-Drill" Manual, con­ hair falling out before it has had time to lose its colour). taining full directions for practising two minutes' daily Hair-Drill, and making yoor hair perfect in colour and The fourth stage is the falling out of your hair in large luxuriant in growth. The Outfit is sent you FREE. quantities every time you brush or comb it. If you are a man you will become either practically or totally Remember that for only is, you get a splendidly large bald. If you are a member of the fair sex your hair bottle of "Harlene for the Hair" from any Stores or will become short and scanty, thin and weak, with Chemists (or post free from Harlene Co.). hardly any of its former beauty left. Larger bottles still may be obtained for 2s. 6d. and 4s. 6d. Dreadfully humiliating is this condition. Cremex is obtainable in the same way in is, boxes YOU LOOK YEARS OLDER THAN YOU

of seven shampoos ; single powders, 2d. each.


Further, you are probably tormented by an almost intolerable itching of the scalp due to # the presence of irritating, greasy matter and decaying débris in the hair folliclts, while steadily your hair is getting worse; scantier, thinner, and more unattractive-looking every day. These are the results of hair-neglect. But why hair-neglect at all ? To care for your hair properly and scientifically is so easy, and its results are so gratifying. You alwayswash your face 'and clean your teeth— why not attend to your hair ? Everybody has heard of " Harlene Hair-Drill." Over




95-96, High Holborn, London, W.C.

Dear Sirs,—Please send me a " Harlene Hair-Drill '' Gift Outfit for growing healthy hair—lo last me for a free trial of seven days. Name " Address Enclose 3d. to pay postage and packing to any part of the World. Windsor Magazine, December, 191 r.



• Prepared br . th» Manufacturer* of NEAVE'S POOD |

Which b u for many year. been need In THE RUSS1>N IMPERIAL NURSERY.


Health Diet


A Milk and Cereal Food for general use. Invaluable in all cases of weak digestion and general debility, pro­ viding full nourishment with little exenion to the digestive organs. A Doctor writes : " A most efficient pre­ paration for I nvalids, Nursing Mothers and people suffering from weak digestion, being far more nutritious t h a n beef tea."— gth September. 1S09. Th-e H o n . Chaplain. Hospital for Invalid Gentlewomen, writes, " A m convinced it warded off Influenza, my whole s y s t e m seem d braced u p . and I got good sound sleep."—4th March. WW. Sold In Tins 1/3 and 3/6 Sample sent on receipt of two pennv stamps for postage m :iit o.ii ne this publication.







Incorporated within the actual c a s e of the finest English and German Pianofortes. H is the finished instrument, perfect in every sense, constructional and musical. There is nothing mechani­ cal—nothing to suggest anything but a human interprétation. Every phrase, e\ery shade and expression, are under the immediate control of the L'ecilian Pianist. A single pas­ sage can be played in a dozen different artistic ways, each one reflecting a distinct interpretation, so delicately and so perfectly docs the instrument respond to the touch of the performer. T h e C E C I L I A N improves t h e technique of even accomplished pianists, and transforms the average player into a very master of music. The Piano is available at all times for playing in the usual way or with the CECILIAN control. You should write to-day for Booklet T , or, better still, call at our S h o w ­ rooms and hear the CECÎLIAN demonstrated.



Wigmore St., London, W .








A Boon to HOUSEKEEPERS, &c. Light and Easily Carried. N o Dust

or Waste. Saves Labour and Fuel.

Will hold Sittings from 10 ordinary

tire-grates. Dimensions, 12 in. by

n é in. Weight about 8 lb. Japanned

Red, Green, or Black.

Retail Price

5 / 9

Carriage Paid U.K.

Suit; Agents— WATSON & COOMBER, R6. Cleveland Square, Liverpool. Directions supplied with each Sifter. Hole MADAME DUCHATELLIER Inventorof


for Modifying the Shape of the Nose. P;itentS.G.L>.('. (FrauccaudAbroad.) , Narrows, Straightens, Reduces NOBCS all shapes, imd is suitable for all cases. Special Treatmeut for Red Noses, BlackheailH, Acne, Spots, Wrinkles, and Flabbiness completely eradicated and the complexion beautified by Crerue de Itéaute. Baume d'Orient. Pnudre Riz"Sans Pareille." P To l e a ALL se CLEVER Real de Lever Simulation Note, P o s t a g e 2)d. Beware of READERS OF mlv Address : 209, R u e S t . H o"The n o r e ,Windsor P A R I S Mae." . The four lines of letters in (his square stand for two boys' and two girls' naines. We guarantee to send you. A b s o l u t e l y F r e e , one of oui —0 .1 K A famous Simulation Gold B T R n W a t c h e s (ladies' or genta'J if T - K~ E you send us the correct mines: R Ï but you must comply with our LLLJL condition; and promise to show _ the watch to your friends, as we wish to advertise our goods. It costs you nothing to try, so «end jr answer at once. A postcard will d6.-~The ndon General Supply Association (Dep 6al ^b 72, Finsbury Pavement, London, E.cT a,'^W










Press the


that's all.

Simply press the button and the back will decline, or automatically rise, to any position desired by the occupant. Release the button and the back is instantly locked. The arms open outwards, affording easy access and exit. The Leg Rest is adjustable to various inclina­ tions. It can also be used as a footstool, and when not in use slides under the seat. The Upholstery is exceptionally soft and deep, with spring elastic edges, and supports the entire body in the highest degree of luxurious comfort.

Would not one of these chairs add considerably to the enjoyment of your relaxation and rest ?

Catalogue C5 of

Adjustable Chairs,

Post Free.






At the

Festival of Empire

Exhibition this year


â&#x20AC;¢ffi)B2 i STANDARD

was awarded to a STANDARD LOAF made from



Also at the Bakers' and Confe:tioners' Exhibition this year, held at the Agricultural Hall, the most coveted trophy of all, the

N.A. CHAMPIONSHIP CUP was awarded to a W H I T E LOAF made from



Messrs. J. Lyons & Co.'s Standard "Bread is made solely from Uroton's Flour. If you want the best

STANDARD BREAD ask your Baker to make it from C. Brown & Co.'s




aft d






8 8 & 6 5 Note. Best for nil Piano-Players, in nil < 'limâtes. Last longest and cost least. For anyone who possesses a Player-Piano they make an admirable


W e have all the latest compositions in stock and can supply almost any piece you care to name. In case the recipient already possesses any Roll chosen we will willingly exchange same. Prices 9d. from to £ 6/3­ MUSIC ROLL from CABINETS 2 10s. Catalogne

i a'id Prospe.tusfree




The PERFORATED MUSIC CO., Ltd. 94, Regent Street, London, W. Factory and Head Scottish Branch: LiV3rpoul Agent»: Ltd.,

OjH*e: 197-199. City Road. E.C.

99, Princes Street., Edinburgh.

Messr». Rnshworth <t Dreaptr,

Il/yl3, Islington.

O R D E R N O W !


if you keep Zox handy, a n d t a k e it

w h e n pain t h r e a t e n s . There's n o t h i n g

mure sure a m i speedy in curing in t h e

whole world of medicine tliuii

'ZOX' I t is simply marvellous how quickly

p a i n vanishes a s a rcBlilt of t a k i n g

one of these harmless little Powders.

Equally good for H e a d a c h e , too.

Sold by Chemists a n d S t o r e s a t 1 / - a n d 2 / 6 p e r box, or direct from t h e Zox Co. r n r r Send stamped addressed envelope a n d m e n t i o n t h i s r n t t « magazine, a n d we will send you two Zox Powders free.

THE ZOX CO., 11. Hatton Garden, London, E.C.


L . Ô C , Hardtmuth's

"KOH-I-NOOR" PENCILS too high a standard quality for successful imitation. 17 degrees and Copying. 4d. each or ."î/i; perdozetl. <>f Stationers, & c . everywhere. List Free fronn L. & C. H A H » T ­ HUTJI, Ltd., Koh-i-noor House, Kings way, London. (Paris, Brussels, Dresden, Zurich, Milan, Vienna, New York.)


I .CABINET J K R M £ £ J •" ~, / Imagine a destructive Fire in your Office. All documents, letters, and books not in the safe destroyed—your business to-niorrow at a complete standstill. No business man can afford to run such a risk. RONEO S T E E L FILING CABINETS provide orderly and safe custody for Documents, Correspondence, &c. They are fire-proof and vermin-proof, and take up far less space than wood. Investigate ! Write




R O N E O . Ltd., 2 6 , Holborn Viaduct. London, E . C .




Marvellous development accomplished by the new and wonderful Diano Method of enlarging the female boot. Thin women are quickly developed into commanding figures that excite wonderment and admiration. A pew and surprisingly effective home treatment has been discovered that enlarges the female bust at least six inches. Women who iire not lacking in this respect will not be particularly interested, but thoee who by some unfortunate circumstance of health or occupation arc deficient in this development will be very much fascinated by the peculiar romiuence achieved by the treatment, it is called DIANO, aDd is controlled by the well­ nown ESPAXOLA. MKDICISR COM PAN V. There is no doubt about the marvellous power of this new treatment to develop the bust to a gratifying extent. Any lady wu'o wishes to know more about DIANO should send her name and address to the ESPAKOIÎA MEDICI KK COM PAN v. They will send free in plain sealed envelojw, by post, a new "beauty Ijook " they have just prepared, also photographs from life, showing the actual development in­ duced, and a great number of testimonials from physicians, chemists, and prominent ladies, all ^ommonding the wonderful and remarkable power of I>IANO to enlarge the bust, no matter how tiat the chest may 1*. Ho not tail to write at once. The beauty hook and portraits will delight you. All yon need to do is to send name and address, and enclose stamp to pay postage. All correspondence strictly confidential. Address —LADY MANAGER, THE Y.M. ESPANOLA MEDICINE COMPANY (Dept. 279), 205, Regent S t r e e t , London, W. "The desire to possess Beauty is keenest where refinement is strongest"





NOSES.—The only patent Nose Machines in the World. Improve ugly noses of all kinds. Scientific yet simple. Can lie worn during sleep. Send stamped envelope for full particulars. RED NOSES.—My long established medi­ cally approved Treatment absolutely cures red noses. 3,9 post free. Foreign 1,'J extra. UGLY EARS—The Rubber Ear Caps in­ vented by Lees Hay remedy ugly, outstanding ears. Hundreds of successful eases, 7,6postfree; Foreign 1/6 extra. D # LEES RAY. 10 E CENTRAL CHAMBERS, LIVERPOOL.


Can you concentrate your mind on one thing and exclude every other thought? The "CONCENTRO " Course -Scientific Concentration— will enahle you to do this. With concentration you can excel in study or in Business, can observe correctly, can develop Memory, Will-Power, Self-Control and Self-Reliance. Without concentration you cannot do these things. Concentration is therefore the basis of all attainment, and " Scientific Concentration " is concentration methodised ; made easier to acquire. Send to-day for their FHEE BOOKLET to the "CONCENTRO" CO.. 18, Central Buildings, Wallsend. Nawcagtle-on-Tyne.



" I'ses PROCTOR'S Pinelyptus Pastilles with great success for Chest. Throat, and Voice. She recommends them to her friends, and will not travel without them."






A BOON TO SINGERS, SPEAKERS. TEACHERS. SoliJ by Chemists and Stores. oiu\v in tHives.l/-

Insist en having " PBOtTlilt'S PINU1AFTUS,"


When your doctor and the specialist have told you they can do no more for you, Sanatorium treatment, open air, and change of climate failed to give you relief, and the disease is slowly but surely devouring all except your soul and bones, send a postcard to Mr. Chas. H. Stevens, 204, Worple Road, Wimbledon, for particulars of his newly-discovered cure for Consumption and records of the wonderful recoveries it has brought about. He will also send you a list of absolutely cured patients whom you can communicate with personally, and some of them have never even seen Mr. Stevens. This article is not intended to give false hopes to anyone, but to spread the good news that a positive cure for Consumption has really been found, although, owing to the red tape of the Medical Profession, it has not yet been officially recognised. Mr. Stevens is willing to send a supply of it to anyone suffering from the disease on the " No Cure, No Pay " principle.



Assortments are sent WITHOUT DEPOSIT for selection to Responsible Applicants in any Country, upon their stating their Profession or Business and Requirements. No obligation to effect a purchase. Paris Salon Pictures, Classical Undraped Figures, S t a t u a r y , Actresses, a n d Views. Life (Nude H u m a n Figure), Animal, Cloud, Wave, Flower, a n d other Studies -for Artists.



Illustrated Abridged Catalogue of Photos, i\,L post free, or with a Specimen Cabinet is. post free. Foreign stamps up to a total of is. or International Postal Coupons are accepted from residents abroad. Money Orders much preferred. No Agents Supplied. No Pictorial Postcards Sold.

E R D M A N N & S C H A N Z <Estab.


Rembrandt Terrace, 109/7, Becl'ord Hill, Balham Road, London, S.W.



FORCASHOR EASY > L PAYMENTS TERMS: which however can be altered tosuit customers'convenience Windsor" Suite, Worth You pay " Dulverton" Suite, For £ 1 0 7/6 monthly. Discount^ „ 3 0 2 0 ­ for Uaah ) 60 27/6 See Catalogue, See Catalogue, ., 1 0 0 55,oage 710. oage 115. „ 500.. .275/­ Larger and other amounts pro rata, A discount of 'lj- in. the £ is allowed for (Josh. Carriage Paid In the United Kingdom. Colonial and Foreign Orders receive especial attention. C D C E A V a l u a b l e Guide t o Complete 1 i»*— ^m F u r n i s h i n g and to the latest styles, and designs in Artistic Furniture. It gives hints and estimates for furnishing Cottage, Villa, and Mansion. FURNISHINOCO. , Plentifully illustrated, fullJ..descriptions, B. GKANT, dimet sions, and prices, also particulars of our Easy Proprietor. (DEPT. Write J), for it to-day. Payments and Discounts. It costs [ L I Vnothing E R P Oand O l will save you pounds. Pembroke Place. | BELFAST— High s t r e e t .

£14 Us. (85S3?)

£1616s (



A s h d o w n " Suite,

£ 7 15S. (ftwCtah) See Catalogue, p. 24.

SAT/SFACT/ON\ GUARANTEED OR £11 11s. MONEY RETURNED.^(Discountf<Tl':i See Cat.

One good t h i n g t o do t o - d a y for D e c e m b e r 2 5 t h . The great advantages of " A T O R A " Shredded Beef Suet app'y particularly to Christmas puddings and Mincemeat. Every mother and housekeeper should test these great advantages to-day and save time, trouble and health.




No chopping—No Waste—in tiny particles ready to mix w.'th the pudding» mincemeat or flour, lib, goes as far as 21b. raw suet. It takes the place of raw suet» lard end cookng butter, is more digestible, and does not repeat like many other fats. It keeps fresh for months although no preservatives are used. Sold in two formsS h r e d d e d for Puddings and Pastry, and in B l o c k s for Frying and Cooking. Obtainable from all Grocers, Stores, etc., in ilb. and ilb. boxes. 10Jd. per lb. 5£d. per £lb.









1 16/6








S.C. &








Post Orders for Handkerchiefs illustrated can be received up to Friday, December 22nd, for Xmas. Our Extensive Stock and large volume of trade enables us to send actual goods ordered.

For CHAPS, ROUGHNESS OF SKIN, Ac. INVALUABLE AT ALL SEASONS OF THE YEAR. It Softens and Improves the Hands, Face, and Skin after ex­ posure to AVINU and <"ULI>. An vaseutial in every Home. OVER 4.0 TEAKS' IXCItEASlXG DEMAXJ>. Sold by all Chemists ami Stores in Metallic Tubes. 6d-, I s . and I s . 6d„ or sent t-ostLgc free fur sunups by Sole Proprietors,

OSBORNE. B A U E R & C H E E S E M A N , 19, Golden S q u a r e , Regent S t r e e t , LONDON, W. N.B.—Sample lube, pont free, '2d. stamps.

For Ladies N o . 317. T.adie-s' Superfine

Mull hemstitched and em­

broidered Handkerchiefs.

Tiny flowers funning detign.

About 13 ins. iqiiare. Q / Q

Per doz. Of D





No. I.O. Ladies* Fine Linen

hemstitched Handkerchiefs,

with any initial in « heatear

and butterfly surround. (lie-

sign, i*in). 13ms. " T / l l

square. Per doz. J / | 1


N o . I.K. ladies' Superfine Mull Handkerchiefs, with any initial in floral surround. Design i t in-high), 14! ins. i-quare, with { in. M /"i H hem. Perdoz. * r / I


And PARIS SALON, 1911. Illustrated Catalogue and one 18th Century Print,

or two Paris Salon Silver Prints, for 1/9,

G. VERDOLLIN, 7, Rue Yvon Villarceau, Paris.

No. 8 2 5 . T.adi'es" Superfine Mull embroidered Handker­ chiefs, 12] ins. square,*^ in. embroidery cf simple pattern, making exceptional H ft /f* value at Per doz. I 0 / 0

Stall's Books

No. D . 9 x . Ladies' Fine I .inen hand fane y-si itched Handkerchiefs, about 13 ins. square, crussbarred and nar­ row hems. Perdoz. ^ / O

I g n o r a n c e fosters Vice.

For Gentlemen




endorsement of

No. 6 0 . Gentlemen's Linen Handkerchiefs, with any fin. initial ; 19! ins. square, with £ in. hem. Per doz. Q / £

Dr. John Clifford, Rev. C. M. Sheldon, Rev. F . B . Keyer, Rev. T. Spurgeon, Dr. Rott. T. Horton, Fred. A. Atkins, Dr. Theo. L. Cuyler, Dr. Francis E. Clark, Frances E. Willard,

No. 5 8 . Ge demon's Linen Handkerchiefs, with any r in. initial in " Old English" style. 20 ins. square, with a I in. hem. Per doz. H "I / Q

•I Write for our Illustrated Xmas

List and Samples. Post Free.

Robinson & Cleaver \By Appointment to their Majesties.)



2 n d Million.

The Self & Sex Series



Eminent Physicians and Hundreds of Others.

B O O K S TO M E N . B, SjUanus Stall. DU. W ' J t a Young B o v O u g h t t o Know. W h a t a Young M a n O u g h t t o Know. W h a t a Y o u n g H u s b a n d O u g h t t o Know. W h a t a M a n of 45 O u g h t t o Know. . MaryW.jod-AUen. M.D..;ind BOOKS TO W O M E N . B ) ' Drake, M.U. W T ? M a Y o u n B G i r I O u g h t t o Know.

a o u n ,?.'. " g W o m a n O u g h t t o K n o w .

W h a t a Young W i f e O u g h t t o K n o w .

W h a t a W o m a n of 45 O u g h t t o K n o w . 4/- per copy net, postal 4.£. Se,, J for table 0/contents. Vir -

P u b l i s h i n g Co., »•'• few™i Arcade, Ludgate & *.«., Circus, London, E.C. AND ALL BOOKSELLERS.



COUNTRY HOUSE LIGHTING is so simple, when you know how. While you are filling your lamps with oil you could be making Gas—but much easier.



is compact, easy to use, and produces gas of great brilliancy from any kind of heavy oil. If you have wasted money on house lighting which has proved unsatisfactory, try Mansfield's, who back -'very installation with a guarantee. Economical, Simple, and Efficient Lighting for all pur­ poses, from a Bungalow to a Small Town. Full




Booklet post free.

MANSFIELP & SONS, Ltd., Gas Engineers, 14, Hamilton Square, BIRKENHEAD.




FOLLOWS & BATH'S P a t e n t ' Universal '

Marmalade Machine renders t h e

making of this delwacy a t home a


H A S N O EQUAL. Positively Burniiboa I ' u t k ' i y w i t h o u t injuring H a n d l e s or Blade».

Saves Time and Labour. No More Cut Fingers.

O m be supplied witl]

either India-Kllbbe Buff Leatlior Rollers No. No. No. No.

A G R E A T S U C C E S S !

T H O U S A N D S I N U S E !

CU 1 0 / 6 0. 1 2 / 8

1. 1 7 / 6 2. 2 1 / -

Slices Three Oranges a Minute. An Excellent Recipe Supplied.



Home-made Marmalade of the Finest Quality

costs under 2d. per lb.

Write for address p/ngoresj gggnf.



a n d Sole










and you need fear no dull moments in the Christmas gatherings. You will be able to treat your guests to the world's best music through the medium of the world's best Player Piano. Your present piano we will take in part payment. D E F E R R E D

P A Y M E N T S .

Send far


and Catalogue


THE STEALING PLAYER PIANO (Coppleston & Co., Ltd.), S t e r l i n g H o u s e , 9 4 ,R e s e n t


London. W .





SECCOTINE Which Mends Everything? New uses for S E C C O T I N E are being discovered daily. For repairing speedily and effectively all kinds of breakages, it has been famed for a generation. As a renovator of Ladies' Dresses, Blouses, Laces, & c , it works wonders. Write for a copy of our Ladies' Booklet which tells something of its work. Sold Everywhere iit. OD. f^.D. each. lent Fin-Stofifed Tubes O and U Pate.

SEND FOR FREE SAMPLE TO McCaw, Stevenson & Orr. Ltd., Belfast, and 31-32, Shoe Lane, London, E.C.


Metal Polish







gives daily gvatfiful remembrance "f the donor. A " S t a r " Safety Razor dnes this, herausa it five» JI «afe, comfortable, smootli Bhavo under any condition?.

NO EXTRA E X P E N S E ­ STAR BLADES WILL LAST A LIFETIME. Prio-i in Metal Box (Ittmtrated), 5/6; in Leather Wallet. 7/6: Extra Bladen, 3/- each. Send for Free Catalogue showing 1 landgonui Presentation Cases at all prices. From all Cutlers, or M ARKT & CO., London, Ld , Pept. is, 6, City Rd., London,E.C.

IT'S DELIGHTFUL WORK and can be accomplished with ease—it's so simple too. All the tools and appli­ ances required are contained in this splendid Fretwork Outfit, which also includes a supply of Fret Designs, Fretwood, and a large Instruction Book of 32 pages to enable you to start work at once. In a very short time you wjjl be able to construct numerous dainty and exquisite articles of Art Fretwork. This Outfit complète, as illustrated, will be sent post paid for


HOBBIES, Ltd Excelsior Works,



OFFER, A copy of our 208 page Cata­ logue and a 9 hillings worth nf O r i g i n a l Fretwork De­ signs for 6 d . post free.

To any man who will send us his name and address we will send free (closely sealed) our finely illustrated book regarding the cause and cure of disease. This book is written in plain language and explains many'' secrets you should know. It tells how you can cure your­ self in the privacy of your own home with­ out the use of drugs. Don't spend another penny on medicines and worthless " so-called " cures. Nature's remedy cures to stay cured. You should know about it. If you suffer from weakness of any kind, rheumatism, lame back, lumbago, varico­ cele, debility, drains, loss of power, or stomach, kidney, liver or bowel trouble ; you should not fail to get this book.

Don't wait another day, another hour. Write us at once and post your letter. We'll send the book without delay, abso­ lutely free. Call if you can for a free test. . . THE . .

BRITISH ELECTRIC INSTITUTE (Dept. 19), 25, Holborn Viaduct, London, E.C.


! His M aster's \t>icël


Scotti Zerola Slezak Ger. Farran Rie. M a r t i n ' Galvany Mischa Elman Backhaus

t> Calyè

1 2 C 4 5 6 7 8




M- V*

in V J W ^ 3

10 11 12 13 ! 4 95 16


T i t o RufTo Plançon Shali'apin Journet Tetrazzini McCormaclC Patt»

T7 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Kirkby L u n n Paderewski Kubelik Sammarco Clara Butt Caruso Destinn Battistini Melba

m: y



I n s t r u m e n t s f r o m £ 3 10s. t o



His M a s t e r s\foice

On receipt of ;i Post Card we will send yon, free of <-harge, ' His Muster's Voice at Home," our latust brochures and catul"giU'd, :is well ;is thf name i>i tin- nearest accredited dealer in oui-goods, and it" vou ure interested in Uiund opera wo will semi also ;i new Vinok on "Faust," by !•'. Merry, illustrated by W. E. Websfa-r.

TVJELBA, Caruso, Paderewski, Tctrazzini, Kubclik, Clara Butt, Kir!;bv Lunn, Sammareo, John McCormack, Battistini, 1TX Destinn, Misch-i Klman. Backhaus, with tho.vj Others illustrated above, are but a few of the great artists who make records only for "His Master's Voice.'

A GREAT host of artists, amongst whom are the principal ballad singers, such as John Harrison, Harry Dearth, ami

-"- Agnes Xicholls. The music h ill stars, such as Harry Lauder and George Kobev. The dance orchestras, such as Herr Iff

and Herr Gottlieb. The vaudeville stars, such as Gertie Millar, Phyllis Dare. George Grossmith, Jr., and Teddy Payne, are

ready to entertain you this Christmas, and to bring pleasure and mirth to those who receive thi:j greatest of all gifts.

The Gift of Music.

A T Christmas time, the time of gifts and merry-making, ' His Master's Voice' forces itself upon your attention and interests you in a new way. It solves the whole Christmas Gift problem, for it is the gift for the whole family.

The Greatest Gift of




" BEST BATH N o form of bathing accomplishes such perfect cleanliness as the combined H O T AIR and V A P O U R B A T H . It not only cleanses the outer surface, but also opens the pores, eliminates impure matters, and stimulates a healthful flow of—life's principle—ths blood, clears the skin, recuperates the body, quiets the nerves, rests the tired, and creates that delightful Physicians feeling of invigorated health and strength. recommend it for the prevention and cure of Colds, Influenza, Rheumatism, Kidney and Liver Troubles, Skin Diseases, &ç.


THE BEST CABINET. It possesses every desirable feature of efficiency, and has several exclusive advantages, including Improved Outside Heat and Vapour Generator, Adjustable Seat, and Heat Regulator. The Bather is not fastened lo the Cabinet : Exit is Easy and Immediate ; No Assistant required. any room, and folds into a small Can be used in any compact space.

Prices f r o m 35s­ Our " B a t h B o o k " No. c contain much interesting infor­ mation not. generally known about Thermal ftatliing. S e n t free on request.

J. FOOT & SON, Ltd., "Dept. B. 5, 1 7 1 , N e w Bond St., L o n d o n , W.




I offer perfect health and physical development—will radicate troublesome com­ plaints and physical defects, don't ask for much of either your time or money. Write to-dity •r Free Book, " Health at How., ' nit terms. Ladies' booklet free aUo, INCH [Dept. V) Monster House, F u l h a m , L o n d o n , S.W.

The most British of the Canadian Provinces. A L»nd of Opportunity f.>r British SettUrs.


INCREASING PR03PERITY-DECREASINC TAXATION. T h = Revenue of t h i P / o v i n c i h i s i n c r e a s e ! Years f/om >i,O3O,00D to 5 7 , 0 0 0 , 0 0 3 .



in 1910,






Equal to $300 for ever/ man, woman, and child in tha country. G O O D LAWS. FREE EDUCATION. CLIM . T E HEALTHY AND D E L I G H T F U L . The country for Farmers with some capital, Agricultural and other workers, and Domestic Servants. Constant employment at good wages for all classes of workers. Xha Province of Canada for F n û t Growing, Mixed Farming, Dairying, Horse, Hog, and Catth R using, and Poultry Farming. Offers countless attractions to Tourists and Sportsmen.

Important Fisheries. Unlimited Timber and Mineral


Full information

free of charge on application

to —

J. I I . T U R N E R , Agent-General for British Columbia,


Are absolutely the beet Oilskins. Soft, pliable, and light In weight,suitable for any purpose during wet weather. Mm.! • in very fine texture cloth in Black or Yellow (smooth surface) and • guaranteed waterproof and to give wearer e e r y satisfaction. WillnotcrHckor slick. PRICES.—Slip on Coats, any size, lilack, lined Yellow. 9/6 each. Motor Coats. 25K Yachting and Kiding Coats, 21/- and 27/6. Shooting and Fishing Coat*. 15/-, 17/6, 21/-. Oreralls (to top

of thigh). 2/3 per nui". Sou/Westers-, 1 6 2/6,

3/-, 3 6 each. All poBt free.

Catalogue, showing styles, including Ladies' and

Child ens, on application. :




PARKER'S, Oilskin Manufacturers, ( D f l P ( - W - M - ' LANCASTER.





a happy


— a Gillette

Safety Razor as


z\ LL the sentiment that goes with a gift takes practical form when the gift is a Gillette. Your desire for a man's comfort—the safety of his shaving

—the clean, well-groomed appearance of his face and the moral effect of en­

couraging the regular-shaving habit—all these little thoughts for his welfare are

so aptly conveyed by the Gillette Razor that it cannot fail to win his

lasting appreciation.

A Gillette Safety Razor is always acceptable, always useful. It saves time

and money. It needs no stropping or honing, and is the only razor that can

be adjusted to the exact thickness of the beard or the tenderness of the skin. In

use every day, it lasts a lifetime.

Buy * Him ' a Gillette Safety

Razor for Xmas !

CILLETTE SAFETY RAZOR Ltd., 17, Holborn Viaduct» London, E.C. The Gillette Safety Kazor is British Made and sold everywhere in velvet-lined morocco case, with 12 double edge blades, price One Guinea. Combination Sets, with Gillette Shaving Soap and Brush—ideal for gifts and holiday use—from 251. Write for illustrated booklet, " Hints on Shaving," and " The Razor's Edge and How it Shaves," sent post free. Mention this Magazine.

Works ! Leicester, England.



DR. HARLAN'S ^ i f 1 BEAUTY CUP MASSAGE I / I renders ex p e n s i v / ' I "Beauty" Treatmen / I unnecessary. ' M Not evjn the most wide



• i V \ \ l 9 J/* XggTSSÇ^^/ ffc ^f^fS

' ^ .

then what I know now niy success in life would have been assured. How often have yuu said t h a t w h e n too late? T h e road to success and happiness is reached through know­

*> ledge. The stars hold the secret • ol your life. Let me read the Stars. C . for you. Hundreds ol Testimonials.! Itettd what tunic vf m<i clients tay : MASON, Woburn Sands, Bucks. : "True in every detail." \ . KI;\N:IM, Brynbauoji, N, "Wales: " Have profited so much by your \.

* v retain or regain :i coi . 2 , o(ji young girl. If y ' " ' . indifferent results, me irt v - ; lotions -if " Beauty Experts - V plicity of tlic Beauty ' ui> M ' " i tli«- mpiditv with which it cigars tin 1 coinrilexion/and fills out hollows in th( i a positive revelation ! peutlc mita which will ax you. Jn many cassa blackheads are actually b a n i s h e d in on» m i n u t e , and wrinkles are smoothed away witL |lightful ease. Hollow cheeks, thin anus necks, nnd busts are 1 out and made t rm and fair, and " erows'-fcet." and all >f care and worry are obliterated It acts directly on the ion, p u m p s all impurities out of the blood by atnios­ prcssurc, and so. in the natural way, clears the skin of all id blemishes. Order of your dealer, or Cup sent in plain r—with FKKK BOOK, " B e a u t y a n d H e a l t h " S e c r e t s •less Value-to aiïy address for 2/1 P.O. (abroad 2/6 M.O.). Hmvlml* •>( unwlicihtl t,'-KiimviUalH. (Jail or write:— i E. H A R L A N , N e u - V i t a I n s t i t u t e , 5-106, Exchange Ulrlg., Southwark Street,London. (Agents wanted.)

Inst ­ D. HOWE, Oxford: " Jiemarkfl V horoscope received -mo \EAHS

icurate iu each mouth of

CAN I DO THE SAME FOR YOU? As a test, send birth date. 1/- P . O . , and stamps for a trial horoscope.

OLDSOLr I >' p 12),Forest Hermitage, Barnes, London S p e c i a l . -1 will add Two Wars' guide F r e e if you mention WlHDSOit M.AUAZINK.

NO MORE COLD FEET Cold feet can now be a past. The new "Slipon "UnderSocksare made of beautifully warm woolly non-irritating material. Worn tiext to tin' skin. Your sock or •flocking i* worn over them. • glowing warmth. Do not fill tot. Can be washed again and a, 1 - lier pair, postage Id. extra. State boot size. Postal Orders o ly. — Vaughan 4 Heather (Dent. 27J, Comptant _ -A ~47A Avenue, Brighton. (~ Agents wnttKii. j





OR A N Y O T H E R R O O M S , ir Heat and Light Deflector sends down all the beat from the g:.s to the .owernart of I he (where it is needed), ami entirely takes off that •a-iuit shivery fc-elimr. Siniplv; on chim­ ney of Gas Burner or oil Lamp. A splendid ceiling proteetor. Made of aluminium, therefore white and lijht. ArLi les like this are usually Note (lUK price and jus1, try one. Send P.O. for 1/­ li.-dav. Postage ii''. Agents wanted.—VAUGHAN & Hi.vijiKKiKept. -Si), Coiuptou Avenue, Brighton.

beautifies the complexion and nourishes the skin. It rids the

clogged of dirt oily on matter that soap and water cannot

of OATINEpores CUEAJI willand be sent application, or forîW. ops a

reach ^ eight pflgg S A M R nnd L EBook box containing of the Oatine Preparations B > L


T h e O a t i n e Co.. 1 3 4 a , O a t i n e BIdgs., Boro', L o n d o n , S.E.

SEVEN GRAND PRIZES In 1910 and 1911.

HIMRODS Over 30 years ago the late Lord Beaeonsfteld testified to the benefits he received from HIMROD'S CURE, and, every post brings us similar letters to-day.


Famed for 4 0 Years. A Free Sample and detailed Testimonials free by post. Sold m tins, 4s. 3d. British Depot— 46. Holborn Viaducr, London. Also of Newber* & Son--: Barclay & Son-,; J. banger & Son; W Edwards i- Son: May. Roberts & Co.; Butle 8t Crispe; John Thompson,Liverpool ; - J all Wholesale Houses.

TJ £*^£m J, -^T






A t B R U S S E L S (2), LONDON (2), B U E N O S A I R E S , and T U R I N (2).

S H A D E I N E , guaranteed per­ manent., washable, harmless, free from grease. Contains no lead, silver, mercury, sulphur, Will not burn the hair or produce un natural tint. Detection impossible. Trial Bottle 6 d . , post '•'!. : 1 - -i/.<-, post f/2: 3/6 size, post „?/p. (Secretly packed.) State colour required. | W. M. ALEXANDRE lEstd. '.36H. 56. Weatbourno Grove. Loudon, W.







10 6, 11/6, 12 6, 13 6, 15/-, 17/6, 21 - to 5 0 ­ H I GUARANTEED.


W R I T E F O B P A T T E R N S A N D I L L U S T R A T I O N S of i h a p e i , «nd t*y w h e t h e r

L a d i o ' o r Cent*' P a t t e r n , a r e r e q u i r e d - A L L S E N T P O S T FREE.

P A R K E R ' S (Lancaster) LTD., Dept W.M., LANCASTER OUR LA1AL0CLIE


THE "EVER-READY" PORTABLE ELECTRIC LAMPS make Ideal Christmas Presents. Ever-Ready Electric C'gar Lighter (Self-contained I.

Ever-Reac*y Electric Po.ket Lamp.

Handy, safe, and reliable.

Ever-Ready Electric Hand Lamp.

Ever-Ready Electric Torches, « i t l n l i y batteries. Various aizes.

Ever-Ready Electric Candle, with d r y 1 lat­ tery. No. IWti.

No. 4, du luxe pattern a t 14/6 is recom­ mended for general use. Weight packed,!! Tbs. A r t C a t a l o g u e , c o n t a i n i n g f u l l I l l u s t r a t e d L i s t , a n d n a m e of n e a r e s t A g e n t , p o s t t r e e f r o m

The EVER=READY WORKS, Hercules Place, Holloway, London, N.


Mr. G. R. Sims'

Great Hair


TATCHO, the true Hair Grower, discovered, used, advertised, and originally gratuitously distributed by Mr. G. R. Sims, is all that its Romany name implies—Genuine, True, Worthy of Belief. Chemists and Stores everywhere, 1/-, 2/9, and 4/6.






for t h e

to other Fount iin Pens in this respect, that whilst it will do the work (hat is claimed for highpriced pens, and do it well, it costs only 5 -

DEAF. Patent ai-pUed/vr.)


A "JEWEL" FOB 5 / -

Of all Sta:ione-s or p st

Ire» from sole makers:




Why rcmaiii DEAF.when we haw a faod sound-magnifying pH.-ke"t telephone which WILL MAKE J on hear? The " A U R I P H O N E " is irtoontmtcnoufi :iud light, only weighing a few ounces, is readily portable, and the d u u U instrument of iis kind. The " A U R I P H O N E • is British m a d e , and redesigned fur USJ in churches, theatres, lecture balls, and for general conversation at home.



Tomato Is Best.



O Uayb I rlAl. a sni aU charge of a . being made should the Auriphone not proie beneficial. Write or call fur our descriptive p unphlet. gi\ ing toil particulars.

AUBIPHONES, Ltd., 1. Albemarle Street, Piccadilly. W.

AGENTS : Ask your local chemist to obtain our instrument

from Mesons. Au>:> &. H»NHI KIS Ltd., fora fifteen days' triad.

Obtainable from Etectriciuns attd Opticians.

It's TffF Appetiser.

All Grocers and Stores sell it, at 3d., 6d., or Is. per bottle.

W. HARBROW, , r o n Bu"d""r Works-

S. BERMONOSEY STATION, S.E. T e l e p h o n e — H o p 17.

Telegrams—"Economical. London."




J i


S t^e ^ ^ ^



- ^



^ i j ^ S P o^ ^ f / l l ^ V ^ ^ ^ » ^ . ^ ^ ^ » ' : lÂlu^^P ^^iilfffiffl^s ill If nffi ' lea liilml^S'i ^

^JlÊyÀ B ^ W I B J^ s ^ i i tlÈv^^^il lr8É8aÉ«fîL J m TuY t


• M'! A ' B i x




Lj I


£&£- r ^ ^ ^ ^ g ^ ­

Design 44.

BUNGALOW, contains Drawing room, Dining-room, Three Bed rooms, Bath-room, Lounge, (D.sign 44). Hall, and usual offices. Constructed of timb.=r framework, roofing red diagonal asbestos tiles, and external walls " Rough Cast" Plaster. Price

£ 2 8 9 ,

1 1 0 - P A G E C A T A L O G U E

erected complete, exclusive of drainage and water supply.

o f Churches, Chapels, Mission Halls, Bungalows, Cottages, B i l l i a r d Rooms.

Stores,"Club"Rooms, F a r m Buildings, Sheds, Gymnasiums, A e r o p l a n e a n d M o t o r Garages, S h o o t i n g Boxes, S k a t i n g Rinks, Electric Theatres, & c ,






FREE on mentioning this Publication.




2a^t 1 ^



fta#>ASTILLES ^ â ^ O | % # - r Throat 6 Voice,. JaSl 1 j ^ ^ f * T h e v restore full strength and tone jSnr A ]Jr to the voice in all cases of over strain. ff^^A^&fi | Forall ailments of the throat a most *J /. / soothingcurative.Regularlyusedby T^ÉU /> / themost prominentPublicSpeakers, Jl ff/f^Jf I S ngers, Preachers, Actors, etc. I /fit ' 1 L / B o l d t n 1 / - * 4 G b o i e s b y a l J Chemists. A I M lU \'VJ " ffeiiuine Evans' Pastilles / / i l l • • fV^ are marked with a bar. V X T ^ S I ^H \ Sole Manufacturers :— ^ ^ J l\ EVANS BONS, LESCHER ft WEBB, Ltd i xif V\ Liverpool * London. ^repsajrtidefi-nïtceii-itofld.postagi'omt nqmç ofthiRyiaQatin^


These ugly spots are due to excess of oily or greasy matter in the pores—the grime from the air sticks lo the grease and blackens the exposed part. The only treatment is to thoroughly cleanse the pores naturally. Apply a little of the famous nongreasy I C I L M A F L U O R C R E A M , and rub gently—this removes the smaller blackheads and loosens the larger ones, whicli can be easily squeezed out. T h e natural tonic water contained in Icilma Fluor Cream cleanses and refreshes the pores and keeps them free from further black­ heads, i / - pir pot at your Chemist's, or send id. stamp to I C I L M A C O . . L t d . (Dent. 58),

3 9 , King's Road, London, N.W., for free trial tube. xxiii





Hot tea, coffee, cocoa, or any hot drink keeps steaming hot for 24 hours in a


^f|k ^s­


even if the Flask is buried in ice. FROM ALL JEWELLERS,

Beware of Imitations.





Thermos goods have "Thermos" on them.

PRICES FROM 6/6 TO II GUINEAS. Wholesale only :—A. E. Gtunuxti k Co., 8, Long Lane. London. E.G.




fvood Start M THE












The Actual Goods gladly shown to Call or sendcallers. postcard for Catalogue, Self-measure­ ment Form, and Free Patterns. UAI EMTINF W a t e r p r o o f c r , 15, Q u e e n St., IHLCHIMU] C h e a p s i d e , L o n d o n , E.C. SPECIA I J'KA TV It K—Waterproofs Made to Measure for Ladles and Gentlemen without any extra charge (oxcept for unusually lartfe sizes).

The C l e a n e s t

Sweeping is

BISSELL mi Sweeping.

\W J

If you haven't a BISSELL SWEEPER in

your home you are losing a lot of comfort

that YOU might enjoy at a very slight cost.

' Price from 1 0 6 .

Siime price everywhere.

MARKT & Co., Ltd.,38, Wilson St., London, E.C.

Weak Babies soon grow strong, sleep well, and gain robust health when fed on the 'Allenburys' Foods. Milk Food No. 1 From hirlli lo 3 months. Milk Food No. 2 From 3 to 6 months. Malted Food N o . 3 From 6 months upwards. Pamphlet, "Baby's Welfare," sent free.

Allen & Hanburys Ltd- London

Billiard R IJ ll ^e. ,y» -S» Tables. CASH OR EASY PAYMENTS. W h a t e v e r size your room t h e r e a R I L E Y t a b l e t o fit i t . LEY'S MINIATURE TABLES are as

perfect and accurate as the ••lull size. The miniature table fits on your own Din­ ng table from £ 3 7s. 6 d . iley's Combine Billiard and Dining Tables from £ 1 3 10s. to £ 3 2 Prices include all accessories, carriage paiil to nearest railway station in the United Kingdom. Cash or easy paymeats. FREE on receipt of post card full detailed Illustrated Catalogue of Billi­ ard and Dining Tables. E. J . RILEY, L t d . , Dale Works, Accrington. London Showrooms. u7. Aldersçaie St.. K.Ç. +




Be/ore taking 'Wincarnis'

Coughs & Colds Are particularly serious because, unless promptly checked, they are apt to " h a n g a b o u t " all the Winter and eventually lay the foundation of Bronchitis, Catarrh, or Influenza. But a few wlneglassfulsof "Win­ carnis" will speedily overcome Autumn Coughs and Colds, give a feeling of snug­ ness and warmth to the body, and at the same time equip the system with a wealth of renewed health, vigour and vitality. Will you try just one bottle ? A liberal sample sent on receipt of Three penny stamps. Coleman & Co., Ltd., Wincarnis Works, Norwich.




LILY THFE VALLEY As sullied to H.M. QUEEN ALEXANDRA a n d t h e Delightful New Perfume





2 / - , 3 / 6 , 6 / - , and 1 0 / 6 p^r bottle. Z E N O B I A T O I L E T SOAP ..



Sold by leading Chemists, Perfumers A BIJOU SAMPLE BOX, rontaining Perfume. Soap, ami Sachet of either odour, sort i*>et free on receipt of 4d. stamps, mentioning -'•' "Windsor Magazine."

•W.-F. Charles, niiSSS* Loughborough.




up, and and Instant relief in Asthma, Bronchitis, Croup, Whooping-cough hy theuseof POTTER'S ASf STHMA CURE in Tl- Tina,


For FREE SAMPLE send Postcard to POTTER & CLARKE. Artillery Lane, Loudon, E. Mention paper.





Never before was there anything like it, nor can its marvellous p r o p e r t y ever be equalled in all cases of poorness, impurity, or other imperfection of the blood from whatever cause arising. No snoner is it imbibed into the system than it permeates and renetrates to the minutest capillaries, overcoming and expelling disease, wheresoever ar.d in whatsoever form met with ; removing all blotches, pimples, scurf, scurvy, scrofulous and glandular swellings, discolorations, roughness, and unsightly patches, & c Its effects are almost magical in the treatment of gout, rheu­ matism, sciatica, lumbago, pains, and swellings of the joints, blood poison, eczema, lepra, psoriasis, bad legs, bad breasts, abscesses, ulcers, wounds, sores, goitre or Derbyshire neck: it improves the general health, and quit kly removes long-standing bronchitis, asthma, and hacking, straining, spasmodic cough, too often the precursor of consumption. LIFE w r c WITHOUT « i inuu l




I n e latest discovery of modern times for premature decay or deficiency of vital forces. Bracing up the system generally, it gives tone to the exhausted nerves, restores the failing energies, and imparts new life and vigor to those who had so recently seemed played out, used up and valueless. , S ™'? stamp address envelope for Free Booklet or P.O 2 s . 9 d . for I n a l Bottle ot either remedy to T H E VKTAKZO R E M K M B S Lo. Gospel Oak, London. England. Unprincipled vendors may try to sell you something else for extra profit, do not accept it, insist on having \ ETARZO. The genuine has words " VBTARZO REMEDIES on Government Stamp





ABOVE ALL, BENGER'S IS THE FOOD FOR RESTFUL NIGHTS. It is so easily digested and so soothing and agreeable, that while giving full nourishment to the system, it really promotes sound, healthy sleep. Benger's Food is mixed with fresh new milk when prepared. It forms a dainty and delicious cream, entirely free from rough and indigestible particles. Infants thrive on it, delicate and aged persons enjoy it. The composition of Benger's Food is well known to medical men and is approved by them.


The Proprietors of Benger's Food issue a Booklet containing much valuable information on the feeding of Invalids, Infants, &c. A copy will be sent post free on application to Benger's Food, Ltd., Otter Works, Manchester. New York Branch Office, 92, William Street. Benger's Food is sold in tins by Chemists, etc., everj>'wJu:ret







can be i nstanlly raised, lowered, reversed, or inclined either way. Ex-

nds over bed, couch, or chair without touching it, and is an ideal Table for

acting or taking meals in bed with ease and comfort. Change of position

effected by simply pressing the patent push-button. The height of Table

can be adjusted at any point from 28 in. to 43 in.

from floor. The Top is 27 in. long by 18 in.

wide, and is always in alignment with the base.

It cannot overbalance. The " A d a p t a " Table

is a modern Home Comfort, instantly adjustable

to various convenient uses, such as Reading

Stand, Writing Table, Bed Rest, Sewing or Work Table, Music Stand, Easel, Card Table, and numerous other pur­ poses of emergency and occasional character that are continually occur­ ring in every household. PRICES. N o . 1.- Enamelled Metal Parts, with Stained Oak Top £ 1 7 6 K o . 2.—Ditto, with Adjustable Side Tray anil Automata Bookholders ms illustrated' £115 0 N o . 3.—Complete as No. 2, but Polished Oak Toil and superior finish £2 5 0 N o . 4.—Complete as No. :•, but with all Metal Parts Nickel-Plated £3 3 0 Carriage Paid in Great Britain. BOOKLET " A 5 " FREE*

J. F O O T <S SON, Ltd. (Dcpt. A 5 ) , 171, NEW BOND STREET, LONDON, W. " NEPTUNE" Fountain Pens are equal in quality and lasting wear to any upon the market. The 5/6 spoon feed Neptune as illustrated is superb andWill compare favorably with any other make at t h e price of I 0/6. Obtain of your Stationer or send J&.0. direct to us. Money back if Pen not approved. C a t a l o g u e 36 p p . o f N e p t u n e , S t y l o s a n d o t h e r P e n s , p r i c e s f r o m 2/6 t o 16 6, s e n t F r e e . Write B U R ^ E , WARREN & RIDGLEV,

L T D . , 91 and 92, Gt. Saffron





Um0. m m IRON


RAYLISS Catalogue Fre». O O

GATES, & c . * B A Y L | S S , Ltd., Wolverhampton, A N „ ,, V N S U N S T M 5 E T i LUNDON, KO

J 0 N E S


1 hast- mttilion thin Xagnzine,


R e m a r k a b l e D i s c o v e r y t h a t will i n t e r e s t e v e r y w o m a n w i t h s u p e r f l u o u s hair. P e r f e c t l y s a f e t r e a t m e n t t h a t p e r m a n e n t l y d e s t r o y s t h e r o o t s , fully d e s c r i b e d , FREE TO ALL.

Hairy women need nu longer despair, out of the mass of failures has eonie a genuine success Their imsiRhtlv l'lemish van he so thoroughly destroyed that they themselves will wonder if thev ever redlv lnd disfiguring liair. The Capillus Mfg. company are in sole possession of a m a r v e l l o u s h o m e m e t h o d tint removes superfluous hair for ever. It goes to the very root of the hair, and destroys its life so tint it will never grow again. The Oomiwiny want it understood that this method is different entirely from the rn-mv powders lotions, and eosmetius sold that only remove temiionvrily and hurt : daU< lto B k i n w h i l c f ' t'"fi new method removes the hiir for all time, and is s i m p l e a n d h a r m l e s s . "* j lady ean easily use in her nrival^aiartiuent^ private apartments, and,will permanently remove sii. kdyjaua wnii-rfl^imisïnïr_wjVh(!uî''J,' =--,lllt a " y By sendimr your name and tuWrnis, ;uid emjosmv'stamp tojiaypo^ta^ to the C a p U l u s M a n u f a c t u r i n e C o m p a n y , 2 6 1 C e n t u r y H o u s e , 2 0 5 , R e c e n t S t r e e t . L o n d o n , W . , you will receive-Tfun description of this simple and remarkable method, which will enable you U> remove all superfluous hai hairr at at'home home Bd to you free in :i perfectly plain and ; tied envelope, and you should have no hesitancy in : , ^'description i ; writing 'Tou'wiU l.e 'delighted'* to learn how'easily mid surely superfluous hair cou "be permanently and pahUesVlv

' mil i t w i l l p a y y o u t o w r i t e t o - d a y .

Don't n e g l e c t t o do so.

' *'"v





S^W^d" gfrft^-A

It's on c o l d , dark, winter mornings that y o u most appreciate a CLEMAK ! However numb your fingers or bad the light, you know you cannot cut yourself, and that the keenly tempered Made will afford you a thorough, easy shave in quick time. T h e CLEMAK S a f e t y R a z o r w i t h C L E M A K Blades are made to last—you do not throw them away when dulled—a few strokes on the strop and the edge is keen again. The C L E M A K Stropping Machine (price 3/6, including good leather strop) compels you to strop at the correct angle and pressure, and ensures a clean blade for every shave. The CLEMAK S a f e t y R a z o r w i t h 7 b l a d e s i n c a s e , a n d t h e CLEMAK S t r o p p i n g Machine with leather s t r o p , form a perfect Shaving O u t f i t at 8 / 6 c o m p l e t e .

'Made as well and shaves Combination Case, 12 B l a d e s , Stropping Machine and S t r o p , 10 8 post free.

7 bledes,

in c o s e , c o s t s 5 ­

Put Ihe C L E M A K side by side with the safety razor cffe'redat a guinea. You will then sec it is the equal of the other razor — and costs you 16/- less. Then why pay a guinea? . . . Note how carefully the CLEMAK is made— the perfection of every detail—its beautiful finish. Look at the blade—feel its keen cutting edge—no other blade could shave your beard more easily than that.

as well as any Guinea Razor.*9 Reliable and trustworthy, t h e CLEMAK will prove a friend tor life.






OSTERi UNDERWAIST For Boys and Girls, which supports the undercloth­ ing direct from the shoulders, and removes all pressure from the delicate abdomen.


N o Cording to Retain Dampness. Fitted with Foster Pin Tubes, which provide a secure fastening for the Foster Hose Supporter.


With Hose Supporters, 1/6, 2 / - , 2 / 6 , 3 / - , 3 / 6 . Without Hose Supporters, 1/-, 1/6, 2 / - , 2 / 6 , 3 / ­

The reputation of a good article drows by gradual accretion. The quiet word of recommendation con­ veyed from friend to friend by telephone, by letter, or by word of mouth drows steadily into a volume of praise that creates a r e » putation. The reputation of the


J. H . B . D A W S O N , Ltd. 54, Foster Road, Parkston, Essex.









Bronchitis, Hay Fever, Whooping Courf.h. Try the most efficient remedy for ALL OPPRESSIONS of the respiratory organs

Send for Booklet No. 42, entitled—



It is wonderfully interesting.

J OLIVER TYPEWRITER CO., LTD., f Contractors to H.M. Government, ictori a Street , London , E 7 5 , Queen Victoria E..C C..

BEBLINEH } — li& ^"^ vvn unr g(fwPk*­ HOUSE LINEN and Linen of every description.


is that of being the strongest and most durable machine— powerful for making clear carbon copies—unequalled for writing Duplicator stencils.

Ë •



and many other lovely articles are shown in our CHRISTMAS LIST, a copy of which we will gladly send you if requested.

Typewriter J



J •



Hundreds Rof EMEDICAL T e s t i m ofnD< i a l0,s .

A M r L S aI d £ u e e ni. s !lï ° * <King "> ??FMATON . * y O N E ,F C Or<? Q Chambers, Street, Nottingham. Sold by Roots, and Chemists and btores everywhere, 1/6 and 2/6. EM









VcrU^^/Ufva^/)e^ ?

Very few persons have digestive organs strong enough to withstand the extra pressure placed upon them at Xmas time, and the pleasure of the " festive board" is marred for many folk by the thought of after-suffering in the form of Biliousness, Indigestion, Flatulence, and other liver and stomachic troubles. A speedy.and certain remedy for the relief and cure of all ailments arising from over­ worked or disordered stomach is found in Wait-and-See Liver Pills, (iet a box to-day and take one pill immediately after dining " not wisely but too well." Better still, take a short course of these Pills now, and thus correct, regulate, and strengthen your digestive organs beforehand. They gently, yet firmly, cleanse the system of impurities and tone up all the vital organs into healthy vigorous action. Sold in blue packages by all Chemists, or post free from


PriĂŠe X/1J box.


-: --jm




I Dr.JCoIIis Browne's

When you ask for




that you get




Universally __ ONLY GENUINE. Medicine known, and one which should be in every home. Doctors and thepublic in all parts of the world The secret of its have used itacknowledged with unvarying success for Valuable upwards manufacture Universally to be the Most has of 60 years, and have testified to its efficacy. Foinever been di­ vulged, and com­ pounds called Chlorodyne cannot possess the same curative properties. Purchasers there­ see Cuts short all attacks of The only Palliative in fore should SPASMS, HYSTERIA, and NEURALGIA, TOOTHACHE, that the name is PALPITATION. ' OOUT, RHEUMATISM. on the stamp, and Acts like a charm in emphatically D1ARRHŒA, CHOLERA, and DYSENTERY. refuse all Substitutes. Convincing Afedical Testimony with each Bottle.



it is the Best and Surest Remedy

Of all Chemists, l / l i , 2/9, and 4/6.

DON'T SNEEZE You can at once get rid Of that Cold by using

Dr. Mackenzie's CATARRH-CURE

Smelling: Bottle I t C u r e s Cold i n t h e H e a d a n d a r r e s t s C a t a r r h , R e l i e v e s Neuralgia in t h e Head, F a i n t n e s s , Dizziness. ARRESTS INFLUENZA. A SPECIFIC for HEADACHE. Sold by Chemists and Stores. Price One Shilling; or if unable to obtain, send 14 Stamps and ;t will be sent post free in the U.K. from the Proprietors,

Mackenzie's Cure Depot, Reading.




Is made Shorter and Pleasanter by using



Ko Internal Mechanism. Injury to Clothes Impossible. Easy and Durable. MONTH'S FREE TRIAL ALLOWED. Washing Machines from 35s. Mangling Machines ,, 25s. Carriage Free. Wringing Machines from 21s. Special Discount. Butter Churns. Butter workers. —v

Everything for the Dairy.

irrite far Illustrated Catalogue i.Vo. 27 L),

T H O S . B R A D F O R D & CO., M a n u f a c t u r e r s , 141-142, High Holborn, London; 130, Bold Street, Liverpool; * Deansgate, Manchester.


A case occurred


A LADY in the wash a g a r m e n t



LOST worth I O


by failing to use a 6d. Bottle of



which marks Linen Permanently Jet Black. NO HEAT REQUIRED. From Stationers and C/iemists, or DAVID FLEMING, Maker, 39, Penfield Street, GLASGOW.

The I90N METHOD WITHOCT OPERATION effects marvellous cures in Eve and Ear Diseases, Deaf­ ness in its varied form=. NoiBesintho Head and Ears. Ear Dischargesetc Write for testimonials and printed form of questions to he answered, sent free. Mr. ISON. OculWt and Anrist. Ison's Eve and Ear Dispen­ sary. Ltd.. 71. Gt. Geor?? ~t., Leeds. (Established IS" "

For more than Twenty-five years


have been universally admitted to be a boon. They are the best known remedy for Anirmia, Giddiness, Fulness, and Swellings after Meals, toss of Appetite. Hysteria, Palpitation of the Heart, Debility, Depression, Weakness. Boxes. 1/11, 3'9. ,4'tf, and 11/-. To be obtained from Chemists and Patent Medicine Vendor! everywhere, or direct fcom the Proprietor, 309, Portobello Road, dotting Hill, London, W. SampU $ent on receipt of stamp for postage,

An AutoStrop Razor Outfit is an ideal present to any man who does not wear a beard. However many razors he may possess, another one is never unwelcome, and it is more than ever acceptable when it is the razor which teaches him how to shave in comfort —the razor which gives him a clean close shave such as TO THE MAN WHO FEELS KIND TO HIMSELF—GIVE Y O U R S E L F AN A U T O S T R O P SAFETY R A Z O R .

he has never had before. So—give him an AutoSlrop. H e will use it every morning of the year, and every morning he will think of the donor with pleasure and gratitude. So—ask him for a penny - give him an AutoStrop— and wish him 366 pleasant shaves during 1912. T H E R E A R E T H E S E TWO SETS AND NINE O T H E R S , UP TO F I F T E E N GUINEAS. W R I T E F O R BOOKLET.


T H E R E are many safety razors, but only one that strops itself. With every other safety razor you must either be continually buying new blades—which is wasteful of money—or put them in a separate stropping machine— which is very wasteful of time. And with every other safety razor you must spend many minutes in cleaning it after every shave. THE

AitoStrop kAzoïl

strops itself in 12 seconds and is just as quick to clean. There is no fussing with the blade, no taking anything apart, but always the " barber's edge" which gives the barber's shave—clean, smooth, delightful. Mr. HIRAM PERCY MAXIM writes : " I have shaved with an AutoStrop "blade 151 consecutive shaves, and consider that the AutoStrop is " the only safety razor which is mechanically perfect and practical." Of every high-class dealer throughout the World. T H E AUTOSTROP SAFETY RAZOR CO., LTD., 61, N E W O X F O R D S T R E E T , LONDON. Also at Nov York, Toronto, Paris, Hamburg, Dublin, Sydney and Milan,



4: " Beauty is everywhere welcome guest."

a right -Goeth*

Among the articles used by the fair sex, perhaps none is more appreciated than a good complexion powder.

answers all the requirements of the jnost exacting user. It readily absorbs perspiration, and leaves the skin cool and fresh without that shiny look so much disliked by the lady who values her appearance. Exposure to wind or sun has no terrors for the user of Royal Vinolia Complexion Powder

as its application instantly removes all traces

of redness or roughness, imparting instead

a look of velvety softness that has a

charm all its own.



R.V.81- -28






CD CE PICTQ I W i , h e a c h C o m I » n a t i o n S e r v i c e we give B r e a d T r a y to m a t c h F R E E •ICC U l l 1 0 ! and with e a c h D i n n e r S e r v i c e we give C h e e s e D i s h t o m a t c h F Rn t E E 'olours a m i Gold, which ives full p a r t i c u l a r s a n d shows o u r P o t t e r y as i t really is, co ^»"B OUR CATALOCUE 5 S 3 K Ï ece6sary L_ " a i n a b l e a t such low cost. We should like for t h e household. P o t t e r y is uuobtaii you to see it. Let us post you one to-day.

I t is F R E E

The "PLEASU," in Special Royal Blue


a 1 /I § T I

53™ 9/6 PIECES

FOR Consisting of 6 Bkfst. Cups & Sers. 6 Tea Cups & Sers. 6 Breakfast P l a t e s .

6 Tea Plates.

6 Egg Cups, 1 Dish, i Teapot,l|pt. |i2in. 1 Cocoa J u g , 13 p i n t •J Cake Plates, 1 Milk 1 Slop Basin. [Jug. 1 Covered B u t t e r Dish. F i n i s h e d in -M Q B e s t Gold, I I/ D


15/9 Packed Free.


Finie bed,

20/e a m p l e Post Free, 6 d . W e G u a r a n t e e Satisfaction


Ltd., 5 8 , V I V I A N W O R K S , F E N T O N , STAFFS-1

• H H H

We pack









to any


of the





is sent to all p a r t s of t h e British Isles i n exchange for Old tiohl Jewellery Diamonds a n d Precious Stones, Sterling Silver a n d Sheffield P l a t e . P l a t i n u m . False Teeth, Old Snuff Boxes, and a n y article i n gold or silver. Send e v e r y t h i n g y o u bave to




I m m e d i a t e cash sent or offers m a d e .


Sample Box of 15 Assorted P e n s Post F r e e for 3 P e n n y Stamps.


JOSEPH GILLOTT & SONS, Graeechurch Street, London, E.C.

LEARN TO WRITE ADVERTISEMENTS AND EARN Jt5 PER WEEK­ T H E D I X O N I N S T I T U T E has a world-wide reputa­ tion for graduating men and women as experts who Can earn Jjfj weekly. T h e only Course jrivinp complete instruction in Advert.-Writing, Bust Management and Salesmanship. Write ' our free book, DepL 3 DIXON I H S T I T U T E , 195. Oxford S L, London, W

Fully Illustrated Price List sent on receipt of id. stamp T h e p r i c e list a l s o s h o w s t h e L a d i e s '

G a r m e n t s w h i c h a r e m i d e in t h e

C h i l p r u f e F a b r i c .



Now Ready.


v ye methods of ye Ancient ' " < W Wise Men oj till



Events, Changes, Fortunate D a y s ,

N u m b e r s , C o l o u r s , & c . B u s i n e s s G u i d ­

a n c e , P l a n e t a r y I n f l u e n c e o n f r i e n d s h i p ,

marriage, a n d important epochs. T w o

y e a r s ' G U I D E a d d e d F R E E if y o u

m e n t i o n t b i s M a g a z i n e .





At all


. o r a d d r e s s of n e a r e s t s h o p o n a p p l i c a t i o n .

U H D n C O n n C n U n U O u U r C


The Best that men can make or money can buy.


P E T T I C O A T S , D R A W E R S ,

B O D I C E S , N I G H T G O W N S ,

S L E E P I N G S U I T S , Se., Se.

The Fabric from which the

Chilprufe Garments are made

is U N S H R I N K A B L E

and consists only of P U R E

W O O L of the finest quality.

They are cut and finished

with the greatest care, giving

a perfect fit and charming



E s t a b l i s h e d over 60 years.






THOS. GOULD, Astrologer, Clare House, W h i t c h u r c h Rd., CARDIFF


THE HOBBY OF INTELLIGENCE]. If you require good_clean specimens a t moderate prices, write to—

A. & L. ST. AUBYN, "• " - a S M C


who will Bend you selections of rare or medium Stamps at less t h a n

one half catalogue prices.

COLLECTORS IN THE COLONIES AND ABROAD SUPPLIED. H i g h e s t P r i c e s p a i d for C o l l e c t i o n s a n d l o o s e S t a m p s . xxxviii

The Ways of Our Railways. By C H A R L E S H. GRINLING. Superbly

Illustrated Photographs

icith and

Two Hundred


5/- n e t . The Morning Leader: " I T IS A PERFECT MINE OF REFERENCE. M r . Grinling h a s made a d e l i g h t f u l b o o k , a n d it i s a r e a l a c h i e v e m e n t . I t tells u s e v e r y t h i n g w e a r e c a p a b l e of u n d e r s t a n d i n g a b o u t R a i l ­ w a y s , a D d h e h a s s u c c e e d e d i n k e e p i n g i t a b s o l u t e l y free from technicalities. J u s t t h e s o r t of b o o k t h a t p e o p l e o u g h t t o k e e p . F u l l of a m a z i n g f a c t s a n d f i g u r e s . " T h e R a i l w a y N e w s : " W e k n o w of n o o t h e r b o o k on British Railways which covers quite t h e same g r o u n d , u n l e s s it b e M r . A c k w o r t h ' s ' R a i l w a y s of E n g l a n d , ' written nearly twenty years a g o . " WARD, LOCK

& C o . , L T D . , Salisbury

Square, E.C.




226, OLD ST. and 53a, Cowpcr St., LONDON, EC. ( & S ™ U HOUSE,





FURNISH AT WHOLESALE PRICES DIRECT FROM FACTORY Latest Designs. Largest Selection. First Hand Prices.

- , . . : . . . : J t U K T O M SUITE. I INLAID SHERATON D E S I G N , consisting of 4 ft. WARDROBE, with two shaped bevelled Mirror Doors, long Drawerunder : 3 ft. 6 in. DRESSING C H E S T , Landscape Shaped Bevelled Mirror, and six Drawers ; 3 ft. 6 in. WASHSTAND, Marb'e Top, Marble Back, Cupboard under, TOWEL RAILS at side, and Two CHAIRS. Beautifully inlaid.

f \ A T A I ^ \ ^ I 1C V / A I A L U u U C .

with Prices and Terms POST FREE upon receipt of card mentioning "Windsor Magazine."




SPERMINUM is the natural source of health and vital strength isolated and purified from organic bases. In the form of the Essence, Spermin acts as a Reviver of Vital Energy, and so stimulate^ healthy body juices which resist disease and retard vital decline. Nervous Breakdown, Fatigue from Overwork, and Mental and P h y s i c a l E x h a u s t i o n brought about by Over-indulgence in Athletics will find a corrective in Poehl's Spermin Essence. It is of special Curative Value in all Disorders of the Blood, the Nerves, and the Heart.

Sold in original bDttles, under the warranty of the ORGA.NO-THERAPEUTIC I N S T I T U T B

of Professor VON POEHL & SONS, by all Chemists, at 8 / 6 per bottle.

Address /or /ret lit- rature—



A. & M. ZIMMERMANN (D^P,T) 3, Lloyd's Avenue, London, EX.







nl Every dog-cake wags a tall.




Dog & Pappy Cakes, Honnd Terrier and Pnppy Foods QUITE D I F F E K E N T

Simply send me a postcard or letter, and I will send you my Special 4/6 Treatment. IMC"




THAT DOCS NEED Sold bj *D Cor. MHUUOU, Croon»,

If you suffer from any form of Rheumatism or Gout, will you let me send you my common-sense treatment for curing uric acid complaints? I do not believe in ruining yourstomach by taking harmful drugs. Nature'swayofexpelling the uric acid poisons through the pores of the skin is the best, and working on this principle I have compounded an antiseptic plaster which draws the uric and lactic acid through the large sweat pores of the feet. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred relief is felt from the very minute you apply the plasters. Simply send me your name and address, and I will send you a regular 4/6 treat­ ment. If after wearing them you are satisfied, you can send me 4/6, but if not, don't

send me a penny. I will leave it to you. I will forfeit £100 to any person proving that my offer is not a genuine one, or that 1 have not left the decision regarding my treat­ ment entirely to you. Writeimmediatelyto R.A.OLIVER,



Pn» from Drag» or MeélcmmeaU ot may Had

MOLASSINE MEAL g i t » Horses Stamina

EGGS IN WINTER One of our customers writes that his 10 hens laid 91W eggs In 24 weeks, from Oct., 1910, to April, 1911, an average of over 4 eggs per hen every week. Let yourblrds do the same for you. Write for

FREE SAMPLE OF UVECO POULTRY FOOD giving your own and your dealer's name and address. Write now please. Uveco Cereals Ld. 32 Brunswick Bt.Uwpool

Yields the most perfect surface for

DANCING Simply requires sprinkling.


Sold by Chemists and Stores.

Tins, 1/-, unscented. Large tins, scented, 2 / - .

Post free, 1/3 and 2 / 3 .


T. WEST & SON, Stretford.Manehester.


For many years I was afflicted with a very humiliating growth of hair on my face. I

have discovered a sure and harmless remedy which permanently removes this embarrassing

growth, and acts directly upon the follicles, thereby exterminating root and branch ; it is

absolutely painless. I have treated hundreds of cases with perfect success. Write to me

in confidence for further particulars, and enclose stamp to pay postage. It is quite an

inexpensive treatment.

HELEN M. S. TEMPLE, 8, Blenheim St.,Oxford St., London, W



A Wonderful offer to readers of WINDSOR MAGAZINE. Write by the very next post and

one of these Charming Duchesse Covers (as illustrated) will be sentyoa as a specimen

of our Irish-made goods, with lista. The Duchesse is correct size. 40 by 10 ins., all white

hemstitched, with Fancy Insertion. Kindly state " Mrs." or " Miss " and address 11 ' full and enclose 2d. (or postage. {Colonial Reader*. International Coupons bd 1 TUK BRITISH LINEN COMPANY, New Oxford Street, London.



Guaranteed to Cure and Prevent Baldness.

Quickly stops the Hair falling out.

GOLDEN OIL HAIR TONIC makes the hair to grow from the first hour it is used. In eases of baldness, a g e or t h e duration of t h e baldness is no impediment to a complete c u r e . Were Golden Oil Hair Tonic jrenerally used, in two or llirec years

GOLDEN OIL H A I R TONIC is an ideal dressing for the Hair ol children. It not only ensures plentiful and beautiful Hair for me, nut .it is a certain cure for Dandruff, Ringworm and all disorders and discomforts of the scalp.

time there would be few, if any. bald-headed persons to be found in the community, and in a brief period the people of these Islands would be noted for the beauty and luxuriance of their Hair. • A I - k l C T C «bo use GOLDEN OIL HAIR TONIC for a L A v l C w few months will be charmed with the increased luxuriance and beauty of their Hair. GOLDEN OIL H A I R TONIC p r e v e n t s p r e m a t u r e g r e y ness, will not Injure t h e most sensitive skin.




GOLDEN OIL H A I R TONIC is not a dye, but a natural Hair l'Oori, which can be used with safely and advantage by all Too much cannot be said of its valuable properties ; it amply lustines its !he,,secab1p"àndaHSrlrUEN S P E C ' F f c L "«rythinlpVrS^'t'o



for Ladies

by Post,

a n d Gentlemen.

at Z/B, 4 6, 6, ­

T H E GOLDEN O I L CO., WARWICK, E N G L A N D ; a n d f r o m a l l C h e m i s t s . xl




The Choice of a Gift


This is no light matter, and we are faced with it often during the year. Why not do as many another : let your choice fall on a " SWAN " for any and every occasion, except when it is palpably inappro­ priate—say, for a young child ? For ANYONE else it is sure to be right— an aid to correspondence, study, or work. Once used it becomes a necessity of daily life, as does a watch. Try and think of even one of your friends who would not delight in a perfect pen.

The . . .





Prices from 10/6 Sold by Stationers



Write for


M A B I E , T O D D &» C o . , 79 & 80, High Holborn, London/W.C. 38, Cheapside, E.C. J 95a, Regent St., W., London ; 3, Exchange Street, Manchester; io,_ Rue Neuve, Brussels; Brentano's, 37, Ave. de l'Opéra, Paris ; and at New York and Chicago. N.B.—Use " S w a n " Ink—best for all Fountain or Steel Pens, 6d. and i s . , with filler. xii




"H« Is • m t, D with_ a 7 peculiar ' far-seeing gift," Baya lodern f Society. Dr. R. Mar* ' ouche, M.D., B.Sc. ; *'The ac"curacy with which "he depicted my life, r facts known only to ' rryself, leaves me some^ what perplexed.'' Capt.A. R.Walker, f R.E.: "Told me of events R u b 's tmy o v emost blackintimate o r l n k on the friends thum b s , press oncognizant p a p e r ; of, send, /could not be ami ' w i t h things birth are d a thappening e and tim e (il exactly ' k n o w nas) ,hea P.O. for; Iins .Bpite for cost ol foretold of the " c h a r t .factA that c , theohasbnever e s e seen n t , me," and f s t a m p e d envelope. I Will give

f you a

' F R E E READING OF YOUR LIFE from chart to advertise my success.

PB0F. I. ZAZRA, 9 *^» 8 .'-

A Professional Man w r i t e s : YOU


Brooks' Appliance is a new scientific dis­ covery witQ automatic air cushions that draw the broken parts together, and bind them as you would a broken limb. I t absolutely holds firmly and comfortably, and never slips. Always light and cool, and conforms to every movement of the body without chafing or hurting. I make it to your measure, and send it to you on a strict guarantee of satisfaction or money refunded, and I have put my price so low that anybody, rich or poor, can buy it. Remember, 1 m;ike it to your order—send it to you—y<>u wear it—and if it doesn't satisfy you, send it back to me, and I will refund your money, 'lhat is the way I do business-always absolutely on the square —and I have sold to thousands of people this way for the past ten years. IU-member, I use no Barres, no harness, no li-.-s, no fakes. I just give you a straight business deal at a reasonable price. W r i t e a t once for m y I l l u s t r a t e d Booklet.

C. E. BROOKS, 371, Bank Bldgs., Kingsway, London,W.C.

This distressing disfigurement can easily be cured at a trifling cost by a unique and remarkable treatment. It does not entail the slightest inconvenience, and is so sure and harmless that thiB disfigurement can be removed easily in a few days. Write for particulars, enclosing stamp to pay postage.

Mr. A. E. TEMPLE, 8, Blenheim St, Oxford St., London, W.











6 Cannon Street, LONDON, B.C.








The Young Wife's Advice Book. Edited by GEORGE BLACK, M.B.Edin.,

Price List Free.

and other Eminent Authorities. A Guide for Mothers on Health and Self-Manage ment, and the Care of the Baby. Thoroughly up-to-daie with latest medical information and advice.

C HEAP & CO., 14 & 15, Leicester S t , London, W.C. • | | g a A i^L_ M ^ ^ r ^ s s W • I • 2^fc I ^kaV "^ ^ ^^ ^• ^^

I will send you F R E E a bottle of a famous London Physician's Remedy for F I T S and all forms of Epilepsy. Oze'rine has cured permanently the- very worst cases whe whenn everything else had failed. cases From the first dose Fits usually cease. Thousands of Testimonials. 25 years' in­ variable success in all parts of the world. A post card sent now will bring the Remedy by return, without charge or obl'gation.—I. W. NICHOLL.Phar. Chern.(Dp.5o},2 5l High St., Belfast.

The Mother's Advice Book. By Dr. HARRY ROBERTS. A Guide to the Management of Children, their feeding, clothing, education, and training ; and on the symptoms and treatment of the diseases and complaints of childhood.


W A R D , LOCH & Co., Ltd., Salisbury Square, London, E.C.

'TVTIH^TT'W A. •AT*'WlH>,rVr*rfcT i X H / t l A1 \ . » J . n . MLfUF N L



For all Exhausted, Debilitated, and Enfeebled Conditions of the Nervous System and consequeut failing of the Physical, Mental, and Vital Energies. s~-y v v „ , Feeds, Strengthens, and Sustains the Nerves, Prevents Losses and // ft „t iTJjf^^fMy^ Waste of Vitality, Creates Nervous Fluid, Brain Matter and Nerve Force. CURES Nervous Breakdown, Brain Fag, Premature Decay, and all fo ms of Neurasthenia. There's no room to-day for worn-out, broken-down men. If you feel played out, weak, and shaky, you cannot go the pace, and you're not fit for the battle of life. N E U R A S T H E N O L restores the S m p and Vigour of Youth, and will give you a new lease of life, It is the finest remedy you can possibly have for General Weakness, Low Spiiits, Debility, and Neurasthenia. G. M., Reigate, Surrey, writes : " Please sentiraeanother bottle of your Neurasthenol as I am nearly run out I muBt say it is n wonderful meilieine. I am feeling much different since I have been taking it I feel better now than I have done for years ; in fact it is building me up splendidly."

Price 8/6 per bottle, or three bo ties (a six weeks' course of treatment) sent Carriage Paid on receipt of £ 1 2 s N E U R A S T H E N O L C O . , 60, Oreat Russell Street, BRADFORD, YORKS, England. Write for Booklet, "All about Neurasthenol."


_ _

. [Copyright.






R U S C H E N S A L T S , a Diuretic Aperient of great natural tonic properties, direct from the famous mineral springs where, by a peculiar process of evaporation, it is only to be obtained. Simple in use, and remarkable in results, Kriischen Salts is indispensable to all who would realise the vigour and glow of splendid vitality and health. A half-teaspoonful taken in a tumbler of hot water before breakfast for a few days will afford the utmost beneficence, cleansing the blood, stimulating the organs, and generally invigorating the system. Liebig, the renowned French Chemist, discovered in Kriischen Salts seven of the essentials to life.

ONE SIZE-ONE PRICE-i/6 PER BOTTLE. Of all Chemistsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;or Sample Bottle, 1/6, direct post free (U.K.) from the Importer :â&#x20AC;&#x201D;

E. GRIFFITHS HUGHES, chemist, 17, Deansgate, Manchester.



MAGAZINE " -tfyj»»

T H E professions of to­ day and of the future axe Electrical and Mechani­ cal Engineering, in which good pay is given and trained men are always in demand. Upon request we will-send you F R E E our full explanatory book, •• HOW TO BECOME AN ELECTRICAL OR MECHANICAL ENGINEER."

All t h e m o s t Beautiful W o m e n u s e


Write to-day for a copy. We train you in the following : Complete E l e c t r i c a l E n g i n e e r i n g , S h o r t E l e c t r i c a l Course, E l e c t r i c a l Engineering t A d v a n c e d ) , E l e c t r i c Light a n d P o w e r , E l e c t r i c T r a m ­ w a y s (Special t, Building C o n s t r u c ­ tion, S a n i t a r y E n g i n e e r i n g , Ac.


FOR PREVFNTINO Wrinkles, for Ri:sTORiNG«miBEAnTiFTiNoike Complexion i t is unequalled. BLOTCHES, CHAPS, FRECKLES, R E D N E S S , ROUGHN E S S , S U N B U R N disappear as if by magic. M O T O R I S T S find It INVALUABLE Use a/so POUDRE SIMON Refuaed, Delightful, Absolutely pare.


Of all Chemists, Hairdressers Perfumers and Stores.

446E. Norwich Home, Southampton Row, Holborn, London, W.C.

W A R D , L O O K &* OO.'S


A Picture Annual for B o y s a n d Girls. EIGHTH


Cro7vn \to, Picture Boards, Gilt Binding,


Twelve 300



3-r. 6d.

In handsome Cloth

Coloured Plates.

264 Pages.


U R O M the first issue of this favourite Annual the constant aim has been to present for the delight and entertainment of the little ones THE BEST, AND ONLY T H E BEST, in picture, verse, and story. T h e T W E L V E C O L O U R E D P L A T E S are all dainty works of art. The full-page and other tinted drawings in the text number nearly T H R E E H U N D R E D , making the volume the most sumptuous gift-book for children issued at a moderate price. WARD, LOCK

& C O . , L T D . , SALISBURY




Know Your Destiny



from every class of society (from nobility downwards, prove the exactitude and fidelity of ray Horoscopes. My results absolutely establish the reliability of ASTROLOGY— the most ancient of all sciences. Let me prov provie it to you. I will send a TEST HOROSCOPE, comprising seven pages and cover, ou ge. S i m p l y give d a t e , m o n t h , a n d y e a r of B i r t h , a n d t i m e if k n o w n. Mv full receipt of 1 - P.O. and Id. stamp for postagi î to sori.>tv leaders, IN.1I titans, aiitli^rs. business men, &r. I»o not neglect the opiH»rtunitv of V - i r i l W U " . ' « Hornscopes have proved of infinité service» I M / I N r V D C T T I D U m T V U J I D A O J - l A n o . 0 • • > . . _ . » . . £ . investigation, YOUR H O N EAugust13th. Y R E T U R1911. N E D II.FS.HOROSCOPE I S UNTRUE.' 6834. Sept. 25th, 1911. LADY W . but 5 1 1send 3 . to-day. " The Horoscope received ; marwlJotts in its fidelity, and far srring.'' ' A re yon sure yon do not Jbtoir HIP, readimi M) exactly true i " Oct. m i l . 1911. T. J . W . 6556. H . R. 5945. Sept. 30th. 19)1. 1 on have given me a fu-m start MI life, and my success is "Am "tleil with amazement ami <ur, ut the truth, of my llorvs entirely dne to your teondtrfnl kmnrledge." cope ; it M indeed a guide." Mr. NEWTON VERITY [M.D.], 58, L u d g a t e H i l l , L o n d o n , E.C l







" T H E refinement and appearance generally lacking in the ordinary fire-grate are truly represented in the "Carron " selection of choice models.

Oldest Established








impart to the room that characteristic dignity so long associated with grates of " Carron • manufacture. They are distinctly unique in style and finish, and diffuse throughout the room a steady and com* fortable warmth.







JÏÏ Mantels, Registers, Dog

T I Grates, Interiors, Recessesy

&c, in many sizes and


Sold by all Ironmongers and Hardware Merchants, Write to-day for No. so Longden Firegrate Catalogue, free, -which gives full particulars.

in the


illustrated Catalogue post free of


B World-wide reputation for 3

excellence of


W . R. GROSSMITH, 110, S T R A N D , L O N D O N . <Telephone : No. 14978 CENTHAL.)


Remarkable discovery that will interest every man and woman suffering from involuntary Blushing.

and at Phcenix Foundry, Sheffield. A complète assort, ment of CARRON Manufactures on view at the followtug Showrooms : London (City), 15, Upper Thames St., E.C. ; (West End) 23 Princes Street, Cavendish Sq.. W. and 3. Bemers St., W. Liverpool, Manchester, Bristol, Newcastle-on. Tyne, Birmingham, Edinburgh, Glasgow and Dublin.

EFFECTIVE TREATMENT THAT PERMANENTLY REMOVES THE CAUSE. Men and women who suffer from involuntary blushing need no longer despair. Out of a mass of failures has come a genuine success. Their self-consciousness can be so thoroughly removed that they themselves will wonder if they ever really had this embarrassing complaint. Mr. K. S. Temple is the scientist who has formulated this marvellous home method that cures to stay cured. The treatment he prescribes goes to the very root of the disease, and cures it, so that the frequent blushing and flushing becomes a thing of the past. Mr. K. S. Temple wishes it understood that his method of cure is different entirely to the many others which have given only temporary relief. This new method is a simple home treatment that members of either sex can easily follow to a perfectly satisfactory issue, i.e., a permanent cure. By sending your name and address, and enclosing stamp to

pay postage, to Mr. K. S. TEMPLE ( S p e c i a l i s t ) , 8, B l e n h e i m St., Bond St., London, W., you will

receive full description of this remarkable method which will enable men and women, previously nervous and shy, now to take their places in Society with pleasure and ease, and get greater profit from J»» |P% f f their business. The description is posted ^™ W^ F " If™ _ to you free, in a perfectly plain sealed en­ _ " ^ ™ ^ ^ velope, and you should have no hesitancy p in writing. You will be delighted to learn how easily you can be permanently relieved of blushingand flushing of the face and neck, and it will pay you to write to-day ; don't neglect to do so. x]v








6ffl Books for Bops ana Girls.



HAPPY HEARTS. Demy 4to. Picture Boards, 3s.; Cloth Binding, 4s. 180 Pages. Over 200 Illus­ trations. 11 Coloured Plates. T H E comical pictures by W. Heath Robinson, John Hassail, Thomas Maybank, and other famous artists, will delight the grown-ups as well as the children. The amusing stories, funny rhymes, and quaint drawings make this volume quite distinct from any other on the market.






Crown 4to. Picture Boards, 3s. 6d. ; Ii handsome Cloth Gilt Binding, Ss. 12 Plates in Colour. 300 Illustrations. 264 Pages.

Crown 4to. Picture Boards. 3s. 6d. In hand­ some Cloth Gilt Bindings. Ss. 264 Pages. 300 Ilustrations. 12 Coloured Plates. T H I S handsome volume is not merely a picture book, or a story book, or a natural histo'y book, but a blend of all three, with many entertaining and instructive features. It is entirely concerned with animals, and is a, gift book appropriate to every season of the year and to every occasion

T H I S book is intended first of all to entertain, but in entertain­ ing it instructs. It has scores of interesting, chatty articles about engines, signals, tunnels, and so on, mingled with merry rhymes and anecdotes and thrilling stories of railway adventure. WARD,


& C O . , L I M I T E D , SALISBURY S Q U A R E , L O N D O N ,







and Sweet


Players Navy Cut

Ï' :V.--:

'V:. ,

TobaCCO and



1111 WmM






n Prehistoric Times had none of the fascination that modelling with


PLASTICINE has. There is No Mess, No Trouble, No Preparation. The Material is Always Ready for use. There are 6 Colours, and the

HOME OUTFITS are complete with Tools, Boards, &c.

THE COMPLETE MODELLER BOX contains the 5 Colours and everything necessary to start modelling right away. Price, post free, 2/10.

BUILDER BOX. Specially suited for Making Models of Houses or Castles, with BrickMaker, Trowel, Roller, Tile-Cutters, &c. Post free, 5/6.

H O U S E K E E P E R BOX, with Knives, Forks, Spoons, Plates, Rolling-Pin, Pastry Cutters, &c (ireat Fun in the Nursery for Doll's Parties. Post free, 2 / 4 .

WM. HARBUTT, A.R.C.A.,, 32, Bat Hampton, Bath.


No. 1 Model.

New No. 5.

From C I 5 to ^ 2 0 .

You may PA Y more, but you cannot "BUY more !


Royal Typewriter Co., 75a, Queen Victoria St., EX. Tel. 4785 London Wall. xlviii



Will Buy a Xmas or New Year's Gift that your Friends will appreciate—A British made

ilvrrtown B _

Fountain Pen

It is made of the highest grade vulcanite, and fitted with a M-ct. gold nib that gives years of constant wear. Writes easily and freely without any trouble* Ask your Stationer to show you the 5s. " Silvertown and the 10s. 6d. gold mounted "Silvertown," which is larger and has a double channel underfeed. Made by The India Rubber Co., Silvertown, London, E. Write for free copy of an entertaining booklet entitled " Pens of all Ages" ; it shows the evolution of the writing implement from the prehistoric flint to the perfect fountain pen of to-day.



[JOHN BOND'S "CRYSTAL PALACE" WITH OR WITHOUT HEATINC. WHICHEVER MARKING INK U | | | n I C D D C E E D D C n Awarded 45 GOLD Medals and Royal n l l l U I d rllCXCillllEUi Appointments for Superiority.



The superior advantages to comfort, health, and security a t home or when travelling, make

Southalls' Towels

indispensable to every woman. Endorsed by highest medical authorities as a real safeguard to health. Southalls' Towels cost less than washing and are obtainable of ail Drapers, Chemists, etc., in packets of one dozen at 6d„ 1/-, 1/6 fit 2/-. A F R E E S A M P L E for personal test may be obtained from the Lady Manager, 17, Bull Street, Birmingham.

Are Yoti Deaf ? II so, you can be relieved by using


A new scientific invention, entirely different in construction from all other devices. Assist the deaf when all other devices fail, and where medical skill haa given no relief. They are soft, comfortable, and invisible ; have no wire or string attachment. WRITE FOB PAMPHLET. Mention this Magazine.

Wilson Ear-Drum Co. & g ^ | f f i | f f ^

Exterminated by



without danger to other animals and without smell from dead bodies. In tins ready prepared with the bait. Virus for Kate, 2/6 and 6/- ; for Mice, 1 6 . Of all Chemists. Write for particulars to— S O N S L E S C H E R & W E B B , Ltd., WM, 56 Hanover Street, LIVERPOOL.






Contains a Complete Record of Events, Ancient, Mediceval and Modern, British and Foreign, from the Earliest Times. 25th









My word ! Aren't we busy !


^" ^ G G & j /M ILK $ OFFEE


•Mi; < "^ '*. &P


MILK Overflowing with Coodness. Brimful of Nutriment.

MM („•­

ilJ»*;-»! i I






CLEANER The'Baby' Daisy



The question of the need of a Vacuum Cleaner

has been settled upon the ground of Health and

Cleanliness in the home. The only point is, which

Cleaner ? The " Daisy " has scientific construction,

thorough workmanship, easy portability, and reason­

able cost to recommend it in preference to others.






E&fs*" " W H O SAID DUST? >t



Leamington Road, Gravelly Hill, Birmingham.


One Person can do the work.






„ 4 ^ ^ i ­

"Run Your Own Train Service." It is quite time to be thinking about Xmas Presents. What will you give the boys ? Something that will not only interest but instruct. The Present that best fulfils these requirements is a Bassett- l.owke Model Railway. Reproductions of the British Railways made to scale, they are a positive delight to the boys, and father and mother will find much to interest them. Real steam engines, rails, points, stations, signals, &c, that will keep the boys happy for hours and provide riroblems that will cultivate their observation and reasoning faculties. There isn't a better Present. And the cost need not be great. Engines can be had for as low as 3 / 6 ; and others at all prices. One of the special designs for tin's year is a Scale Model G.W. Railway Express Locomotive made in three sizes, Nos. Ij in., 2in., 2J in. Gauges, "t'ounty of Northampton," with brass boiler, steel frames, double action cylinders, reversing motion worked from cab, safety valve, spring buffers, whistle, automatic lubricator in smoke box, vaporising spirit lamp, 4c. Send for free illustrated booklet. No. 22, "Run Your Own Train Service." Any E"f Itlie models can be seen at our London Showrooms: 112, High Holborn, W.C:



" W I N D S O R " MISCELLANEOUS " VIX " DRESSING for Oilskins. Men­ tion colour, u . 6d. of Vix Company, Basinghall Street, London.



STAMPS F R E E !— Twenty different King's Head Colonials. Gift 203 ; send id. postage. Approvals 50% discount.— J. Wheeler & Co., 124, Lennard Road, lieckenham, Kent.

BURGESS* LION OINTMENT has a world-wide reputation for curing UL­ C E R S , ABSCESSES, T U M O U R S . CORNS. BUNIONS, CHILBLAINS, RHEUMATISM CURED. Ointment 1/2. P I L E S , FISTULA, every form of SKTN —Chiropodist, 85, Regent St., London. DISEASE. Thousands of testimonials. Of Chemists, I / I * , or post free P.O. E. Burgess, 59, Gray's Inn Road, STAMMERING effectually Cured by Correspondence or Personally. Treatise London. lent free.—N. H . Mason,30, Fleet Street, London. Established 1876. STAMPS F R E E Ï—Grand set 6 Denmark ïo.07, 5 to 100 ore (King Frederick) ; send id. postage. Mention Gift B 282.— S T A M P S F R E E . — Nine unused Colonials—Bermuda, Gwalior, Zanzibar, Bright & Son, 164, Strand, W.C. Hong Kong, East Africa, Mauritius, MATERNITY SKIRTS made to measure Barbados, Leeward and Turks Is.—to " with self-adjusting band, giving figure each adult collector sending id. ; abroad an ordinary appearance, from 12/11, 6d. ; 500 mounts, id.—Empire Stamp Catalogues and Patterns free.—Mana­ Co., Thornton Heath. geress, Wood Bros., 33, North Parade, Manchester. HOTELS.

HARROGATE, YORKS.-CAW­ BRIDGE PRIVATE H O T E L . - F i r s t ­ class. Recently enlarged and redeco­ rated. Ideal position. Electric light, and replete with every comfort. Table d'Hûte 7. Separate tables. Special Terms Winter Months. Under personal supervision of the Proprietress, Mrs. Snow. Telegrams : " S n o w , Harrogate."



Beautifully situated at the head of Lake Derwent water and the entrance to Borrowdale. Quiet and restful, sheltered from east wind. Coach to Bullermere daily. Electric launches and boats on lake. Good fishing. Billiards. Electric light. Garage. Motor spirit. 'Bus meets all trains and coaches at Keswick. Telegrams: " Lodore, Keswick." Tele­ phone : No. 2, Keswick, G.P.O — Proprietor, J. S. Harker.

POST CARDS post free per return Post. LONDON.-IMPERIAL HOTEL, LIZARD. C O R N W A L L . - H O U S E L —Paris Salon, Paris Actresses and Paris BAY HOTEL.—Most scutherly hotel Russell Square. 600 Rooms. From 5/-, Professional Beauties. Collection for in Great Britain. Commands magnificent including Breakfast. 2/6, or two Paris Salon Silver Prints for views of the coast, and is the only hotel 1/9.—G. Verdollin, 7, rue Yvon Villar­ BRIDGE OF ALLAN HYDRO.-Home situated close to the sea and beautiful ceau, Paris. Housel Bay beach. Golf, bathing, Comforts. Entertainments. Baths, &c. boating, fishing, billiards. Motor car Terms 52/6 weekly. STANDARD POSTAGE STAMP CATA­ service to and from Helstone Station LOGUE.—1912 edition now ready. 520 BRUSSELS-PENSION RUSSELL & (G.W.R.). Tariff on application to the FAMILY HOTEL, 15&37, meDefacqz, pages, 4,000 illustrations, 2/- post free. Manageress. Avenue Louise. — First-class Pension, New Stamp Albums for 1912 in great charming English home, excellent cook­ variety. Descriptive lists gratis.—Whit­ ing, liberal table, perfect sanitation, bath­ field King & Co., Ipswich. rooms, smoking-room, small garden. L L A N D U D N O . — B R Y N - Y - M O R BOARDING ESTAB.—Splendid posi­ Charges moderate. English, French, FITS CURED.—Proof positive supplied, tion. Facing sea. Overlooking pier German, and Italian spoken. post free, by Trench's Remedies, Ltd. and promenade. South aspect. Moderate (Dept. W), South Frederick Street, and inclusive terms. Telephone 292.— Dublin. Pamphlet explains simple GUERNSEY. - THE RICHMOND.- Under the personal supervision of the home treatment ; 25 years' success. Proprietresses, Misses Davey. Write for illustrated tariff.

When corresponding with advertisers please mention •' Windsor






For Drink and Drus Habits. (Established over 18 years). TRUTH






Filed records of over 10,000 successful cases open t o inspection by bona, f i d e enquirers, a t a n y t i m e , a t t h e Association's Offices. Advantages:—(I) Simplicity. (2) Efficacy, (3) In­ (4) Supported v o l v e s n o subcutaneous injection. by the medical profession. (5) N o t only suppresses the craving for stimulants, but bas a beneficial effect o n the general health and nervous system. (6) Does not interfere with work or the ordinary daily routine. (7) Can be carried out at the patient's own home, or at Sanatorium near London, (8) Moderate fees, t o suit all classes o f Society.

A LONDON DOCTOR s t a t e s : — " I have no hesitation in stating that your treatment effects everything that is claimed for it, and I consider it the only method worthy of medical attention. The results, extending over a number of years, are absolutely permanent." " M a n y remedies, chiefly in the form of patent medicines, have be*n extensively advertised in this country, but on b^ing tested or examined they have bsen found worthless. But there is an outstanding exception—the system known as the T U R V E Y

" T h e effi cacy of the Turvey Treatment has been amply demonstrated."—CHURCH



For p a r t i c u l a r s or a d v i c e (free), apply t o T H E MEDICAL



TURVEY ASSOCIATION, LTD., 2, Harewood Place, Hanover Square, London, W., from whom also an interesting pamphlet (27th edition) may be obtained, post free, on application. Telegrams:—" TURVERT, LONDON."


Telephone:—No. 3406 MAYFAIR.


For Neuritis, Neurasthenia, Nervous Debility, &c.


Sweet-Pea Blossom Night-Scented Stock Lily of the Valley Wallflower

Red Rose Violet Carnation Honeysuckle

From 2d. to 2/6 each. Send Stamp for Illustrated Price List. Sold by leading Stationers. Perfumers, Chemists, and Stores.

W. F. CHARLES, Zenobia Laboratories, Loughborough. THE PIANOFORTE SIGHT-READING SCHOOL,

157, New Bond Street, London, W.,

Bends correspondence lessons in the well-known


j g p u v




to all parts of the United Kingdom and the

Colonies. The System is recommended hy

Mr. Landon Ronald, Principal of the Guildhall

School of Music : Dr. Borland, Musical AdviBer

to-the Education Department of the London County

Council, and other eminent mubioians. Pupils say the results are "excellent"—"splendid"

"perfectlysatisfactory." ,

For particulars and terms, address as above








This " G Y R O " T O P C L I M B S and runs 100 yards ith one spin—endless races, &c.j can be arranged. Top, with_ 5 ., ith 10 ft. aerial track, as shown each. **>'» 5/- ; extra tops, 1 -

pleasure—splendid ft. track, i/~; with 35 ft. spiral mono­ Mono-rail car, 2/6.

You may have reasons and objections to wearing a

Bandeau in your hat, and no wonder, for until recently

nearly all Bandeaux caused great discomfoit to the wearer ;

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Zhe Winbsot fll>aga3tne. No. 204.

CONTENTS. All rights


" A PAGEANT OF CHILDHOOD" (Coloured plate) THE MANCHESTER CITY ART GALLERY With reproductions of pictures by a number of artists. " T H E HIRELING S H E P H E R D " (Coloured plate) " T H E LIGHTHOUSE" (Coloured plate) "VICTORY, 0 LORD!" (Coloured plate) "AUTUMN LEAVES" (Coloured plate) THE ROPE Illustrated by A. J. GouGH. A SOLDIER'S CHRISTMAS Illustrated by A. WALLis MILLS. A CHRISTMAS TRIOLET THE HARVEST MOON AT LOLO

T. Ç. Gotch. Frontispiece Austin Chester, William Holman Hunt Stanhope A. Forbes, A.Ji.A. Sir John Everett Millais, Bart., l'.R.A. P.It.A. Sir John Everett Millais, Bart., ... Eden Phillpotts Owen Olieer


Justus Miles Forman

34 35

Charles J. L. Clarice


Albert Kinross


Elisabeth B. Piercy Austin Philips and Madge S. Smith

60 61




Illustrated by DUDLEY HARDY.



Edgar Vine Hall 70 Illustrated by CHARLES PEARS. ... Ellen Terry 71 ON A BONFIRE OF LOVE-LETTERS STAGE DECORATION (Coloured plate) 75 With reproductions of pictures by a number of artists, and photographs.



86 MR. F . R. BENSON AS HENRY V. (Coloured plate) Herbert Morrah 91 MRS. F. R. BENSON AS CONSTANCE IN " K I N G J O H N " (Coloured plate) ... THE STARRY WAY S. Macnaughtan 102 Illustrated by G. C. WILMSHURST. THE PICTURE C. Fox Smith 100 Illustrated by STEVEN SPURRIER.




~ ...

H. B.


107 115 116

Illustrated by ALEC BALL.

WHEN I START DREAMING ignes Grozier Ilerbertson 123 FREEDOM IN CAPTIVITY: THE NEW ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS AT ROME Nellie Hadden, F.Z.S. 124 Illustrated by the Author. " A SELECT COMMITTEE" (Coloured plate) Henry Stacy Marks, R.A. 127 " S T A R T L E D " (Coloured plate) Arthur Ward!» AN INTERNATIONAL ARRANGEMENT Robert B Illustrated by CYRUS CUNEO. [Continued on next paye.

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135 LONDON SEA-GULLS Frederic Leather 136 MAC'S MISFORTUNE Illustrated by THOMAS MAVBANK. 141 ENGLAND'S STORY IN PORTRAIT AND PICTURE. XXIV. T H E R E I G N OF E L I Z A B E T H With reproductions of pictures by a number of artists. E. F. Benson 157 HOW FEAR DEPARTED FROM T H E LONG GALLERY Illustrated by FKED PEGRAM.

Gerald Villiers-Stuart


THE JOB-WATCHERS TROUBLE AT THE STATION Illustrated by LEWIS BAUMER. THE CALL OF T H E WILD THE CHILD AND HIS DUMB FRIENDS With reproductions of pictures by a number of artists. '•CHORUS, GENTLEMEN!" (Coloured plate) " O N E OF T H E FAMILY"' (Coloured plate) THE PHILHARMONIC SOCIETY AND ITS CENTENARY Illustrated. " A LIVELY MEASURE" (Coloured plate) " A ROMANCE" (Coloured plate) THE ANGEL TAVERN "


Hansard Watt 170 ... Barry Pain 171 ... Dorothy Frances Gurnet/ 174 Laurence Noith 175 Arthur J. Ehley 177 F. G. Cotman, R.I. 178 S. L. Bensusan 181 ... Seymour Lucas, R.A. 187 John II. Bacon 188 Halliwell Sutcliffe 193 203

Illustrated by T. DUGDALE.

THE EDITOR'S SCRAP-BOOK of " The Windsor Magazine," post free to any part of the world, 9 s . 6 d . YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION At newly reduced postage rate to Canada, 7 s . 6cL Entered as Second-Class Hatter at the New York, N.T., Post Office, May Ulh, 1903.

Registered at tlte G. P.O. for transmission by the new Canadian Magazine Post.

Manu of the original drawings from which the illustrations in the following pages are reproduced, are for sale. Terms on application. \All MSS. (which should be type-written) and Drawings submitted must bear the names and addresses of the senders and. be accompanied by a stamped addressed envelope or stamps: otherwise they will not be considered. The Editor does not hold himself responsible for the safety of any contributions forwarded for his inspection. All communications must be addressed, " The Editor, ( Windsor Magazine,' Warwick House, Salisbury Square, £.(?."]



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To BOND'S, LIMITED, Windsor, Dec. 138, N e w Bond St., London, E n g l a n d . I enclose 18/6 for a Kinora and Strike this out if Booh specimen reel, with the right to have only desired. the price allowed in exchange if I select a larger model Kinora. I also enclose the necessary postage (6d. in United Kingdom and postage on 7 lbs. abroad). Free of charge, please send me the Golden Book of Motion Photography. Name Address,


The Keeley Treatment

For the Cure of Alcohol and Drug


This cure h a s been u n d e r t h e c o n s t a n t observation of an H o n o r a r y C o m m i t t e e of P e e r s and p r o m i n e n t G e n t l e m e n for t h e last sixteen y e a r s . During t h a t t i m e t h e late Canon Fleming has been c h a i r m a n of t h e C o m m i t t e e . Among t h e o t h e r m e m b e r s of t h e C o m m i t t e e a r e t h e Right Honourable Lord M o n t a g u of Beaulieu, T h e Hon, H. W. F o r s t e r , M . P . , The Rev. R. J. Campbell, M.A., Richard Burbidge, Esq., and o t h e r s . In t h e i r last r e p o r t t h e y have u n a n i m o u s l y affirmed t h a t t h e i r confidence in t h e Keeley T r e a t m e n t is complete. This Report can be had free on application t o t h e Secretary. So great has been the success of the Keeley After carefully inquiring into the history of each Treatment that the hundred-and-one imitations patient, and making a thorough physical examination, and substitutes which have sprung up in its path they treat each case according to the condition of the are but a natural consequence. patient. However, the Keeley Treatment is not an No constitution is too delicate for the Keeley experiment, as are the imitations and substitutes, Treatment. but a tried and true success which in the last Patients are given the utmost freedom ; there is twenty years has won its way by its cures. absolutely no confinement, and, until the remedies " T r u t h "says : " T h e r e are Drink Cures before render it unnecessary, they are allowed their usual the public, the efficacy of which is vouched for by amount of alcohol or drugs. credible testimony, as, for example, the Keeley About one-third of the patients are ladies, all of Institute. But there are some rank swindles." whom have apartments outside the Institute, of their own selection.

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have taken the treatment, among them 17,000 physicians. Does not this fact alone speak volumes ? And twenty per cent, of our patients come through the recommendation of their family physician. It is a well-recognised fact that Inebriety is a stubborn disease and cannot be cured with a few selfadministered home- remedies, but, to effect a cure, must be more carefully treated than almost any other disease. The Keel&y Treatment is always administered by physicians who have made a special study of Inebriety.

" It Really Cures." " I t really cures. It does what it professes to do." Such is the emphatic testimony of Mr. EardleyWilmot, the well-known secretary of the Church of England Temperance Society. The treatment takes four weeks for alcohol (for drugs five to six weeks), and is carried out* in the United Kingdom only at The Keeley Institute, 9, West Bolton Gardens, London, S.W. (Telephone 427 Western), or by special arrangement we can send one of our physicians to the patient's own home, or to travel with patient

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Tlie pictures reproduced, by permission of the Corporation of Manchester, from photographs published by Eyre & Sjwttiswoode.


the continuity and development of landscape, from Richard Wilson, whom the catalogue is probably right in describing as the first English landscape-painter of conspicuous merit, to Hughes-Stanton, whom we take as the latest recruit to that branch of art represented in this collection. Between these two names come those of Millier, Morland, Bough, Nasmyth, Crome, Cox, Cotmau, Constable, Palmer, Creswick, Varley, Turner, De Windt, Dawson, Aumônier, Peter Graham, Buxton Knight, Mason, North, Cecil Lawson, Dawson, MaeWhhter, Leslie Thomson, Ernest Waterlow, Lnmonia Birch, D. Y. Cameron, Vicat Cole, Alfred East, David Farqnharson. Joseph Farquharson, Mark Fisher, George Wetherbee, Clarence

HE Manchester City Art Gallery, of the foundation and early records of which we told the history some years ago, may fairly be held to have accomplished the aim for which it was established—that is, to be representative of the British School of.Painting. Some few gaps have yet to be filled, for it lacks a Fred Walker, an Albert Moore, and a Whistler — who indirectly belongs to England—and the Orchardson it possesses is not a really fine example of that great painter's work. There is, however, as Mr. Phythian says, in an admirably-arranged catalogue, a gradual filling up of gaps, as opportunity occurs, by purchase, by gift, and by bequest. With but few exceptions, the gallery shows 1911-12.

No. 204.





Whaite, Arnesby Brown, and Adrian Stokes â&#x20AC;&#x201D;a goodly array. The sea is represented by the work of Brett, Henry Moore, Colin Hunter, Hook, Maculhim, Sheffield, Ellis, Sir Augustus Calleott, and David Murray.


Portraiture extends from Loly, the mighty proud man " who was naturalised by Court favour and1 1knighted by Charles II., to William Orpen, and embraces specimens of the work of Gainsborough, Raeburn,

MAGAZINE. Romney, Reynolds, Jackson, James Ward, Archer, Bradley, Dance, Colvin Smith, Sir (ieorge Reid, W. W. Unless, (i. P. Watts, and Lavery. Sargent, as it happens, appeal's in this collection not as a portraitpainter, but, in "Albanian Olive Gatherers,"


joins the ranks of rural subject painters represented, and admirably so by Clausen' La Thangue, Stanhope Forbes Hornel' Charles Shannon, and Edward Stott. The most distinguishing feature of the



Reproduced from the large plate published by the Berlin Photographic Company, New Bond Street, London, W.




collection must he held to consist, however, in the large number of examples it possesses of the work of those men—Ford Madox Brown, John Everett M i 1 1 a i s. D a n t e Gabriel Rossetti, and Holman H u n t — whose genius raised such antagonism against itself in the middle of the nine­ teenth century, when, known as the PreRaphaelite move­ ment, it forced its way through the con­ ventionalism of the time. Whether Ford Madox B ro w n . Millais. Rossetti, or Holman Hunt were responsible for the i n i t i a t i o n of the movement, matters very little. Each in turn has had this honour conferred upon him. Certainly each alike communi­ cated something to the enlightenment which art, under its teaching and its enthusiasm, enjoyed. This is to be under­ stood, for. as Pater says, artists, who are of those whom the action of the world elevates and makes keen, " do not live in isolation, but breathe a common air and catch light and heat from each other's thoughts." Each of that bevy jf young men, who were to revolutionise their time's art, w o r k e d out his a r t i s t i c salvation differently, and each according to the dictates of his own IHYI.I.A DK1.1M1ICA. liY nature. " Regarded collectively, the art of a country epitomises the whole development of the country that produces it," wrote Lord

MAGAZINE. Balearres. epigrammatical!? expressing a faulty thesis. The domain of the painter— and it was to the painter to whom he was a l l u d i n g — differs very considerably from the domain of the theologian, of the scientist, and of the man of business. The man of letters, indeed, is the only one absolutely in harmony with the man of the palette. The domain of the p a i n t e r , however, diffère from that of the man of letters, for to the latter a larger and more com­ plete cycle of thought within which to work is extended, " the painter being so far limited that it is only through the mask of the body that he can show us the mystery of the soul, and only through conventional usages that he can handle ideas." To these two, the man of letters and the painter, belong the beauty, real and imaginary, of life, with all its transient gladness and melancholy of colour : whilst to the rest, to whom belongs life itself in its en­ tirety, it is obvious that art, since art is outside the range of theology, science, and business, cannot epi­ tomise their several developments. How closely allied the painter is to the writer, a glance at the walls of any art S i l t E . B l ' l î N E - J O X K S , 1ÎAIÎT. gallery will reveal. In the Manchester Gallery it is demonstrated in the pictures of Etty,Rossetti, Leighton, Millais, Ford Madox Brown, Watts, Burne-Jones, Waterhouse,






From the original in the Manchester City Art Gallery, rejwoduced by permission of the Corporation of Manchester.




From the original in the Manchester City Art Gallery, reproduced by permission of the Corporation of Manchester



Pettie, Gilbert, Hacker, Hilton, Legros, Martin, Opie, Northcote, Pickersgill, Poynter, Prinsep, Riviere, Booke, Strudwick, and Tearaes. Even landscape-men such as Turner and David Murray, in the titles of their pictures, have not shown themselves free from literary suggestion. Leighton brooded over Olympian themes, and Greek legend was responsible for most of his subjects, and Manchester possesses, in " Captive Andromache " and " The Last Watch of Hero," two admirable specimens of his work. He shows us the enslaved Andro­


The second picture, taken in conjunc­ tion with the poem of its painter's fellowartist, Eossetti, re-creates that scene round which Ovid, Statins,Arirgil, Musœus, Marlowe, and Chapman have written—of the beauti­ ful priestess of Venus who lit each night at Sestos the lamp that was to guide Leander in his swim from Abydos across the Hellespont. Eossetti takes us yet a further stage in the story that is the base of many love romances, for he tells how, after the tragedy of the deaths of Leander and of Hero, the signal lamp was dedicated to Anteros and








raache waiting her turn to draw water at Hyperia's spring, when, after the taking of Troy, she, the proud wife of Hector, fell to the share of Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles. The artist has chosen the moment when, to quote from Mrs. Browning's fine rendering of it—

prohibited from being lit except by one whose love had proved fortunate—

Some standing by, Marking thy tears fall, shall say: "This is she, The wife of that same Hector who fought best Of all the Trojans, when all fought for Troy."

Eossetti, too, is represented in the Man­ chester Gallery in the mood of classical mythology, but in its Eastern guise, and he, probably more than any other modern painter, has impressed us with the easilyto-be-conceived idea that it was the beauty of their gods which, acting like a magnet,






To bear the victim's hard commands, or bring The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring, There, while you groan beneath the load of life, They c r y : "JBehold the mighty Hector's wife!"

That lamp within Anteros' shadowy shrine Shall stand unlit (for so the gods decree) Till some one man the happy issue see Of a life's love, and bid its flame to shine.




drew people to their worship. His " Astarte Syriaca " had her kindred types in the Mylitta of Babylon, the Tenus Aphrodite of Greece, the Alita of Arabia, the Anathusia of Cyprus, and the Ashtaroth of Phoenicia and of Israel, in the days when the people



MAGAZINE. spell : ' Rossetti wrote one of his finest sonnets, which, written in his own handwriting, is framed and hung in the Manchester Gallery below the picture, for which the large price of two thousand pounds was paid by its first purchaser, Mr. Fryâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;a sum greatly in excess


did that which was evil in the sight of Jehovah, and worshipped strange gods. She had temples built to her in Tyre, Sidon, and at Memphis, where at the time of the ninth Egyptian Dynasty, 3000 and odd years B.C., she was introduced into the religious worship of the Egyptians. Of her " all-penetrative

of those paid for several of the artist's more elaborate and now more famous works. Who is to say that too much was given for a picture which Ruskin described as, "if technically faulty," yet "charged with deep feeling, with paision " ? As this picture has been previously reproduced in

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our pages. Rossetti is here represented by his more idyllic painting of " The Bower Meadow." a picture charged with beauty and lyrical feeling. It is interesting to turn from the " Astarte Syriaca" to the "Victory, 0 Lord ! " of Millais. and to contemplate the themes of the two as belonging to one and the same period in the world's history. The heroic age in the "West synchronises with the prophetic age in the East. If we trace Bible history back to 1491 B.C., we find


Moses leading the Children of Israel in their exodus from Egypt. Moses, therefore, ruled over Israel when, in the AVest, Zeus, with Dione by his side, was held to be the origin of life ; when Aphrodite, or Astartc the subject of Rossetti's picture, was held responsible for love : when Demeter was prayed to for good harvests, Poseidon for the rain that helps yield them ; and the art of prophecy was held exclusively as the right of Dodona. This picture of Moses, the liberator, leader, and priest of Israel, during the battle between the Israelites and the Amalekites at Rephidim, is, as Mr. Spielmann says, one

MAGAZINE. of the painter's most earnest works, "one into which he threw all the energy and all the passion of which he was capable," to realise for the modern spectator the situation of which we read in the Book of Exodus, h o w ­ Moses said unto Joshua, Choose us out men. and go out, fight with Amalek : to-morrow I will stand on the top of'the hill with the rod of God in mine hand. So Joshua did as Moses had said to him, and fought with Amalek : and Moses, Aaron, and Hur went up to the top of the hill. And it came to pass, when Moses held up his hand, that Israel prevailed : and when he let down his hand, Amalek prevailed.




But Moses' hands were heavy, and they took a stone and put it under him. and he sat thereon ; and Aaron and Hur stayed up his hands, the one on the one side and the other on the other side ; and his hands were steady until the going down of the sun. And Joshua discomfited Amalek and his people with the edge of the sword.

From the same period of Old Testament history is token the subject of one of Holman Hunt's finest pieces of symbolical work, "The Scapegoat," of which a second and somewhat smaller version, which some critics have preferred to its predecessor, belones to Manchester. A Biblical subject very differently conceived may be seen in the " Samson Betrayed " of F. R." Pickersgill.



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In " Sybilla Delphica," priestess of Apollo at Delphi, that later Pre-Raphaelite, Sir Edward Burne-Jones, declares himself another of those artists who have placed their talents as offering at the shrine of ancient Greece, as does also Mr. Waterhouse in his picture " Hylas and the Nymphs," representing the version of the story which the poet




has embellished. Hylas, instead of beingdrowned in the waters of the fountain, to which he had been sent to fill his pitcher when the crew of the ship An/o landed on the Asiatic coast for fresh water, is here shown us as yielding- voluntarily to the blandishments of the enamoured nymphs. Yet another theme from Greek mythology is presented by Mr. Arthur Hacker in his

MAGAZINE. "Syrinx," a picture of that maiden who was transformed into a reed by her father, a river deity, and so avoided the pursuit of Pan. From classical myth we may pass to the consideration of actual facts in the history of those countries where such myths obtained, without leaving the galleries of Manchester's art collection, by turning to Sir Edward




Poynter's impressive rendering of " The Ides of March," a scene from Plutarch which Shakespeare illumined in his "Julius CĹ&#x201C;sar," or gazing at Alexander Wagner's ambitious attempt to realise in paint the excitement of a chariot race in ancient Rome. Then, turning our gaze upon the almost contem­ porary history of the Gospels, we find ourselves once more considering the efforts


BY T. St. DOW.




of several accomplished artists to illustrate the events of the Bible story. " St. John Preaching in the Wilderness " is represented by Sir John Gilbert, and we return to PreRaphaelite work in the finely inspired picture by Holnian Hunt entitled " The Shadow of the Cross," and the noble simplicity of Ford Madox Brown's " Jesus AVasheth Peter's Feet." The teaching of Christ is illus­ trated by Holman Hunt's vividly-wrought imagery in " The Hireling Shepherd," by Val Prinsep's ornate rendering of a scene





MAGAZINE. " Time dissipates to shining ether the solid augularity of facts," but the painter,gathering his facts from that very ether into which they have been dissipated, re-embodies them on canvas. Thus Richard Westall illustrates for us the scene of the anointing of Alfred the Great by Pope Leo IV., when, as a boy, he accompanied 11is father, King Ethelwulf, ou a visit to Rome. The next scene from English history represented in the gallery is that of " The Body of Har tld brought before William the Conqueror after the Battle of


from the parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins, by the tender " Good Samaritan," of G. F. Wa'tts, and by Sir Charles Eastlake's homely and essentially Victorian picture of " Christ Blessing Little Children." Themes from mediaeval history by Sir John Gilbert, B. F. Poole, and other painters gathered into Manchester's Gallery bring us to the story of our own country, and among pictures of special interest in this connection there are several which for one quality or another are curiously interesting in their pre­ sentment of episodes in English annals.




Hastings," as represented by Ford Madox Brown, and from that date we pass to the troubled reign of King John, in W. F. Yeames's pathetic " Prince Arthur and Hubert," illustrating the moment of the boy's pleading, in Shakespeare's wonderful words, with his keeper against his uncle, King John's, mandate : " If you will, cut out my tongue so I may keep mine eyes." The art of James Northcote contributes the scene of the surrender of the Crown of Scotland to Edward I. by John Baliol, and the wreckage of " The Invincible Armada "


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From the original in the Manchester City Art Gallery, reproduced by permission of the Corporation of Manchest*





From the original in the Manchester City Art Gallery, reproduced by permission of the Corporation of Manchester.




is grimly realised by that fine coloiirist Albert Goodwin. Ford Madox Brown shows us Cromwell, roused to fierce anger by the persecution of the Protestant Vaudois, with difficulty restraining his impatience at the calmness with which " the blind poet - statesman,




Milton, dictates to Andrew Marvel the despatch which tells Cardinal Mazarin the persecutions must stop, or there will be no English and French alliance." A picture by Alexander Johnston takes ns on to the story of the Rye House Plot, and shows us the attainted Lord William




Russell receiving the Sacrament from Bishop Tillotson in the Tower before his exĂŠcution. Pettie's picture of " The Duke of Monnionth Pleading for His Life before James II." shows us the abasement of the eldest child and best beloved of Charles II. Macaulay describes the pitiable scene





between uncle and nephew when, after Sedgmoor, the Duke was captured, when, broken in mind and body, he sought a per­ sonal interview with his uncle, into whose presence he was led with his arms pinioned. The Gordon Riots are recalled by the work of Paul Sand by.




MAGAZINE. Raphaelites from the conventions of earlyVictorian art. Of the work of those who have in turn made a law of Pre-Raphaelite modes, there are several interesting specimens in the gallery, ranging from the lesser con­ temporaries of the founders of the movement, such as Charles AUston Collins—brother of Wilkie Collins, the novelist, and himself the author of that delightful book, " A Cruise Upon Wheels"—and R. Spencer Stanhope, to J. M. Strudwick and T. M. Rooke. The pictures of Millais here collected, while including some of his early and most Pre-Raphaelite paintings, range also to that later work in which, while retaining the accuracy instilled by his Pre-Raphaelite period, he expanded without rather than within its prescribed limits. That great modern artist who, like Blake, defies classification, George Frederick Watts, is represented by " The Good Samaritan," " Prayer," " Paolo and Francesca," and two portraits. Looking at the many fine works in the Manchester City Art Gallery, of which space allows us to enumerate but a few, "we can say with Millais : " There is plenty of reason to be proud of our art to-day and to be confident of our art in the future."

The most definitely historical of modern episodes represented in the gallery must be the "Balaclava" of that distinguished battlepainter, Lady Butler, and Ford Madox Brown's " Work," which has been described as the finest of all the Pre-Raphaelite paint­ ings, although it falls under the class of genre painting, may almost be held to be historical, for the faces of the two men on the right of the picture, who lean against the rails, are portraits of Frederick Denison Maurice and Thomas Carlyle. The collection also includes interesting specimens of animal - painting by Ansdell, Sidney Cooper, Laudseer, Stubbs, and Briton Riviere, and many works by Frith, Maclise, James Sant, Frederick Shields, Marcus Stone, Dendy Sadler, G. D. Leslie, T. M. Dow, Randolph Caldecott, Frederick Goodall, Herkomer, Lady Alma-Tadema, F. SpenloveSpenlove, Orchardson, and Sir Luke Fildes, have to be classified under that elastic term genre. In a class apart must be considered the eighteen designs in tempera by that most imaginative genius, William Blake, who shares with William Etty, here represented by seven pictures, perhaps the chief English responsibility for the divergence of the Pre-


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E was talking about said if we could go one better than the Bible, what sort of man we was a cleverer lot than he'd ever believed, be the most useful and that he'd never know'd his luck living to the world at large, amongst us so many years. and Nat Bradley 'Twas then that Johnny Rowland, from —being that kind behind his bar, in a very clever way brought himself — thought the subject back to the starting-place, and the g e n t l e , easy­ said that, for his part, he wasn't sure whether going fashion of the peace-makers was to be envied always. people did best. " They've got their consciences o' their " They be like oil side, no doubt," said Johnny ; " but human in the bearings," he said ; " they calm down nature's a weak mixture, and often though the heat and cool the friction, and help to your conscience may pat you on the back, make the world go round." and remind you as you meant well and acted But I withstood him. from terrible high motives, yet you can't " 'Tis the hard sort, and not the soft, do help wishing afterwards that, duty or no the work of the earth," I said. " Softness duty, you'd kept out of it and minded your breeds softness, aud if we was all of your own business. 'Tis a very ungrateful world, stamp, Nathaniel, the nation would go down. and yet human nature never gets used to These ban't days to offer the other cheek, ingratitude. And if we busy ourselves for and a grabber like England will never meet other people, we must do it with our eyes those days," I told the man. " Us have to open, and take the hard knocks we get for stand shoulder to shoulder, and the sort we our trouble as a matter of course." want ban't the easy-going kind, who like " Yet there's a lot of kindness in the for everybody to please themselves, but the world, I'm sure," said Peter Gurney, the hard, fighting hearts that scorn comfort and farrier. " Look at my brother, Harry, the luxury, but be eaten up with the glory of postman. He's just had to retire, being the nation and the hunger to keep England very near seventy year old now, and not so on top. We didn't come to be head of the peart as he was ; and he's walked Heaven world by softness and easiness and comfort. knows how many thousand miles for the 'Tis a very remarkable fact that some of Post Office ; and they've made him a the greatest men have never known what presentation of a purse with twenty-five comfort was." sovereigns in it, and a plated kettle for his missis. No need at all to do any such thing, " 'Twas the lack of it that drove 'em into of course—just out of human kindness 'twas the world and caused 'em to make their done." mark, no doubt," answered Nat. "And "Yes," said Farmer Jim Mumford, our my experience is that the uncomfortable crusty member, " and if all I hear be true, sort be always seeking how to make other the man as worked hardest to get up that people uncomfortable also. And you mustn't testimonial, and collected the subscriptions, think, Thomas Turtle, that they blustering and bothered the people to give, and chaps, with their drums and banners and wouldn't take ' No ' for an answer, was Empire Days and Primrose Days, and all Harry Gurney hisself. I may be wrong, but the whole bag of tricks, will finish up top, so I've been told." because they won't ; and I've got the Word to prove it. 'Tis the meek will inherit the We shouted shame on Jim Mumford at earth, and if that's not a nail in the coffin . that, and Peter Gurney lost his temper, and of England, tell me what is." said that, for the price of half a pint, he'd pull Farmer's nose. " I don't like for to hear you running " And not the fust to do it neither ! " he down England, Nat," says old Harry Hawke. said. " For we all know what Moses Butt And then we all fell on Nat Bradley about done to you in the 'seventies. And well his ideas, and he turned nasty at last, and Copyright, 1911, by Messrs. Curtis Brown tfc Massie, in the United States of America.




you deserved it. Gave yon his whip-end to the truth of moosic he did—lathered you in tlie open street till you yowled for mercy. And you've forgot that lesson seainingly,

MAGAZINE. here and your grey hairs, I'd break your neck ! " '• Besides all that," went on Peter, " wasn't you great-nephew to a man as ought to have

The woman shivered and stared at it.'

and 'tis time as you had another. You be a hatch-mouthed, profane swearer, and you've never no good to say of man, woman, or mouse, and—and if 'twasn't for these people

been hanged, and would have been but for an accident ? " But then Rowland took him UD and killed two birds with one stoue, accordiDo- to

THË ROPË. his usual clever custom ; for not only did he silence the row and calm us down, but he told the true story of Farmer Jim Mumford's grandmother's brother. " You be utterly wrong," he said to Peter Gurney, "and I wonder how any man at this time of day haven't got that tale right ; and 'tis nothing but your anger excuses you. Tom West, the chap you be telling about However, since you don't know the tale, you shall have it. Tis a very good tale, and true, and it shows, if that wanted showing, what amazing pluck there be in a wife some­ times, and how often her natural wits will seize on the littlest chance to help herself and her family at a pinch." Farmer Jim spoke then. He finished his drink and flung his cusses out like a hail­ storm, caring not who might be smote by 'em. Then he went out of the bar, but not afore he'd told Johnny Rowland that he'd never, never come in it no more ; and Johnny, who little liked the man, made answer that he might do as he pleased in that matter, and that, if he bided away, 'twas quite certain the world would still go on." After that we settled to the tale. " 'Tis of a strange and a creepy chap by the name of Gregory Merdle that I be going to tell," began Johnny, " and first we see the man at the end of a journey, dog-tired and very near ready for bed. Travelling was travelling in the old days, and Gregory Merdle's eye began to blink, for the coach journey from Bristol to Exeter had taken a good many hours, and 'twas winter weather, and a good fire and a good supper had made him terrible sleepy. But his day wasn't done yet, as you'll hear. " The remains of supper lay on the table of the room that he had engaged ; his bed was in the corner and his box stood beside it. A brave fire burned, and Mr. Merdle, who had took off his shoes, stretched out a pair of big feet to the blaze, puffed a ' churchwarden,' and stared at a kettle which hummed upon the hob. He was a huge chap, fifty year old or thereabout, with a massive neck, a bullet head, and a cleanshaved face, whereof the chin was the mightiest member. A fighting head, you might have called it, and, indeed, Gregory in his younger days had shone in the ring, and taken his place as victor and vanquished in fourteen fights to a finish. But Mr. Belcher settled Gregory's claims in the P. B,., and left the mark of a champion of England's genius on his mug in the .shape of a broken nose. Yet the old prize-fighter's look was kindly ;


his eyes twinkled, and his mouth, though pretty large, was easy and framed for laughter as well as victuals. " ' I'll have my night-cap and get to bed, ma'am,' he said to Jane Hatch, the landlady, who entered to remove his supper tray. ' I be that sleepy, along with my cold journey on the coach, that 'tis all I can do to keep awake, Mrs. Hatch.' " She regarded the man with reverent fear, and her eyes was round when she looked upon him. " ' Yes, Mr. Merdle, sir ; no doubt you be in the right, sir. When do it happen, if I may ax ? ' " ' Eleven o'clock, on Heavitrée Hill, ma'am. And I take the Plymouth coach at half after two in the afternoon, and hope to get down there afore midnight.' " ' Yes, Mr. Merdle, sir. All Exeter will be there to see.' " ' No doubt the people will be there to see, as you say. I get bigger crowds than the players or the parsons—more shame to human nature. And when 'tis over, I shall just come back along here to pick a bone, and then I'll carry my box to the coach.' " ' What will I get you for breakfast, Mr. Merdle, sir ? ' she asks. " ' For breakfast I'll have a pound of sausages and a pint of beer, Mrs. Hatch. Let 'em be served sharp at seven. I must get up the hill betimes to see as everything be in order.' " ' Us have got a nice lot of black-pudden going just now,' ventures the woman, and he considered a bit afore he answered— " ' There's nothing this side the grave my wife do love better'n black-pudden. If you can sell me a pound, I'll take 'em back home to Bristol with me next week.' " ' S o I will, then, Mr. Merdle, sir,' she says. ' A pound and a bit over you shall have.' " ' Good night, then. Breakfast at seven sharp, mind. I shall be ready for it. And take my shoes and give 'em a clean.' " ' Yes, Mr. Merdle, sir.' "With that the landlady departed. Of course, she was itching to talk a little more concerning the big man's business ; but she dared not, for he weren't one as you could pump or make talk against his will. " Then Mr. Merdle poured out his night­ cap of ' four fingers,' squeezed in half a lemon, added sugar, filled up with boiling water, and set the grog to keep hot by the fire. He finished his pipe, flung it in the fender, and filled and lit another, which he





took from a box on the chest of drawers, lie puffed and breathed heavily, sipped his driuk, and spread his enormous hands to the fire. " A church clock struck ten, and then the silence of the little alley of Cathedral Yard was broken. The visitor heard a knock at the street door below aud two women's voices. " ' 1 must see him—the gentleman that come by the coach ! ' cries one. " ' You can't ; he's gone to bed, my dear woman,' answers t'other. " ' No matter for that ; he can get up again. 'Twill pay him well to do so,' says the first. ' See him I will ! ' " ' Be that a babby you've got there ? ' asks the landlady. " ' Yes, 'tis, then, wi' king's evil, poor little chap ! ' And that threw a bit of light on the matter for Mrs. Hatch. ' ; ' I see. Well, he's a terrible kind gentleman. I dare say as he'll see you if he bau't asleep a'ready. I know he strikes for it,' she answered. " ' Life or death may hang upon him, and, if you're a mother, you'll understand,' says the first, while the other granted as much. " ' Life or death be in his hand, no doubt,' admitted Mrs. Hatch. And a moment later she ran upstairs and knocked at her lodger's door. He bade her enter. " ' Please, Mr. Merdle, sir ' she began, but the man stopped her. " ' I heard,' he said. ' You can send the creature up. I know what she wants.' " A moment later a woman bustled in and shut the door behind her. She was a handsome girl of twenty, wi' a strong and resolute face, black hair, and black eyes. But she was very pale, and evidently suffering from great trouble of mind. She looked like one who had been through all sorts of torments, and had pretty well reached the end of her strength and her self-control. It was clear that the sight of Mr. Merdle caused her to feel terrible queer. In fact, for half a minute she stared at him without speaking ; and then it seemed that a sudden fit of faintness overcame her, for she put her free hand to her forehead and sank down all of a sudden. Luckily the bed was behind her, and she sat upon it. " ' Take care of the warming-pan, ma'am ! ' said Mr. Merdle. "Tis the child you be come about, no doubt ? The usual thing, I suppose. I strike for it—the king's evil— but I always tell them as want it done that I don't promise a cure. 'Tis a mystery, and I can't tell how it works.'

MAGAZINE. " ' I've known more than one little child cured by it,' she answered him, ' and I've got a golden sovereign for 'e, sir. 'Tis all I can afford, and I hope you'll let it do. "Mr. Merdle was a good bit surprised at the extent of the sum, for five shillings represented his usual charge, and twenty shillings was quite out of the common. " ' Well, that's good,' he says. ' You don't seem very peart yourself, by the look of you. But I'll mix a pinch of spirits for 'e. Better still, have a pull at mine. You're a fine girl seemingly, and 'tis a pity your babby's sick.' " She laid her child on Mr. Merdle's bed without waking it. Then she brought a piece of paper from her pocket, opened it, and fetched out a sovereign. " ' Take it and welcome,' she said. ' I hope you'll do my little boy good, and, be it as it will, you can't do him no harm, can you ? ' " ' Certainly not,' declared Mr. Merdle, putting the sovereign in his pocket. ' The world be full of things beyond our human knowledge, and if the wisdom of men has decreed that striking or stroking a babby with a hangman's rope be like to cure it of its ills, then who be I to say it don't? Sip at this here.' " He handed her his glass, and she drank eagerly, swallowed a few mouthf uls, and then coughed. Mr. Merdle had turned his hack aud gone to the box by the bed. He laughed at her discomfort. " ' A bit strong for a young woman ! But it won't hurt 'e. And who might your husband be, now ? ' " To this question she did not reply, but suddenly burst out on what looked to be quite another matter. " ' This here chap, Tom West, as you be going to choke to-morrow—he's innocent as that babby there ! Afore Heaven he's innocent, hangman ! ' "Mr. Merdle had knelt down beside his box, taken a key from his pocket, and opened the little wooden trunk. In it were black clothes, a tight-fitting black cap, a mask, and a coil of rope. The last he brought out now and flung down upon the table. It seemed to twine and coil like a serpent, and the woman shivered and stared at it as though, snake-like, the hemp had bewitched her. " She just stared and said nought. " ' Feel it,' said the man. ' 'Tis more like silk than hemp—my own twining—a merciful thing—for I be a very merciful

THE creature, and don't give one pang more than .Nature asks for. I'll use no rope but what I spin myself—I'll trust none but mine. Feel it ; it almost melts in your hand, you might say.' " Gregory was terrible proud of his rope, you see, but, after the first shook, the woman didn't seem to take much account of it. " ' He's innocent,' she said again, ' and Heaven knows it. There's a man in Exeter this minute that bore false witness ; everybody but the judge and jury was positive of it. Tom West no more stole they sheep than you did.' Mr. Merdle shrugged his shoulders. " ' I ban't called upon to meddle with that,' he answered. ' The Law in its might have tried him all in order, and fouud him guilty. My part be only to carry out the sentence of the Law. The man's life's in higher hands. Be it likely that Heaven would let the innocent perish ? I don't believe it, ma'am. And sure I am—so sure as Heaven be all justice—that I never yet turned off an innocent creature, male or female, and never shall.' " The woman was thinking her private thoughts, and did not answer for a good minute. " ' I know his wife,' she said. ' Mrs. West will die if they put him away. However, as you tell me, it ban't your business to trouble about that.' " ' 'Tis my merciful part to end a doomed man's life so swift and quick as can be,' he told her, ' and that string there will do it. Ten souls it have sent to their Heavenly Judge in an instant moment, and if so be as they could have come back to do it, I doubt not that one and all would have sworn that it was no more than sneezing.' " She picked up the rope and examined it. Her fingers shook a good bit while she done this, but she ran the string through them, and noted how suent* and pliable it was. " ' 'Twould cling terrible close,' she whispered. " ' So it would, ma'am,' he said, ' and so it do. The knot runs like this, and I tie it inside twelve seconds. Then the man's opening his eyes in eternity afore you can say " Amen ! " ' " ' You never make a mistake nor bungle it, sir ? ' she asked. " ' Never,' answered the hangman. ' When I feel my nerve be like to fail me, then I shall go into a different walk of life and give * Suent—soft.



it up. 'Tis sad work, but it have got to be done, and so 'tis well to have a superior sort of man as can do it masterly and swift and merciful. That's what I always say, and none can deny it.' " She nodded and held up the rope. " ' You won't let me take this away for my little one ? 'Tis very well to strike it ; but there's a stronger charm than that—for the child to wear the rope till the ill leaves him.' " No, no, I can't part with the rope,' he told her. ' I want it to-morrow to Plymouth, and the next day down to Bodmin. I have others so good as this up home to Bristol, but not here. If I stroke the child's body all over, 'tis all that need be done. So I'd best set about it.' " Just then the babby on the bed yawned and stretched, and Gregory Merdle, who had children of his own and liked them very well, turned to the little thing, held out his linger, and stroked its cheek. The child, waking happily, laughed at him. Then he picked it up, and was well pleased to find hisself treated in such a friendly spirit. To the fire he took him, and opened the blanket and took off the infant's clothes. " ' Why, there's nought the matter with your boy, ma'am ! ' he cries out the next minute. ' The toad's as clean and pink as a fresh shrimp ! There ain't a blemish on him—a fine, fat rascal ! And don't he take to me ! ' " ' Dad — dad — dad — dad ! ' cried the babby, little thinking, poor fool, that this very man was going to put his father out o' life in twelve hours' time. " ' Go along with you ! You don't want no hangman's rope, you brave chap ! ' says Mr. Merdle, rubbing his great chin against the child's cheek/ " Then he turned his head to look at the mother, an \ ax her what the mischief she'd come for to waste her money and his time. " But she had vanished. In a word, Sarah, the wife of Tom West, the condemned man, was clean gone ; and she had taken the hangman's rope with her—and left her baby ! " Mr. Merdle saw his fix in a moment, and dropped the infant on his bed and hurried to the door. " ' Stop that woman ! ' he bawled in a voice that shook tha little house ; and upon that Mrs. Hatch she rushed up from below. But she was too late : the front door hung wide, and the visitor had sped away into the night. " Feared out of his little life by so much



noise and disturbance, the sheepstealer's babby set up loud shrieks ; but his mother never heard 'em, for she was already out of earshot. " ' She's fled, Mr. Merdle, sir ! ' gasped out Jane Hatch. ' And, good powers, what be that ? Have she left her little one ? ' " ' Pick the nipper up and quiet him, and fetch me my shoon this instant moment,' ordered Mr. Merdle. ' This be a very serious matter—more so than it looks, ma'am ; for without that rope I can't hang Tom West to-morrow. My other ropes be in Bristol, and the man's six foot high and weighs fourteen stone ; so I don't trust him to no common hemp, be sure. I must get over to the prison afore any time be wasted. 'Tis a plot against the Law, and thickey woman have got to be catched as quick as possible.' " ' I'll lay my life she's the wife of the man ! ' cried Mrs. Hatch. ' I seed her name in the papers. She's been fighting proper for her husband's life, and wearying all the quality from the Bishop of Exeter downward ; but everybody have turned a deaf ear to her.' " The hangman thought upon that while he pulled on his shoes. " ' A brave and a clever creature,' he said, ' but a woman can't come between a sinner and his doom in this fashion. She's put herself in the power of the Law now, and will have to answer for it.' " Five minutes afterwards Mr. Merdle was on his way to Exeter Gaol, while Mrs. Hatch comforted the baby. Then Gregory told his story, and learned of Mrs. West's great and useless efforts on behalf of her husband. " ' The evidence was circumstantial, but he had a fair trial, and no doubt exists that he committed the crime,' said the governor of the prison. ' His wife's responsible for this, of course. She shall be sought im­ mediately.' " And before dawn a couple of night watchmen found Sarah West sound asleep in her own house. Worn out she was, no doubt, but they soon fetched her along to the gaol ; and when she was brought there, she made no bones about her little plot. " ' T i s all a frantic wretch could do for him,' she said. ' None will listen, none will give heed ; and I know, as well as I know I'm his wife, that my man didn't do it. 'Twas a fellow-labourer with Tom, but none can't prove the truth against him. And I went to see this gentleman last night, and took my babby to be struck, just for an excuse. Because I thought a wife might

MAGAZINE. touch his heart, for 'tis well known he be called " T h e Gentle Hangman." And he was very kind, but couldn't give no hope ; and then, when I seed the rope, a witty thought flashed in me to run away with it. Of course, I knowed my babby was safe enough. And that's how 'tis. And if you chopped me to pieces, I wouldn't tell you where that rope be, kind sirs ! ' " She was firm about it, and so was Mr. Merdle. She wouldn't tell where she'd hid it, and he wouldn't use no other. And two days would have to pass before he could send or go all the way to Bristol for another of his professional ropes, twined by hisself. " ' I'd best to return for it in person,' he said to the gaol folk ; ' and I'm sure I do hope as the majesty of the Law won't do nothing very bad against this poor woman. She's the man's wife, and her wits have gived him another forty-eight hours in the land of the living. And who shall blame her ? I don't, though this means two more journeys for me than I counted on. However, my wife will get her black-pudden all the sooner. 'Tis an ill wind that bloweth good to none.' " ' Your brave rope be safe enough, hang­ man,' says Mrs. West. ' But Heaven's my judge—it shan't strangle my husband ! ' " So it fell out that the execution was a lot delayed, and a turnkey informed the condemned man that his last morning on earth was not yet come. He heard all the particulars also, but he did not bless his wife. " ' Poor, dear fool, she meant well,' said Tom West, ' but what for ? Two more of these days bau't no good to me. My peace be made. I'm innocent afore God, and the thief knows it. And his name be Ned Rivers, and his time will come in the next world if not in this. And the sooner I'm put away, the better for my sufferings ! ' " Nevertheless, when Mr. Merdle returned to Exeter two nights later, and went back to his old room at the house of Jane Hatch, a woman very near mad with joy waited for him, and his wonderful rope was there also. " ' Not again, ma'am ! ' he said. " ' Hast heard the great news ? ' she asked. But he had not, and so it happened that Tom West's wife was able to tell how another man—the chap by the name of Ned Bivers, a fellow-labourer with her husband—had come forward and made a clean breast, and confessed to the slaughter of the sheep. " ' 'Twas a plot against my Tom,' she said. ' And the man went down to the prison yesterday at noon and gave hisself up for the crime, because his fearful remorse

THE ROPE. after his sin had made him want to die. And my Tom will be free come to-morrow week ! And 'twas me as saved his life after all, Hangman Merdle ! ' " ' And so you did, then,' admitted the executioner. ' And nobody better pleased than me, I'm sure. How's your babby ? ' " ' He's all right. And I've been allowed to see my husband, and he's terrible in­


and your chap. Let it be a lesson to us all to trust in God and our wives, ma'am ! ' " ' They be going to make a collection for him,' said Mrs. West. " He nodded and put his hand to his pocket. Something in her pale face and bright eyes and unsteady voice touched him up, no doubt, and he dimly guessed at a little of what she'd been through.

" ' H e r e ' s vour sovereign back again. ' ! '

terested in it all, and will be very proud if you can come and drink a dish of tea along with us and a few neighbours next week.' " ' Next week ? No,' answered the other, handling his restored rope. ' If what you tell me be true, I'm free to go on to Plymouth by this night's coach. But when business calls me this way again, I shall be very pleased to have a tell along with you

" ' Well done you ! ' he said ; ' and 'tis very right and proper that everybody in these parts should do what may be done for your husband. 'Tis a very shaking thing for a man's intellects to be condemned to the gallows, and then escape at the very last moment. And here's your sovereign back again, ma'am. Because I didn't earn it, you see."


BY OWEN OLIVER. service.' Unfit ! I'd like to nave the whole HAD spent fifteen board in this room and show them who's C h r i s t m a s Days physically unfit!" I kicked off the bed­ with my battalion. clothes and jumped out of bed. " Give me Upon the sixteenth the dumb-bells and go and fetch my shavingI woke far away water. Unfit, indeed ! A mere kink in the from it, and I leg ! Those fools at the War Office will sit decided that, since up when they read my protest ! " I couldn't have a " Yes, sir. They don't know what you soldier's Christmas, did for the battalion, sir. The men are I wouldn't have any terribly cut up about you leaving, sir— Christmas at all. begging your pardon for mentioning it. I I rang for my man as soon as it was light. bad a letter from Conkey Davis " He came in, and saluted and stood at atten­ tion. I had warned him, when I bought " Who ? " I roared. him out, that if the Army had done with " 6—2—4—3, A. Davis, E Company, sir. me, I hadn't done with the Army. So he The one that " observed military discipline. " I know—I know." There wasn't a man in the battalion that I didn't know all about. " You will take every Christmas card that " He says—if you'll excuse me for men­ comes this morning and put it on the fire," tioning it, sir—that all the men say that I commanded. Major Harder was the best -" " Yes, sir." " Stop ! " I said. " Do you think I don't " And everything that looks like a Christ­ know how soldiers write ? He doesn't say mas circular, or an invitation, or—or anything that." else ! Burn the lot ! " " Very good, sir."

Harris fidgeted. " And tell the porter that, if anyone calls,

" It comes to that, sir," he amended. I am out." " He calls me ' Old Mustard,' eh ? " 1 " Yes, sir." knew their name for me. " And tell his wife to send up just a plain " Yes, sir. He doesn't mean any harm. lunch and dinner. If there's Christmas They -" pudding, or anything of that sort, she'll " I know—I know. Old Mustard, eh ? " have no Christmas-box from me. You'll I rubbed my hands. "And what's the make that perfectly clear." impudent scoundrel got to say of Old " Yes, sir." Mustard ? " " The post should come about eleven. " His exact words," Harris told me When you have disposed of it, you can go solemnly, " begging your pardon, sir, were for the day." these : ' You always got it straight from " Thank you, sir." He fidgeted about in him, and we'd rather be swore at by Old an unsoldierly fashion. " Quite sure you Mustard than kissed by the Colonel.' " won't want me, sir ? " I sat down on the bed suddenly. It upset " How dare you question my orders ?" I me a bit to know that the boys remembered snapped. " Do you think I don't know my me like that. own mind because I'm on the retired list ? " "Heaven bless 'em!" I said. "I—I That wasn't strictly correct, but they had What are you gaping at ? G-o and get that told me that I should be gazetted out next shaving-water." week. I understood the chaps, and if I'd lost " Beg pardon, sir ! I was only thinking " both arms and both legs, I'd have been able I cut him short.

to manage the battalion. That's what those " A soldier doesn't think—he obeys. You clever gentlemen at the War Office didn't and I are still soldiers, though a board of realise. I don't say they didn't mean to idiots say I'm ' physically unfit for further treat me well ; but what's the use of a D.S.O. Copyright, 1911, by J. A. Flynn, in the United States of America. 28

A SOLDIER'S and a wounds pension to a man who can't go on soldiering ? And to turn him off just before Christmas, of all times ! However, the Colonel said in his letter that he was carrying out my plans for the Christmas dinner and the presents afterwards. That was some consolation. I shaved and dressed and had breakfast, then I hobbled out for a walk in the park. At least, I started to go there, but there were so many children and beggars wishing me " A



When I returned, Harris was waiting on the door-mat with a handful of letters. " I wasn't quite sure if I understood the orders, sir," he declared. " There's one letter in particular that " He didn't get any further. I have told off a few soldiers in my time for slackness in carrying out orders, but I surpassed myself on this occasion. Harris ran off to the kitchen fire in such a hurry that he even forgot to salute. I think he was ashamed of himself, for he was par­ ticularly anxious to make me comfortable before he went. I got him out of trouble when he was young and raw, and the beggar was always grateful. He was so cut up when I was invalided that I had to bring him away with me. When he had departed, I got out all my papers—I'd kept them, from the first gazette — and read them through. Then I read a letter from the adjutant, which I liked better than the official documents. " You'll still be running the regi­ ment," he wrote. " When I succeeded you as adjutant, three years ago, I knew that I'd stepped into the shoes of a man, and I made up my mind to fill them. You have helped me to do so all the time, and, thanks to your teaching, I think I shall be able to carry on as you'd have me carry on. I shall always feel that it's your regiment." That was how I felt about 1 It upset me a bit to know that the boys remembered me like that it. The last two colonels had been easy-going men. They left everything to me, when I was adjutant, Merry Christmas " that I soon returned to and they always consulted me afterwards. I the flat again. They didn't know any better, had a note before me now, asking my advice but my relatives and friends, who kept writing about some difficulties with the doubleto ask me to keep Christmas with them, company messing system. I wrote the ought to have had more sense. They might answer on the spot and sealed it up. I have known that there wasn't any Christmas hoped that Harris hadn't burnt anything for a man who had been turned out of the from the battalion. I hadn't thought to Army. I hoped that every member of the mention that Service letters were not to be Medical Board might be choked by his included in the bonfire. I was always a Christmas dinner ! " Physically unfit," indeed ! hasty beggar. Old Mustard ! The boys I'd have knocked out any two of them in five knew me. minutes, if I had them in a ten-foot ring I




I had begun a letter to the adjutant, advising him to watch C Company, whose captain was too fidgety with the men, and to make sure that F Company wasn't too much in the hands of the pay sergeant. (I'd court-martial every officer who leaves cash payments to a sergeant, if I had my way.) I was going on to the question of non­ regulation boots, when I heard the front­ door bell. I didn't answer it, and didn't mean to ; but presently I heard someone come into the hall (I hadn't locked up after Harris). I hobbled to the door of the room as fast as I could go. " What the deuce do you mean by entering my hall ? " I shouted ; and then I stopped. For the intruder was my Cousin Alice— Mrs. Barkham. We had been like brother and sister since we were children toddling together. She smiled, and I frowned. " Well, what the deuce do you mean by it, Alice ?" I asked. " You were brought up as a sportswoman. You ought to know that there's a close time for an old badger who's licking his wounds in his lair." Alice came and put her gloved hand on my shoulder, and kissed me. " I know," she said, " dear old man. . . . I felt so bad about it that I had to come to the wounded soldier." " I'm not a soldier any longer," I growled. " They're turning me out of the Army . . . ' Physically unfit ! ' The fools ! " " You are a soldier," she contradicted, " and you'll always be a soldier. And you're coming back with me to spend Christmas like a soldier—a soldier "—she put her hand on my arm again—" who is too brave to let his troubles hurt his friends. There's a certain silly old friend who has had a little cry on Christmas morning over a letter, Dickie " " Dash it all ! " I cried. " You don't mean to say that you Come, come, Commanding Officer"—I always called her that—" settle the case summarily. I've been malingering in hospital instead of doing my duty. I'm an idiot ! What's the punishment ? " " The punishment," she said, " is to come back with me and spend Christmas like a soldier who doesn't mean to mourn about the soldiering that he can't do, but to do manfully the soldiering that he can." " That isn't much, Al," I said mournfully. " I was all right in the regiment, but I'm no use out of it—or in it now." " No use ! " she cried, tossing back her head, as she always did when she was very

MAGAZINE. much in earnest. " No use ! Why, Dickie, just think! What's the principal work of an old soldier? What would yours have been if you'd stayed on and com­ manded the battalion ? You would have, of course. Isn't it to make soldiers ? Well, you've trained plenty of fellows to dr> that— so many that your work will go on without you. You're still training the battalion, Dickie ! " " That's what Lane said," I owned. (Lane is the adjutant.) " It sounds very nice—rather like an after-dinner speech. But I prefer to be doing soldier's work myself, not by deputy." "And you will. Unless I'm very much mistaken, you'll soon find some way of being useful to the Army. For one thing, you'll put soldiers' hearts into lads—into mine! Now, Dickie, get your hat and coat, and come and do your soldiering. Show us how a brave soldier fights trouble, and keeps a cheerful face, and Poor old man ! " Her voice quivered suddenly, and she pulled out her handkerchief. " For goodness' sake, don't ! " I begged. " Look here ! You just be a brave soldier, too, old girl. No waterworks." " I'm not," she denied gallantly. " Don't be a donkey ! The cold has caught my eyes —that's all. Hurry up, you — you slow soldier ! " I hurried up and went off with her. I hailed a taxi-cab, and gave Alice's address, and we drove away. I meant to turn my mind right off the Service, but Alice artfully led me on to talk about military affairs ; and when I once started, I went on till we reached her road. " I've been boring you," I apologised then. " Indeed you haven't ! " she cried. " It has been most interesting. I had no idea that officers thought out things like that. WThy, the management of a regiment seems to be a regular science, with laws and principles ! " " I t ought to be," I told her, "but it generally isn't. Most fellows just muddle along from one thing to another, and never grasp the principles of regimental economy. It doesn't occur to them that there are principles. That's the deuce of it. I always found them ready enough to do things in the proper way when I pointed it out." " Then," she said, " why don't you write a book of—of ' proper ways ' ? That would be big soldier work, Dickie. You'd be making thousands of good soldiers all through the Army."

A SOLDIER'S "I'm not much good with the pen," I confessed. " I can talk to soldiers, but I'm afraid I'm a—a bit blunt, you know." Alice laughed out loud. " Old Mustard ! " she said. " Oh, you know, do you ? " " Of course I do. If you wrote bluntly— not too much mustard—it would be all the better. General Loringham wrote to me about you when you got the D.S.O., and he said that everybody knew your courage ; but what they didn't know was your remarkable understanding of regimental management. Write a good blunt book about it, Dickie." " Nobody will read it," I grunted, " out­ side the regiment." " One will," she asserted. That is how " The Management of a Regiment " came to be written. It is in the third edition, and they use it as a text­ book. If it is any good, the Army have to thank my Cousin Alice and another lady. (I'm coming to her presently.) Alice's jovial husband met me on the doorstep. " Good old man ! " he cried. " I thought the Commanding Officer would drag you out. Now you realise the despotism I endure. If I didn't kiss her under the mistletoe—there, fair lady !—I'd get no Christmas dinner ! Well, I am glad to see you ! What are they thinking of to lose a chap like you for a bit of a limp ? Hullo, here's the Army ! " My " niece " rushed at me and dragged me under the mistletoe with a shout of " Uncle ! " They call me that. Then the boys flew out to shake hands. " By Jove," I cried, " how you've all grown ! Here, give me a shoulder, Chris, and I'll do without the stick. Santa Claus been, eh ? What ? Believe I sent some of them ? As if I would ! . . . Yes, yes, I'll come." They hauled me into the breakfast-room, and Chris sat on my knee, and the boys stood close by and began asking questions. They wanted to know all about the fight for which I got the D.S.O. " The fight, eh ? " I said. " It was just a wretched little affair in the hills—a lot of black chaps sniping, and bolting whenever we tried to rush them. The leg ? Oh, that was a poke with a rusty sword ! It wouldn't have been anything if it had been doctored at once. Why wasn't it ? Because there wasn't a doctor handy. We were cut off for five days. The whole regiment ? No, about thirty of us, to begin with. How did it happen ? Well, the niggers



made a rush and got six of our chaps, and the Colonel let me go at night with a party to rescue them because they weren't particularly nice to prisoners. We recovered our chaps all right, but we couldn't get away after­ wards. Had to hold a sort of little temple till relief came. Much to eat ? No, not much. Plenty of water, thank Heaven ! That's the main thing. How did I fight with my bad leg ? Didn't seem to notice it much then. It got worse afterwards. How many men did I shoot ? Oh, I never was much good at arithmetic, and Chris doesn't want to hear about that. What was the temple like ? Well, get me some paper, and I'll draw it." I spent the next hour describing the cam­ paign to Chris and the boys—Arthur is fifteen, and Dick (he was named after me) fourteen. They both said that they wanted to be soldiers as soon as they could. I told them that they could begin making them­ selves soldiers now, because the first thing was to obey orders, and to obey them smartly. I promised to ask their father to let them learn fencing at school, and gave them an elementary lesson with walking-sticks. Chris said she should like to be a nurse, and nurse soldiers ; and I told her a few things about First Aid. I felt I had spent quite a soldier's morning when the gong sounded for early dinner. I will confess that I was a bit of a coward when I went down to dinner. The holly and decorations made me think of the old mess-room. I am afraid I was a little remiss in talking to the lady whom I took in, till I noticed her smile at me. " I beg your pardon," I apologised. " I was thinking " I paused. " Of a soldier's Christmas," she said. " So was I. You don't remember me ? " " Good gracious ! " I cried. " Ethel— I mean Mrs. Meadows ! " Her father was Colonel of the East Farshire, and we were together in Ceylon. She was just a flapper then, and we won the mixed doubles in the garrison tennis tournament. She married Meadows, a sub. in the West Loamshire. He wasn't much good, and died two years after­ wards. " Yes," she said. " You were adjutant of your battalion just before we left, and father said : ' Now they'll soon be soldiers ! ' I wasn't a bit surprised when I heard of the Pindi affair and your D.S.O. Do you remember how I used to wish I'd been born a boy, to go into the Army ? And you called me ' Young Soldier ' ! "




" And you called me ' Old Soldier ' ! My chaps called me ' Old Mustard ' afterwards." " They always have a name for the right sort, i" know Tommy ! " Her eyes glistened. " You disciplined me, I remember." " That was how we won the tournament," I reminded her. " You obeyed orders and ran up and volleyed like a boy, instead of playing a girl's back-line game. You see, I judged my soldier before I gave orders." " And I judged my leader before I obeyed them," she replied in her old, daring way. " And threatened him, too," I said. " When you were grown-up, you'd discipline me, you said. Perhaps you would have, if you hadn't gone so far away." I smiled at her. I used to call her my little sweetheart. " I went further," she said, " and fared— not too well." She sighed. " Do you know, I always feel as if I want to be back with the regiment. You see, father had no boy, and so he used to talk to me ; and mother was a soldier at heart—a better soldier than some men." Her lip curled. " I ought to have been Mrs. Colonel Somebody. I would have looked after my battalion ! " " If I hadn't had this little accident to my leg," I jested, " I might have been able to offer you the appointment." " I might have taken it," she retorted, with a flash of her old merriment, "and then you would have been sorry for yourself." " Only for you," I declared. " If you remember, I used to tell you that, if I could choose my age, I'd be five years older than my Young Soldier." " Now we're both old soldiers on the retired list ! And / haven't got a D.S.O. And what are you going to do ? You mustn't waste all your soldier-craft. Father always said that someone like you—a real regimental expert—ought to write a book, instead of leaving Staff College men to teach the regimental officer to suck eggs." " Alice has been talking to you," I re­ marked, " or you to Alice ? " " Both," she confessed. " You want to find something to amuse an old—Old Mustard ? " I said. " We do," she replied frankly. " You see, we both think a good deal of him, and I rather fancy we've found the right amuse­ ment. Seriously now ? " " Well," I said, " I'm no writer, but if I understand anything, it's regimental duties. You see " And then I launched off into my favourite topic. It lasted through dinner.

MAGAZINE. " You've let me bore you, to give an old soldier a pleasant Christmas," I said when we rose. " I would have let you bore me, ' she said smilingly, " with that object ; but, as it happens, you haven't. Oh, don't I wish I could help you write that book ! I dare say you'll write a dozen ! You call yourself old, but you're only—let me think—about thirty-seven." " That's it ; and you're twenty-fonr." " Twenty-five," she corrected. " If you were five years older," I jested, •' there'd be the appointment of Mrs. Major Military Author." " You'd better be careful ! " she warned me laughingly. " There's a D.S.O., and I always wanted a decoration." " Well," Alice asked, when we were together for a moment, " hadn't I a nice surprise for you ? " " Very nice," I agreed. " I always liked that girl—so frank and honest. It's a pity she didn't marry a real soldier. Her heart's in the Service. I never met such a regular Army woman." " If a certain old soldier had had more sense," Alice observed, " I rather think " " You ridiculous match-making creature !" I cried. " She was a mere school-girl, and looked upon me as a sort of uncle. She never had any other idea." " Humph ! " said Alice. " Girls have all sorts of ideas. A lot you know about women ! No, I don't suppose she had any serious idea, but she was uncommonly pleased when she found that she was going to meet you." "Now, look here," I protested, "don't put foolish thoughts into the head of a—a man who's ' unfit for further service.' The idiots ! The " " Hush ! " Alice entreated. So I hushed, but I felt myself looking fierce for some time afterwards. If it hadn't been for the three confounded pill-boxes on that board, I might have had a Mrs. Colonelship to offer to—to anyone who seemed suitable. However, I was soon dragged out of my corner to play blind man's buff and snap­ dragon, and a dozen other games. Then we had supper, and then the children went to bed. I was going home, but Alice and her husband said that there was a spare room, and I must stay the night. So I stayed. Ethel—I had taken to calling her that again —was staying there too, and the four of us sat round the stove.

A SOLDIER'S " Harris will be worrying about me," I remarked. " Oh, no, he won't ! " Alice assured me. " I met him, and I told him I should bring you back and keep you."



you sometimes wished that an order had been disobeyed ? " " Never ! " I asserted. : But I've some­ times wished that I hadn't given it." " For example," she remarked, " when you

" I knew very certainly that I had found my commanding officer.*

" Such conduct," I protested, " is sub­ versive of discipline." "Al doesn't believe in other people's discipline," her husband remarked. " It depends," she said. " Discipline means obeying proper orders and disobeying foolish ones. Now, confess, Dick—haven't

ordered a whole post of letters to be burnt ? Suppose there was an official letter among them, and the person to whom you gave the order was quite sure that you didn't mean that ? " " He'd no business to mention it to you/' I cried, " and, if he's disobeyed my orders




I'll discharge the scoundrel to-morrow ! I'll " I paused for words suitable for ladies' ears, and then Ethel's quiet voice interposed. " Isn't it discipline to carry out orders in the spirit ? " she asked. " Now, don't say that would end by not carrying them out at all. That's quite true of the rank and file, but, you see, Harris is your second in command for the moment, and he takes thought for you. Anyhow, you can take his good intention into account in sentencing him." " It's you who ought to write a book," I told her—" a lawyer's book." She laughed. " But I've got over you," she asserted. " You won't do anything to poor Harris ? " " No," I said—" no. I suppose you've the letter, Alice ? " "Yes," she said. "It's from the War Office. I'll give it to you before I go to bed." "No," I said, "give it to me now. I appealed, of course, but I knew it was no good. I suppose they're right. I'm too lame for duty. No, only for that particular duty. You two good women have disciplined me to-day and stopped me from growing into a—a miserable old grumbler. I'll find some duty in life, and, please Heaven, I'll do it ! What's more, I'll do it without whining that it isn't exactly the duty that I—I loved the old regiment." A woman's hand touched each of my arms. " The decision was the only possible one, really, and I only appealed to blow off steam, instead of accepting the verdict like a good soldier. They can't possibly alter it. I have to read the letter

MAGAZINE. some time, so I'll just glance at it and get it over." I opened the letter, and then—I don't know quite what I said or did. My chair seemed to be sailing through the air. When it came to anchor on the hearth-rug, old George was pumping my hand, and Alice and Ethel were holding my arms. They were laughing aud wiping their eyes. Ethel picked up the letter from the hearth-rug and waved it as if she were a flapper again. " Soldier ! " she cried, saluting as if she were one. " Soldier ! " I rose, holding my chair, and saluted her. I knew very certainly—one sees things clearly in those great moments—that I had found my commanding officer. My heart was too full to speak. For the letter said ' that while regretting that my return to regimental duty was not practicable, the War Office considered that my knowledge of regimental economy would be valuable in the Adjutant-General's Department, and offered me a staff appointment instead of retirement. " It's a soldier's Christmas, after all, Dickie," Alice said, and kissed me. " Let's go and look at the children, George. I always do when I'm specially happy." They went off, and Ethel and I were left alone. " Ethel," I said, " there's only one thing wanting to make my next soldier's Christmas perfect ; a real soldier's wife. There hasn't been anyone because—they didn't come up to the dear soldier-girl whom I used to know. It isn't a good enough appointment for you." " It happens to be an appointment I'd like," she told me. " Oh. Dick, this is my best soldier's Christmas ! "

A CHRISTMAS TRIOLET. 'TTHE Christmas gift you gave to May Was just the thing for Cousin Jenny. Alas, alack, and well-a-dayl The Christmas gift you gave to May ! And who, in sooth, shall safely say That such is not the fate of many? The Christmas gift you gave to May Was just the thing for Cousin Jenny.


BY JUSTUS MILES FOEMAN, Author of" The Garden of Lies,'" " The Quest," " The Unknown Lady," etc. HE only drinkable water to be had within five hundred miles of that area of the Pacific is at Lolo, and Feydeau guessed that the Southern Gross, after two weeks at sea, would put in there to fill her butts. He himself, in the Haivlc, dropped down to Lolo from the shelter of near-by Pâ towards morning of a moonless night. He had on board his Maori bo'sun, two Kanaka boys, one of whom could cook, and Smith, the gigantic young American he had picked off the beach at Tahiti to replace one Saunders, lately deceased of fever. The young American had curly hair, a neck resembling the trunk of a tree, and an amiable smile. He was modelled in the purest Greek tradition of the classical era, but Smith didn't know that, nor Feydeau either. Feydeau thought he looked as if he could give a good account of himself in a row, and Feydeau was right. He could, and often had ; hence the loss of a mate's ticket, a pretty bad name in several ports, and, in the end, the beach at Tahiti. But, for all this, there was no vice in youug Mr. Smith, as anyone might see by his smile. If he had hit out rather too hard on a number of occasions, it was because he was pardonably annoyed, and because he was stronger than most men. He was feeding an outcast dog with begged bread when Feydeau first caught sight of him. He jumped at the chance of being deputy policeman and hunting down an escaped convict, especially when he heard that the fugitive was the notorious Mawson. He told Feydeau that he didn't at all like several of the things Mawson was reputed to have done. Lolo is a volcanic island, though not very high, surrounded by a coral reef, broken here and there, and a curious water passage, like a river, winds into it from the lagoon, a

distance of half a mile or thereabouts, and then stops. The passage is overhung by trees and moss and all sorts of tropical stuff, but a small schooner can enter it and be towed nearly to its inner end. Feydeau hid the Hawk just within the entrance to the passage, and, taking young Smith and the Maori with him, set off on foot to reconnoitre. They carried repeating rifles in their hands, and both Feydeau and Smith wore magazine pistols in holsters. It wasn't bad going, for the ground was fairly clear of undergrowth, but the cocoapalms stood close and tall, like columns in a mosque, and now and then there were thickets of wild banana. They hadn't crept more than a quarter of a mile inland—though it seemed to young Smith that he had been groping in the gloom for hours—when they came upon the Southern Gross moored snug against the bank of the inlet, with no lights burning and no sign of life near by. Just beyond, the ground rose abruptly to a height of something like thirty feet—they could see the crest of the rise black against the sky up amongst the palm trunks—and the water passage bent aside to curve round the foot of the hill. But at the dim sight of that still, little craft, lying like a water-bird asleep in the darkness, Feydeau drew a great gasping breath that must have meant relief and satisfaction and joy too deep for words to express them, and he stopped and leant against a palm tree, and, after a moment, young Smith heard him say in an unsteady whisper— " It's mine—it's mine ! " At least, that is what the American thought he heard Feydeau say, but it might have been : " He's mine ! " for presently he said to Smith, still in a whisper, of course— " We've got him now ! We're between him and the sea ! We can pick him off as soon as he stirs out in the morning ! " Young Smith didn't really care for that idea. It wasn't his notion of sport to shoot a man down from behind a tree, not even when the manwas such a poisonous blackguard

Copyright, WU, by Justus Miles Forman, in the United States of America.


3 fi


and menace to society as Bully Mawson. He wasn't a squeamish young man, and he had been hoping all along that, if they ever caught Mawson up, the fellow would make a good fight, and have to be killed instead of taken alive. But potted at from ambush ! That was too much. He didn't like it, and he meant to tell Feydeau so ; but at just that moment something occurred to, as it were, distract him. They were standing all three together— Feydeau, Smith, and the Maori bo'sun—near the bank of the waterway, straining their eyes to make out what details they could of the little vessel that lay in the gloom a few yards off across the inlet, when, quite suddenly and without the slightest sound, something blacker than the night rose out of the earth before them—a gigantic figure, bigger even than Smith, and, on the instant, fire burst from it—a great flower of brilliant fire, exactly like a rocket bursting against the gloom of a black sky. It seemed to Smith that the explosion occurred directly in his face, so that he was blinded by it, and thought he was done for, and wondered, even while the roar deafened his ears, why he didn't fall. But it was the Maori who fell instead, without a cry, and, before Smith's eyes could see again, there was another roar—Feydeau's pistol—and the huge black shape was down, thumping and threshing in the gloom. Smith and Feydeau ran a few yards and dropped on their knees to watch and listen. The Maori, poor chap, never stirred after he dropped, but the man Feydeau had done for —a native—struggled and gasped for a few moments before he was still. Other than that there was no sound whatever—not so much as the stirring of a bird—a silence that was somehow as black as the night. It got on young Smith's nerves, that uncanny blank of stillness did. It wasn't natural or right. Mawson and the others of his crew ought to have come charging and shouting and ram­ paging through the palms. They ought at least to have shown where they were even if it was only to run away. But there was only that beastly black silence and the sound of Smith's heart thumping, and, at slow regular intervals, a far-away faint sound like a broom across carpet—the sea breaking on the reef. But after what seemed like several years of this—during which he had to fight an insane desire to yell, just to see what it would sound like—young Smith's ears caught the very slightest crackling noise from half-way up the steep rise of ground above him—a noise as if somebody's foot had trodden on and broken

MAGAZINE. a bit of undergrowth. Hard upon that, a pebble came bounding down the declivity and plopped into the water. Then every­ thing was still again. Feydeau touched his companion's arm, and the two turned back among the palms towards where the Hawk lay by the lagoon. They knew now where the enemy was—on that fortress-like crag of hillside—but they could do nothing until daylight, and they were safer on their own deck. Feydeau worked the Hawk out into the lagoon, though close in shore, blocking the mouth of the passage, and anchored her there bow and stern with slip cables. He was in a state of profound though grim excitement—a new man—and never even spoke of the loss of the Maori, Paul, though he had valued the man highly and treated him almost like an equal. He told Smith to get an hour or two of sleep if he could, and Smith, who could have dropped off in a burning house, obeyed him without a protest, but, for once in his life, slept ill, being annoyed by grotesque and painful dreams of the Harvest Moon, with whose history he was, of course, familiar, having been for some months in the South Pacific. He couldn't imagine, on waking, how or why that in­ famous and ill-omened jewel should have got into his mind. It seemed to him so odd that he spoke of it to Feydeau, who had waked him hard upon dawn. He said— " Yon know that big pearl that everybody hereabouts yarns so much about—the un­ lucky one—the Harvest Moon ? " Feydeau turned his face towards Smith in the dark, and after a moment said— " What if I do ? What of it ? " " I dreamt about it," said young Smith— " the queerest dream that ever was—you and the Harvest Moon." Feydeau crossed himself, and he wasn't a religious man either. Smith thought he might be superstitious — heaps of people are—and he was for dropping the un­ pleasant subject, but Feydeau asked him in an odd voice— "What about — me and the — Harvest Moon ? " And the American said— " Oh, the pearl was a big bright thing like a lighted Chinese lantern in the dark, and you were trying to get it, but you didn't. That was all." He ended untimely, because be found himself unwilling to tell Feydeau that he saw him dead—shrivelled before the fierce brightness of the Harvest Moon like a moth before an electric arc-lamp. But his chief seemed to lose interest in the matter,



anyhow, for he gave a harsh laugh and shook himself, and began to explain how, with the first peep of dawn, he meant to attack Mawson's hillside. Then presently they were off again, stealingthrough the gloom, all four of them, for the Kanaka boys went also. The sky above the eastern horizon began to grey a little—the false dawn. * * * * * Smith, flattening himself carefully behind his boulder, stretched out one hand towards his chief. " More cartridges ! Mme are gone." The movement brought into his vision the two dead Kanaka boys lying on their faces, hard by, with flies already gathering over them, and he made a face. They'd been such cheery, willing lads ! They had grown to be like pals of his, almost. He was untouched himself, but Feydeau had one cheek torn open by a bullet, and looked rather gory. Above, on the rocky hill-top, one native lay dead, and another hung over the crest, held somehow by his legs, head and arms pendent. So the casualties were equal up to this moment. A man's voice called down the slope—a weak and husky voice, that sounded as if it might once have bellowed with the best of them— " Hawkins ! Hawkins ! Hawkins ! " " Who the devil does he mean by Hawkins ? " demanded young Smith, and Feydeau said, kneeling up with his rifle ready— " He means me." "You'll never get it, Hawkins," called that weak, husky voice from above—" never in the world ! " The man must have shown himself then, for Feydeau fired quickly ; but at the same instant there came a report from above, and Feydeau rolled over on his face, the rifle falling under him. Smith thought the man was gone, but he wasn't. He was shot through the right leg, and presently pulled himself up again into his former posture, and began to twist his handkerchief about the thigh above the wound. Smith would have crawled to lend a hand, but Feydeau said— " Keep your eye aloft. There's one of them left." He gave a sudden laugh that was like a dog barking. " I got him at last ! He's done for, any­ how ! " Smith coughed in the bitter smoke and settled himself to watch. He was rather





angry because he had been, through the past hour, as useless as if he had stayed on in Tahiti. One of the two dead natives up above had fallen to Feydeau's rifle, and the other had been killed by one of the Kanakas. He himself had fired a whole pocketful of cartridges, with nothing at all to show for it, and he rather fancied himself as a marks­ man, too. But after a few long moments of waiting, he gave a quick movement, fired, and sprang to his feet with an exultant cry. " There goes the last one ! " said he. " I've got that chap with the red rag on his head ! " And he did a little dance on the bank of the watercourse. Then his eye fell upon the dead Kanaka boys, upon Feydeau's torn cheek and bandaged leg, and he turned sober once more. This wasn't a day for laughter. He said to Feydeau— " I'll go and have a look up above there. You can't very well do the climb." And Feydeau, white and ill, nodded without speaking. But when young Smith had gone a few steps, he called him back. " Don't touch Mawson's body. Leave him alone until I get up there, after a bit. D'you understand ? " " Yes—oh, yes, I understand ! " said young Smith, staring. " That is, I hear. Why shouldn't I touch Mawson's body ? " But Feydeau cried out with an extraordinary and inexplicable fury— " None of your business ! You heard what I said, did you ? Well, do as you're told, and shut up ! " So the American, very much taken aback, went on without further comment. After all, Feydeau was his chief, and bullet-holes in the leg don't con­ duce to sweetness of temper—not always, that is. He climbed the short, steep slope, and at the top came into a small open space oddly walled about on three sides by huge boulders —a kind of natural fortress. Smith halted between two of the boulders to take account of affairs. There were three bodies within the circle of rocks before him, not counting the native who hung over the brink held by his legs. But Smith's eyes went at once to the figure of a man with titanic shoulders and a mat of black hair and a great square beard, who lay on his back with his rifle across his legs. He had been wounded .in a dozen places and was torn and red—a ghastly sight. Young Smith nodded across at him with something like respect and awe. Live as he chose, the man had at least died hard and game. " You are a good sportsman at the finish,"




said young Smith. " I take my hat off to you, Mr. Mawson." He shook his head sorrowfully over the dead native who huddled near by. It seemed to him to have required altogether too much blood and human life, this chase after a single man, and so turned towards his own one victim in the battle—the fellow with the red handkerchief. He stared and shook his head, quite certain that the heat and thirst and excitement had maddened him a little. He stared again, then gave a loud, terrible cry, and ran and fell upon his knees. For his victim was a young woman ! She wasn't dead, it appeared, for she was turning back and forth as she lay, and her lips quivered and her outstretched fingers closed and unclosed spasmodically. Young Smith, shaking like a man in fever, caught the girl up in his arms and tore the red handkerchief from her head. It hid a wound over the temple—a slight wound that might still have bled a good deal down into her eyes. Further than that, she had a streak torn across one shoulder, and, lastly, his own mark of triumph—a bluish bruise just where brow and black hair met, and where the bullet, penetrating first that crimson bandage, had struck and glanced and stunned the girl as neatly as if she had been hit by a club. She came to her senses in Smith's arms as he crouched on the ground, holding her and staring with utter horror. Her eyes opened, and she hung there quite lax, seeming, as it were, to take him in with patience though with but a dull interest. Smith perceived distractedly that she was beautiful in a dark, exotic fashion, but he was far too much overcome by horror and shame and con­ sternation and something rather like nausea to be moved by that. He could have wept aloud. "Well, you've got us," the girl said at last. "You've wiped us out, but you'll never get the Harvest Moon." " Oh," cried young Smith in a voice like sobbing, " why didn't I know I was shooting at a woman ? " He passed over her words about the Harvest Moon ; they were meaningless to him. " Didn't you ? " asked the girl, without seeming to care very much. " Hawkins must have known. Oh, yes, of course he knew ! " Her eyes sharpened suddenly, and she said— " Where is Hawkins ? Is he dead ? Ah, if he's only done for, I could bear it

MAGAZINE. then ! " Young Smith shook his head, frowning. " I don't know any Hawkins," said he, and then remembered that weak, hoarse voice calling down the slope. "Oh, you mean Feydeau ! He's not dead. He's badly hurt, though." " He's calling himself Feydeau again, is he ? " the girl said. " Well, that's as good a name as another. Hurt ? Let's hope he'll die ! D'you suppose you could get me some water ? My head's very swimmy." Young Smith laid her down with great care and turned away, but she called him back. " Oh, about Hawkins ! You look as if you had some heart. P'rhaps you have. If Hawkins lives, and there's any danger of my falling into his hands, will you promise to kill me or to give me something to kill myself with ? If you'll just lend me your pistol or even a knife, I give you my word I won't try to harm anybody else with it— not even Hawkins." Young Smith covered his face with his hands and felt very sick again all over. " Ah, don't—don't ! " he said, when he was able to speak. "Can't you see you can trust me ? If Feydeau lays a finger on you, I'll tear him to pieces ! Where's the water ? " She gave him a straight, brief look that seemed to betray surprise and a little interest, then lay back as if her strength were gone. " I n a bucket—yonder," she told him. And Smith fetched the water, knelt again over the girl, and wet her head and face, sousing the red handkerchief in the bucket for the purpose. The flesh wound on her forehead waked under his ministrations, and he bound the handkerchief about it once more. The girl lay still, with her eyes closed, and when he had finished his work, he knelt on where he was, watching her. He was still sick with the horror of what he had done—what Feydeau, who knew, had let him do, and what, but for the merest accident in the world, he might have completed. Shooting at a woman ! He looked beyond, where the cause and object of all this slaughter lay stiffly on his broad back, done with the alarms of this world, and he scowled at the image of the man who had dragged a woman's life into the filth of such a life as his had been. He felt no more pity nor respect for Mawson, only the fiercest hatred and, though he didn't realise it just then, jealousy. But when he turned his gaze once more downwards, the girl, lying


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dark and lax at his knees, had opened her eves and was looking up at him. She asked— " What are you scowling at ? " And young Smith said— •• At Mawson." She asked him again, as if she hadn't heard — " A t w h a t ? " And he repeated it a bit sullenly— " I was scowling at Mawson. If it hadn't, been for him, I'd never have come near killing you. It was I fired that last shot that laid you out. You might as well know it." " Oh. yes," she said. " I knew that. Rut what do yon mean by Mawson ? What Mawson ? " The American had a sudden vertiginous premonition of frightful unknown things, and went as white as piper, and began to tremble. He said stammering— " Why — why. Mawson — Mawson — the dead man yonder—the fellow we've been chasing half across the South Seas—Mawson the convict." He caught her suddenly by the arms, and his white face was apoplectic. " Do you mean to tell me I/nit's not Mawson.' " The girl shook her head, staring up at him a little frightened, as if she thought him mad. And he very nearly was. He shouted— "Then where is Mawson ? Where ? Where : " "How should / know?" she asked him. "I've never seen the man. Of course, I've heard of him—everybody has —but 1 never saw him in my life ! " She seems to have seen the truth all in a flash just then, for she struggled to her knees, catching at Smith's hand, and then to her feet. The two stood close, looking into each other's faces. The girl said— " Look here ! Did you truly and honestly think you were running down an escaped convict with that Hawkins, or Feydeau, or whatever he calls himself ? Hid you ? " He couldn't even answer her ; he was incapable of speech. " Because," she cried, " if you did, you've been lied to and tricked and made a fool and pretty nearly a murderer of—that's all ! " Young Smith's face had turned white again, but it held a quite différent expression, and he seemed to have no more trouble with his tongue. He said very softly— " Just let me tell you my side of it—it won't take but a moment—then I want to know one or two more facts, and then I'll go down this hill and have a little chat with Mr. Feydeau." He told her briefly

MAGAZTXE. and swiftly how Feydeau. representing him­ self to be an agent of the New South Wales Secret Service, and recently bereft of a lieutenant, had picket! him up iu Tahiti, offering him excellent pay to help in running down a notorious escaped convict. " That's what I knew of the matter up to two minutes ago," said he. "Now, tell me who is Feydeau. and why should he hunt down and kill that dead man yonder?" The girl said— " Feydeau, or Hawkins, whichever his real name may be. is a blackleg pretty well known over all the South Pacific, I wonder you never heard of him. You're new in this part of the world, aren't you ? I thought so. Well, that's who Feydeau is, and he was running down my—the man who is dead because he knew him to have the Harvest Moon." Smith uttered a kind of groaning eurse and tamed his head away. Buts after a moment, he said— "Just one thing more. You're quite sure Feydeau knew that you were here ? " He must have known it." the girl said. Smith looked at her and at the dead man and kick again. Smith sighed and said— " Thank yon ! I'll go down now." He turned away to go, but found the trouble unnecessary. Feydeau had come to him. crawling, dragging himself up the slope by his clawed hands. His wounded leg trailed helpless after him. His face streamed with blood and sweat. He saw the American, and cried with what voice he had— " What are you so long about ? Curse you ! You've been searching him. Where is he ? Show him to me ! " Smith stood still, his hands twitching, but the girl called out— " N o use, Hawkins! The Harvest Moon is hidden where you'll never find it ! " Feydeau gave a screaming cry—he hadn't seen her at all : he had thought her d e a d whipped out his big automatic pistol and fired as he lay on the ground. He shot straight, too, and nearly did for young Smith, who had sprung forward just in time. As it was, the bullet tore a flesh wound across his arm. Smith reached the man in one tremendous leap, like a football player's flying tackle. He drove his knees into Feydeau's body and his thumbs into Feydeau's lean throat. The man's face turned red and then purple, with dreadful, protruding eyes. Smith cursed him and pressed the harder, but all at once stopped and took his hands away. He considered, and finally spoke over his' shoulder.



"Fetch the Harvest Moon, if you know where it is." The girl hesitated and hung back. Finally she went across the hill-top and out of sight among the big rocks. She returned with something in her hands, wrapped in many little coverings. " What are you going to do ? " she asked in an unsteady voice. The American rose to his feet and dragged Feydeau after him. The man's head rolled on his shoulders. He had been very near death. " Uncover the thing and show it to him ! " Smith commanded. His back was towards the girl, and he did not see what she pre­ sently held up to view ; but Feydeau saw it, and the sight pulled him together like a dash of cold water, like daylight after darkness, like dreams come true, like the open gates of Paradise. He stared, held by Smith's strong arms, and trembled, and tears ran down his cheeks, and he said, wailing like a woman— " Give it to me I Give it to me ! " " You scum ! " said young Smith. " Bah, you corrupt the whole world ! Get out of i t ! " He lifted him high and Hung him over the brow of the cliff. Feydeau screamed in the air and was gone. Later on, Smith said— "We must bury—this man. I mean, / must. Would you like to go away some­ where among the trees while I do it ? " The girl, who had been crouched upon the ground, with her hands over her face, rose and looked at him gratefully. "You're very good. I'll help. There's a spade yonder, by that rock. We'd meant to throw up earthworks, but we hadn't time." So the American dug, and they laid away the man whose name Smith didn't even know. The girl gathered flowers and covered the body with them, but first she knelt and kissed the man's face, while Smith looked gloomily away. Afterwards be dug again, while his com­ panion went away down by the beach, and buried all the dead, save Feydeau, as well as he could. Later still, the two had a talk about what was to be done. " We can get sail on one of the schooners," the girl said. " You're as strong as two men, and I'm as good as one, so we can at least get away from here." " Whore ? " he asked her, and she said— " I should like to go home, though it's asking a good deal of you to beg you to take mo there. We'd an island—he and I—a little island with fifty or sixty natives on it. It's two or three days' sail from here. If





you'd help me to reach Lavanga, I could give you as many men as you wanted to come back here after your schooner and take her wherever your home is." Smith laughed not very gaily. " Me ? I haven't any home. I was on the beach when that—when Feydeau picked me up." The girl looked at hiin and suddenly flushed red and looked away. " There's Lavanga," she said. Smith took a long breath. " J u s t tell me something I I've no right to ask, but maybe you won't mind telling, all the same. What—that is—well, what was the man—we buried to you ? " The girl glanced up at him swiftly and away again with the ghost of a sad smile. " If you really want to know," she said, " he was my father." Smith gave a great cry of joy and fell on his knees. He caught the girl's hands in his and bent his face over them. , When they wore making her little schooner ready, she suddenly asked him— " What shall we do with the Harvest Moon ? I'm afraid of it, Smith." She had pounced at once upon that unpicturesque name, scorning his other nicer ones. " I'm afraid of it, too," said he. " Heaven knows, I don't want it ! " She showed him the kingdoms of the earth. " You could take me home to Lavanga, then go back to Australia and sell the pearl for a fortune, you know. I've heard it valued at thirty thousand pounds. You could be rich—and free of me." Smith merely laughed.

Then he had an idea and told her about it.

They set sail for Lavanga towards sunset

of that day, the two of them in Mona's fast little schooner, but before them there rode out into the golden west another craft, unmanned, only its jib set and its wheel lashed fast. It carried no living thing on to the broad spaces of the Pacific, but seated on the empty deck, bound to the foremast by a rope about his body, was a dead man, and round the dead man's neck, suspended by a cord, hung the Harvest Moon with a wisp of paper fastened to it telling what it was. So Feydeau had at last the reward he had longed for, and so in this grim and horrid manner the jewel that had shod such a trail of treachery and blood and crime and shame across the world went out of the lives of these two young people. They watched it go and looked into each other's eyes, and kissed and turned their faces towards Lavanga.










HERE are many different bodies of detectives kept up by various private and semi-private institutions, from exclusive watchers of Royal palaces to the searchers a f t e r smuggled sacchar­ ine, but none of these un­ official detectives can equal in useful­ ness the men em­ ployed by the Metropo1itan Wa t er Board to detect waste in the as­ tounding network of pipes, cocks, and taps through which the seven million souls who depend A SIX-INCH DEACON METER, upon the registering up to W,000 gallons an hour. The water goes in at the open end in the Board for foreground and flows down on to a disc, the lifewhich is depressed by the force of the water ; giving the greater the force, the further the disc fluid draw descends. The wire coming through the top carries a gold pencil, which marks on t h e i r the chart. As the disc inside is forced supply. down by the flow, it drags the gold,pencil

is unknown to him. If we had been, as some mortals are, dependent at times upon very restricted quantities, we should better appreciate the all-important problem of our water-supply. " People on land don't know what water is," a sailor-man recently told me, when travelling together in a train. "Twelve days I did," said the man of the sea, "in an open life-boat off the South American

down with it, thus marking a higher line on the chart. The chart is revolved on a circular drum by a clock, so that the actual time of the increased or decreased flow can aLonce be seen.

leaking from a hole J inch in diameter, exposed ready for repair. In some cases a leak has so undermined the surface that only a crust of six inches or so is left sound. In busy thoroughfares this is extremely dangerous, and defects are therefore carefully sought for and immediately repaired.

The ord ina r y m o r t;a.l h a s no idea of the value of water ; he has never known when the tap would not give out a pint or a bucketful of the precious liquid, and. thirst


coast, with • only a wineglassful of water morning and evening. Everywhere the water—saltwater, which clammed round your 42





lips and soaked the few biscuits we had. recognise that he is a real friend, protecting Faith, it was awful ! " he exclaimed as he them for a time from finding their share of recalled his experience. the necessary capital to inaugurate new sources of supply. As a matter of fact, we That the people of London shall never are economical with water compared with know the meaning of real thirst is the American cities, and our cousins across the anxious care of the officials of the Board. " herring pond " Like New York, use an average which is now of one hundred faced with the gallons per head construction of per day, while an entirely new London keeps its water - supply drawings at under system, costing thirty - two gal­ several millions lons. This is, to of pounds, to tap a considerable a vast new water­ extent, the work shed over ninety of the waste water miles from the detectives. town, London will, no doubt, be The importance sooner or later of detecting waste faced with a simi­ of water in the lar gigantic ex­ pipes can perhaps, penditure ; butin be better grasped the meantime, on when it is re-1 the principle that membered that WASTE WATKK INSPECTOR money saved is the Metropolitan changing the chart on a Deacon meter. money made, Water Board has water saved is water found. Numbers 6,197 miles of pipes in its system, from; of people look upon the Water Board which branch off a much greater mileage of official who pays them an occasional lead pipes leading to houses and other parte: visit, to examine taps and fittings, as a where the water is actually drawn for use.: kind of personal enemy ; but if they only A leak, great or small, may develop in any appreciated the true situation, they would part of these buried pipes, and, were it nob —_,M'h-nvjman ^mi„-jBort».

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Showing a night line of over 6,000 gallons an Jiour, and a total consumption of 187,000 gallons a day. reduced by the waste detectives to 82,300 gallons a day.

This was





conspicuous success in northern towns. In one town he reduced an average supply of thirty-one gallons per head per day to nineteen gallons in the short period of six months, without a single member of the community experiencing any decrease in the supply, the difference being entirely saved by detecting and suppressing waste. At the present moment London is saving some ten gallons per head per day by the work of the waste water detectives, and in East London alone sufficient water is saved to supply a town of four hundred thousand people. The round of duties performed by the detectives exposes the extremely effective and inter­ esting method by which this great public service ie accomplished, and by which defects are traced step by step to a section, then to a subsec­ tion, then to a main, and even down to a single house service in which any leak may be. The key to this intricate duty is the Deacon meter, an extremely simple and ingenious mechanism, which is fixed at THE "WARTK WATER DEPARTMENT, EASTERN DISTRICT, METROPOLITAN WATER HOARD. various places in On the left ore the pigeon-holet in vhich the $tuete taken from the meter»are filed. Earh hole contain» the record» token from time to time by the meter at a given »pot. the mains, each being contained in a chamber, which can be examined by of defects in not only such small pipes, but raising a metal plate, and so placed that in many great mains. the whole of the water consumed by the Perhaps I have said enough to have section controlled by a certain meter must brought home to my readers the great pass through it and automatically record it* importance of detecting waste and defects passage. This is accomplished by making in the system ; but, considering that all the the water flow in at one side through a great pipes are buried in the earth, it would puzzle pipe on to a metal disc, which is free to fall most of those not familiar with the method in a cone-shaped chamber, the larger end of to know how a leak can be discovered with­ the cone being towards the bottom of the out undertaking the impossible task of laying meter. When in action, the water passing the pipes bare. through the meter depresses the metal disc, Mr. W. B. Bryan, the Chief Engineer of and the greater the flow, the lower the disc the Metropolitan Water Board, probably is towards the larger end of the cone, so knows more about water-saving than any that the increased flow has greater room tfl man alive—in fact, it is his pet hobby and pass* through between the edges of the disc greatest pride. Before he inaugurated the and the walls of the cone-shaped chamber. system into London, he had worked with for the Waste Water Department, countless gallons of liquid, all costing money to pump, filter, and supply, would run to waste. What the loss of water in such a system would be, without continual testing and repairing the defects found, it would be impossible to estimate, but a broken lead pipe leaking from a hole only one-eighth of an inch in diameter will allow ten tons of water to escape a day with a pressure of twenty-five pounds--an average pressure—on the pipes. Even such a small leak as this will run to waste sufficient water to supply one hundred and twenty people—an astounding fact, which emphasises the alarming result of a number



As the flow decreases, the disc returns towards the upper and narrower end of the cone. Attached to this disc by a free wire is a marking apparatus charged with aniline



The day line, of course, is useful only as a standard for gauging the proper and allimportant night line, as no check can be put on the varying quantities used by the

THIS DKAL'ON MUTKU CHAUT. Showing a night line of t,S00 gallons an hour, and a total consumption of S2,3UU gallons a day. Before the night inspection this night line was over 0,000 gallons an htntrt the total consumption being 187,000 gallons a day (see p. It$).

population, although hour by hour, through­ dye, and this is made to mark its variations, out the time people are using the supply, the which synchronise with the disc which is line remains remarkably constant. At night actuated by the flow of water, on a paper time, however, there should be a great drop, chart attached to a clockwork dram. The as, presum­ charts are ably, little ruled out in water is spaces"re­ being used ; presenting and from each of the experience of twenty-four the class of hours of a people in­ day and habiting the night, and section con­ these are trolled by subdivided each parti­ into spaces cular meter, for each and the day twenty min­ consump­ utes. The tion, the drum r e ­ chief of the volves in Waste Water unison with Department the clock, TUltXING OUÏ l'Oit A NIGHT INSl'KCTION. a n d as i t Officers of the Eastern District Waste Water Department goimj out o» ninht duty. f i x e s h i s night line. turns, the A reference to the first two charts in our illus­ exact flow is shown at any time by the trations reveals how a remarkable waste was position of the line on the cross rulings recorded and a corresponding saving effected. of the chart, which are arranged to register On the first chart, taken from a Deacon meter, the number of gallons per hour.




a day line of between nine and ten thousand gallons per hour is shown, and even at mid­ night and the early hours of the morning, when little water was being drawn, the line only dropped to sis thousand five hundred gallons. Obviously some grave waste was soins on. This chart was taken off by one of the detectives detailed for the duty, aud brought in with others to the Waste tVater Department, where the chief marked it for a " night inspection." This brought to light a defect in a three-inch main and a lead pipe and in a seven-iuch main, and as these were repaired, the chart showed a re­ markable decrease. The second chart (seo page 45) shows the normal consumption restored, the night line down to about one

H jK^^^^^^^^^Btm* 4 *



••* —





The superintendent is listening for the tell-tale hiss trith a stethoscope and aquaphone.



thousand five hundred gallons an hour, and the day line correspondingly decreased, for, of course, the waste was adding to the amount of water drawn by the inhabitants. The effect of the work of the waste water detectives in this instance was to reduce a consumption of one hundred and eightv­ seven thousand gallons a day to eighty-two thousand three hundred, or a saving of con­ siderably over one-half of the supply. In varying degrees defects and leakages are detected all over the area supplied by the Metropolitan "Water Board. It is not enough to get the pipes into first-class order ; they must be continually inspected and checked, as a break may occur at any moment.







when the supply is cut of/or night inspection. The jUm of rcater, of course, shoics that the section is receiving a supply, and the cock has not therefore been turned of.





wee sma' hours. In the morning the incident is forgotten, and the wakeful one probably is oblivious that the disturbers of his slumbers were waste water detectives engaged in that all-important function, " a night inspection." When the faithful Deacon meter chart registers an abnormally high night line, and a night inspection is ordered, a number of officials are mustered about midnight, each being armed with a stethoscope, an aquaphone, and a lantern, and clad in heavy coats and rubber or leather sea-boots. Into


Measuring the distance along a road to correspond with the distance along the drain at which a waste has been discovered.

Occasionally some wakeful householder may have heard the tramp of heavy boots and whispered conversations in front of his residence, and wondered, before he was again claimed by Nature's sweet restorer, sleep, what arch conspiracy was brewing in the


The superintendent has been along the drain to detect a leakage or water running to waste.



a waiting van these night prowlers climb, and are driven off to the section controlled by the meter from which the bad chart has been taken. When the party arrives at the spot where the meter is installed, the record of the" meter is taken, and a man left to watch the variations during the inspection. The rest of the party then begin a systematic tour of the section, accompanied by a turncock. As the cock admitting the water to a certain street is reached, the turncock turns off the supply, and the exact time at which this is








The hours when ereryame is in lad in a certain district are dearly between midnight and 6 a.m.

done is noted. This method is proceeded with until each street supply has been cut off, and the section is what is known as "closed." From time to time a man goes back to the watcher at the meter, and takes his record of the meter, while the turncock, if instructed by the superintendent, occasion­ ally turns on a hydrant in any particular street to make sure that the supply has been oroperly cut off. If by any chance the street




«taira ê» He low water lime

tested ha* not been properly isolated, the water will, of course, gush out of the hydrant. As each c e t is turned off, the superintendent, or one of his detectives, listens for a leak by placing his stethoscope, which is a metal rod about a yard Ion?, with a sound-magnifying apparat ns similar to a telephone earpiece at the end, on the turncock's key. If there is a defect in the main, a peculiar hissing sound can be heard. After they have closed the





In Brushmeid Street, where the common lodgimglumses are situated, tie chart show» that He population asleep. Orer 5'SjQ gallon* per hovr it reckoned at ihe night line for this district.

is i




whole section street by street, the band of night-workers return to the meter and study its record, and can thus locate the street or streets in which the waste is occurring. Sup­ posing, for instance, they have recorded that they shut off the supply to Brunswick Street at 1 a.m., the me'er chart will show at once, by the dropping of the line at this time, if a quantity of water ceased to flow when that particular section of pipe was cut off from the supply. When the whole section was closed, the meter would return practically to zero, unless some injury had occurred to the

DETECTING LEAKAGE IS A MAIN BY A STETHOSCOPE. The metal rod is field between the teeth in some instances, as the sound of the traffic does not interfere icith the tell-tale kiss being heard if tkis method is used instead of putting the instrument to the ear.

TESTING THE HOUSE-COCK. The inspector is listening at the house-cock, and by means of his aquaphone can detect a leakage in the pi2>es leading from the main to the house.

LISTENING FOR A LEAKAGE IN HOUSE SUPPLY PIPES. A leak can be detected by putting a stethoscope to one of the fittings, when the sound of the escaping water can be heard.

length of pipe carrying the supply to the start of the series of road-cocks. To make assurance doubly sure, another record is kept of the time at which the various cocks are opened up again, as the section must have its water-supply re-established before the work of locating the leaky pipes can be proceeded with. This second record is checked with the first, and the superintendent then decides the particular streets in which search must be made. Each armed with his stethoscope, with the sound-magnifying aquaphone attached, the





waste water detectives rapidly travel along the surface over the main, putting their instru­ ments on the surface of the road at every couple of yards or so and listening intently. So clearly is the sound of the escaping water conveyed to them, and so expert do the men become in judging the variations in sound, that they can generally not only decide exactly where the leak is, but can give a very accurate idea of the extent and nature of the injury to the pipe. The search is continued at each house supply, the stethoscope telling




THE ENGINE-HOUSE DIALS. On the left is the "counter," which counts the strokes of one of the great pumps which deliver 1(H1 gallons for each stroke, and on the right the pressure gauge, giving the water pressure in the mains.


. - n t a -ij?DNii l y c w s K i B j »

\ ;fi :


.1$HnHlU"K DJH IS . -4-1K •pStujiDD-n i p p s a y am ;yij»s» o t n j m TTII ctau •mi .ijnju juieK arc "pn

ÏJTCKSli W2*p IS ÎJTB'T? ÛDN^J -|J?DHfl .yccmet? ""yy 1 r* "Çïayto pnpjts ly» l y r a J-K îjseu yn« îpe'i1? o'npn nycoroi cw1? np?jm ixnjjo p<H



| j n p ESH-iecp up

HI 1 » iynjni -ipsoy'jB j n j n w i » ipr-n JIB Dij)nmu"K ipwj pit u n circcc-ipcioi p p * D i n IP?* 1s 7 ' ^ N ; auHTipfi .-UKDBIÏ fH/fp JJ'WC J .K

.en .•UKIOE .oiiKo -KIWIS

fw -. METROPOLITAN WATER BOARD. PRESSURE MKTRHS JN A TURNCOCK'S HOUSE. The left-hand dial is a clockwork instrument, and the hand is supplied, with a reservoir of aniline dye, which marks out the pressure on the sheet as it revolves, thiis showing plainly the actual pressure at any time of the day or night. The right-hand dial is a check upon the clockwork one. By this means the turncock can detect a "burst" by a fall in


readily when water is running through or escaping from the lead pipes which join the main. At times the men on night inspection have more than ordinary difficulty in finding the cause of waste, and sometimes they descend into the sewers and watch for a flow of water reaching the drains. As soon as they find this, they measure the distance



Notice is hereby given that water is being WILFULLY or NEGLIGENTLY allowed to run to waste on your premises, thereby ren­ dering you liable to a penalty of £ 5 . Should the offence be repeated, proceed­ ings will be commenced without further notice,and in addition THE SUPPLY WILL, BE CUT OFF. A. B. PILLING, I •';£.

Savoy Court. Slrand. W.C.


THE WARNING SENT TO HOUSES WHERE WASTE IS DETECTED. The upper half is the same notice in Yiddish, which is rendered necessary by the thousands of foreign Jews included in the population of the Eastern District,













Mitstering for day duty. On the left is Mr. G. J. Wilkinson, Superintendent of the Department. The men are engaged in inspecting house fittings, etc., during tlie day. A bonus is given for each leak detected.

these extraordinary detectives have, no doubt, been puzzled lo know how the Water Board knew what was happen­ ing inside their houses ; and in the densely - populated parts of the East End, where it is quite a usual thing for taps to be left running all night to wash vegetables or even clothes, the mysterious acquisition of the information is often resented in audible or even violent terms.

Besides the actual waste of water, the meter charts tell many extraordinary tales, the class of residents and their mode of life being plainly shown. The chart of a good-class district gives a high consumption line at 1 p.m., when, presumably, quantities of water are being used as a beverage and for washing up the dishes. The afternoon tea supplies, between 3.BO and 4.30, are also clearly recorded, continuing in a modified form, as the breadwinners arrive home to

to the manhole through which they have descended, and then run the tape along the surface until they arrive at the spot under which the running water was found, and so are able to decide the particular house which has water running to w:aste either through defective fittings or carelessness. Such a discovery is followed by a drastic notice to the householder to put things in order, or become liable to a fine of five pounds and have the supply cut off. A curious light is thrown on the e x t e n t of t h e MHlI' cosmopolitan «.j -,- . _ » > population of the eastern part of the great metropolis, V ' S-J ' « "t9 ' , by the fact that for t h e E a s t * •jTH • i . . *

London area these notices are printed both in English

and Yiddish, so

that the foreigners

may clearly under­

tf^^^JD^ '

stand the penalties • fe-n i ^ ^ ^ H H W ^ ^ ^ * * of wasting the all»&,

precious fluid. 1 Many of those who have been un­ fortunate enough T H E K K I W I I Ï S T A F F .

to h a v e c o m e The staff is turned o%tt with the promptitude of a fire-engine, and any leak detected is repaired

under the ban of in a few hours.


1,1!»* lif^

â, r^te

"Jr^iUi^ *

t^Ap x"



an evening meal, until 6.30. From this point the consumption dies away for some hours, only to rise again about 10 p.m., as the liquid is drawn for supper, and decrease again until between 11 and midnight, where the night line of between a thousand and fifteen hundred gallons an hour is reached. At 6.30 the line commences to rise again, as the people get up, and the prevalence of bathing is clearly defined in the rapidly rising and falling lines until just after 7. By 7.30 everyone is astir, and the full day supply is being drawn. <.'harts from the poorer East End districts show how the area is crowded and how the people practically never sleep. With only a quarter of the number of houses, the day line is substantially the same, while the night line has to be set by the superinten­ dent as high as three thousand two hundred gallons an hour, for which the night-workers and the cheap lodging-houses, which are alive all through the night, are largely responsible. The waste water detectives do not confine their energies to the hours when other people are in bed. They go round during the day with their invaluable stethoscopes, listening for the tell-tale hiss of escaping water at house-cocks and house-fittings, inspecting taps and various supplies, and even alert to discover defects in mains. This latter duty calls for an unusual use of the stethoscope during the day. Owing to the rumble of the traffic, the sounds conveyed are liable to be confused ; so the detectives take their stethoscopes between their teeth, when the sound of the escaping water can be plainly discerned, free from the interruption of the noise from the streets. Toothless men would

MAGAZINE. te seriously handicapped in this, for although the sound is clearly conveyed through the medium of the natural teeth, false ones fail to give the desired effect. One of the detectives is quite a noted person, by reason of the fact that he is deaf ; but he successfully uses his teeth on all occasions, and is as cute at picking up the hiss as any of his confreres. Zest is added to the art of detecting waste water by a bonus to the men of a shilling for each defect they discover. Even the turncocks have their share in keeping a watchful eye on the pipes, and many have gauges fitted in their houses, by which they can tell at a glance if the pressure on the mains is decreased—a sure sign that some defect has declared itself. The leaks are from many causes. Heavy traffic will often depress the ground, drawing the joints in the pipes apart ; corrosion and decay destroys old pipes, and lead ones draw out in a bulb, like an over-inflated pneumatic tyre tube, nntil they crack and let out a fine jet, often enough to use up sufficient water to supply many people. Wherever defects are discovered, the workmen are hustled off and the necessary repairs rapidly executed ; and so unerring is the instinct of the waste water detectives that the raising of a single flagstone at the exact spot indicated is usually sufficient to uncover the injury. But for this extremely useful system, it is safe to say that the present supply for London would have to be nearly doubled, and the public put to a great expense to obtain fresh supplies ; so that the waste water detectives, like many other officials, are friends in disguise rather than enemies.





I HE district of Covent Garden is celebrated for its fruit, its flowers, its vege­ tables, its Opera House, and last, but not least, its theatri­ cal costumière and wig - makers. The Covent Garden Opera House is world-famous ; the Covent Garden markets are known to every florist, greengrocer, husbandman, and speculative botanist; and exists there a single comedian, tragedian, or other dramatic practitioner who is un­ acquainted with the costumiers of KingStreet ? Do you desire to see great men, maybe your favourite and most eagerly-hissed villains, in moods of sacrosanct elation or depression ? Then take your station in that teeming thoroughfare. It was June, and the opera season was at its height, the flowers, the fruit, the vegetables at their most dazzling, odoriferous, nutritive, or aromatic zenith, the wig-makers at the crest of the year's trade. In brief, Covent Garden, the heart and central pulse of the metropolis, was beating as it beats but once in the twelve months. From rosy dawn until the midnight chimes it throbbed ; three broken hours of sleep, and then it sprang to life again ; the rumbling vans bore down upon it ; porters, salesmen, buyers arrived yawning ; after these the costumiers and wig-makers and those that make or mar our drama ; and finally the stream that poured forth nightly to the Opera House to hear Caroli. The whole world knows Caroli ; he is its greatest living tenor. Caroli is unique. But once in a generation does such a voice appear miraculously. Now it is the magnet that draws all New York to the Metropolitan ; now it is heard in Paris, Moscow, Vienna, or Berlin ; and in June all London flocks to Covent Garden. For at last Caroli is with us once again—the superb, the golden, the magnificent Caroli, A native of dusty Syracuse, in Sicily, swarthy as the Moor, plump, passionate, with opulent shock of

coal-black hair and fierce moustachios, he treads the boards and tills the Opera House with that all-conquering voice. Unforced, artless by all seeming, it wells out, as nightin­ gale's above the velvet stillness, as skylark's rapture free in the azure. Queens find them­ selves again under that spell ; peeresses remember the boy who was too poor ; school­ girls see the prince of their high destiny ; while proud New Yorkers recollect that they have lost their souls and feel a sudden, draughty vacuum. Even the critics escape their awful mission for a space, and find life good. Such is Caroli, and such the man's unequalled, glowing voice. It was in June—the twenty-third of that brave month, to be precise—and Giuseppe Caroli had abruptly disappeared. Without warning and without a sign he had vanished, and none could tell what had become of him. The performance over, he had left the Opera House as usual, intending to walk the short distance that separated Covent Garden from his hotel. When in London, he always puts up at the Modena, and there a merry supperparty was awaiting him. They waited in vain, and, growing impatient, consumed the supper regardless of their host. For Caroli had asked them, and himself drawn up the menu. They were Lady Bielenstein, who never misses a Caroli night, and hardly any other night, so passionate is her devotion to grand opera and its starry executants ; her husband, Sir Bruno Bielenstein, the famous banker ; Lord de Crouche, the gifted amateur, the Countess of Severne, quite the smartest woman in London, and Empoli, the baritone. Closing-time grew near, but no Caroli. Surely he had not met with an accident ? Surely he had not lost his way or been run over, or ? Imagination suggested a hundred terrible possibilities, all equally absurd. " These things do not happen," said Lord de Crouche ; but Empoli, whose Southern and histrionic temperament was more impression­ able, had begun to grow tearful. Beyond the name of his hotel, the tenor knew but two words of English, and these he, no doubt, mispronounced ! cried Empoli. What had become of the great man ? Never before

Copyright, by Albert Kinross, in the United States of America.





had he delayed like this, and especially on a night when" he had asked so distinguished a company to sup with hiin. It was unpardon­ able. Lady BiclensteiD, the celebrated patron, woman of so exquisite a taste, so opulent a hospitality, Lord de Orouche, the Countess of Ssverne, and even that old money-bags, Sir Bruno Bielenstein —would they ever forgive the inexplicable affront ? Thus, or nearly thus, Empoli. who, besides being tearful," had now grown eloquent. Closing-time arrived, perforce the partv separated—and still no Caroli ! Empoli apologised for his degenerate compatriot, and saw the ladies to the care that waited in the rubber-paved yard. Meanwhile, the performance over, Caroli had left the Opera House as usual, intending to walk the short distance that separated Covent Garden from his hotel. II. MENTION has already been made of the costumiers that are so distinguished an ornament of Covent Garden's most prominent thoroughfare. Their name is legion, and they golf religiously each Sunday in the calendar. On weekdays they attend to business, and are visible to the aspiring man or woman of genius. In the main, and speaking generally, theirs is a happy life. But in any profession all are not fortunate, and some costumiers even have been known to close their shutters and seek some other and less speculative field of enterprise. At the period wherein this story opens, none was more unfortunate or more unhappy than Thomas Somerset. He had already closed his shutters, and, though he sought courageously and day by day, he had not yet found some other and less speculative field of enterprise. Thomas was musical, and this had been his ruin. Thomas Somerset was musical. Instead of attending to business, he played the flute, the harpsichord, and an upright grand ; so that, one by one, and beginning with the ladies, who are always more particular, his customers deserted him and went to Billiter's. across the road. One day he stood in King Street, Covent Garden, his sole realisable assets a mnsic-stool and a cottage piano by Messre. Hopper. And there he was joined by Adam Xewins. Thomas Somerset and Adam Xewins, as is so often the case, struck up an informal acquaintance because both were hungry and both were unemployed. Xewins had just come out of prison, he e-xplained. He had

MAGAZINE. been arrested on an atrocious and unfounded charge, and the authorities, being unable to prove his guilt, had at last released him. He was in business as an itinerant coal merchant and greengrocer, and the frag­ ments of a human corpse had been found admixed with his coal. He had referred the police to the source whence he had obtained the coal, but that source, it appeared, was to-d.iy nndiscoverable. So Adam, after a reasonable period of mystery and detention, had been released. During this interval the stock of vegetables wherewith he had just replenished his empty coal-cart had gone rotten, and, therefore, though possessed of a horse and cart, he had neither goods to sell nor money wherewith to buy a fresh supply. Thomas Somerset listened sympathetically and thoughtfully. He remembered the case ; there had, at the time, been something about it in the newspapers. He mentioned that he was very musical, and that he rarely read anything beyond reports of operas, concerts, and pianoforte recitals ; he also mentioned that he had failed in business as a costumier. And so, having exchanged these confidences, the two men separated, going their solitary and harassed ways. Xext day they met again. Thomas Somerset had passed a feverish and sleepless night, yet was all smiles and buoyant optimism. Adam Xewins said that the owner of the shed wherein he stored himself, together with his horse and cart, refused, unless immediate payment were forthcoming, to keep the three of them another hour. He didn't wish to be hard, he had said, but business was business. The horse and cart were standing round the corner. " Let's have a look at 'em," said Somerset, and Xewins brought them round for his inspection. Xewins, though pigeon - breasted and atrociously dressed, made a fine figure as he came clattering into King Street. Upright on his cart, he handled the ribbons, en­ couraging his gallant steed with phrases learnt behind the plough or harrow. The classical scholars who passed that way com­ pared him to a charioteer of ancient Rome. Excerpts from Gibbon or " Ben Hur " escaped their shaven lips as he came clattering into King Street. Poor lad ! A harmless yokel and unlettered, he had forsaken the country for the town, was seeking his fortune in the stony-hearted capital. " First-rate ! " cried Thomas Somerset, as Adam pulled up sharp beside the kerb. " Yes, it's the very thing—the very thing ! "



Thomas had spoken ; Thomas now was sure. A feverish and sleepless night is usually a night of wild ideas and inspirations. The ex-costumier had indulged in the wildest, and to-day he was ready with an outrage unequalled even in the outrageous annals of Covent Garden. It filled him, took ten good years from off his age ; it buoyed him up and shifted leaden weights from his slim shoulders. " Swear to follow my directions ! " he cried. And as he was an undoubted gentleman,




you think you could lay hands on an empty potato-sack ? The market is just round the corner." " Won't these do ? " Adam had produced five empty coal-sacks, relics of the day when he was in the trade. " Excellent," cried Somerset—" the very thing ! " III. GIUSEPPE


the great

tenor, had

washed the grease-paint from his swarthy countenance, and exchanged a pair of lavender

" Empoli apologised for his degenerate compatriot."

though temporarily under a cloud, Adam touched his forelock and swore. For Adam had been brought up to do what the gentry and especially the clergy told him to do, without question and without base thought of self. " If you obey me, our two fortunes are as good as made," pursued Somerset. " From grim and hopeless poverty we will soar to riches, titles, pomp, and honour. I will be content with a simple peerage ; you, I feel assured, will attract less attention if you accept no higher distinction than a knight­ hood, or at the most a baronetcy. But to-day let us be practical," he added. " Do

silk tights for ordinary trousers, and with this change he had ceased to be the Huguenot of Meyerbeer's famous opera, and reverted once more to the twentieth century and the Roman Catholic faith. His dresser com­ pleted the transformation, and now the tenor, attired immaculately, strolled from his room and so to the stage-door. At his hotel, the palatial Modena, he was giving a supper-party that night. Caroli was all impatience to sit down with his guests. The stage-door of the Covent Garden Opera House opens on a narrow byway, lively enough during the animated hours that surround a performance or rehearsal, E



hut, when the vast theatre is emptied, a solitary, deserted, and sombre place. At the moment in which Caroli issued forth, two men, accompanied by a horse and coalcart, lurked in its shadows, otherwise it was bare and silent and untenanted. Caroli came out of the stage-door ; the two men moved hurriedly from the lee-side of the coal-cart. Strong hands had seized Caroli, a sack had been flung over his head. Before he could utter his two words of English, he had been thrown into the coal-cart, where swiftly and dexterously he was gagged and bound. The coal-cart moved away with him and his two captors. There followed a drive that seemed to last eternities, broken only by one short stoppage, duriug which some heavy article seemed to be hoisted on to the coal-cart. When the gag was taken from his mouth, the sack from his head, Caroli found himself in the open country, and a fleecy moon was setting in the west, a golden sun was rising in the east. It was morning. Caroli rubbed his eyes and cried in his native tongue: "Brigands—bandits! Carabineers and police ! " Bunnies astir in the young wheat and oats heard him with dismay, and fled back to their underground abodes ; alarmed blackbirds flew to cover, piping for dear life; a cuckoo's mocking voice answered him. Otherwise it was a still and lovely morning late in June. Caroli sat up and gazed about him. A cottage piano and music-stool stood on the cart, and with these were two men, one of whom spoke Italian. This was Thomas Somerset. " Buon giorno ! " said he, and produced a razor and a pair of scissors. In a trice Caroli's opulent shock of coal-black hair was shorn, his fierce moustachios scattered by this expert. Adam Newins sat on his chest while Thomas Somerset operated. It was explained to Caroli that in future he would have to sing out of doors. Somerset would accom­ pany him on the piano ; Adam would drive them all from place to place, and go round with the hat. " Brigands—bandits ! Carabineers and police ! " shrieked Caroli in a wild outburst of Sicilian and Italian ; he even let off his two words of English, cue of which was " Yes," and the other " No." Somerset smiled grimly. " No one here will understand you," he said, " and if you don't sing, you will starve, and, what is worse, we will thrash you with this whip ! " And he cracked the carter's whip that

MAGAZINE. belonged to the coal-cart, and gave the tenor a taste of it there and then. " Oh ! " yelped Caroli, and rubbed his wounded ear. " My voice will be recognised," said the tenor, recovering. " There is only one such voice in all the world." " What will he will be, rJie sarà sarà," answered Somerset ; " but meanwhile you will have to sing. No doubt you will be missed at Covent Garden, and the police will probably search for you high and low ; but they will never guess that, in the cropped and shaven rascal who wanders with two such disreputable bounders as myself and our friend Adam, there is hidden the great, the all-conquering tenor, Giuseppe Caroli." At this compliment, evidently sincere and spoken from the other's heart, Caroli bowed. " Now change your clothes for these," pursued Somerset, unfolding a worn tweed suit which he had obtained on credit from a second-hand clothes-dealer who, having known him in more prosperous days, had trusted him to this extent. Caroli hesitated. " I can't have you singing about the place in swallow-tails ; that would increase our chances of detection. We have changed your face and hair, now we must change your body." Caroli understood. " Scoundrels," he hissed, " thieves, traitors, villains, murderers ! " It was all no use. The inhuman Somerset stood over him with the carter's whip while he exchanged his immaculate evening-suit for these threadbare and thrice-shabby tweeds. By this time the sun had climbed to a point that indicated the beginning of the rural day. Already blue wisps of woodsmoke were rising from cottage chimneys. At last a farm labourer came along the road. Caroli said " Y e s " and " N o " to him, and "lo sono Caroli" but it was all no good, and the man never so much as stopped and answered him. Then Caroli cursed England and the English for a full quarter of an hour, till Somerset said : " It's about time you sang for our breakfast," and Adam Newins cracked his whip and cried : " Gee up, old lady ! Steady does it ! That's the way ! " IV. OF course Caroli was missed, of course the newspapers, the police, the public were full of his abrupt and sudden disappearance. It was the sensation of the hour ; it threatened to dislocate the whole Opera House, the whole season. Lady Bielenstein, the famous



banker's no less famous wife, was incon­ solable. " Vatever shall ve do vidout him ? " was her constant cry, her constant lamentation. " I go no more to de opera till he is found ! " she vowed, and turned to poker-patience and ponnd-a-point bridge as a distraction. As Sir Bruno Bielenstein won most of her losings, and she herself stuck to her winnings, the exchange from Covent Garden to the card-table had its brighter side. Empoli, Lord de Crouche, and Lady Severne moved heaven and earth—but no Caroli ! The baritone's state was piteous in the extreme. Sobbing, he swore that never again would he come to London unless the missing man were produced instantly. " Instantly ! " he cried, and seemed seriously inclined to tear out his hair— these foreigners are so extravagant. De Crouche subscribed one hundred guineas to a fund that had been opened by one of the more enterprising newspapers. The reward was to go to whomsoever should produce Caroli, alive or dead. Lady Severne said she had never thought much of his singing, and that she was glad somebody else would now get a chance. . . . Meanwhile, the great Sicilian was wandering up and down the land, shaven and cropped, and dressed in an old slop-suit, singing for his daily bread and that of his two companions and a middleaged horse. He sang wonderfully—never had he sung so well. The more wonderfully he sang, he argued, the prompter would be the recognition of his unequalled voice. At the first house before which Adam Newins halted, the owner, a burly farmer, set the dog on them. Somerset, mounted on the coal-cart and the piano-stool, was deep in an air from " I Pagliacci " ; Caroli's marvellous tenor was filling the morning with its splendour. The farmer had come out and unchained a fierce bull-terrier. Caroli made one supreme and dazzling effort that would have melted a heart of stone. Instead, " Now, you be off ! " had cried the outraged farmer. " I don't want any of you dirty foreigners a-singing in my yard ! " And, addressing the bull-terrier : " Seize him, Dick—seize him ! Hitch on to his calves ! Good boy, seize him ! That's right, boy ! " The bull-terrier had approached Caroli, and was making as if to obey. Aghast, the tenor had come to an abrupt and terrified conclusion, and climbed hurriedly aboard the coal-cart, from which comparatively safe vantage-ground he had addressed both dog



and farmer with all the eloquence at his command. Adam Newins, not at all astonished by this unfortunate turn of events, whipped up the horse, and, pursued by barkings, threats, and oaths too violent for repetition, the three drove off to the next halting-place. Thomas Somerset was still cheerful and assured of fortune, rebuking the others with " One swallow does not make a summer, nor one kick-out a frost." And he was right. The organist of a village church gave them breakfast that morning, though, being a poor man and, like most organists, under­ paid, he could not give them any money. " He's got a good voice," said this individual, referring to Caroli, " but why on earth can't he sing in English ? Now, a good ballad or a tender drawing-room song, and lots of people would pay a copper or two to hear him." These two initial experiences were characteristic of the dismal fortnight during which Caroli sang, Adam drove, and Somerset accompanied on the cottage piano. Either they were turned out bodily and threatened with personal violence, or else they were given a trifle, and advised to furnish themselves with an English pro­ gramme instead of that incomprehensible Italian. Poor old Caroli ! He wilted and grew lean under these rebuffs, so that Somerset and even Adam pitied him. Had it not been for the loose cash which Somerset, as an afterthought, looked for and found in the tenor's original dress-suit, the trio would have starved. But even that useful sum was soon expended. Things were growing desperate with these three men, when the ex-costumier, after another of his feverish and sleepless nights, announced a second and more vital inspira­ tion. He would not say exactly what it was, but he so far committed himself as to order Adam to turn the horse's head and take the road to London. He was resolved to play one last and final card, and should that not succeed • Bah, failure was impossible ! He scouted the base, the craven, the enervating idea. Failure was impossible, he cried, prophesying in that wilderness, purged and uplifted by the daring of this second scheme, its triumphant and classic simplicity. To the metropolis they would go, braving all, risking all. Their fortunes—his and Adam's—were already as good as made, invested, and in the vaults of a safe-deposit company. Before re-entering the town, Caroli was




again submitted to the indignity of an enforced hair-cut, and the ex-costumier only stopped short of blacking the tenor's face because a fortnight's growth of sable beard had made it black enough already. So that when at last they reached London, Caroli in his slop-suit, burnt by the sun, reduced by hard living, and cropped of head, though unshorn of jowl, neither that great patron, Lady Bielenstein, nor even his bosom friend, Einpoli, would have recognised in this ambulant scarecrow the famous singer who had so strangely and unaccountably disappeared. V. THE newspapers have already done full justice to the hue-and-cry that was raised over Caroli's disappearance, so there is no need to deal extensively with that aspect of his case. High and low he was sought for, advertised for, and theorised about, yet not even the wildest of newspaper scribes or police officials ever hit upon the simple and ingenuous truth. Instead of the countryside, they ransacked the Italian colony of Hatton Garden ; instead of plain, honest Adam Newins, they questioned cab-drivers ; instead of fields and lanes and villages and somnolent little towns, they inquired at sea­ ports and disturbed the suburbs. Of course their search was hopeless. The wonder lasted its nine days, a new tenor was sent for, and he did his best, poor fellow. By the time that Adam Newins, driving his horse and cart and passengers, arrived in London, Caroli and Caroli's mysterious disappearance were all but forgotten. " So much the better ! " cried Thomas Somerset, and set about the execution of his plan. The horse and cart were driven into London, and then straight to Berkeley Square and Porlock House. You doubtless recognise the address ? It is the princely residence of Sir Bruno and Lady Bielenstein. " Halt ! "cried Thomas Somerset, and Adam halted. It was night, and, climbing on to the lid of the cottage piano, Somerset could see her ladyship seated at the card-table. So bright, indeed, was the room, that he could even see her revoke. " The very thing, the very house ! " he cried, for with the magnificent hostess were Lord de Crouche, that gifted amateur and connoisseur, Lady Severne, and old Sir Bruno, all patrons and box-holders at the great Opera House. He had counted only on Lady Bielenstein, and the wonderful taste

MAGAZINE. and unerring ear of which he had read sc much in the journals that chronicle such things. He had counted only on hei ladyship, and here was a very galaxy of plutocrats, famous, so report said, for the same lavish expenditure, the same passionate adoration of the beautiful, as expressed in operatic song. Caroli should do his very best, and Thomas Somerset would see that he did it. " Now sing, my friend ! " cried Somerset. " In the drawing-room above sits Lady Bielen­ stein." And he struck some opening chords on the piano. Caroli had caught the name. " Lady Bielenstein ! " he shrieked. " She worships me, she idolises me, she is my devoted slave ! 1 will go to her—I will force her door ! " " No, you won't ; the footman would put you out on sight," had interposed the un­ abashed Somerset. And with that he produced a small hand-mirror, which he placed under the eyes of the frenzied tenor. One look was enough for Caroli. Un­ shaven, cropped, the face that met his own convulsed him. " You are right," he answered sadly—" the footman would fling me down the very stairs. But," he added darkling, " she will recognise my voice, she will know me ! You dare not let me sing to her ! " " I must risk that," said Thomas Somerset, and picked out the prelude to a favourite air from " Madame Butterfly." Caroli began to sing. He was singing for life, for liberty, and the pursuit of happi­ ness ; Caroli had never sung as he sang that night. A poor girl wTho was selling roses at two a penny stayed to listen ; she stood rooted to the kerb, and the tears began to roll down her thin face. She was listening for the first and the last time in her life to Giuseppe Caroli. She did not know that ; she did not understand a word of the song to which she was listening. She only knew that a voice had suddenly broken in on her, and that she wished it would never, never stop—that it would go on always, always; so that she might never, never waken and sell roses again at two a penny. She stood there and wept openly, but she did not know that she was weeping, and Caroli sang on, singing as he had never sung before. Upstairs, in the white drawing-room of Porlock House, Lady Bielenstein asked Sir Bruno to touch the bell. A footman answered it.

"Caroli sang on, singing as he had never sung before.1'

" Give those people sixpence to go away," eaid Lady Bielenstein ; and the footman replied, " Yes, my lady," and went down­ stairs again. A minute later he was on the kerb with the sixpence. Thomas Somerset was on the

look-out for him and ready. The footman delivered his message and the coin. Somerset flung the silver at his head and then informed Caroli of what had happened. The tenor's song had ceased. Caroli was weeping bitterly, as these Sicilians will weep.




Suddenly a handful of stale roses was forced on him, and five damp coppers. It was all that poor girl had to give—all her money and all her roses. Caroli wiped his eyes, and she had disappeared. Late that night the great tenor was restored to the world and Covent Garden. " He's no good to us," Somerset had declared ; and Adam Newins, who had thought the same after that first opening song in the farmyard, expressed a similar opinion. So Caroli was driven back to the stage-door of the great Opera House and there let loose. He would never tell what

MAGAZINE. had become of him, never give any account of his wanderings and that strange dis­ appearance. On all that had happened in the interval his lips were sealed. What a failure he had been ! And how could he admit it ? Never—never ! His pride, his vanity, his egotism, his professional prudence alike rejected the idea. But ever afterwards a new and superlative quality was in his voice—you yourself may have noticed it— for Caroli, thanks to Adam Newins and Thomas Somerset, had learnt that between pre-eminent success and pre-eminent failure there is but a step, a thread invisible, and Fate alone may thrust one over that border­ line or hold one back.

THE YEAR. IN the year's round there was sorrow and sadness, Laughter and gladness; Thickly the snow fell, and icy rain pelted, But when it melted, Green-leaf and blossom, that erstwhile were hidden, Sprang up unbidden. Winter=time lingered, but spring was beguilingPalpitant, smiling; Summer was laden with glamorous hours, Sunshine and flowers ; And autumn wove, like a cunning magician, Bounteous fruition. Fresh with the morn came the beauty that thrilled us, Rapture that filled us ; And with the grey shades, golden lights blended When day was ended : This of the year that is past was its burden, This was its guerdon. ELIZABETH B. PIERCY.



HORACE ! " She paused at the door, pulling on h e r g l o v e , frowning a little over the catch. For a second she hesitated still, then she came quickly across to his chair. But the man neither turned nor heeded. His head was bent down over the big ledger, as if his whole being were abandoned to his work. " Horace, I'm going now. Good-bye ! " And her chin was tilted bravely, while her voice thrilled a little, touched with defiance and excitement rather than with fear.. " So you are going ? " Her husband swung round and faced her, a swift anger quickening in his eyes.

knowledge drove him into a fury that whirled and caught him up, that sent remembrances of old unhappiness flashing before his eyes. The very thought of Marion Charlwood sufficed to stab his heart. Was it not enough that his wife's cousin had been the rock upon which the ship of their happiness had so nearly foundered in the mid-channel of married life ? For, in earlier days, before the great insurance company had made him its actuary, the struggle had been hard and fierce. And this woman, who had lived with them on his charity, had grumbled always and had sowed discontent, till at last, in sheer self-preser­ vation, he had expelled her from his house. Yet, now that they were happy and united, and the ship rode at anchor in the haven of success, his wife—whom he loved with the jealous affection of a man who has striven and come through—was leaving him, at Marion Charlwood's call, at Christmas-time, of all seasons of the year ! What if Marion were ill ? Horace Digby, who had seen duty derided and service made the sport of her shrewish tongue, wished that it might not stop at that. If she were dead, it would be better. Then at least she could trouble him no more.

" I'm sorry, dear. I must go. Can't you see ? I can't help it. She needs me. Surely you can understand ? " She spoke gently, even pleadingly. But Horace Digby had no ears to hear the appealing timbre. His voice came cold and hard. " Very well. You have chosen to disobey me. Go your own way ! " "Horace!" She wavered a little, then came closer, throwing out her hands above the open book. But Digby pushed them away. With studied indifference he dipped his pen and added a careful digit to the red-ruled row. Dignity drove her, angry and outraged, to the door. She spoke again—distantly and in surer tones. " I'm taking baby and nurse. I think it best. We shall be back in a week." The door shut quickly and she was gone. Digby leaned back in his chair, sat for a moment staring at the figured page. Then he walked over to the fire and stood, frown­ ing, astride the hearth. She was going—going two days before Christmas—to that woman who had so nearly wrecked their lives ! It was incredible, monstrous. It outraged all belief. The

As he stood there, torn by the old grief and the new, a swift impulse made him its own. He strode over to the door, opened it quickly, and went out. In the hall the nurse faced him, trim-bonneted and neat-gowned. Beside her rose a lumber of bags and wraps. The baby was in her arms. This earnest of his wife's departure urged his anger like a spur. He spoke loudly, furiously, in a voice that he hardly knew. " Take that child upstairs," he shouted, "and take your bonnet off, my good woman ! You're not going ! " The nurse gazed at him open-mouthed. Her knees trembled and she fled incontinently down the passage into the kitchen beyond. As Digby waited in the hall, confused voices, as of sorrow, came to him from the nursery door. In a minute or two his wife descended, the children clinging all about her—a picture grateful and delicious to behold. Big, eight-year-old Bob's arm was

Copyright, 1911, by Austin Philips and Madge S. Smith, in the United States of America.




round her waist—a favour only to be obtained by standing tip-toe high—pale, fluffy-haired Hilary's face was buried in her soft sables, while Sadie, puzzled and distraught, clutched at a warm-gloved hand, a world of uncom­ prehending grief welliug in her wide blue eyes. Digbv drew back into the study door. His wife did uot see him. Her eyes—blue, too, like Sadie's—were also dimmed with tears. Hilary's grief found outlet in a doleful wail. " You naughty niumsey, to go away at Christmas ! It won't be Christmas without any mumsey." Bob, big, brother-like, and resigned, set him to rights. " Mother knows best, doesn't she ? Don't bother her." Digbv. in the study doorway, tried to cough ; but the cough missed fire, as the eavesdropper's cough so often does. The next thing, the lot of them—himself the sad exception—were sitting on the stairs in a loving heap of grievous parting. " You will be good, darlings ? "

" Awfully good, mumsey." Tims the two

eldest fervently. Hilary held his promise in reserve. " Not to go away, mumsey. We want you, we do." " Poor wee man ! " The fluffy head was laid lovingly on her breast. " You see, Hilary, mumsey has to go to the poor ill person. She wants mumsey, and you have to be kind to poor ill persons." '• Nasty ill person ! " muttered Hilary, unappeased. His affectionate, rather jealous nature had, like his father's, its qualities' faults. '• And do try not to vex daddy. Poor daddy ! He's rather unhappy, Bob. You mustn't mind if he's cross sometimes. Don't forget about your boots on the stairs and playing your gramophone when he's in. And. Hilary, you will try not to be noisy at breakfast ? It makes poor daddy's head ache." "I think daddy's ill, too," said Hilary obstinately. " He's always so cross ! " But his mother was looking at her watch, thinking of the further and inevitable scene. So she did not catch Hilary's remark. It was only Digby who heard it, standing there in the shadow of the study door. Mrs. Digby rose to her feet. " Now, cheer up, little people. Don't look so miserable, and mother will come back quite soon. We'll have the joUiest New Year's Day."

MAGAZINE. " Why should people go and be ill at Christmas ? " frowned Bob. " We were going to be so happy." And then, as he heard wheels crunching the gravel of the drive : " Oh, mumsey, there's the cab ! " Their mother withdrew herself from their detaining arms and ran lightly down into the hall. " Ready, nurse ! " she called. Bnt, instead of the nurse, her husband faced her, looking very stern. •' Oh, Horace, is that you ? You trill forgive me for taking the bit in my teeth ? " He drew away stiffly. " You will please yourself, no doubt. I only wish to say that I shall not let you take my child—to that woman's house. That is all." His wife's face blanched. Then she re­ covered herself bravely. " Yon are unkind," she murmured. " I don't think you understaud what real friend­ ship means. You always hated Marion, and you cau't be generous now that she is ill. But "—and her voice shook a little in the effort to keep calm—'• but, since yon wish it, I will tell nurse." " There is no need," said her husband coldly ; " I have done that already." Mrs. Digby went white and red. and white again. It was all that she could do to keep herself in hand. She came close to him, speaking under her breath. " Horace, how could you ? You have made me ridiculous in the servants' eyes. Y'ou can't care for me—you can't, you can't ! I've known it for a long, long time. It is the same with the children, too. You only think of yourself. You shut yourself in yoar study as soon as you come home—you leave us alone always. I am sure you don't love us any more. I wish—if it weren't for the children—I wish I wasn't coming back ! " Then she turned swiftly and caught up one small portmanteau from the heap. In another second she was gone. The door had closed upon her with a clang. She had not even stopped to bid the children " Good­ bye." And, as the cab rolled down the hidden drive, they regarded each other in desolation and fright. " She never looked round at us ! " Hilary sobbed. " She didu't even wave ! " His weeping protest finished Digby altogether. " What the deuce are you children spread all over the house for ? " he shouted. " Upon my word, there's no obedience or respect for anyone ! Be off to your own quarters, and don't let me see you again to-day ! "



There was a hasty scuffle on the stairs as the confused trio scrambled for sanctuary. Their father waited till the nursery door




she had left him alone. She had doubted his love and called him selfishâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;him, who had ordered, as he thought, all his goings to

Laid him tenderly in his new cradle."

shut upon them. Then he went back to his own room. He dropped into his arm-chair and sat there with bowed head, thinking bitter and unhappy thoughts. She had gone, after all ;

please her lightest wish. And yet he was working double tides for her and for the children's sake, denying himself to-day that to-morrow he might give the more. Had he but known it, that was where his mistake




had lain. There is false economy in love as in other and more material things. For Digby had not been content with the fine income which the company gave him. He did actuarial work in his spare time—to make more money for his wife's sake. He was a worker by heredity and upbringing. The lust to provide for his dependents was deep in his blood. What had been necessary once had become habit now. For years he had striven just a thought harder than his fine physique would stand. Now he was paying the penalty. He was utterly exhausted and run down. Every nerve in his body was jangled and on edge. Sitting there, he remembered Hilary's comment : " I think daddy's ill, too. He's always so cross." And he felt the indignation which stirs a strong man when he is accused of being below par. Then, somehow, the idea, first scoffed at, gathered strength and grew. Now he came to think of it, he wasn't so awfully fit. There was that beastly, burning neuritis in his arm, which he had never mentioned to a soul, and which so obstinately refused to go away. And in the mornings, too, he felt fagged and done up— not a bit like his old strenuous self. By Jove, perhaps there was something in Hilary's saying, after all ! He got up and looked at himself in the glass. No, he was certainly not at the top of his form. There were pouchings under his eyes and new lines about his mouth which told their own unmistakable tale. Then, as he dropped down into the arm­ chair again, he began to remember many trivial things. At least, they had seemed trivial at the time, but now they loomed before him important and big. He recollected that he had spoken sharply to the servants, that once or twice he had snubbed his wife, that he had been hard put to it sometimes not to slap Bob for some childish imperti­ nence which he would have once enjoyed. Yes, he was irritable, he was out of sorts. He wanted a holiday—that was it. But his wife had called him selfish.' How it stayed and stung ! And he had thought of her always, before the children even— before everything else in the world ! The taunt refused to be forgotten. The horrible injustice of it was past forgiveness. It stabbed him to the heart's hid core. Then, striving to be just, he reminded himself that women—even the best women —seldom quite understand these things. His wife had never worked for her living— they had never, in the real sense of the

MAGAZINE. word, been poor — and how should she comprehend his all-obsessing desire that, if anything happened to him, her comfort and the children's should be absolutely secured ? Again the knowledge came to him that he had been irritable and unkind. He tried to put it from him, but it obstinately returned. He felt desperately jaded and unhappy. He did want a holiday, but he wanted his wife more. And the knowledge of how he missed her helped him to see that her strong sense of loyalty to the woman with whom she had almost been brought up was a fine even though perhaps rather a foolish thing. Then a sudden splendid idea. Why should he not go after her with the baby and nurse ? It would do him good. It would make him happy. It would make her happy, too, and wasn't that just every­ thing ? For a moment he had almost decided to catch the first train. But pride stopped him. It would be a false step. She would think him weak. He must not be that. Yet he longed to go, with every fibre of his being. He must put a drag upon himself. Feebleness would never do. He forced himself back into remember­ ing that she had called him selfish. He hugged the hateful memory close. Warmed in his jealous heart, it expelled, for a while, the knowledge that, without meaning it, he had been neglectful and unkind. He thought he was strong again. It was not strength, only obstinacy. And he felt more miserable than ever now that, knowing in his heart he was wrong, he was pretending to himself that he had been badly used.






Up in the nursery they were talking of him—all three. " Father's put out," announced Bob at last. His small forehead furrowed at the thought. Here was something new—new and uncomfortable and horrid. Father angry—angry palpably—with mother—the dear mother who could do no wrong. " I won't love daddy any more ! " whimpered Hilary. Sadie lifted a tear-stained face out of her pinafore and spread the front of that damp garment to dry upon the guard. " Daddy couldn't be naughty, and no more couldn't mumsey," she said. " It's only us that's too little to understand." " Here's a nice Christmas ! " jerked out Bob bitterly. " No mother, father cross, everything beastly ! I do call it a little bit too thick ! " He kicked the paint of the



skirting board viciously. You must have some outlet if you are too big to cry. The others, not being disqualified on account of bigness, wept copiously in each other's arms. Cook, coming in half an hour later, found them still in the depths of depression, and rallied them sportively on their glum looks. " Of all the long faces as ever I see ! " she cried. " Only two days to Christmas ! This won't do. Christmas is coming, and the goose is getting fat ;

Please to put a penny in the old man's hat.

If you haven't got a penny, a ha'penny will do ;

If you haven't got a ha'penny, God bless you ! "

" That's profane," said Bob sternly. " That it's not, Master Bob, seeing as I had it straight from a cracker motto, which is as near hymns as can be." " Well, it's nothing to do with us, anyway," said Bob crossly. " Wrong again, Master Spitfire ! For there's a hamper downstairs, from your aunt in the country, wants unpacking, with a great goose, not even dressed, and smelling of apples and all sorts of goodies. You can come down and get it unpacked. And how I'm going to find time between now and Christmas, passes me ! " A hamper ! A wonderful cloud-dispelling hamper, the earnest of many and delicious gifts ! Even mother was forgotten for the time. In one minute the children were down in the kitchen. In three its floor was a litter of straw and string. " There," cried Bob, with a big white goose in his arms, " it is dressed, cook. There's a splendid lot of feathers on it. We'll pluck it if you like." Cook, with strange ingratitude, declined the offer. " They had better make them­ selves scarce," she hinted while she tidied up the litter. Just then Lucy, the nurse, came in. At the sight of her the children fled, not wholly innocent of spoil. Lucy, who had discarded her bonnet and was wearing " a dream of a hat," forebore to scold, and informed cook that " get her greeting cards she must, or they'd never be posted in time." " You'll mind baby, cook, there's a love ? " she said, with the affection of one who asks favours. " I've put him to sleep, and the milk's in the Thermos on the table, with the bottle beside it. Half-past one ! And mind the children don't get into the night nursery, waking him up." Cook, arms akimbo, stood watching her retreating form. Amiable as she was, there were limits, and the new hat was one of



them. " You might be missus, you might ! " she told the now empty kitchen. " Such a swank J never did see ! " The children were back in the nursery now, Sadie with three red-cheeked apples, Hilary with a huge mince pie. Bob had the empty hamper on the floor and a great thought in his head. " The very thing ! " he said weightily. " W'affor ? " Hilary challenged with an overfull mouth. " What I want to know," pondered Bob— " what I want to know is why mother shouldn't have him." " Have what ? The goose ? " asked Sadie, her eyes on the hamper. " No, stupid, the baby ! If mother wants him, she's jolly well got to have him. Now, see what I mean ? " " Run away with him ! " burst out Hilary gloriously. " No, post him, stupid ! " retorted Bob. " We'll pack him up as soon as Crabstick's gone." " Daddy'll lie angry," demurred Sadie. " Daddy said " "Look here, it's nothing to do with daddy. He said so himself. You know that time I had a catapult, and the beastly window got in the way of the stone. Well, mother said it would do if I went to bed and said I was sorry. And father said I was getting past her rule, and he'd attend to me. He said : ' Your province is the nursery, my dear.' He said it himself. He did attend to me, too. Of course, I know now that catapults are caddish sort of things— I'm not going to say anything about that— but the nursery is mother's province, and if she wants baby, she's jolly well got to have him." " Oh, Bob ! " Sadie peeped through the door into the night nursery where the little brother slept. " Bob, we can't squeeze him through that little nick in the letter-box. It would hurt him awful. He's so very thick in the middle." " He came through our letter-box when he was new, I know," said Hilary solemnly. " Cook said so." • " It's parcel post ! " explained Bob with superiority. " Come on, you two. We're going to do what mummy wants. No funking ! " " Daddy'll 'tend to you again, Bob," said Sadie. The boy choked down a lump in his throat. " I expect I shan't get an airship now," he reflected. " I don't care. It's for mother.




Do let's get it done before we begin to feel afraid." He scooped out a nest in the hay-lined hamper. " Just like a little cot. He'll sleep all the time, very likely. And we'll put the Thermos in, too, with the bottle alongside, like nurse has left it." " And write on the label, ' Feed this if it wakes up,' " suggested Sadie. " Oh, won't mummy be pleased, j u s t ! " " We promised to write every day," Bob remembered, " but I'll bet she never thought she'd get baby in a letter." They wrapped the loved little brother in the soft cot blankets and laid him tenderly in his new cradle. He slept on ever so sweetly, with a tiny thumb in his absurd red mouth. Bob's lips touched the downy head. " That's a kiss for mummy. She'll under­ stand. I do wonder what father'll say when he finds out ? I was never quite so bad before. But it's frightfully awkward when it's bad to father and when it's good to mother." His round face whitened a trifle at the thought. Then he shook his head vehemently. " I don't care," he said again. " It's what mummy wants." They filled the bottle from the flask, spilling much milk on the way. " That's a pretty good feed, I should think," said Bob, " and a spare one in the flask for tea-time. Put the nozzle in his hand, and he'll find it when he wakes up." It was ready at last. Hilary had scrawled his idea of the address on the label which had brought the hamper to the house. They carried their burden downstairs with heavy breathings and many rests. Once on the level it was easier. But they felt happier when they got into the road. There were further rests on the way, for the post office—the "general," as the house­ hold called it—was quite three hundred yards off. " Our baby's a splendid one," said Hilary proudly, when the goal was reached. " I shouldn't think many babies weigh so much." His remark went uncontradicted, for the children's arms ached. Inside the trim little building all was bustle and confusion. The hall was chock-ablock with people and parcels, and from a room beside the counter came the hard thudthud of date-stamps hammering the King's head. The children dropped the hamper on

MAGAZINE. the floor in the middle of the crowd. A man, knocking against the hamper, barked his shin and swore. Bob fought his way manfully to the front. " Penny stamp, please ! " he demanded in his clear young voice. The tired-looking clerk took his coin and gave him what he asked. She had been on her feet for many hours without a rest, but she had a smile for him, nevertheless. Hilary licked the stamp—he liked the taste of gum—and stuck it firmly on the label's edge. Then the children waited—waited ever so long, till a pleasant-looking man, noticing their rather troubled faces, lifted the hamper for them and set it on the high flap where the grille ceased. " Oh, thank you ! " cried the children. And they raced off home, rejoicing in their good deed. The hamper lay for a time where it had been placed. After a while a postman came out of the inner room and carried it off. He took it, with other parcels, over to the far corner, where a clerk worked before a square table islanded in a sea of huge wicker skips. The clerk was busy at the moment, but presently the turn of the hamper came. He looked at it, stared, then lifted it up, astounded by its weight and size. " This is pounds too heavy for parcel post," he muttered. " What fools those counter clerks are ! It means a sheet of foolscap and a beastly report! Just when I'm so busy, too ! " Then the need to vent his tiredness upon someone became simply irresistible. " Lockyer ! " he cried. " Lockyer, come here ! " The mutton-chop-faced postman who had cleared the counter shambled across to him on wide splay feet. The clerk regarded him furiously. " What d'you think this is ? " he cried. " This isn't a parcel. It's a pantechnicon ! Just give my compliments to Miss Gibbs and Miss Patterson, and tell them we're a post office, not a goods train ! " The postman bent over the hamper and inspected the label. Then he raised him­ self and grinned into his interlocutor's face. " My, ain't the public got a nerve ! " he said. " Look at the stamp, Mr. Waghorn ! Look at it, j u s t ! " Mr. Waghorn did look. At the sight his fury increased. Swearing is a major offence in the Post Office, otherwise he would have said a thing or two. As it was, he fell back



pon the last-heard music-hall jest. " ' There ain't no words,' " he quoted. " ' There ain't no blooming words ! ' " And he stood looking at the parcel, nose drawn down, upper lip lifted to meet it, and the corners of his lips running off into a prim of discontent. But another postman, coming up with a pigskin trolley, high-heaped with parcels, cut him short. At heart Mr. Waghorn liked Christmas for its work and excitement, and the new avalanche had a steadying effect. Things were getting serious. It was time to wire in. " Chuck it in the storeroom," he in­ structed. " Put it to keep company with the bag of high fish I set aside just now. I'll attend to 'em both later on. The fish'll have to go on the fire, and the hamper'll have to be sent to the Dead Letter Office next mail. Come on, Stanton—help me pack this blessed skip. We've only just time to get off that extra Manchester despatch." The splay - footed postman took the hamper carefully up. The less he did, the better he liked it, and overtime was the sweeter for being easily earned. So what a more energetic man would have bundled through the storeroom's wide, inviting door, //« carried gently and set down with care. Then he came shambling back to the sortinging office, and began to muddle with a datestamp. Ten minutes later the Manchester mail was out. But at Christmas-time Amurath succeeds Amurath, and despatch follows hard upon despatch. The clerk was up to his neck in it again, when suddenly he started and stopped. " What's that ? " he demanded of his assistant on the other side of the skip. Then, as the other stared : " I thought I heard a cry." " I didn't hear nothing," said Postman Stanton. " One of them wheels screechin', ' 'spect. They wants oil, they does ; but there's no blooming time for nothing to-day." " Oh, that's it, is it ? " grumbled the clerk. " Well, we must just let it rip." bent down to pick up a wood-boarded '""brella from the floor. In another second Was standing bolt upright. The postman °oked at him across the half-filled skip. , "It's that there fish singing, Mr. Wag:'. " " he grinned. " Gettin' a bit above JtQself, he is. Wants tying down with a "f red tape ! " '•'· Waghorn's eyes narrowed to a nice filiation. But he pretended sternness, 'he same. le







" Stanton," he retorted, " you're a fool ! A fish never sings—he only hums. It's the hamper—that's what it is." He dashed into the storeroom, then came quickly back, wrinkling his offended nose. He put down his burden with a bump. From its recesses a passionate protest proceeded— muffled but vigorous still. Stanton stuck his hands in his pockets and roared at Mr. Waghorn's dismay. " It's a guinea-pig, sir—that's what it is ! " And he put his fingers on the hamper's lid. " Good Heavens, what are you doing ? " cried the other. " Suppose it isn't a guineapig ? It might be a stoat." " It sounds like a wild-cat," said Postman Stanton doubtfully, " or perhaps a dog with hydrophobia ! " He recoiled a little at the horrid thought. The hamper's lid shook with visible indignation, and the cries increased in fury and sound. The postman paled and stepped back. Mr. Wagborn, impelled by responsi­ bility, bravely inspected the label again. " ' Feed this when it wakes up,' " he read indignantly. "Well, of all the dashed cheek ! We might as well be the Zoo " But a clamour from the rear cut him short. Someone was hammering at the counter's top and hurling wild demands at the astounded girls. It was Digby—Digby who had crushed out his bitter thoughts, who had gone upstairs to seek the nurse and to announce his plans, who had found the nursery empty and the children flown. Cook and he had searched the house from top to bottom in a frenzy of fear. And then presently the children had come back with the awful news that Bob blurted so bravely out. For a moment the boy believed that his father was going to kill him on the spot. But Digby had turned without a word and had run down the drive into the roadway, and on to the post office. He came rapidly to the counter, leaning his face to the grille. '• I've come for a parcel," he said breath­ lessly—" a parcel for Bournemouth that was posted a little while back. Will you let me have it at once, please ? " The clerk—not the nice one who had smiled at Bob, but a rather sharp-faced, shrewish young woman—answered him tartly— " It's quite impossible. A parcel once posted cannot possibly be given up. It would be altogether contrary to the regula­ tions."



She spoke with a sharp, jarring finality. Digby looked at her. realised that she was iu deadly earnest, gasped, tried to collect himself, then fairly lost his head. His nerves, overstrained for years, were all anyhow, and he could not have kept cool for the ransom of a king. He explained nothing —he had uo restraint left. Anger, foolish and unreasoning, completely mastered him. He began to shout and threateu, hammering the counter with his hand. •• I want the parcel—the parcel at once ! "' he cried. " I tell you I must have it immediately ! It's a matter of life and death ! If you don't give it me, I shall fetch the police ! " But the clerk was adamant. A man's instinct for obeying rules is nothing beside a woman's, so that she has accepted them at all. Even her more amiable colleague was of the same mind. •• It- would really be quite impossible, sir," she explained. " The regulations on the subject are so very strict." And she, too. turned away and began to serve someone at the counter's far end. Digby, quite beside himself, redoubled his hammerings, roaring out furious and in­ articulate demands. Iu this pursuit the male staff found him. The incident diverted them very much. It was so pleasant to see someone else getting hot ! •' What's all this fuss about ? " asked Mr. Waghorn cheerily. The girl who had first answered Digby turned to him, all indignation. " This gentleman "—her tongue lingered ironically upon the syllables—" this gentle­ man wants a parcel that's been posted. He won't believe that it would be contrary to the regulations to give it up." " I don't care a hang for the regulations ! " shouted Digby. " I'm going to have it, I tell you. It's priceless—absolutely priceless ! There's something alive in it—something that will soon be dead if I don't get it ! And then you'll be murderers—yes, mur­ derers ! " The office, which had seen a little lull, was beginning to rill agaiu. People were crowding round Digby, taking his part. "Go it, guv'nor ! " said a working man with a scarlet tie. " Fll back you up if it comes to a scrap. It's a shame—that's what it is—treating the public like that. Call 'em Civil Servants ! Why, they're doubledashed puppies ! " He flung the last words at Mr. Waghorn, who smiled genially back. All the same,

MAGAZtXE. that official was beginning to think that something would have to be done. The crowd's temper wits not lost upon htm, and he felt that, if he invited them to fetch the hamper across his prostrate body, he would be taken promptly at his word. So he played for safety instead. •• How is your parcel addressed, sir ? " he asked politely. The courteous question was oil to Digby's auger. " To Bournemouth," he answered eagerly. " It was posted by some children iu mistake." Mr. Waghorn began to see daylight. "Perhaps," he pursued—"perhaps yours is the hamper with the stoat ? " •• No, the wild-cat," interrupted Postman Stanton. " Just hark at his yells ! " And indeed it was easy, now that the clamour was stilled. The sound of his son's voice forced Digby into the confession which til] now he had so foolishly withheld. " It isn't an animal at all," he blurted— " it's a baby ! " There was a swift and devastating silence. Then the whole hall thrilled at the know­ ledge, grew alive with interjections, sym­ pathetic, astounded, amused. A woman iu a shawl supplied the mot juste. "Poor lamb." she exclaimed—" poor wee lamb ! " The throug about Digby caught up the words, repeating them like slieep. As for Mr. Waghorn, he had darted into the sortingroom and was back again, hamper in arms. He thrust it over the counter into Digby's outstretched hands. " We are forbidden to accept live-stock," he said. And then, dramatically, looking round for applause : " It is contrary to the regulations." There was a roar of laughter, a crush about Digby as he stooped. In a flash he had the lid open. The bottle and the Thermos clashed to the tiled floor, caught and thrown out by the blankets from the cot. The bottle broke and the milk splashed up­ wards, covering the father's boot*. But the baby was in his arms, wailing gloriously and unhurt. Digby, swinging round, elbowed a passage, fought through into the welcome road. A shouting cortège followed, but he ran like a hare, outdistancing pursuit, and he came in happy breathlessuess to his front door. " Oh, daddy ! " The reproachful words fell from the crest­ fallen children waiting anxiously for his return. " Oh, you've "got him, after all !


' . / ..:â&#x20AC;˘> ĂŻ

dK A i H ' S l N

"The baby was i:i his arms, -\vailiu1

gloriously, but unhurt."



And mummy did so want him ! " Bob wailed, and hid his face against the wall to hide the big sobs that still shook his small shoulders. Sadie faced her father bravely, like an angry hen distressed for its chickens. " Give that child to me ! " she ordered in a creditable reproduction of Lucy's tartest



manner. " You don't hold a baby that way up ! Digby, weary and short of breath, yielded his burden with willingness, and the wailing died down gradually into a tired whimper. He surveyed the scene in perplexity. His eldest son stood with bent head, resentment




lighting his eyes. Sadie sat on the bottom stair, rocking the baby in her arms to a little sad, wordless tune. Hilary watched from half-way up the stairs, like a frightened rabbit just ready to bolt. His little hands, blue with waiting in the east wind, were clenched in impotent rage. Anger was palpably absurd, and the situa­ tion, strangely enough, shook Digby to a painful laugh that grated half-way through. Was it ludicrous, or was it not very near to tragedy of the cruellest kind ? The laugh ended in a rueful smile. " What ? Afraid of daddy ? Am I such an ogre as all that ? " He shepherded them all into the warm study, dropped into his chair, and took the shrinking Hilary on his knee. Sadie squatted on the hearthrug, baby contented enough in her arms. " Daddy," Bob pleaded desperately— father's arm was round him, and the kind touch made him bold—" daddy, you might let mother have him. You've got all the rest of us, you see." " I'm going to take him by the very next train," said Digby. " Will that suit you ? " He smiled back at three eager pairs of eyes. " Honest Injun ? Nurse, too ? Oh, do take nurse ! " Hilary hugged him, bending his nose painfully.

MAGAZINE. " Oh, darling daddy, I will love you again, ever so ! " he murmured ecstatically. Sadie, balancing baby sedately, kissed her father's chin with some ceremony. "All the same, I do wish you hadn't fetched him back," she remarked. " He'd have got there quite as soon, and it would have been a splendid surprise." Digby laughed, put Hilary down, and jumped to his feet. " Now, mind you have a jolly Christmas, pets. Cook can take you to the pantomime on Boxing Night, and you can do anything in reason to make yourselves happy. It will be ever so much better without a cross old bear of a daddy." •' But you're not cross now," blurted out Bob. " Now you're gone nice, I wish you weren't going away." And then anxiously—. " You're not—aren't you the least bit angry, daddy ? " Digby stooped and patted his flushed cheek. " Not a bit of it, Bob," he answered cheerily—" not a bit." Bob drew a deep breath of relief. " Then it's turned out all right, after all," he remarked. " And mother'll be happy, too. I don't mind anything so long as she gete what she wants." Digby paused with his hand upon the door. " My dear Bob," he said gaily, " to be quite honest with you, neither do I."

ON A BONFIRE OF LOVE-LETTERS TTHESE letters penned with flaming heart In flame to nothingness depart; Words that of fire and passion breathe, Their ashes to the earth bequeath. I see the cruel sparks delete

And shroud in crimson winding sheet

The signs and similes profuse,

The thousand symbols of love's use.

Their smoke disperses in the sky,

Their ashes cold and scattered lie ;

But love as changelessly lives on,

With all its protestations gone.












N the question of stage decoration tliere are many points of view, and most of them differ. Tliere is the designer's, there is the spectator's, the critic's, the philosopher's, the poet's, and the stagemanager's. Tliere are also many kinds of drama, and it may be expected that each kind of drama deserves a separate treatment. And then there are different countries. The poetry of the West is a different thing from the poetry of the East. Western drama will necessarily be different from Eastern drama, therefore the stage decoration of the West will be quite different from that of the East. This being the case, it becomes obviously far too large a subject for me to liandle in the space of a short article. And even if we had the space and I had the time, I should not be able to write on this subject from any of the above points of view. Still,

perhaps I may be permitted to express the opinion that the righ/est and best point of view is that of the artist stage-manager, for, after all, it is he who has the command of our vessel, and it is he who is responsible for the production. An artist stage-manager should, in my opinion, be able to produce a play without calling in the outside assistance of a scene designer, an artistic adviser, a ballet master, a costume designer, or any other " feeder." He should contain in him­ self all the necessary accomplishments for producing a play with the assistance of the actors and the usual craftsmen of the theatre. He should be sole creative brain. However, it is as an actress that I have worked, and it is as an actress that I write of stage decoration. I have always been in theatres where the archaeological side of play-producing was considered. The Shakespearian productions

Copyright, by the S. S. McClurt Company, in the United State* / America. 71


at the Princess's, under Charles Kean's management, were the real beginning of a serious attempt to clear the air of ana­ chronisms. Charles Kean had had a classical education, and he could not share the complacency of most actors at the sight of antique Romans in knee-breeches, and other inaccuracies in dress and architecture. Planche, to this day considered the best general authority on historical dress, was his right-hand man. I made my first appear­ ance as Mainilins in the middle of an out­ burst of care and erudition, of which it would be absurd to deny the importance, because the actresses of the time still loved their crinolines so much that they would not discard them when they put on their Greek dresses. Of course, there are people who ask why they should have put on Greek dresses at all, since Shakespeare's plays, in whatever country or period he placed them, are Elizabethan and English, and since he was content to see " A Winter's Tale." and " Troilus and Cressida." and " Julius Caesar " acted in trunk-hose and farthingales. With neither convention, by the way, do I agree. If, however, it could be definitely proved that Shakespeare was indifferent to such things, it would lie much more difficult to prove that we ought to copy an imperfection imposed on him by his period. Mr. William Poel, the founder of the Elizabethan Stage Society, who. in his productions of Shakespeare's plays placed in a period other than Elizabethan, will have nothing to do with changeable scenery or historical accuracy in dress, stops at having

Juliet played by a boy. But why shonld he. if the idea is to reproduce the limits of Shakespeare's resources ? I am uot at all desirous of saying anything against Mr. Poet's admirable work. I saw his production of " Two Gentlemen of Verona," and it delighted me. but I should not like to see •• Romeo and Juliet " in that Elizabethan setting, much less "Julius Caesar.™ I don't think we ought to be too sure that Shakespeare knew nothing about chitous and togas. At any rate, there is not a Hue in " Julius Caesar" which cannot be spoken in a toga. We have to consider whether we should not be wrouging the dramatist bv denying the play a classic setting. The dramatist, then, is to be considered before everything. The stage director and the actors are those who must give him most consideration. There are some who believe that Shakespeare's works can be divided into two parts—that when we are interpreting the more dramatic parts, we may forget altogether that he was a poet, and beauty will be sacrificed when ic comes to the clash of emotions and of will. But I believe that no greater error can be made than this : for the opposition of force to force ueeessarily produces beauty—beauty of one kind or another. The mistake, it seems to me. which many of us make is to believe that there is only





MISS E I . t . K X T E R R Y AS H K R O IX SM A K K S r E A R K S ' ' MUCH A D O A B O U T N O T H I N G . "






Reproduced from the large engraving, published by Goupil & Co., Bedford Street, Strand.



one kind of beauty, and that beauty a kind of " prettiness." In my earliest days we never heard about the " beauty of ugliness," and even now I think the term is a ver)' misleading one. The direct and tirelike expression of life can in no circumstances be ugly—must always be beautiful. It is only when we fall short of firelike expression that we can say that the thing is ugly. It would be simpler merely to say that the thing is unconvincing, and, if it is unconvincing, it is not a work of art. Therefore it is sincerity in a production which is the most valuable quality. Take,




MAGAZINE. To go back to my individual experiences of decoration. After doing the Princess's, I went to Bristol for a stock season. There was nothing very beautiful or remarkable about the production of the plays there, but at Bristol I mot Mr. Godwin, who was already dreaming of using his nnequalled knowledge of the manners and customs, dress, dwellings, and furniture of other times—all that is included in the term " archaeology," in fact— in the service of the theatre. I was still a mere child, ignorant and untutored. From that time at Bristol I date my interest in colour, texture, effects of light on colour,


R E P L A C E »

The theatre made famous by the management of Sir Squire and Lady Bancroft, who there gare the production of "The Merchant of Venice" in which Ellen Terry first played Portia to the Shylock of Charles Caghlan,

for example, two scenes which follow each other in " The Merchant of Venice," the trial scene, which is very dramatic, and the moonlight scene, near Portia's house, which is lyrical. I should say that a bad stage-manager would turn on the melo­ dramatic tap in the first and the sentimental in the second, so that he might, what is called, "produce a contrast." He would think that the public would not understand the two scenes unless he treated them in this way, and he would do wrong. But if he were to treat both scenes with sincerity, and were able to feel the beauty of both, he would do right.

the meaning of dress, and a certain taste for beauty which I have never lost. The production of " The Merchant of Venice " at the old Prince of Wales's, under the Bancroft management, in which I made my first "appearance as Portia, was in the hands of Mr. Godwin, and was, from many points of view, the most beautiful production with which T have ever been connected. It was all very stiff and stately, very Italian, and it necessitated what I may call a Re­ naissance interpretation of the play. It delighted poets and artists, and is re­ membered to this day. In 1S75 the public were certainly less able to appreciate such a


From a hand-coloured version, by Joseph Wilson, of the photograph bij Messrs. Window ct- Grove.



BEERBOHM From the portrait







production than they arc now. Custom is everything. It is an English characteristic to laugh at the unaccustomed, and some of the Italian dresses at the Prince of Wales's, though they ought to have been familiar enough through the pictures of Paolo

depicted wearing their hats, because other­ wise the monk-illustrator knew it would be impossible to recognise their rank. But in real life cardinals have never been known to wear their hats, which are always carried before them as insignia,. A number of

[Ellis Jj

Photo by] SIR



Veronese, provoked laughter from the ground­ lings. I may here interrupt myself to say that pictures as authorities are not always to be trusted. It is a case of mixing your study of them with brains. In illuminated manu­ scripts, for example, you may see cardinals




people, ignorant of this technical point, in­ stinctively felt that there was something wrong the other clay in the trial scene in Sir Herbert Tree's magnificent and scrupu­ lously exact production of " Henry VIII.," when Cardinals Wolsey and Campeius wore their hats. If the play is an historical one,





and archseologically treated, then what is incorrect usually looks bad from a decorative point of view. Coming now to scenes at the Lyceum which I greatly liked, I must first mention one which, because it was so extremely simple and had such perfect verisimilitude,

it was just perfect to act in. As a rule, I am in favour of everything possible being painted, but I confess, in these intimate interior scenes, it is better to have your details real. Within four walls let us have as much realism as we can get, never for­ getting—impossible to emphasise this too

attracted less attention than some of our more imposing scenes. The Vicar of Wake­ field's parlour in " Olivia " was, I think, a model of what an indoor scene should be. There was nothing in it that could not have been in an eighteenth-century room belonging to people of moderate means, and

much—to select from reality. We have to compose the room, to make it look as a room looks in real life, or, rather, as it feels in real life ; but we are never going to attain this by merely taking any real room we hioiv and reproducing it on the stage. Such a room, however " real," may be quite





unsuitable for our purpose, and therefore " unreal." " See what is Jit will serve." When I speak of realism in this connec­ tion, as in any other, I always mean what looks like realism, for I know that what is real, raw, a n d u ntreated may give an im­ pression of artificiality to the audi­ ence. I remember that in ' ' T h e Corsican Brothers," Henry I r ­ v i n g , as L o a is d e Franchi, had a very nat ura1 death-scene, but it didn't look natural. He fell in such a way that from the audience he was fore­ shortened, and his head looked a dispropor­ tionate size. I told him about it, and he said it came natur­ ally to him to fall like that. This is one of the many, many instances t h a t have m a d e me reflect : " W h a t is r e a l l y n a t u r a1 should not, in nine cases out of ten, be done on the stage." Think of the scorn attaching to the word "theatrical,"though,and the honour to the word " natural," in stage affairs !

MAGAZINE. To a certain extent we of the theatre are responsible ; our lifeless actors and producers are to blame—those whose works are of artificiality instead of works of art. The word " theatrical," if the air of the theatre were rightly u n derstood, o u g h t to h a v e an honourable sense. It is through theatrical means, not natural means, para­ doxical as it may sound, that a play is made to hold the mirror up to Nature. N o w , though I loved that parlour in "Olivia," and in later y e a r s de­ lighted in the cottage interior which my daughter "composed" for " T h e G o o d Hope," as a general rule I hate acting within four walls. I like an out-of­ door scene or a palace scene with wings—yes, with wings ! I can hear the modern school sniff loudly, for do not the modern dra­ matists assert that a room is the only place for drama ? The only place for the present style of play, perhaps, it would be truer to say. For there are emotions, and these by no means




Photograph by Bassaiio.




the easiest emotions to depict, which cannot be realised in a room at all. In my case, I think my early training and a broad method have much to do with my liking for out-of­ door scenes. 1 used to find, too, that they helped to develop my imagination. I could look through the wings and imagine all sorts of things, though sometimes it was hard to have those beautiful, endless ways spoiled by the appearance of a stage " hand " emptying a beer-can—a thing which would not be possible nowadays. I think I have already said that there can't be too much verisimilitude in an

MAGAZINE. come, perhaps, when electric light will yield more to the theatre. Great improvements have been made since its introduction, but it still remains obdurate on many points; it has none of the pliant qualities that gas had. In " Iolanthe " we had another beautiful garden scene of a different kind. Great stone pines far back, and flowers that really seemed to be a-growing and a-blowing. I remember one night, after the play, seeing Sarah Bernhardt flitting round this scene, sniffing these flowers, herself like some wonderful butterfly. I had never known

[Lena Coiuull. NISS EDITH CKAIG.

interior. What about an out-of-door scene? Of uecessity it must lie rather differently treated ; but Mr. Godwin's principle, that if you don't have everything right, it is better to have nothing right — to have either realism in every detail or pure fancy— applies to the garden, the heath, and the wood, as well as to the room. A little garden scene we had in " Eugene Aram," at the Lyceum, was one of the best I have ever known, but its effect was greatly due to the perfect lighting—a mellow evening light, which, I think, one might try in vain to get in these days of electric lighting. I am speaking of the days of gas. A day will

how real it all was until then, although, from the first, things on the stage were very real to me. At the Princess's I thought the Columbine went home and lived like a Columbine, although I knew she was only Miss Adams, and an actress, like the rest of us ! The dreadful tribute I paid to human frailty by being sick from the heat of the gas as the " top angel " in " Henry VIII." did not prevent my imagining that the other angels in the vision were really celestial beings, belonging to some starry sphere. I believe that the more we on the stage hypnotise ourselves into perfect illusion, the more the audience in front are hypnotised.

MADAME SARAH BERNHARDT AS JOAN OF ARC. Photograph by Henri Manuel, Paris.



And it is very difficult For us to practise such hypnotism without some beauty in help us. Tlie scene representing the Temple of Artemis, in Henry [rving's production of Tennyson's play, " T h e Cup," helped me mightily. In that scene, beauty and mystery Of .no common kind were achieved.' The indistinguishable, gigantic figure ofI' Artemis, 1- , • - I l l ._• . . . . , : . . ,: \ ..t :.. the many-breasted mother, the rows of kneel­ ing worshippers, used nightly to fill me with a kind of ecstasy. So far I have only mentioned scenery

MAGAZINE. We have reformers here whom we fail Ui understand because we will not exert our imagination. It is only when we see the thing done in u new way by some clover foreigner that we exclaim : " How original and how excellent ! " Later on we often timl Unit the thing Very originated in the brain ofwith an Englishman. little was attempted I.\...i;..l V m . v l i t t l n «inn , , H , . , , , , , l . . . l _ ! t l . crowds on the English stage after Charles ICean, who hud admirable stage crowds, until the Saxe-Meiningeu Company visited London. from that moment there was

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A N D MISS KIMTll C K A I G IN r i . A v " r i l l . : GOOD l i o i ' K , "

but one element in stage décoration.. Yon may have toiled to get your scene right, but if you have a crowd in the play, he sure its pictorial aspect will make or mar that scene. Every moment you must be considering its colour, its form, its movement, its human significance. And here let me express my regret that the English theatre docs not wake up to new movements until some energetic foreigner comes over and shows it " how to do it." This is a pity, because "copying" is an uninspired business a n d a foolish occupation.


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reform amounting to revolution. But I don't honestly think that of late years wo have maintained the standard tho SaxeMeiningen people imposed on us. Crowds are not- enough rehearsed. Mr. F. R, Hensott is remarkably successful in this department, lie has had some splendid crowds in his Shakespearian productions, especially in "Julius Ciosar," where his arrangement and management of the forum scene was admir­ able, excellent, The swinging to and fro of the crowd, the involuntary single exclamation jerked out by

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MRS. F. R. BENSON AS CONSTANCE IN "KING JOHN." From a hand-coloured version, by Joseph Wilson, of the photograph by L. Caswall Smith.




someone or other during Antony's speech, the individual behaviour of different types of persons in the crowd—this and all else in the scene was most carefully edited by Mr. Benson, and well carried out by the people who formed the groups. All tin's in no way detracted from the effect made by the body of the dead Cassai" aloft, and Antony, shrouded in solemn purple and black, standing at the head of the bier. All was most impressive. Now we come to clothes, and again we can apply Mr. Godwin's principle—" entirely accurate or entirely fanciful." But when we take the first line, we have to consider other things besides accnrary—things which artists who come into a theatre to design costumes have been known to forget. It is no use putting the right dress on the wrong actor or actress. The physical appearance of the person who is going to wear the dress must be borne in mind ; so must the dramatic situation in which it is to be worn. Besides

realising the character of the period to which

they belong, the dresses must be appropriate

Ml:. WILLIAM POLL. to the emotions of the play, and must have

Enthusiast for strictly Elizabethan methods of a beauty relative to each, other as well as an

stage-management. individual excellence. No doubt Ophelia, as

an individual figure, should be in black (for relatively to Hamlet, she is very wisely pictorial effect) in the mad scene, but, dressed in white. There are hundreds of

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similar instances. To sum up, both the form and the colour of all stage dresses must lie governed by the individual actor's appearance, by the general scheme of colour in each scene (this again being governed by the dramatic situation), and by the relative importance of colours, and then the lime­ light men may make the best-laid scheme " gang aft agley." To carry out such a scheme, it is not always necessary to spend a great deal of

MAGAZINE. makers and stay recommenders, begging me to improve my figure. But on the stage I have submitted even to the iron body-casings of the Tudor period. As Queen Katharine I paid my tribute to archœology in those awful stays, and added thick brocade dresses with fur sleeves of tremendous weight. But my preference is for a loose, diaphanous dress—I am always happy in it. If you " mix your colours with brains," it is, as I have indicated, quite possible to be

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Reproduced, by permission of Sir Herbert Tree, from the picture now hung in the hall of His Majesty's Theatre.

money. I think I may say. without boasting, that I have always been well dressed on the stage, but I doubt if there has ever been a more cheaply-dressed actress. Off the stage, tout au contraire .' After trying garments of every size and shape in private life, I have ended by adopting the Japanese style one day and the Greek the next. A cupboard full of unworn corsets bears witness to the number of presentations and representations J have received (and disregarded) from stay-

cheap and not nasty in stage costume. My daughter Edy, who has designed and made so many beautiful dresses for the stage, has always understood this. I remember years ago, when she was at school, she wrote to me and asked me to send her some money, as she wanted to go to a fancy-dress ball. Times were improving with me then, but I still had to be very careful, aud I answered that I was sorry, b:it luxuries were not for the likes of us—that this was one of the

STAGE things she could do without, must do without. But I enclosed a postal order for two shillings and sixpence, telling her that if she could make a " fancy dress " for that, she might go to the dance. She spent sixpence on the dress, and squandered the rest of that large sum on chocolate ! My young lady went to the ball, and her dress was the success of the even­ ing. With burnt cork on her face, neck, arms, and ankles, brass curtain-rings in her ears, and old red slippers on her toes, she took the Turkish towels from her bath­ room and draped her little body with them, twisting one around her head into a fine turban. With these, and her own clever skill, she presented an Arab boy of immaculate appearance—and all for sixpence ! Again, the other day we hastily arranged to do the sleep-walking scene from " Mac­ beth " at an entertain­ ment in our village town hall. I had my dress for Lady Macbeth, the doctor's was h i re d f r o m London, but Edy, as the gentlewoman, ap­ peared to the greatest advantage. She looked splendid.



yours turned back to front. The overdress is a tartan rug belonging to the dog, the head-dress is a motor-veil, and the ornaments are bunches of buttons ! " The designer of costumes for a play, even if he be an artist and an archaeologist, may go wrong if he does not realise the relation of form, colour, and texture to certain dramatic situations. For the trial scene in " A Winter's Tale" the artist designed a dress of heavy purple cloth for Hermione, which, whatever it may have been as a dress, was quite un expressive of the situation. Hermione was to be carried to the court from a sick­ bed. She is a martyr to a foul accusation. Her pleading is beau­ tiful, well - balanced, and saintly pleading. She has a moment when, like a pro­ phetess of old, she calls upon the gods to judge between herself and her ac­ cusers. How play the scene in a matronly, respectable, prosper­ ousamethyst-coloured dress? Finally I wore draperies of white tableau-net, which I think well conveyed o n the one side Hermione's physical weakness, on the other her stainless purity.

" What a fine dress, Edy ! " I said, when Another time I was I first saw her in it asked by the designer on the little platform, of costumes to play where she was busy [Window it1 Groi; Pliota by] Mrs. Page, in "The arranging the lights Merry Wives of Wind­ before the curtain MISS ELT.EN TERRY As VOLUMNIA IN " CORIOI.ANli sor," in black panne went up. " Where velvet ! Rollicking, farcical comedy would did you get it ? " I knew she had none of be impossible in such a, dress. 1 know her stage dresses in the country, and that better than anyone how much the flame­ she had not had time to write to London coloured dress I eventually wore helped me for one. in Mrs. Page. Reds and yellows for " I made it this afternoon," said Edy, and comedy ! I remember the value of Ada there was laughter in her eyes. " The Rehan's red dress in " The Taming of the underneath part is an old dressing-gown of




Shrew." It was fiery and generous, like the part. Lighting, of course, affects dresses as well as scenery. One has heart-breaking disap­ pointments in colours, such as I had with my hyacinth-coloured dress in " Becket," which the lights turned an uninteresting drab grey. Another danger—even if you faithfully copy a dress from a picture, the modern dressmaker can make it look modern and wrong. A dress has a soul. Yet artistic dressmakers, who understand the soul better, so often cut the body villainously ! A modern garment may often be trans­ formed to ancient uses. At Mrs. Nettleship's, when we were preparing my dresses for Volumnia, I picked up the skirt of a grey chiffon ball-dress and draped it round my head and shoulders. It was exactly what I wanted to wear in the street (for the Romans did not go out bare-headed, as they are so often made to do in plays). At the dress rehearsal, Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, who had designed the clothes for the Lyceum " Coriolanus," much approved of the chiffon skirt, but pointed out that a Roman married woman mustn't go out in a plain material ! Mrs. Nettleship embroidered the chiffon, and all was well.

MAGAZINE. All this care about dresses and scenery seems, I believe, merely much ado about nothing to some people. But while you are doing a thing, mean it, is a counsel of per­ fection in all arts and trades as in life itself. A beautiful result cannot be produced with­ out trouble. Some of us are all for " simple" scenery. But simple scenes don't "happen." They mean, perhaps, more care and more thought than the complicated ones, more elaborate preparations even. As for the object in view—well, I think that has seldom been better expressed than in that brilliant essay " The Truth of Masks." " Beautiful costume creates an artistic temperament in the audience, and produces that joy in beauty for beauty's sake, without which the great masterpieces of art can never be understood. Archœology is not a pedantic method, but a method of artistic illusion. Costume is a means of displaying character without description, and of producing dra­ matic situations and dramatic effects." But the final word must be that the future is open to the younger men and women, who if they are in earnest, if they mean it, can place the theatre, with its plays, acting, scenery, and costumes, amongst the fine arts, and this they will do if only they are fine artists.

A FOOT-NOTE ON THE ILLUSTRATIONS. On seeking to illustrate as many as possible of the points of interest recalled by Miss Terry's farreaching reminiscences, we find that certain pictures and photographs which have a bearing on the present subject have already appeared in our pages in connection with former articles by the late Sir Heury Irving, Miss Terry herself, and other contributors. These have included some of the finest portraits of our PlayerQueen in lôU-s with which she has been especially identified. Instead of repeating anv of these, we have, therefore, sought to illustrate more particularly the memories recalled in the present article of her performances of characters which, with the exception of Olivia, have not held quite as permanent a place in her repertoire as the greater Shakespearian rôles. The Hon. John Collier's vivacious picture shows, in addition to Miss Terry in the costume to which she alludes, Mrs. Kendal as the other Merry Wife, and Sir Herbert Tree in the cleverest of all his performances in comedy. Mr. Charles Bucbel's portrait of Sir Herbert as Cardinal Wolsey further illustrates the versatility for which the manager of His Majesty's Theatre is famous. Our picture of Miss Terry and her daughter, Miss Edith Craig, iu Christopher St. John's impressive version of Hermann Heijermans' powerful play, " The Good Hope," shows them not in the indoor setting mentioued in this article, of which no photograph exists, but actually on the seashore, grouped to express a moment in the play. Of the scene from Mr. and Mrs. F. R. Benson's production of "Julius Caesar," to which Miss Terr}' refers, no photograph or drawing has been done, and we therefore reproduce illustrations from two of the same management's long series of admirable revivals of Shakespeare's plays from English history, than which no more interesting work has been accomplished on the modern stage. " No doubt Ophelia should be in black in the mad scene," says Miss Terry, and the portrait of Miss Gertrude Elliott, who made this innovation, illustrates the effect of the departure from the white dress usually associated with the scene. Photographic records unfortunately do not show Madame Sarah Bernhardt in the Lyceum setting alluded to by Miss Terrv, but onr portrait of the great French actress as Joan of Arc presents her in one of the characters which she has been playing in the course of her latest visit to London,—EP.


BY HERBERT MORRAH. HE old book - shop within seemed to be a perfect museum of decrepitude. Big books, little books, grey books, brown books—.like the rats in Browning's ballad — swarmed and tumbled over one a n o t h e r , an uncanny medley, and their mustiness was increased by the smell of a funeral in the air. But the funeral was a day past now, and the time had come to take down the shutters again. Yet no one hurried to resume the stir of business, and it was past eleven o'clock. But at last, from the doorway on which appeared the card announcing Mrs. Maplode's departure from this lettered sphere, came a noise of creaking bolts, and a man stepped forth, shading his eyes from the flare of sunlight in the street. He looked up at the shop-front, over which appeared the name Ebenezer Maplode, and, as he did so, the shadow of a frown hovered on his face, and then he took the shutters down. The man was loose of limb and somewhat dishevelled of attire, whose attitude and action implied that though the world was a nuisance and its working habit a confounded bore, something must be done to show that, if his mother was dead, he at least was alive. He removed the black-edged card and replaced it with another, on which he had written, in a handwriting much neater than his own person, the inscription : "An Assistant Wanted." He then retired into the shop, which had taken on a new aspect with the flood of light. Apart from his mother's death, which was, after all, in the nature of things, Paul Maplode cherished a number of grievances which this event had brought to a head. There uprose in him a certain resentment at the name he bore. If the Christian name of " Paul " was tolerable enough, " Ebenezer " seemed detestable, and its appearance every­ where in connection with the business had always been like a shadow over the whole

concern. His mother clung to it to the last, a precious relic of great days, but to her son the signal of distress that vainly flaunted itself as the ship went down. How could any bnsiness flourish under such a name ? And why did his mother saddle herself with the incubus of such memories of her wholly unsuccessful husband ? These thoughts hummed and hammered provokingly. But Paul had awakened also this morning to a new set of circumstances, and as he passed through the shop to the little inner room, he realised the force of facts in a sudden flash. He was his own master at last. Opening his letters hurriedly, he scanned them, tossed them aside. Their burden was much the same—either mere business or else the touch of friendship, mostly formal. " You are your own master, Paul Maplode," ran the undercurrent. " You were too dutiful as a son. You are past the term of sonship now. What business capacity you have is just an echo of your mother's, nothing more. You grew into her ways from eighteen to thirtyeight. It is something that you have her principles to guide you, and twenty years' experience—of books." Yes, of books, of a book world, by no means a world of men and women. And he within two years of forty ! Paul Maplode realised now what a slave's life this had been to which his mother had bound him all these years. The business had always been a struggling one. That is how his younger manhood had drifted away, in the steady pursuit of fortunes that were to change, but remained elusive—sometimes, he thought, because he had not mingled enough with other men, had actually shrunk behind a domineering personality, and that personality a woman. Then the interruptions of the morning began. To Paul they were always interrup­ tions, though they should have been, each one, a welcome commercial chance. But he lived his own thoughts intensely. These were the real life for him, and yet they were like suppressed volcanoes, waiting for an outlet. The interruptions continued, so that a

Copyright, 1911, by Herbert Morrah, in the United States of America.


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"Very blandly he looked at Paul Maplode, aud very sweetly his daughter smiled."

THE STARRY number of people were interviewed during the hour, and Paul, receiving small sums with an abstracted air, wondered once again at the astonishing variety of taste. Thus, between the visits of these chance customers, he returned to the little inner room, and sat there gazing vacantly into space. Now and again his attention seemed to rivet itself on something within him rather than beyond him, and then a smile lightened his features, as though his spirit was breathing a freer air. It happened accordingly that wheu the Professor and his daughter entered, they failed to gain immediate attention. But, after the third fruitless cough, it was the girl who scored success by toppling over—to her father's scandalised " Doris ! "—a heavy copy of Dr. Johnson's Dictionary. It fell with a crash to the floor. This brought Paul out to see. The Pro­ fessor had turned to browse on the shelves, and was as oblivious of the human unit as Paul had been a moment before. But his daughter's eyes were dancing, and she faced the bookseller with her fearless scrutiny, marvelling that so personable a man should take so little care of himself. In fact, her quick eyes took in half a score of idiosyn­ crasies at an instant's glance. She smiled as he picked the book up, but expressed no regret. " This gentleman is my father," she began, " and we have come " The Professor turned round, beaming at the bookseller, and, as he put down the book he held, dredged in a capacious pocket and produced a compact roll which looked suspiciously like manuscript. " My name," he said suavely, " is Mileham, John Mileham, generally called Professor Mileham." " My father means that he has, in strict­ ness, no right to that title," said the young lady. "Precisely," said Mr. Mileham. "And yet," he continued, " there are a good many professors who profess less than I perform." Very blandly-he looked at Paul Maplode, and very sweetly his daughter smiled. She was a pretty girl, with roses from the country in her cheeks, and as he looked at her, the bookseller was conscious that there was something not quite right about him­ self. Could it be his clothes ? He began to turn his attention to what had never seemed to matter before. " But to business," said Mr. Mileham. " I want you to do me the favour to look at this manuscript."



Paul took the roll with a polite gesture of surprise. " I am not a publisher," he said. He unrolled it and began to turn over the leaves. " But you have to do with books ? " inquired the Professor. " With nothing else," said Paul. " Then you can do something with mine," said the Professor. " I can't promise, I'm afraid," Paul answered pleasantly, and still he turned over the leaves. " You shall have time," said the Professor. " Come, Doris. We will go away for an hour. That will be fair to both sides." They moved to the door, and Paul, after mildly expostulating, let them go. II. PAUL'S absorption in the Professor's manuscript for an hour was not due entirely to the interest of the production itself. It opened up a new vista for the man by its mere presence here. It set Paul Maplode thinking hard—so hard, indeed, that for a considerable slice of time he forgot it altogether, and his fancies wandered into a world of his own. These fancies were not so fantastic as the chapters written by the stranger. Paul Maplode had no solution of the riddle of the world, the intricacy and fascination of which seemed constantly to hold him at challenge. He had doubts about many things. The Professor had solved them all. He had read enough, however, to grasp the Professor's idea, and enough to criticise the Professor's notions as to conveying it, for a good many of the written phrases were so involved that they appeared to be a mere mist of fine words ; but then, thought Paul, even the constant companionship of books hardly gave him the right to pose as a critic. He put the book aside at the end of an hour, and rose, for someone had entered the shop. It was the Professor's daughter, and she was alone. " I have left my father behind," she said, "and I have come to speak to you about something very important." Her smile, Paul noticed, first hovered on her lips and then vanished. Now, she looked extremely serious, and, indeed, the new expression became her very well, for a plaintive look is always becoming to a pretty woman. " Won't you sit down ? " Paul suggested.



" That would be very inappropriate," she answered gravely, and he waited for her next word. " I have seen a notice on your door out­ side," she said. Paul looked his surprise with an air of equal gravity. " I want you to give me a trial," she continued. " I am very, very fond of books, and it is for my father's sake," she added. " A love of books " began Paul. " I know what you are going to say," she interrupted quickly. " A love of books is not enough. But I will work for a very low wage, and that must give me a value in any market. You see, I have studied economic conditions—indeed, it is economic conditions which have brought me here." " You do not know," Paul assumed, venturing this time ou the ground of dogmatism—" you have no idea " " What work in a second-hand book-shop is like. No, and that is just what I want to know." " Your father seemed to think I was a publisher," said Paul. " That is just like father!" Doris Mileham exclaimed. " But it gives me a chance of telling you things. We are very, very poor, Mr. Maplode. We have got rooms in this gieat city, because in our village, where I can get nothing to do, it is no longer possible for us to make two ends meet. My father is a most unpractical man, but at least he has bred me in a school of honesty. You want an assistant, and I ask you to give me a trial." " There is much to be learned in the conduct of such a business as this." " I know — I know," Doris repeated, " but your notice outside does not say any­ thing about that." " True," said Paul. " You see," continued the quiet voice, with an intonation of assurance, " I feel sure that I must be wanted somewhere. Every woman iu the world is there to supply a need." " True," murmured Paul. " You want an assistant, and I want a position," Doris continued. " It looks so elementary. Just a case of demand and supply, and the thing is done." " In business one begins with a low wage — perhaps with nothing at all."

" I asked only for a trial."

" If I suggested that I might request you

to come, it would be strictly on trial for a

week, and for that time I should have to

MAGAZINE. stipulate that you came for nothing at all. After that, if we suited one another, I might make you an offer." " Yes," said Doris with a sober smile. " On my side, I see your whole point. But just one item strikes me. I would ask for a nominal wage even for that week. I promise, for my part, to try to do my very, very best. Will you, on your side, give me one shilling for that week ? " Paul consented, and so the bargain was struck. " Will you come in and sit down a moment ? " Paul inquired next. " We can begin business to-morrow. I should like to speak to you about your father." Doris accepted, and he took his place at the table in the little sanctum, whilst she sat opposite to him. " About my father ? " As she spoke, a shadow seemed to come over her brow. " My father is not a successful man," Doris said rather sadly. " What is success ? " asked Paul. " Everyone can succeed who gives his whole mind to it," she said with decision. " I wonder," said Paul. " B u t you want positive information," Doris resumed. "Well, I can tell you in two sentences. Father's philosophy is an absurdity, and his science is a sham ! " " You surprise me ! " Paul exclaimed. " But, for all that, he is the best of fathers and the kindest of men." " I am sure of it." " Yet he will never do anything in the world, Mr. Maplode. We have lived on until we were at our last gasp. We have just a pound a week between us to live on ; that we have left, so matters might be worse. But father thinks his work is immortal, and is never idle. He is at war, I must tell you, with the accredited scientists of this age. It does not matter to him that they have never heard of him. When they do, he says, they will cease to be accredited : he will smash their theories to atoms ; they will perish, and he will endure. The basis, I may tell you, of his reasoning is astrology, the ruling of mankind by the stars." " That sounds rather reactionary," Paul remarked. "And he mixes it up with the most fantastic ideas of his own. He stopped a man in the street yesterday and said : ' In you I recognise a Mahatma ! ' The man stared and hurried away. I expostulated with father, of course."

THE STARRY " And what did the Professor say ? " " He said : ' Observe, my dear Doris, that he did not deny it.' ' Well,' I began, ' that doesn't prove ' ' Doris,' he exclaimed, ' if you had read any law, you would know that what is not expressly denied is com­ pletely admitted. In science also the admission was complete, for true science never denies the truth, and what I said was the truth. It was very gratifying to me, Doris—an episode to live on for a month.' And then father smiled one of his longdrawn, inwardly satisfying, outwardly im­ pressive smiles." " Your father must be a very remarkable character," said Paul. " Yes," sighed Doris. " If someone would encourage him in his work, how different life would be for me ! " " I will see what can be done," said Paul. "Oh, will you—will you really ? " And the girl's voice chimed like a bell. Paul rose and paced the little sanctum, for with him motion and emotion always went together. " I have looked into the book—the manu­ script your father left," he said briskly. " It seemed to me a medley and a confusion. What you tell me makes matters clear. There is no money in it, Miss Mileham, be very sure of that." '• If that were all " said Doris. " For most people that would be all." '• Father would live on mere encourage­ ment. In fact, he has had none, and yet, you see, he still lives on. But I see that the strain is beginning to tell. To him a little encouragement would be like a draught of fresh air. He has lived in the valley of the shadow so long ; what he wants is a breath from the mountains." " I will do what I can," Paul reassured her. " We must think it all over after to-morrow." And as she left him, she looked back once more, her happy smile enhancing the charm which hung like a halo about her.



Hard work seemed a joy to the new assistant. The late Mrs. Maplode had en­ couraged grime and disorder — they were traditional in the second-hand trade, she said. In fact, the estimable woman had argued on occasion that this was good business. " Like to like," she would exclaim, in pro­ verbial mood. " We want to attract fusty and musty people, therefore musty and fusty let us be." Doris deemed it her first duty to alter this. She made changes very diplomatically. Paul was liberal of bis counsel, imparting all he could, and she was very quick to learn. He made her presents of a hundred business secrets. It never seemed to occur to him that she might some day use them to his detriment, and this, of course, should have been his first reflection as a business man. Readiness to turn her hand to anything should have reminded him that in this way he could make money do double work, instead of which he found himself protesting against her energy. But her keenness carried the day. Her reforms, moreover, went further than the shop. She reformed Paul. He ceased to wear shabby old clothes. He began to realise that old books are not the dusty receptacles of worn-out philosophies, but treasure-houses of bright and brilliant fancies. Above all, those who move much among books know that they hold the keys of the future. Have they not brought such wisdom out of the past as shall flood the world with happiness, when men and women find their wits and use them ? Doris, who scattered these ideas in spare moments, amazed Paul because she was so practical in business hours. There came days when heavy consignments of books had to be dealt with, or when visits had to be paid to private "houses for valuation and purchase ; and whether Paul was in or out, he found that Doris could be thoroughly depended on. Method had, in fact, gradually taken the place of chaos, business increased, and the wheels of life ran smoothly. III. By degrees this smoothness brought a new aspiration into Paul's own life. To idealise PAUL wondered what had come over himself, a business is all very well in its way, but a but he wondered more what bad come over man of sensitive feeling often takes into his the business. Doris Mileham had been heart, or perhaps absorbs with his brain, established and settled for a full month, ideals which have nothing to do with rising from a shilling a week to a pound— business. This was the case with Paul considerable as an increase, but hardly a Maplode. Outside the shop still stood that living wage. Of course, Paul felt bound to check any sentiment. A pound was the ^«ffldly antiquated sign of " Ebenezer"—a sign market value of Doris ; perhaps even this was* that struck chill upon the owner's cultivated mind. It jarred now more than ever. Men a shade too high.




are often the victims of their own prejudices, and their wills are frequently sapped by the merest trifles. If it had not been for the influence of Doris Milehani, it would have been so with Paul. But with her coming a new spirit awoke within him. She laughed at every prejudice, she suggested that even if " Ebenezer " sounded ridiculous, " Paul " might still be sublime. And this is how the book grew. It was a book of reflections. It was the theory of a life. Paul did not dream of confessing to Doris that there iras a book. He withdrew into the sanctum more and more, and left her in the shop. There all went like clock­ work. Within, Paul's labour was anything but mechanical. He was subject to all the whims and megrims that go with artistic effort. The book was not his life only for the time being ; it was the life around him and beyond him, and it strained to the uttermost a soul of which the sympathies were capable of being exalted into passion. And all the time he allowed his assistant to suppose that he was wrestling with the accounts of fifty years. But she had also a reminder for him which must not wait too long, and one day, at closing-time, she broached the subject which was always more or less in her mind. " My father's manuscript," she ventured timidly—" I wonder if you have had time to think of it again ? " Paul answered frankly, " I have not." " It does not matter," Doris said, with her cheerful smile. " Father has been in his most contented mood lately. He knows the manuscript is in your possession, and, though he may have to wait, he knows there will be a satisfactory result. His stars have told him so." " And how does he occupy his time ? " " At present he is deep in a theory about the great comet. I think he must have some private information as to what that mysterious body is going to do." Doris laughed the laugh of happy in­ credulity, and with this her devotion was so mingled that Paul felt a sudden wave of sympathy surge through him. " I wish I could do something," he exclaimed. " Promise me you will ! " He promised readily.

MAGAZINE. It was not an easy task. All its assump­ tions and conclusions were wild and uncon­ vincing to the last degree ; but Paul was a diffident man, and he hated to set up his own notions against the confident declara­ tions of another. A mere bookseller, too ! But has not a bookseller muscles and sinews, a mind, a soul—all the parts, maybe, of a man ? Paul did not want to be led away by sympathy for the old fellow. Sentiment is often a sheer betrayal of the best in life. And the claim to set a thing forth in writing meant in Paul's eyes to assert the highest claim in the world. Therefore, if the words of the Professor did not carry conviction to his heart, he could not see his way to set things in train for the realisation of the old man's aim. And yet it was only natural that he should try to do something for the girl who had brought such a change into his existence. Through the tangle of the Professor's phrases he constantly heard the voice of Doris speaking. She had altered his outlook in a wonderful way. Before her coming, the book-shop had been much like a prison. She had shown him how to look beyond the prison bars. Before her coming, he had been under the domination of his mother, an odd thing for a grown man to be, but not uncommon ; and it is not at all certain that the spell might not have lasted after the quaint old woman's death. He had certainly not contemplated the employment of a girl ; the chance had come, and he bad taken it, and now he began to wonder why. Doris was always quoting books to justify anything she said, and there was something irresistibly attractive in this, for her quota­ tions invariably proved afresh the lightness of her heart. She bad a word from Shake­ speare to fit the moment's mood, or a snatch from Lovelace, some line that might bring back the golden days of Elizabeth ; and then she would suddenly change the note, and allure Paul to consider a stanza from Long­ fellow, an aphorism from Dickens, or some suggestion drawn from Carlyle or Maeter­ linck. Thus all this time, under the influence of Doris, Paul Maplode was realising himself. He laid down the Professor's manuscript and took up bis own.

IV. ^ . AT last the manuscript was finished How Thus, true to his promise, Paul spent the ;he^^,he time had flown ! Three months of a evening over the manuscript.. dual effort—Doris in the shop, and he at Ms

THE STARRY desk. And on that desk still lay the sheets of the Professor's treatise, the subject to this day of infinite excuses on the part of Paul. He had not the courage to tell Doris what he really thought ; he put her off with vague assurances. And she gladly accepted them, for the wonderful Professor was still contentedly at work on a new theme. Paul's own work ran in his veins like wine. His footstep was light and buoyant as he went to arid fro, for the book was finished, and he felt sure it was alive. Some­ times he returned to the manuscript to alter a phrase, but the thing was done. He had something to give to his fellow-men—some­ thing drawn from his twenty years' converse with men and books. The world is always ready for a new philosophy. The philosophy of the world is always old enough, in all conscience, when it is true, but we need to see it in a new dress ; we decline to be fobbed off with the fashions of yesterday. Paul's modesty now came into the reckon­ ing. He did not think he would trouble a regular publisher with this, his first effort. The repugnance he had always felt to his odd-sounding name struck him afresh ; he toyed with the letters which composed it, and evolved a pen-name. He wrote on his title-page— " T H E REFLECTIONS OF ADAM PLUME."

It was not an exact anagram, he observed, but what matter ? Nothing really is exact in life. We mostly toil in hopes of squaring the circle. That precisely was the problem which Paul had set himself to solve. Why should a man write at all if he has not some hope of bringing chaos out of disorder, and from the confusions around him discover something which may shape itself as a reasonable rule ? The budding author now bethought him­ self of estimates, and interviewed a little printer who had produced his catalogues. With him he took the Professor's manuscript, which chanced to be about the same length as his own. " Cast off a page of this, and let me see how it looks," he said. All tin's time one great hope had animated the Professor's own ambitious heart. He would ask Doris, on her return each evening to their humble quarters, how things were going at the book-shop ; and he listened to Doris with genuine delight, because her fund pf .humour was constantly replenished by the



innumerable odd customers who frequented the place. But he always reverted to one particular subject. And then Doris brought him news. " Mr. Maplode is going to do something with your manuscript," she said. " I knew he would ! " cried the old man, and his face seemed to have caught the sun again. " He could not help himself, to be sure, for it is written up aloft." And he pointed skywards. " All the same, he will have my gratitude. He is only an instru­ ment, of course, but still an instrument may be a willing one. Only, tell me more. I am not impatient, my dear, but I should like to hear as much as you can tell me." " I ought, perhaps, not to know," said Doris, " but for a long time, it has been clear to me that Mr. Maplode contemplates some sort of venture as a publisher. After all, it is not unnatural. Perhaps I've done' a little to incline him in that direction. It is one thing to sell books ; it is rather higher to produce them." " Especially as an author," nodded the Professor with modest pride. " Father," exclaimed Doris, " what would you say if I told you that a portion of your volume is already in print ? " " Sooner or later," said the Professor, " that is bound to be." " I chanced on it quite by accident," Doris continued, " and I don't suppose Mr. Maplode intended me to see it. Indeed, I only glanced at the papers on.his table whilst he was out, and I happened to be looking for something else. But there it was in print, obviously the opening chapter of your essay on ' The Starry Way.' " The Professor blinked with puzzled satis­ faction. He opened his eyes and closed them again. He ran his fingers through his hair and stroked his chin. He did not speak much more this evening, but kept on repeating these more or less significant actions until at last he dozed off into the happiest of dreams. V. THE success of the " Reflections " was sur­ prising. Mr. Adam Plume's identity became a matter of much speculation in the world of books. Meanwhile, Paul kept very quiet, and Doris stood between himself and in­ convenient questions. Her own questions, on the other hand, he did not find it quite so easy to deal with. Firstly, because she rallied him on his declaration that he was not a publisher.




" One swallow does not make a summer," said Paul. " Rut you have published Mr. Plume's book ; our address is on the title-page. We supply the trade, and ttie trade is quite excited about it. Then reporters come and try to pump me." " And what do you tell them ? " '• That I do not know Plume from Adam ! " laughed Doris. Paul laughed too. "As long as you hedge, it is all right," he said. " So far as that goes," said Doris, " I can hardly do anything else, especially as I am only here to obey orders. And how should I know who the writer is ? You tell me that it is a secret. Well, I am reading it to father in the evenings. He and I are engaged in a most exciting contest. He says he will find out who has written the book by an external process. You know what he means by that—he means his beloved stars. And I say that the author will reveal himself by internal evidence. / say he will reveal himself to me." " Are you sure be will ? " " He has not done so yet," Doris confessed. " Sometimes he seems to me a man who must have lived long years in the country, far from the haunts of men, and to have brooded on truths and fancies simply as a dreamer broods. Then suddenly comes a flash, and you say to yourself : This man has mixed with men ; his blunt words are wrung from a heart that has suffered, a brain that has felt, and then his words are like sword-stabs. One seems to have been wounded by someone without provocation. Then you want to get up and return the thrust. But you can't ; he has reduced you to impotence. That is one of the effects the book makes on me. It is not the only one. How strange is the power of written words ! " "The spoken word is often stronger, deeper, more lasting," said Paul, and he drew closer to her. She winced a little. She seemed for the moment to wish that he had said less. As with the book, the words drove further than their plain sense ; they went through her like a sword-thrust. As if to check them, her thoughts went quickly to her father. " Sometimes, when we are reading your book," she said, " my father thinks of his own." " I've not forgotten it," Paul exclaimed. " Father is very patient," Doris continued, "and tells me always not to trouble you

MAGAZINE, about it ; but, now that he is ill, I can see that the possible fortunes of his pet bantling weigh on his mind." " You never told me he was ill," said Paul. " He said I was not to mention it. You see, illness to him is not quite what it would be to other people. On such and such a day he says he will fall ill, and so he does. He never fights against it ; it is Fate." " That seems a somewhat dismal method of meeting misfortune," ventured Paul. " On the other hand," said Doris, " the method has some merits. For instance, he is equally certain about the future of his book. He says it has been borne in on him that what he has written requires an intro­ duction. I don't think he means to write it himself, but he speaks of its present incompleteness, and declares that you must not think of producing it in its present form. I dare not tell him how silent you have been on the subject. It is better for me to leave him in his own happy state of mind. He says that he knows the book will appear, and future ages will hang upon its message. That is his firm conviction." Doris returned to the subject the next night, after a busy day, during which the demands of callers had been incessant. And she broached the matter with a delightful, unveiled enthusiasm. " We have finished Mr. Plume's ' Reflec­ tions,' father and I," she said. "What a splendid volume it is, and how thoroughly it deserves all that has been said of it! Father," she added gravely, " has sent a re­ quest through me to the author. I promised him that I would forward it if I could. You'll help me, won't you ? " " Yes," said Paul, and her tender sym­ pathy for the old man seemed to have lit up a new flame in him. " Father made me read the closing pages of the book to him more than once," Doris explained. " Then, after a few minutes' silence, he looked up. ' Mr. Adam Plume is the man ! ' he said suddenly. ' Mr. Adam Plume will write my introduction. Tell Mr. Maplode I said so.' And there it is ! I've given you the message. I am the more anxious to do so because father was not so well after he had spoken. I left him in bed. He would not let me stay with him. He said I must go on with my work just as usual ; besides, I was a link, he said, between himself and Adam Plume. There, that is all!" " I will communicate with Mr. Plume at once," said Paul, as he went into his

/^-^•"^JÊ^à -•'A"

'Doris cried for help, but it was too late."




sanctum, while Doris finished her day's work with a light heart. *





Two mornings later Paul came into the shop with a little roll in his hand. Doris seemed a shade more anxious than usual, and with his quick eyes Paul read the reason of her solicitude. " I've heard from Mr. Plume," he said cheerily. Doris was all delight, "Read what he has written." Paid added, "(live me your candid opinion about it. 1 shall not let your father have it until you do. You must let me make that a con­ dition call it a prospective publisher's privilege." Doris studied the manuscript attentively. Paul watched her. His mind was certainly undergoing a change, but his heart, needed nothing of that kind. Krom the first Doris had exerted a. subtle influence. Now the influence was no longer subtle. It was because of Doris that he had patiently suffered and even en­ couraged the wild imaginings of that queer old man. For her sake he had consented to write this preface, and so he watched her as she read. Every change of expression he noted, with fresh wonderment each moment for her grace, her delicacy, her gravity, her charm. Once or twice the smile turned to a. frown : but it was a frown of perplexity, not of anger, as though, perhaps, the blade thus wielded had «razed without hurting, which Wits exactly what the writer wanted. "What do you make of Mr. Plume?" asked Paul suddenly. " lie is a little sarcastic," said Doris. " Does that surprise you ? " ' Father's ideas are absolute nonsense." she answered. " 1 know that. Put you see he was right about Mr. Plume. He litis written the introduction. That was very kind of him --very kind of him indeed. Not surprising. No, not surprising. 1 doubt if father will see the sarcasm. He is ready to hang on the lightest word of this mysterious Mr..Plume. Doris laughed as she pronounced the word " mysterious." "'What is the next step ? " Paul asked. " The next step is to go to father. And I shall take Mr. Plume with me," she added mischievously. " Doris," cried Paul, " you have guessed my secret ! "

MAGAZINE. "Why," she answered, "the secret litis been an'open one to me all tins while." " How long do you mean ? " "Ever siiiee I read your book. Didn't

1 tell you 1 should find out by internal evidence ? Why. you are the book, and the book is you. You ought to be proud if you believe what half the critics say—that you have touohed life to the quick, that your thoughts are noble, that your style is beautiful, Put there is something in the book which is not for them." " No, no, it is a message." " It might almost be a message for just one reader in the world." " It was for you, Doris ! " As Paul spoke, he touched her hand. As she quivered in response, he touched her lips. He took her in his arms, and she did not resist. " Ah," she said, " you have done too much for me ! " " I've done nothing." " And yet it is like, you," she continued. " You were ready to help a foolish old man— foolish, yes, but very dear to me." " That is why I wanted lo help hint, Doris. Put who am I, after all ? When you say these things, you uplift me. Don't 1 long to be of some use in the world ? And look how 1 have rebelled at my work, my life, my position . . . Yes, till you came. Then all changed. 1 saw that you could help me to something better. The larger life calls every man. This petty round was killing me. You made me see the brighter side even of that. Now I will see nothing but the brighter side. We will gradually show the world what we can do. As for Adam Plume, he shall find fresh worlds to conquer. Pet us go to your father and have a talk about the stars—about one star, at least, the one that shines for me." They found the old man propped up in his chair, lie was feeling feeble to-day, he said, but he brightened visibly when they came in. " I knew you would come," he declared ; " you were bound to come to-day. I should judge by your faces that you have something to tell me, but you need not, for I know already that you two are going to be married." Doris Wiis blushing. " Not a word has been said•" began Paul, " I see things before they happen." ob­ served Professor Milehain. Very grave and solemn did he look as he sat there holding his chin, his face pale, his brow furrowed.

THE STARRY He looked op sharply at Doris. " Have you brought ilr. Plume's writing for me ? " " 1 have brought Mr. Plume himself," Kijil Doris. The Professor scrutinised Paul closely. He, who knew everything in advance, bad hardly gnawed this secret. " i want the writing at once," he laid. His voi'Mi grew faint. " J have done, what you wished, Mr. Mileham," said I'aul. " It was a pleasure to do it, I am afraid the manuscript has been overlong i" my hands." A strange shadow was pawing over the old man's features. He held tightly to the arms of his chair. "Khali I go and fetch i t ? " asked I'aul. The old man spoke grimly. "There is very little time to lose," he said, and Paul sped from the room. For a little while nothing was said. The hands of the clock went round for a clear quarter of an hour. " Doris," at length exclaimed the old man, " what is it that he has written ? Have you read it ? " " Yes, father." " Has he grasped my message ? " " Yes, father." " Does he understand wltat I have to tell the world ? He is a clever man, I know. lie has made his mark. I ought to he grateful, lint my message should have been my own, Doris. I was weak to ask aid from OUtside. My work should stand alone. . . . Promise me that it shall stand alone ! " His frame throbbed with a new emotion us Doris promised, " Don't breathe a word of distrust to him, Doris. He has done a good action, ft is what one would, expect of a man like Adam Plume. You will he very happy with him, child ; I foresee that. There is a whole vista opening up before me " His eyes were fixed on a distance far beyond. A strange feeling, a nameless fear, clutched at the girls heart. The old man tried to rise from his chair. His voice rose, his whole being seemed to expand. " Doris," he cried, " I see the future ! My great work takes long to reach the Unbelieving world, bub it is mine, mine ! They think they will bury it with me, but they cannot bury the truth ! Your lives live joined together—bow happy you will be !



J don't grudge him his meed of success, child don't think that ! Mine is of a different order; there is room lor all in tin universe. Perliaps your children will look back to my name and rejoice to think that in my fame they have a share. Don't let your I'aul take it too much to heart if his work recedes into the background. He did his best, and i am grateful, llitva, I will explain it to him. 1 must not hurt his feelings after such an act of kindness. When the hook appears, just as f wrote it, without a line from any other hand, he will he the first to understand •" The Professor had risen now. He thought he heard Paul's step on thestair,and struggled to reach him, hut as he advanced he fell. Doris cried for help, hut it was too late. When Paul came in, he read the truth in the hush that had come into the gloom. As he handed the book to Doris, he clasped her hand. Her eyes were too dim with tears for her to see. It was a solemn passing—quiet, sudden, serene. *





A lew months later Paul and Doris stood by the Professor's grave in the churchyard. They had not spent their time in useless mourning ; they wi:m married now and happy. " Your father was a true prophet," said Paul. " Hi: said we could not bury the truth with him," mused Doris. " Yet that is what we did with his book." " He said we should be happy," Doris rejoined. " He never spoke a liner word," said Paul proudly. "Anil as for the truth—well, 1 nave woven it into a story. It sets forth our lives and his. All I want is a title. I don't like to call it 'The Passing of Ebenezer.' " " I have one," said Doris. "Tell me quickly ! " " Let us call it," said she, ' " W h a t Hap­ pened.' " " What happened where ? " he asked. " At the Sign of the Plume," she laughed. " Only one thing ever happened there," he cried. "Something spoken ? Something written ?" " Both I An introduction ! " " To the Starry Way ? " " To the Sunlit Itoad ! " They kissed again.



BY S. MACNAUGHTAN, Author of " The Fortune of Christina Macnab," " A Lame Dog's Diary" " The Expensive Miss Du Cane" etc. S ^ ? H E picture hung on the dull green walls of a mean house in Brixton. ïhefamily who lived with it and belonged to it remembered it in many other houses, and it seemed to them that, wherever their adverse for­ tunes beckoned them, one good and change­ less thing went with them. The picture had welcomed them in new abodes, each a little less genteel, a little cheaper and drearier than the last, but as soon as the picture was hung, there used to come to the house a sense not only of home, but of polite com­ pany. Many pieces of furniture had been parted with on many "moves," but still, wherever the Todds pitched their comfortless tent, the lady in the ermine-lined velvet mantle and pearls went with them and glorified the poorest apartment. To Mrs. Todd she had been a companion in many lonely hours. In early youth her children had always spoken of the picture as they spoke of other sacred things—in a whisper. They had heard its story a hundred times and more, yet never tired of it. Once, as a school-boy, Fred, whose temper was short, had said : " Do shut up about the thing ! " The day was marked in the family with a dreadful solemnity ; Fred's remark ranked in the minds of his relations with the burning of Bibles shown in a woodcut in one of their Sunday books, or with contempt for reverence as evinced by our first parents. The picture stood to the Todds for more than established order or possession ; it stood to them for something infinitely more precious than art—it was the basis as well as the sign-manual of their ancient descent— their pledge to the world that they were genteel. Had anyone even remotely suggested to them that Mrs. Mary Beamish was not their forbear, they would have repudiated

the insult with scorn and several pages of evidence. The portrait was by Raeburn, and had descended to the Todds through their mother, whose maiden name had been Beamish. " Mother's father " had been the first of the family to own the picture ; it had been given to him by a grateful patient whom Doctor Beamish had cured of the gout. " I am sure you have much more right to it than I have," the patient said, "for I never owned a Beamish relation in my life. The picture must have been bought by my old great-uncle, who was something of a collector, simply because he liked it." It was always understood that the Raeburn practically belonged to Doctor Beamish even during his patient's lifetime, and when he died, it was found to be left to him in his will. Mrs. Todd inherited it when her father died. She had called her first-born Mary Beamish, and this without being able to fix exactly the relationship between her of the velvet mantle and the pearls and herself. In years to come, she and her children always evaded the difficulty by calling the lady " The Ancestress." It is an accepted axiom that people m glass houses shonld not throw stones. Still less, perhaps, should dwellers in castles cast them at those who, living in meaner places, insist upon their brave descent with becom­ ing pride. The castle, with its towers, its shield-hung halls and crested silver, requires no title-roll to declare its age or the nobility of its owners. Those who live beneath the castle walls, on the contrary, must blow their bugle pretty shrilly before they obtain the recosnition that they deserve. The Todds had lived in good circum­ stances once ; now they shut their doors when they lunched off tea and bread-and­ butter, and for so doing they had been named proud. Insufficiency of food is, as everyone in England knows, a matter for shame. On principles of economy the boys were bidden by their mother to eat a certain

Copyright, 1011, by S. Macnaughtan, in the United States of America. 102

THE amount of soup before they were allowed to touch meat or pudding. They never com­ plained. Soup might be unsatisfying, but it constituted dinner, and saved the meal from becoming either tea or supper. They were ambitious people, as may have been already guessed. The girls had dreams of marrying in their own rank of life, and the boys had decided to go into something decent and get on. Fate seemed to frustrate these high endeavours. Once a bookseller had proposed to Mary—a proceeding which was resented by her proud family, while Mary tried to make the best of her offer, which she refused, by always alluding to the bookseller as a scholar. Since then there had been " a curate, which had come to nothing," and no other matrimonial possibilities. The knights and squires of the Misses Todd's dreams tarried in their coming, and Lizzie, who had plenty of spirit, went boldly forth as a nursery governess, while advising her younger sister, Addie, to take up typewriting. Mary, the namesake of The Ancestress, and always the most creditable of the sisters, stayed at home and " helped with the house." Mr. Todd had a small pension, and lived on gluten bread, by which means he en­ deavoured to prolong a life at no time very useful, but now valuable because a certain reward had been set upon its continuance. " Suppose father were to die before mother ! " was a matter of frank if sorrowful discussion with the Todds. Without their father's pension the little home would have to be broken up, and then what would become of the widow ? If father died first, the picture would have to be sold. The question was : Could its sale be postponed till then ? Mrs. Todd had often said :." I'll starve before I part with her ! " The high-bred lady with her slung mantle, her hair powdered and dressed high on her aristocratic forehead, and the string of pearls round her neck, had looked with kindly eyes upon her ever since she was a child ; she had followed her through adverse fortunes, and her sweet expression had never altered. She did not change as so-called friends did. At one time the Todds had given little friendly evening parties. Friendly parties, as everyone knows, are parties where the refreshments are light and slight, but The Ancestress seemed to give the right tone to every gathering. Who could complain of the company, or even of the viands, when the lady in the velvet cloak was present



among the guests ? She provided conversa­ tion also. Everyone who came to the house knew that Beauty smiling above the mantel­ piece was the high-born aristocrat from whom the Todds were descended. Frequently the guests were invited to walk to different corners of the room and to say that the eyes of the portrait seemed to follow them. " Even if it means working harder than ever, I say let us keep her with us," said Addie, now a typist at five-and-twenty shillings a week, and engaged from nine till six o'clock every weekday clicking out other people's thoughts on a lettered keyboard. The boys, meanwhile, were learning with some bitterness the difficulty of having them­ selves valued at more than a pound a week. Robert, whom the bankruptcy of his firm had thrown out of a job, was filling up his time by doing piecework as a clerk, and Tom was extravagant. Tom loved football matches and white flannels ; Tom smoked cigarettes, and his mother was suspected of giving him small sums of money which she could ill afford. Fred talked of going to the colonies, and his outfit and the price of his passage-money were frequently discussed. Fred was the masterful one of the family. They were all afraid of him, while believing that be was the only one who would ever get on. Fred was a materialist, and was not ashamed of so being. He was sensible in an inflexible sort of way, and his advice was often asked by his relations. " It is perfect nonsense," he said, " for people of our means to keep a picture like that. We might just as well try to keep up a title." Mrs. Todd, who felt that in some sort the portrait did indeed constitute a title to some­ thing better and more refined than she at present could claim, sniffed meetly and said nothing. " How much per annum do you think it costs us to look at it ? " went on Fred. " I don't understand figures," his mother pleaded. " Putting its value at one thousand pounds," he pursued, " that means forty pounds a year at four per cent." " You are getting very hard, Fred," the poor woman said. " Its insurance means another two pounds every year. The thing is absurd ! " " I suppose it will have to go some day," she said, in order to gain time. " Of course it will have to go some day. It is the only thing of value we possess, and




therefore it could never be left to one of your children and not to the others." •• I remember the day it was brought to my father's house," said Mrs. Todd. " I was a little girl in a white frock, and my father callerl me to the dining-room to look at it. It is all I have left of my old home." " That's not my fault," said Fred, and was sorry afterwards. His mother burst into tears. " Some­ times," she said, " I think she hears when we talk of selling her. I have seen her look reproachfully at me when we say she must go." Fred was silent. The first time that he had heard the sale of the picture discussed was after his own expensive illness. He was a little boy then, and he remembered how he had cried when they talked of taking away his beautiful lady. When he and his brothers and sisters returned from a journey, they always greeted The Ancestress with a look that recognised her as a sentient being. When they had done inquiring for the health of the family, they often said, " She is looking splendid ! " as though her fault­ less complexion was subject to variations. Lizzie Todd, when she came to Brixton on Sundays, as she often did, always gave the lady a friendly nod. Mary Beamish-Todd— she sometimes hyphenated the name—and her mother had accepted misfortune as in some sort their right, but Lizzie always believed there was a good time coming. The nursery governess was a favourite with her employers. They had heard the story of The Ancestress, and it helped them in their conclusion that they had found a nice, refined girl to teach the children. They often said, without meaning much thereby, that they would like to see the picture. " I believe we may have to sell it some day," said Lizzie, with an effort. Tom, the extravagant one, was her favourite brother ; and it seemed that Tom had been more than usually profligate lately in the way of football matches and cigarettes. He had not been contributing anything to the family exchequer, and a whisper was abroad that he had been betting —without success. •' You should be very careful in selling a picture of that sort," said Mr. Pemberton ; " there is a great deal of cheating done over picture-dealing" She asked plaintively how they could avoid being cheated, and Mr. Pemberton said : " Get the picture valued by a good man."

MAGAZINE. " But that costs money," said the governess in a conclusive voice. " You know several artists, John," prompted his wife. " I might ask old Towse what is the best thing to do with it," said Mr. Pemberton, " but, of course, he is a busy man." Lizzie, feeling disloyal, almost missed an excellent chance of obtaining professional advice gratis by saying— " Of course, we may not sell it, after all ; but it would be satisfactory to know what it is worth." " You had better make up your mind. Towse is rather a swell," said her employer. " It would be a pity to bother him for nothing." " Still, Miss Todd need not bind herself," protested Mrs. Pemberton. " Oh, of course she need not bind herself. Who did you say painted the picture, Miss Todd ? " " Eaeburn. I believe he was a Scottish artist, and I have read a thing about him called ' Some Eaeburn Portraits.' " " I know nothing about art myself, but, from what I have heard, Baeburns are going up in price. If they were on the Shares List, I could tell you more about them," said the City man. He felt some degree of importance when he asked Towse, B. A., to dinner, and explained that he had something to tell him about a picture which he thought might interest him. Mr. Towse came, at some inconvenience to himself ; but genuine pictures are rarely discovered nowadays. Mr. Pemberton explained, when dinner was announced, that the picture belonged to his governess's family—a girl of good birth— and that they wished to sell. Out of the kindness of his heart he had suggested that Miss Todd should dine late and meet the artist. •• Who is the picture by ? " said the Academician. •• Eaeburn, a Scottish artist," said Miss Todd. " Eaeburn, a Scottish artist," repeated Towse. " My dear young lady, do yon' happen to know that rf you have a genuine Eaeburn, you probably have a large fortune in front of you ? " '" It's a picture of an ancestress of ours," said the girl, breathless ; " I believe we have had it in the family almost ever since it was painted." "Lord Solent's Eaeburn sold for ten

THE thousand pounds the other day," said Towse, R.A. " When can I see the picture ? " "Any day, please. We live at Brixton, and " "But I am leaving home to-morrow by an early train, and shall not be back for


Tom took the picture down."

three months. I suppose, as it has waited so long, it can wait a little longer ? " " Oh, yes, certainly," murmured Miss Todd. But in the drawing-room, after dinner, she said to Mrs. Pemberton— " I can't wait. If you only knew how



poor we are, you would know what this means to us ! " " Telephone down to one of your brothers to bring it here at once ; I don't mind," said Mrs. Pemberton, almost as excited as the governess. " We are not on the telephone, and I can't be sure who is at home this evening." " What a pity ! And it is too late to wire." " I mean to take a taxi down and bring it back ! " cried Miss Todd, not even asking permission. " I'll keep Mr. Towse here till you come back, if I have to sit up till twelve o'clock ! Put something warm round you." Miss Todd sat in her unaccustomed con­ veyance, watching the meter scoring up two­ fepences against her, and saying to herself— " Te n tli on s and pounds : Ten thousand pounds ! " There was literally nothing in her world that could not be done with ten thousand pounds. She entered the house at Brixton like a whirlwind, and found her family in the parlour, where, as it was the only room in the house with a tire, they were wont to assemble. " I have come for the picture ! " cried Lizzie. " It's worth something fabulous "'—she could not bring her tongue to frame the words which the artist had uttered—" oh, thousands—thousands ! Give it to me quickly ! " The lady on the wall smiled down at her îaste with her old, brilliant smile. " They had been talking about the picture just before Lizzie came in," her mother said. " I hate parting with her just as much as you do," Lizzie said with a sob, " but when you come to sums like—well, like thousands and thousands, you can't hesitate." Robert fetched a ladder, and Tom took the picture down. They nicked little specks of dust from its surface, and noticed that a dark patch was left on the wall where it had hung. The sight moved Mrs. Todd to tears.




" 'We won't sell a hair of her head without your permission," her children said. •' You will be able to raise money on her without parting with her," said Fred, " if she is worth as much as Lizzie says." " We might even send her to a loan exhibition," said Mary. They gave Mrs. Mary Beamish a hurrah as she left the house, waved handker­ chiefs, and wished her luck. And Lizzie, when she was alone with her inside the taxi-cab, cried over her and kissed her pink cheeks. She had twelve shillings in the world, and the meter registered ten-and-tenpence when she got out at Mr. Pemberton's door. She gave the extra twopence with a lordly air, then, before the door of the house had shut upon her, she ran down the steps and pressed her remaining shilling into the chauffeur's hand. " It's for luck," she said, and determined that, however rich she should become, she would never forget what it was like to be poor. " It's a glorious bit of painting," said Mrs. Pemberton, when she had seen the picture. " How quick you have been ! " " I am in time, am I not ? " said Lizzie, as breathless as though she had run all the way from Brixton. " Yes ; they are both down in the smokingroom. I'll send for them." " Now, then, for the Raeburn," said

MAGAZINE. Mr. Towse, in good spirits, and fixing his eyeglasses on his nose. * * * # * " How did they ever come to think that it was a Raeburn ? " he asked afterwards. " I had to tell her," he said with compunc­ tion. " I mean, if there had been the smallest doubt about it, I would have said something hopeful. But Raeburn's work is unmistakable ! And there isn't a line in the picture that doesn't proclaim it a bad copy ! " " She took it very well," said Mrs. Pemberton, who had heard Miss Todd say "Good night," and seen her go tearless to bed. " It's incomprehensible to me," said Towse, still smarting under a disappointment—one, moreover, which had kept him up late when he wanted to get to bed—" that they should ever think it was a Raeburn ; the thing is ludicrous ! " Later, however, he relented towards the governess who had brought him her trash to see. " I hope she did not mind much," he said. Mr. Pemberton could only apologise for her. " It has given you a lot of trouble," he said, " and I am sure we are most grateful to you for coming." " It has given me a very delightful evening with you and Mrs. Pemberton," said Mr. Towse, recovering. The evening ended in polite speeches, and Towse, R.A., took Miss Todd's taxi-cab and returned to his house to prepare for his early start on the morrow.

A GARDEN IN THE NORTH. VfESTREEN 1 walked where wind and tree " Called all the lost years back to me, Where shaken leaf and waft of bird Spoke to me each its well-known word.

What more? Only the joy, the pain, Shadows and dreams that waked again, As in these barren boles the spring Wakes at the west wind's summoning;

I knew—ah, well I knew of old 1—

The wet earth and the sky's pale gold,

The light wind stirring restlessly

The brown leaf on the beechen tree.

Only the drift of thorn-leaves dry, That stirred and sighed as I went by, As if some page I turned, and read There an old tale of years long fled.

I knew the far grey line of hills

Behind the barn—the daffodils

Beneath the bare bough, putting forth

Their spears' brave challenge to the north.

And the wise wind, that keeps alway The lost sweet soul of yesterday, Brought to me, on its whispering breath, Love, hope, remembrance—life and death I C. FOX SMITH.


BY H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON. was Magnus Chadd Ëtegï ' T who gave me my

for the snow had been falling as I left the car. " I never knew you flinch at weather or anything else yet, Winsloe," said Chadd, with a grin. " Well, what is it ? " said I. Sallow, heavy-jowled, middle-sized, and spare of frame, Magnus Chadd was well known in two continents. He was by way of being a genius in finance. Under his capable hands mines seemed to assemble instinctively. Even if he struck a wild-cat he managed to turn it into something else with success. A gold proposition petered out only to allow the management to strike copper rich ; and if one property failed, he brought up reserves and threw a couple more into the pot for luck. He was a gambler by instinct, and a plucky one, as I had cause to know. Also, he was a tough nut, and he could be all sorts to all men. " Did you ever hit the Fairhurst gang ? " he asked abruptly, pulling a letter from a pigeon-hole in his desk and setting it before him. He was orderly in all things, was this adventurer. " No, but I've known some of their ways," said I. " Don't like 'em any more than I do ? " he said, and handed me the letter. It was a rough scrawl, evidently written by a man more accustomed to a pick than a pen, and it was headed and dated from an outlandish place in Wyoming. The purport of it was, in an uneducated way, to offer Magnus the Little Jack Mine for the sum of five thousand dollars. There were some mining particulars in the letter which had, no doubt, arrested Chadd's attention. " Well ? " he asked, looking up, as I finished, from the perusal of other docu­ ments. " There don't seem enough in it to worry a man ; White Hat's played out," I replied. " I don't give a curse for that," he said, with an impatient wave of his hand. " Prob­ ably the fool don't know, anyway. This is the point, Winsloe. This mine is situated in the same valley as the Eldorado group which Fairhurst got hold of. Jake Fair­ hurst's jumped in ahead of me more than

first chance. I had geological know­ ledge enough, I thought, to run a museum, and I fancied I knew move of mineralogy •22 than any man I had chanced on. Looking back on it all, I see I had a fair opinion of myself, but I did make good. To give Chadd his due, he picked me out of a bunch, and I don't think he regretted it. Well, it may be he did about the Little Jack Mine. I'm coming to that. Chadd, anyway, gave me my chance in West Africa, when I was fresh from college, and he got his reward. So did I in a way. I became his trusty hand, and if he had a mining proposition in any part of the globe, it was I who was sent to report. It suited me very well, being, as I was, of a roving tempera­ ment, and it paid well also. Having no ties, I could do as I liked, and when I liked I stopped. I was independent of Magnus Chadd all the time, and I can't say quite the same for him in respect of myself. I stood him in good stead over a big South African deal, of which some day I will tell the story, and in any difficulty he cabled, wired, or 'phoned to me. That was what brought me into this case where I lost my reputation.



w mm


Chadd got on the end of a 'phone and fetched me out of a nice little party I was entertaining at lunch in the Palladium. " Can you come round ? " said be. " I've got a proposition, and I want you." I gave him the hour after a moment's calculation, for I had been hanging about New York for some time, and was not unwilling to adventure again ; and as soon as I got rid of my guests, I flashed down to him. " Good ! " said he when I entered his private room, where he sat with a pile of papers about him. " Winsloe, I want you to go to Wyoming." "Pretty cold, unhandsome weather for travelling to that outlandish part," said I,

Copyright, 1911, by H. B. Marriott Watson, in the United States of America.




once, and I shan't forget his dirty tricks. If I'd had wind of his Eldorado combine, I'd have stopped it somehow. I'd have stood a racket to have spoked his wheel." "Well, he won't be wanting this show much," I suggested, shaking the letter. " That brings me to what I want to say," said Chadd. " One of my men—Anderson, you know him—tells me that there is some idea that the Eldorado lode runs through this—what the mischief is it ?—Little Jack. If it makes there, it's a good proposition. Anyway, I want to get ahead of Fairhurst." I mused. " I wouldn't pin too much on Anderson," I said drily. "Strikes twenty ounces once a week." " Hang it, it's you—you I'm talking of and pinning on ! " snapped Chadd. I grinned. " All right," said I, and picked up the letter again. " You want me to take an option on it. What price ? Five dollars ? " Chadd grinned also. " I leave it to you. You can handle the case. Anyway, fore­ stall Fairhurst." I put the letter in my pocket. " All serene," I said. " I'll fix it." He nodded, yawned, and reached for his gloves. He was something of a dandy, was Magnus Chadd—at least, he could assume the role. The whole business didn't seem to me to amount to much save as a speculative dig at Fairhurst. However, if Magnus liked to pay for his fun, it was of no consequence to me. I said it was cold, but it was more than that when I got off at West Crow and started in my buckboard for White Hat three days later. I was climbing all the way from the first stairs out of these plains, and the wind blew slick off the ice-reefs of the mountains like a hundred sword-blades. I mounted the foothills, and, after passing some desolate settlements, hove-to at an accommodation shanty of the usual kind, where I took in food and exchanged conversation with a moody fellow all legs and beard. Did he know White Hat ? He vented some adjectives aud guessed he did. It was the back of beyond, where only fool fellows went. He had heard, and, indeed, had some reason to know, that the Eldorado was all right, but no man had troubled the snowy silence of White Hat these five years, save one specially darned fool. He gave him a name, the name on my paper—Dunstan. He believed Dunstan, in his egregiously foolish way, was still there. (Please note that the adverbs and adjectives have been transmuted

MAGAZINE. by me to inoffensive neutrality.) Inquiring further, I learned that the track was fairly good as far as Pigeon's, but he wouldn't answer for it beyond. He himself, it appeared, depended for a subsistence on the Eldorado people coming and going to West Crow. The fork divided the Eldorado from White Hat, and no sensible man ever dreamed of turning up the pass towards the bleak, barren, forsaken, and generally derelict remains of a mining camp. This was cheerful news to see me on my way, and though I have been in bad places more than once, I was disposed to curse Chadd and his fancies as my buckboard tumbled about the rough track into the mountains. I had left the shanty late in the afternoon, and when night fell—the long January night—I was still battling with the road. The cold reached to my vitals—a keen wind singing out of the northern sierras and charged with keen spears—and I was mightily glad when I sighted the gleam of Pigeon's. He was a wonderfully cheerfnl man of no intelligence, but of excessive amiability, and was so agreeable to every proposition one brought up that it was impossible to learn anything from him. I was glad of the shelter, however, and I listened to the wind roaring down the gulch between the spaces of our talk. Once tbe peat that burned in the fire spluttered and fluttered, and Pigeon said amiably— " I allow there's snow a-coming." I went to bed on that, and I slept as, thank Heaven, I have always learned to sleep. But the next morning I got some notion of what the old man had forecast. Heaven was grey-black over the north, and there were some flakes whirling. " I reckon you got to leave the old wheel­ barrow here," says Pigeon, smiling foolishly. He had told me of the track, which was no track, along the spur of the mountain. " I allow they always leave their furniture here," he added, grinning wider. And sure enough he was right, for the place was strewn with the wreckage of decaying and festering vehieles of all sorts, drifted there as into some Sar­ gasso Sea. It was like walking through a graveyard. He explained that, after the rush at White Hat, many of the prospectors did not live to redeem their property. Any­ way, the remains of a considerable number were in his hands. He squinted at the sky. " I allow you'll have a tidy bad trail," said he. I knew that, but I didn't care. I wasn't going to be snowed up with an old parsnip



like him, and so I pulled out as I had intended. Yet I was not two hours upon the road ere I conceived there was some warning in his words that I might have taken. It entered my mind as I went down into the valley beyond, with the snow beating in my face and the wind plucking at my garments. I rode lightly, as an old traveller, but the horse felt the coming storm and shrank from it. The way was of remarkable rough­ ness, the track degenerating into a mere path of boulders and gaping crevices. About midday the storm struck us. The few swirling flakes which had been spindrift in the chilly sky thickened and quickened ; in a trice there was a cloud of them, and the horse and I were shut off from all the rest of that savage landscape. The rude canyon down which we were moving was blotted out ; the world became one white sheet about me. And I moved on as one cut off from everything else save the folds of the terrible snow which lay on hill and valley. As the short day darkened, the situation grew worse, for it was no longer possible to learn if I was upon the track. White Hat ! I thought I knew now why this deserted region was so styled. Darkness descended, shutting out even the snow, and darkness found me rocking on a horse that stumbled and floundered down a way that led apparently to nothingness. I don't know how long this went on. I was only aware of the blizzard through one sense now, and that was the sense of touch. I felt it. Sight, sound—there was nothing else but touch. But my limbs grew numb and number, and the poor creature under me began to miss his steps and stagger. He staggered and recovered, lurched forward, and fetched up with a curious, pathetic indrawn whinney, started again—and then I knew that I was falling. When I returned to consciousness, I Was aware of a sharp pain in my head and of a growing warmth somewhere near my midriff. I was apparently in a lying position, and I struggled up on one elbow. " Wait a bit," I heard a voice, and it seemed to descend out of heaven. " The brandy will fetch you round," it added. " Good Bob ! Good Bob ! " Something seemed to be licking my hand with warm, rough tongue. I stared. A lantern flickered on the snow. " I think you're better now," said the voice. " You'd have been gone hadn't Bob found you." Now I could make out things a little more



clearly. There was a man with a lantern by me, and a huge dog that licked my hand. Dimly beyond I could make out a huge lump as of a fallen animal. " What happened ? " I asked, finding my voice. " Why, you come over the cliff," said the man. "The boss missed his way. He's dead, poor critter. It finished him off right away, but I don't know but you've come off pretty well. He must have broke your fall." I struggled up, and the man supported me. " Where is this ? " I asked. " Why, this is White Hat," he replied. " If yon can't get along on those legs of yours, I'll fix a contraption for you." I thanked him, but was glad to find I could still make use of my feet. Painfully stiff and sore from the fall, I ploughed through the heavy snow under the guidance of my rescuer's strong arms. " 'Twas Bob nosed you out," he explained. " Bob took to barking and become uneasy. He's a great dog is Bob." " I return thanks to Bob," I said, " for as sure as I'm a live man now, I should have been a dead one by the morrow." " That's so," he agreed. After twenty minutes of difficult progress, he halted at a bigger lump of whiteness out of which shone a faint light. It was a cabin, constructed in the usual fashion of mining cabins in such regions, of timber and stone and with a turf thatch. When we entered, a fire was burning cheerfully at one end of a rather large room, and—here was my sur­ prise—a young woman rose from a rude chair on our entrance. The man introduced her as his wife. She had certain good looks, but her comeliness was despoiled by a care­ worn expression. She bustled about and made me welcome. " You are Dnnstan ?" I said suddenly. He nodded. He was a big, broadshouldered, slow-moving fellow, with a simple face and a somewhat obdurate jowl. " I've come from Magnus Chadd," I went on. " I dare say you got my letter— Winsloe ? " He shook his head. " I'd have gone up back to meet you if I had," he said. " It's a bad trail this time of the year. Guess we don't do much in the post line here. I dare say your letter's along at Eldorado." I lay back in my seat, for a faintness took hold of me, and I must have gone off right at that. When I woke, I was lying in a made-up bed alongside the tire, and



Mrs. Dunstan was moving to and fro with a certain natural grace. I guessed it was still night because of the lantern burning. A big St. Bernard dog with grizzled muzzle, showing his years, stood by me as if he watched. I opened my eyes and took the scene in, and suddenly a child's cry, fretful and thin, arose in the shack. Mrs. Dunstan turned swiftly and pushed open a door which led into another room, letting in the sound more fully. " Hush, dearie—hush, my lamb ! " I heard her call, and there were sounds as if she were soothing the awakened child. Somehow the scene got hold of me in my weakened state. It seemed of a homely harmony that was attractive. The big dog looked at me. I put out my hand and stroked him ere I fell asleep again. It was two days before I was fit for much, and I was forced to keep the house all that time. The weather cleared, and Dunstan came and went about his work. As I couldn't move to do mine, the next best course was to ask questions, which I did. In a little I had the whole silly story. He was from Iowa, and had held a little farm there. When the rush came at White Hat, he had sold his farm and gone off with his new bride to make a fortune. Lots of fools do that, but they don't take their wives unless they're a special brand of fool. Dunstan was a simple, obstinate dolt, and he had struggled on through the rush and after the rush. His means dried up, and he was left there derelict like the buggies in old Pigeon's. His child was born in the camp at a time when there was plenty of population, and a doctor was available. And there the child and the mother and the father, not to speak of the dog, had lived ever since. He puddled the colour of gold up the creek, and so he maintained himself and his family on this side of starvation. Well, that was not all, as I discovered when I could get about. I heard the child's cry occasionally, and a lot of babble behind the closed door, but it wasn't till I could move for myself that I made the discovery. That child had been born wrong. It was a nice little thing, with soft, brown hair and large inquiring eyes, but it lay on its back and couldn't move. There was something the matter with its spine. The woman told me about it. An operation was necessary, but they could not afford it. Little Jack would be all right if he could get that operation, so a doctor from Eldorado had informed them, and he had named fees and expenses—big items both. It would

MAGAZINE. cost a thousand dollars to get little Jack right, and they were chained to White Hat by poverty. That was why Dunstan was anxious to sell out. He had still an obstinate and ignorant faith in his claim, but he was tired out. He wanted money for little Jack and to buy back the farm in Iowa. He reckoned he was tired of mining—the mining that should have made his fortune. All this and more I got from them in those few days. They were a devoted house ; they clung together and belonged to each other. They were, so to speak, conglomerates, dog and all. Such company as they ever saw was drawn from Eldorado over the pass, where Fairhurst's camps lay, and I knew pretty well what sort of company that was likely to be. Little Jack ! Heavens, that was the name that in their loving pride and hopes they had bestowed upon the mine. Little Jack ! Why, as soon as I got to work with my eyes, I saw the man did not know the elements of mining. He had done nothing that he ought to have done, and what he had tried to do he had done all wrong. I very soon saw what Anderson had meant when he had mentioned the Eldorado lode. I paid a visit to the Fairhurst combine, on the other side of the hill, and found them on a higher level. The lode, which was richer as it dipped, took an angle that might have made Eairhurst think. If it lived at depth, it might be found on the other side of the hill. But it was a pretty tall order. Anyway, I was there to look for it, and I began operations on the lower part of the valley where the Little Jack abutted on the range. Dunstan had put in an adit here for some reason, and for some other equally mysterious reason had abandoned it. I left him puddling placer gold by the creek, and got to work. A little afterwards I got interested. The mine was there to take or leave, but I felt I wanted to know a little more. I had a free hand, and I was interested in a minera­ logical problem. Morgan came over the pass into White Hat the very day Dunstan left. I had encountered him at the Eldorado camp, and though I said nothing of Chadd, I fancy he knew my name. Anyway, he could not have taken me for any of the truck about him. He was a smart enough man, and, no doubt, had earned his place at the head of the Eldorado Queen, which was Fairhurst'B trump. I believe, too, he was responsible for the purchase of the properties on the lode northward. Anyway, he was smart

_--.. '>T<'. ? . W 3 T *

ri.o;v''-- -

" I proved- too much for him in the end."





enough to realise that if there was anything in White Hat, he had better be looking after it. Anderson had got out of him an expression of opinion, as I gathered later, over more than one bottle of champagne. Anderson had never seen White Hat, and I believe Morgan's interest in it was mainly theoretical. However, he came over the very day Dunstan left. The kid had had several bad days, and Mrs. Dunstan's haggard face showed her anxiety. He wailed and was fretful, and the little beggar clung to my hand, and went off to sleep one evening, after I'd told him stories of a kiud I thought would suit. The mother, I think, put pressure on her slow and lumbering husband ; he must go to Blackville and see a doctor— bring him out if necessary. I guessed at some of this, and the next morning I thought I saw my way to make it easier for them. " I've never squared with you for board and lodging yet," said I. " I think you'd better take these to go on with." He counted the notes and separated them. " I reckon you don't owe more'n that," he said decisively. " We don't set out to cut the wool off our guests." He hesitated for a moment, and then in his slow way said : " I'd be willing to take two thousand five hundred if Mr. Chadd was agreeable." That made me feel rather small, and it was only after he had gone, throwing back the bulk of the notes on me, that I saw what a fool I'd been. I ought to have paid for an option. I cursed myself for a champion fool more than once, but it was too late. Dunstan was gone with his meagre pocket, on the way to Blackville to get advice for little Jack. The other Little Jack kept me busy. Morgan, as I say, arrived in a casual manner the same day, and, after inquiring for Dunstan, sought me out. He was put up at the shack, and he talked a lot that night as we smoked in the shack, with the frost holding hard without, and little Jack wailing in the inner room. Mrs. Dunstan had come to me in perplexity with a bit of paper which Morgan had given her—a letter from her husband inviting him to inspect the claim. So there was nothing to be done but be civil. He had guessed who I was, if he didn't guess more, and I knew who he was. And so we sat, like two hawks in the dove's nest, and talked amicably on all sorts of topics. The next day Morgan set out to make an inspection­

MAGAZINE. " I don't imagine there's anything here," he told me, " but, of course, it's as well to try." And he set about trying on the formation at which Dunstan had been puddling. Now, if he were good enough a man to be in charge of Fairhurst's concern, he was too good to blunder like that, and so I grew suspicious. He wasn't likely to waste time either, and I began to conjecture. I soon got upon a trail, too—Morgan wanted to get the benefit of my work. As soon as this dawned on me, I was as wary as a fox. I had closed the adit before, and I was careful not to work in it when he was about. The day after he arrived, there joined him a tall, lean fellow named Batters, and they made a camp across the creek, just for all the world as if they were genuine prospectors. But I knew better. They were thieves, predatory bandits, vultures that looked on and waited till their prey died. Well, what was I ? It was three days after Dunstan had gone that I reached what I had anticipated, but I confess I had had no notion of its im­ portance. The reef lived, and I had got it. Dunstan's pick had gone within a few yards of it and he hadn't known. I had known the lode was coming, but I didn't know it would prove so rich. Morgan's presence had made me shy of publicity, and I had worked in the adit at night. On the third night, as I say, I found it. It was a fine, starred night of January, and I had a lantern for my only company. When I struck the lode, I eased up and made my calculations. Then I went back to the shack, and pondered. Presently it . came upon me that I wanted a few more par­ ticulars on which to frame the report I was drafting, and I got up stealthily, so as not to disturb Mrs. Dunstan and little Jack, and I made my way to the adit. I had blocked the door with boulders, and when I reached it I was amazed to see that these had been removed. Moreover, there was a gleam of light within. Then I knew I had my man. He started when he saw me, and I saw an ugly look cross his face—it hardened. " Pleasant night for a ramble, Mr. Morgan," said I amiably. " Nice moon, too." " Ah ! " said he, looking at me in a fixed way. I lounged against the rock. " Tidy little place, this of yours." I nodded at the work­ ings. " Interesting, too—a regular jeweller's shop, I should say." " You think so ? " he said slowly. " Well,



I am glad to have your opinion endorsing mine. That makes it very satisfactory." We had been fencing daintily enough, but now I was going to get home. In point of fact, my blood boiled at his insolence and his shamelessness. " Before I start on you, I should like to hear any explanations you may like to make," I said calmly enough. He hesitated a moment and then said : "Certainly. Let us get outside, and you shall have all you want." I backed out carefully, for I did not care about turning my back on a mean man like that, and when we were in the open, he blew out the lantern deliberately. We stood in the moonlight, but I could not see his face. " The explanation is that I was inspecting the claim in the interests of Mr. Fairhurst," he said coolly. " I see," said I, fuming with auger that I could not restrain, " and you have the shabbiness to make use of my workings— to follow me, to spy upon me, to steal like a thief in the night, to act like a low-dowu Dago greaser. By Heaven, Mr. Morgan, I've a pretty poor opinion of you, and I'm going to handle you ! " I moved towards him as I spoke, and be leapt away. I followed, and there must have been a dozen paces between us at that moment. Suddenly I saw something on the hare earth—a shadow cast by the moon from behind me. It was the shadow of a man's arm, and a shadow of something live and thin, moving in undulating, whirling curves, as if it were a snake. Instinct made me act rather than reason. I flung myself upon the ground, and the lariat fell aimlessly upon my prostrate body. The next moment some­ one had jumped upon me, and lean, muscular arms were about me. I guessed this was Batters, and even at that moment an appre­ ciation of the smartness of Morgan's trick flashed on me. But there his smartness ended ; there he made his first mistake. He ought to have seen me secured. Instead of that, he was in a mighty hurry, and, while I struggled with Batters, he ran off. I should have been no match for the two, but I wasn't feeling very desperate with Batters alone. I confess he gave me a lot of trouble, but I proved too much for him in the end. I think my wind lasted better, and I was also a heavier weight. Anyway, round he went, slithering about, on the little slope, which helped me a lot, and ere he had finished kicking, I had him strapped in his own lariat. Then I left him and ran for it



also. I knew Morgan's plan pretty well now. I was to be held in a vice while he raced for Blackville and caught Dnnstan on the hop. Dnnstan wanted money badly, and he would sell outright for Fairhurst's gold, as he would have sold for Chadd's. If Morgan got ahead of me, I was done, and the mine in all its riches went to Fairhurst. Well, my business was to see that Morgan didn't get ahead of me. I found his horse gone, as I had anticipated, but there was Batters's animal, a gaunt, tough creature, and I made free with it. As I passed the cabin, I could see a gleam in the windows where little Jack lay, and guessed Mrs. Dunstan was watching over him. It could not have been more than twenty minutes after Morgan had gone loping up the trail, that I followed on my spectre. It was slow going at first, for the track was rocky and a mere apology for a roadway ; also it sloped athwart a spur of the range. But Morgan had gone that way before me, and that was good enough for me. The horse was as safe as a mule on those rough slants, and though he made no great pace, he never missed his footing, and carried me like a gentleman. When I got to the summit of the spur, the wind cut finely, and the whole valley beyond was bathed in moonlight. There was a heavy frost in the air. Down floundered Rosinante on sure foot, but clumsily, cumbrously, slowly, until, in the bottom below, the trail bettered. Then he fell into an easy slide, of which no effort of mine would shake him. He was contemptuous of instigation, and made his own pace. I fretted and I cursed, but it was all to no purpose. That horse was going like a comfortable circus horse on a job at so much an hour. He couldn't be stirred out of his stride, and I jogged along, as it were, to Banbury Cross, as the old rhyme has it. I had time then for reflection, and for the second time I had reason to set myself down a fool for not having taken an option on the mine. If I had, I could not only have eased Dunstan's way for him and little Jack, but I should also at that moment have been snapping my fingers in amuse­ ment at Morgan's headlong ride. When I reached the top of a hill, the moon was so strong that the valley below me was in a full tide of white light. I almost thought that I could perceive a dot moving below, and my pulse quickened at the thought that it was Morgan. As I rode, there was a certain exhilaration in the night that strung me up and enlivened



me. A current of thoughts flowed in my mind, and I drifted away among them. I somehow had no fear lest I should miss my man. Since then I have sometimes wondered why, and have only got the answer that it was the crisp hard night bracing me to confidence. The mere fact, anyhow, is that I forgot my immediate errand in a crowd of other feel­ ings, and that I was suddenly brought up by a light. For the moment—so astray were my wits—I fancied it was the Dunstan cabin, with little Jack ill and his mother keeping watch and ward. Immediately after I knew better. It was a roofless shack, long deserted, without doors or windows, and a light flickered in it. I fancy Morgan had made sure of his triumph ; he had not looked for me. He was there, as I saw at once, when, having dismounted, I peeped in, and he was busily engaged in preparing a bandage by the light of a candle stuck in a bottle. I had an instant guess at what had happened. He had let his horse down badly, and was endeavouring to repair the mischief. He started as my shadow fell into the room from the moon behind. " I guess I've got you, Morgan," I said. He laid his bandage aside carefully. He was a man of good stuffing. " I see. I suppose we'd better talk busi­ ness," said he calmly. " You've hit it," I answered, entering. " But the business is all on my side." He looked at me. " Do you take much stock in Chadd ? " he asked after a pause. " I don't know that I do," I said. " I fancy he can look after himself." " Let him," he said, turning over the bandage. " You're some authority on a horse, Mr. Winsloe. Will that do ? " I grinned at him. " You want to buy me off ?" I said. " You're a cool card ! " " I don't think it would be against your interests to come in with us," he said as calmly as ever. " But I'm not depending on it." " Well, what are you depending on ? " I drawled. " This ! " I looked down the barrel of a Browning as he spoke, but I flatter myself I did not wince. I had no weapon, for I had come away in a precipitate haste, and there were only my two bare hands. " So ! " I said. " But, man, you daren't shoot." " I don't want to," said he ; " it would be devilish awkward. But I will if I must. I've got to settle this one way. You'd better recognise that, Winsloe."

MAGAZINE. " Oh, I'll recognise that a man of your kidney is equal to murder, if that's what you mean," I sneered. " Be reasonable," he said. " I offer terms. I'm bound to see this thing through, and if you don't subscribe, you've got to go out of action." He was between me and the door, and his pistol was levelled dead on me. It was then that I played the old wheeze, which never fails, because human nature is human nature. " That you, Jackson ? Man, man, I thought you were never coming ! " I was looking across his shoulder and past him into the empty air, and he whipped round without thought, I do believe, but on an importunate instinct. The next moment I bad him under my hands, and I slipped his coat down from his shoulders over his arms to the elbows, leaving him helpless. Having extracted his revolver from his useless hands, I made shift to secure him, winding him up in a roll of canvas I found in the shack, and tying him up with rope, for all the world like a soft goods package. When I had got him thus smothered up, I turned, paying DO heed to his remarks, which were impolite. " Mr. Morgan, you're in a new combine," I said, " and I fancy you've got to stay there for some hours. You shall be released duly at break of day." On that I went out, mounted cheerily enough, and rode on to Pigeon's, where I roused the old man out of his bed. " There's a dandy hobo in the shack way down," I told him. " He wants a sleep badly, and I'm anxious he should get it. If you'll take him breakfast and shaving-water at daybreak, I'll fix it up with you." And with that I passed him some paper, nodded, and rode on. I had to wait at West Crow for the midnight mail, and I was mighty glad when it came and I was aboard without more trouble from Morgan. It was with some difficulty that I found Dunstan's boarding place at Blackville, where I arrived in time for breakfast. He did not express any surprise at seeing me, but was heavy and dull and patiently slow, like a bullock. " They waut five hundred dollars to come out and report on little Jack," he told me when I asked his news. " Well, I dare say it's worth it," said I ; " it's an outlandish place to get at." He made no answer, seeming to ruminate miserably. " Well, anyway, I've come to know if you'll sell," I said next.



He looked up, brightening a little. " Yes," lie said. " For two thousand five hundred dollars ? " I asked. " Yes," he said, with a sigh. " That's right," said I. " I like a man to be sensible. But, by thunder, Dunstan, you're a better husband and a father than you are a miner ! Why, there are ounces, man, where you've been puddling penny­ weights ! " He took this in, and then he said with a quick breath : " Then Mr. Chadd will buy ? " I sat down, for the man fairly winded me. " Mr. Chadd will buy," said I, " if you like to offer him a five-ounce proportion in a tenfoot lode. He'll buy at five thousand dollars ; he'll buy at ten thousand. Hanged if I don't think he'll buy at a bit more ! " "You mean " he said, gaping. " Oh, man, get your headpiece at work ! " I said impatiently. " There's a comfortable little fortune for you in Little Jack. Work it. Tell your friends to sell their shirts to put into it, and don't you let Fairhurst look in at it. Then you can sell out, get Little Jack, the mascot—you were right—squared by the doctors, and buy your farm and squat on it for the rest of your natural life." " Yes." He sat down dazed and then got up. " I am much obliged to you, Mr. Winsloe " he began, and there was a gulp in his throat. He stopped. "All right, old man," said I. "Glad I happened about." I got up. " But if you sell to Fairhurst—well, my ghost will haunt



you ! So long ! Best regards to Mrs. Dunstan and the kid," I said, as I swung out, for I didn't like the look of his face, which was working, and I thought I was better out of the place. I have always hoped that Pigeon released Morgan in due course, but I never heard, and I haven't been back in that region. Anyway, I had no complaints—at least, not from the Fairhurst crowd. Nor did I just then from Chadd. That came later. I reported that the mine wouldn't be of any use to him, and he seemed satisfied. But one day, three months later, when I was called in consultation by him on a Peruvian proposition, I found him contemplative in his cabinet. " Winsloe," said he, " I hear there's a big strike in White Hat, that Wyoming place. How did you come to miss it ? " I saw the game was up then, and so I told him the story. He listened quietly if rather grimly, and when I finished he said— " I suppose you lost me five hundred thousand dollars ! " I met his eye, and he continued : " So that's why you never drew your expenses ? " I shrugged my shoulders, and after he had stared at the desk a bit, he went on— " Well, you've got your ideals, I suppose, and I've mine. We've got to pull together somehow. You'll have to go to Peru, my lad." He shifted his papers. " Anyway, I'm glad Fairhurst didn't get in ! " he said, with a broad grin.

WHEN I START DREAMING. *T^7HEN I start dreaming, nothing shall defend you,

* * Nor plaints, nor prayers ; in wisdom's own despite

I'll take the very thoughts that do attend you,

And from them make my dreaming night by night.

Your sighs shall be the wind to blow my boat on,

To whisper in the sails and whistle through ;

Your thoughts shall be the ocean I'm afloat on,

And every ripple shall bear news of you.

Oh, in my slumber-boat, while I lie sleeping,

Your smiles shall kiss me through the soft moonbeams;

And though your heart her strictest watch be keeping,

Your love shall still come to me—in my dreams.









ROM time immemorial the Romans most beautiful. The situation is charming, have delighted in wild animals. and the most has been made of the many Lions, tigers, elephants, and other natural advantages. captives from the wild have taken part in The enclosure is formed of a part of the the great processions of their emperors, and Borghese Gardens, and all along one side are the people beautiful old rejoiced in trees, which displays and make a most combats delightful between men shade and and beasts. give an air of A zoological distinction garden in and oldRome, there­ world pic­ fore, seems turesqueness quite appro­ to the place. priate. But In an un­ as one strolls dertaking of through this this kind fine collec­ t h e r e is tion, and always a sees the great moving carnivora spirit, and sunning in this case themselves the idea peacefully originated in t h e i r with Baron spacious Giorgio Son­ dens, one n i n o , the caunot help well - known recalling the and popular days of old, senator of and thinking Rome. In with what his country different h o m e in feelings the Tuscany the victims must Baron has have re­ always loved garded these to surround fierce beasts, himself with shut behind YOUNG ABYSSINIAN I.ION PRESENTED BY BARON SONNINO. a n i m a l s Of bars and every sort, destined to slay the defenceless martyrs in both wild and domestic, and is prominent in the arena. zoological circles for his interesting experi­ Rome is now in possession of one of the ments in the rearing and acclimatisation of most up-to-date zooloaical gardens, and in a the American rhea, about which he has year or two, when it has time to recover from discovered many interesting facts. One in the clearing and cutting down necessary in particular has an important bearing on the laying out the grounds, it will be one of the food supply of the newly-hatched birds. 116




By the strenuous efforts of Baron Sonnino and others fired with the same spirit of enthusiasm, money was collected, the Zoo­ logical Society of Rome instituted, and Carl Hagenbeck, of world-wide fame, invited to







complete the gardens in November, 1910, one year after the commencement and within the time contracted for. They were opened in January, 1911, by King Victor Emmanuel III., and ever since there lia? been


advise as to the laying out of zoological gardens in the style of his own animal park at Stellingen. The old saying, " Rome was not built in a day," holds good in this case, and enormous exertions must have been necessary to







a steady flow of visitors to this most delightful spot. In connection with this opening, it may be interesting to note that these are not the first zoological gardens in Italy. One was started in Turin by Victor Emmanuel II., and in 18fj2


Count Henry di Castiglioni, the Director of these gardens, was sent to Canada by the King to secure rare specimens for him which could not at that time be supplied by the regular dealers. The Count remained a year in America, and brought back several varieties of deerâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;

wapiti, moose, elk, and others, besides grey bears, bison, and a large collection of stuffed birds, which he had himself shot in the prairies. The Baroness Sonnino, who kindly ob­ tained the foregoing particulars for me from a diary written by her uncle, Count



Henry di Castiglioni, to her mother while he was away on this collecting expedition, has not been able to ascertain the exact date when these gardens were closed, but she thinks it was on the death of the King ; and it is rather a curious coincidence that the second zoological gardens in Italy should have been opened in Rome in the year of the celebrations and of the unveiling of the statue to King Victor Emmanuel II. Large, spacious enclosures for the beasts—which are in most cases kept in by wide ditches—and the absence of bars and railings make it possible to look at the animals without feeling that they are prisoners ; and where cages are a necessity, they are big and roomy, so that even the larger birds, such as vultures and eagles, can stretch their wings. It seems to me that, but for their being unable to gratify the instincts of the mighty hunter—for which a full larder makes up to some extent—the creatures in these gardens have about as good a time as it is possible for ,: animals to have in captivity ; and surely they must be envied by their unhappy brethren, the wolves who drag out a sorry existence in a small cage on the Capitol Hill, where they were denied even sunshine until a kind English lady, interceding on their behalf, got their cage moved into more sunny quarters. Borghese Gardens, and thus increase the Perhaps the pert little sparrows, which hop hardship of their lot—who knows ? in and out of their cage with impunity, may The mountain which towers up at one end bring word to these poor captives on the of the grounds, and on which the wild sheep, hill of the animal Paradise evolved in the





goats, etc., disport themselves, is cunningly fashioned of concrete on an iron framework. The work of an expert, it is an actual repre­ sentation of the rocks to be found in the environments of Rome. A sheet of water in the centre of the gardens is devoted to water-fowl and large birds of all kiuds. A solemn adjutant posas on one leg, and storks and cranes step about, making strange noises, and every now and then indulging in wild rushes with out­ stretched wings. A crown crane moves up and down, entirely occupied with the doings of her neighbours, and, with her feathered head-dress and sly look, reminds one forcibly of an inquisitive old maid. Swans, both black and white, flamingos, standing in the water in groups and casting lovely pink reflections, and ducks of every description, combine to make a scene full of life and gaiety. All along one side of the lake stretches a wide paddock occupied by quite a " happy family " of the larger animals. Several camels, llamas, a zebra, naghili, yak. Circassian goats, sheep, gazelles, and albino deer all live together in perfect harmony. Flat rocks piled together in the centre enable the animals to sun themselves, and under­ neath are shady caves where they can retreat when the Italian sun shines fiercely at mid­ day. Behind this, in a semicircle, are the enclosures for the greater carnivora, and lions, tigers, leopards, and hyenas each have their separate den. In the case of the Polar bears, a most elaborate arrangement of artificial icebergs, snowy slabs, and icicles may, it is to be hoped,

MAGAZINE. help the occupants to imagine they are in the Arctic regions, even when the thermo­ meter stands at ninety degrees in the shade. A deep pool of water in the hollow of the icecoated rocks, no doubt, assists the illusion, and is much appreciated by the inmates at all hours of the day. Polar bears are restless creatures, and always on the move. Unlike their neigh­ bours, the lions and tigers—true Orientals, who sleep during the hottest part of the day —the Polars seem to revel in the sunshine, and seldom retreat into the icy caverns provided for them—a matter of great surprise to Italians, who always prefer the shade, and impute fever and malaria to the sun's rays. Below the Polar bears, but separated by a ditch, lies a large pool of water, in which sea-lions and seals disport themselves, and round which are gathered groups of sea-gulls and solemn-looking penguins ; while above are reindeer, quite at home among the rocks. Seen from the other end of the gardens, this collection of white blocks and slabs heaped together forms quite a striking picture. The home of the brown bears is a charm­ ing abode. It is a large, roomy stone grotto, with plenty of logs for the creatures to climb about on, and let into the floor in one corner is a bath, in which one or more bears are for ever gambolling and tubbing most vigorously. Each bear seems to have his own particular method of drying himself, and one youngster caused shouts of laughter by his ridiculous way of cantering up aud down with a preoccupied expression and apparently a set purpose, at the same time glancing out of the corner of his wicked little eye to see what impression he was making on the bystanders. I think bears are the most self-conscious




animals and the most suited to captivity, as they really seem to enjoy a good audience, and the continued streams of appreciative visitors seem to excite them to fresh efforts of clowning and playing the fool generally. In the middle of the den is an upright tree, in the branches of which a very small black






bear often takes refuge, well out of reach of the tyrant who rules below, for I noticed that one large brown bear lords it over the rest, for all the world like a big bully in the school playground. When this great brute shows temper, all the lesser fry scuttle out of the way at the shortest notice. On one of








these occasions a little brown bear was caught napping, and I saw him receive a mighty cuff which bowled him over into the ditch with a resounding thud. The poor little creature picked himself up ruefully and proceeded to shamble up and down, glancing upwards and giving a protesting snuffle, the

ditch for the purpose, and, after many pauses to reconnoitre, once more regained the den and quickly effaced himself among his com­ panions. In marked contrast to the bears is the stately indifference of three royal tigers to be found in another part of the gardens.

bully towering above him quite ready to administer more punishment on the slightest provocation. Presently, when he thought Big Bear's attention attracted in another direction, Teddy Bear climbed cautiously up the logs placed against the side of the

is arranged in shelving terraces, which afford comfortable nooks for the animals to stretch themselves, and with cool, inviting caves into which they can retire if so minded, and provided with huge logs on which the great cats can sharpen their claws.

"A SELECT COMMITTEE." From the orîjiiial


i:i the Walker Art Gallery, reproduced by permission

of the Corporation



" STARTLED." BY ARTHUR WARDLE.] Reproduced by permission of the Artist. Copyright strictly reserved.

Towards evening the three lionesses become playful as kittens, indulging in the wildest gambols, crouching, springing, and dodging each other, and bounding over the lion, who makes a grumbling protest each time, until he too is induced to join in the mad frolic. The attempt was made at one time to introduce into the den a fine young Abyssinian lion called " Giorgio "â&#x20AC;&#x201D;after the popular donor, the Baron Giorgio Sonnino. The introduction was highly resented by the family in occupation, and nearly ended fatally for the poor stranger, who was with difficulty rescued, most severely mauled and almost at his last gasp. At present " Giorgio " and his lioness occupy an ordinary cage at the back ; but later on, perhaps, the two families, having gradually become acquainted and having overcome prejudice, may all be able to inhabit the large enclosure together. " Giorgio " has the most amiable expression, as may be seen by the accompanying portrait, and





is most friendly with his keepers ; but I don't think it follows that there would not be terrible battles if he and a rival met on the war-path. The elephant house is an exception to the general rule of these gardens, being massively built and the yards enclosed by stout iron railings. Some attempt has been made to give a picturesque aspect to the house itself, but it presents rather a prison-like appearance, enhanced by the cold, leaden-coloured grey with which it is painted, which fails to set off the big creatures to the best advantage. Besides a large, nearly full-grown Indian elephant, there are two small one?, an Indian and an African. When " Minni " is out taking her constitutional, these babies are allowed the run of the yard, and the little fellows indulge in all sorts of funny antics. A broom had been left in the corner of their playground one day, and I saw the African elephant handling it most deftly with his trunk, and imitating very correctly the motion of sweeping with it. . The big elephant perambulates the grounds daily, under the direction of Angelo,the headkeeper, who is training her for her future duties of carrying happy loads of children. Most reluctantly "Minni " was brought to a standstill while I made a hasty sketch of her. She seems docile enough, but at present

MAGAZINE. objects to remaining stationary for any length of time. Perhaps later on she will realise that, while she is waiting for the little people to mount, a golden opportunity occurs of reaping a harvest of tit-bits from the assembled onlookers. In our own Zoological Gardens in London, I have often watched with amusement the elephants drawn up at the steps to unload their living freight, and how their busy, waving trunks are never idle for a moment, but searching here, there, and everywhere for the coveted biscuit or bun. The giraffe in these gardens is the most beautifully marked specimen that I have met with. It seems lonely, and doubtless misses its companion, which succumbed to the hardships of the long journey. I was told by a lady who lives in Rome that the night will be long remembered on which the large consignment of animals arrived, sent by Hagenbeck from Hamburg to stock the Zoological Gardens. The whole of Rome turned out to escort the new arrivals through the streets. The animals were derailed in the small hours, and taken by road to their destination amid an indescribable pandemonium of sounds, which rendered sleep quite impossible for the inhabitants living along or near the route taken.




HE shabbily-dressed man standing on the stone wharf had been looking down in silence for some time to the deck of the nondescript craft which bore the name Nick o1 Time painted on her stern. His face was haggard and deeply marked, his hair grey, and there was a gaunt look about him which, taken in conjunction with his well-worn, loosely-fitting clothes, seemed to indicate that he had not had enough to eat lately. To this conclusion came the one man on board the Nick o' Time, who had just finished hoisting the main and, indeed, the only sail, which hung from a stout mast near the prow of the boat. This sail fluttered in the slight morning breeze blow­ ing in from the Mediterranean—a soft south wind that did not move the boat, which was still attached by a rope to an iron ring on the pier. The mariner was tall and thin, and apparently well on in years. His face was bronzed by exposure to wind and salt spray, and his undoubted vigour was set off by a trim sailor suit and the peaked yachts­ man's cap that covered his head. As a splendid background to the figures of lands­ man and seaman stood the magnificent semi­ circle of Genoa, the houses ranging tier upon tier up against the clear northern sky. The date was the twenty-fourth of Decem­ ber, the air more balmy than that of spring­ time in northern latitudes, while the glorious rising sun gave promise of a warm day. " Do you speak English ? " asked the shabby man, seeing the other glance up at him. "After a fashion," replied the sailor jauntily, " although lately I have been more familiar with Italian. I am considered rather good at French, German, and Spanish, and, besides, am one of the few men able to converse in classical Greek and Latin. So choose your language, and you may speedily learn all I know."

The man in the upper station did not smile, but said calmly— , " That craft of yours seems too big'to be handled by one sailor, yet not large enough for a party." " In ordinary weather I can manage Old Nick quite well alone. My friends think it funny to call the boat Old Nick, but I named her Nick 0' Time because, on her first voyage, I saved five Italian seamen, whose small ship had sprung a leak and sunk under them. It had weathered one of those sudden squalls the night before, but was too badly damaged for captain and crew to run her into harbour. There are comparatively few good harbours along the Italian coast, and she was trying to make Savana when she sank. They had no proper pumping apparatus, and I came up just at the nick 0' time ; hence the name of my yacht, whicli I built for myself down at Spezia. She is not pretty to look at, but is very seaworthy, and there is more room in the cabin than you would imagine. I could take out quite a party if necessary, but I prefer to travel with one or two men who can help me to work the boat and share the expense. I own another similar craft, which I also built myself, and she is laid up for the winter at Burnham-on-Crouch." " Where's that ? " " I n England, of course. Aren't you an Englishman ? " " No, I'm an American. I guess you're pretty well fixed in the matter of boats. Do you spend your summers in England ? " " No, only a week or two—just long enough to see some of my friends and enjoy a few days at my club. By this time I have the boat in trim, and sail across to Norway, where I live entirely in my yacht, with occasionally a friend." " Then you are not in business ? " " No, I finished with that long ago." " Made your pile, eh ? " " In a manner of speaking, yes. I set a certain limit to my ambition in accumulating money, and when I reached that limit, I bade good-bye to my profession, which was that of college tutor."

Copyright, 1911, by Robert Barr, in the United States of America.





" A college tutor ! " 'â&#x20AC;˘ Yes ; languages, you knowâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;ancient and modern." " Heavens ! I didn't think that paid so w e ll."

MAGAZINE. a hundred and twenty pounds a year, I'll retire.' " " A hundred and twenty pounds! How much is that in dollars ? " " Roughly speaking, six hundred, but

' Some people have rather queer ideas about, pleasure.' "

" Oh, yes ! I'm a bachelor, you see, and my expenses were not great, so I said to myself : ' AVhen I get enough money invested in safe securities to bring me in

somewhat less when it comes to a matter of exchange." " Why, I shouldn't think that would he enough to pay your railway fares, living in



Italy in the winter and in England and Norway in the summer ? " " Oh, I never spend any of my income on railway fares, except for very short distances. I cycle across Europe, and have ridden to Brest on the west, and to Hamburg on the north-east, and have made most of the ports between the two my objective. Then I take my bicycle with me across the Channel or the North Sea, and wheel up to London." The shabby man shivered a little. " You seem to enjoy life," he ventured. " Enjoy life ? Of course I do. I've had to waste a good deal of it in reaching my present financial position, but that was necessary, and I don't grudge it. I enjoyed life even when I was making money. Now, with no anxiety on my mind, I take my pleasure, and everything in the world I want is within my reach. The libraries and museums at my disposal, free of all cost, excel the collection of any millionaire, and, as for learning, I learn something new every day. A short time since I began on Sanscrit, and am amazed I never delved into the Eastern languages before." " H-m-m ! " said the shabby man. " Some people have rather queer ideas about pleasure." " You may well say that," answered the mariner cheerfully, " and you must find many examples of it in your own country, where, they tell me, a man will totter into his grave grasping wildly at the last dollar he is to accumulate." " Oh, you mustn't believe all you hear," said the American. " That may be his way of enjoying himself. It's the excitement of the game, you know, rather than the clutch for gold." " I suppose it is, but I was merely giving that as an illustration of your own remark that some people have queer ideas of pleasure. Indeed, I may confess that I am well qualified to understand the motive of that clutch, for although I have no family to look after, I meet many deserving people whom I would like to help, and not having been a professor of mathematics, I make occasional miscalculations that lead to tem­ porary embarrassment. Here we are within a week of the New Year, when, of course, the first quarter of my income is sent to me, but the cargo of this boat represents the very last stiver of this year's dividends, and I did not realise that fact until last night I in­ advertently put a too grasping hand into a deplorably empty pocket." " Strapped, eh ? "



" What ? " " Broke—up a tree —penniless ? " " Exactly. Still, I've provisions enough aboard for a week, and if there arc a few days' delay in the arrival of the money, I'll pay a round of visits on my cycle to a number of friends I have in Italy." " You've everything thought out." " One must cut his coat according to his cloth. If I had really thought things out as I should have done, the week of penury which confronts me at the end of this year might not have been called into existence. It is true that I think a good deal, but my thoughts rarely turn towards the subject of finance. Nevertheless, in the present in­ stance, I can scarcely accuse myself of neglecting the one thing needful, as com­ mercial people call money. It was arranged that a friend of mine should accompany me on this expedition, and his contribution towards expenses would have just tilted the scale a little iu my favour, but last night I had a post-card from him saying he could not come. He is an estimable clerk in the employment of a shopkeeper, and he had quite overlooked the fact that the last week of the year was also the busiest. He will join me early in January." The shabby man pondered for a few moments, then said somewhat hesitatingly— " What do you say to my taking his place ? " " I'm quite willing, if you have the money to spare." " That all depends on how much it is, and it will also depend on where you are going. Or have you any definite objective point in your mind ? " " Oh, yes. I sail west, to the little fishing village of Porto San Pietro." " Is that near a railway ? " " Yes. The Ventimiglia-Genoa line runs directly behind the place." " Is there any depot there ? " " You mean a station ? I'm not sure, for, as I told you, I- rarely use the railway." " I may not wish to use the railway either ; still, being an American, I never like to get far from the hoot of a locomotive. I am a restless individual, not in the best of health, as you may see, and I'm quite likely to get tired of this, and in that case I'd want to return to Genoa as quickly as possible." " Well, when we arrive at Porto San Pietro, we'll find out where the nearest station is, and I can run you along the coast in this boat until we reach it, or, if you like to walk, I'll accompany you."



" I'm no good at walking," growled the man. " How much did you say this trip would cost m e ? " " It will all depend on how long you remain aboard. I shan't return to Genoa for at least a week. If you stop for a week, we'll need to lay in some more provisions, and you'll pay half their price." " How about cooking ? " " Oh, I'll attend to that, and will guarantee to get you something good." " What I wanted to say was that you can expect no help from me either in running the boat or washing the dishes. I suppose your friend who can't come would have assisted in both these spheres of usefulness, so I must be charged a little more than would have been the case with him." " Yes, I see the justice of that. If you get tired of the trip, say, at the end of the first day, would you think four shillings exorbitant ? " " That's a dollar, eh ? A dollar a day was what a country hotel used to charge when I was a youngster, but living has become dearer since that time. I intended to say, when you spoke of good cooking, that the very simplest dishes will do for me. I suffer from dyspepsia." " In that case I'll make it cheaper." " No, no ; I'm not trying to beat you down." " I am sure of that. It's all a question of whether you have the money to spare or not. You'll need to save enough for your railway fare, in case you fail to return with me." " I've got sufficient coin right here in my clothes to live a week in your floating palace, and yet have enough remaining to buy transportation from Ventimiglia to Genoa." " Oh, then you're all right ! Step aboard, and we'll get off." " Just wait a moment till I scribble a note, so that the people where I'm staying will not be anxious about me." He took from his inside pocket a small, thin memorandum book and a pencil, wrote hurriedly for a few moments, tore out the page, and waved it as a signal to some men who lay on their oars in a small boat. They responded instantly, and he handed the sheet down to them. When he returned, he found that the mariner had detached his small yacht from the iron ring, and was holding the craft alongside the stone steps. The shabby man came on board and sat down, and idly


watched the preparations made for his con­ venience by the sailor. With an oar at the stern, the Englishman sculled the little yacht out of the harbour, her sail still fluttering in the wind. They passed a large white yacht riding at anchor— a vessel of proportions so perfect that one might not realise she was nearly as large and commodious as an ocean liner. The oarsman read the words " La Gioconda, New York." " That's a well-designed -vessel," he said to his passenger, " and evidently hails from your side of the water." But the man he addressed took little interest. He seemed to be sleepy, or ill, or both, for he neglected even to glance across at her. " I've seen her before," he explained. " She has been lying here for about two weeks. Rather a jolly party of sightseers aboard, I suspect." "La Gioconda! " muttered the rower. " I'll wager she was so named by a woman." " Yachts are built for them, and so very well may be christened by them. You're up on languages—what does it mean ? " " It means the greatest painting by Italy's greatest artist—a picture of a woman with an enigmatical smile. The picture belongs to France, and there has lately been some excitement over its mysterious disap­ pearance." " See here," cried the American, rousing himself up a bit, " let's introduce our­ selves. My name is Grant Jettison. What's yours ? " " Richard Lancaster." " All right, Captain Lancaster ; now we kuow each other. You seem hale and hearty, and wiggle that oar back and forward as if you understood the business. How old might you be ? " " I am sixty-five," replied Lancaster. " You don't mean it ! Why, I'm fortynine, and I feel old enough to be your grand­ father ! " Lancaster pulled in his oar, as they were now clear of the harbour, seated himself at the tiller, and headed the craft toward the south-west. The sail filled in the gentle breeze, and the yacht leaned slightly toward the shore as it went along. " They say a man is as old as he feels," remarked Richard conventionally. " I have always lived a very quiet life, and doubtless you have condensed a hundredfold my experience with the world. I stopped work on my fiftieth birthday. Tired of teaching others, I have been teaching myself this last fifteen years."

AN INTERNATIONAL " I don t know but yon have taught me a lesson. You seem to get a good deal out of existence ; and, after all, perhaps that's the main thing. I suppose that, whatever course he takes, a man wishes he had chosen some other route, and at my age especially, if his health is broken, he begins to doubt the wisdom of his past." " I feel that way myself," agreed the helmsman. " I am sorry I stopped work so early ; sometimes I regret it bitterly." " I thought you were one of the most self-satisfied men I ever met. It is encouraging to learn that you have your doubts. Why do you regret having ceased work when you did ? " "The present voyage explains that. I confessed to you my penniless condition. This temporary bankruptcy comes on with great regularity about once a year, and I feel hampered. Had I continued to make money until the amount I invested produced, say, a hundred and fifty pounds annually, financial pinch might not recur so often." " Perhaps you are extravagant," said Jettison, with a smile that had something of a sneer in it. " I fear I am. In future I must give more attention to figures," replied the Englishman soberly. " I am sure that if I devoted some thought to the matter, there is much I might do without ; but, being a selfish creature, I lack the courage to limit my luxuries." " What luxuries, for instance ? " " Well, smoking is a good example. Are you a smoker ? " " I used to be, but had to knock it off. Doctor's orders. However, I keep some good cigars for my friends, and I find they are very acceptable in Italy, where tobacco is both expensive and bad. Have a cigar ? " Jettison took out of his pocket a leathern case and selected from it a fat cigar, which he handled with affectionate yearning. " No, thank you," said Lancaster, shaking his head. "Nonsense! W h y ? " " I'm too fond of smoking." " All the more reason you should take it. You'll find it excellent." " I am sure it is good, but I could not sit here smoking while you were tobacco-less." " Ah, that shows you to be an unpractical man. Such self-sacrifice serves no useful purpose. Won't you change your mind ? " " No, thank you." Jettison made no further proffer of the weed, but, after regarding it for a few



moments, put it back in his case again with a sigh over joys that were past. They were passing wonderful scenery, but the American paid little attention to it, gradually dropping off into an uneasy slumber. It was high noon when he awoke, and they were well out at sea, with the mountainous coast-line looking like a purple cloud on the northern horizon. " Have I been talking in my sleep ? " he asked. " Not a word. I hope it has refreshed you. It should do you good to be out here in the open air." " Yes, I feel better. Had very uneasy dreams, though, and thought I might have been talking. I was struggling with all my might to earn six hundred dollars a year, and wasn't succeeding very well." Lancaster laughed. " An income of that amount," he said, " takes a bit of making and a bit of saving. Now, if you'll come to the tiller for a while, I'll cook you a mess of pottage." " No appetite," objected the other, " but I'll give you a chance to cook something for yourselfâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;that is, if you'll risk my up­ setting the boat, for I don't know the first thing about tillers or sails either. I can't even row." " There is no danger of your upsetting Old Nick in this gentle breeze. Just keep her in the wind as she goes, pushing the tiller to the north when you wish to go south, and that's all there is to it." " Seems simple enough," said Jettison, rising and taking his host's place, while the latter went down among his cooking utensils. In a short time Lancaster produced a plate of macaroni, done in a famous Italian fashion, and a half-bottle of wine, from which he had drawn the cork. " You try this," he said, " and then say I can't cook, if you dare." " It smells good," admitted the passenger, " and I'll tackle it, but won't offer any criticism. I guess I won't venture on that wine. I suppose you've no ice-water aboard ? " " There is water, but I recommend the wine, which goes well with this dish. Some of the wine grown in the same valley is so delicate that it will not bear transportation to the next valley. This, however, will not be injured by a short voyage such as we are making, and I think you'll like it." Jettison consumed both the macaroni and the wine. " You're a prime cook," he said, " and



the drink deserves your praise. This is the first meal I've really enjoyed for a month." " You don't mean to say you've been starving ? " asked Lancaster, a sudden suspicion rising in his mind that this man might be without money ; and an expression of sorrow appeared on his face when he remembered that he, too. was penniless, and could do nothing to aid his guest. " Starving ? Well, practically that." " I'm very sorry to hear it," said Lancaster in tones of deep sympathy, which convinced his passenger that, while making no complaint about his own financial stringency, he was in deep distress over the poverty of another. " I say," Lancaster went on, " I have my bicycle on board. You wait and take care of the ship when we drop anchor, and I'll wheel back to Genoa. When I told you I hadn't a copper, that was technically true, but I am sure that, if I was once in Genoa, I could raise a little money, which I should be glad to let you have. You can pay me back when your dream comes true." " My dear fellow, in my dream I didn't get the cash." " Better still. Dreams go by contraries, they say." Jettison indulged in a slight laugh that had not much merriment in it. " You forget that to-morrow is Christmas Day, and the banks will be closed." " I'm not thinking of the banks. I had in mind some friends who may be able to accommodate me." " We won't put such strain on friendship," said the other cynically. " You overlook the fact that I told you I had money enough to pay my fare on your sloop, and also the price of a ticket to Genoa. I'll show you the boodle if you don't believe me." " Oh, I believe anything you say." " Then that's all right. I think yon worry too much about other people, and, strange as it may seem, don't give enough thought to your own affairs. You appear to be that rare object, an unselfish man, whose doings would read very prettily in a book, but who is not much good in real life. It's dog eat dog in this world." " I should hope not. Isn't there an adage to the effect that one should help a lame dog over a stile ? " " Perhaps there is, but one gets no grati­ tude on that account. Still, gratitude's a cheap product, even though it is so seldom met with. You told me this yacht is filled

MAGAZINE. up with goods of some sort, which I under­ stood accounts for your own penniless condition. Are you trading along the coast ? " " Certainly not ; I'm a professional man." " Yes, I thought you wouldn't be much good on a deal. What's your cargo ? " Lancaster appeared rather ashamed to confess, but at last he blurted out the truth. " My cargo demands a little explanation. I do a considerable amount of boating and of cycling, consequently I make many acquaintances and not a few friends. The sparsely inhabited village of Porto San Pietro is very poor, which is no reproach to the inhabitants, for they are industrious and hospitable. They're all friends of mine, especially the children. Italians don't make much of the Christmas season—Easter is their great time—so I promised to show them a Christmas-tree, which will blossom out to-night. It's a kind of co-operative celebra­ tion. They are to cut a pine tree on the hills and drag it down to the beach ; I bring some toys and a sufficiency of candles from Genoa. In a manner of speaking, I am Old Father Christmas for the occasion, and shall don a magnificent grey beard, hired for one night only from a costumier in Genoa. The young ones and I have an appointment for this evening on the beautiful sandy shore of Porto San Pietro, in a nice little sheltered bay. I'm sure you will admire the place when you see it." " And it was for this that you bankrupted yourself ? " " Oh, no ! I have been too lavish in my expenditure throughout the year. This out­ burst is merely a grand finale, and a most suitable one." " I think, Mr. Lancaster, you are incor­ rigible. I doubt if you can be reformed, but we'll attend to the present, and let the future look after itself. Do get yourself something to eat. I'll keep your old scow headed toward the west. I seem to have caught the knack of this rudder." The sun had set behind the western mountains when Lancaster turned into the little bay at Porto San Pietro. The beach and the ancient, closely-packed village that faced it formed a picturesque scene that deserved any eulogy the boatman might lavish upon it. The foreshore was crowded with youngsters of all ages and sizes, who raised a great cheer as the yacht drifted peacefully into the bay, and Lancaster fluttered an Italian flag towards them before hoisting it to the peak. As


Each boy and girl was named till all had received their gifts."

he dropped the anchor, a fishing-boat was launched by stalwart men of the sea, who rowed it out to the Niclc o' Time, and greeted her captain with all the fervour of the Latin race. They brought up the pack­ ages from the cabin, helped the passenger aboard the fishing-boat, the captain having sprung in unaided, and then made for the shore. The youngsters were more anxious to exhibit their own handiwork than to inspect their benefactor's purchases. They dragged him boisterously toward the pine tree, which lay propped up with a crotched stick, so that its branches were clear of the sand, while its butt rested by the side of a hole dug for its

reception. They wanted their friend to see how closely his instructions had been followed. And now there stood forth a bevy of fishergirls, handsome as laughing sirens, who with deft fingers attached presents and candles to the tree, Lancaster opening the packages for them. The children stood



round in a circle, but out of the way, very obedient and now very quiet, while their elders formed a fringe round the outside. Amazing was the number of the gilded, glittering, and coloured toys ; innumerable seemed the unlighted candles, white in the gathering dusk. When all was completed, some of the fishermen stepped forward and raised the tree till it stood straight as if it had grown there, while others shovelled in the sand that was to hold it in place. There came a sound of chanting ; the circle made way, and left a clear lane down to the tree. With slow steps approached the aged Cure of the village, attended by the surpliced choir and a couple of assistants, each of whom held in his hand a tall, thin pole, at the upper end of which a flame rose in the still air. The Curé, hands uplifted, pronounced a benediction on the tree, every­ one standing silent with bowed and bared head. When the Latin words had been spoken, the choir began a joyful hymn, and those with the tall torches set alight the candles all round, until the tree was a blaze of light, and exhibited now the full glory of the tinselled toys— And even the ranks of Tuscany Could scarce forbear to cheer.

The Syndico, or chief man of the village, was to have presented the gifts, and he stood there smiling in his robes of office beside the aged Cure ; but on learning that Lancaster had brought a stranger with him, and that the stranger was from America, the Syndico, with true Italian politeness, insisted that this should be an international affair, and asked the American to take his place. Jettison would have liked to decline the honour, but nevertheless came forward in answer to Lancaster's persuasion. " All right," he said at last, " if I'm not expected to make a speech." The owner of the Nick o1 Time, having donned the patriarchal white beard, gave an example of an unimpaired memory. One after another, without hesitation, he named every boy and girl in that assemblage. " Enrico Bellotti ! " he began, as he handed a toy to his comrade. A boy handsome as a cherub stepped from the ring. Jettison presented the toy and patted his curly head. Enrico, with a bow worthy of a courtier, murmured his thanks in the soft Italian speech, and walked to his place again. So each boy and girl was named till all had received their gifts from the blazing tree.

MAGAZINE. After the events of the day, Jettison slept soundly in the bed made up for him by the captain of the yacht. Next morning it was evident that the old spirit of restlessness was upon him. " I must get back to Genoa," he said ; and although Lancaster offered to sail there in the Nick o1 Time, the other would not listen to such an arrangement. So his host walked with him to the station, which was not many hundred yards away, and where only slow trains stopped. Lancaster was unable to judge whether or not the American had been impressed by the ceremony that had taken place the night before, for he made no comment on it one way or the other. On the day after Christmas, the yachts­ man sat on deck in the Nick o' Time, en­ joying a volume that dealt with Sanscrit. He was at peace with all the world, and thus en rapport with the season of peace. Glancing out on the Mediterranean, he saw approach from the east a great white steamyacht, from which fluttered the Stars and Stripes. He recognised her at once as the vessel that had been lying in Genoa harbour. As she passed the entrance to the bay, her flag was dipped in salute, and then there came the report of a cannon, which brought all the inhabitants of Porto San Pietro to their doors. The steamer never paused, but the firing continued until she passed the western headland. Some fishermen rowed out to the Nick o' Time to inquire the reason of this demonstration, but the Englishman confessed his inability to account for it. " Perhaps," said the Syndico, who was now in ordinary costume, " she passed this way the other night, and saw our Christmas-tree." " Our Christmas-tree had nothing to do with it," replied Lancaster. " That yacht was anchored in Genoa harbour when I left there." So the unaccountable . conduct of the foreign vessel had to remain a mystery. " Here," said the Syndico, drawing from his pocket a long envelope, "is a letter which arrived for you this morning." And with this the party rowed ashore again. Lancaster, astonished, opened the envelope and drew forth a number of documents which looked like deeds or other legal instruments. There was, however, a letter, typewritten, with a printed heading under the monographic flag of a club. " Yacht La Qioconda." " MY DEAR LANCASTER," it ran—

" As you are yourself so lavish in giving Christmas gifts, I hope you will allow

AN INTERNATIONAL me to forestall New Year's Day, Christmas belonging to the past. The giver of presents would be a snob if he did not upon occasion accept one himself, and I am sure you are no snob. It seems scarcely worth while to make two bites at a cherry, for though I remember you wanted only a hundred and fifty dollars more a year, the enclosed securities will net you at least six hundred dollars per annum, and are more likely to increase than to diminish in value, so I advise you not to sell them. You may do what you please with the income, and with the securities themselves, for that matter, for I take you to be a man on whom good advice is wasted. I suggest that you live on your present annuity, augmenting it, perhaps, with the hundred and fifty dollars you needed, and then use the rest in helping



lame dogs over stiles. I have made many millions in my life, and have given away much money, endowing more or less useless institutions of one kind or another, but I learned on Christmas Eve that if a man wants true friendship, money itself will not buy that. I take it that a person must give affection before he is to receive it. A man seems to get back what he gives away. I've given much money, and have received much more. I have been absorbed in work, and have been too busy to bestow much personal affection, therefore I have received little. You were a richer man than I, and a less lonely man, on Christmas Eve. " Good-bye. I am off to Florida. " Yours sincerely, "U.


LONDON SEA-GULLS. 'Ă?T^T'HEN tides are low on Thames, ' " And bright the mud = bank flames, When suns are low in heaven In winter at eleven, Like pebbles set in fire, Across the shining mire A thousand sea-gulls gleam, At rest by London's stream. Here, in their quiet home, But petty tempests come; The tide a little drops, Then in the midway stops; Here stretch no wastes of sand, No waves like mountains stand To break on reef or rock With thrice-resounding shock. No cliffs or crannies give Rest to the fugitive; No salt is in the blast, No wreckage shoreward cast, But wind and sun and rain Are twice as tame again As by the headlands gaunt,

Which the wild sea-gulls haunt. Where is their spirit, then, Since they in midst of men And traffic congregate? Are they degenerate? Have they forgot the sweep Of wing across the deep? Have they forgot their cry Under the windy sky? Will they feel strange to float Upon the waves remote, Round some far isle or cliff; To chase the scudding skiff When the squall strikes, or live On what the salt seas give ? Will their flight feeble be, Unapt for storm and sea ? No more the ocean's boast, Or guardians of the coast, Nurtured to pap and town, Will they sink slothful down, Aliens from storm and foam By London Bridge at home?


BY FREDERIC LEATHER. I S r e a l n a m e is M'Gillicuddy, but we always call him Mac for shortness, or sometimes Gilly, but generally Mac, and he suffers from the most awful affliction that any chap at this school, or any other, I should think, was ever troubled with. I am going to tell you all about it, because it's such tremendously rough luck on the chap, who has been most fearfully misunderstood by all the masters, and especially the Head­ master, who, of course, is the importantest, as he can expel chaps and do a lot of things that they can't. I should think that Mac is about the decentest sort that we've ever had at Poppleton, which is saying a good deal, for my pater, who was here himself as a kid, says that you can always tell a Poppleton man, because, whatever else he is, he's sure to be a gentleman. The Headmaster here is a frightfully clever chap and very distinguished in many ways, but he is awfully peculiar to look at, owing to his having one of the rummiest faces that, I should think, was ever invented. I mention this fact now, because it is very important, and has got everything to do with the great misfortune that has fallen upon Mac ; but if I was to try and describe the Head's appear­ ance, I should fail most horribly, because I am no good at descriptions of what people look like, and always skip that part when I come to it in a book. But Saunders mi., who is jolly good at it, has kindly written what he calls a pen picture of him, and has been decent enough to let me insert it here in return for an old fountain pen which has the nib crossed and won't write very well. You will see that Saunders is really good at literature when I tell you that he always gets the English prize in the Fourth Lower Form, and that Crossland, who's the English master, says that, if he goes on, he should possess quite a good style in time, which is jolly high praise, coming from Crossland,

who is always jawing and finding fault generally. Besides, Saunders once nearly got a story in the school magazine, so he has plenty of reason to put on side about litera­ ture, which he does most chronically, and we rot him about it fairly often. Still, I'll put down what Saunders wrote about the Head, so you'll be able to see how frightfully good he really, is, and at the same time tell exactly what the Head really looks like. PERSONAL IMPRESSIONS OF THE HEAD.

A Pen Picture, by Charles Grahame Saunders. " I have been invited by my gifted friend, Mr. Norman K. Masters, to give a few personal impresions of the general appeerance and peculiaritys of our learned and reverent Headmaster, the Rev. Alexander "Wentworth Peterson. " It is with some considderable difidence that I take up my pen, which, as Shakespear says, is mightier than a saw, to perform my allotted task, and a dew recognition of the dificulty of it besets me very deaply at the outset. " However, I know that my gentle readers will bare with me, and pardon any short­ comings which may be aparent. " The subject of my sketch is a man of comanding presents, and very gifted by nature, but his physiognomy is very peculiar to look at. He is nearly 6 feet in hight, and his hair is very sandy in colour and parted in the middle because it is growing bald. Generally speaking, he is clean-shaven, but his whiskers, which are also red in colour, are often distinctly visible outside his face, which is very rubycund and freckled. His adipose tissue is very considderable, but not so great as it used to be, so that the flesh on his cheeks hangs in pouches, which shake like jelly when he is roused to indigination. The Headmaster is short-sited, so wears spectacles, which he usually looses, and his chin is very double and conspicuus. On his countenance the veins stand out very clearly, especially when he's excited, which happens almost iuvaryably, and he always has bacon and eggs for brekfast, the latter of which adhere to his face, so that Laidlaw, who thinks he is

Copyright, 1911, by Little, Brown <£• Co., in the United States of America, 13G

MAC'S funny and makes vile puns, says lie lias an eggstrordinary apeeranoe. The voice of the Headmaster is very husky, which necesitates his constantly sucking cough losenges when in school, and his nose is extremely large and purple in colour. His eyebrows are bushy, and his ears protruberant and full of hairs. " Like most really great litterary men, lie is not very particular about his clothes, which are greenish-black in hue, and not generally very well buttoned. Altogether his is a very striking and impressing ligure for a Headmaster " Saunders hadn't nearly finished, but fortunately his fountain pen ran dry, so I said it would do, because the Editor wouldn't read any more, however well written it might be, though I think myself that his spelling is rather rotten, and told him so. But he only laughed and said : " None of the best authors trouble about spelling, because it isn't expected of them, and the printer is paid to correct their mistakes." So I suppose it's all right. At any rate, this description will give you a general idea of what old " Sandy," which we always call the Head for short, looks like. But, of course, we are all used to him, and don't notice his peculiarities very much, as a rule. It was different, though, with Mac, because he had been to school in Ireland, and he said that, though he'd seen some very rum sights in his native land, he had never come across anything so remarkable in his life as old Sandy. That wouldn't have mattered, though, if he had kept quiet about it ; but the funny part of it was that the mere sight of the Head affected him in a most peculiar and unexplainable way, because, although he was really a very serious and solemn sort of chap at most times, when­ ever he even merely glanced at the Head's face, he always burst out laughing, and the queer thing was that, however much he tried, he couldn't stop. He really did try tremendously to break himself of the habit, which he saw himself was very unfortunate and likely to get him into trouble in the long run, for, as he said, few people really like being laughed at, especially Headmasters, who are nearly always very particular about it. Well, as it happened, it was a fairly long time before Sandy spotted the very remark­ able effect his appearance produced upon Mac, the reason being that he is rather deaf, owing to the great growth of hair in his ears, which Saunders mi. has told you about. Besides that, the fellows here don't see very



much of till! Head, because he lias his own house, and is occupied in his spare time in writing a tremendously big and important book about " The Use of the Past Con­ ditional by the Greek Historians," or some rot like that. He once read us a chapter in school, and it must have been fearfully clever and advanced, because hardly any of us understood more than a bit of it, and Jameson, whose father is a critic of plays and things, said that some of it sounded just like something of his governor's which he once read in a newspaper. About once a term, though, Mrs. Peterson, who I forgot to inform you is the Head­ master's wife, invites two or three of us to have breakfast with her and old Sandy in his house. They give us a ripping breakfast, so we don't mind going very much, as a rule, especially as their daughter, whose name is Gladys, is jolly decent in every way, especially to look at, which is rather rum, on account of her father. In age she is nearly nineteen, and Saunders ma., who is in the footer eleven and has a small moustache, says that she is tremendously beautiful, and that if he wasn't almost engaged at home, he would lose his heart whenever she smiled at him, which she often does. It so happened that I was the chap who was invited to go with Mac to breakfast, after he had been here about a month. Previous to that I think the Head can hardly have noticed him, in spite of his always laughing at him, because, when we got there, he took his hand and said— " Ha, ha, my dear lad, delighted to see you, I'm sure ! You're Masters, I believe." Mac had foreseen what would happen, and he had tried his hardest to get off going, so much so that he went to the Matron that very morning, and said that he had a fear­ fully queer feeling all over him, and thought it must be gout, because his father suffered from it most frightfully. But the Matron only laughed, and said he was much too young, and gave him some beastly medicine, so Mac had to go, in spite of all. He hal made up his mind, though, that, whatever happened, he would on no account look even for one second at the Head's face, because he knew the consequences would be frightful. And he told me that if I detected his eyes even straying in that direction, I was to kick him as hard as ever I could. So when old Sandy called him Masters, he just looked most awfully solemn and said— " N o , sir, I'm M'Gillicuddy." " Ah, yes ! Why, so you are I How stupid of




me to make such a blunder ! Macginty, of course. And how is your dear papa ? " Just then Gladys came in, and Mac, who is nearly fourteen, and just beginning to take notice of girls, was tremendously struck by her beautiful appearance, so that he could hardly take his eyes off her all breakfast, which must have been rather embarrassing for her, though really a great compliment. As a result, Mac had no time to look at her pater, so everything went smoothly till we had all finished except the Head, who eats a great lot and very slowly, owing to lack of teeth. " Excuse my troubling you, my dear Macmulligan," he said, " but would you be so good as to hand me the toast ? " Mac had forgotten all about the great danger the Head's face always put him into, and, before I could lift a fiuger to stop him, he looked up into it as he handed the toast. The effect was really remarkable and funny, except for the tragedy of it, because the poor chap absolutely exploded. I should think it must have been the result of his restraining himself so long, because I have never heard any laugh so tremendously loud ; and though I kicked him as hard as I possibly could under the table, he couldn't stop it, though he got so red in the face with trying to, that I thought he was going to have a fit or something like that. It was the most awful situation I've ever been in, and I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for Gladys. And what she did shows what a jolly good sort she must have been, and a sportsman, too, for I'm blessed if she didn't burst out laugh­ ing too, almost as loud as old Mac ; and when she started, I somehow had to join in as well. So there were all three of us at it as hard as we could go ; and what the Head and his wife must have thought of it, I don't know. But at last Gladys recovered a bit, and ex­ plained that we were laughing at something her father had said a few minutes before. Of course, I knew that old Sandy often tried to make jokes for us chaps to laugh at, but I'd never seen one before, though, of course, we always laughed just to put him in a good temper. Gladys repeated this one in such a way that we all had to begin laughing again ; and her pater seemed jolly pleased about it, and tried to make another, which fell rather flat, because we were all too tired to laugh any more. That was the beginning of Mac's trouble,

for after that the Head began to take notice

of him in school, because, as he told us on

saying " Good-bye " after breakfast, he dearly loved a lad who possessed a keen sense of humour, and, of course, Mac did, but not in the way he thought. The result was that the next time he took us in school—we do Greek grammar with him, which is rather decent, because he doesn't usually come in till the lesson's half over, and then generally goes to sleep before the end—he happened to see that Mac was there. Lewison was just in the act of conjugating the past aorist of some beastly irregular verb, and the Head was just dozing, but not yet asleep, when Mac happened to look up and catch sight of him. I tried to stop him, but it was of no avail, and it was all up, because old Sandy happened to open his eyes at the sound, and to spot where it came from. He got most awfully waxy, and gave a tremendous jaw on the subj ect ; but Mac couldn't stop, and simply went on laughing as loud as anything. The result of it was that the Head simply rushed from the room in a most awful rage and foaming horribly at the mouth. The next time he took us, the same thing happened, but much worse, because this time Mac himself was in the very act of parsing some rotten Greek word when the laughing overtook him. It was an awful time for it to happen, as we discovered afterwards, owing to the Head's just pre­ viously having had a row with old Burbery, the Maths, master ; so that when Mac couldn't shut up laughing, he—that is, the Head—took him to his study and sent Jordan to fetch the sergeant. We all knew what that meant, because old Sandy never canes himself, which is rather a peculiar tiling in a headmaster, as that is generally supposed to be one of the things they are paid for. But he says the exertion of it makes his nose bleed, so he gets the sergeant— who is most tremendously strong, and said to have been about the best swordsman in the British Army—to do it for him. Of course, he doesn't always hit his hardest, or the results would be most awful to think of, for he can cut a sheep right in two with one blow. This time, though, the Head was so horribly mad that he stood by all the time, and gave the sergeant a lot of advice about each stroke, which altogether amounted to twelve in number. Mac can stand an awful lot in the way of blows, but he told us that it was all he could do to keep from blubbing. Things only got worse after that, because the harder Mac tried not to look at the Head's face, the more certain he was to do it, and, of course, the longer he had kept from



it, the louder the laugh was when it came. He tried all sorts of dodges to keep from it, and once he made me tight with him and give him two tremendous black eyes, although really he could have licked mc as easy as anything. But he explained how, if both bis eyes were shut, lie wouldn't be able to look at


rotten time all round. At last Mac wrote home and asked if he couldn't give up Greek, because he felt that he would never be able really to understand it ; but his pater, who is a great man in Ireland, said that Greek was essential to the education of every true gentleman—or some rot like that—and that

j f i O T W t V w " ^ ('

' The effect was really remarkable nnrl funny, except for the tragedy of it, because tbe poor chap absolutely exploded."

old Sandy's face ; but he managed it, all the same, and that the very next morning. The Head got madder and madder, and had Mac caned every time, and always harder than before ; and, moreover, he told all the other masters about it, and they, not under­ standing the real reason of it, were awfully down on him as a consequence, and he had a

he couldn't countenance, for one moment, the idea of his son's abandoning the study of the noblest literature the world had ever known. In spite of the most tremendous callings he got, Mac couldn't break himself of his unfortunate habit, though he offered a reward of a quid to anyone who would teach




him how to do it. Xearly everyone in the school tried to win it, but it was all in vain ; and at last the Head got so terribly sick at Mac's misfortune that he told him before the whole form that if he ever laughed again in school, he would be rnthlessly and ignominiously expelled. The shock of this statement to Mac's system was so severe that he had a tremendous attack of influenza, which has kept him out of school for over a week. While he was in the sanatorium, he managed to smuggle through a note to me. which ran as follows— •• DEAE OLD ASS,—Tou've got to help me

out of this, or I shall go clean dotty. It would come as a most terrible blow to my pater if I were to be expelled, because he is very particular about that sort of thing, and would never get over it. What is to be done ? I can't help it. whatever I do. and the more I try not to look at old Sandy's face, the more I am sure to do it, and it always affects me so that I have to laugh. It must be something in the blood of the M'Gilli­ cuddys which makes me, which I don't understand. Do you think the doctor would be able to give me some medicine to prevent it happening ? Do do something for " Your chum. •• MAC." The result of receiving this letter was that we had a meeting in the dormy, to decide what was to be done ; and after a lot of resolutions had been pnt and rejected, it was finally decided to send a round-robin to Williams, who is our house-master, and rather a decent chap, in a way, for a school­ master, telling him about Mac's terrible misfortune. The document was drawn up by Saunders mi., and I and Xorton ma. corrected the spelling. It rans as follows— '• DEAE SIR,—We. the undersigned, respect­ fully beg of yon to give us your help in a most unfortunate predicament, which, though it mainly concerns M'Gillicuddy, affects us all most tremendously. " M'Gillicuddy, though a most awfully ripping sort really, suffers from a most terrible misfortune—viz., that the sight of the Headmaster's physiognomy always moves him in a most remarkable way, so that he cannot keep from laughing. We have endeavoured, by every means in our power. to prevent M'Gillicuddy from behaving thus : but it is all of no avail, and therefore, sir, we appeal to you, as our only remaining

MAGAZINE. hope, to prevent the chap from getting expelled, which the Headmaster says will happen if it occurs again. •' If you can be the means of preventing this dire calamity from coming to pass, we shall all be most tremendously and ever­ lastingly grateful. " Tours respectfully " This was signed by all the house, and handed to Williams by me personally at the end of a history lesson, and he replied to it by letter, which was pretty decent of him. It said— •'Mr


CHAPS,—I am exceedingly

sorry to hear of poor Mac's misfortune, and will do all in my power to help him ont of the difficulty. I must confess, though, that the position is a most extraordinary one, and that I cannot at present quite see how to tackle it. However, I will try my utmost to assist you. •• Believe me to be, " Very faithfully yours, " REGINALD WILLIAMS."

So far, he hasn't been able to think of anything. So that's how the matter stands at present, because the Matron says that Mac will not be out of the sick-room for at least a week. In the meantime, I am getting the Editor of this magazine to let me tell yon the story of Mac's frightful misfortune, in the hope that some of you may be able to help him out. He is really a most tremendously decent chap, as his picture shows, and has played frr the second footer eleven regularly, though not yet fourteen. The situation is a most extraordinary and awkward one, especially for Mac, and it is very tragic, too, in its way, and not merely funny, as some of you may think. Con­ sequently, I appeal to everyone who may read this to try to be of assistance. I am sure that Mac. who is a very generous chap, will be glad to give the quid to anyone who is successful in stopping him from laughing whenever he sees the Head's face, so please try to do so. Just imagine yourselves in the same position, and yon will understand what frightfully bad luck it is for Mac. (Signed) N. K. MASTERS.

XOTE.—The names in the above narrative, which is not fiction, but all true facts, have been wilfully altered, so that no one will recognise what school it really is, and consequently nobody's feelings will be hurt in any way whatsoever.—X. K. M.






INCE the painter carries a lamp of Hatfield,-on the occasion when Mary, after poetic understanding and flashes its the deatli of Edward VI. and the attempt to light in many a dark corner, it is place Lady Jane Grey on the throne had to he regretted that of the events in the failed, entered her capital, Elizabeth by her life of Elizabeth as princess, daughter of side, has failed to touch the painter's sense Henry VIII. and Anne Bullen, there are in with imaginative quality. One artist alone, paint no Mr. Robert illustrations, Hillingford, contempor­ has illus­ ary or of trated those later date. sad d a y s A few por­ f ollowin g traits there Wyatt's in­ are, but no surrection, subjectwhen Eliza­ painter bas beth w as aspired to brought show us the from A s h neglected t ead, a child left in prisoner the care of in Q u ee n Lady Bryan, Mary's own or the grow­ litter, and ing girl who consigned to shared the the Tower, education of although no the brother real proof and sister was p r o ­ who were to duced of her precede her being privy on t h e to the plot throne. Ex­ which aimed cept for one at placing picture at her upon the Windsor, no t h r o n e in episode has her sister's come down stead. to us from For some that period years there­ of E l i z a ­ after she beth's life was k e p t which lay practically between a prisoner at ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND 1558-1603. 1547, the one country date of the From the port. ait by JV. HiUiarct. seat or andeath of Henry VIII., and 1558, the year other, well aware that the partisans of of her own accession. Nor has the artist the older Church would at any moment found anything to say of the residence of avail themselves of any evidence that might Elizabeth in the house of Catherine Parr, either during her widowhood, after the death lead to her destruction, because she was of Henry VIII., or after her marriage with inevitably the candidate for the throne the Lord Admiral, Sir Thomas Seymour. whom disaffected subjects of Mary must The scene of the princess's ride from put forward, whether their motives wTere primarily Protestant or merely political. 141





MAGAZINE. of mind when she stood, as Macaulay asserted, a second Janus, facing two ways at the same time—towards indifference and intolerance —watching with incurious eyes the Roman Catholic martyrs wending their way to the stake, dying under the persuasion of the rack, the scavenger's daughter, the iron gauntlet, or similar forms of torture. When upon the death of Mary, in 1558, Archbishop Heath, the Lord Chancellor, announced to the assembled House of Lords and Commons Elizabeth's claim to the crown as fully established by statute of

This time of plot and counterplot, baffled chiefly by Elizabeth's own instinct for in­ action and self-effacement as the only means of safety, Las been illustrated by no artist of note, nor has the painter been inspired by the ensuing days of proposals of marriage, promoted to further the purposes of King Philip, first from the Duke of Savoy, and later from the Swedish King's son. Philip was probably at this time indirectly her best friend, standing between her and her enemies at home for the sake of contracting her to some neighbouring Power.

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After her accession, at the age of twentyfive, however, we find modern painters tracking, with alert attention, the picturesque events of her reign, and transferring their impressions of them to canvas. The religious and political occurrences of the times are, of course, but scantily suggested in picture, since neither that religious reform which Elizabeth's reign secured, nor that state of political freedom which ever marches handin-hand with religioas freedom can be suggested by the colours on a palette, any more than can be the spiritual effect of Elizabeth's excommunication or her attitude




C A S T L E , 1567."

Henry VIII., and she thus ascended the throne without opposition, the new queen's first act at Hatfield, in appointing her ministers, struck that note of discriminating policy that was to mark her actions. She retained those councillors of Mary who were either formidable by wealth and influence, or were specially distinguished by mental capacity, but she leavened their Catholicism by appointing Sir William Cecil as her secretary, and included such Protestants and zealous partisans of reform as the Earl of Bedford, the Marquis of Northampton, Ambrose Cave, Francis Knollis, Thomas



Parry, Edward Parry, and Nicholas Bacon. An inner group of the ablest of these men, headed by Cecil, soon came practically to control her policy. One of the first acts of Elizabeth's reign had been to notify the foreign Powers of her accession, and Philip of Spain responded to her communication with an offer of marriage. But Elizabeth was wise enough to see that though it was to her own interest to keep him as a friend, marriage with her deceased sister's husband would be tantamount to raising the whole question of her legitimate right to the t h r o n e ; for to bring it about, the dispen­ sation of the Pope would be neces­ sary, and nothing could cancel his p r e d e c e s s o r's denunciation of the marriage of Henry VIII. with her mother. Doubtless, also, Elizabeth recog­ nised that a second alliance with Spain, and, there­ fore, with the Papacy, would be very distasteful to the majority of her subjects.




practically unanimous iu its leaning towards the reformed faith, the majority of the bishops excepted. The Act of Supremacy— an Act of Henry VIII., which made it high treason to question his right as head of the Church, which had been repealed by Edward VI. — was re-enacted, and with penalties for disobedience to it. By this Act the Crown resumed entire jurisdiction in ecclesiastical matters, the monarch being

Meantime there was closely in­ volved in this question of possi­ ble matrimonial alliances with M A R Y , Q U E E N O F SCOTS. BY F . O U D R Y . foreign Powers, From the original in the National Portrait Gallery. the whole pro­ blem of the new queen's policy in regard to the religious authorised to act through commissioners, problems at stake, and, although she had and every vestige of right of intervention professed herself a Catholic under coercion by any foreign Power was finally abolished. from Mary, Elizabeth was not long in de­ Then came the Act of Uniformity, for­ ciding to reverse the Romanising policy of bidding the use in church of any book her sister, and take up the reforming work except that of Common Prayer as approved of her father and her short-lived brother at by Parliament. At the same time Elizabeth the point to which it had evolved by the forbade unlicensed preaching, and thus re­ time of Edward's death. strained Protestants, irritated by former persecution, from making those unbridled Her first Parliament, of 1559, she found

PROCESSION OF QUEEN ELIZABETH TO VISIT LORD HUNSDON, GOVERNOR OF BERWICK-UPON-TWEED. The Earl of Leicester is nearest the Queen. Lord Uunsdon carries the Sivord of State before the Qtteen. Lord Burleigh, Lord High Treasurer, carries his White Staff".



attacks upon the Eoman Catholic Church which had already commenced. Although she and her advisers were slow and cautious in insisting on the adoption of Protestant measures, she was at once recognised as the champion of Protestantism, and all those who in the- previous reign had fled the king­ dom for their faith's sake flocked back to it. As soon however, as the Act of Uniformity was put into practice, and the second B o o k of Common Prayer of Edward VI. was restored, with certain changes, it was found that all the bishops, e x c e p t L l a n d a f f, refused to accept the statute, and were sup­ ported by twenty-seven other Church dignitaries, fifteen heads of colleges, and eighty rectors of parishes.




to the See of Canterbury carried Elizabeth further in her eminently conservative reforms. She found the right executive for her policy, and the adoption of the Thirtynine Articles, in 1563, set the seal to the Reformation of the Church in England. Meantime, in 1559, Elizabeth helped the Scottish reformers with a substantial grant of money — an act of policy rather than one of faith, since she undoubtedly had a per­ sonal objec­ tion to Knox, hating both his principles and the fanaticism of his dis­ ciples. But although Elizabeth herself prob­ ably at this time wanted to go no f a r t h e r in ecclesiastical reform than her father's ideal of a Catholic Church re­ leased only from papal supremacy and from certain Several of distinctively the bishops Roman addi­ were d e­ tions to the prived of code and their offices, ritual of the and some earlyChurch, were sub­ she was car­ jected to ried along imprison­ not only by THE EXECUTION OF MA IT, QUEEN OF ment for a BY Sill JOHN GILBERT, E.A. the popular time. Bishop but, as is Bonner alone, the ecclesiastical protagonist growth of Protestant zeal, of Scottish of Mary's reactionary campaign, was kept in seen from this subsidising permanent captivity until his death, nine Calvinists, by the whole conundrum of her years later. Of a total number of about political relations with Roman Catholic nine thousand four hundred beneficed clergy, foreign Powers and the part played in under two hundred withstood the new Act them by the question of her own possible to the extent of abandoning their prefer­ marriage. ments. The elevation of Matthew Parker For the next heir to the throne of England



was Elizabeth's cousin, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, granddaughter of Margaret, the sister of Henry VIII., and now Queen of France by the succession of her youthful husband to the French throne as Francis II. When Elizabeth ascended the throne. England was at war with both Scotland and France, but in the following year both feuds were compromised by the treaty of Cateau Cambrésis. Before the year was out, however, Henry II. of France was dead, his feeble son Francis reigned in his stead, and the new King and Queen of France pro­ ceeded also to style themselves King and

MAGAZINE. treaty France undertook to withdraw her troops from Scotland aud to leave that country's government in the hands of the Council of the Lords. By the second she acknowledged Elizabeth's sovereignty in England and Ireland, and undertook to carry out the provisions of the treaty with Scotland. Had Mary Stuart been content to be bound by their provisions, the terrible tragedy which is the defacing blot on Eliza­ beth's reign might never have appeared there; but Mary refused to sign the Scottish treaty. For some time, however, the new rule in


Queen of England, as Catholics ignoring Elizabeth's claim to legitimate succession. Heucs Elizabeth's sudden identification of herself with the Protestant faction in Scot­ land in the civil strife which obtained between the Roman Catholic queen-dowager, Mary of Lorraine, Regent of Scotland, and the Pro­ testant party. The queen-dowager died in 1500, and her daughter, Mary Stuart, now the eighteen-year-old widow of the French King, returned the following year " to rule wild Scotland." During the interim the treaties of Edinburgh—treaties between France and Scotland, and France and England, respec­ tively—had been drawn up. By the first


Scotland proceeded prosperously enough, while Mary was advised by her half-brother, the Earl of Murray ; but her connection with the royal family of France, and her suspected intention of bringing back Scotland to submission to Rome, gradually provoked a far-reaching disaffection for the throne, and this Romanising reputation of the Scottish Queen, who was still the next heir to the throne of England, tended again to raise the question of the English Queen's marriage, which, indeed, exercised the minds of Elizabeth's people so greatly that they presented addresses to her imploring her to select a husband from amongst her many

" T H E CALL TO ARMS." BY SEYMOUR LUCAS, R.A. Reproduced from the original in the McCulloch Collection, by permission of Mrs. Coutts Michie and of the Artist.




suitors. Of Continental potentates there were Philip of Spain, the Duke of Alençon, Charles of Austria. Eric of Sweden, and Adolphus of Holstein : whilst amongst her subjects there were Sir William Pickering, the Earl of Aruudel, and the Earl of Leicester. Of Scottish noblemen there was the Earl of Arran, whose pretensions were chiefly based upon his zeal for ecclesiastical reform. But although Elizabeth dallied with the hopes of each in turn, she eventually, in 15C6, commanded the Commons to cease from their discussion of the matter, avowing that,






MAGAZINE. suddenly married Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, whose mother was a granddaughter of Henry T I L This marriage was made iu defiance of not only the English Council, but also the Protestant faction in Scotland. Murray, who headed the reforming party, aud a number of leading nobles rose in open rebellion, in which they were secretly supported by Elizabeth. The birth of Mary's child, who thus became next in succession, after his mother, to the throne of England, further alienated the two queens, aud after the murder of Darnley,

FAMOUS G A M E O F B O W L S OX BY S E Y M O U R L U C A S , l i . A .




19, 1588."

Reproduced b'j permission of Messrs. Henry Graves d- Co., Pall Mall, S.W., owners of the copyright and of the large plate.

respecting the question of the succession, which she judged to be the basis of their solicitation, she should keep the secret of this locked in her own breast, and she advised their attending to their own duties and not interfering with hers. Next, in importance to the question of Elizabeth's marriage was that of any second marriage that Mary might make, since a Scottish alliance with any foreign Power would seriously affect England as well as Scotland, aud therefore the English Govern­ ment claimed to be consulted on the Scottish Queen's matrimonial intentions. But after several suitors had been discussed, Mary


iu which the Scottish Queen was by tacit arraignment implicated, when her case was investigated before a Council at York, Eliza­ beth refused her request for a personal interview. But Mary's star was setting. Her impli­ cation in the murder of her husband, Darnley, followed by her fatal marriage, but three months later, with the powerful Lord Bothwell, of whose guilt for the murder of Darnley there was no doubt, alienated many of her subjects. Moreover, Bothwell now assumed kingly authority, and the nobles took the field in open rebellion against the queen and her new consort, who met the insurgent







army at Carberry Hill. The small royalist force refused to fight, Both well fled, on Mary's urgent entreaty that he should save his life, and the queen herself surrendered. She was imprisoned in Loch Leven Castle, and com­ pelled to abdicate in favour of her infant son, under the regency of Murray. After eleven months of captivity, Mary contrived to escape, and rallied the remnants of her party, but was at once defeated at Langside by the regent's army, and compelled to take refuge in Cumberland, whence she was taken to Bolton, and there found herself safe, indeed, from any pursuit by her own insurgent sub­ jects, but practically the State prisoner of the English Crown. Presently she was in­ formed that the English Government would restore her, if necessary, by force of arms to her throne, if she would allow her cause to be heard and judged. A conference was accordingly opened at York, and afterwards at Hampton Court. Mary declared the letters and other documents in her hand­ writing to Bothwell, brought as evidence against her, to be forgeries, and refused to answer the accusations. She was offered her liberty on the condition that she would resign her crown. She promptly refused, and was placed under the guard of the Earl of Shrewsbury, at Tutbury, in Staffordshire. So Mary was detained in captivity,although she had voluntarily taken refuge in EDgland, for she could hardly be allowed her liberty


From a portrait in the collection of the Drake family.




From the portrait in the collection of tlie Marquit of Bath.

on English soil as long as all the Catholic hostilities of Prance, Spain, and the Papacy against Elizabeth and her reforms continued to find their pretext in the personality'of the Scottish Queen and her distinct claim, in Roman Catholic eyes, to the throne of England. Even as it was, Mary had been barely twelve months a prisoner when an insurrection took place in the north of England, on behalf of the older faith and of Mary as its chief representative in the British Isles. It was summarily suppressed, and no fewer than eight hundred persons were executed as traitors. In 1570. Pius V. issued a bull excom­ municating Elizabeth and releasing her subjects from their allegiance. Parliament retaliated by inflicting further penalties against Romanists, which the Puritans sought to interpret as permission for yet further ex­ tirpation of those ceremonies—the sign of the cross in baptism, the ring in marriage, the vestments of the clergy—which they still looked upon as Popish. Their action excited Elizabeth's wrath, since it associated their tenets with those of Knox, who taught that " the rule of a woman was repugnant to Nature . . . and subversive of all equity and justice." So, on the dissolution of that Parliament, in 1571, the Puritan party was informed that " the queen's highness did utterly disallow and condemn their folly in meddling with things not appertaining to



Reproduced by permission of the Artist.





heart, is unknown, or whether she saw something incongruous in a woman in her forty-ninth year espousing a prince nearly twenty years her junior, or whether she really took into account the prejudices of her advisers, we shall never know ; but certainly she dismissed Anjou, saying that she was sacrificing her own happiness for the welfare of her kingdom. Probably she would have married him for the sake of consolidating an alliance with France, had he succeeded in establishing law and order " in the Netherlands ; but his lack of success eclipsed his de­ s i r a b i l i t y as a husband, until even her minis­ ters deprecated the proposed match. Plot succeeded to plot, Spain and Austria com­ bining to set M a r y on t h e English throne in 1576, Spanish troops invading Ireland to raise a Catholic re­ bellion in 1579, Jesuit priests, headed by P a r s o n s and Campion, backed u p by p a p a l authority, preaching rebel­ For the next lion and losing three years both their lives for it France and the in 1580. And yet Netherlands another combin­ were in so dis­ ation of Spain, turbed a state WILLIAM CECIL, LORD ISL'KLEIGH. BY MARK GERARD F r a n c e , and that no further From the portrait in the collection of the Marquis of Exeter. t h e Pope was concerted action made in 1584, when an association was was taken against Elizabeth's rule by her Con­ formed, with the sanction of Parliament, to tinental enemies; but the year 1575 brought protect Elizabeth from assassination, as the to Elizabeth the offer to be Governor of result of the Throgmorton Plot to put Mary Holland and Zealand, which she declined, on the throne in her place. and the arrival of a Jesuit mission to these shores for the purpose of the country's Two years later, in 1586, while Elizabeth reconversion to Romanism. was helping the Protestant cause in the Netherlands, came the Babington Plot on Whether the horrible massacre of St. behalf of Romanism in England. Letters said Bartholomew, which occurred within the to prove the complicity in it of Mary Stuart period of her lengthy courtship by the Duke led to her imprisonment in Fotheringay of Anjou, brother to the French King, Castle. Commissioners were sent to try the Henry III., had anything to do with Queen of Scots for her part in Babington's Elizabeth's refusal of a man to whom she conspiracy. Mary denied the competency undoubtedly lost her peculiarly susceptible

them nor within the capacity of their under­ standings." But though thus far from sympathising with the more extreme reformers among her subjects, Elizabeth had now increasing cause to fear the plots of her Roman Catholic enemies. The Duke of Norfolk and his powerful kinsfolk and friends of the older faith had already schemed for his marriage with the Scottish Queen, but without effect. They now resumed their intrigues by nego­ tiating with the Duke of Alva to send Spanish troops over from the Netherlands to support them. Known as the Ridolfi Plot, this enter­ prise was insti­ g a t e d by the Pope and Philip of Spain in the interests of the re-establishment of the Roman Catholic religion in England. On its discovery, Norfolk was exe­ cuted, and a Bill was brought forward in P a r l i a m e n t to a t t a i n t Mary, but was aban­ doned because E l i z a b e t h was not in favour of it.




of the court to try her, repudiated all knowledge of Babington, and defended herself with great skill, but was found guilty. Elizabeth, after long hesitation, at length, in February 1587, signed the warrant for Mary's execution, and directed Davison, her secretary, to have it sealed and to transmit it at once to the Council. Davison delivered the warrant to Burleigh, and the necessary letters for carrying it out were at once des­ patched, and Mary was beheaded at Fother­ ingay on February 7, 1587. Her death was celebrated by the nation generally as a matter for congratula­ tion, but raised a storm of disapproval in Scotland and on the Continent. Elizabeth afterwards threw the blame on Davison for precipitancy in part­ ing with the warrant, and he was disgraced and i m p r i s o n e d . Carlyle was ungallant enough to call the tragedy of Mary Stuart but a personal incident in the national history of Scotland; yet to­ day, three hundred and forty odd years since the crimes with which she was con­ nected occurred, we are, owing to the fascination of her wonderful personality, employed in specula­ tion as to how far she was or was not im­ plicated in them.





of Mary must have helped to dissipate it, for 1588 brings us to the most memorable occurrence of Elizabeth's reign. For fifteen years Philip of Spain had schemed against Elizabeth with others whose Roman Catholicism ranged them in opposition to her, but he had done little in the way of active hostilities. Indeed, lie had suffered at the hands of Elizabeth that his rebellious subjects should be aided in their rebellion, t h a t his treasures should be filched, and that his mariners should be plundered and massacred, and his complaints of such acts of hostility ignored. He now decided, in the year of Mary S t u a r t ' s death, to strike a decisive blow of re­ tributive justice and one at the same time for his religion, and to s e n d a g a i n s t England "The In­ vincible Armada." He had long been maturing his plans, and the benediction to his forces sent him by Pope Sixtus V. pointed now to the present being the most favourable opportunity for his enterprise.

The greatness of the danger called forth all the patriot­ ism of the nation. Differences of creed and politics were laid aside. Ships were fitted out and equipped by munici­


pal and private enter­ against her have alike prise, until the avail­ brought exaggeration able vessels numbered close upon two to confound students of her times, and forgery hundred. An army, under Leicester, was and policy and the accident of carelessly posted at Tilbury Fort to protect London ; kept or intentionally falsified dates or docu­ another, under the queen's cousin, Lord ments have each added their contribution to Hunsdon, was appointed to guard her majesty. confusion. Elizabeth at this national crisis set an If Elizabeth suffered remorse for her heroic example. She appeared in the camp cousin's death, which was to raise about her at Tilbury Fort, where an army of thirty an odium- from which not even her memory thousand men had been assembled, mounted has escaped the taint, the stirring events on a war-horse, and in a spirited speech she that immediately followed the execution



declared her perfect trust in the loyalty of her people, and her determination to live and die among them. The nation showed itself worthy of its queen. The action of the City of London, which voluntarily equipped twice the number of ships and men it had been called on to furnish, was typical of a spirit of united patriotism which inspired the whole country. On July 19, 1588, the Armada, in the form of a seven miles crescent, was sighted from Plymouth Hoe. During that night the English fleet, under the command of Lord Howard of Effingham, who had with him Drake, Frobisher, and Hawkins, sailed out of the Sound and to windward of the Spanish ships, which for a week they so harassed and weakened that without actual engagement they were driven towards the French coast and sought refuge in the Calais roads. Here Lord Howard, fearful that they would get reinforcements from the Prince of Parma, sent eight ships filled with combustibles and alight into the midst of the Armada at night. The terrified Spaniards cut their cables and stood out'in confusion to sea, to be pursued and captured and fearfully mauled by the English ships. So hot was the pursuit that all hope of return by the way that they had come was denied the Spaniards, and their only chance of escape from further damage lay by the North Sea and so round the Scottish and Irish coasts ; and here, after having already lost thirty vessels and some ten thousand men in the fight, they were overtaken by storms so fierce as to cause enormous havoc to their fleet by shipwreck. To give thanks for the Armada's defeat, the queen went in state to St. Paul's, and afterwards commemorated the victory by human sacrifice. From among the number of Catholics imprisoned for their faith, twenty-nine were selected to suffer the punishment of death as traitors. The nation was inspired by its great victory to fresh efforts of adventure and foreign aggrandisement. In the following year an English fleet under Drake and Norris sailed to Spain on a punitive expedition, but bought its revenge somewhat dearly, for though they burned a suburb of Corunna and the town of Vigo, the greater number of the officers and a large proportion of the troops perished from disease. Several enter足 prises against the Spaniards in the "West Indies turned out more fortunately than this expedition of Drake to the Peninsula. That famous sea captain, with Hawkins and

MAGAZINE. Baskerville, sailed once more for the West Indies. The Earl of Essex was sent with four thousand men to the help of Henry IV. of France against Spain, which was now losing ground in the Netherlands as well, and in 1592 Sir Walter Ealeigh and other bold spirits voyaged to South America and inflicted great damage on the Spanish settlements there. Four years later an English fleet stormed Cadiz and destroyed the Spanish shipping, and a fleet which sailed from Spain to avenge that act by invading Ireland in 1597 was scattered by stormy weather. Another expedition in the following year, commanded by Essex, was less successful. It was soon after this that the famous scene occurred in which Essex received a box on the ear for turning-his back in a contemptuous manner on the queen, his temper being roused by Elizabeth's refusal to appoint his friend, Sir George Carew, to be Deputy of Ireland. In 1600 a combined English and Dutch force defeated the Spanish army in Flanders, with heavy loss to the Spaniards. But despite these victories for the English flag abroad, the last years of Elizabeth's reign closed down upon a time for her, per足 sonally, of gloom and sorrow. Her infatua足 tion for the Earl of Essex, " Fashion's own knight," that most indiscreet courtier, was in part responsible for this. The disturbed state of Ireland, where the Earl of Tyrone headed a rebellion, led Elizabeth to send Essex thither to conduct the war, but the insurgents gained the advantage. Essex submitted to an inglorious peace, and came back to England a discredited man. De足 posed from all position, he conceived the daring plan of attempting to oust the Cecil faction from office and coerce the queen into restoring him to favour. After intriguing with the Scots King, and with both the Catholics and the disaffected Puritans nearer home, he openly called upon the citizens of London to support him. But his rebellion found no response, and he was taken, arraigned for high treason, and beheaded. Elizabeth was popularly blamed for not intervening to save Essex, and she fell a prey to remorse and melancholia, from which she seldom emerged. Burleigh was dead, her ministers were unpopular, and the various harsh measures of her reign and perversions of justice were thrown into strong relief by the public-spirited feeling which was the natural result of the burst of united patriotism called forth by the Armada. In the ensuing development of a







BY J .



From the original now in the Louvre.

fuller national life, with the enlarged scope, both at home and abroad, for which the prosperity of Elizabeth's reign was chiefly responsible, even those of her subjects who belonged to neither class had little sympathy with the persecution of both Catholics and Puritans, which was relentlessly pursued on the ground that recusancy of either kind

was synonymous with treason to the State. Heavy fines, imprisonment, torture, and capital punishment disfigure the last years of Elizabeth's treatment of the recusants, and many good families were eventually so submerged by these persecutions that the new generation, arisen within the reign and conforming to the requirements, both



religious and political, of the government, gradually came to form the community which most owed its prosperity to Elizabeth's rule, as most completely in possession of the rights and liberties of citizenship. The Commons were aggrieved about the royal granting of monopolies, and in her dealings with her last Parliament Elizabeth shrewdly agreed to their entire abolition, and in other ways also showed a keen desire to retain her hold on popular approval, and, indeed, to persevere yet further in her oft-professed desire to live for the benefit of her subjects. To this last Parliament of her reign belongs the first regular Poor Law, providing for some of the problems which had been much increased by the abolition of the monasteries, with their possibilities for education and charity. But Elizabeth was now in her seventieth year, and health and strength were failing her, and she was, we are told, sadly altered in feature and reduced to a skeleton when she passed away, in March, 1603, after appointing James VI. of Scotland, the son of the woman cousin whom she had beheaded, to be her successor on the throne of England. The picture by Delaroche here reproduced illustrates the last stage of the great queen's energetic life, when, refusing to keep to her bed, despite her weakness, she sat or lay on the floor, supported by cushions, and thus for the last time gave audience to Cecil and her other ministers. In the whole course of the world's history, perhaps, no monarch who has reigned so long and so largely to the enduring benefit of a nation as did Elizabeth, has at the same time been quite as obviously open to adverse criticism on many grounds. Typical daughter of Henry VIII. and his second wife, Anne Bullen, she inherited, despite her own erudition, not only her father's talents for statesmanship, but something also of his coarseness of spirit and his impatience of opposition, which led her further than any doctrinal convictions would probably have done along the path of cruelty in religious persecution. But then not only her per­ sonal safety on the throne, but the very survival of England as a nation was involved in the international problem of warring sects. Her idea of statecraft allowed her

MAGAZINE. a latitude in dissimulation which detracts from the nobility of her success inqueenship, but on this score much allowance must be made for her circumstances, which often compelled her to deal with her own ministère and subjects as inconsistently as she was compelled to dally with foreign Powers over such questions as her own possible matri­ monial alliances. But when every detraction has been made, Elizabeth still survives as a woman of remarkable powers and discern­ ment, who came to the throne of a disunited nation as a girl of twenty-five, and long before her death, at seventy, had, by her policy at home and abroad, organised and developed a national life and a patriotism undreamed of before. " When she came to the throne, England ranked only among the secondary kingdoms," says Lingard. " Before her death it had risen to a level with the first nations in Europe." Lord Bacon, who held Elizabeth to he a wonderful person among women, a memorable person among princes, esteemed her most fortunate in all that belonged to herself, but especially so in the wisdom of her ministers. " For she had such men about her as perhaps to that day this island did not produce." How much of the great political signi­ ficance of Elizabeth's time is attributable to the wisdom of her counsellors cannot be very definitely surmised. In some matters she deferred entirely to them, but in others she as completely overruled them. She must have had a certain insight into the national requirements of England, without which the abilities of the men around her might have been misdirected, for there were able men in England even in the retrograde reign of her sister Mary. In every walk of life it was an age of bourgeoning and renaissance, an age of virility and ability. Maritime enterprise and exploration, under such men as Frobisher, Hawkins, Gilbert, Raleigh, and Drake, not only brought new commercial prosperity to England, but laid the foundations of her colonial empire ; and the literature of the period, with which the name of Shakespeare is for ever associated, forms an imperishable memorial of an extraordinarily brilliant epoch in the history of the world.

This series of articles, which began in the Christmas Number for 1909, will be continued in ensuing issues throughout the coming gear. The twenty-fifth article will appear in the January Number, and will present a varied group of pictures illustrating the reign of James I.




HURCH-PEVERIL is a house so beset and frequented by spectres, both visible and audible, that none of the family which it shelters under its acre and a h a l f of g r e e n copper roofs takes psychical pheno­ mena with any seriousness. For to the Peverils the appearance of a ghost is a matter of hardly greater significance than is the appearance of the post to those who live in more ordinary houses. It arrives, that is to say, practically every day, it knocks—or makes other noises—it is observed coming up the drive, or in other places. I myself, when staying there, have seen the present Mrs. Peveril, who is rather short-sighted, peer into the dusk, while we were taking our coffee on the terrace after dinner, and say to her daughter—

" There, Flo has made friends with her," said Mrs. Peveril. " What a darling ! I wonder why she dresses in that very stupid shade of blue." From this it may be gathered that even with regard to psychical phenomena there is some truth in the proverb that speaks of familiarity. But the Peverils do not exactly treat their ghosts with contempt, since none of that delightful family ever despised anybody except such people as avowedly did not care for hunting or shooting or golf or skating. And as all of their ghosts are of their family, it seems reasonable to suppose that they all, even the poor Blue Lady, excelled at one time in field sports. So far, then, they harbour no such unkiudness or contempt, but only pity. Of one Peveril, indeed, who broke his neck in vainly attempting to ride up the main staircase on a thoroughbred mare, after some monstrous and violent deed in the back garden, they are very fond, and Blanche comes downstairs in the morning with an eye unusually bright when she can announce that Master Anthony was " very loud " last night. He—apart from the fact of his having been so foul a ruffian—was a tremendous fellow across country, and they like these indications of the continuance of his superb vitality. In fact, it is supposed to be a compliment, when you go to stay at Church-Peveril, to be assigned a bedroom which is frequented by defunct members of the family. It means that you are worthy to look on the august and villainous dead, and you will find yourself shown into some vaulted or tapestried chamber, without benefit of electric light, and are told that Great-great-grandmamma Bridget occasionally has vague business by the fireplace, but it is better not to talk to her, and that you will hear Master Anthony " awfully well " if he attempts the front staircase any time before morning. There you are left for your night's repose, and, having quakingly undressed, begin reluctantly to put out your candles. It is draughty in these great chambers, and the solemn tapestry

" My dear, was not that the Blue Lady who has just gone into the shrubbery ? I hope she won't frighten Flo. Whistle for Flo, dear." Flo, it may be remarked, is the youngest and most precious of many dachshunds. Blanche Peveril gave a cursory whistle and crunched the sugar left unmelted at the bottom of her coffee cup between her very white teeth. " Oh, darling Flo isn't so silly as to mind," she said. " Poor blue Aunt Barbara is such a bore ! Whenever I meet her she always looks as if she wanted to speak to me ; but when I say, ' What is it, Aunt Barbara ? ' she never utters, but only points somewhere towards the house, which is so vague. I believe there was something she wanted to confess about two hundred years ago, but she has forgotten what it is." Here Flo gave two short, pleased barks, and came out of the shrubbery wagging her tail and capering round what appeared to me to be a perfectly empty space on the lawn.

Copyright, 1911, by E. F. Benson, in the United States of America.





swings and bellows and subsides, and the firelight dances on the forms of huntsmen and warriors and stern pursuits. Then you climb up into your bed—a bed so huge that you feel as if the desert of Sahara was spread for you—and pray,like the mariners who sailed with St. Paul, for day. And all the time you are aware that Freddy and Harry and Blanche, and possibly even Mrs. Peveril. are quite capable of dressing up and making dis­ quieting tappings outside your door, so that, when you open it, some inconjecturable horror fronts you. For myself, I stick steadily to the assertion that I have an obscure valvular diseaseof the heart,and so sleep undisturbed in the new wing of the house, where Aunt Barbara and Great-great-grandmamma Bridget and Master Anthony never penetrate. I for­ get the details of Great-great-grandmamma Bridget, but she certainly cut the throat of some distant relation before shedisembowelled herself with the axe that had been used at Agiucourt. Before that she had led a very sultry life, crammed with amazing incident. But there is one ghost at Ckarch-Peveril at which the family never laugh, in which they feel no friendly and amused interest, and of which they only speak just as much as is necessary for the safety of their guests. More properly it should be described as two ghosts, for the '* haunt. " in question is that of two very young children who were twins. These, not without reason, the family take very seriously indeed. The story of them, as told me by Mi's. Peveril, is as follows : — In the year 1602, the same being the last of Queen Elizabeth's reign, a certain Dick Peveril was greatly in favour at Court. He was brother to Master Joseph Peveril, then owner of the family house and lands, who, two years previously, became father of twin boys, first-born of his progeny. It is known that the royal and ancient virgin had said to Handsome Pick, who was nearly forty years his brother's junior, " "lis pity that you are not master of Ohurch-Peveril," and these words probably suggested to him a sinister design. Be that as it may. Handsome Pick, who very adequately sustained the family reputation for wickedness, set off to ride down to Yorkshire, and found that, very con­ veniently, his brother Joseph had just been seized with an apoplexy, which appeared to be the result of a continued spell of hot weather combined with the necessity of quenching his thirst with au augmented amount of sack, and had actually died while Handsome Pick, with Heaven knows what thoughts in his mind, was journeying northwards.

MAGAZINE. Thus it came about that he arrived at Ohurch-Peveril just in time for his brother's funeral. It was with great pro­ priety that he attended the obsequies, and returned to spend a sympathetic day oi two of mourning with his widowed sisterin-law, who was but a faint-hearted dame, little fit to be mated with such hawks as these. On the second night of his stay he did that which the Peverils regret to this day. He entered the room where the twins slept with their nurse, and quietly strangled the latter as she slept. Then he took the twins and put them into the fire which warms the Long Gallery. The weather, which up to the day of Joseph's death had been so hot, had changed suddenly to bitter cold, and the fire was heaped high with burning logs and was exultant with flame. In the core of this conflagration he struck ont a cremation chamber, and into that he threw the two children, stamping them down with his riding-boots. They could just walk, but they could not walk out of that ardent place. It is said that he laughed as he added more logs. Thus he became master of Ohurch-Peveril. The crime was never brought home to him, but he lived no longer than a year in the enjoyment of his bloodstained inheritance, When he lay a-dying, he made his confession to the priest who attended him, but his spirit struggled forth from its fleshly coil before absolution could lie given him. On that very night there began in OhurchPeveril the haunting which to this day is but seldom spoken of by the family, and then only in low tones and with serious mien. For only an hour or two after Hand­ some Pick's death, one of the servants, passing the door of the Long Gallery, heard from within peals of the loud laughter, so jovial and yet so sinister, which he had thought would never be heard in the house again. In a moment of that cold courage which is so nearly akin to mortal terror, he opened the door and entered, expecting to see he knew not what manifestation of him who lay dead in the room below. Instead he saw two little white-robed figures toddling towards him hand in hand across the moon­ lit floor. • The watchers in the room below ran upstairs, startled by the crash of his fallen body, and found him lying in the grip of some dread convulsion. Just before morning he regained consciousness and told his tale. Then, pointing with trembling and ash-grey




finger towards the door, he screamed aloud and so fell back dead. During the next fifty years this strange and terrible legend of the twin babies became fixed and consolidated. Their appearance, luckily for those who inhabited the house, was exceedingly rare, and during these years they seem to have been seen four or five times only. On each occasion they appeared at night, between sunset and sunrise, always in the same Long Gallery, and always as two toddling children scarcely able to walk. And on each occasion the luckless individual who saw them died either speedily or terribly, or with both speed and terror, after the accursed vision had appeared to him. Some­ times he might live for a few months ; he was lucky if he died, as did the servant who first saw them, in a few hours. Vastly more awful was the fate of a certain Mrs. Canning, who had the ill-luck to see them in the middle of the next century, or, to be quite accurate, in the year 1760. By this time the hours and the place of their appearance was well known, and, as to this day, visitors were warned not to go between sunset and sunrise into the Long Gallery. But Mrs. Canning, a brilliantly clever and beautiful woman, admirer also and friend of the notorious sceptic M. Voltaire, wilfully went and sat night after night, in spite of all protestations, in the haunted place. For four evenings she saw nothing, but on the fifth she had her will, for the door in the middle of the gallery opened, and there came toddling towards her the ill-omened innocent little pair. It seemed that even then she was not frightened, but she thought good, poor wretch, to mock at tbem, telling them it was time for them to get hack into the fire. They gave no word in answer, but turned away from her, crying and sobbing. Immediately after they disappeared from her vision, and she rustled downstairs to where the family and guests in the house were waiting for her, with the triumphant announcement that she had seen them both, and must needs write to M. Voltaire, saying that she had spoken to spirits made manifest. It would make him laugh. But when some months later the whole news reached him, he did not laugh at all. Mrs. Canning was one of the great beauties of her day, and in the year 17fi0 she was at the height and zenith of her blossoming. Her chief beauty, if it is possible to single out one point where all was so exquisite, lay in the dazzling colour and incomparable brilliance of her complexion. She was now





just thirty years of age, but, in spite of the excesses of her life, retained the snow and roses of girlhood, and she courted the bright light of day, which other women shunned, for it but showed to greater advantage the splendour of her skin. In consequence, she was very considerably dismayed one morning, about a fortnight after her strange experience in the Long Gallery, to observe on her left cheek, an inch or two below her turquoise­ coloured eyes, a little greyish patch of skin about as big as a threepenny piece. It was in vain that she applied her accustomed washes and unguents ; vain, too, were the arts of her fardeuse and of her medical adviser. For a week she kept herself secluded, martyr­ ing herself with solitude and unaccustomed physics, and for result, at the end of the week, she had no amelioration to comfort herself with—instead, this woeful grey patch had doubled itself in size. Thereafter the nameless disease, whatever it was, developed in new and terrible ways. From the centre of the discoloured place there sprouted forth little lichen-like tendrils of greenish-grey and another patch appeared on her lower lip. This, too, soon vegetated, and one morning, on opening her eyes to the horror of a new day, she found that her vision was strangely blurred. She rushed to her looking-glass, and what, she saw caused her to shriek aloud with horror. From under her upper eyelid a fresh growth had sprung up mushroom-like in the night, and its filaments extended downwards, screening the pupil of her eye. Soon after her tongue and throat were attacked, the air passages became obstructed, and death by suffocation was merciful after such suffering. More terrible yet was the case of a certain Colonel Blantyre, who fired at the children with his revolver. What he went through is not to be recorded here. It is this haunting, then, that the Peverils take quite seriously, and every guest on his arrival in the house is told that the Long Gallery must not be entered after nightfall on any pretext whatever. By day, however, it is a delightful room, aud intrinsically merits description, apart from the fact that the due understanding of its geography is necessary for the account that here follows. It is full eighty feet iu length, and is lit by a row of six tall windows looking over the gardens at the back of the house. A door communicates with the landing at the top of the main staircase, and about half-way down the gallery, in the wall facing the windows, is another door communicating with the back




staircase and servants' quarters, aud thus the gallery forms a constant place of passage for them in going to the rooms on the first landing. It was through this door that the baby figures came when they appeared to Mrs. Canning, and on several other occasions they have been known to make their entry here, for the room out of which Handsome Dick took them lies just beyond at the top of the back stairs. Further on again in the gallery is the fireplace into which he thrust them, and at the far end a large bow-window looks straight down the avenue. Above this fireplace there hangs with grim significance a portrait of Handsome Hick, in the insolent beauty of early manhood, attributed to Holbein, and a dozen other portraits of great merit face the windows. During the day this is the most frequented sitting-room in the house, for its other visitors never appear there then, nor does it then ever resound with the harsh, jovial laugh of Handsome Dick, which sometimes, after dark has fallen, is heard by passers-by on the landing out­ side. But Blanche does not grow brighteyed when she hears it ; she shuts her ears and hastens to put a greater distance between her and the sound of that atrocious mirth. But during the day the Long Gallery is frequented by many occupants, and much laughter in no wise sinister or saturnine is heard there. When summer lies hot over the land, these occupants lounge in the deep window-seats, and when winter spreads his icy fingers and blows shrilly between his frozen palms, congregate round the fireplace at the far end, and perch in companies of cheerful chatterers upon sofa and chair and chair-back and floor. Often have I sat there on long August evenings up till dressingtime, but never have I been there when any­ one has seemed disposed to linger over-late without hearing the warning : " It is close on sunset. Shall we go ? " Later on, in the shorter autumn clays, they often have tea laid there ; and sometimes it has happened that even while merriment was most uproarious, Mrs. Peveril has suddenly looked out of the window and said : " My dears, it is getting so late ; let us finish our nonsense downstairs in the hall." And then for a moment a curious hush always falls on loquacious family and guests alike, and, as if some bad news had just been made known, we all make our silent way out of the place. But the spirits of the Peverils—of the living ones, that is to say—are the most mercurial imaginable, and the blight which the thought of Handsome

MAGAZINE. Dick and his doings casts over them passes away again with amazing rapidity. A typical party, large, young, and peculiarly cheerful, was staying at ChurchPeveril shortly after Christmas last year, and as usual, on December 31, Mrs. Peveril was giving her annual New Year's Eve ball. The house was quite full, and she had commandeered as well the greater part of " The Peveril Arms " to provide sleeping quarters for the overflow from the house. For some days past a black and windless frost had stopped all hunting ; but it is an ill windlessness that blows no good—if so mixed a metaphor may be forgiven—and the lake below the house had for the last day or two been covered witli an adequate and admirable sheet of ice. Everyone in the house had been occupied all the morning of that day in performing swift and violent manœuvres on the elusive surface, aud as soon as l u ^ h was over, we all, with one exception, hurried out again. This one exception was Madge Dalrymple, who had had the misfortune to fall rather badly earlier in the day, but hoped, by resting her injured knee, instead of joining the skaters again, to be able to dance that evening. The hope, it is true, was of the most sanguine sort, for she could but hobble ignobly back to the house, but with the breezy optimism which characterises the Peverils—she is Blanche's first cousin—she remarked that it would be but tepid enjoyment that she could in her present state derive from further skating, and thus she sacrificed little but might gain much. Accordingly, after a rapid cup of coffee, which was served in the Long Gallery, we left Madge comfortably reclined on the big sofa at right-angles to the fireplace, with an attractive book to beguile the tedium till tea. Being of the family, she knew all about Handsome Dick and the babies, and the fate of Mrs. Canning aud Colonel Blantyre, but as we went out, I heard Blanche say to her, " Don't run it too fine, dear," and Madge had replied, " No, I'll go away well before sunset." And so we left her alone in the Long Gallery. Madge read her attractive book for some minutes, but, failing to get absorbed in it, put it down and limped across to the window. Though it was still but little after two, it was but a dim and uncertain light that entered, for the crystalline brightness of the morning bad given place to a veiled obscurity produced by flocks of thick clouds which were coming sluggishly up from the north­








east. Already the whole sky was overcast with them, and occasionally a few snow­ flakes fluttered waveringly down past the long windows. From the darkness and bitter cold of the afternoon it seemed to her that there was like to be a heavy snowfall before long, and these outward signs were echoed inwardly in her by that muffled drowsiness of the brain which, to those who are sensitive to the pressures and light­ nesses of weather, portends storm. Madge was peculiarly the prey of such external in­ fluences. To her a brisk morning gave, an ineffable brightness and gaiety of spirit, and correspondingly the approach of heavy weather produced a somnolence in sensation that both drowsed and depressed her. It was in such mood as this that she limped back again to the sofa beside the log fire. The whole house was comfortably heated by water-pipes, and though the fire of logs and peat, an adorable mixture, had been allowed to burn low, the room was very warm. Idly she watched the dwindling flames, not opening her book again, but lying on the sofa with face towards the fire­ place, intending drowsily and not immedi­ ately to go to her own room and spend the hours, until the return of the skaters made gaiety in the house again, in writing one or two neglected letters. Still drowsily she began thinking over what she had to com­ municate. One letter, several days overdue, should go to her mother, who was immensely interested in the psychical affairs of the family. She would tell her how Master Anthony had been prodigiously active on the staircase a night or two ago, and how the Blue Lady, regardless of the severity of the weather, had been seen by Mrs. Peveril that morning strolling about. It was rather interesting. The Blue Lady had gone dowTn the laurel walk, and had been seen by her to enter the stables, where at the moment Freddy Peveril was inspecting the frostbound hunters. Identically then a sudden panic had spread through the stables, and the horses had whinnied and kicked and shied and sweated. Of the fatal twins nothing had been seen for many years past, but, as her mother knew, the Peverils never used the Long Gallery after dark.

found she had left it on the window-sill, and it seemed scarcely worth while to get it. She felt exceedingly drowsy. The sofa where she lay had been lately re-covered in a greyish-green shade of velvet somewhat the colour of lichen. It was of very thick, soft texture, and she luxuriously stretched her arms out, one on each side of her body, and pressed her fingers into the nap. How horrible that story of Mrs. Canning was ! The growth on her face was of the colour of lichen. . . . And then, without further transition or blurring of thought, Madge fell asleep. She dreamed. She dreamed that she awoke and found herself exactly where she had gone to sleep, and in exactly the same attitude. The flames from the logs had burned up again, and leaped on the walls, fitfully illuminating the picture of Handsome Dick above the fireplace. In her dream she knew exactly what she had done to-day,-and for what reason she was lying here now instead of being out with the rest of the skaters. She remembered also—still dreaming—that she was going to write a letter or two before tea, and prepared to get up in order to go to her room. As she half rose, she caught sight of her own arms lying out on each side of her on the grey velvet sofa. But she could not see where her hands ended and where the grey velvet began ; her fingers seemed to have melted into the stuff. She could see her wrists quite clearly, and a blue vein on the backs of her hands, and here and there a knuckle. Then in her dream she remembered the last thought which had been in her mind before she fell asleep—namely, the growth of the lichen-coloured vegetation on the face and the eyes and the throat of Mrs. Canning. At that thought the strangling terror of real nightmare began. She knew that she was being transformed into this grey stuff, and she was absolutely unable to move. Soon the grey would spread up her arms and over her face. When they came in from skating, they would find here nothing but a huge misshapen cushion of lichen-coloured velvet, and that would be she. The horror grew more acute, and then by a violent effort she shook herself free of the clutches of this very evil dream, and awoke.

Then for a moment she sat up, remem­ bering that she was in the Long Gallery now. But it was still but a little after half-past two, and if she went to her room in half an hour, she would have ample time to write this and another letter before tea. Till then she would read her book. But she

For a minute or two she lay there, con­ scious only of the tremendous relief at finding herself awake. She felt again with her fingers the pleasant touch of the velvet, and drew them backwards and forwards, assuring herself that she was not, as her dream had suggested, melting into greyness




and softness. But she was still, in spite of the violence of her awaking, very sleepy, and lay there till, looking down, she was aware that she could not see her hands at all ; it was very nearly dark. At that moment a sudden flicker of flame came from the dying fire, and a flare of burning gas from the peat flooded the room. The portrait of Handsome Dick looked evilly down on her, and her hands were visible again. And then a panic worse than the panic of her dreams seized her. Daylight had altogether faded, and she knew that she was alone in the dark in the terrible gallery. This panic was of the nature of nightmare, for she felt unable to move for terror. But it was worse than nightmare, because she knew she was awake. And then the full cause of this frozen fear dawned on her—she knew with the certainty of absolute con­ viction that she was about to see the twin babies. She felt a sudden moisture break out on her face, and within her mouth her tongue and throat went suddenly dry, and she felt her tongue grate along the inner surface of her teeth. All power of movement had slipped from her limbs, leaving them dead and inert, and she stared with wide eyes into the blackness. The spurt of flame from the peat had burned itself out again, and darkness encompassed her. Then on the wall opposite her, facing the windows, there grew a faint light of dusky crimson. For a moment she thought it but heralded the approach of the awful vision ; then hope revived in her heart, and she remembered that thick clouds had overcast the sky before she went to sleep, and guessed that this light came from the sun, not yet quite sunk and set. This sudden revival of hope gave her the necessary stimulus, and she sprang off the sofa where she lay. She looked out of the window and saw the dull glow on the horizon. But before she could take a step forward, it was obscured again. A tiny sparkle of light came from the hearth, which did no more than illuminate the tiles of the fireplace, and snow falling heavily signalled at the window-panes. There was neither light nor sound except these. But the courage that had come to her, giving her the power of movement, had not quite deserted her, and she began feeling her way down the gallery. And then she found that she was lost. She stumbled against a chair, and, recovering herself, stumbled agai nst another. Then a table barred her way, and, turning swiftly aside, she found herself up

MAGAZINE. against the back of a sofa. Once more she turned and saw the dim gleam of the fire­ light on the side opposite to that on which she expected it. In her blind gropings she must have reversed her direction. But which way was she to go now ? She seemed blocked in by furniture. And all the time insistent and imminent was the fact that the two innocent terrible ghosts were about to appear to her. Then she began to pray. "Lighten our darkness, 0 Lord ! " she said to herself. But she could not remember how the prayer continued, and she had sore need of it. There was something about the perils of the night.... All this time she felt about her with groping, fluttering hands. The fire glimmer, which should have been on' her left, was on her right again, therefore she must turn herself round once more. " Lighten our darkness," she whispered, and then aloud she repeated, " Lighten our darkness ! " She stumbled up against a screen, and could not remember the existence of aDy such screen. Hastily she felt beside it with blind hands, and touched something scft and velvety. Was it the sofa on which she had lain ? If so, where was the head of it ? It had a head and a back and feet.. .it was like a person all covered with grey lichen . .. then she lost her head completely. All that remained to her was to pray. She was lost, lost in this awful place, where no one came in the dark except the babies that cried. And she heard her voice rising from whisper to speech, and speech to scream. She shrieked out the holy words, she yelled them as if blaspheming, as she groped among tables and chairs and the pleasant things of ordinary life which had become so terrible. Then came a sudden and an awful answer to her screamed prayer. Once more a pocket of inflammable gas in the peat on the hearth was reached by the smouldering embers, and the room started into light. She saw the evil eyes of Handsome Dick, she saw the little ghostly snowflakes falling thickly out­ side, and she saw where she was—just opposite the door through which the terrible twins made their entrance. Then the flame went out again, and left her in blackness once more. But she had gained something, for she had her geography now. The centre of the room was bare of furniture, and one swift dart would take her to the door of the landing above the main staircase and into safety. In that gleam she had been able to see the handle of the door, bright-brassed, luminous like a star. She would go straight

" ' God bless you, yon poor darlings ! ' "



for it ; it was but a matter of a few seconds now. She took a long breath, partly of relief, partly to satisfy the demands of her galloping heart. But the breath was only half taken when she was stricken once more into the immobility of nightmare. There came a little whisper—it was no more tbau that—from the door opposite which she stood, and through which the twin babies entered. It was not quite dark outside, for she could see that the door was opening. And there stood in the opeuintr two little white figures, side by side. They came towards her slowly, shufflingly. She could not see face or form at all distinctly, but the two little white figures were advancing. She knew them to be the ghosts of terror, innocent of the awful doom they were bound to bring, even as she was innocent. AYith the inconceivable rapidity of thought, she made up her mind what to do. She had not hurt them or laughed at them, and they—they were but babies when the wicked and bloody deed had sent them to their burning death. Surely the spirits of these children would not be inaccessible to the cry of one who was of the same blood as they, who had committed no fault that merited the doom they brought. If she entreated them, they might have mercy, they might forbear to bring the curse on her, they might allow her to pass out of the place without blight, without the sentence of death or the shadow of things worse than death upon her. It was but for the space of a moment that she hesitated ; then she sank down on to her knees and stretched out her hands towards them. •• Oh. my deare," she said, " I only fell asleep ! I have done no more wronsr than that " She paused a moment, and her tender girl's heart thought no more of herself, but only of them, those little innocent spirits on whom so awful a doom was laid that they should bring death where other children bring laughter, and doom for delight. But all those who had seen them before had dreaded and feared them, or had mocked at them. Then as the enlightenment of pity dawned on her, her fear fell from her like the wrinkled sheath that holds the sweet folded buds of spring.

MAGAZIXE. '• Dears. I am so sorry for you," she said. " It is not your fault that you must bring me what you must bring, but I am not afraid any longer. I am only sorry for yon. God bless you. you poor darlings ! " She raised her head and looked at them. Though it was so dark, she could now see their faces, though all was dim and waverinsr. like the light of pale flames shaken b r a draught. But the faces were not miserable or fierce : they smiled at her with shy litde Ixtby smiles. And as she looked, they grew faint, fading slowly away like wreaths of vapour in frosty air. Madge did not at once move when they had vanished, for instead of fear there was wrapped round her a wonderful sense of peace, so happy and serene that she wonld not williugly stir and so perhaps disturb it. But before long she got up. aud feeling her way, but without any sense of nightmare pressing her on. or frenzy of fear to spur her. she went out of the Long Gallery, to find Blanche just coming upstairs whistling aud swinging her skates. " How's the leg. dear ? " she asked. '• You're not liinpiug any more." Till that moment Madge had not thought of it. •' I think it must be all right," she said. " I had forgotten it. anyhow. Blanche, dear, you won't be frightened for me. will you, but—but I have seen the twins ! " For a momeut Blanche's face whitened with terror. " What ? " she said in a whisper. "Tes. I saw them just now. But they were kind, they smiled at me. and I was so sorry for them, and somehow I am sure I have nothing to fear."






It seems that Madge was right, for nothing untoward has come to her. Some­ thing—her attitude to them, we must suppose, her pity, her sympathy—touched and dissolved aud annihilated the curse. Indeed, I was at Church-Peveril only last week, arriving there after dark. Just as I p»ssed the gallery door, Blanche came out. " Ah. there yon are ! " she said. " I've just been seeing the twins. They looked too sweet, aud stopped nearly ten minutes. Let us have tea at once."



AURICE FITZ­ ANTHONY was the only passenger on board the good tramp Valparaiso, and even he would not have been sail­ ing the sea in that venerable steamer had the captain known of bis pre­ sence while the shores of Old England were yet visible. All the time the captain was cursing him, he regarded the man with his genial, roystering smile, but more as a connoisseur in language than as one immediately interested. When the captain had finished up with " skulking, caviare-faced stowaway," he congratulated him warmly on his vocabulary, but slightly criticised his delivery. Then he unstrapped a moneybelt from about his lean, muscular figure, and made the captain weigh it in his hands. " I'm not a dead-head, captain ; I'm not the paper in the stalls. I just hadn't time to go to the ticket-office before the train started—that's all." " Do you know where we're making for ? " asked the captain, slightly mollified by this display of liquid assets. "By the amount of sheep-dip in the cargo, I'd say Rosario. But I'm not particular to a latitude or two. You don't happen to have a wireless on board ? " "No, sir, nor lifts, nor Turkish baths. What do you take us for—a White Star liner in the tourist season, eh ? " The stowaway gave a sigh of relief. "That wireless is the most unsportsmanlike invention which a—a traveller ever had to contend with." " You're wanted ! You're a—a Dart­ moor drudge ! " ended the captain. "And now," suggested Fitzanthony, with his taking smile—" now that you've said all that morality and the traditions of your profession require of you, let's go to your cabin and talk the whole thing over, aided by the strong but simple corn juice." On the labels of the Hudson Bay

Company's whisky bottles appears the legend that it is bottled by that company of " gentlemen adventurers." The words exactly describe Maurice Fitzanthony, of Ballyduff, in the county of Kerry, commonly called Fitz by his friends, and by any of a dozen other names by the emissaries of the Law. A perverted sense of property was probably the only quality which stood between the Valparaiso's passenger and extreme respect­ ability. No Socialist, mind you ; Fitzanthony was too much of an Irishman for that. He believed in private ownership of everything a man could take and keep. To him the world was a huge card game, and property was the stake. " Some people," he held, " played one kind of game, some another." His own game happened to be one which was not popular with the majority of players. They could not play it themselves, so they banded together to prevent him from playing it. There were rules to Fitzanthony's card game, and very rigidly he kept them. Violence was barred, for instance, and the abusing of confidence reposed before the game began. With women he would not play at all. His present unpopularity with the London police arose from a transaction between himself and an Oxford Don. On the termination of the deal, the Don—he was a professor of economics—became the possessor of certain gold ingots from which he had been allowed to take samples. Fitzanthony became the possessor of four hundred pounds. Fitz said it wasn't so much the money he wanted as to assure himself that the Don was really as clever as the size of his salary indicated. It was a sort of bet, and the Don lost, in spite of possessing one of the keys to the safety deposit box all the time the gold was being assayed. You see, his knowledge failed to include the use of the blowpipe in manipu­ lating samples. Captain Yell of the Valparaiso was an English mariner who liked to hear himself described as a rough diamond. He had adopted the part quite early in life, in

Copyright, 1911, by Gerald Villiers-Stuart, in the United States of America.




consequence of running away to sea with the intention of becoming a pirate. Here one might well pause and indulge in a digression on the lamentable scarcity of boys who any longer care to run away to sea ; but the yarn's the thing, and, no doubt, future historians will not overlook the runningaway-to-sea point when tracing the decline of Great Britain's maritime supremacy. Thirty years had passed since Tommy Yell had found the doors of the piracy business slammed in his face by the onward march of civilisation, and had become instead—to all outward seeming—a rough diamond ; but always he had remained at heart the most romantic of pirates. A man who lives on his wits must needs keep them sharp and glittering ; the keen point of Fitzanthony's penetrated the soft spot in Captain Yell after five minutes' con­ versation and a swift inventory of the dog's­ eared library. " A pity those days are over," sighed Fitz­ anthony. replacing a biography of Captain Kidd upon the bookshelf—" the Spanish Main, the fat galleon, the yellow doubloons, and tae sefiorita who becomes your bride. Steam has much to answer for, captain. And yet I don't know. There's something in the lines of your ship, something low and rakish, faintly suggestive " The eyes of Captain Yell fairly glistened, but he interrupted gruffly : " You've got no principles, that's what's the matter with you. What's right's right, and what's wrong's wrong ; them's mine, and piracy on the high seas " " Come now, captain, say letters-of-marque, a privateer—what ? The Valparaiso bristling with guns, small arms lining this cabin." " That's different ; that's ïegal. But what's the use of talking ? You ain't legal. What are you running from ? What you done ? " " It was a Don. Surely there's no harm in doing an Oxford Don ? And this one knew such a lot ; he was all puffed up with know­ ledge and savings." Fitzanthony tapped his money-belt fondly. " Now he's got more knowledge and less savings." " What you done—that's what I want to know ? " Captain Yell was still the rough diamond. " We had a bet, captain ; put it that way. I won and he squealed—took his losses very badly. Men like that shouldn't bet." " What might the bet have been ? " " Well, you see, I had some ingots of gold, and he had some bank-notes. The Don was betting that he'd get my ingots below the

MAGAZINE. market value. I was betting that I'd get the

bank-notes below theirs I got them," he

added, with his ingratiating smile.

" " I've got some bank-notes, too, my man.

How am I to know you won't sneak them ?

Tell me that."

Fitzanthony fired up. " If you're going to treat me as a common thief, captain, I'll take you on ! I'll get your old bank­ notes, and I'll get your old ship. You treat me like a white man, and I'll pay my passage and respect your property." He impaled the captain on an icy glare. " You can treat me as a stowaway or as a passenger. Which is it to be ? I want to know where I stand." " Well, I'll be " roared the captain. " You're a cool one ! " " Which is it to be ? " " Passenger, hang you ! " But it was the " hang you " of a defeated man. Fitzanthony threw his money-belt on the table with a royal gesture. " Help yourself," he ordered, " and try to remember, as you do it, that you're the captain of a tramp steamer, and not a pirate." Captain Yell was also owner, and he was fond of money. " Fifty pounds, inclusive of drinks—eh ? " he queried almost appealingly. " I said ' Help yourself ! ' " " I couldn't take a penny more—I really couldn't—aud the best of everything, mind you." " Well, let's have some of it now." Fitzanthony reverted to his ingratiating smile. He felt that he had got the captain exactly where he wanted him. The imaginative faculties which had driven forth Captain Yell in his boyhood to sail the Spanish Main, blunted almost to death by the stern realities of a seafaring life, began to revive in Fitzanthony's scintillating society. The latter's fancy to play upon the captain's foibles originated in a desire to keep in temper the edge of his wits : but the cultivation of a boyish imagina­ tion in that rough diamond with the viking beard became an engrossing occupation in a tedious voyage, and Captain Yell responded to Fitzanthony's efforts, and became enslaved to his more agile mind. The captain was once more a boy, aud every ship which lifted above the horizon was a possible prey, a richly-freighted galleon, a ship of dreams, a playground, an adventure. Then came the day when the Valparaiso exchanged signals with another tramp, and Captain Yell sought Fitzanthony excitedly. " Revolution ! " he cried. " War—red war ! "

THE GENTLEMAN " Where ? " asked the passenger calmly. " Republic of Maduro." " What—again ? Who's grabbed it this time?" " Beggar called General Alvaradez." " Never heard of him." "The ex-president has fled, and the British Consul—just think of it—the British Consul has had his face slapped, and been exported upon that steamer over to star­ board. There'll be war over this. I ought to be swearing, but I jest don't feel equal to the occasion. Face slapped— British Consul!" Now, Fitzanthony had become blunted and blase over South American revolutions, and the Republic of Maduro in particular. For the Republic of Maduro has a seaboard not much longer than the esplauade at Brighton, and less than its week-end popula­ tion. It is so cramped for room that its very name has to stand out to sea. Its principal exports and imports are presidents, ex-presidents, and foreign consuls. Its only source of revenue are six per cent, bonds, the postage stamp monopoly, which is farmed out to a firm of collectors in London, and a certain rare mineral of which it has the monopoly. The mines belong to the State — in fact, they are the State—and men who would not steal a mine, as a mine, steal it as a State. Twice had it been stolen while Fitz­ anthony was in residence there, and neither time had he made a penny piece out of the upheaval. The subject actually bored him. "You don't seem interested," mumbled Captain Yell, as he watched Fitzanthony light a fresh cigar. " I'm not. And yet By Jingo ! " He dropped the match, leaving the cigar un­ lighted. " Unless War, did you say ? Indemnity ! " His eyes suddenly took on a feverish glitter. Captain Yell could almost see the other man's brain at work. " Great whales ! What's in your mind ? What are you thinking of ? " he pleaded. " Indemnity ! " Fitzanthony was thinking aloud. " I wonder what they could stand ? If only Hannigan was here, he'd know." " Out with it ! " roared the captain. " I wouldn't dare ask more than fifty thousand dollars—not a cent." " Ask who ? " " General Alvaradez, of course." " What for ? What the blighted inferno for ? " " Insult to the British Consul, outrage on the British flag. You can do that sort of thing, if you want to, but you've got to pay



for it. This Alvaradez Johnny will have to pay for it, and he'll pay us." " Why the blazes should he pay us ? What have we got to do with it ? We ain't the British Government." " Look here, captain," replied Fitzanthony wearily, " your point, of view pervades me with a feeling of absolute ennui. Why should he pay us ? Because first come, first served. What have we got to do with it ? Whatever it pleases us to do with it. Not the British Government, eh ? Now, do you suppose that the Prime Minister and the First Lord of the Admiralty are going to come out here on a personally conducted tour to settle this business ? No, sir. The British Government out here is the nearest gunboat, some good old-fashioned gunboat, too tired to steam to the scrap pile. This is the nearest gunboat—this ancient but honourable ship the Valparaiso. And always provided we make it look like a gunboat, it's as good as an armoured cruiser, for behind it there is the whole force of the British Navy." "Mr. Fitzanthony"—the captain spoke in a voice of the deepest emotion as he grasped the other's hand—" I absolutely venerate you ! You are magnificent—the only man I've ever met who is fit to go down in history side by side with Morgan. There are those who would call you Napoleonic. I rank you higher. I call you—I call you " " Morganatic," suggested Fitzanthony. " You've got it—the very word I was after—morganatic. I am in your hands, the Valparaiso is in your hands, the details are in your hands. We sail into Porto Maduro, our decks cleared for action, train our guns on the palace, land a party, and demand an indemnity in the name of the British Government, eh ? Is that the scheme ? " " You were a little slow when the flag fell, but you are catching on, captain, and you are catching up. I congratulate you." They wrung each other's hands, and were as brothers. The preliminary details—how they steamed to the nearest port and acquired what Fitz­ anthony called the " make-up "—the material for the dummy guns, the paint, the costumes for the supers and the leading actors, the—oh, high momentof a lifetime !—the sword for the captain—may they not be left to the imagi­ nation of the reader to fill in ? How, in the lee of a palm-fringed island, they " made up " the Valparaiso for the part, and rehearsed the grinning stokers, and then steamed into




Porto Maduro—all this is the dull routine of the story, the work on the play which precedes the rise of the curtain. From the moment when Captain Yell had fallen in with his plans, Fitzanthony had bubbled with joy. Never had his brain been so fertile ; his imaginative flights simply swept the captain off his feet. The sack of cities on the Spanish Main, plunder of palaces, loot of empires—he made good old Captain Yell a part of them ; he made him a boy again. Yet Fitzanthony had his moments of depres­ sion. There was one fly in his ointment, and that fly was his friend Hannigan. " There had never been anyone like Hanni­ gan," the captain came to know. " He had been the Admirable Crichton of adventurers." " Good old Hannigan ! " Tears used to come to Fitzanthony's eyes over the last glass of rum-punch but one. " I assure you, captain, he had the .brains of a bookmaker, the ferocity of a chucker-out, and the nerve of a head parlourmaid. I may be able to think up a little thing like this, but it's all in the stage management. That's where Hannigan was strong. And bluff ! Why, if he'd had our chance, he'd have bluffed General Alvaradez into making him head partner ! Fifty thousand dollars wouldn't have gone far with Hannigan. Blood of Irish kings, captain ! It's bound to tell. He was always trying to get a kingdom. He couldn't help it—died in the attempt—up against a stone wrall—daybreak—volley. He died with a dozen others of the finest filibusters since the days of William the Conqueror. I escaped. Sheer luck. The general in command of the firing-party couldn't count, and I didn't help him. No, not another drop, captain. We'll be in Porto Maduro before daybreak. We'll need our nerve to-morrow. Never heard of this General Alvaradez. Rank outsider, I expect. No, not 'nother drop. Well, then, one more, just to drink to the memory of Hannigan— good old Hannigan ! " H.M.S, Gadfly, nee the Valparaiso, anchored in Porto Maduro before the break of day. She had entered the harbour un­ challenged, because the late president, when he abdicated, had taken the navy with him. " It came," he said, " under the head of fluid assets." Besides, there were no other means of transportation at his disposal. The people of Maduro are justly proud of the appearance of their city, The lifting of the morning miasma revealed it revelling in the gentle caresses of the morning sun. Many-tinted flat-roofed buildings with small

MAGAZINE. mysterious windows in adobe walls rose inconsequently tier upon tier among palm trees on the steep hillside. It might liave been a city of " The Arabian Nights," so much was the Moorish touch in evidence. The palace was more modern, more castellated, white-stuccoed, very large. " It looks," said Fitzanthony, "like a cross between Lambeth Palace and a Putney mansion." Its propinquity to the water's edge gave force to the comparison, besides minimising the risks of the landing-party. A force of stokers, excellent men with their fists, but quite unused to the weapons with which they bristled, would have been handi­ capped in those twisty streets. H.M.S. Gadfly, nee the Valparaiso, announced her presence by firing a real gun—quite a noisy affair—which had not smelt powder since the siege of Havana in the eighteenth century. Fitzanthony had won it at poker from the commandant of the Haytian port where they refitted. The palace, waking to find itself looking down the mouths of cannon, became as the palace of the Sleeping Beauty after the Princess was kissed. Informed of the affair, General Alvaradez exchanged his pyjamas for a gorgeous uniform, and agreed to a parley. He had been expecting the crisis, but not so soon. He had, however, made certain preparations for the event, the full felicity of which will be apparent a little later. The stokers of the Valparaiso—each man looking every inch a Jackie—really made a very creditable appearance as they stood to attention on the verandah of the palace. Captain Yell, in the full uniform of a captain, his viking beard trimmed to a point, did no discredit to the Royal Navy. Fitzanthony, also bearded, appeared in the humble guise of an interpreter. General Alvaradaz was a suave gentleman in spite of his ferocious whiskers, which were abundant to the point of staginess. Indeed, as Fitzanthony said afterwards, there was a suggestion of " make-up " about the general which would have impressed him more strongly had his own conscience been clearer. Alvaradez did not attempt to deny that he had acted somewhat nastily, but no insult had been intended to the British flag. He had slapped the consul's face not as a consul, but as an Englishman to whom he had taken a personal dislike. He considered that the matter was one whicli a great nation might consider remedied by the apology, the ample apology. " Apology be hanged ! " Fitzanthony





made the remark as an aside in English, intending it exclusively for himself and the captain. Turning towards his confederate at the moment, he failed to note that General Alvaradezhadstarted,examinedtheinterpreter more closely, had forced a broad grin to die away in the recesses of his portentous whiskers.

would respect the white flag ; he would allow them to return to the—he hesitated, grinned again—warship. Personally, he did not admire the palace—had thought of pulling it down, anyway. He arose and wished them " Good morning." Fitzanthony looked blankly at Captain Yell.

In Spanish, Fitzanthony explained that their instructions were unpleasant but final : either they received the sum of fifty thousand dollars in gold, or they returned to the gun­ boat and opened fire on the palace. They had no alternative. Alvaradez refused to appear worried. He

" If only Hanniganwas here!" he muttered, " I wish to goodness he was ! " retorted the captain, who felt that the whole affair had fallen singularly flat, " Very well," said Fitzanthony ; " we will return to our ship. Diplomacy has failed."



" Yes," agreed General Alvaradez. The representatives of the might of England were at the door. Suddenly General Alvaradez appeared to be profoundly moved. " Out of courtesy," he cried—" out of respect to the great country which you so worthily represent, I will make you oue offer." The conspirators eagerly returned. " Fifty thousand silver dollars. It is my last word," said Alvaradez magnificently. " I happen to have a large number of boxes in the treasury, each containing a thousand dollars. Fifty of them are at your disposal. The lids shall be removed ; you may look and see that the boxes are full. " " Done ! " said Fitzanthony. " Yes," said General Alvaradez. Down in the vaults beneath the palace, Captain Yell, shaking with excitement at the sudden and unexpected success which had attended their efforts, saw the lids removed from fifty shallow boxes, and feasted his eyes on the glittering contents, for the dollars were of very recent mintage. At last he knew how Morgan had felt when he entered a galleon's hold. Fitzanthony, at the sugges­ tion of General Alvaradez, remaiued above, and carried on a polite conversation with that resplendent ruler. The talk ran prin­ cipally on the excellence of the Ruinât with which they slaked their thirst.


Captain Yell, having returned and reported that the indemnity was in order, signed a receipt in full for all claims against the Re­ public of Maduro on behalf of the British Government. A second bottle was emptied, the Jackies saluted, loaded themselves with the cases of bullion, and returned to the ship. A salute was fired from the venerable gun, and the Valparaiso made steam for the nearest port, where real cargo had to be discharged. That evening they entered the said port, and Fitzanthony suggested to the captain that they send a telegram to General Alvaradez thanking him for the dollars. Fitzanthony wrote the telegram in his best Spanish. This is how it read in English— " Many thanks for the dollars. It was a counterfeit gunboat." (Signed) GADFLY. About an hour later came a reply. The language was English. It was addressed to Maurice Fitzanthony, Esq. " Don't apologise, old chap—so are the dollars." (Signed) HAXNIGAN. " Isn't he splendid ? " said Fitzanthony about an hour later, bending one of the dollars between his fingers. " It's worth more than that to know he's alive. I'm going back to Maduro in the morning, captain. Good old Hannigan ! I'll bet he makes me Chancellor of the Exchequer ! "

THE JOB-WATCHERS 'T'HERE a r e who linger where the crowds are thick, Transfix'd, with open mouths, and gaze and gaze At some unlovely workman as he lays Perchance a gas-main or perchance a brick. Theirs is the joy that makes the pulse beat quick, And fills the heart with gratitude and praise— A joy that might be mine could I but raise The slightest yearning to acquire the trick. Spell bound they stand, obstructing all the way, Oblivious of the blockage they create. By fascination fetter'd, they display A patience greater than their wits are great, While round them swerve swift taxi-cabs, and they They also swerve who only stand and wait. HANSARD WATT.


BY BARRY PAIN. HE was a school-girl of fifteen, neatly dressed in useful blue serge, with a satchel of books dependent from her shoulder. She was a pretty girl, with long, dark hair, a sweetly serious expression, and blue eyes that were large and wistful. Appearances are sometimes deceptive. Three splendid schools in succession had despairingly asked her parents to put her somewhere else. She entered the ticket-office and rapped, modestly and not too insistently, with her penny. The fair-haired young booking-clerk left his cup of tea for a moment to attend to her. Wheu he showed his face, which had a curiously half-cooked appearance, at the opening, she gazed at it with something that looked like reverence. " Good afternoon," she said shyly. " Rather better weather, isn't it ? " He was a little surprised, but she was, as I have said, a pretty girl, and he inclined to indulgence. " Nice day to-day, miss," he said cheerfully. " Well, what is it ? " " Wait a minute," she said, wrinkling her forehead. "I've heard that one before somewhere. What is a nice day to-day ? No, I've forgotten it. Give up. AVhat's the answer ? " " What I meant," he said with some dignity, " was, what do you want ? " " Ticket, of course. What do you think one wants at a booking-office ? Bag of shrimps ? " " What class ? Where to ? Where do you want to go ? " He spoke with irritated rapidity. " Well, I want to go to Palestine, and always have. Perhaps I shall, one of these days. But " " Here, pass along ! " he said viciously. " I can't waste all my time­ " You're not getting cross, are you ? " said the girl anxiously. " I want a penny thirdclass ticket. Any station. I'm not going

there. I want the ticket as a present for a friend who is collecting railway tickets. She found a return half from Basingstoke in a Number Six 'bus, and that gave her the idea. You don't mind selling me a penny ticket, do you ? Her name's Marjorie, and it's her birthday to-morrow, and " But the clerk had already dated a ticket furiously, flung it at her, snapped her penny, spanked it down, and disappeared. By standing a little to one side of the opening, she managed to get a glimpse of him again. In his left hand he held a cup, from which he sipped tea tragically. His right fist was clenched and made a minatory gesture in the air. " Peep-bo ! " she called cheerfully. His right hand relaxed and fell. He continued his tea with ostentatious in­ difference. He tried to appear unconscious of her existence, and nobody can appear unconscious if he tries. While he went through this unsuccessful pantomime, she drew from her pocket a lump of sugar ; it had been presented to her by the last tea-shop that had squirmed under her patronage. She placed the lump of sugar on the zinc ledge under the wire netting. She made a chirruping sound with her lips. She whistled two notes. She said : " Pretty Dick ! Pretty Dick ! " That moved him. He made a dash for it. But when he reached the spot where the girl had been, she was no longer there. Nor was she in sight. He could not rim down the street after her. He returned to his lair, and in the intervals of business pondered what he would do to that girl the next time he met her. If he had run down the street, he would not have found the girl. She was still in the station. For a moment the wistful expression vanished from her big blue eyes, and a mixture of sheet lightning and fireworks took its place. She observed that her ticket was for the next station on the np-line, and with malice and intention presented herself to the ticket-clipper at the down-line plat­ form. He glanced at the name on the ticket and

Copyright, by Barry Pain, in the United States of America.





handed it back to her. " Other side," he said sharply. She turned the ticket over and presented it again. " That's the other side of it," she said patiently, " but you might have turned it over for yourself."

" ' Peep-bo ! ' whe called cheerfully,"

" I mean your train's the other side." lie added under his breath the simple word " Fat-head ! " " Thanks so much. You don't really mind my being here, do you ? You see, it's the bookstall that I want, and the book­ stall's this side, unless you've changed it in the night."

MAGAZINE. " Oh, have it your own way ! " he said. " Go to that bookstall, and you'll miss your train for a cert. There it is now coming in." " But," said the girl thoughtfully, " you can't miss what you've never had. Besides, perhaps the company will run another train one of these days. Do cheer up ! " | She left him and went on to the bookstall. She glanced at the books, opened her purse and shut it again, picked up a book and put it down. Then the youth in charge came out of y |||k| his cupboard. He picked up a sixu '."' shilling best seller and proffered it. V " Seen this, miss ? " he said. v " I have now," she said. "What \. I want is a copy of Simmons's Sermons. " " Afraid we don't stock it. You I won't get that at no station book­ stall. Large assortment of sixpennies here, if you care to look over them." S" No, thanks. There was something else I wanted, but I can't remember it. I'll come back when I can think of it." She walked the length of the platform, came back and demanded a copy of The Times newspaper for the third day of the preceding month. He said he could order it for her. She said she was sorry, but it was wanted for a friend who was leaving England that evening. She paid a third visit to the stall to inquire if he sold nail files. He brightened up and said that he did. But he had not got tortoiseshell nail files, and the girl insisted on tortoiseshell. The youth had grown angry and suspicious. When she asked for a small bottle of glycerine, very much as if she expected to get it, he simply turned his back on lier and went into his cupboard again. The girl waited until an old lady approached the bookstall and brought the youth out again. The old lady bought several things, and they all had paper patterns in them. While she was making the selection, the girl came up to the stall once more. " Look here," said the youth sharply, " I've had enough of you. Just you clear out ! " The girl looked distressed. " Please don't send the lady away on my account," she said. '• I only wanted to ask if you could lend me a small piece of string." Being a youth with some gift for repartee, that only required to be speeded up, he observed that he would cheerfully lend her a piece of rope if she would promise to go and hang herself. But by the time he had



thought of this, the girl was out of earshot mid was just leaving the platform. She showed her ticket to an elderly official who wore extra adornments and was evidently superior. " I'm afraid," she said, " that I've got on to the wrong platform. I do h o p e I liaven'tniisscd my train. It's so important." "I'm afraid you h a v e , miss ; it went o u t s o ni e minutes ago. That chap ought to have told you it was the wrong platform." " I thought he might have done, t o o , " said the girl ; " it wouldn't have been much trouble." " Trouble ? Why, t h a t ' s what he's there for! Shamefu1 t h i n g ! All right, miss. I'll give him a talking to about it, and you'll get an­ other train in ten minutes." "Thank yon so m u c h , " said the girl politely, and went to the other p l a t ­ YVluit I want is n copy form. She h a d seen a young man on the other platform who was busy but lonely. He was providing the automatic machines with fresh sustenance —more packets of chocolate and butter­ scotch, and more boxes of matches. At the same time he was collecting the revenue that the machines had already received. He had a brown bag, a notebook, two screw­ drivers, and a nice, kind face. He was doing




important and responsible work, and he knew it. The girl stepped on to a weighing-machine and with much deliberation dropped her railway ticket into the slot. Nothing happened, which was very much what she had expected. But she waited on the machine until the young collec­ tor came up. Her expres­ sion was one of puzzled, pleading sorrow. " Oh, please, could yon help me? This machine won't work." "Won't it, miss ? It was all r i g h t a minute ago. If you wouldn't mind stepping down half a moment, I'll try it." He took her place on the platform aud put a penny in. The hand on the dial swung round to a definite assertion that the young in a n w a s eleven-five. "That seems all right," he said. " Yes, but it didn't ring of Summons's Sermons.' the bell." How do you mean—didn't ring the bell ? " " Moderate weight rings the bell. Great weight returns the penny." "No, no," said the young man. "That's the try-yonr-strength machines what you're thinking about. Are you sure yon ever put your penny in ? " " Quite certain. Of course, it wasn't an actual penny, but still "




" How do you mean ? Two halfpennies won't do, you know." He was quite patient, and even compassionate. " It was like this. I'd bought a penny railway ticket, and then I found I couldn't go to-day. One of my aunts is not at all well, and, of course, there must be somebody in the house besides the servants. And I thought I might use it on one of these machines, because I knew you could get the money back from the booking-office. Was that wrong ? " " Why, of course it was. That ticket ain"t the same weight as a penny, you see. Why, that might get caught up in something and put the whole machine out of order. I shall have to get that out again." He undid screws at the back and rescued the ticket, somewhat frayed and bent. The ticket was no use to him, and he said so ; so the girl took charge of it once more—there are many things that you can do with a ticket. The girl expressed her sorrow for all the trouble that she was giving, and showed so much intelligent interest in the machinery, that the young man illustrated to her the way in which it worked. In the course of the illustration the girl got weighed—without any expenditure on her part. " Good afternoon, miss," said the young man. " You won't make that mistake again ? " The girl looked at him with a sudden

MAGAZINE. brightness in lier eyes—she was having a most happy afternoon. " Oh, no," she said frankly, " I shan't chance it again. I might not be able to find another man who was such a—who was just like you." And then she fled upstairs to the bookingoffice. ("And," said the young collector after­ wards, over a friendly pint, " it was only just then that it flashed across my mind that she'd been pulling my leg all the time. I don't hold with corporal punishment for girls, not as a general rule, but, all the same, if I was that girl's mother—well ") The booking-clerk had not expected or even wished to see her again that afternoon. " I bought this ticket from you a little while ago," she said. " I don't know if you remember it. My friend has given up collecting, and I find it's no use. Might I trouble you to give me my penny back again for i t ? " His first impulse was towards peremptory refusal, accompanied by threats. Then something approaching to admiration came over him, and with it came a recollection of an old yarn. " Half a minute, miss," he said politely. He returned with the penny and with a small coloured illustration taken from a packet of cigarettes. " We give a chromo with that one," he said.


'T'HE little things are dancing, dancing, Out in the meadow under the moon, And I lie here in a kind of trancing, But I shall rise and follow soon.

The little things are singing, singing, Out in the meadow under their star, Wildly, sweetly clinging and ringing— The children's voices are faint and far.

I chained my heart with love's enchaining, With little fingers I chained my heart, But still 1 hear their soft constraining, "Come, dear sister, and play your part ! "

Sweet past earthly sweetness calling, "Little sisters, 1 will not stay." See ! the crossed Shadow over them falling 1 Wailing, the wee folk fade away.

Children's hands my cold hands warming, Little fingers, ah, hold me so! Blest be the Cross, and blest be the charming, That would not suffer my soul to go 1


From the original in the Walker Art Gallery, reproduced, by permission of the Corporation of Liverpool, from a photograph by Mansell *£• Co.



HAT is the root of that mysterious sympathy that makes the child and the dumb animal the most understanding of playmates ? We can only hazard a random surmise. The child does not know, and the animal, alas, has no word of enlightenment for us who inquire. Can it be, however, that the child was so lately, for some three years or so, a dumb animal himself, as far as the expression of reflective thought was concerned, that some subtle bond of sympathy remains between the two creatures ? The one has to persevere to the end in his pathetic dumbness, but the other, growing daily more articulate, still seems to keep some kinship with those who cannot speak for themselves. Nowhere is the pathos of the speechless more poignantly visible than in the case of a suffering animal. Nowhere, do we say ? There is one thing still more terrible. It is the bodily suffering of a little speechless child. Only he who has heard the cry of the young mother over


her baby who lies sick unto death can catch some faint comprehension of that agony. " Oh, if only he could speak and tell me what to do for him I " the mother exclaims. Before that barrier science stands abashed. Only the perceptive maternal instinct can make the little creature's pain in part her own, and reinforce the blind experiment of science with the inspired touch of love. All speculation as to causes must, however, remain dim and unsatisfactory. The great fact remains that the child and the dumb animal possess a mutual understanding denied to grown-ups. It is rather a one­ sided affair in some cases, for the attitude of the child is often that of an imperious tyranny. Honours are with the dumb creature, which displays a magnanimity and forbearance, especially towards very young children, that is almost sublime. We do not mean that the child is cruel—far from it—but he is persistent and exacting. He—more usually she—has found that most 175





he bore it all with the most perfect goodtemper. There is no record of a single moment of resentment. Margaret does not know for what purpose Christopher's claws were given him by Nature. It is doubtful whether she has ever seen them. He gives her a paw on demand, and, thus supported, consents patiently to walk on his hind legs as far as his n u r s e or­ dains. This hand -in­ hand idyll is excruciat­ ingly funny to grown­ upB, b u t both nurse and child take it in all solemnity. Now that P e g g y is older, the games have become more e 1 ab o r a t e and infi­ nitely more trying, one imagines,for t h a t easeloving old grey cat. He has utterly routed dolls. In an evil day he allowed him­ self to be dressed up in some real long-clothes. From t h a t moment the c h a r m of inanimate DY A U T U U K .T. EI.SLEY. He m u s t Reproduced by permission of Messrs. C. W Faulkner <fc Co., Ltd., Golden Lane, E.C., p u p p e t s waned. Mar­ have forowners of the copyright and publishers of the large plate. garet had g o t t e n the found a real live baby, and one, marvellous meaning of peace and comfort, or had philo­ to relate, who behaved as such, only better sophically resigned further hope of it. At any — for he never cried and hardly ever moment of a fine summer day you might, on wriggled. He lay in her arms, a grotesque turning a corner of the garden, meet the guile­ object, blinking at the flies and sunbeams, less infant and her friend. She carried him dreaming, no doubt, wild dreams of some about from dawn to dusk, tucked securely far-off happy time when he might taste under her arm, his poor head hanging again the wild joys of mousing. For the patiently downwards as often as not. But

fascinating of treasures—a living toy, which cannot be left alone for a moment. The dog and the cat lend themselves to persecution of this sort with an exquisite amiability, although sometimes with a look of resigned boredom. A notorious case is daily before the eyes of the writer. Under his roof dwell in the most perfect harmony an infant called Mar g a r et and a staid, h a nd soin e cat — now turning over to y e a r s — called Christopher. The two are about an age, but their actuarial " expecta­ tion of life " differs. This by the way. Margaret cannot r e ­ member a time when Christopher has not been at her beck and call for any kind of amusement her ladyship may please to demand. In the very early stages the fun consi s t e d principally in t u r n i n g the poor cat upside down. ' YOU MUSTJN T l'Ul.L !





Reproduced by permission of Messrs, S. Hildesheimer et Co., Clerkenwell Road, B.C., owners of the copyright and publishers of the large plate.

S "S" o ­





present he seemed to understand that his d^uty was to be Peggy's baby. His com­ plaisance undid him, for it led to further developments of the comedy. Margaret, casting about for new sensa­ tions, coveted her elder sister's doll's perambulator. Her own less elaborate vehicle had been demolished by a mechani­ cally-minded brother. By sundry ingratiating arts, Peggy obtained the loan of the carriage. Her purpose was plain when she took up Christopher and packed that unresisting beast, dressed en tebê, into the conveyance. The spectators wondered whether he would stay on board. Would he flee in a ludicrous tangle of torn lawn robes ? But no. This




forbearance. He draws a sharper line, per­ haps, between children and grown-ups, but from children he knows he will endure any familiarity. We remember a little girl whose huge dog would allow her to push him over by the hour. Of her own strength the mite could not have moved the fine fellow an ,^ inch, but he knew his part to perfection, and the moment the push came, over he went, with his little mistress on the top of him. Then he would pick himself up, to await the next assault. And so on, until the weaker vessel was tired out. There are, however, exceptions. The Newfoundland dog is proverbially kind to children, but he must know them well. He

"'Suppose a lion eats a missionary?'"

philosopher, who had already endured so much, would endure a little more. He allowed himself to be arranged according to Margaret's ideas of his comfort, appeared satisfied when she drew the hood over him, put down his head, and went quietly to sleep while he was wheeled at vaxious speeds about the garden paths. And all the time these orgies go on, the little creature never ceases to talk to her companion about every­ thing that interests her. While she dresses him and hoists him about—no light matter, for he is substantial—she pours forth exhorta­ tions and admonitions in the true nursery dialect. Nor is the dog the least behindhand in

is, if he be the spoiled pet of a childless house, terribly jealous. A curious case came under the observation of the writer. To such a house came a little grandchild on his first visit, when he was only a few months old. The otherwise benevolent Newfound­ land was wildly jealous of the attention paid by the household to the infant, and at last he had to be sent away for a time. Later he atoned for his former shortcomings by a warm friendship for his supplanter. Nothing can be better for children than to have the care of pet animals from the earliest age at which they are capable of the responsibility. In town it is not always easy to keep a small menagerie, but in the




country the care of pets should be an integral part of education. It is surprising how the duties attendant on this charge develop the finer and humaner feeling of the children. Observation and experiment have shown that the habit of attention is easily learned. The pets are the first thought in the morning, the last at night. In the case under observation, the cats, the rabbits, the doves, and the chickens are' a perpetual and absorbing interest. The care of the live-stock has given rise to a pleasing family ceremony invented by the Engineer. Itis celebrated on Saturday evening, and he has christened it " The Animals' Shopping." Care sits heavy upon him until it is performed. Regularly at a set hour the methodical youth takes his wheel-barrow and goes down to the village, where for his benevolent purpose he enjoys the privilege of " tick." The Old Farm is visited for hay, the rabbits' beddiug, and the shops— Old Oily's included—for various food-stuffs. He takes rather an unconscionable time over it, and is suspected of grinding certain axes of his own by the way ; but into that there is no inquiry. At last he returns with his heavy truck-load, which he arranges properly in the tool-shed. He sees his friends made comfortable for the night, and goes to bed with the satisfaction of duty done. And so the larger humanities are served. " The merciful man," says Solomon, " regardeth the life of his beast." And in return the natural sympathies of the children for living things are quickened and developed to finer issues. They find their most ex­ quisite perfection, perhaps, in little girls. Wordsworth knew that, when he contrasted boy and girl in their quest of the butterfly— With leaps aud springs I followed on from brake to hush; But she (îod love her, feared to brush The dust from off its willies.

d Something has been said about the different expectation of life in the child and the dumb animal. Therein lies tragedy, familiar to the children at every farmhouse. The pet lamb or the pet calf are lost all too soon to their little playmates, who are sometimes mercifully kept ignorant of the true reason of their dumb friend's disappearance. Not always, however, and children's hearts have often been nearly broken on the day when the butcher's cart came to take away the creature they had nursed and loved from its birth, the friend that had grown up beside them, but now, by the law of Nature and the

MAGAZINE. inequality of life, had outgrown them and had served its purpose in the world before the children were well awake to the meaning of existence. It is a merciful fact, however, that, as the old proverb says, the child keeps sorrow only as long as sorrow keeps the child. The blessed optimism of youth soon conquers grief, even the apparently profoundest. In the case of lost favourites, the child finds comfort in his firm belief that his dumb playmates have souls and go to Heaven. Luther used the belief boldly to comfort his little son for the loss of a pet dog, and wrote him a pleasant fable of little dogs with golden coats in Paradise. An interesting use of this story was made in his first and last novel by Donald Pringle Armstrong, the lamented Australian writer. He under­ stood thoroughly the child's mind about the death of a pet animal. " I often wish," says one of his characters, " we could fathom the tortures of the child and remove them. But they are always borne in silence. The child fears that his elders will be angry or laugh if he confesses his suffering." That is certainly true of the deepest feelings of childhood. It arises from no wilful cruelty of elders, but merely because the expression of poignant thought, and especially of puzzles and problems, is often irresistibly comic. Gravity is a sacred duty in such cases, but the elder has often a hard task to keep laughter back, especially when a future life problem is complicated by some such dilemma as that put by a little boy to his grandfather. '• Grandpapa, do lions go to heaven ? " " No, Johnny." " Well, do missionaries ? " " Why, of course. Why do you ask ? " " AVell, suppose a lion eats a missionary? " We confess we think little of that grand­ father, with his blunt " No." Luther, with his frank assurance of little dogs wearing golden coats in Paradise, would not have been so caught by any young sceptic. It is well to be on one's guard against the ruth­ less logic of the child, and the only defence is to purge the mind of materialism, or, if that be not altogether possible, at least to eschew the cheaply comic attitude towards children's sayings. For the babe sees things that are hidden from the wise and prudent, aud the only hope that world-hardened eyes may entertain of catching some glimpse of these mysteries once more is to watch reverently for their reflection in the mind of a little child.



S. L.



HE Philharmonic Society, oldest of the orchestral organisations in this country, is about to enter upon its hundredth annual season, and concert-goers, who name is legion, will, perhaps, be in­ terested in some brief comparison between the existing musical conditions and those that obtained when George I I I . was king and the battle of Trafalgar was only a fewyears old, when Wellington and Napoleon


received with some approach to enthusiasm in London. Though the great composer, then approaching his sixtieth year, spoke no word of English, his reputation was great enough to bring him, by the additional aid of a benefit concert, over a thousand pounds for the first six symphonies and a score of smaller pieces. Oxford gave Haydn an honorary degree, the leading newspapers praised him greatly, but he could not raise



The first headquarters of the Philharmonic Society, on the east side of Regent Street, at the corner of Little Argyll Street, in the block of buildings burned down in 18SO.

a permanent enthusiasm for serious music in London. Fourteen years had passed since the last of the Salomon concerts, when Messrs. J. B. Cramer, P. Corri, and W. Dance gathered a small company of friends to a meeting, and formed a Society " to promote the performance in the most perfect manner possible of the best and most approved instrumental music." At the same time it was decided that the Society should consist of thirty members and a limited number of associates, from whom the ranks of the members should be recruited as occasion

had still to face each other upon the field of Waterloo. London then cared and knew very little about good music ; the mood of the years did not favour the arts of peace, and the closing decade of the eighteenth century had witnessed little of musical interest save the appearance of Haydn in the Hanover Square Booms, where he conducted twelve symphonies he had composed for the concerts given by Mr. Salomon, works known as the " Salomon Symphonies " to this day. Before the century closed even these concerts had been discontinued for lack of adequate support, but Haydn was 181




arose. The members were to elect seven directors. No member was to receive any emoluments, even for assisting at the concerts, all moneys received being reserved

J . U.

MAGAZINE. symphony dedicated to the Society. He was responsible for the passing of the pianist's responsibilities. He tells in his autobiography how, greatly to the alarm of the directors, he brought the change about. " I took my stand with a score at a separate music-desk in front of the orchestra, drew my directing baton from my coat-pocket, and gave the signal to begin . . . The triumph of the baton as a time-giver was decisive, and no one was seen again seated at the piano during the per­ formance of symphonies and overtures." Now, after nearly one hundred years, we have seen a great Russian conductor, M. Safonoff, conducting a Philharmonic concert without as much as a baton. The next matter of great musical interest in the Society's history is the performance, in 1825, of Beethoven's Choral Symphony, written in return for the very modest fee of fifty pounds paid in advance. It was not well received ; indeed, long years were to pass before the last symphony of the master gained acceptance. Weber conducted the April concert in 1826, and died two months later in the house of Sir George Smart, one


for " the public purposes of the Society." It was intended that the concerts should be given by the members themselves. The paid orchestra was then undreamt of ; so, too, was the conductor, whose duties were divided between the principal violin, or " leader of the orchestra," who was to play in an " exemplary manner," and occasionally to beat time, and the gentleman who presided at the pianoforte and played from a full score. The first concert was given at the old Argyll Rooms, near the Oxford Circus end of Regent Street, on March 8, 1813, with Mr. Salomon as principal violin and Mr. dementi at the piano. At that time there were the thirty members allowed by the constitution of the Society, and nearly forty associates. The names of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven figure in the first programme. This was a good beginning, and great events followed. In the year of Waterloo, Cherubini came to London by the Society's invitation, and composed an overture for one of the concerts ; in the same year the Society paid Beethoven seventy-five guineas for three overtures in manuscript ; in 1820 Spohr came to London to conduct a new



of the leading lights of the Society and con­ ductor of some of the concerts. The next year was a sad one in musical history, for Beethoven passed away, happy in receipt of



a gift of one hundred pounds sent to him by the Society through Mr. Moscheles. A week before his death the great composer wrote to Moscheles to express his gratitude, and promised, if his health should be restored, to compose for the Society a symphony, " which already lies sketched out on my desk, or a new overture, or anything else the Society may prefer." If only for this generous behaviour to Beethoven, the Philharmonic Soci e t y would have an enduring claim upon music-lovers of a'l time and of all nationali­ ties. On the second May programme, in 1827, the n a m e of L i i z t ap­ pears, and 1 8 2 9 saw the youthful Mendels­ sohn, not yet of age, direct his C Minor Symphony amid a scene of rare en­ thusiasm. I n 18 3 0 the Argyll Rooms were destroyed by fire, and the Society, its library for­ tunately in­ tact, went for three or four years to ""* the concertCHK room of the Opera, and thence to the Hanover Square Rooms. Until the late 'forties, when his brilliant but brief career came to an end, Mendelssohn was the lion of the Philharmonic. It is interesting to recall the first appear­ ance of Joachim in 1844, when, at the age of thirteen, he astonished the Society by playing the solo part of the Beethoven violin concerto from memory ; while, in 1849, Mile. Nerada, who was in later years to become Lady Halle,



made her first appearance at the age of fourteen. Berlioz conducted some of his own work in 1853, when Sir Michael Costa brought his eight years' control of the orchestra to an end. In 1855, Wagner came from Zurich to wield the baton and upset many conservative susceptibilities. Nobody seemed to appreciate his work, and a year later Sterndale Bennett was appointed con­ ductor, and held the office for ten years, covering the jubilee year of the Society in 1862. While h e was in charge, A n t o n Rubinstein appeared twice at the concerts ; other solo­ ists were Sims Reeves, Mme. Schu­ mann, and Charles Halle. It will be seen that the first f i f t y years of the Society had been asso­ ciated with the perform­ ance of the finest music and the ap­ pearance of the greatest composers and soloists, and during t h a t time •''vrxiNi. musical in­ terest had developed considéraoq. By the time this jubilee celebration had taken place, another great force in London music had arisen —August Manns had taken over the Crystal Palace orchestra. He found it a wind band, playing in the open central transept ; he brought it to the very front rank, and for nearly fifty years he laboured in the highest interests of music. Men who, under his direction, learned much that they know, are to be seen to-day in the ranks




of our leading orchestras ; and when the history of nineteenth-century music comes to be written, the debt the country owes to the late Sir August Manns will not be over­ looked. But it would be unfair to ignore the debt that the famous Saturday Concerts at the Crystal Palace owed to the Philharmonic Society, which may lightly claim to be the pioneer of orchestral development in


Linzbauer, a great admirer and personal friend of the immortal master, and a gold medal was struck for presentation to artists. Among those dead musicians who have received it are Brahms, Gounod, Joachim, Anton Rubinstein and Mme. Tietjens ; among the living, Adelina Patti, Albani, Christine Nilsson, Kirkby Lunn, Ysaye, Santley, Edward Lloyd, Paderewski, Kubelik, and Kreisler. In forty years only twenty-six medals have been presented. In 1874, Dr; Camille Saint-Saëns and Senor Sarasate made their first appearance. In 1883, Cusins brought to a close seventeen years of service that had been more con­ scientious than brilliant. In 1884, various conductors were appointed for the season, including Sir Charles Stanford and Dr. Cowen, while in the following year Sir Arthur Sullivan held the baton and kept it for three years. Ysaye and Mme. Grieg made a first appearance in 188'J, Paderewski, Lamond, and the Sisters Eavogli in 1891. Sir F. H.


this country. It is a little difficult to realise now that the early orchestral concerts were obliged to make concessions to what is politely and euphemistically called " popular taste," that the finest 'works could not readily gain acceptance, that symphonies by Beethoven and Schumann failed to attract at a first hearing. By the side of modern polyphonic development, such music is com­ paratively simple and direct in its appeal. It may be that in another fifty years people will be sighing for a return to the primitive simplicity of a Eichard Strauss or a Claude Debussy. Turning back to a brief record of leadingevents in the Society's history, the resignation of Sterndale Bennett and the succession of Sir W. G. Cusins may be noted ; while in 1869 the Society transferred its activities to the old St. James's Hall, and in 1871 the famous bust of Beethoven—a replica of which is always set up in front of the orchestra at Philharmonic concerts—was presented to the Society by Madame


Cowen resigned at the end of 1892, and was succeeded "by Sir A. C. Mackenzie. Two years later the Philharmonic Society moved to Queen's Hall, where it remains to this day. A special Purcell commemoration concert marked the season of 1895. In 1899, Sir A. C. Mackenzie resigned, and the Society again invested Dr. Cowen, who held the post of conductor until the directors decided



upon the spirited policy of engaging special conductors for each concert. It is no disparagement to the gifts of any man to say that the interest attaching to the new readings and interpretations that this plan secures is greater than can possibly attach to any other. The change has undoubtedly served to make the orchestra more vigorous than ever, and to extend its varied repertoire. Moreover, it has kept the Society young and vigorous in the face of the keenest musical competition that this country has ever known. The Philharmonic Society knew no rivals in the early years ; it could disregard com­ petition in its brilliant middle period. To-day it is faced by the Queen's Hall, London Symphony, New Symphony, and Beechain orchestras, to say nothing of many powerful choral societies, and, in the interest attaching to these modern ventures, many people are apt to overlook the obligations under which—one and all—the new com­ binations stand to the parent organisation that is about to celebrate its centenary. The generation that can recall the time when, but for the Philharmonic Society, the musical life of London would have been of small account, is passing, and it must be confessed that many among the survivors in its ranks look a little askance at modern developments—still regard Mendelssohn as a very great composer indeed, still think bravura singing is the very best singing of all, and are inclined to stand aside from modern progress in the character of laudatores temporis acti. It must be difficult for the





Aged twelve in this portrait. Fie conducted for the

Philharmonic Society when fourteen.

Society to maintain a certain conservative tradition very becoming in a centenarian, and at the same time to keep abreast of the years ; and most people will confess that the difficulty is handled with skill, sympathy, and discretion by directors who spare neither time nor pains to maintain the Society's reputation, and labour only for the honour of their task. For example, the centenary will be marked by the production of works composed expressly for the happy occasion by the following composers, who will conduct their own compositions : Granville Bantock, Sir F. Cowen, Dr. Walford Davies, F. H. Dunhill, Arthur Hervey, Sir Edward Elgar, Edward German, Sir A. C. Mackenzie, Sir 0. Hubert Parry, Landon Eonald, and Sir Charles Villiers Stanford, all of whom, be it noted, are British ; while the Ninth Symphony, composed by Beethoven for the Society, will be given under the direction of Herr Nikisch. The society that can project such a programme as this may rightly claim that age has done nothing to impair its activities. Another point to be noticed, in connection with the centenary of the Philharmonic Society, is that the invitation it extends to soloist or conductor is still the highest honour within the musical gift of this country, and eagerly sought by Continental musicians. To play before the Philharmonic



Society, or to be asked to conduct its orchestra, is an hononr reserved only for the finest artists of our time ; and the writer has found that this recognition of the Society's eminence is even more generally admitted on the Continent than it is in England, where other fine orchestras are heard far more often than the Philharmonic in the course of the year. But, looking back upon the record of ninety-nine seasons, one sees the

MAGAZINE. Rossini Eichard Strauss Saint-Saëns Arthur Sullivan Schumann Tschaikovski Sibelius Wagner Spohr Weber Spontini Weingartner Stanford Turn from composers to the chief singers ; the list is indeed imposing :— Nevada Arnoldson Christine Nilsson Braham Nordica Clara Butt Clara Novello Donzelli Pasta Poli Patey Formes Adelina Patti Gardoni Carlotta Patti Gerhardt Louisa Pyne Grisi Guilia Ravogli Lablache Sims Peeves Camilla Landi Marie Roze Annie Lascelles Ella Russell Jenny Lind Charles Santley Edward Lloyd Sembrich Malibran

achievement of the Society in its true perspective. Let us note first the composers who have either written works expressly for the Society, or have written and conducted them too, or have come over to London, on the direct invitation of the directors, to conduct their work, or have had a work performed for the first time in England under the auspices of the Society. On such a list— and I write with the programmes of more than ninety years before me—one finds the following names :— J. S. Bach Beethoven Benedict Sterndale Bennett Berlioz Bishop Brahms Max Bruch Chernbini Clementi Frederic Cowen

Dvorak Elgar Glazounoff Gounod Grieg Humperdinck Massenet Mendelssohn Moscheles Mozart Parry


Blanche Marchesi Lemmens Sherrington Mario Tietjens lima de Murska Trebelli Here are some of the leading pianists : Engen d'Albert Dannreuther Leonard Borwick Fanny Davies Von Bulovv Essipoff Busoni Arabella Goddard Cortot Godowsky

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THE Charles Halle Jaell Lamond Liszt MacDovvell Sophie Menter Moscheles Moszkowski Pachmann Paderewski




Pugno Rachmaninoff Moriz Rosenthal Rubinstein Saint-Saëns Sapellnikoff Sauer Scharwenka Mme. Schumann Thalberg

Among the violinists are : — Leopold Auer Ondricek Ole Bull Papini David Sainton Sarasate Elman Ernst Spohr Marie Hall Cesar Thomson Vieux temps Joachim Kreisler Wilhelmj Kubelik Winiaski Mile. Neruda (Lady Ysaye Zimbalist Halle) The 'cellists include Piatti, Pablo Casals, Lindley, Popper, Becker, Davidoff. There has been no attempt to make this list exhaustive, but it may claim to be representative of the superlative talent that has endowed the Philharmonic Society with

[Elliott è Fry.


Photo by]

[H. Manuel, Paris. Dit. CAMILLE SAINT-SAËNS.

delightful memories in the past hundred years. One other matter calls for attention. Certain critics of the Philharmonic Society are often heard to declare that it does nothing for native talent. The most effective reply to this statement is provided by the following list of British men and women whose music has been heard at Philharmonic concerts. Some gained their first public performance under the auspices of the Society. Von Am Carse Bantock Barnett Bell Dr. E. L. Bennett Sterndale Bennett Bowen Bright Bunning Cliffe Coleridge-Taylor Corder Cowen Cox Dale Elgar Gadsby German Hamilton Harty

Hervey Holbrooke Lamond Luard Selby M'Cunn Sir A. Macfarren Walter Macfarren Mackenzie M'Ewen Parry Prout Ethel Smyth Somervell Stanford Stephens Sullivan Thorley William Wallace Wingham




The latter-day constitution of the Society is peculiar to itself. It is under the imme­ diate patronage of Their Majesties the King and Queen and Her Majesty the QueenMother ; it is served by honorary directors (seven in number), honorary treasurers and trustees, honorary auditors, honorary stand­ ing counsel, honorary solicitor, and an honorary secretary, Mr. Francesco Berger, composer and professor of music, who, in spite of the fact that the Philharmonic Society had only just come of age when he was born, contrives to conduct its business

Photo by]




Nikisch, Paderewski, Ysaye, Pugno, Richter, and Saint-Saëns. There is an annual

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with an energy and discretion that many a middle-aged man would envy. It is, per­ haps, upon him that the burden of the Society's business falls most heavily. The Society's sixty members are reinforced by about two hundred and eighty associates, of whom nearly one hundred are ladies. The Fellows of the Society, in whose ranks are found the Lord Chief Justice and Mr. A. J. Balfour, are limited to two hundred and fifty, and honorary membership of the Society has been conferred upon nearly a score of distinguished musicians, including

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guarantee fund of nearly two thousand pounds, and in the list of those who give active support to the Society will be found the best-known musical amateurs in the country. So far one may write of the outer and public story of the Philharmonic Society, but, as will be readily understood, it has another and more intimate side. One does not come into constant association with men and women of genius without gathering the material for interesting stories innumerable. Tho3e who, like Mr. Berger, the honorary secretary, have been associated with the Philharmonic Society for more than half a century, could write a wonderful book of anecdotes and personal gossip with which to amuse the leisure hours of music-lovers. But the Society and those who serve it have never opened their own preserves, and though they must have a' number of human docu­ ments in their possession, few, if any, have seen the light. If it had not been that any scrap of information about Beethoven has become international property, we might







HÙ concerts preceded the founding of the Philharmonic Society, at whose first concert lie u'as principal violin.


Be conducted for the Society in ISSS. From the portrait in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, painted to the order of King Louis II. of Bavaria.

have lacked publication of the documents that show how thoroughly his gifts were appreciated, and how generously the Society came to his relief in the hour of need. Truth to tell, the Phil­ harmonic entered the world before the era of advertise­ ment. Quite unaccustomed in early times to thrust itself forward, it has never acquired the dubious gift. Curiously reticent and dignified, it moves to-day along its appointed road, doing its best to present the masterpieces of music in the most effective fashion, and to present the soloists whose claims to recognition are clearest, but making little or no concession to the Zeitgeist in its most modern and vulgar aspect. The programmes presented are quite modern in spirit ; but though Tschaikovski, Brahms, and Strauss may figure there, a considerable part of the audience will be composed of those who



never hear these composers anywhere else. The old brigade of music-lovers has been reared in an atmosphere of classical music, is more intent upon beauty than innovation, a little suspicious of new names, sufficiently educated to be a little intolerant of mere cleverness. Small wonder if it finds security in the ranks of the Philharmonic Society, or if there are many who believe that there is no appeal to the young, who desire to hear the latest message that music has delivered to the world. It is against this attitude of mind that these lines are written. The Society's repu­ tation for being old-fashioned rests upon no stronger foundation than the knowledge that it was fashioned about one hundred years ago. That there was a period of dullness in the Society's history is undeniable, but it came at a period when dullness was esteemed as a pearl of price, the outward and visible sign of mid-Victorian respectability. That time passed and gave way to a period of strenuous endeavour, to which all who meant to survive were forced to make concessions. The Society responded promptly. To-day its programmes can bear comparison with any offered to the public, and the conditions under which the work is done are more favourable to the careful rehearsal and the attention to detail that sometimes get less than their due elsewhere. It is, perhaps, a little surprising that at a time like this, when the work of a century is about to be completed, the Society should not have made an official utterance to the world at large, should not have put forward in amplified and more attractive form the facts set out here, should not have covered the dry bones of statistics with the wealth of reminiscence that lies within its reach. But the directors of the Philharmonic are not altogether unjustified if they think there should be no need to beat the big drum, or that, if there is any need, it may be disregarded. It is something to preserve the dignity of an old


institution at a moment when methods of attracting public notice are not always above reproach ; and the Philharmonic Society, remembering that it exists to interpret musical masterpieces, and not to appeal to the prnfanum vulgus, has celebrated the completion of the centenary in fashion already set down, by arranging with the leading living musicians to compose and conduct a new work. This may not be the most practical of all methods, but it is worthy of the traditions of the greatest musical association in these islands, and shows that there is at least one body of music-lovers that will not be turned aside by the fashion of the hour, or do aught that runs countet to the laws that, if unwritten, are at least well understood. That the Philharmonic Society is con­ servative in its tendencies is not to be denied ; but those who study the cross­ currents of the English musical channel should be the first to acknowledge that this conservatism, allied as it is to a marked catholicity of taste, is quite justified. Much of the new work produced by other orchestral associations in the past decade has failed to achieve the honour of a second performance, and has done little more than suggest that great ambition is not always associated with corresponding talent. With such a record as lies behind the Philharmonic Society, it becomes, in a sense, the trustee of the music-loving public, and there will be few who have studied its record carefully to deny that it has proved worthy of the trust. If in the years to come it can rival its own past achievements—and there seems no reason to hold any doubt upon the point, in spite of the enormous competition with which it is faced—the Philharmonic Society must remain the leading musical institution of Great Britain. In this proud position, those who work for it so devotedly will find their best and most enduring reward.


BY HALLIWELL SUTCLIFFE. HERE'S a pleasant village named Dene Regis, lying round a little stream known in the north c o u n t r y as Eller B e c k . I t is a neighbourly village, clean to look at and to smell, and its blue wood-reek goes from cottage chimneys to-day as tranquilly and as unhurried as it did a century or so gone by, when, at four of a late November afternoon, a horseman rode down its street and drew rein at the doorway of the Angel Tavern. Like Dene Regis itself, the horseman was good to see, clean-bred in every line of him. He was built, you would have said, for hunting and all field sports, for the doing of high deeds if they were asked of him. The horseman, for that matter, did not wear the look just now of one who con­ templates high deeds. He was peevish, dispirited, and showed as much as he gave the reins to an ostler and went indoors. It was plain, even to the men who loitered about the inn front, that this well-groomed man of thirty was out of heart, or out of temper—it mattered little, for the two are often one. In plain fact, he had lately risen from a sick-bed, had ridden beyond his strength to-day, and was possessed by a demon of impatience because he could not change horses and press forward. He pushed open the door of the little room on the left-hand of the passage, called for the landlord, and sat down at a table near the window that looked out on the common, where geese and children and Farmer Wood's pigs were playing together in happy company. " How can I serve you, sir ? " asked Boniface, bustling in with the cheery air of well-being that was his special gift. "Bring me a pint of claret," said the other, listlessly flicking the dust from his riding-breeches. " It will pass the time, at any rate." " Oh, but, sir, your pardon, but this is no

way to speak of sound claret. It should do more than pass the time." Jack Lister glanced up, stirred a little out of his ill-humour by the host's whimsical, half-grave rebuke. " Then praise it to me, and I'll listen," he laughed. "You've all the lover's look in your face." " Claret, sir, is beyond praise. It is delicate to the palate, it softens intercourse between gentlemen, it polishes the wits without going unduly to the head " " Host, you make me thirsty," protested Lister. " Bring in the bottle, man, before you end your discourse." And when the wine was brought, Jack Lister, tired of his own company, was pleased to draw out this host who showed such a diverting gift of speech. " It is good claret," he said, fingering his glass, " but it does not polish my wit ; a bucket of it, host, would not lift me into merriment." "Then, sir, with all respect, that must be your fault, not the wine's." Again the other laughed. " True enough —my fault or another's. And here I am with a dull evening in front of me. I must sleep here before taking the road at dawn." "My house is honoured, sir. You need distraction ? " " Need it ? As I never needed anything, I think." " There's so little doing in Dene Regis, but you've come in a good hour, as it happens. There is to be a torchlight masque to celebrate the young Squire's coming of age." Jack Lister filled his glass afresh. He recalled the happenings of the past year— the pleasant wooing of Squire Oldroyd's daughter, the swift, happy courtship that had ended, as all such enterprises shou2d, in an English rose-garden when the moon shines kindly overhead. Following that, there had been difficulties, hardships, summed up at last in a fiery meeting between the Squire and Jack. The Squire had said frankly—with an oath or two to explain his meaning more fully, as his habit was—that the man who married his daughter must do more than ride to hounds well, shoot and dance well, on an income that might keep a

Copyright, 1011, by Halliwell Sutclife, in the United States of America. 193




spendthrift bachelor's head above water, but could not possibly maintain a wife. The Squire's heat had not troubled Jack, nor his own want of money ; but as the months went on, and Hilary came less often to their stolen meetings, and rumour got abroad that a rich man had come wooing to the Hall, he had lost his high spirits. And then had come a night when Hilary met him at the gate, and confessed, with a weak flood of tears, that she had yielded to her father's persuasion — had plighted troth with the elderly, precise lover who was seeking a young mistress for his house. Jack, as he drank his claret and listened to the host's prattling, recalled the pain of those past weeks. He could have stood courageous beside Hilary's bier, looking for reunion one day, but this death in life— her weakness yielding to abhorrent pressure —had numbed the soul in him. And then had come the news, sweeping hurriedly through Lancashire, that Prince Charles Edward was marching south from the Border country, that loyal gentlemen were asked to join his standard. And the old zeal of his house for the Stuart, sharpened by heartache and disillusionment, had found a promising recruit in him. And again illluck had dogged his steps ; for, two days before he rode to join the Prince, he had taken a chill after hunting, had lain between life and death while the Stuart's army had marched hot-foot through Lancashire ; and when he got about again, there had seemed nothing in this world worth living for. It was in this mood that he had left his home, had ridden out to Dene Kegis, the first stage of his journey toward London, in the forlorn hope that he might overtake an army long since gone by. And he was here, listening to the landlord of the Angel Tavern, who talked of a village masque as if it were a prime distraction to tempt any man from heart-sickness. The drollness of it all took Jack Lister unawares as he looked at the other's cheery face. " No, host, I'm scarcely in the mood for your wild revelry. If, now, you could oblige me with a runaway couple who needed help to Gretna, or a highwayman who needed capturing " " There, sir, you are pleased to jest." " It is your claret, host.' If you could oblige me, I say, with an earthquake or a house on fire, I'd thank you for the distraction." The other looked at him with the glance that had learned to seek out a man's moodi­ ness and minister to its betterment. " It is

MAGAZINE. supper you need, sir—say, a dish of devilled kidneys, followed by haunch of mutton, and there's a prime Stilton at your service." Jack Lister nodded carelessly. " As you will," he said. " I was not hungry till you spoke of it, but now I'm devilish keen-set, I own." When the host had gone, Lister stood at the window, looking out on the quiet twilight and drumming his fingers on the panes for lack of other occupation. And from the dimness of tue room behind him there crept the figure of a woman, cloaked and hooded. " Were you in earnest, sir, when you spoke just now of needing an—an earthquake ? " she asked, with a pretty break of laughter. He turned sharply, startled by the in­ trusion ; and then, because the voice was young and pleasant, he found his loneliness more tolerable. " Madam, I was in earnest —never more so. If you have one at command " " Not an earthquake, sir, but a hazard that few men would care to accept. A ride through dangerous country, and peril at the end of it—I can offer you that." " At your service," said Jack, with heed­ less buoyancy. " Ah, but wait ! You do not know me. I'm in need—in urgent need—but cannot ask you to accept the venture until I tell you what the nature of the errand is." He withdrew a little, as if she had struck him. For the eighteenth century had its faults, but lack of punctilio was not one of them. " I said that I was at your service, madam. The venture is accepted already." She regarded him closely for a moment, seeing his face clear in the red gloaming light that streamed through the window, while hers was shrouded by the hood. " I think that Heaven sent you my way, sir," she said presently, with another ripple of laughter that hid a grave disquiet. " I have been waiting an hour for a friend who was pledged to meet me here and do my errand, and he has not come." There was a hint of trouble in her voice, as if the renegade were dear to her, but she con­ quered that. " You take his place ? " she added, with brisk grasp of her business. " Undoubtedly." She glanced toward the door, then at Jack Lister's face again. " Are black cockades in fashion ? " she asked suddenly. " White," he answered. " Ah, I knew you were one of us. You carry that sort of air."

THE ANGEL " To be honest, you flatter me," he broke in, punctilious still lest he should surprise some secret that he had no right to share. " I'm loyal, and know the old password ; but I did not join the rising, to my shame —I was kept to my bed by sickness." " Small shame in that, sir," she said softly. " Too many of our men kept their beds from sloth and cowardice. Besides, it is not too late to serve the Prince, if you've a mind to it." " My heart's in it," he said. " Ah, good ! The heart goes further than the head, and always did." " The business is urgent, you say ? I'll go and find my horse." And again she laughed. "But, sir, you must know the business first." " True. I had forgotten that," he said, halting half-way toward the door, with a smile of boyish candour. " I was thinking only of the fences waiting me ahead." Out of great perils intuition and quick knowledge come. The woman knew that here was a better man than the lover who had failed her—knew that, by some gift of chance, she had found the right man for the errand. " Listen, sir ! " she said peremptorily. " I was sent here to pass on the message because loyal men are suspect these days, and women have the strategy that springs from weakness. You know that the Prince's army marched back from Derby—that he's in Lancashire again 'i " " By your leave, madam, I've known little these last days. They were feeding me on milk and gruel two days ago, and keeping all news from me, as if I were a child. So the Prince has lost his battle ? I'm glad they kept such news from me." She glanced at him with greater trust, with growing pity. The red of dusk was showing more faintly through the tavern window, and his face in the waning light had lost its borrowed ruddiness. There were lines of bodily weakness graved deep on it, though his shoulders and his upright carriage disdained to yield to weariness. " Sir, you are—you are not strong enough for the hazard. Perhaps my—my friend" —again the hint of sadness in her voice— " may come late, but in good time still to ride out. Indeed, you are weak and ill— and I tell you it is no light danger you are asked to follow." Jack Lister laughed. Some quality in the girl's voice, its pride, its eagerness, its touch of sorrow, appealed to him. It was as if he



saw the face, hidden jealously, and knew it beautiful. "My body's not much to boast of just now," he said, " b u t I've a merry heart, and that goes all the way." " You've known sorrow ? " she said, with seeming irrelevance. " It is so one learns the way of the merry heart." And he knew that she was thinking of the lover who was an hour late at the tryst of danger. And then she returned feverishly to the business in hand, repentant of the confidence she had shared with this stranger, who had only a good presence and knowledge of the Stuart password to commend him— that and some indefinable air of strength and cleanliness he carried. " Oh, we talk here, and it is all so urgent ! " She crossed to the door, glanced out to make sure that no eavesdropper was near—glanced out with a faint hope, perhaps, that her lover came at long last. " The Prince lies at Preston to-night, fifteen miles to the north. There are despatches that must reach him." " Give them me," he said. " That is a simple matter, surely." " Nothing is simple these days. The Hanoverian army is pressing close. You will ride through dangerous country, sir." " I've come through worse dangers, by your leave. Heartache is a good mare to ride ; she welcomes stumbles by the way." So then she lifted her hood a little, and in the dim light he caught a glimpse of starry, friendly eyes. She, too, had suffered ; and it is not casual happiness that brings neighbour souls together, but knowledge of the pain they share in common. " You are tired and ill," she said, with the woman's backward glance at yesterday. " I'm hale and merry, by your leave," he answered, with the man's zest in to-morrow. " You'll need food before you go," she said, diligent to serve his needs because he was so weak of body and so likeable. ' " The despatches cannot wait. I'll sup on your trust iu me." Again she was moved by the man's gaiety, his readiness to accept this errand as if she honoured him by placing his neck in jeopardy. " And, sir, there is something else—there will be the Prince's answer to bring back— the double hazaid of the return. I seem to ask so much of you." He stood before her, straight and soldierly. It pleased him to take marching orders from one so capable and firm of voice. " At your service, madam."




" I have my maid with me. You will find us here when you return with the Prince's answer—and God speed you, sir ! " He bowed gravely and was gone, and soon after she heard his horse go clattering out along the high-road. Then she crossed to the window and stood and watched the moon rise, big and round, above Dene Regis, and there was sadness plainly written in the drooping head. She was thinking of the laggard who had pledged his word to be here an hour and more ago—of the stranger who, without doubt or question, had taken up the errand. And life seemed a muddled business somehow to this girl who stood only on its threshold. Jack Lister, for his part, rode hard and keen for Preston. He had looked for a toilsome journey south in pursuit of the Prince he wished to serve. An hour ago he had been so ill of body, so tired and heart­ sick, that he had been glad to halt at Dene Regis for a night's respite ; yet now, with only fifteen miles between himself and the Stuart army, he felt no weariness. His horse, too, was fresh enough, once it forgot a touch of ill-temper because it had been dragged out from a cosy stable and a dream of a long night's ease. Mile after moonlit mile went by them— trot and gallop, or a walking pace up the rises —and few met them on the road. They went through an empty land, the hills rising sharp on either side as if to guard them, and Jack Lister's thoughts kept time to the swing of his horse under him. He remembered his wooing, the end of it, his bitterness and longing for some road of open action, and it all seemed far away, like a trouble that had harassed him in sleep. Action had come to his hand when he least expected it ; he was here among the free hills, Hearing the Prince's army with every stride, carrying a trust that concerned the lives and well-being, likely, of many loyal folk. And through the rhythm of the hoof-beats, too, there ran a silver thread of music—the voice, proud, tender, and reliant, that had bidden him go out on this venture into the unknown. " Only four miles more, lass," he muttered to his horse, as they neared the little inn in the hollow which was a landmark in those days for all who knew the Preston country. He went at a careful foot-pace down in the hollow, because the fall of the road was steep, and its mud showed treacherous and greasy in the moonlight. Until now he had been prepared for ambush—had kept a wary

MAGAZINE. eye to right and left as he crossed the desolate country—but the lights showing so snugly from the inn below, the sense of nearness to Preston, gave him such a pleasant foretaste of the journey's ending that he had no thought of attack. At the bridge in the hollow, just this side the inn, the road was shrouded by a clump of firs ; and from the half darkness, as he rose to the trot again, a hand clutched at his bridle. His horse reared, and he kept his seat more by good luck than horsemanship. " Who goes there ? " came a rough voice. " A traveller," said Lister, recovering something of the ready pleasantry by which he was wont to meet casual insolence on the road. " Thank you for nothing," growled the other. " A fool would guess- so far." Jack Lister had grown used now to the half light underneath the firs. He stooped from saddle, brought his riding-crop with a sharp upper-cnt against the point of the man's chin, and felt his reins free again. Yet for a moment he could not get his horse in hand ; and while the brute reared and fidgeted in the narrow road, a press of men, roused by the uproar, ran out from the inn's lighted doorway. At Dene Regis, while the cloaked lady watched the moon rise, serene and mellow, over the grey roofs of the village, a horseman clattered up to the door of the Angel Tavern, dismounted, and came in. The girl turned sharply, put a hand to her breast, as if some old heartache were reawakened. The un­ steady step she knew, and the voice calling thickly for the host—she knew that, too. She heard the host bustle out, heard the traveller ask if a lady were waiting here for him. " By your leave, sir, there's a lady here. She came late in the afternoon—her maid with her—and engaged rooms for the night. But I think she's not your lady." " Think, you rogue ? You're not here to think. Bring me a measure—a brimmer, you daft sobersides ! " " At your pleasure, sir." The girl halted irresolute, heard the traveller's voice again as he called the host back. " Why d'ye think she's not my lady ? " he asked, with the persistence of a half-sober man. " Because, sir, the gentleman she waited for came in a half-hour ago, and ordered supper, and left at her bidding just when the devilled kidneys were done to a turn. No

THE ANGEL hungry man leaves a dish like that to cool unless—well, unless, the right lady bids him." There was a moment's silence, an unsteady laugh. " This needs thinking over, host. Bring me a brimmer, I tell you."



He glanced at her once and then away. " I come late, Agnes, I know," he began, rubbing clumsily at a splash of mud on his three-cornered hat. " It was Tom Wigram played the deuce with my good resolutions.

' He knocked the tray and tankard to the floor and laughed quietly."

The girl came out into the passage, with its smoking lamp, its ships and antlers and faded sporting prints. She had thrown aside her hood, and the young, comely face was white and tired. " It needs thinking over, Ronald," she said quietly.

We sat down to the dice, to pass the time till I was to meet you here, and—and I come late " He broke off, chilled by her silence. " You've come late to many trysts, for the same reason, and I—I, like a fool, forgave you. But this—Ronald, did you



not understand ?—this was a tryst of honour. It was the Prince's business—not mine—and you vowed " "Well, I'm here, Agnes," he broke in fretfully. " I can sit a horse better than I can stand on my two feet. I—I'm fairly sober, Agnes. Give me the papers for the P/ince." " They are out of my keeping. They are riding the Preston road by now. You would not come, and—and one who was gentle to his finger-tips stepped in to take your place." He was sobered now. "All's gone, then ?" he asked suddenly, with sharp and bitter intuition. " I think so—yes." Her voice was low and pitiful, as if she sorrowed more for him than for herself. " I could have forgiven you so much—could have kept my place beside you, Ronald, when the old—the old infirmity came to you—but this was a point of honour." He knew it, and his temper blazed to fury. " Who was it took my place ? " he asked. " I do not know, except that he was loyal and a gentleman, and punctual to the Prince's tryst. Best follow him along the Preston road and ask his name. Without doubt he will give it to you." He turned, after one glance at her, and there were many passions warring in his face—shame and jealousy and frank lust of murder. He met the host, carrying the bumper he had craved for, and he knocked the tray and tankard to the floor, and laughed quietly with a strange and tranquil gaiety. " No, by your leave," he said. " I'm sober, host, and mean to keep so till I get to Preston. I—I have a duel waiting me." Jack Lister, at the inn in the hollow, four miles from Preston, found his horse sur­ rounded by a half-dozen troopers who wore the doubtful livery of the reigning kiug-in­ name. " We have waited for you, sir," said one among them, who seemed to be their leader. " You carry despatches from Lord Linstoke for the Pretender ? " " You're well informed ! " said Lister gaily. " It is news to me that I bear Lord Linstoke's despatches. AVho may he be, and why does he not carry his own messages ? " " You may spare yourself," put in the other, peremptory and dry. " We've waited for you, and we have you safe, and there's all worth knowing about Jacobite Lancashire

MAGAZINE. lying in your pocket. You will surrender, sir." " That's news again ! I did not know that I meant to surrender." The moon had crept up above the fir-tops now, and was flooding the hollow with a sharp, white-blue light. It was a good light for battle, thought Lister, as he watched the faces of the six troopers, and knew that their patience was fretting raw upon the curb. He called softly to his horse, and the brute rose gamely at the men in front, as if he took a fence on a hunting morn. One of the six was down now, and from the stillness of him, as he lay in the roadway, it seemed not likely that he would get up again before the fight was ended. The five remaining troopers were scattered ; but one of them lunged savagely with his pike before he fled, and struck Lister's horse through the flanks, and brought horse and rider down. Jack Lister got to his feet somehow. He was dizzied by the fall, but somewhere at the heart of him a stubborn song of battle was singing. He carried " all worth the knowing about Jacobite Lancashire," as the enemy had put it, and his own bodily in­ firmities were things of light account. He glanced backward, saw the narrow bridge that he had crossed just now, and retreated sharply. He took his stand be­ tween the grey stone parapets, and his sword played softly up and down, catching strange glints of blue and amethyst and silver from the unclouded moon. " If I carry despatches, find them, you louts ! " he said. And then the strange fight began. The troopers had left their pistol-belts behind them when they ran from the inn in answer to the uproar out of doors, and "had snatched up only the pikes that came hefty to their hands. And Jack Lister stood at the bridge, with one slender blade to guard him, and they came on, secure in the heaviness of their weapons, as dull souls are apt to be. There is a way of matching a Ferrara blade—that will bend, but cannot break— against the forward, clumsy thrust of pikes. Jack Lister had the lore of it by heart long since, and he fought by intuition. It was a pretty fight to watch, had there been on­ lookers—the first man running buoyant to the attack, finding his pike thrust carelessly aside, as by a trick of conjury, seeing the light sword-blade flash like blue quicksilver in the moonlight before it ran him through the heart.



The next came on, and again the blade pierced him and withdrew with dainty un­ concern. And Jack Lister, for all his grim face as he kept the bridge, was blithe at heart. He had been laid by when he needed action in the Stuart's service, and now the recompense had come. No memory stirred him of the rose-garden where he had wooed and lost, but a sharp remembrance came— keen, like the lilt of bagpipes—of a woman's voice that had bidden him, in the darkness of the Angel Tavern, carry forward des­ patches for the Prince. And he was here, with loyal Lancashire in the pocket of his riding-coat, and behind him the bridge, that admitted no stealthy onslaught from the rear. As it chanced, an enemy unguessed stood close beside him. The three troopers left, bewildered by the simplicity of the sword's answer to the pike, drew back and talked together, and were not eager to come on. And in that moment weakness—a sick, heavy weariness of the flesh that cumbered him—came to Jack Lister. So long as the speed and fury of the attack were meeting him, it was of slight account that he had lately risen from a sick-bed, had been long without food, had ridden beyond his strength. But now, in the pause that seemed endless, his brain yielded to the tiredness that had been kept at bay till now. It was as if a runner, going headlong for his goal by grace of second wind, were stopped just as he neared the winning post and asked to re­ construct his speed. And at last one of the three troopers ran forward to attack, and Jack Lister parried —usefully enough, but with clumsiness—and accounted for his man. But there was a mist about his eyes, and he knew that he could not last for long. Ronald Townhope, meanwhile—he who had come late to the tryst at the Angel Tavern, and had met with scant courtesy from the cloaked lady—rode hard and fast in pursuit of the horseman who had snatched his errand from him. He was sober now, though his pace did not suggest as much. Clear as a bell, over the wintry moors, down in the wet hollows, a voice pursued him as he rode—a girl's voice, low and sad with disillusion. " I could have forgiven you so much—could have kept my place beside you, Ronald—but this was a point of honour." And she was right. There was the rub, now that the wine had left him and he was free to see himself as he was—he had failed when loyal comrades had trusted to his honour.



He spurred his horse forward, pressing headlong over the greasy, ill-found track, striving to outride the accusing voice that would not let him rest. His one aim was to overtake the messenger before he reached the Prince, to fight with him on the open road for the privilege of carrying the despatches forward. His credit with the girl whom, in some muddled way, he loved —his peace of heart—all depended on this chance he had to redeem his honour. He rode so hard, and so luckily despite his break-neck pace, that he came in sight of his man when he reached the steep fall of the road that led to the inn in the hollow. He heard hoarse shouting down below, and went more warily ; and, as he drew nearer, he saw one swordsman standing in the moon­ light, a bridge behind him, and in front a press of men who carried pikes. He saw the swordsman fight till two of the enemy were down, and the remaining three drew sullenly apart. And his manhood took fire on the sudden, watching one hold his own against the many ; and, if he halted, it was only because he would not rob this unknown gentleman of a victory that seemed well within his reach. Townhope's thoughts ran swiftly as he. waited, half down the hill, for the issue of this bridge fight. He had no doubt that it was his supplanter who stood below, defend­ ing the despatches he should himself be carrying ; but jealousy, his personal shame, were lost in frank acknowledgment of courage against odds. There was grit in Ronald Townhope when wine would let his better self alone. He watched the third man come on and fall, and the fourth advance to the attack. And then, to his astonishment, he saw the bridge keeper reel and waver, for no reason that he could guess—saw him parry the other's weapon, and all but fall as he delivered a weak thrust that only piercec? the trooper's arm, making him drop his pike with a muttered growl of pain. It was' then that Townhope slipped from his horse and drew his sword, and ran lightly down across the bridge. It was plain that he was needed, loath as he was to rob this gentleman-errant of a victory gained by the lone hand. He reached Jack Lister in time to slip past him as he leaned, deadsick and dizzy, against the parapet, in time to take his place at the bridge-end while the slow-witted troopers were realising their advantage. He had not Jack Lister's knowledge of




the way to turn a pike aside by the trick of fence that looks so easy, and the full thrust of it took him in the breast, so that he fell, and lay there in mortal anguish. And Lister, drawing deep on the strength he had known in other days, came out of his dizziness, and, after all, he ended the fight by grace of the lone hand.

MAGAZINE. My friend—my dearest friend "—he tried to smile, and could not for the pain—" she taunted me just now. You will tell her that I died—on a point of honour." And he turned on his side, and there was an end peaceful beyond Jack Lister's under­ standing. For a while he stood there, finding some rough-and-ready prayer for the

''Jack Lister parried—usefully enough."

And then he stooped to Townhope. " You're hurt, sir ? " " Yes. It will finish me." Through the lines of pain, across the clouding eyes, a swift and startling happiness made way, as if the sun shone on the edge of coming night. " It goes better than I merited, sir—much better. I never found much grace in living.

soul of this comrade who had given his life to serve him ; and then, because he could do no more, and because all his instincts were practical and soldierly, he remembered the trust that had been given to his hand. He was still four miles from the Prince's camp, and the safety of Jacobite Lancashire still lay in the pocket of his riding-coat. His



own horse lay dead in the roadway near the inn, but from the hill behind he heard the whinnying of Townhope's horse. He got to saddle, but forded the stream because of what lay stark across the bridge, and swung up the track that led him to the Stuart camp. He gave his despatches into the Prince's hands, and fed his strength with food and wine, snatched hastily until the answer was ready for him to carry back to the Angel Tavern. And Prince Charles Edward, whose care was ceaseless for those who served him, noted his white face and weariness of gait, and he would have persuaded him to take a few hours' rest before returning ; but Jack Lister, with all submission, urged that his word was pledged to return at once, and the Prince liked that temper in a man. By hill-tracks known to him, avoiding the inn in the hollow—where by now the hunt would be up in earnest—Lister came again, on Ronald Townhope's horse, to Dene Regis and the Angel Tavern. He had ridden out at four of the afternoon, and now the curfew bell was tolling eight of the evening, for old customs die hard at Dene Regis. He got from saddle, slipped the reins through the ring fastened to the tavern wall, and halted a moment before going in. It seemed incredible that he had set out no more than four hours since, that he had covered in all no more than thirty miles of country. The village lay tranquil in the moonlight, as it had done when he set foot to stirrup at a lady's bidding. The curfew added one more note of peace to the beauty of the night. Yet, between his leaving and the galloping return, there had been the happenings at the bridge, and a sword fleshed in the Prince's service, and a road of peril chosen that admitted no retreat. He was tired, and the beauty of the night got hold of him. It seemed to match the low, steady voice that had bidden him carry forward the despatches and bring the answer back. The days of his thraldom in the rosegarden seemed far away—not because he was unstable of heart, but because he had fought since then for bigger issues that corrected his perspective. He turned sharply, ashamed of this dream­ ing in the midst of action, and crossed the threshold, and went into the little room on the left-hand. It was lit, not by the dim light of a red gloaming warring against a rising moon, but by the clear, soft light of candles. There was supper spread on the



table, and alone at the feast sat Lord Linstoke's daughter. She was not cloaked and hooded now, and, as he entered, she looked up and met his glance. For a little while they regarded each other in silence ; and each was thinking, without surprise or reticence, that the years behind, and the turmoil of them, had been so much prepara­ tion for this meeting, just as winter, secretly through east winds and storms, makes ready for full summer. " You are punctual, sir," she said at last. " I knew you would be." " I rode on your service, madam." And again there was a silence, threaded through and through by trust bright as silver and willowy as a sword-blade. And then Jack Lister put the Prince's message into her hands, and asked if he could serve her further by escorting her to Lord Linstoke's house. " You would ruin all," she said, with a haphazard smile. " There are spies thick about the house, and only women can carry despatches safely in this part of Lancashire. Oh, I shall be safe, sir. The distance is not great, and we shall travel, my maid and I, by chaise." " I choose to ride beside the chaise," he put in sharply. " Then you put my father's head in danger, sir, and you break your word. You promised to bring this packet to me here, and after­ wards to trust me with it. You "—with a sudden starry glance of trust—" you are dismissed, sir." She had risen, and they stood facing each other in the candle-glow. Men's hearts, and women's, do not measure certain matters by time or long acquaintanceship. Dawn breaks across the hills, and the new day strides forward, and there's no doubting what has chanced to make the world full of singing birds. Lister remembered suddenly the bridge in the hollow, the man whom he had left face upward to the stars, and, because he was punctilious by habit, he would accept no credit that was not his due. " I should have been less punctual," he said slowly—" indeed, I should never have kept the tryst at all, if one friendly gentle­ man had not come to me in time of need. I do not know his name, but he died for me and for the despatches that I carried." So then Lord Linstoke's daughter guessed the way of it, and drew from him the story of the bridge fight, and Ronald Townhope's message as he died, in pain and gladness.




And she went apart a little, as if in prayer, and then returned, her brave face lifted to the light. " I wronged him," she said gently. " He was the messenger who did not come. You took his place, and—and once I thought I —cared for him." A half-hour later Miss Linstoke and her maid were seated in the chaise that was to take them home. And the host, after bow­ ing them Godspeed on their journey with much ceremony, ran plump into Jack Lister's arms. " Your pardon, sir." " None needed, host. I missed your revels in honour of the heir's coming of age, but I drank your claret ! It heartened me for an astounding escapade." " An earthquake or a house on fire, sir ? " asked the other, with suave humour. " Both, I think," snapped Jack Lister as he got to horse. He had burned his bridges behind him by this astounding adventure of which he talked. He meant to return that night to the Stuart army and volunteer for further service ; but Miss Linstoke was travelling a road infested with footpads and evil vermin of the night. He rode behind her chaise until he knew that she was safe, and then, with a quiet heart, he turned his horse and went north over remembered ground toward the Prince's camp. The road was quiet and the night still as he jogged forward, and his thoughts ran temperate and steady, in tune with the lilt of his horse's hoofs. He would likely die— in battle or by the headsman—before this escapade was ended. By good chance, he might win through it, and either way it did not matter. He had served Miss Linstoke, had heard her voice and seen the starry way of her. And the road ahead was hidden, but he went forward, a cavalier who had no doubt or fear.

MAGAZINE. Miss Linstoke and her maid reached home. " I've met a man to-day, father," she said, putting the Prince's message into his hands. " Then you're lucky ! " snapped Linstoke, nursing two gouty feet that had kept him from the wars. " They're weak, these youngsters nowadays. Was he stiff, girl—a real man—or one of the fools who talk the night before, in their cups, of fences they're going to dodge the next day ? " " He has taken one good fence," said Miss Linstoke, heartsease playing round her face. " I've brought you proof of it." " What ? Ronald Townhope carried the despatches through ? " snapped the Squire. " Ronald proved himself a man ? I'll not believe it, child. The poppinjay " " Died very gallantly, father," she inter­ rupted, laying a hand on his sleeve. " It— it was another took the despatches on and brought the Prince's answer." So the Squire learned the way of it, and he paid tribute to the memory of Townhope, whom he had neither liked nor trusted. And then he took a pinch of snuff. " This other—you know that he rode well and fought well—you do not know his name or station—child, you'll be marrying him on the strength of such credentials. Oh, there, I hurt you ! It is the gout. And, to be sure, Townhope is scarcely dead. Men are blunt fools, girl." Miss Linstoke took her muddled thoughts upstairs, and sat long at the window of her bed-chamber, watching the moon bring dreams across the further hill-tops. And suddenly she knew that she was praying for the stranger's safety. She did not know his name or station, but she knew that some­ thing had come to her to-night, swift from the peril and the open roads, that would not leave her till she died. And whether Jack Lister lived or no, she was glad that they had met where the Angel Tavern fronted the quiet village street.


BROWN: What sort of game does Mr. Jones play? CADDIE : He cauna play at all. BROWN: Well, I'm playing him to-morrow. I Buppose I shall beat him? CADDIE: Na, ye will na.



Paterfamilias.—Don't waste time sorting over your money for bright florins ; most people prefer dull half-crowns. Matei•familias.—Don't keep too stern an eye on your hilarious half. Christmas comes but once a year, and, after all, he pays the fiddler. Eldest Son.—Don't choose too dark a corner to lie in ambush with a piece of mistletoe. You may be kissing your sister by mistake. Angelina.—Don't imagine, because you find the ring in your slice of pudding, and Edwin finds the threepenny bit, that papa will say "Yes." Edwin.—Don't search for Angelina's foot with yours beneath the festal board too ardently. Maiden aunts generally have corns. Tommy.—Don't make a slide outside the front door just before grandpa's arrival. Temper may be lost, also tips. Cissie.—Don't forget that, though it is unusual to have so many chocolates to run at, there is no novelty about bilious attacks. Fido.—Don't do yourself too well over turkey bones. Fits are fashionable on Boxing Day. Puss.—Don't doze in grandma's chair, however bored with the company. Eemember, the old lady is the heaviest of the whole lot. Jessie


W E have been watching him for a week or two now, and can detect the symptoms. There is a sanctimonious twist settling upon his lips, his eyebrows are arching in a sort of deprecatory sincerity, and when he sees a little boy or girl, he fidgets as though he wants to say something. He is perhaps practising self-restraint, but he knows, and we know, that he will break loose before long. He is the man who goes about telling children there isn't any Santa Claus. He's going to be honest, no matter how much happiness he spoils.

*=&2r " JENKINS says he and his wife are sending us a little Christmas present. What kind of presents do they usually give?" "Excellent. Why, some of those they gave ten years ago are still going the rounds as bridge prizes ! "

*w " Do you want a knife for Christmas very much, Tommy?" " I want it so much, mother, that I'm even 203 willing to write a letter to thank for it."




CHRISTMAS PARTY POLITICS. When young Willie went to the party,

His spirits received quite a blow.

How could he feel jolly and hearty ?

There was no

Mistletoe !

He polka'd with flaxen-haired Elsie

In a manner unusually staid,

He seemed surly-tempered, or else he

Was afraid

Of t h e maid.

For that party he'd wistfully waited—

For mistletoe stimulates p l u c k -

But now he declared he was fated.

He had struck

Cruel luck.

So he opened his heart, willy-nilly—

" P e r h a p s you have noticed they've got

No mistletoe, E l s i e ? " said Willie.

" Is it not

Utter r o t ? "

His flaxen-haired partner pouted,

And Willie's despondency chid;

She said he must manage without it.

So he did—

Lucky kid I


GILES : A 'eerd Varmer Tompkins zay one o' they airyplaues could fly vra Lunnon to 'ere i' nour an 'alf. OWD JARGE : Nuthin' very wunnerful 'bout that. It be all down'ill from Lunnon to 'ere. JONES : I can tell you, old m a n , I a m feeling p r e t t y cheerful t h i s morning. W e ' v e j u s t got word t h a t m y wife's family is coming t o spend Christmas w i t h u s . BROWN : Cheerful ! W h y cheerful over such a calamity ? JONES : W e l l , y o u see, if t h e y weren't coming to us, we should have t o visit t h e m .


going t o h a n g


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papa a n d m a m m a . S a n t a Claus.



PURCHASER: There is just one thing I don't like about her—she won't hold her head up decently. DEALER: Oh, that's only'er bloomin'pride, sir ! She will when she's paid for.


Y o u k n o w , t h e y believe in

A N E n g l i s h m a n a n d a Scot, travelling n o r t h together, h a d a game of cards t o pass t h e t i m e . On settling u p , as t h e y neared Carlisle, where t h e E n g l i s h m a n was t o get o u t , it appeared t h a t h e owed t h e Scot one shilling a n d sixpence half­ penny. H e paid one shilling a n d sixpence, b u t found h e h a d n o coppers. " A w e e l , " said t h e Scot, " never m i n d I I ' l l j u s t be t a k k i n ' your evenin' paper 1 "








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CHRISTMAS SHOPPING. S H K : NOW, George, dear, we have only to get Mabel's doll's-house and a rocking-horse for Tommy. H K : Are you sure there's nothing more, darling?



" TEN minutes past four ! " exclaimed the early worm. "This is the second time I've overslept myself this week, though some people might think ten minutes, one way or another, wasn't of much consequence. Suppose," he added, with a yawn, as he wriggled himself upright, " 1 was to break­ fast in bed for once ? The early morning is raw this time of year, even for the early worm. But, there, I am the early worm, and have got to live up to myself."

MAGAZINE. " Another half second, and I should have missed him altogether. As it was, I just caught him on the hop, as you might say. My nest was very comfortable this morning, and, just for once in a blue moon, I felt like taking it easy. But you can't be an early wormer unless you're an early riser, and " " Well, if that wasn't a bit of pure luck ! " said the early cat, licking his mouth "I've often heard the good old proverb about the early bird catching the early worm, and this morning I thought I'd just see where the early cat came


LAWYER : I suppose you are well acquainted with the defendant? WITNESS : Oh, yes, I've known him over twenty years. LAWYER: Has he, as far as you know, ever been a disturber of the public peace? WITNESS : Well, he—er—used to belong to a drum and fife band. He wormed his way out into the open air and began to look about him. " What a fuss those birds are making, to be sure ! " He gave an agitated wriggle. " I don't know how it is, but somehow I can't help wishing I had breakfasted in bed this morning. It would have been the first time in my life, but Ugh ! " He made a desperate effort to reach cover, but it was too late. " Near thing, that," remarked the early bird.

in. Let me see," he said, sitting down and scratching his ear thoughtfully. " ' The early bird catches the early worm, and is caught by the early cat.' That's how it ought to go. Well, the only thing I want now is a drink. I wonder if the early milkman f The early milkman put down his cans, rang the bell at No. 9, and whistled " Annie Laurie." As he whistled, he turned over in his mind the arguments for and against his asking Harriet Eliza to walk out with him. She was a nice little bit of goods, but—well,






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BALLADE OF OLD CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. Where are the cards of rainbow hue, The calendars, both " a r t " and gay, The perfume sachets, pink and blue, The fancy mantel vases, p r a y ? The gilded clocks in glad array, The bookmarks bearing " Xmas cheer," The roses modelled out of clay— Where are the gifts of yesteryear ? Where is the urn t h a t would not brew, The music never made to play, The ornamental china shoe, The paper-knife's inwrought display? Where is the silver hair-brush, say, The stand t h a t held a keg of beer. The padded copy of Omar K.— Where are t h e gifts of yesteryear ?



VICAR : Now, tell me, Tommy, what did you really like best at my party? TOMMY : When I seed Father Christmas's cotton whiskers ketch afire, sir. t h a t gingery - coloured hair generally m e a n t temper. T h e housemaid at No. 11 was a nice girl, too. N o t so much style about her, p'r'aps, as Harriet Hullo ! He turned round sharply at a lapping sound, and there was t h e early cat with his head in a milk-can. Harriet Eliza—whose version of t h e proverb was, " T h e early housemaid catches t h e early m i l k m a n "—opened t h e door j u s t in t i m e to get a cinematograph impression of t h e m i l k m a n ' s boot, a flash of tabby fur, and a feline yowl. " W h a t are you kicking our cat for ? " she demanded hastily, being a kind-hearted girl and fond of animals. " ' C o s he deserved it," was t h e reply. " I ' l l wring his neck next time I catch h i m m a k i n g free w i t h m y milk-cans 1 " " You'd better not let me catch you at it ! " she retorted. There were a few more words, and t h e n Harriet Eliza, having slammed t h e door in his face, retreated t o t h e k i t c h e n and burst into tears. " Now I 'ave been an' gone an' done it ! " she sobbed. And, sure enough, t h e n e x t afternoon—which was S u n d a y — w h o m should she see pass t h e kitchen railings b u t t h e early m i l k m a n , in Sabbath raiment of a distinctly audible p a t t e r n , walking out w i t h " t h a t hussy " from N o . 11 ! Harriet Eliza is still single, and, t h o u g h she has not t h e least suspicion of t h e fact, t h e individual most to blame is undoubtedly t h e early worm. A. L. Harris.

In the sordid ash-heap, hid from view, The most have ended their little day; In the dustbin and the rag-bag, too, A lot were quietly stowed away ; And some were posted without delay To distant cousins and aunties dear : Scathed and scattered and worn and grey— Where are the gifts of yesteryear? Lady, as through the shops you stray, All gay with tinsel and bright veneer, Ask yourself this, as your coin you pay— Where are the gifts of yesteryear?


N E W NURSEMAID : Is the missis short-sighted ? COOK: NO.


N E W NURSEMAID : Well, she come up to me as I was reading in the garden just now, and " What on earth is baby doing? " she says. And I should 'ave thought anybody that wasn't blind could 'ave seen as 'e was sittin' on the flower-bed, as 'appy as a king, amusin' 'is blessed self makin' a mud-pie !




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THE CHRISTMAS QHOST. ' In half a minute at the most, The clock will certainly be striking The hour," remarked the Christmas ghost, "For which I used to have a liking.

THEBK were some questions in geography required in the preliminary examinations for law students who aspired to admission to the Bar. " Name ten animals that live in the Arctic zone." One young man wrote : " Five polar hears and five seals. N.1Î. Permit me to call your atten­ tion to the fact that the question does not specify that the animals should be of diff rent varieties." He passed.


But haunting's slack, I grieve to say, And, though the show away I'm giving, 'Tis getting harder every day For ghosts to get a decent living.

"The modern house—I do not want To give offence, tar from it, very— But could you ask a ghost to haunt A red-brick villa built by Jerry?

A DEAF old lady, visiting a remote district in Scotland, was shown to a seat in the kirk on Sunday, and produced her ear trumpet so that


PusiiFur, PERSON (to celebrity) : Let's see. " I dare say; I often go there."

she might follow the service. This instrument was unknown in that locality, and its purpose misinterpreted, which accounts for the grave warning of one of the elders, who marched up to her and said : " One toot, and yell find yerself ootside ! "

" So you have adopted a baby ? " we ask of our friend. " Well, it may turn out all right, but don't you think you are taking chances'? " " Not a chance," he answers. " No matter how many bad habits the child may develop, my wife's family can't say he inherits any of them from my side of the house."

I'm sure I've met you somewhere !

"I used to frighten folks," he said, "And scare 'em from uneasy slumbers; It pays me better now, instead, Merely to haunt the Christmas numbers."

A. L. Harris.

A STIRRING romance was being read aloud, and in a glowing description of a desperate fight, where the hero performed prodigies of valour, the story told how his coal-black steed was "stabbed in the mêlée" when the small son of the house interrupted: " I n the mêlée? Wherever is that ? "




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ASK ME NO MORE. (A long way after Tennyson.) Ask me no more I The goose may draw my plate, Resistless is the sage and apple-sauce! The pudding I have patronised, of course, But more mince-pie? 1 fear to tempt my fate ! Ask me no more 1 Ask me no more I A poor dyspeptic spare I My friends, you surely would not have me ill ; I love not bitter draughts, nor potent pill ; Press me no further with your Christmas fare Ask me no more I Ask me no more 1 No more my taste entice I The luscious dainties shall attract in vain, 1 fear too much the after-price of pain: No, thank you! But, I say, that does look nicef Well, just one more 1






I T was after dinner, and some good old Christmas stories h a d been told. " I guess I can t o p all your tales," drawled an American. " One day m y mother made such a Christmas pudding t h a t when finished it weighed two t o n s . " His listeners gaped incredulously until t h e quiet man in t h e corner remarked : " Yes, 1 can vouch for t h a t , for m y father made t h e copper it was boiled i n . "


meeting }-ou


all tliese years! Why, you were a youngster with a slim figure and curly hair then ! Now it's your hair that's slim and your figure that's curly. HANDY HINTS FOR HAPPY HOMES. By John Fnyiie. How to prevent pipes freezing in winter : Fill with tobacco and smoke frequently. An easy way to preserve ginger : Lock it u p . A q u a i n t dado round t h e room m a y be obtained as follows : B u y a p o t of p a i n t and a m e d i u m sized brush. Obtain a b a b y — n o t one of your own—and place it a n d t h e paint near t h e wall, and allow an hour to elapse. T h a t is all. If you have a screw loose, don't waste t i m e looking for a screw-driver—see a doctor a t once. To keep china clean : J a p a n i t . To remove grease from dishes w i t h o u t s o d a : Place t h e m on t h e floor and whistle u p t h e dog. To keep a fire in : Lock all t h e doors, hide t h e latchkey, and don't let it go o u t . A beetle necklace m a k e s a p r e t t y present. Catch sufficient n u m b e r of t h e ordinary k i t c h e n beetle—the best bait is gin. Bake t h e m till well browned, t h e n pierce t h e m w i t h hairpins, and string according to requirements.


S H E : Hallo, Teddy! Do you believe in signs?

H E : Sometimes. Why ?

S H E : There is one outside the stores in the High

Street which says, " Buy your Christmas presents now."


A MAN left h i s umbrella in t h e stand in a hotel, w i t h a card bearing t h e following inscrip­ tion attached to it : " This umbrella belongs t o a m a n w h o can deal a blow of two hundred a n d fifty pounds weight. H e will be back in t e n minutes." On r e t u r n i n g t o seek his property, h e found in its place a card t h u s inscribed : " T h i s card w a s left here b y a m a n who can r u n twelve miles a n hour. H e will n o t be back."




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' ' I am fifty years of age, have su ffered depressed, and lacking in vigour and confidence another day ; you can be free for years from rheumatism, complicated from weakness and be the mental and with nervousness and insomnia, which physical equal of anyone of your age. , were making life an intolerable burden. The Vital power which you need will be Your Belt is simply wondeiful—it acted poured into your system by my Magneto like a charm, the pain of the rheu­ Bait of Life. \ matism subsiding from the first day, and by the end of three weeks I was a The following are a few brief | sound man once more." extracts from the chorus of • " I could actually feel energy return universal praise received from <ing to me. I was entirely run down' wearers of my Magneto Belt : i and a shadow of my former self, when I began wearing your Magneto Belt. " I a^n pleased to say that your Belt ! I have already gained several pounds has worked wonders. I have only worn in weight, and look and feel like a it four days, but I feel ever so much j different man. I am stronger and more batter. I have suffered from extreme vigorous than ever before."

Send to-day Postal Order f o r Is. only, a n d receive Belt by r e t u r n . Address : Mr. AMBROSE WILSON (Dept. 52), V u l c a n House, 56, L u d g a t e H i l l , London, E.C. GIVE SIZE OF WAIST.




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Irish Table Linens.

Linen Damask Table Cloths, in stripe, floral, and other designs, 2 x 2 yards, 9/ <:neh ; 2 x 2j yaids, 11/3 each. Napkins to match, 22 x 22 inches, 11/9; 26J x 2dl inches, 16/- dozen. Ctirraige Paidon all orders. Samples ami Illustrated Lists post free.

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'/, TURN i OVER m a k e s perfect Coffee every time. Every household needs one of these ideal coffee-makers The Tricolator w i l l remind y o u r f r i e n d o f y o u e v e r y d a y i n the year.

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It uses less Coffee . It filters the Coffee

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may be used with any coffee It is better, of course to use the best coffee-pure 5AN PAUtrJ'FAZENDA as supplied to the House of Commons. Government Offices, etc. etc Your

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and Tender Irritated Aching Feet

Many unsuccessful attempts have been made to relieve the suffering of those unfortunately deaf ; many un­ scrupulous quacks have brought out so-called cures which have only benefited those who sold them, It will interest those persons who are deaf to learn of a wonderful contrivance invented by a great Scientist that will perfectly restore the hearing at once. This marvellous invention (Patent 16313) enables the deaf to hear at once. No treatment, no cumbersome trumpets, absolutely safe and harmless.

W R I T E FOR FREE BOOKLET TO-DAY. THIS WONDERFUL INVENTION is based upon the principle of a telephone ; it not only enables the person to hear at short distances, but just in the same manner as an ordinary person. NO ONE NEED KNOW YOU ARE DEAF ; you can hear perfectly with the aid of this wonderful ne*v device, which gives you natural powers of hearing, and being entirely invisible it does not attract attention. There is no necessity for antiquated, cumbersome trumpets, speaking tubes, or other devices ; this absolutely harmless device takes the place of a natural eardrum, and enables you to hear just as well as a person not afflicted. IT DOES NOT MATTER WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF YOUR DEAFNESS (unless you were born deaf), you can hear with this appliance. It is equally efficacious in the case of a child as it is with an aged person. There is absolutely no discomfort, no metal, and no possibility of any harm arising, and it can be worn day and night without causing the slightest inconvenience. IT DOES NOT MATTER WHETHER YOU ARE DEAF through perlorated or injured eardrum, or through the effects of any disease or accident, the effect is the same— PERFECT. PERHAPS YOU ARE SCEPTICAL because certain ancient, cumbrous, dangerous, and inefficient appliances have failed to cure you " Failures do not inspire confidence." If there is the slightest doubt in your mind as to the merits of this invention, we would like you to write to us to-dav, because we can show you absolute POSITIVE PROOF that this invention has done more than any other appliance ever attempted, viz., restore the hearing to the deaf without treatment or medicine. IF YOU ARE AFFLICTED with this distressing complaint we cordially invite you to send at once for a valuable book describing this invention and containing convincing proofs of its genuineness. This book contains testimonials from grateful users in all parts of the world. We invite you to write to any testimonial we publish, also we would point out that every testimonial is un­ solicited. Therefore, if you are deaf, and would like to hear at once, write to-day, enclosing stamp for postage, to the MURRAY Co 103. Century House, 205, Regent St., London, W.





And Cuticura Ointment For red, rough and' chapped hands, dry, Assured, itching, feverish palms, and shapeless nails with painful finger ends, as well as for tired, aching, irritated, itching feet warm baths with Cuticura Soap and gentle applications of Cuticura Ointment are most successful. Cuticura Soap and Ointment are sold through­ out the world. A liberal sample 01 each, with 32-p. booklet 03 the care ot the skin and hair, posttree trom nearest depot : Potter Drug & Chem. Corp., sole props.. 133 Columbus Ave., Boston, U S A ; F N e w b c r y i Sons, 27. Charterhouse So,.. London: li. Towns & Co.. Sydney, N.S.W.: Lennon. Ltd .Cape Town; Mullcr, Maclean & Co., Calcutta and Bombay,



M ^ B E E T O N ' S



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Happy B o n n i e Leslie. Mrs, E. Cockburn, of 2, School St., Dawdon, writes us : " T h e benefit my child has derived front FrameFood is miraculous. He was born such a poor tiny morsel and did not thrive at all until I gave him FranieFood. He was at once a bit brighter, and soon became fat and rosy. He was never ill and cut bis teeth without troub'e. He walked when twelve months old, and is now a line borinie boy, admired for his strength and beauty." Write at once for Free Sample and Celebrated Dietary.

FRAME-FOOD CO., Ltd., Standen Road, Southfields, London, S.W.

INDIGESTION Is the primary cause of most of the Ills to which we are subject. Hence a medicine that stimulates the digestive organs will relieve quite a number of complaints.

WHELPTON'S VEGETABLE PURIFYING PILLS arouse the stomach to action, promote the flow of gastric juice, and give tone to the whole system. Headache flies away, Biliousness, Kidney Disorders, and Skin Complaints dis­ appear, while cheerful spirits and clear com­ plexions follow in due course. ASK. FOR

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RED WHITE BLUE For Breakfast & after Dinner.

In making;, use leys quantity, it being


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vS-t/tW V-oj^r "K*A C^CvwM ~\. i Nervous Breakdown, Paralysis— The thasflèr force which conquer*d the most peiilous afflictions and enabled him to endure amazing hardships, says Captain Henderson, is derived entirely from Phos/erine. fc..\posed by his adventurous life to an extraordinary series of misfortunes, from being disabled in action to sunstroke, enteric fever, and paralysis of the legs, this gallant officer was yet able, entirely owing to the aid0/Phos/erine, to leave the hospital and fight through to the end of the Boer War ! Under blows which make men reel and fall, Captain Henderson was so upheld by the vitalising and bracing qualités of Phosferine, that actually on his let urn lume he was robust and vigorous enough to win /our military prizes in one day, including the famous Victoria Cross Cup !

Cured with Signal Success. Captain D. E . Henderson, i, Marino Avenue, Clontarf, Dublin, writes:—"During the late boer War I had a severe shock fn«ui lightning, and an injury to the spine through my horse being killed in action and rolling on top of me. In India, some years previously, 1 had an attack of sunstroke, and was five months in hosp tal with enteric fever. These troub'es told upon me, and ultimately resulted in a complete nervous breakdown when in Pretoria. 1 was admitted to hospital when 1 had lost the use of mv legs. I was treated for neuritis and sent out only partly cured, and then «t irteri taking Phosferine systematically and regularly. T h e benefit I received was marvellous: in two months' time I was bark in the field ;md fought right through until the end of the war. Owing to a great financial loss, which preyed on mv mind, 1 had a secu'd breakdown, and the doctor told me that 1 would probably be paralysed /or ii/e. I thought again of Phosferine, and after using it about three weeks my strength gradually returned and the frightful depression and weakness left ine. The proof of which is that, in the military sports, I won /our prizes in one day, including the Victoria Cross Cup."—July 14, 1911.




A PROVEN Neuralgia Rheumatism Indigestion Lassituoe Premature Decay Maternity Weakness

REMEDY FOR Sleeplessness Nervous Headaches Anaemia Influenza Brain-fag Neuritis

T h e Royal Tonic Phosferine has been supplied by Royal Commands To t h e Royal F a m i l y I H.W. t h e King of Greece H.M. t h e King of Spain T h e I m p e r i a l F a m i l y o Chin:. H.I.M. t h e E m p r e s s of Russia! H.M. t h e Queen of R o u m a n l a And the Principal Royalty and Arislocracy throughout the world T h e 2/9 s i z e c o n t a i n s n e a r l y l o u r t i m e s t h e 1/1J s i z e .


/tt inroscojp©\

(Regincred Trade Mark.)


the Custard of absolute purity.




There is no end to the uses of the MIRROSCOPE. It will illustrate lectures on history, geography, travel, nature-study, numismatics, philately, &c. It will provide dozens of new games, simple or intellectual, to entertain the family circle or parties of children or Ï dudls. The M[RR<j3COPE is a marvellous development of the olcUfa&hianed magic lantern—with a difference • -there are no costly slides, and the range of subjects is practically endless, with no expense to speak of. Do you take photographs? The MIRROSCOPE will display your summer snapshots better than an album. No slides required either ! It shows upon the screen, greatly enlarged, any actual picture or photograph. Prices for new season's models, 15J. to 84J., fitted for electric, gas, or acetylene. Already stocked and demonstrated by Boots' Cash Chemists, Hamley's, Selfridge's, Ganiage's, Parke's Drug Stores, J. Fallow field, The Junior Army and Navy Stores, Spiers & Pond's Stores, &c. For free illustrated Booklet containing full particulars (demonstrations also arranged), apply to— CAKR BROS., Ltd., n , Queen Victoria Street, London, E.C.

Its refined appetising taste, and fresh fragrant smell, prove BIRD'S to be " t h e Custard of absolute purity." The delightful creaminess and rich store of nutriment in B I R D ' S make it the only enjoyable and really wholesome Custard. Take no risk. Accept no substitute. BIRD'S. Insist on




Different from dentifrices in efficiency, efficient at leaves the mout the condition

Its delicious flavour has aided the spread of dental hygiene by the care of the th a pleasure as well as a duty. sweet, 1 counteracts

A generous trial tube sent for 2d. in stamps.

COLGATE & Co. ( Ti.') 46, Holborn Viaduct, London. E.C.

E s t a b l i s h e d 1806. •

M a k e r s of t h e famous C o l g a t e ' s S h a v i n g Stick.

London : Printed bv WILLIAM C L O W E S & SfjNS, L T D . . Duke Street. Stamford Street, S.E., and Great Windmill Street, and Published Monthly by the Proprietors, W A R D , LOCK & C O . . L T D . . Salishnrw Klo'riSi» I ™ J ™ F r Editorial communications to be addressed " Tile Editor, ^^^•^•^^^^^^^^^^^"

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The Windsor Magazine 12-1911 vintage  


The Windsor Magazine 12-1911 vintage  


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