Strand Magazine v001i006 1891 06

rynard gold reef company, limited. 589 “ Not till this day week, not till I have “ But, my child, the place is full of gold.” made my way plain.” “ Then why did he turn it into a com¬ pany, my dear boy ? And why didn’t he Act IV. make you stick to it ? But you know nothing “ And so it means this. Oh, Rosie, you of the City. Now, let us sit down, and talk look lovelier than ever, and I’m as happy about what we shall do — Don't, you as a king. It means this. Your father is ridiculous boy ! ” the greatest genius in the world. He buys my property for sixty thousand pounds— Act V. sixty thousand. That’s over two thousand a year for me, and he makes a company out Another house just like the first. The of it with a hundred and fifty thousand bride stepped out of one palace into capital. He says that, taking ten thousand another. With their five or six thousand a out of it for expenses, there will be a year, the young couple could just manage profit of eighty thousand. And all that he to make both ends meet. The husband was gives to you—eighty thousand, that’s devoted ; the wife had everything that she th ree thousand a year for you ; and sixty could wish. Who could be happier than thousand, that’s two more, my dearest this pair in a nest so luxurious, their life so Rosie. You remember what you said, that padded, their days so full of sunshine ? when you married you should step out of one room like this into another just as It was a year after marriage. The wfife, good ? ” contrary to her usual custom, was the first “ Oh, Reggie ”—she sank upon his bosom at breakfast. A few letters were waiting —“yarn know I never could love anybody lor her—chiefly invitations. She opened but you. It’s true I was engaged to old and read them. Among them lay one Lord Evergreen, but that was only because addressed to her husband. Not looking at he had one foot—you know—and when the the address, she opened and read that as other foot went in too, just a day too soon, well: I actually laughed. So the pater is going to make a company of it, is he? Well, I “ Dear Reginald,—I venture to address hope he won’t put any of his own money you as an old friend of your own and into it, I’m sure, because of late all the schoolfellow of your mother’s. I am a companies have turned out so badly.” widow with four children. My husband was the Vicar of your old parish—you “oh, ROSIE. YOU LOOK LOVELIER THAN EVER!” remember him and me. I was left with a little income of about two hundred a year. Twelve months ago I was persuaded in order to double my income—a thing which seemed certain from the prospectus—to invest everything in a new and rich gold mine. Everything. And the mine has never paid anything. The Company—it is called the Rynard Gold Reef Company—is in liquidation because, though there is really the gold there, it costs too much to get it. I have no relatives anywhere to help me. Unless I can get assistance my children and I must go at once—to-morrow—into the workhouse. Yes, we are paupers. I am ruined by the cruel lies of that prospectus, and the wickedness which deluded me, and I know not how many others, out of my money. I have been foolish, and am pun- nished : but those people, who will punish them ? Help me, if you can, my dear Reginald. Oh ! for God's sake, help my children and me. Help your mother’s friend, your own old friend.” “ This,” said Rosie, meditatively, “ is exactly the kind of thing to make Reggie uncomfortable. Why, it might make him unhappy all day. Better burn it.\" She oQ

c;oo THE STRAND MAGAZINE. C/ / dropped the letter into the fire. “ He's an u Kiss me, Rosie.\" He looked as hand¬ impulsive, emotional nature, and he doesn’t some as Apollo and as cheerful. “ I wish understand the City. If people are so all the world were as happy as you and foolish. What a lot of fibs the poor old me. Heigho ! Some poor devils, I’m pater does tell, to be sure. He’s a regular afraid-\" novelist—Oh ! here you are, you lazy boy! \" “ Tea or coffee, Reg ?

Portraits of Celebrities at different times of their Lives. JOHN LAWRENCE TOOLE. Bedford, will be always remembered in HER EVER the English connection with that theatre. It was tongue is spoken the name of during this period that our first two por¬ J. L. Toole is traits were taken. The a household From a] U'hoio. third portrait represents word. After him at forty-five years of winning his age, before which time spurs in Dublin, he made he had produced Byron’s his first appearance in Lon¬ “ Dearer than Life ” at don at the St. James’s the Queen’s, Henrv Theatre, which was Irving playing Bob then under the man¬ Gassett, and Lionel agement of Mrs. Sey¬ Brough Uncle Ben. mour. This was in The theatre he built 1855. From the St. for himself in King O James’s he migrated William - street was AGE 25. From a Fhoto, AGE 45. From a Photo. to the Lyceum, where From a Photo, by] PRESENT DAY. [Burton Bros., Dunedin. opened in 1879. Our he played, among fourth portrait was other characters, taken in Dunedin, Blip Flap to Charles New Zealand, about Dillon’s Belphegor, five months ago, in Mrs. Bancroft, then the course of his re¬ Marie Wilton, being markably successful in the cast. It was tour through the but a step from the Australasian colo¬ Lyceum to the Adel- phi ; and his merry nies. reign there, in con¬ For these portraits junction with Paul we are indebted to Mr. Toole’s courtesy.

59^ THE STRAND MAGAZINE. EDWARD S. WILLARD. followed, leading to his engagement at the Princess’s under the management of Mr. Born 1854. Wilson Barrett. His performance of the Spider in “The Silver King\" was no less R. E. S. WILLARD, whose popular than that of his chief. Although career at the Shaftesbury Mr. Willard’s position in the first rank of Theatre within the last two actors could not have been long delayed, years firmly established his his sudden leap to the front was almost claim to be regarded as one the result of a fortunate accident. He of our few really great actors, had accepted a long engagement from Mr. Hare for the new Garrick Theatre, From a] .AGE 18 [Photograph. From a] .AGE 27 [Photograph. made his first bow which, fortunately to ,a; theatrical au- dience at the for Mr. Willard, Theatre Royal, was cancelled by Wevmouth, in De- cember, 1869, and him when he re¬ afterwards gained some useful expe¬ fused to play the riences on the opening part as¬ “ Western Circuit.” signed to him. This In 1875 he married Miss EmilyWaters, left him free to as¬ now well known in sume the reins of literary circles as “ Rachel Penn,” management at and then he made the Shaftesbury his first appearance in London at the Theatre, where his Covent Garden remarkable per¬ Theatre. Five years of hard work formances of Cyrus in the provinces Blenkarn and Ju¬ dah established his claim to pre-emi¬ nence, and more than justified the faith and confi¬ dence of his nume¬ rous admirers. From a Photo, by] AGE 36. [,/. Tnnpfotan (Irore.

PORTRAITS OF CELEBRITIES 593 of the chief provincial theatres in a variety of characters. These early studies, combined with great natural abilities, have borne the fruit to be expected ; and to-day Miss Rorke, as the frequenters of the Garrick Theatre know to their delight, is one of the most charming and finished actresses at present on the English stage. AGE l6. PRESENT DAY. MISS KATE RORKE. ISS KATE RORKE, at the age at which our first por¬ trait represents her, was al¬ ready on the stage, in the character of one of the little school-girls in “ Olivia.\" At fourteen she was still a stage school-girl, this time in the Bancrofts’ production of “School\" at the Haymarket. Soon after¬ wards she joined Mr. Charles Wyndham’s touring company, and at the age of our third portrait was delighting the audiences

594 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. AGE 7. From a Photo, hi/ Messrs. II . # i). Downer. board H.M.S. Britannia at Dartmouth. At nineteen, he became an undergraduate at Trinity College, Cam¬ bridge ; after which he was transferred to Aldershot to tudy military science. These portraits are pub¬ lished by special arrange¬ ment with Messrs. W. and D. Downey, whose permis¬ sion thus to reproduce pho¬ tographs of celebrities from their enormous and unique assortment we are the first to obtain. THE DUKE OF CLARENCE AND From a Photo, by] AGE 26. [Messrs. W. 8r D. Doicney. AVONDALE. Born 1864. T the age of seven Prince Albert Victor was receiv¬ ing his education at home. At fourteen — at which age he is here depicted in a Highland costume—he was, like his brother George, a cadet on

PORTRAITS OF CELEBRITIES. ‘9! conspicuous gifts of grace PRESENT DAY. [Jfessrs. IV. d■ D. Downey. and beauty for which her Royal mother is so pre¬ eminently distinguished. That such has been the case throughout her life is manifested by the charming portraits which here represent her from the age when, as a solemn baby, her first photo¬ graph was taken, down to her appear¬ ance at the present day. These portraits are reproduced by special arrrangement with Messrs, W. and D. Downey. From a Photo. 6?/]

THE SEEAND MAGAZINE. From a Photo, by] age 3. [.Mzssrs. W. & F>. Downey. From a Photo, by] age 5. [Messrs. IID.Doumey. From a Photo, by] AGE 18. [Messrs. W. d D. Downey, From a Photo, by] AGE 14. [Messrs. II d D.Downey. PRINCE GEORGE OF WALES. Born 1865. F Prince George at the ages j AGE 25. [Messrs. W. & D. Downey. of three and five we have , nothing to record ; but at I the time at which our third I portrait represents him, he was a middy on board H.M.S. From a Photo, by] Britannia. A sailor is always a popular member of all classes of society, and “ our sailor prince ” enjoys the reputation of being among the most popular of his profession. These portraits are reproduced by special arrangement with Messrs. W. and D. Downey.

PORTRAITS OF CELEBRITIES 597 From a Photo, by] age 18. [Levitsky, Pari*. From a Photo, by] age ig. [Bergamasco, St. Petersburg. Prom a Photo, by] AGE 25. [Sarony, New York. From « Photo, by] PRESENT DAY. [Barony, New l ork. MME. ALBANI. HE first portrait we give of Mme. A1 b a n i - G y e shows her at eighteen years, when a student under M. Duprez, of Paris. The second represents her at nineteen, as La Sonnambula, in which role she made a triumphant debut in 1872 at Covent Garden. Mme. Albani spent her 25th birthday in New York, where she created the part of Elsa. The last photograph represents her as Desdemona, a character which particularly appeals to her.

THE STRAND MAGAZTNE. In 1885, on pleasure bent, she came to England, and, in the cause of a charity, made her debut at the Albert Hall, since when she has been continually sought for concerts in town and country. Only a few weeks back she appeared for the first time in a London opera at Covent Garden, where she is now performing. From a Photo, by] age 18. [3/. Hansen. Stockholm. From a Photo, by] ACE 24. [Florman. From a Photo, by] AGE 27. Chancellor, Dublin.] MISS AGNES JANSEN. HE first photograph we give of Miss Agnes Jansen brings her before us at eighteen years of age, then a student at the Royal Academy of Music in Stockholm. Under the guidance of her accomplished master, Hugo Beyer, she made such marked pro¬ gress that she was shortly afterwards engaged to appear in the leading contralto roles at the Opera House of her native city.

Humours of the Post Office. With Fac-similes. ii. HE pages in the “ Post Office a somewhat remarkable envelope — suf¬ Album,’’ through which we ficiently suggestive, however, to reach him were looking in our last num¬ (Fig. 3) ; whilst the Receiver and Account¬ ber, are by no means exhausted. ant-General of the Post Office received a There is yet another curiously veritable puzzle in “ Receive the county addressed missive to Her general Cheapy hall London ” (Fig. 4). One remaining specimen (Fig. 5) here reproduced Majesty—“ To the lady queen vicktorieha —which was actually delivered to the proper queens pallice London” (Fig. i); the late persons for Earl of Beaconsfield was also signalled out whom it was for an hieroglyphic wrapper (Fig. 2) ; the intended — we gentleman occupying the civic chair at the will leave to Mansion House in 1S86 was the recipient of those of our readers who revel in the un¬ ravelling of the mysterious. T urn o v e r another leaf, and you are re- quested to make yourself acquainted with an inter¬ esting little Welsh town in Merioneth¬ shire, familiarly known as u Llanllanfairpyllghyllgheryogo- gogoch and the next page gives rise to un¬ bounded sympathy for the unfortunate post¬ man who dutifully delivered a letter to—

6oo THE STRAND MAGAZINE. “Mr. Paddy O'Raf¬ account by a foreign one. A ferty O’Shaug- minister, evidently just ordained, nessy, and residing in Jamaica, is depicted in the pulpit with his old college ‘The Beautiful Sham¬ cap and boots in the distance, with rock ' the reminder to “ Never forget old friends.” One envelope strongly Next door to Barney suggests that somebody has a Flynn’s Whiskey weakness for anything but toast Store. and water, for the gentleman is represented fast asleep, with a Knock me down en¬ huge barrel of beer above him, and tirely street, the tap still flowing freely into his opened mouth, which is waiting Stratford on Avon to receive it. In the County Cork The volumes devoted to humours if ye like .Dublin.'’ FIG. 4. One gentleman is evidently partial to boxing—all his en¬ velopes are pugilisti- cally illustrated, whilst another indi¬ vidual’s wrappers al¬ ways bear a request —in big capitals—to carry his communica¬ tion by a British vessel, and on no nearer at home are brimming over with merriment, whilst not a few leaves contain somewhat serious impressions. Sug¬ gestions of holiday making form a pro- minent feature. Pretty and effec¬ tive-views of the sea and country lanes, picturesque valleys and moun¬ tains, are liberally displayed on the

HUMOURS OF THE POST OFFICE. 601 various enve¬ FIG. 6. lopes. One lady is at Margate, at¬ Another envelope, bearing the Peckham tired in such mas¬ post-mark, thus silently appeals :— culine clothing, with binocular “To Exeter fair city, by Western Mail, under her arm, Good postman, send me without fail ; that the artist And when in Devonshire 1 arrive, has added a flow¬ Over Exe Bridge and through St. ing beard to her Thomas drive, face. There is Past the old turnpike, and up the hill a landlady pre¬ Held sacred to Little John’s still, senting a bill, Just where the road begins to turn, whilst the next You’ll find Rose Cottage and Mrs. is really a very Hearn. original idea of Ask her if there's a fair young lass the various Come down from London her holidays stages of matri¬ to pass; mony. On a To her please deliver without delay, numberof boards for I’m postage paid, and so you need resting on an not stay.” easel, is one marked “ 1883,” The poetry is not great, but it is with a pair of suggestive. lovers drifting down a stream An eminent maker of umbrellas in a boat, whilst received a most artistic wrapper, ‘‘1884'’ finds the same pair in wedding gar¬ with numerous illustrations show¬ ments. Other “ years ” are waiting for their ing the position his umbrellas held events in the lives of the young people. amongst the community. Gentle¬ men are using them as a means of Poetical addresses are as numerous as they roaming the seas, whilst a more are varied. Here are one or two examples. A adventuresome spirit, remarking postman read the following instructions :— that “ Umbrellas make you rise in the world,’’ is going up a la balloon with one. Finally, “ Near Bristol City may patience lead thee ; at the death of the worthy manufacturer At Totterdown Row—postman, heed me— his own umbrella is carried in state followed Stands Gordon House, ’tis passing fair, by an appreciative populace, and the head And Mr. Brittain dwelleth there. of his memorial stone is further decorated by a number of these very useful pro-

602 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. FIG. 8. her of enthusiastic fishermen making every effort to har¬ lectors. The uncertainty of our glorious poon some whales. A stalwart Highlander, in all his glory, climate is the subject for another wit, who appears upon another, wish¬ ing “ A guid New Year to ye,” has drawn a monumental stone over which and as he holds out a palm almost as large as himself, he a watering can is freely flowing with the merrily exclaims, “And here's a hand, my trusty fren’ ! ” words— 0, An invalid is lying with a Sacred heavy box on him, labelled appropriately “A Chest Com¬ to the plaint.” John Bull and Young Australia occupy two corners memory of the fine weather of the wrapper, shaking hands across the sea, whilst the which departed from this land next is a loving message to an ocean roamer, showing an June, 1888. energetic little nigger indulg¬ ing in what is frankly ad¬ Also mitted to be a “ mangled the sun of the above. version of an old song,” to the effect of— One envelope has an ingenious direc¬ “ Good bye, John, tion on it. It is Don’t stop long, intended for s.s. Kaicoiv, lying in Come back soon to your numberless chickabiddies ; the Red Sea. It My heart is low, shows a very intel¬ The winds blow so, ligent-looking sow labelled K, with a And takes away my sailor.\" belt round it in the form of the letter C Niggers seem strong favourites for illus¬ painted red. trative purposes. A magnificent specimen A so m ewliat of a black is that of a gentleman in a huge similarly addressed broad-brimmed straw hat, with the name wrapper is one de¬ and address written 011 an equally pro¬ spatched to Wales. digious collar. The gentleman destined to Swansea is repre¬ sented by a swan FIG. 9. with a capital C in the immediate vicinity of its tail (Fig. 6); whilst fol¬ lowing the word South is a repre¬ sentation of a num-

HUMOURS OF THE POST OFFICE. 603 FIG. IO. proved too heavy, and was allowed to receive the letter rejoiced m the name of fall to the ground, Black, hence the presence of our dark much to the evi¬ friend (Fig. 7). Here (Fig. 11) is a merry dent hurt of one little drummer boy, whose face is hidden of those engaged in by the paper he is reading, which bears the job (Fig. 9). the postage stamp. “ The lion is a A young lady residing at Port Elizabeth noble animal, and probably felt a shock when she found on an to his keeper he envelope from “ home,” a gentlemanly but appears to possess gluttonous cannibal making a small lunch no small degree of out of a venturesome white man, whom he attachment.” So is swallowing at a single bite. “ A Native says an envelope Swallowing a Settler” is the comforting with the king of inscription on it. Equally startled, too, beasts taking his probably, was the lady who found that she unwary keeper into had been singled out as “ Lost, Stolen, or his paws. Strayed,” with a crowd of interested on¬ lookers—including representatives of the It is needless to military and police—eagerly scanning the say that married bill on which was set forth her name and people receive a fair address (Fig. 8). share of attention from the envelope What looks like a sly hint at matrimony artist. The “ delighted parent ” is in was sent by an amorous swain to a young- strong evidence, whilst the nurse ap¬ damsel at Cape Town. A gentleman’s proaches with gladdened step and joyfully head, labelled “ An unfurnished flat,” exclaims “ Twins, sir ! ” surely suggests house furnishing. Page And a wit winds the series up with a after page of the postal scrap-book is request on his missive addressed to the care replete with illustrations : artists, sculptors, ol a post-office to the effect :—u Don't give eminent politicians, all classes of the com¬ him this unless he calls for it.” munity, all have their own particular We append a couple of illustrations “ skit ”—a musician, probably, and a violin¬ ist to wit, receiving his envelope with a FIG. II. pictorial representation suggesting the weight of his instrument, so much so that it took a couple of men to carry it between them, and even then the fiddle and case

604 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. which seem to have escaped the usually sun looks on somewhat dubiously from keen eye of those at the Post Office, always above (Fig. 10). The second is a specimen on the look-out for these little curiosities in of many similar ones which arrive at the envelopes. One is kindly forwarded by a office of Tit-Bits, and depicts the various gentleman interested in these “Postal stages through which a letter passes whilst Humours,’’ and shows a boar partial to on its way to compete for the weekly boating playfully flying a kite, on the tail “Vigilance Prize,” until it is finally handed of which is the name and address. The in at its proper destination (Fig. 12). # (y» cuAMce) FIG. 12.

Celebrated Beauties. Woman, be fair, we must adore you ; Smile, and the world is all before you.” OOKING back across the gulf are now going to take a glance at some of of years which divides us these fair magicians, whose stories read, from the latter portion of the many of them, like fairy tales ; Cinderella, last century, we must be for instance, pales before the history of the struck by the total change two Irish girls who, more than 150 years that has passed over society ago, crossed the fish-pond which divides generally. No men like those giants in the sister countries, and came to seek their intellect, Chatham, Fox, Swift, Johnson, fortunes, with only their lovely faces pour now fill the canvas ; no fine gentlemen, toutpotage. The surpassing beauty of the who, as Thackeray says, were in them¬ sisters has become matter of history, nor, selves a product perhaps, is there of the past, and a parallel in¬ for which the stance of mere finikin, white- beauty exciting vested masher is so extraordinary but a poor sub¬ a sensation as stitute. And the that produced women !—those by these portion¬ wondrously fair less girls. creatures, whose Horace Wal- faces have been pole, writing to handed down to Sir Horace us by Reynolds Mann, says :— or Gainsbo¬ “You w h o rough, and who know England smile at us from in other times their gilt frames. will find it diffi¬ What witchery cult to con¬ in the almond- ceive what in¬ shaped eyes, difference reigns long and lan¬ with regard to guishing ; what Ministers ; the pouting lips ; two Miss Gun¬ what arched and nings are twenty lovely necks ; times more the what queenly subject of con¬ dignity in their versation than gait and car- the Duke of r i a g e, and Newcastle or withal nothing LordGranville.” of the volup¬ Again he tuous immo¬ ELIZABETH GUNNING (DUCHESS OF HAMILTON). eays : — “ The desty which (From the Picture by C. Read.') Gunning girls marks the have no fortune, wanton beauties of Charles lids Court: and are scarce gentlewomen, but by their they were mistresses, these were wives. mother. (She was the Honourable Bridget There was never a period when so much Bourke, third daughter to Theobald, sixth homage was paid to beauty as in the last Viscount Mayo.) The Bourkes have century. Men went mad for a lovely face, Plantagenet blood, quite enough to com¬ fought duels for a smile or a flower given pensate for the inferior tap ol the by their mistress to a rival, and threw Gunnings.” Drudence to the winds to obtain her. We Maria was the eldest of “ the goddesses,” RR

I, 5 6o6 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. as Mrs. Montagu styles the two girls. She the park, the people stareo at her so much ; was born in 1733, Elizabeth two years later. Consequently, when they appeared upon which George 11. sent her a guard to in London, one was nineteen, the other seventeen. keep the starers in order. This incident caused the circulation of the accompanying The character of the beauty of the Gun¬ ballad, composed by Horace Walpole :— nings will be seen in the accompanying portrait of Elizabeth —•' long swimming i: Shut up the park, I beseech you, eyes, and small, delicate mouth, and the Lay a tax upon staring so hard ; soft, composed face, breaking from between the two lace lappets, secured in a top-knot Cr, if you’re afraid to do that, sir, over the head. I'm sure you will grant me a guard. Soon both sisters had admirers. “ Lord “ The boon thus requested was granted, Coventry, a grave lord of the remains of the patriot breed,” dangled after t he warriors were drawn up with care. Maria, while Elizabeth was singled out by the Duke of Hamilton, who was wild With my slaves and my guards I’m surrounded, and dissipated. He fell desperately in Lome, stare at me now, if you dare ! ” love with the young beauty, who, on her side, was well tutored by her Plantagenet The beautiful Coventry enjoyed her title mother how to play the noble fish she had but a short time, killing herself by the ex¬ on her line. The sequel is Aveil known ; cessive use of white paint. She died at the how the Duke, inflamed by Elizabeth's early age of twenty-eight, and it was a coyness and coquetry, insisted upon the tribute to her that she was regretted by all extempore marriage at midnight, the who had known her ; even the heartless set curtain-ring doing duty for a golden fetter. wno made up her world have a word of Her sister’s good fortune decided the fate sorrow for this beautiful simpleton. of Maria, who in a short time wedded her grave lord. Elizabeth was more nrosperous. Her life from end to end was a success. She It is an old maxim that “Nothing suc¬ was double-duchessed. marrying, a second ceeds like success,” and the furore caused time, after a year’s widowhood, Colonel by the “ goddesses ” increased after their Campbell, who succeeded to the Dukedom elevation to the peerage. “ The world is of Argyle. The Duke of Bridgewater had still mad about the Gunnings/1' The also proposed for tiei. She was created Duchess of Hamilton was presented on Baroness in her own right, and given the Friday ; the crowd was so great that even office of Lady of the Bedchamber to Queen the noble crowd in the drawing-room clam¬ Charlotte. She died in 1791, having been bered upon chairs and tables to look at her. mother to four dukes and wife to two, a There are mobs at their doors to see them dignity which few women could claim. get into their chairs, and people go early to get places at the theatre when it is known Here come another pair of charming they will be there. Doctor Sacheverell sisters, Catherine and Mary Horneck, never made more fuss than these two daughters to Reynolds’ kinsman, Captain beauties.” A shoemaker got two guineas Kane Horneck ; they are best known to for showing a shoe he was making for Lady this generation through the medium of Coventry. But the mind of her ladyship Oliver Goldsmith’s admiration for them, was not equal to her beauty, the fact being past as the Miss Berrys' best claim to cele¬ that neither of the girls had been edu¬ brity is Horace Walnole’s quasi-Platonic cated decently. The Duchess, however, friendship. The loving nicknames of the concealed her deficiency better than “Jessamy Bride” and “Little Comedy,” Lady Coventry, who, Horace Walpole which were given to the sisters by Oliver, tells us, said every day some new “ spro- show the terms of intimacy upon which he posits.\" Stories flew about of her sayings siood. And this friendship seems to have which, no doubt, lost nothing in the Drought out some of the best points in the repetition ; as when she told the good- character of the lovable author of the natured king that the only sight she wished “Immortal Vicar.” Now we see him lead¬ to see was a coronation. It was to him she ing them through the crowded masquerade also complained that she could not walk in at the Pantheon, arrayed in his plum- coloured suit and laced hat ; or he is con¬ * Horace Walpole’s 1 e-tlers. ducting them and their mother on a trip to Paris, his simple, harmless vanity highly pleased at being the escort of such a lovely trio (for Mrs. Horneck was as handsome as her daughters). As usual, his innocent pride was misinterpreted. Boswell, whom Horace Walpole calls tne “ Mountebank to a zmno,” talks of ins envious disposition,

CEL EBRA TED BEA UTIES. 607 and adds that when accompanying two H——k as much enamoured, you would beautiful young women with their mother not sigh, my gentle swain, in vain.’ ” on a tour in France, he was seriously angry On reading this, Goldsmith fell into one that more attention was paid to them than of his sudden furies. He rushed off to the to him. But Boswell seems always to have publisher, Evans, and beat him with his hated Goldsmith. cane. Evans, who was a sturdy man, re¬ Of the two sisters, Mary, the younger, turned the blows ; the combatants were at the “ Jessamy Bride,” seems to have ex¬ last separated, and Goldsmith was sent erted a strange fascination over him. home in a coach much disfigured. The “Heaven knows,” as his biographer, Mr. affair did not end here ; the poor, sensitive Forster says, “ what impossible dreams poet was abused in every newspaper of the may have come to the awkward, unattrac¬ day, all steadily ignoring the real ground tive man of letters,” but he never aspired of offence. He had in the end to pay fifty to other regard than his genius and simpli¬ pounds to Evans for the assault. city might claim at least, for the sisters It is pleasant to think that during the heartily liked him, and perhaps the hap¬ lifetime of the poet no rival disturbed his piest years of his life were passed in their peace of mind. Catherine, “ Little Comedy,” society.\" married early Mr. Bunbury, second son to One is glad to hear of even a ray of Sir Charles Bunbury, of good Suffolk family, happiness crossing the path of the poor, but up till the time of Oliver’s death, the sensitive poet ; but it was nevertheless “ Jessamy Bride ” had no declared lover, through his admiration for the “ Jessamy nor did she marry Colonel Gwynn until Bride” that he met one of those mortifica¬ three years later. Both sisters mourned tions which press keenly upon one of his their gentle friend sincerely. At their re¬ highly strung, nervous temperament. This quest his coffin was opened that a lock of annoyance came when he was in the full hair might be cut from his head for them. tide of the success of “ She Stoops to Con¬ It was in Mrs. Gwynn’s possession when quer.” We may assume that the sweetest she died nearly seventy years later. She part of this lived to a great success had been age, preserving that it raised her beauty even him in the eyes in years. The of his dear Graces in her Mary. Nine case had days after, The triumphed over London Packet, Time. Haslett in an abusive met her at article directed Northcote, the against the artist’s ; she was author of the talking of her new comedy, favourite, Dr. attacked him Goldsmith, with coarsely. “Gold- recollection and smith had affection, un¬ patiently suf- abated by age. fered worse “I could attacks, and almost fancy the would doubtless shade of Gold¬ here have suf- smith in the ered as patiently, room,” adds if baser matters Haslett, “look¬ had not been ing round with introduced, but complacency.” the libeller had Let us make invaded private place now for life and dragged the most lovely in the ‘ Jessamy 1\\IAKY AND CATHERINE HoRNECK. of all SirJoshua’s Bride.’ ‘Was (F, ovi the Viet are by Sir Joshua Reynold-.') lovely creations but the lovely —a n d t h e

6o8 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. woman in the flesh was quite as beautiful. Here we have another group of sisters — Her beauty got her a royal husband, Irish too—the Miss Montgomerys, daughters hers legally with all sanction of Church, to Sir William Montgomery. They are but not of State. Ah ! there was the painted by Sir Joshua as twining wreaths sore place. It was, in fact, her beguiling round a statue of Hymen, a pretty allegory, of the Duke from the right path of royalty for the three girls were standing hand in that induced the famous Marriage Act of hand on the threshold of Hymen, one of 1772. The Duke of Cumberland, third them being engaged to Mr. Gardiner, brother to George afterwards Lord III., was little Blessington ; the more than an over¬ other to the grown schoolboy ; Honourable J. h is manners, Beresford ; the W r a x a 11 says, third and hand¬ made his faculties, somest to the which were limited Marquis of Towns- enough, appear hend, then Vice¬ even meaner. He roy of Ireland. was immensely The Marquis, who attracted by Lady was son to the odd Anne Horton, re¬ Lady Audrey, who cently a widow, figures in Walpole and daughter to and Selwyn, was Colonel Simon a frank and fear¬ Luttrell, of famous, less soldier, having or rather infamous fought at Det- memory ; an Irish¬ tingen and Font- man of wild, enoy. His fancy roistering habit, had been taken by who had been put Miss Montgomery, forward to fight whom he had seen Wilkes, and so some two years made Lord before performing Carhampton. ANN, DUCHESS OF CUMBERLAND. in a Masque of Anne Horton {From the Picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds.') Comus at Marlay, is described as the residence of having bewitching, languishing eyes, which Mr. Latouche. He had then prophesied she could animate to enchantment if she she would be a lovely woman, and felt pleased. Her coquetry was so active, so bound to set the seal of his approval upon varied, and yet so habitual, that it was the fair creation. Airs. Delaney says difficult not to see through it, and yet as that the women did not admire Lady difficult to resist. She danced divinely, Townshend, which, no doubt, is a proof sang charmingly, and was by no means that she attracted the admiration of the deficient in talent. Like all the members worthier sex. In Sir Joshua’s picture she of her family, who were cunning and fills the canvas—her attitude is command¬ specious, she laid her snares for the weak ing, her smile bewitching. Her sisters are prince so adroitly that he fell in with all of a less majestic type. her plans ; and, her marriage being duly What a lovely creature have we here— witnessed, she had none of the heart-burn¬ Elizabeth Linley, whose talents and mental ings and uncertainty which poisoned the endowments were something surprising, life of Lady Waldegrave, who had joined as they were to a beauty which seems married the Duke of Gloucester, but had to have captivated every soul who came left matters very much to his honour. Both near her ; indeed, we have only to look at ladies, to say the truth, had a troublous her portraits by Sir Joshua and Gains¬ time. It was hardly worth the fuss and the borough, both evidently stimulated by love turmoil, the ups and the downs, the of their subject, to gather an idea of the humiliations and the slights inflicted upon spell she worked. The expression of the them by the Royal pair, and their subser¬ faultless face is so divinely sweet, there is vient Court. such a mixture of archness and intelligence

CELEBRA TED B F.A UT/ES. 609 in the wondrous eyres, that we can make a returned to London. Richard fought two guess at what the impression must have duels with Captain Matthews, and finally been when life animated the lovely picture. the course of true love ran smooth, and he So, too, it was with her singing ; she was and Elizabeth were publicly wedded, with possessed of the double power of delighting all pomp and ceremony, in April, 1773* an audience equally in pathetic strains and songs of brilliant execution, a combination allowed to few vocalists. The life of this gifted being was a troubled one. It began in a romance, MRS. GARDINER. From the first the public took the young pair under its protection ; they made LADY TOWNSHEND. friends everywhere. It was (THE MISS MONTGOMERYS.) in truth an ideal union of (From the Picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds.') beauty and talent. Mrs. Sheridan’s lovely voice which added would have ensured them a good income; to her in¬ but her husband would not allow her to terest in the sing in public. This resolution on his eyes of the part earned him the hearty commenda¬ public. The tion of Johnson:—“He has acted wisely mrs. beresford. Linleys weie and nobly. Would not a gentleman be all musi¬ disgraced by having his wife singing cians ; her father, Dr. Linley, was a teacher publicly for hire ? No, sir, there can of great eminence, living at Bath. When be no doubt here.’’ Autre temps, mitres the Sheridans came to reside there, the two mceurs—a gentleman does not now disdain brothers fell at once in love with the siren to live by his wife’s earnings ! Elizabeth, who had already more lovers Meantime, admirers crowded round the than she knew how to manage. She pre¬ beautiful Mrs. Sheridan. Sir Joshua’s por¬ ferred, however, Richard Sheridan, and trait of her as “ St. Cecilia ” was exhibited eloped with him to France, to avoid an im¬ in the Academy of 1775. Most simple and portunate lover, Captain Matthews. On beautiful, was the praise of the carping their arriving in France, the astute Richard critic, Horace Walpole. Even the excellent worked on his companion’s feelings and and most virtuous King took notice of the persuaded her to be married to him at Lille young beauty, and it was said ogled her by a clergyman who performed these when she sang in oratorios. irregular marriages. The bride at once The struggle in which Sheridan was retired to a convent, where she remained more or less engaged during his whole life until her father came to fetch her. Of late had begun. A brilliant, erratic genius, this version of the incident has been denied, such as was the author of the “Rivals,” is and it is said there was no marriage ; any¬ not a safe guard of domestic happiness ; how, the father, daughter, and Sheridan but, after all is said and done, Sheridan

6ro THE STRAND MAGAZINE. was not so much to blame, and even his woman of her time, Isabella, Duchess of worst enemy cannot deny that he had a Rutland. Looking at her picture by Sir warm heart. Joshua, we cannot but be struck by the Moore tells us that, with all her beauty infinite grace of the attitude, the queenly and talent, Mrs. Sheridan was not happy, dignity mixed with womanly sweetness. nor did she escape the censure of the world ; The Duchess was in fact eminently womanly, but that Sheridan was ever unmindful of although acknowledged to be a queen of her, Moore declares to be untrue. On the beauty. No word of scandal touched her contrary, he says he followed her with a name ; and this in an age of Sneerwells and lover’s eye throughout. Her letters to him Backbites. would certainly give the reader the idea In The European Magazine of 1782 there that she was on is this curious the best terms testimony to her with her husband. Grace’s devotion They are delight¬ to her lord : — ful, fresh, and “ Annexed to the natural, and per¬ respective names fectly frank .... are the amuse¬ This gifted ments which the w oman died following women early. She was of fashion princi¬ only thirty-one pally delight when consump¬ in :— tion laid its fatal Lady Spencer,riding. hand upon her . . Lady Salisbury, During her last dancing. illness Sheridan was devoted to Lady Craven, acting. Lady Pembroke, Viol de Gambe. her. His grief Mrs. Damer, platonics and his remorse Mrs. Greville, poetry. for any shortcom¬ Duchess of Devon¬ ings in his mar¬ shire, admiration. Lady Weymouth, ried life are most mankind. touching! Miss Lady Huntingdon, Le-Fanu, writing an account of the The Tabernacle. Lady South, the last word. last days to Miss The Duchess of Rut¬ Sheridan, says : land, her husband.” “Your brother behaved most In 1782 the wonderfully, al¬ Duchess accom¬ though his heart panied the Duke to Ireland, where was breaking, and he filled the post at times his feel¬ of Lord Lieu¬ ings were so vio¬ tenant. She was lent that I feared MISS LINLEY. well fitted to win he would be (From the Picture by Gainsborough.') the hearts of the quite ungovern¬ Irish people, who able at the last. were then, as now, Yet he summoned up courage to kneel by easily impressed by beauty. The magni¬ the bedside till he felt the last pulse ol ficence of the little Court had never been expiring excellence.” And Mr. Moore equalled, while at the same time de¬ tells us that, some weeks after his wife’s corum and a certain order were pre¬ death, “ a friend, happening to sleep in served, which had not always been the room next his, could hear him sob¬ the case. Under Lords Chesterfield and bing through the greater part of the night.” Townshead, Mrs. Deans talks of the guests But soon after he fell in love with Pamela, carrying the dishes off the supper tables, and married a Miss Ogle in two years. and in Lady Hardwicke’s time there it was And now we come to the most beautiful that the romping bouts and the famous

CELEBRA. TED BEA UTIES. 611 Cutchacutchoo prevailed, but no wicked Mrs. Dillon, and forced her way into her pre¬ tales are told of our Duchess’s Viceroyaitv. sence, when a glance told her she was both Once only did she descend from her pedestal beautiful and virtuous. Ashamed of her of dignity: it might be that the breath of suspicions, she frankly told what had frolic was too strongly in the air for even a brought her, and warmly invited the other Saxon nature to resist. Anyhow she did to return the visit. This, however, Mrs. repair to the Irish Ranelagh Gardens to see Dillon had the good sense and dignity to the fun, dis¬ guised in the decline. dress of one of In Mr. Gil¬ her own wait- ing -women . bert’s interest¬ She was of ing history of course recog- Dublin, he men¬ n i s e d, and tions that the mobbed. body of the Duke was On another waked (accord¬ occasion, her ing to the Irish jealousy was custom) in the excited by hear¬ House of Lords ing the Duke for three nights. say he had The coffin was accidentally then carried by seen the love¬ bearers to Christ liest woman he Church Cathe¬ had ever be¬ dral, where it ll e 1 d . She lay in State. never rested The Duchess re¬ until she found turned to Eng¬ out the resi¬ land, and never dence of this married again.

Three Birds on a Stile. By b. l. Farjeon. LEARNED bishop has de¬ not a man of fortune ; he had good pro¬ clared that the night before spects, which were almost certain of realisa¬ men and women are married tion, and he had a little investment or two should be spent in solitude, which paid him fair interest, and which and devoted to prayer, repent¬ could not, without loss, be turned imme¬ ance, and meditation ; but diately into cash. Now, the expenses of a bishop may be very learned, and yet the coming wedding, and the furnishing deficient in common sense. Miss Adelaide and decoration of a house he had taken on Dorr, who was to be married to-morrow to lease, had made more serious inroads on his Mr. Arthur Gooch, had several sisters, two bank balance than he expected. Calculat¬ brothers, and the usual number of parents. ing the expenses of the honeymoon trip on With all these around her, popping in and the Continent, he found that he would run out, asking questions, making remarks, short of money, and in this dilemma he laughing, crying, teasing, and kissing, and applied to a friend, Jack Stevens by name, trying on things, you may imagine the for a loan of seventy-five pounds, which, state she was in. Arthur had put in an with seventy-five of his own, which he had appearance, but he had gone away early, by him, would carry him and his pretty he had so much to do to complete his bride comfortably through. It was Jack arrangements for to-morrow. There was, Stevens’ answer to his. letter asking for the of course, a tender leave-taking in the pas¬ loan that he was expecting as he rode to his sage, from which Adelaide came in rather chambers witli the image of Adelaide in his quieter than usual, but she was not allowed mind. What a dear girl she was ! Was to be quiet long. The entire house was in there ever such another ? Was he not the a flutter of excitement, and had the charm¬ happiest man in the world ? And so on, ing girl expressed a desire for solitude, for and so on. Who is not familiar with a true the purpose of following the learned bishop’s lover’s rhapsodies ? Arthur was the sort of advice, it would instantly have been feared man who would have rivalled Orlando, had that the prospect of approaching bliss had the positions been similar. He would have turned her head. She had no wish for carved Adelaide’s name on every tree. solitude, and as to her having anything to repent, the idea was monstrous and absurd. Running up to his rooms, which were at There is little doubt that before she fell the top of the house, he found half a dozen asleep on this important night in her young letters in his letter box, and among them life she would breathe a prayer, but it one from his friend. It may be mentioned would not be exactly such a prayer as the that Jack Stevens would have been his best bishop had in view. And it is true she man, had it not been that his presence was thought a great deal of Arthur ; indeed, she imperatively demanded in another part of thought of little else—a statement, per¬ the country on the day of the wedding. haps, which my female readers will dispute It was provoking, but it could not be helped. when they take into consideration the wedding dress and the trousseau. All I “Dear Arthur,\" said Jack Stevens in his can advance in proof of my assertion is letter, “ certainly you can have the money, that Adelaide was very much in love, and and more if you want it. As time is so that there are circumstances—rare, I grant short, I do not care risking it through the —in which dress does not occupy the first post, and a crossed cheque might not suit place in a woman’s mind. you. I have to catch an early train in the Neither did Arthur Gooch, who was as morning for Manchester, as you know, but much in love as Adelaide, spend the last I shall be at Lady Weston White’s ‘ At night of his bachelor existence in solitude Home ’ between eleven and twelve o’clock and repentance. When he left Adelaide, to-night. I saw a card for the crush stuck he jumped into a hansom, and was driven in your looking glass. Look me up there, to his chambers, where he expected to find and I will hand you the notes. I am awfully fi letter of pressing importance. He was sorry to give you the trouble, but I can’t come to yoh, and I am anxious to be certain that you are properly furnished before you

THREE BIRDS OH A STILE. 61 % and your bride start for Para¬ as she was at present in the per¬ dise. Always yours, dear boy, formance of her arduous duties, she Jack.” remembered that Arthur Gooch was Lady Weston White was not to be married within a few one ofArthur’s intimate friends hours ; she remembered, but he was on her list, and he also, that to her R. S. V. P. generally received cards from she had received aline from, her three or four times in the him regretting he could not course of the year. He had accept her kind invitation. not intended to goto her house She said nothing, however, in Grosvenor-street on this oc¬ but gave him rather a ques¬ casion, but Jack’s letter settled tioning look as he passed on it, and he got out his swallow¬ to allow other guests behind tail. The money he must him to pay their respects have, and there was no to their hostess. The look other way of getting it. puzzled him somewhat ; it There were letters to write, seemed to ask, “ What brings and a lot of things to be you here ? ” He had quite attended to which he cal¬ forgotten that he had de¬ culated would keep him clined her invitation. At up till one o’clock in the length, after much polite morning. Well, he would squeezing and hustling, after have to stop up another dropping his handkerchief hour or so, that was all. and picking it up again, At half-past eleven he was to the annoyance of some in Grosvenor-street, en- neighbours who had become gulphed in on_e of those ALWAYS YOURS—JACK fixtures and could scarcety London crowds of ladies move for the crush, he saw and gentlemen which contribute to the Jack Stevens in the distance. They were success of a London season. The beautiful both tall men, and communication being house was literally packed ; to ascend a established between them they made simul¬ staircase was a work of several minutes, taneous efforts to get to each other. This and to find his friend Jack in such a accomplished, Arthur hooked Jack’s arm, vast assemblage a matter of considerable and said : difficulty. It was a notable gathering ; the “ Let us get out of this as quick as we can.” elite of society were present, distinguished It happened that Lady Weston White men and fair women, and Arthur, as he was close enough to hear the words, of squeezed his way along, thought he had which fact Arthur was oblivious, but as they never seen so wonderful a profusion of moved on he turned in her direction, and diamonds and lovely dresses. The ladies caught another strange look from her. seemed to vie with each other in the display “ What on earth does she look at me in of jewels. They glittered in the hair, round that manner for ? ” he thought. “ One the necks, in the ears, on the arms and might suppose I came without an invita¬ bosoms, on shoes, and fans, and ravishing tion.” He and Jack got their hats and gowns ; and Arthur observed that a new coats, and going from the house, stopped at fashion was coming into vogue, diamond the corner of a street a few yards off. buttons on ladies’ gloves. “ If any of the “I haven’t a moment to spare, Arthur,” light-fingered fraternity were here,” thought said Jack, “ nor have you, I should imagine. Arthur, “ they could gather a fine harvest.” I had almost given you up ; it is a mercy And said aloud, “ Allow me.” A lady had we met each other in that crowd.” He dropped her fan, and Arthur managed to took out his pocket-book. “ I would walk rescue it from the crush of feet. It sparkled home with you, old fellow, if I had time ; with diamonds. At length Arthur reached you must take the will for the deed.” the hostess, who held out two fingers to “ All right, old man,” said Arthur ; “ it him. was very good of you to take all this trouble Lady Weston White was a worrfan of for me. I don’t know how it was I mis¬ great penetration, and, as became a society calculated my finances so stupidly.” leader, of perfect self-possession. She never “ Oh, these accidents happen to all of us. forgot a face or a circumstance, and, busy Feel nervous about to-morrow ? ”

614 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. “ It makes me rather serious, you know.” come home to after the honeymoon !—there “ Of course. Wish I could be there. she lies, with a smile on her pretty mouth, Now, no nonsense, Arthur. Will seventy- dreaming of me. Your health, my darling ! ” live be enough ? Isn’t it cutting it rather close ? Don’t spoil the honeymoon for a He had opened a bottle of champagne, of ha’porth of tar. You can which he had already drunk a glass, and have a couple of hundred if you like. I’ve got it by me “Well, make it a hun¬ dred,” said Arthur. “ It will be safer perhaps. Adelaide might take a fancy to a new LET US GET OUT OF THIS AS QUICK AS WE CAN. bonnet.” “ Or to some chocolate creams, or to now he poured out another, and as he held the moon and stars,” said Jack, with a it up to the light he saw Adelaide’s bright good-humoured smile, “ and you’d get them eyes amid the sparkling bubbles. for her. Say a hundred and fifty.” “ Your health, my darling, and God bless “All right. A hundred and fifty.” you ! >> Jack Stevens, shaded by his friend’s tall He drained the glass, and set it down. form—for several persons passed them as It was really a love match, of which they were talking—counted out thirty five- there are more in this prosaic world than pound Bank of England notes, and slipped cynics will admit. These young people them into Arthur’s hand. were all the world to each other, and if any¬ “Thank you, Jack.” thing had occurred to prevent the wedding “Not necessary. Good night, old fellow, coming off their hearts would have been and good luck to you. Kiss the pretty broken. bride for me, and give her my love.” Arthur set the glass upon the table with “ I will, old man.” a tender light in his eyes, and as he did so A few minutes afterwards Arthur Gooch he heard a ring at the street door below. was in his chambers, “ clearing up,” as he As has been stated, his chambers were at called it. He wanted to leave things as the top of the house, but everything was orderly as he could, and in the accomplish¬ very quiet, and that is why he heard the ment of this laudable design there was a bell so plainly. The window of the room great deal to do. All the time he was in which he was working looked out upon writing and tearing up papers and burning the street. He took no notice of the ring¬ them, and packing bags and portmanteaux, ing, and proceeded dreamily with his he was thinking of Adelaide. packing. The wine he had drunk intensi¬ “ Dear little woman ! I wonder if she fied his sentimental mood, and he paused is asleep. She hasn’t left things to the many times to gaze upon the portrait of last as 1 have done. Altogether too tidy his darling which stood in the centre of the for that. While I am fussing about in this mantelpiece. It was a speaking likeness of musty room—what a cosy nest we shall the beautiful face ; the eyes seemed to look

THREE BIRDS ON A STILE. at him with looks of love ; the lovely lips man in comparison with him. There was, seemed to say, “I love you, I love you.” moreover, no lack of physical courage in And Arthur pressed his lips to the sweet Arthur—a quality, it may be remarked, face, and murmured in response, “ I love very different indeed from moral courage, you, I love you ! With all my heart and in which respect a pigmy may be superior soul, I love you, and will be true to you.” to a giant. Suddenly it occurred to him that the “ Come up,” said Arthur, and the two street door bell continued to ring. The men ascended the stairs. “ Now,” he said, sound jarred upon his ears. when they were together in his room, with Throwing up his window he the door closed, “ you see that I am very leaned forward, and at the busy. Explain your errand as briefly as top of his voice inquired possible. What is this delicate matter you who it was that continued speak of ? I have not the pleasure of your to ring so pertinaciously. acquaintance. Oh,” he said, looking at a card presented by his visitor, “ Mr. P. Fore¬ “ I have come to see Mr. man. Your name is as strange to me as Arthur Gooch,” was the your face. Who are you ? What are answer. you ? ” “ To see me ? ” he cried in “ I am a private detective,” said Mr. P. wonder. Foreman. “Yes, you, if you are Mr. “ A private detective ! ” cried Arthur, Gooch.” with an ominous frown. “ And what busi¬ ness can you have with me at this hour of “What for?” the night ? I’ve a mind to pitch you out “ On most particular busi¬ of window.” ness.” Wondering more and “ Don’t try it,” said Mr. P. Foreman. more, the young man ran “ I should be bound to resist, and my shouts down the stairs and opened would be certain to bring someone to my the street door. In the dim light he saw assistance. As to my business, it is, as I the figure of a gentleman with whose face have informed you, of a delicate nature.” he was not familiar. “ What do you want with me ? ” he asked. “ Speak in plain English if you have any “ It will be best for us to speak privately,” regard for yourself.” replied the stranger. “ It is a most delicate matter.” “ A most delicate matter ! ” stammered Arthur. “ A most delicate matter ! ” repeated the stranger in a grave tone. The young man did not reflect upon the imprudence of asking a stranger up to his rooms at such an hour of the night. With the exception of the housekeeper, who occupied the basement, and who had been heard to declare that nothing less than an earthquake would wake her, once she was asleep, Arthur Gooch was the only night resident in the house. All the chambers, with the exception of his, were let as offices, and were tenanted only during the day. It is scarcely probable, however, if Arthur had given the matter a thought, that he would have acted differently. Here was a stranger paying him a visit, at an untimely hour it was true, but upon a delicate matter, which had best be disclosed in private. Arthur was a man of muscle, and stood six feet and half an inch in his stocking feet. The man who had intruded himself upon him was about five feet eight, a weed of a

616 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. “It is a very simple affair,” said Mr. P. Foreman hesitated, and chose another word Foreman, “ and it rests with you whether I than the one he intended to use)—“the shall take my leave of you with an apology, offenders to justice.\" or adopt other measures. You were at Lady Weston White’s ‘ At Home ’ a couple “ Quite proper,” said Arthur. “ Go on, of hours ago.” and cut it short.\" “ I was. What of it ? “ The display to-night was brilliant, and u I am employed by her ladyship,” pro¬ knowing that it would be so her ladyship ceeded Mr. P. Foreman. “ She has given employed me and one or two others to keep other ‘At Homes’ this season.\" watch upon suspicious persons. As you “ She has, and I have been present at —he unbuttoned his light overcoat— them.” “ I am in evening dress. I was supposed to be present “ So I understand. Very serious things as a guest, but I was really have occurred at those parties of her lady¬ there in my professional ship’s at which you were present. Some of capacity, keeping my eyes her guests have made complaints to her, open. Had it been regular and it is only at great expense and trouble pickpockets whom her lady¬ that these complaints, and their very serious ship suspected I nature, have been kept out of the society should have found papers.” it an easy job, as I know most of them, “ What has all this rhodomontade to do but it was not. She with me ? ” demanded Arthur, impatiently. suspected certain gentlemen upon her “ I am about to tell you. Valuable list, to whom she was diamonds have been lost at her ladyship’s in the habit of send¬ ‘ At Homes,’ and have not been recovered. ing cards.” Her ladyship is naturally anxious to put a Mr. P. Foreman stop to this, and to bring the—” (Air. P. spoke in a significant tone, and there was no mistaking his meaning. Arthur laughed. “ Does her ladyship do me the honour to suspect me ? ” “ I am not at liberty to say ; my orders are to speak not one word that might compromise her ladyship.” “ A very prudent instruction. Well ? ” “ Certain articles of jewellery have been lost to-night in her ladyship’s house. A crescent diamond brooch, another with the device of three birds on a stile, and a pin of brilliants with a pearl in the centre. There may be other articles missing, but we have not heard of them. Of the three orna¬ ments I have mentioned the one most easily traced is the three-birds-on-a-stile brooch. The birds are perched upon a stile of gold ; one is set with sapphires, one with brilliants, and one with rubies. I remarked to her ladyship that it was a pretty device. She is quite determined to make the matter public, and to bring the— the offenders to justice without an hour’s

THREE BIRDS OH A STILE. 617 delay, if we are fortunate enough to track door.” Mr. P. Foreman obeyed. “You them down.” said at the commencement of this interview “I infer,” said Arthur, glaring at his that it rested with me whether you would visitor, “ from the very guarded answer take leave of me with an apology, or adopt you gave to a question I put to you that other measures. By other measures you her ladyship really does suspect me. I am meant my arrest.” Mr. P. Foreman greatly obliged to her ladyship.” He nodded. “ But how do you propose to recalled the strange looks which Lady arrive at the apology ? ” Weston White had given him, and believed “It is entirely in your hands,” replied that he could now interpret them. He Mr. P. Foreman. “ You have only to strode to the door and threw it open. “ If prove ‘ your innocence, and I apologise. you have any regard for your bones, you Her ladyship trusts everything to me, and will now take your departure. I give you will be guided entirely by the report I just one minute.” present to her.’ “ If you send me away unsatisfied,” said a I have only to Mr. P. Foreman, composedly, “ I shall, in prove my inno¬ accordance with in¬ cence ! ” exclaimed structions received, Arthur. “But have you arrested how can that be the first thing in done if you will the morning, and not take my word brought before a for it ? I swear magistrate on a to you that I am distinct charge.” innocent, and I Arthur’s heart declare this to be seemed suddenly foul and mon¬ to cease beating. strous charge, for There was no which, if I am mistaking that put to any incon¬ the man was in venience or an¬ deadly earnest, noyance, I will and would carry make her ladyship out his threat. and all concerned What ! To be ar¬ in it suffer. Now rested on the very are you satisfied ?” morning of his “ That is not wedding ! True, what I meant,” the charge was said Mr. P. Fore¬ false and mon¬ man, quietly. strous, but it would “ What I re¬ take time to prove quire is proof it so, and mean¬ of your in¬ while— nocence. I Yes, meanwhile, GO ON, AND CUT IT SHORT. cannot take there was Adelaide your word. in her bridal dress waiting for her bride¬ Any other gentleman would say as much.” groom. Indignant as he was he could not Arthur could not help admitting that but inwardly acknowledge that his best this was true. “Again I ask you,” he course would be to hush up the affair if cried, “how can I prove my innocence, possible—not for his own sake, but for except by my word ? ” Adelaide’s. The shock to her feelings would “ It is very easily done. You have not be too great ; she might never recover from changed your clothes. You have on your it, and the happiness of her life might dress trousers and waistcoat ; your dress be for ever destroyed. Mr. P. Foreman, coat hangs upon the back of that chair. If standing rather timidly near the open door, none of the missing articles are in the kept his eyes fixed upon Arthur’s face. Pie pockets I will offer you the completest shrank back as Arthur approached him. apology in my power, and shall sincerely u I am not going to hurt you,” said the regret that I have caused you so much young man. “ Come in and shut the uneasiness.

618 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. Mr. P. Foreman was a private detec¬ self. I should be ashamed to have tive, but he certainly spoke like a gentle¬ a hand in it.” man. Throughout the interview he had conducted himself with moderation ; there “You are a good fellow, after was even a sadness in his manner which, all,” said Arthur, with a great sigh now that so reasonable a course was sug¬ of relief. Will you have a glass of gested, impressed itself upon Arthur. champagne ? ” “Iam quite willing,” he said, “to do “ Thankyou,” said Mr. P. Foreman. what you ask, though I dispute your right, Arthur filled two glasses. “ Your mind.” health,” he said. “ I understand that,” said Mr. P. Fore¬ “ Your health,” said Mr. man. P. Foreman. “ Allow me “ It is only,” continued Arthur, “ because to wish you joy and happi¬ I am to be married in the morning, and ness.” wish to spare a young lady’s feelings, that I submit.” “ Now you shall see,” said Arthur, in a gay tone. There was a deeper sadness in Mr. P. “ Come a little nearer ; I Foreman’s voice as he observed, “To be might be a master of leger¬ married in the morning ! I must be mis¬ demain.” taken.” He took a step towards the door. A melancholy smile “ No, you don’t go now,” exclaimed crossed Mr. P. Foreman’s Arthur. “ I insist upon your stopping, and mouth, and he stood, ap¬ being completely satisfied. There’s my parently unconcerned, while coat. Search the pockets.” Arthur turned out the pockets of his waiscoat and But Mr. P. Foreman would not touch trousers. the garment. “If you insist,” he said, “ you must go through the formality your¬ “Nothing there,” he said. “ Nothing there,” said Air. P. Foreman, and again moved towards the door. “ Stop a moment,” said Arthur, “ there is my coat.” He turned out the pockets upon the table ; from the breast pocket he produced the bank notes he had received from his friend, Jack Stevens ; from the tail pockets a handkerchief and gloves. Nothing more. He laughed aloud, and lifted the handkerchief from the table. The laugh was frozen in his throat. As he lifted the handkerchief there fell from it a jewelled brooch, the device a stile of gold, with three birds perched thereon, one of sapphires, one of rubies, one of brilliants. “ My God ! ” he gasped, and sank into a chair. Mr. P. Foreman did not break the silence that ensued. With sad eyes he gazed upon the crushing evidence of guilt. At length Arthur found his voice. “You do not, you cann6t,” he cried in an agonised tone, “ believe me guilty ! ” Mr. P. Foreman uttered no word. Arthur’s face was like the face of death. A vision of his ruined life rose before him, and in that vision the image of his fair young bride, stricken with despair. “What am I to do?” moaned the un¬ happy man. “What am I to do ? As I

THREE BIRDS ON A STILE. 619 hope for mercy in heaven, I swear that I Mr. P. Foreman put his hands before his am innocent ! \" eyes. “ My duty ! ” he murmured. Mr. P. Foreman in silence pointed to the “You owe a duty elsewhere,” said brooch on the table. It was an eloquent Arthur, in a rapid, feverish voice. “ The sign, but he seemed to sympathise with the lady who has employed you trusts you hapless man before him. Arthur rose to implicitly, and will receive your report his feet, trembling in every limb. without question.” “ Have mercy upon me ! 11 he murmured, “I do not grasp your meaning,” said stretching forth his hands. “ Before God I Mr. P. Foreman. am innocent ! ” “ Your daughter is in delicate health, you “ I am sorry for the young lady,” said Mr. say,” continued Arthur. “You hope to see P. Foreman, “ deeply, deeply sorry. I have her one day happily married. You are not a daughter of my own, whom I hope one rich ? ” HE GASPED, AND SANK INTO A CHAIR. am very poor,\" said Mr. P. Foreman. “Do you think I would day to see happily married. But she is in otherwise follow this miserable occu¬ delicate health.” pation ? Fortune has been against me all my life.” There was a plaintiveness in his voice, and Arthur, overwhelmed as he was, caught “It smiles upon you now,” pursued at the despairing hope which presented Arthur, desperately ; “ it offers you a itself to his distracted mind. He and the chance. You speak like a gentleman ; you man who held his fate in his hands were have a soul above your station. See here. alone ; there were no witnesses, and not There are a hundred and fifty pounds in a sound reached them from house or bank notes. Take them ; they are yours street. —and keep my secret, guiltless as I am. You are not a young man ; you have had “Save me!” implored Arthur. “As experience of the world ; you must know you hope for your daughter’s happiness, the voice of innocence when you hear it. save an innocent man—save an innocent Could a guilty man plead as I am pleading ? girl from despair and death ! ” By all your hopes of happiness, save me ! No one is near ; no one knows but you and I. It is so easy, so easy!—and I shall bless you all my life n

620 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. u You tempt me sorely,'’ said Mr. P. Paris where he intended to stop with his Foreman. “ My daughter is ordered abroad young wife for a few days. for her health, ar J I have no means to take her.” There is no need to describe the wedding. Everything passed off well, and everybody “You have means here, at your hand. in church declared they had never seen a Take the money—it is yours ; I give it to lovelier bride ; but they observed, at the you freely. No one will be the wiser, and same time, that the bridegroom appeared you will be an instrument in the hands of far from happy, and one of the spectators Providence to save two innc cent lives ! ” remarked that he looked several times over his shoulder, with the air of a man who “ Let me think a moment,” said Mr. P. feared that a ghost was standing behind Foreman, and he turned his head. Arthur him. His own people and his new awaited his decision in an agony of despair. relatives, being in a state of excitement, Presently he spoke again. “ I will express did not take the same view of it ; they said no opinion of your guilt or innocence, but he was nervous, which was quite natural on you have offered what I cannot resist. I such an occasion. Adelaide was tremb¬ will take the money, and will keep your lingly happy, and she and her lover- secret, for the sake of the lady you are husband departed on their honeymoon about to marry, for the sake of my poor amid the usual showers of rice and hurling daughter. It may be the means of restor¬ of old slippers. In Paris, Arthur received ing& her to health. As for this brooch — from Jack Stevens a draft for another hundred and fifty pounds ; but in the letter a Take it,” cried Arthur, impetuously, which accompanied the welcome draft Jack “ and do what you will with it. It is one said he could not understand how Arthur of my conditions. Heaven bless you— had managed to lose the money. “ I saw Heaven bless you ! ” you,” wrote Jack, “put the money in the side pocket of your dress coat, and button “ We are accomplices in a transaction your overcoat over it. How could you that must not be spoken of,” said Mr. P. have lost it ? Did you have an adventure, Foreman, who had put the money and the and are you keeping it from me? Make a brooch into his pocket. “ I pity and despise clean breast of it, old fellow. I should like you, as I pity and despise myself.” to know. And if there is anything I can He did not wish Arthur good night ; do for you while you are away, do not seemingly ashamed of the bargain they had fail to call upon me. I am in London made, he went downstairs, accompanied by for good, and am entirely at your ser¬ Arthur, who closed the vice.” Arthur pondered over this letter, street door upon him. and pondered deeply, also, over the events which had occurred on the night Dazed and bewildered, the young man returned TAKE THE MUNEY—IT IS YUL’KS to his room, and with great throbbings of his breast at the mysterious dan¬ ger he had es¬ caped, completed his preparations for the wedding and the honey¬ moon. Before he threw him¬ self upon his bed in the vain at¬ tempt to seek oblivion for an hour or two, he wrote a letter to his friend Jack Stevens, saying he had unfortunately lost the money that had been lent to him, and begging for another loan, which was to be forwarded to a hotel in

THREE BIRDS ON A STILE. 621 before the wedding ; and the more he The lady who accompanied Mr. P. Foreman pondered the more he was dissatisfied. seemed to be in perfect health, and she was Once his young wife, who had noticed that not young enough to be his daughter, by something was weighing on her hero’s a good many years. The dreadful position spirits, said to him : in which he had stood upon the occasion of Mr. P. Foreman’s nocturnal visit to his “ Arthur, dear, are you happy ? ” chambers weighed terribly upon him. He “ Very happy, darling.” knew himself to be innocent ; but the brooch which his accuser had now appro¬ u But quite happy, Arthur ? ” priated was found in his pocket ; he had taken it out himself. How had it got there ? “ Yes, darling, quite happy. Why do That was the mystery that was perplexing you ask ? ” him, and he felt that he could not be at peace with himself until it was solved. “ I don’t know—only you seem so melan¬ That night he wrote to Jack Stevens, and choly sometimes.” made a full confession of how he had lost the money, and in his letter he gave a “ All your fancy, darling.” very faithful description of Mr. P. “I suppose so, Arthur, dear.” Foreman. But the young bride was not satisfied for all that. She was sure that her hero was “ If you can clear up the mystery,” he keeping something disagreeable from her. said in his letter, “ for Heaven’s sake do so. I However, like a sensible little woman, she do not advise you to go to Lady Weston did not worry him ; no bride could ex¬ White to make inquiries, for that might pect greater attention and devotion than result in attracting attention which, as he showed towards her, and she lectured things stand, I wish to avoid ; but do what herself, and said that she could not expect you can for me, and act as you think best, to know everything about her husband all for the sake of your old and unhappy friend, at once. UI shall have to study him,” she Arthur.” He directed Jack to reply to said, “ and when I know him thoroughly I him at the Hotel Victoria, Interlaken, where will make him perfectly, perfectly happy.” he proposed to take Adelaide after a stay in On the eighth day of the honeymoon Geneva. He made his visit to this beauti¬ something curious happened. They had ful city shorter than he intended, so anxious travelled from Paris to Geneva, and they was he to receive Jack’s reply. It was put up at the Grand Hotel de la Paix. The not there when he arrived, but on the first time they dined in the hotel, Arthur, following mid-day it was delivered to him. looking up, saw exactly opposite to him the forms of Mr. P. Foreman and a lady. “ My dear Arthur,” (Jack wrote), “ my He turned red and white, and his heart dear simple friend, my timid love-stricken beat furiously. There appeared, however, swain, your letter astonished me, and in to be no cause for apprehension ; Mr. P. your interests I set to work at once. I have Foreman looked him straight in the face, a friend who is a real detective—a real one, and evinced no sign of recognition. Per¬ mark you—and when I entrusted him with ceiving this, Arthur took courage, and your precious secret, and read to him the glanced at the lady. Again he turned red careful description you have given of your and white. On the bosom of the lady’s saviour, Mr. P. Foreman, he first looked at dress was affixed a beautiful brooch—a stile me in blank amazement, and then burst of gold, with its three little birds of rubies, into a fit of laughter. ‘ By Jove ! ’ he cried, sapphires, and brilliants. when he got over his fit, ‘ that is my “ Did you think the lady opposite to us friend Purdy. He’s been at his tricks was very pretty, Arthur ? ” asked Adelaide, again.’ ‘ Who is your friend Purdy,’ I as she and her husband stood close together inquired, ‘ and what are the particular after dinner, looking into the clear waters tricks you refer to ? ’ He did not favour of the lake. me with an answer, but stipulated that I should pay an immediate visit to Lady u I did not take particular notice, dear,” Weston White, and ask whether the jewels lost in her house on the night before your replied iVrthur, awkwardly. wedding had been recovered. I did as “ Oh, Arthur ! I saw your eyes fixed upon he bade me, and learned from her ladyship -—what do you think ? Why, that there her.” were no jewels lost in her house, and never Arthur did not dare confess that it was the brooch he was staring at, and not at the lady, so he diverted Adelaide’s thoughts by means of those tender secret caresses which render young brides supremely happy. But he thought very seriously, nevertheless.

622 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. had been, to her knowledge. I did not fellow. Tell your little wife all about it, enlighten her, old fellow, having some and tell her at the same time that I have regard for your reputation for shrewdness. given an order for a brooch, of which I I went straight from her to my friend the shall beg her acceptance, with the very real deteetive. Learn from me, O wise original design of a gold stile and three young bridegroom, that Mr. P. Foreman, little birds perched atop of it. Give her alias Purdy, is no more a detective than I my love, and accept the same from yours am, that he must have slipped the brooch ever and ever.” (all false stones, my boy) himself into your pocket, having previously ascertained that Arthur danced about the room when he you were to be married in a few hours, and read this comforting letter. Adelaide looked that he practised upon you a rather clever up from a novel in which she had been trick which he has practised successfully absorbed. upon other victims as simple as yourself. Now I come to think of it, I shouldn’t “ Why, whatever is the matter with wonder if he was one of the men who you,” she cried, “ you dear old goose ? ” passed us when I gave you the thirty five- pound notes at the corner of the street. “Never mind the dear old goose,” said My friend the real detective tells me that Arthur. “ Let us have a waltz round the Purdy is one of the best actors he has ever room, you dear young darling ! ” seen, and that his skill would beat the devil himself. Let us hope he will soon have A waltz they had, and they made some glasses on the table jingle so that a chambermaid knocked at the door, and asked whether her services were required. “Not at all,” replied Arthur, in very the chance of trying it on with his Satanic indifferent German. “ I am only giving majesty. Anyways, he is enjoying himself madame a lesson.” on the Continong with your money and mine, and, as he has cast a cloud over the At the end of which lesson Arthur first fortnight or so of your honeymoon, I related to his bride what it was that had should recommend you to lengthen it by been disturbing him. How she pitied him ! just as many days of happiness as he has The tears ran down her pretty face as she robbed you of. And here is another took his between her little hands, and recommendation^ my dear, simple, old gave him kisses which he returned with interest. Of that you may be sure.

THREE BIRDS ON A STILE. 623 “ Oh, Arthur,” said Adelaide, with the As for the rest of the honeymoon, I leave fondest of looks, “ I am glad I married you ; you to imagine it. All I will say is, that I because, you know, you do want someone wish no newly married young couple a to look after you.” happier.

A Night in an Opium Den. By the Author of “ A Dead Man’s Diary. ES, I have to him by the friend who had piloted me smoked to the establishment, but as long as I opium in remained within grinning range. An un¬ Ratcliff informed onlooker might not unnaturally have concluded that I was stone-deaf and Highway, and dumb, and that our host was endeavouring in the den to express, by his features, the cordiality he which was was unable to convey in words. In reply visited by to every casual remark made by my com¬ Char 1 e s panion, the Chinaman would glance up for Dickens, and a moment at his face, and then turn round through the to grimace again at me, as though I, and pipe which had I only, were the subject of their conversa¬ the honour of making that distinguished tion, and he was half afraid I might think novelist sick. he did not take a becoming interest in it. “ And did you have lovely dreams ? and In the few words which I exchanged with what were they like ? ’’ asks a fair reader. him, I found him exceedingly civil, and he Yes, I had lovely dreams, and I have no doubt that by the aid of imagination, and a skilful manipu¬ lation of De Ouincey, I could con¬ coct a fancy picture of opium¬ smoking and its effects, which might pass for a faithful picture of what really occurred. But, “ My Lord and Jury ”— to quote the historic words of Mrs. Cluppins, when cross-examined by Serjeant Buz- fuz—u My Lord and Jury, I will not deceive you ” : what those dreams were, I could not for the life of me now describe, for they were too aerial and unsubstantial to be caught and fixed, like hard facts, in words, by any other pen than that of a Coleridge, or a De Quincey. I might as well attempt to convey to you, by means of a clay model, an idea of the prism-fires and rainbow-hues that circle, and change, and chase each other round I the pictured sides of that floating fairy-sphere which we call a soap- bubble, as attempt, unassisted, to t describe my dreams in words. Hence it is that in this narrative, I have confined myself strictly to the facts of my experiences. The proprietor of the den which I visited was a Chinaman named Chang, who positively grinned me over from head to foot — not only when 1 was first made known THE PROPRIETOR.

A NIGHT IN AN OPIUM DEN. 625 took great pains to ex¬ ever been my lot to plain to me that his wear¬ ascend. ing no pigtail was attri¬ butable, not to his own “ Den ” was an appro¬ act and deed, but to the priate name for the reek¬ fact that that ornament ing hole to which he had been cut off by some conducted us. It was person or persons un¬ dirty and dark, being lit known, when he was only by a smoking lamp either drunk or asleep— on the mantel-shelf, and I could not quite make was not much larger than out which. The dead¬ a full-sized cupboard. liest insult which can be The walls, which were of offered a Chinaman (so I a dingy yellow (not unlike understood him) is to cut the “ whites ” of the off his pigtail, and it was smokers’ eyes) were quite only when referring to bare, with the exception this incident, and to his of the one facing the dcor, desire to wreak a terrible on which, incongruously vengeance upon the per¬ enough, was plastered a petrators, that there was coarsely - coloured and any cessation of his em¬ hideous print of the cruci¬ barrassing smile. The fixion. The furniture con¬ thought of the insult to sisted of three raised which he had been sub¬ mattresses, with small jected, and of his conse¬ tables on which were quent degradation in the placed pipes, lamps, and eyes of his countrymen, opium. brought so evil a look upon his parchment- Huddled or curled up coloured features, and on these mattresses lay two caused his small and cun¬ wretched smokers — one ning eyes to twist and of them with the whites, turn so horribly, that I or, I should say, “yellows,” was glad to turn the of his eyes turned up conversation to pleasanter to the ceiling, and topics, even though it another, whose slumbers necessitated my being we had apparently dis¬ once more fixed by that turbed, staring about him bland and penetrating with a dazed and stupefied smile so peculiarly his air. Something in the own. The smile became look of these men—either more rigid than ever, the ghastly pallor of their when I informed him that complexion, or the list¬ I was anxious to smoke a lessness of their bearing— pipe of opium. The way reminded me not a little in which he turned his of the “ white lepers ” face upon me (including of Norway. I have seen the smile, which en¬ patients in the hospitals veloped and illumined there whose general as¬ me in its rays) was, for pect greatly resembled all the world, like the that of these men, al¬ turning-on by a policeman though the skin of the of a bull’s-eye lantern. white leper has more 01 With a final grin which a milky appearance — as threatened to distort per¬ if it had been bleached, manently his features, he bade us follow in fact — than that of the him, and led the way up the most villain¬ opium-smoker, which is ously treacherous staircase which it has dirtier and more yellow. The remaining occupants of the den, two of whom were Chinamen, were wide awake. The third

626 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. was a partly naked Malay of decidedly evil friend, watching me narrowly all the time, aspect, who shrank back on my entrance, through the chink between his knees. At and coiled himself up in the recesses of a this point of my visit, and before I could dark corner, whence he lay furtively watch¬ take any further stock of the surroundings, ing me, very much in the same way in I was not a little surprised by the entrance which the prisoned pythons in a serpent-house watch the visitors who come to tap at the glass of their cages. The Chinamen, however, IN THE DEN. of a young, and by no means ill-looking Englishwoman, to whom I gave a civil seemed pleased to see me ; and, after I “ good evening,” receiving, however, only had handed my cigar-case to the nearest, a suspicious and surly nod in reply. She begging that he and his friend would help occupied herself at first by tickling one of themselves, they became quite companion¬ the Chinamen under the armpits, evidently able. One of them, to my surprise, finding no little amusement in the fits oi immediately relinquished the drug which wild, unearthly, and uncontrollable laughter he had been smoking, and began to suck into which he broke, but growing weary of with evident relish at the cigar. The this, she seated herself on the raised other, after pocketing the weed, lay down mattress where I was located, and proceeded on his back with his arms behind his head, to take stock of her visitor. Beginning at and with his legs drawn up to his body, in my boots, and travelling up by way of which singularly graceful and easy attitude trousers and waistcoat, up to my collar and he carried on a conversation with his face, she examined me so critically and searchingly from head to foot that I fancied once or twice I could see the row of figures she was inwardly casting up, and could hear her saying to herself, “Boots and trousers, say, sixty bob ; and watch and chain, a couple of flimsies each ; which, with coat and waistcoat, bring it up to thirty shiners ; which, with a couple of fivers for links, loose cash and studs make about forty quid

A NIGHT IN AN OPIUM DEN 627 and I was swept and borne un¬ resistingly away upon the vast seaward setting tide of sleep. Ol my dreams, as I have already said, I have but the haziest of recollections. I can just recall a sensation of sail¬ ing, as on a cloud, amid regions of blue and buoyant ether ; of seeing, through vistas of purple and gold, a scene of sunny seas and shining shores, where, it seemed to me, I beheld the fabled “ Blessed Isles,’’ stretch¬ ing league beyond league afar ; and of peeps ol paradisial landscapes that swam up to me as through a world of waters, and then softened and sank away into a blending of beau¬ teous colours, and into a vision of white warm arms and wooing bo¬ — that’s your figure, soms. young man, as near as And so w e I can reckon it.’’ A MALAY. slept on, I and While this was going my wretched on, my host, Mr. Chang, was busily making companions, until, to quote Rossetti : — preparations for my initiatory smoke by Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams, sticking small pellets of the opium (a brown¬ And their dreams watched them sink, and slid ish, glue-like substance) upon a pin, and away. rolling and re-rolling them against the pipe, which is about the size of a small flute, and Slowly their souls swam up again, through gleams Of watered light, and dull drowned waifs of day ; Till, from some wonder of new woods and streams, has a big open bowl with a tiny aperture at tie woke and wondered more. the base. Into this aperture the drug-smeared Yes, “ I woke and wondered more’’— pin is slipped, and the pipe is then held woke to wonder where I was, and where over a lamp, and the fumes of the burning were my boots, my hat, and my umbrella ; opium inhaled. The occupation is by no woke to find the faithless friend, who had means a luxurious one ; for, as surely as I promised to guard my slumbers, sleeping removed the pipe from my lips to indulge peacefully at his post ; and woke with a in a furtive cough (and it did make me taste in my mouth which can only be cough a bit at first), it inevitably went out. likened to a cross between onions and bad By means of repeated applications to the tobacco. And this taste, in conjunction with lamp, however, I managed to get through a splitting headache and a general lowness the allotted number of pipes, and sank slowly of spirits, served, for the next day or two, to and insensibly into the deep waters of slum¬ keep me constantly in remembrance of my ber, until at last they closed over my head, visit to the Opium Den in Ratcliff Highway.

Janko the Musician. From the: Polish of Sienkiewicz. [Henryk Sienkiewicz is perhaps the most popular of contemporary Polish novelists. He is a realist, but his realism is tempered by a dash of romance. Keenly in sympathy with the poor, the oppressed, the despised, and possessed of a genius for portraying the character of Polish peasants, he has a particular gift for depicting the sufferings of artistic natures dimly conscious of their gifts, or blighted by the curse of mediocrity. Sienkiewicz was born in 1845, and was educated at the University of Warsaw. In 1876 he went to California, and first attracted attention by letters descriptive of the New World contributed to the news¬ papers of his native country. These sketches were collected, and, together with some short tales, published at Warsaw in 1880 under the title of “ Pisma.” To his American experiences we owe Sienkiewicz’s delightful story, “ For Daily Bread,” one of the most simple and touching narratives possible. His chief work, “With Fire and Sword,” has been translated into English. This gifted writer was almost entirely unknown in this country until recently. At the present day he resides at Warsaw, where he edits a paper.] EAK and frail came he into diately (with a vague recollection of the the world. The neighbours, form of prayer used for the dying) : “ And assembled round the bedside, now depart, O Christian Soul! out of this shook their heads over mother world, and return to the place you came and child. The blacksmith’s from. Amen.” wife, the most experienced The Christian soul, however, had not the amongst them, began to comfort the sick least intention of departing out of this woman after her fashion. world. It began, on the contrary, to kick with the legs of the body as hard as ever “You just lie quiet,1’ she said, “and I it could, and to cry, but in a fashion so will light a blessed candle. It’s all up with feeble and whimpering, that it sounded to you, poor dear, you must make your pre¬ the women like the mewing of a kitten. parations for another world. Someone had better run for the priest to give you the The priest was sent for, discharged his last Sacraments.” “And the youngster must be baptized at once,” said an¬ other. “I tell you he won’t live till the priest comes, and it will be some comfort not to have an unbaptized ghost spooking about.” As she spoke, she lit a blessed candle, took the baby, sprinkled it with holy water, till it winked its eyes, and at the same time pro- 11 ouneed the words : “ I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, and give thee the name of Jan,” adding i m m e-

JANKO THE MUSICIAN. 629 sacred office, and retired ; but, instead of live, he would not be much of a comfort to dying, the mother recovered, and, after a his mother, for he would never be strong week, went back to work. enough for hard work. The life ot the baby hung on a thread ; One distinguishing characteristic he had. he scarcely seemed to breathe, but, when Who can say why the gift was bestowed he was four years of age, the cuckoo cried in so unlikely a quarter ? But music he three times over the cottage roof—a good loved, and his love was a passion. He omen, according to Polish superstition— heard music in everything ; he listened to and after that matters mended so that he every sound, and the bigger he grew the somehow attained his tenth year. To be more he thought of melody and of har¬ sure, he was always thin and delicate, mony. If he tended the cattle, or went with a slouching body and hollow cheeks. with a playfellow to gather berries in the His hay-coloured hair fell over his clear, forest, he would return empty-handed, and prominent eyes, that had a far-away look lisp, “ O mammy, there was such beautiful in them, as if he saw things hidden music! It was playing like this—la, la, from others. la ! ” In winter the “ I’ll soon play you a different tune, you child crouched be¬ good-for-nothing monkey! ” his mother hind the stove and would cry angrily, and rap him with the wept softly from ladle. cold, and not un- frequently from The youngster might shriek, and pro¬ hunger if “Mammy” mise not to listen to the music again, but had nothing in the he thought all the more of how beautiful cupboard or in the the forest was, and how full of voices that pot. In summer he sang and rang. Who or what sang and ran about in a little rang he could not well have told ; the pine- white blouse, tied trees, the beeches, the birch-trees, the round the waist thrushes, all sang ; the whole forest sang, with a handkerchief, and wore an old straw hat on his head. His flaxen hair poked its way through the holes, and his eager glance darted hither and thither like a bird’s. His mother, poor creature ! who lived from hand to mouth, and lodged under a strange roof like a swallow, loved him, no doubt, after a fashion, yet she gave him many a cuff, and generally called him a “ changeling.” At eight years of age he began life on his own account, now driving a flock of sheep, now making his way deep into the forest to look for mushrooms when there was nothing to eat at home. He had Providence only to thank that the wolves did not devour him on one of these expedi¬ tions. He was not a particularly precocious boy, and, like all village children, had the habit of sticking his finger into his mouth when addressed. The neighbours prophesied that he would not live long, or that, if he did

630 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. and the echo sang too...in the meadows music, and now and then a fellow would the blades of grass sang ; in the garden cry “Hooray!” One could hear the stamping behind the cottage the sparrows twittered, of feet and the affected voices of the girls. the cherry-trees rustled and trilled. In the The fiddles murmured softly, the big ’cello’s evening he heard all imaginable voices, deep notes thundered, the windows streamed such as are audible only in the country, with light, every plank in the taproom and he thought to himself that the whole seemed to creak, to sing, to play, and Janko village resounded with melody. His listened to it all. What would he not have companions could only wonder at him ; given to have a fiddle that would give forth they heard none of these beautiful things. such sounds, a bit of board that would make When he was set to work to toss out hay he fancied he heard the wind playing such music ! Alas ! where was he to get through the prongs of his pitchfork. The overseer, who saw him standing idly, his it ; how could he make it ? If they would hair thrown back from his forehead, listen¬ only allow him just to take one in his hand ! ing intently to the . . . But no ! all he could do was to listen, wind’s music on the and so he listened till the voice of the fork, seized a strap, and gave the watchman would dreamer a few cuts call to him out of to bring him to his the darkness— senses, but it was of no avail. The “ Off to bed with neighbours, at last, you, you imp ! ” nicknamed him “ Janko the Mu¬ Then the little sician.” bare feet would patter away to the At night, when cabin, and the voices the frogs croaked, of the violins would the corncrakes cried follow him as he ran across the meadows, through the night. the bitterns boomed in the marsh, and It was a great the cocks crowed occasion for him behind the fences, when at harvest the child could not time or at a wedding sleep, he could but he heard the fiddlers listen with delight, play. At such times and heaven only he would creep be¬ knows what har¬ hind the stove, and monies he heard in for days would not all these mingled speak a single word, sounds. His mother looking straight be¬ dared not bring him fore him with great with her to church, glowing eyes, like for when the organ those of a cat at murmured or pealed, the eyes of the boy night. grew dim and moist or else brightened and gleamed as if the light of another At last he made world illumined them. himself a fiddle out of a shingle, and The watchman, who nightly patrolled strung it with horse¬ the village and counted the stars, or carried hair, but it did not sound as beautifully as on a low-toned conversation with the dogs those in the alehouse ; the strings tinkled in order to keep himself awake, more than softly, ever so softly, they hummed like flies once saw Janko’s little white blouse scudding or midges. All the same, he played on them through the gloom to the alehouse. The from morning until night, though many a child did not enter the tavern, but kick and cuff he got till he was black and crouched close up to the wall and listened. blue. He could not help himself, it was Within, couples revolved merrily to lively in his nature. The child grew thinner and thinner ; his shock of hair became thicker, his eyes grew more staring and swam with tears, and his cheeks and chest became hodower. He had never resembled other children, he

JANKO THE MUSICIAN. 631 was more like his own poor little fiddle almost dazzled ; the strings, the neck, the that one could scarcely hear. Moreover, sides were plainly visible, the pegs shone before harvest-time he was almost starving, like glow-worms, and the bow like a silver living as he did chiefly on raw turnips, wand. . . . How beautiful it was ; almost and on his longoingo’, his intense longing, to magical ! Janko gazed own a violin. Alas ! with hungry eyes. this desire bore evil Crouching amidst the fruit. ivy, his elbows sup¬ ported on his little Up at the Castle bony knees, he gazed the footman had a open-mouthed and fiddle that he some¬ motionless at this one times played in the object. Now fear held evening to please his him fast, next moment pretty sweetheart and an unappeasable long¬ his fellow-servants. ing urged him forward. Janko often crept Was it magic, or was amongst the climbing it not ? The violin, plants to the very with its rays of glory, door of the servants’ absolutely appeared to hall to hear the music, draw near to him, to or, at least, to catch a hover over his head. glimpse of the fiddle. Jt generally hung on For a moment the the wall, exactly glory darkened, only opposite the door, and to shine again more the youngster’s whole brilliantly. Magic, it soul was in his eyes as really was magic ! he gazed at it, an Meantime, the wind unattainable treasure murmured, the trees that he was unworthy rustled, the creepers to possess, though he whispered softly, and held it to be the most to the child they precious thing on seemed to say, “ Go earth. A dumb long¬ on, Janko, there is not ing took possession of a soul there. . . . Go him to touch it just on, Janko.” once with his very own hand—or, at any The night was clear rate, to see it closer. and bright. By the . . . At the thought pond in the garden a the poor little childish heart leaped with nightingale began to delight. sing—now softly, now loudly. Her song said, “ Go on ; have One evening there was no one in the ser¬ courage ; touch it.” An honest raven flew vants’ hall. The family had for a long time softly over the child’s head and croaked, lived abroad, the house was empty, and the “No, Janko ; no.” The raven flew away, footman, with his sweetheart, was elsewhere. but the nightingale remained, and the Janko, hidden amongst the creepers, had creepers cried more plainly than ever, already been looking for many minutes “ There’s no one there.” through the half-open door at the goal of The fiddle still hung in the track of the his desires. moonbeams. The little crouching figure crept softly and cautiously nearer, and the The moon, at her full, swam high in the nightingale sang “ Go on—on—on—take heavens ; her beams threw a shaft of light it.” across the room, and fell on the opposite The white blouse glimmered nearer the wall. Gradually they moved towards where doorway. Soon it was no longer hidden the violin hung, and streamed full upon it. by the dark creepers. On the threshold To the child in the darkness a silvery halo one could hear the quick, panting breath of seemed to shine around the instrument, the delicate child. A moment more and illumining it so brightly that Janko was the little white blouse had disappeared,

632 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. only one tiny bare foot still stood upon the little object like that, only ten years of age, steps. In vain the friendly raven flew by and barely able to stand on its legs ? Was once more, and cawed “ No, no,”—Janko he to be sent to prison, or what ? One had already entered. must not be too severe with children. Would it not be well if a watchman took The frogs in the pond began suddenly him and gave him a few strokes with a to croak as if something had frightened cane, so that he might not steal a second them, and as suddenly were silent. The time, and so end the matter ? nightingale ceased to sing, the climbing plants to whisper. In the interval Janko “ Just so. A very good idea ! ” had edged nearer and nearer to his treasure, Stach, the watchman, was called. but fear seized him. In the shadow of the “Take him, and give him a caning as a creepers he felt at home, like a wild creature warning.” in a thicket, now he quivered like a wild Stach nodded his stupid, bull head, took creature in a snare. His movements were Janko under his arm like a kitten, and hasty, his breath came short. carried him off to the barn. Either the youngster did not understand The pulsing summer lightning that what it was all about, or he was too terrified glanced from east to west illumined the to speak ; in either case he uttered not a apartment for an instant, and showed poor word, and looked round him like a little trembling Janko almost on his hands and frightened bird. How did he know what knees, his head stretched out, cowering they wanted with him. It was only when before the violin, but the summer lightning ceased, a cloud passed before the moon, and there was no¬ thing to be seen nor heard. Then, after a pause, there sounded through the darkness a low wailing note, as if some¬ one had accidentally touched a string, and all at once a rough, sleepy voice broke from a corner of the room, asking angrily— “ Who’s there ? ” A match cracked against the wall. Then there was a little spurt of flame, and then —great heaven !—then were to be heard curses, blows, the crying of a child, appeals, “ Oh, for God’s sake ! ” bark¬ ing of dogs, people running with lights before the win¬ dows, uproar in the whole house. Two days later poor Janko stood before the magistrates. Should he be prosecuted as a thief ? Of course. The justice and the landlord looked at the culprit as he stood in the dock, his finger in his mouth, with staring, terrified eyes, small, emaciated, dirty, beaten, unable to tell why or wherefore he found himself there, or what they were about to do to him. How, thought the justice, could anyone try a wretched

JANKO THE MUSICIAN. 63 3 Stach seized him, laid him on the barn musical echoes of the village. Beside him, floor, and, holding him fast with one hand, on the horse-cloth, lay the fiddle he had turned up his little shirt with the cane, made from a shingle. Suddenly the dying that poor Janko shrieked “Mammy! ” child’s face lit up, and his white lips and after every blow he cried “ Mammy, whispered— mammy ! ” but lower and weaker each time, until after a certain number of “Mammy ! ’’ strokes, the child was silent, and called for “What is it, dearie ? ” asked the mother, his mother no more. . . . her voice stifled with sobs. “Mammy, God will give me a real fiddle The poor broken fiddle ! in heaven.” You clumsy, wicked Stach ! Who ever “Yes, darling, yes,” replied the mother. flogged a child in such a fashion ? The She could speak no more, for from her poor, tiny fellow was always thin and weakly, heart the pent-up sorrow burst suddenly and scarcely had breath in his body ! forth. She only murmured “ Jesus, my At last the mother came and took the Jesus ! ” and laying her head on the table, child with her, but she had to carry him home. wept as those weep from whom death robs Next day Janko did not rise. On the third their dearest treasure. day he breathed out his soul in peace, on And so it was. When she raised her the hard bed covered by the horsecloth. . . . head and looked at the child, the eyes of As he lay dying, the swallows twittered the little musician were open but fixed, the in the cherry-tree that grew before the countenance was grave, solemn, and rigid. window, a sunbeam peered through the The sunbeam had disappeared. pane, and flooded with glory the child’s “ May you rest in peace, little Janko ! ” rough hair and his bloodless face. The beam seemed like a track for the little *J, sU vJx •fellow’s soul to ascend to heaven. *T* -'i'- •T* Well for him was it that at least at the hour of death he mounted a broad and Next day the Baron and his family re¬ sunny path, for thorny would have been turned from Italy to the Castle. The his road in life. The wasted chest still daughter of the house and her suitor were heaved softly, and the child seemed still there amongst the rest. conscious of the echoes of the outer world that entered through the open window. “What a delightful country Italy is!” It was evening ; the peasant girls returning remarked the gentleman. from hay-making passed by and sang as they went; the brook purled close at hand. “ Yes, and the people ! Jdiey are a nation Janko listened for the last time to the of artists! It is a pleasure to note and encourage their talent,” answered the young lady. viz *vj/ *T' m The larches rustled over Janko’s grave !

H Silver Harvest. SHOOTING SEINE-NET. ORNISH pil¬ more or less falling into desuetude. chards are, The glory and excitement of the pilchard no doubt, fishing belongs, however, to the seine-net suffi c i e n 11 y almost exclusively. For weeks the cliffs are well known patrolled by anxious watchers, and when to create once the red streak in the water shows to the some interest practised eye the “school ” slowly moving, the cry “ heva\" or “ hubba \" is heard in the shouted from one to another, and every method by man, woman, and child rushes to the beach. i which they A volunteer colonel the writer once met are caught. touring about Cornwall with a camera had Some years skilfully arranged a characteristic group of back the fishermen and lasses in a disused fish- fisheries cellar, and had carefully had an artistic were work¬ background of nets, lobster-pots, &c., built ed almost up after some hours of trouble and difficulty, entirely by when, just as he was about to raise the cap, the “seine\" a tap at the little window, aery of “ hubba,\" net system, and his group flew off like lightning out of A and had de- the place. He never got them again. For * veloped in¬ many weeks they were all busy with the to a most pilchards. flourishing industry ; but, at present, owing principally to the large increase of Another visitor, not knowing the collo¬ drift-net boats which, in their more regular quial terms of the fisher-folk, was alarmed expeditions, tend to break up the “ schools ” to hear his landlady, in great excitement, or “shoals,\" the old picturesque way of shout to a neighbour, “ Shot at Cadgwith,\" catching them by the “ seine ” boats is and anxiously inquired whether anyone

A SILVER HARVEST. 635 was hurt or killed. Though the fishing times turning out too young and small, villages as a rule are in communication and, though these latter are valuable to the only through coaches, or more often carts, sardine factories, many of which are the news of the first catch rapidly flies ; established in Cornwall, the cost of packing naturally each place anticipating the advent and drawing the fish over many miles of of the pilchards at any moment. rough country prevents it being worth the labour and trouble. And the roads in some Many of the fishermen are almost prac¬ places, say, for instance, the way down to tised athletes. Down a long “ way ” or Sennen Cove, Lands End, are most decidedly “ slip ” the big seine boat is shot, the men rough, the writer having once seen a poor hanging on, pushing, or clambering on as old blind man, who perambulated the the boat is launched into the sea. In a country with a donkey-cart and apples, second the big heavy oars are shipped, every once literally hung up on a huge boulder man in his place, and pulling with all his of rock in the middle of the road. The fish strength for the “ shoal,” guided by the once reached, the net is thrown into the sea “ huer ” who, on the top of the cliff, directs LAUNCHING THE TUCK-BOAT. them by waving two branches of furze-bush and a complete circle made round them, the in the direction required. The turn-out of net righting itself in the water by the leads a metropolitan fire-engine is not accom¬ at the bottom and the corks at the top. plished more expeditiously. This work, Then comes the “tuck-boat,\" often launched as may be supposed, is very arduous, by women and children, carrying a smaller and on many parts of the coast the net, which is fastened inside the bigger •manual labour is superseded by steam “seine,” and partly under the fish, by seine-boats, which are constantly kept at means of which, by gradually lessening the sea on the look-out, the men being paid circle, the precious catch is forced to the weekly wages by the proprietors. Occa¬ surface. Large heavy boats, characteristi¬ sionally the “ school ” is missed, and some¬ cally called “loaders,” are used to convey times, in the difficulty of manoeuvring the the fish to the shore. Stalwart young men heavy boats in a comparatively rough sea, dip the “ tuck-basket ” into the shoal of live a small portion only is secured. Many fish, the water naturally draining out when tries have often to be made, the fish some- it is raised to the surface, while the ,pil-

636 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. chards are stowed in the “ loader \" by large The pay is pretty good for this work, the wooden shovels, to the accompaniment of children even getting 3d. per hour. The the screams of thousands of sea-gulls. pile is then undone, the fish packed with great care in barrels, and by means of a It is almost alarming, too, to see how long lever with a heavy stone hooked on at deep in the water the boats are loaded, the end, pressed down tightly. It is then within an inch or two of the gunwale, Mr. ready for the market. Plimsoll’s load-line evidently not applying ; though, fortunately, accidents are rare. The inland villagers are good customers for pilchards, and, indeed, for all sorts of Upon arriving at the shore or landing- fish, conger and mackerel being especial place many from their own and neighbour¬ favourites with all. They are usually sup¬ ing villages are there to take them up in plied by the country dealers called “jow- “ creels ” to the cellars. We have once seen ters,” though how the word arose is uncer¬ a large influx of Cornish miners for this tain ; but the biggest market is Italy, work only. They are paid 2d. a basket, several Italians being permanently estab¬ lished in Cornwall in the business. It and can make £1 a day, though the work might be supposed that the fishermen themselves would care but little for fish, but is comparatively laborious. experience shows that few people are so Of course the natives manage at these particularly fond of it. Wre have often heard the natives declare that a bit of fresh times to get fairly well provided with fish. or salted fish was better at any time than The children are very busy picking up the meat, roast or boiled. In the winter, when stray pilchards, and the stray ones getting unable to go to sea, the storms and gales scarce, an apparently accidental stumble on the rough stones may upset a large creel full, which is not worth gathering up when fish is plentiful. DIPPING FOR TILCHARDS. If large catches, or perhaps two or three preventing the men from doing anything catches fill the cellars, an interesting sight for a livelihood, the salted pilchard is the is to see the fish packed on the ground by staple article of food. Served with a boiled the women and children, salt being plenti¬ potato it makes a savoury enough dish, fully used, of course, and the heads placed though I think, perhaps, it needs an acquired outwards. The row^ of carefully arranged taste on behalf of the town dwellers to enjoy pilchards is then thatched over and left to it thoroughly. pickle for about a month. Most of the fishermen have their plot of

A SILVER LIAR VEST. PACKING. land, and in their intervals of enforced leisure Cornish pilchards. In some of the fishing are assiduous gardeners, cultivating generally villages it is not at all uncommon for the sufficient potatoes to last the winter. men to have built their own cottages out of their earnings and to have put a little by The oil which is pressed out of the fish besides. Formerly, too, the “ schools ” is drained by little gutters into a small well, came along as early as August, but now they and although after some lapse of time it are seldom seen until October. No satis¬ becomes anything but odorous, or even factory reason either for their present agreeable to the view, it is very valuable to apparent scarcity or the change of the time the men for dressing their boots, &c., which of their appearance can be given, the fisher¬ become so hardened by the sea-water. men themselves being at a loss for an Many of the fishermen in days gone by explanation. have made a considerable lot of money by TT

The State of the Law Courts. III.—THE BAR. NDOUBTEDLY the Bar pos¬ counsel. The advocates’ profession is a sesses a charm that belongs very ancient one, and goes back to Roman to no other profession. Not times. The independence of the Bar has only are its possibilities mag¬ always been its greatest boast. Whether nificent, extending as they do it has worthily maintained that charac¬ to the Woolsack, but it has teristic of recent years is a question that the further attraction of being the one we shall discuss later on, but that it did calling wherein the youthful aspirant may so formerly there can be no doubt. In rely upon his personal attributes even more illustration of this, we may relate a story of than upon industry and training for success. a counsel named Wilkins, who was defend¬ Many instances could be mentioned of ing a prisoner before Baron Gurney, a very eminent leaders who have been inundated severe judge. Wilkins thought that the with briefs, and have easily made their judge had made up his mind to convict the ^To,ooo or more a year, not on account of prisoner, and, in the course of his address their legal lore, but because they have been to the jury, he had the temerity to say : brilliant and persuasive speakers, charming “There exist those upon the Bench who of manner, and quick at repartee. have the character of convicting judges. I Perhaps it is natural that most of the do not envy their reputation in this world, smart young graduates who swell the ranks or their fate hereafter ! ” The prisoner of the Bar should feel themselves fully was in the end acquitted, but whether as equipped, if not in their store of learning, the result of this attack, which Baron at least in personal Gurney felt very qualifications. But keenly, or not, it is it is unfortunately impossible to say. a fact that this It may be doubted feeling of youthful whether any ad¬ confidence, admir¬ vocate nowadays able in itself, has would venture to in a great measure speak in a similar led to the growth way. It is pos¬ ofa numerous army sible, however, that of needy barristers, Baron Gurney was many of whom are unaware of his only too anxious reputation for to pick up an occa¬ severity, and Mr. sional guinea at Wilkins’ remarks the County or the may have had a Criminal Courts. LIES OLIVER GOLDSMITH.” salutary effect The prizes of the upon him. Bar are only for the The appoint¬ few, and the dis¬ ment of barristers appointments for is now effected by the many. This the four Inns of uncertainty itself, Court, namely, the perhaps, is an at¬ Inner Temple, the traction to some Middle Temple, of the numerous Lincoln’s Inn, and aspirants who Gray’s Inn. These would emulate the Inns are voluntary successes of Cock- associations, hav¬ burn, Ballantine, ing no statutory Russell, Davey, powers, and it is and other great Only by vil'tUC of