Contributors.

iX
WALTER BESANT.
(Notes on a Young Girl.)

CLARK RUSSELL.
(A Memory of the Pacific.)

GILBERT PARKE <, '0 B A H^\

(Happy Trelawney.)

HUME NISBET. OCT 18 1944

(The Odic Touch.)

F. C. WILLS.
(Bound in Boards.)

RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.
(Elaine in London.)

HAROLD COX.
(Parliamentary Pastime.)

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 A D VER TTSEMENTS.

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' '

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" I
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vt
 CONTENTS.
Illustrated throughout by PHIL MAY.
PACK
A MEMORY OF THE PACIFIC. By Clark Russell I

A NOTE ON" THE YOUNG GIRL. By Walter Besant 9

ELAINE IN LONDON. By Richard Le Galliexne ...
rS
PARLIAMENTARY PASTIMES. By Harold Cox ...
27
BOUND IN BOARDS. By Charles J. Wills 37
HAPPY TREL.MVNEY. By Gili;ert Parker 45
THE ODIC TOUCH. By HuiMe Nisbet 55
NEWLYN NOTES 65
THE HON. ADOLPHUS BYNGO'S REVENGE. By \V. H. Deveni 75
A MOTHER'S EDUCATION. By Frederic Fenn ... 8j
THE VALLEY OF HORRORS. By Francis Gribcle 89
CRUEL COPPINGER. By David Clarke 97
MOLLY. By Phillis Hawtrev 103
"I LOVED MY LOVE WITH A B '" [A Romance of the British
'

Mitseum\ By A. Adams Martin 109

i"^ BUTTERFLY
Edited by L. RAVEN-HILL and ARNOLD GOLSWORTHY.
"TFIE PRETTIEST MAGAZINE IN EUROPE."
Published on the isth of each Month.
VOLUME TWO, NUMBER SEVEN - -
NOW READY PRICE SIXPENCE.
CONTENTS '

GHKTTG TRAVESTIES. No. i. A DECIDER. By John Ennar.

By Melchitzedkk Pinciias. Ilhistrated by Maurice Greiffenhagen.
With Studies of the Ghetto by h. Raven-Hitj,.
THE SI^LPHUR EGG, by Beatrice Chambers.
THE BALLAD OE THE BIRTH OF BOXING. Illustrated by Oscar Eckhardt.
By L. Godfrey-Turner.
ONE A BAD NAME, by A. G.
LIFE. By Arnold GoLSWOR'i'HY.
Ilhistratcd by Oscar Eckiiardt. Etc., Etc., Etc.

WITH FULL-PAGE JOKES AND HUMOROUS AND DAINTY PICTURES.

The whole beautifully printed on best pafer. The Decorative Work by Mr. Edgar ^V. Wilson.

WALTER H ADDON, BOUVERIE HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, LONDON, E.G.

 AD VERTISEMENTS.

Can be obtained with the Age and Genuineness Guaranteed by the Excise Department of the Canadian
Government, by Certificate over the Capsule of every Bottle.

ADIAJJ
Distilled by

Hiram Walker & Sons,

Limited,
WALKERVILLE, CANADA.

OF ALL WINE MERCHANTS.

©is:'
Gold Capsule, 1886 make. WHITE CAPSULE.

Whisky
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and under Government super- BOTTLED BY
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WINE MERCHANTS
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IN ENGLAND.

Branches and Agencies

London Offlces :
69 & 70, MARK LANE, E.G. throughout the World.

=15
^ * W^ ^
My/^
REGISTERED.

HAS FOR OVER HALF A CENTURY SUSTAINED ITS HIGH REPUTATION AS AN

INDISPENSABLE TOILET REQUISITE. DELIGHTFULLY COOLING TO THE SKIN.
RIMiHEIj'S Specialities for the Toilet, Perfumes, .Soaps, Powders, etc.

Vo
!^^ EUGENE RIMMEL, LTD.,
(Perfumers to H.R.H, the Princess of Wales),
Cill special attention to their Choice and Varird Collection of

CHRISTMAS
FANCY SCENT
AND NEW
CASES, BOXES, SACHETS, ETC.
YEAR'S GOODS,
SOLD EVERYWHERE.
CAUTION. — Note N.ime and Trade Mark as above on all Goods, and beware of imitations.
96, STRAND, 180, REGENT ST., 64, CHEAPSIDE, LONDON; and PARIS.
 Ihil
u)
Mays
^\\o^-faio€:j

fvvi NTFK Annual

1^93,

^ /L^ /C-4^^vu^

XouDon :
/^
WALTER HADDON'S Central Publishing ''^

AND Advertising Offices,

BOUVERIE HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.G.

1893.

b
 ADVERTISEMENTS.

COM PANION VOL UME,

SELECTED OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON

PHIL MAY'S "^'^s"J'^J5^5'°

Containing about SIXTY pages of Original Drawings by PHIL MAY.
ANNUAL
DAILY CHRONICLIL — "Mr. Phil May is an artist of whose work, at its best, we could not easily have
enough. name attached to the latest among the annuals at once lends it interest. You would look
Therefore his
through Punch week after week in vain for anything funnier than the expression of the lady in the railway carriage
who sits underneath the huge trunk, which its owner tells her reassuringly has 'nothing in it that'll smash.' "
DAILY TELEGRAPH.— " It is not often that a publication intended for popular holiday reading musters such
an ai-ray of literary talent as that brought to bear on
•
Phil May's Illustrated Summer Annual.' The Annual contains
126 pages of matter, and may be fairly pronounced one of the most attractive publications of its kind ever issued."
—
ST. JAMES'S GAZETTE. " We know of no more attractive shillingsworth than Phil May's Illustrated '

Summer Annual' There is a good deal of variety in the 'artistic merit,' of course; but at least everything is
interesting. Most attractive of all to many readers will be Mr. Sala's gossip about Dickens at home at Gads Hill."
NEWCASTLE CHRONICLE.— "' Phil May's Illustrated Summer Annual' is published at one shilling,
and would be better worth 31^. bd. than most of the three-volume novels at Mudie's."
DAILY GRAPHIC.—" If merit is any criterion of longevity, then it may safely be predicted that it will stay.
Mr. Phil May's reputation as an artist is so independent of praise or criticism that it needs no more proclaiming than
good wine, while with regard to the literary side the Editor has been very happily inspired."
—
STAR. " Mr. May is responsible directly for the clever and humorous sketches in the book, and has chosen
the contributors, who include some of the best short stoiy-tellers of to-day."
REFEREE. — " Would be a good shillingsworth if only for its clever illustrations."
SALA'S JOURNAL. — "It would be, even without the illustrations, a most entertaining shillingsworth; but
with the addiiional attractiveness of Mr. Phil May's sketches, the Annual ' '

may be fairly said to be worth —

not
'
a guinea a box,' as the renowned Beecham has it — '
but a guinea a picture.' Rarely has so much genuine drollery
been infused into a series of black and white drawings."
SPORTSMAN.— " I Summer Annual' to every reader of the Sports-
should like to recommend ' Phil May's
man. Never was so good a likeness of Matthew Dawson drawn ; while the Duke of Westminister, Mr. Arthur
Coventry, Lord Alington, Sam Loates, Joe Thompson, John Bull, etc., are limned to the life with just sufficient
exaggeration."
EVENING NEWS AND POST.— " The prince of caricaturists, Mr. Phil May, has just issued his Summer
Annual. It costs a shilling, and is well worth the money."
SPORTING LIFE. — " One of the brightest of the summer annuals is that issued by the widely-known atid
talented caricaturist Phil May. With marvellous fidelityhe has depicted many of the shining lights of the West End,
not forgetting some choice spirits to be found at the East. In nddition some laughable tales are unfolded by the
chief of story-tellers of our time ; whilst, to sum up, '
Phil May's Summer Annual
'

tops the beam as THE mirth-

provoking annual of the year."

"
fleknomledged by ovef 300 Neuispapers to be THE liEflDlHG AHNUflli."

To be had of all Booksellers, Bookstalls, or Newsagents, Price Is., or post free for
Is. 3d. from WALTER H ADDON, Bouuerie House, Salisbury Square, E.G.
specimen Illustration from Phil May's Winter Annual. 1892.

" What's "

'e done, governor ?

SI
 A D VERIISEMENTS.
a STILL THE BEST.*'
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All Orders must be sent direct to Salisbury. In ordering, please quote name of this paper.
 A MEMORY
THE
j=r\oF'

.£AC1F1C

CLARK
mmi.

TT was in December, 1S58, that the ship Walter

Hood shifted her berth to the wool-sheds at

Sydney to load a cargo for London. I was chief

officer of the vessel ; my name, let me say here,
is Adam Chichester.
I was standing on the whart near the ship,
waiting for the arrival of some wagons of wool,
when the master of a German vessel that lay just
astern of us came up to me, and said :
—
"
Dot vhas a bad shob last night."

li
 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
"What was?" said I. police were in hot pursuit, and there was no hope
"
Hav not you heard of der brudal murder in for him.
That evening strolled up George Street for a
Shorge Street ?" I

"
I have not seen a morning
paper." walk, and saw a great crowd at the Abneys' shop.
"
She vhas dot small chop vhere dey sells I
stopped to stare with the rest of them. They
grocery und odder tings on der left going oop. call this sort of curiosity vulgar and debasing.

She vhas a Meester Abney, dey say. Der murderer But crime puts the significance of human emotion,
vhas a beas'ly rogue called Murray she helped ; misery, and remorse into stocks and stones.
in der shop she hod been a soldier.
;
Dis morning Human passion gives the vitality of romance,
poor Abney vhas found dead in her bedt mit her tragic, or comic, to the most sordid and contemp-
troat cut und her skull sphlit." tible aspects of the commonplace. I had passed

"
Have they got the murderer ? " that grocer's shop twenty times, and often looked
"
No. Dot vhas der pity. He make clean off at the house. I looked at it again now, and found

mit sixty pound." the matter-of-fact s,tructure as strange, grotesque,

Throughout the day people coming and going repulsive as a nightiiiare.

talked of this murder. The yarn ran thus Mrs. :
— The days rolled on Murray remained at large
;

Abney occupied a room next to the murdered His escape, or at least his marvellous manner of
man's ;
the son, Thomas, a youth of about eigh- hiding, was the source of more excitement than
teen, used an apartment at the back of the shop ;
the murder itself had proved. Most people sup-
the servant lay in the attics ;
the assistant, Murray, posed he had got clean away and was lurking
lodged out. Neither Mrs. Abney, her son, nor among the islands, unless he was halfway on the
the servant had heard a sound in the night ; road to Europe or America others that he had ;

Murray had broken into the house, passed into struck inland and had perished in the wilds.
Abney's room, and murdered him then from a ;
But by degrees of course the matter went out of
safe, whose key Abney kept under his pillow, he one's head out of mine certainly.
;
Before the
had taken about sixty sovereigns all so noise- ; ship sailed I could v/alk up George Street and
lessly, the footfalls of a cat are not stiller. The look at the shop and think of other things than
family slept on, and the murder was not discovered the murder. Yet the memory of it was freshened
till half-past seven in the morning. a day or two before the tug got hold of us by the
was known by these damning tokens that
It commander of the ship. Captain Charles Lytton,

Murray was the murderer first the knife Abney's

:
telling me that amongst those who had taken
throat had been cut with was Murray's after ; berths in the steerage were the widow and son of
using it he had dropped it behind some paper in the murdered man.
"
the bedroom grate. Next, when he had shifted I'm almost sorry they chose this ship," said he,
"
himself at his lodgings he had buried the clothes with an uneasy half-laugh. For my part I'd as
in the back garden ; a dog belonging to the woman lief sail on a Friday as carry anything with such

of the house was observed to run into the garden a shadow upon it as murder."
with its nose stooped as though on a trail, and "They're long in catching Murray," said I.
stopping where the bundle was buried, it began "It's no fault of the police," he answered.
"
to scratch and howl. The woman called a neigh- We're not in England here. A brisk walk takes
bour ; they went to the place with a spade and a man into desolation. When you talk of catching
found Murray's clothes, covered with blood- a murderer, you think of beadles and fire-engines,
stains. and the electric telegraph. But the black man is
The man himself was off, and the people who still in this country ; there's never a village pump
from time to time during the day gave me news betwixt Wooloomooloo and the Antarctic circle.
of this thing told me he was still at large, that the Small wonder your bushranger flourishes."
 I

"That evening I strolled up George Street for a walk, and saw a great crowd at the Abueys'
shop. I stopped to stare with the rest of them."
 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
Wesailed on a Monday in the bej^ inning of some queer dream of meeting of him, and talks
February, having been belated by the breakdown with eyes shining of a day of reckoning.
his
of some transport machinery in the interior. Otherwise he'd have stayed in Sydney, where he's
There went about a dozen people to the steerage got friends, and where his father's murder was
company, and we carried ten passengers in the likely to have improved his prospects by bringing
saloon. The IValicr Hood Mas a smart and him pity and business."
beautiful clipper of a vanished type ; elliptical When was out of sight, the
the Australian coast
slern, a swelling lift of head with an exquisite wind chopped from the westward into the south,
entry of cut-water, coppered to the bends, a green and blew a wonderful sailing breeze, bowling a
hull,yards as square as a frigate's, with a noble wide heave of sea from horizon to horizon in lines
breast of topsail and royal yards hoisting close of milky ridges and soft, dark blue valleys, freckled
under the trucks, man-of-war style. On a wind, as with melting snow, anci along this splendid
one point free, she could have given her towrope foaming surface rushed the ship with the westering
to any Blackwall liner then afloat and not known sunlight red as blood in every lifting flash of her
there was anything in her wake. wet sheathing. So through the night the white ;

When we were clear of the Heads, I came aft water full of fire poured away on either hand the
after seeing to the ground tackle, and in the waist thunderous stem the purely-shining stars reeled
;

saw a woman in deep mourning, looking over the above our phantom heights of sail faint as steam.
rail at the receding land. A young fellow stood At ten a corner of crimson moon rose over our
beside her. He too was in black. I cannot recall bows, to be eclipsed for awhile by the shadowy
a finer specimen of a young man than that youth. square of a ship's canvas right ahead but before ;

His height was about six feet. He held himself the moon had brightened into silver we had the
erect as a soldier. His breadth of shoulder war- stranger abeam of us, and were passing her as
ranted in him the hurricane lungs of a boatswain. though she were anchor —
a lubberly, blubberly
at
He was looking at the land, and his face was hard whaler, square-ended, with stump topgallant-masts
with a fixed and dark expression of grief. — a splashing grease-box gamely tumbling in our
The third mate was near. I \\hispered to him wake with a convulsive sawing and shearing of
to say if those two were the Abneys. He answered her masts and yardarms, as though, sentient but
they were. When some time later on I had drunken too, the lonely fabric sought to foul the
leisure to look about me, I observed that the stars with her trucks, and drag the stellar system
widow of the murdered man and her son held out of gear.
aloof from their fellow-passengers down on the So through next day, and a whole week of days
maindeck. She always appeared with a veil on. and nights following then the breeze scanted one
;

She and the youth would get together in some afternoon, and at sundown it was a glassy calm,
corner or recess, and there sit, talking low. The with a languid pulse of swell out of the south-east,
steerage folks treated them with a sort of com- and a sky of red gold, shaded with violet cloud,
miserative respect, as though affliction had digni- brighter eastwards when the sun was set than
fied the pair. The steward told me he had picked astern where the light had been.
up that, after the murder of Abney, the widow had The middle watch was mme that night. I

sold off the contents of the shop and her furniture ;

turned out with a yawn at midnight, and going on
she was going home to live with her sister, the deck found the moon trembling
reflection of the
wife of a tradesman at Stepney. He told me that with the brushing of a delicate warm catspaw of
the son often spoke of his father's murder. wind the sails were asleep, and the ship was
;

"
His notion is," said the steward, " that Murray's wrinkling onwards at two knots. The moon was
out of the colony, and's to be found in England. over our port maintopsail yardarm, and being now
That's his 'ope. He's a bit crazed, I think, with hard upon her full, and hanging in a perfectly
 A MEMORY OF THE PACIFIC.

cloudless sky, she filled the night with a fine white me there was a boat or something black two points
glory till the atmosphere looked to brim to the on the port bow on which I shifted the helm for
;

very stars with her light ;

the Southern Cross the object, which the night glass speedily resolved
itself in the south shone faint in that spacious into the proportions of a small open boat, with a
firmament of moonlight. man standing up in her.
I never remember the like of the silence that L5y this time the captain, who had been aroused
was upon that sea ;
the sense of the solitude of by our voices, was on deck. We floated slowly

the prodigious distances worked in one like a down upon the little boat, and the captain hailed
spirit, subduing the heart with a perception of to know if the man had strength to scramble
some mysterious inaudible hush ! floating to and aboard alone.
"
meeting in the ship out of every remote pale Yes, sir," was the answer.
"
ocean recess. I had used the sea for years, and Then look out for a line."
knew what it was to lie motionless under the Line The boat came under the bow a rope's end ;

for three weeks, stirless as though the keel had was thrown and caught. The man languidly
been bedded in a sheet-flat surface of ice or glass ; cliiTibed into the forecliannels, omitting to secure
but never before had the mystery, the wonder, the the boat, which drove past and was already in our
awe which dwell like sensations of the soul itself wake whilst the fellow was crawling over the side.
in any vast scene of ocean night that is silent as Some of our seamen helped him over the rail, and
death, and white as death too with overflowing he then came aft, walking very slowly, with an

moonlight, affected and governed me as the occasional reel in his gait, as though drunk or
qualities and sublime silence of this midnight excessively weak.
did. He niounted the poop ladder with the assistance
The second mate went below, and I
paced the of a seaman. The moonlight was so bright it was
deck alone. Saving the fellow at the helm, I almost the same as seeing things by day. He was
seemed to be the only man in the ship. Not a a short, powerfully built man, habited in the
figure was visible. But then I very well knew Pacificbeachcomber's garb of flannel shirt and
that to my call the deck would be instantly clamor- dungaree breeches, without a hat or shoes his ;

ous and alive with running shapes of seamen. hair was long and beard ragged he was
wild, his ;

After I had walked a little while, I crossed to about thirty years of age, with a hawksbill nose,
the port side where the flood of moonshine lay and large protruding eyes, hollow- cheeked, and
shivering upon the ocean, and looked at the bright he was of the colour of a corpse as he faced the
white rim of the sea under the moon, thinking I moon.
saw a sail there. It was then I heard a faint cry ;
He begged for a drink and for something to eat,
it sounded like a halloaing out upon the water on and food and a glass of rum and water were given
the port bow. I strained my ears, staring ahead to him before he was questioned.
with intensity. Then hearing nothing I supposed He then told us he had belonged to the Colonial
the sound that had been like a human voice hailing schooner Coi\lelia that had been wrecked fi\'e
was some creaking or chafing noise aloft, and I days before on a reef, how far distant from the
was about to resume my walk when I heard it
present situation of our ship he did not know.
again, this time a distinct, melancholy cry. The master and Kanaka crew left the wreck in
"Did you hear that, sir?" cried the fellow at what he called the longboat. He said he was
the wheel. asleep when the schooner grounded. He did not
I
answered, yes, and sung out for some hands apparently awaken until some time after the dis-
to get upon the and report anything
forecastle aster when he came on deck he found the
;

in sight. The
halloaing was repeated in a few ; schooner hard and fast and deserted. A small
minutes a man forward hailed the poop and told boat was swinging in davits ; he lowered her and
 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
left the wreck, unable to bring away anything to curtseying forwards under breathing topsails and
eat or drink with him, as the hold was awash and studding sails, and the cuddy breakfast being
the vessel quickly going to pieces and floating off ended, all the passengers were on deck.
in staves. I stood at the head of the starboard
poop ladder,
He delivered this j'arn in a feeble voice, but watching the steerage passengers on the main
fluently ;undoubtedly he had suffered ;
but some- deck. I took particular notice, I recollect, on
how, as I listened, I could not satisfy myself that this occasion, of the Abneys, widow and son, as
what had befallen him had happened just as he they sat on the coaming of the main-hatch, the
stated. youth reading aloud to his mother. It was the
Me asked what ship ours was, and looked roimd contrast, I
suppose, of the heavy crape and thick
(jUickly when he was told she was the IVal/cr veil of the woman with the light tropic garments
/ /ofld ivo\w Sydney bound to London. The captain of the rest of the people which invited my eyes to
abked him what his rating had been aboard the the couple. I found
my mind recalling as ber>t
schooner he answered able seaman.
;
He was my memory could the particulars of the horrible
then sent forward into the forecastle. crime the widow's sombre clothes perpetuated.
I went below at four and was again on deck at Then it was, and whilst I was recreating the

eight, and learned that the man we had rescued picture of the shop in George Street, that I ob-
" turn we The from the page
was too ill to to," as call it.
ship's served the young fellow lift his gaze
doctor told me
he was suffering from the eftects it had been fastened to, violently start, then leap
of privationand exposure, but that he was a sudden shriek.
to his feet with a He was looking
at the man we had rescued
hearty man and would be fit for work in a day or he stood in the waist, ;

two. He had told the doctor his name was trousers upturned, arms bared, posture as erect as

Jonathan Love, and that the Cordelia belonged to a soldier's ;

a formidable iron figure of a fellow of
Hobart Town, at which place he had joined her. medium height, ragged still with hair about the

The doctor said to me he did not like his looks. head and face.
" " "
I make
every allowance," he went on, for Mother," yelled the young fellow almost in the
hairiness and colour, and for the expression which instant of his first shriek, whilst the rescued man
the sufterings a man endures in a drv, starving, turned to look at him. "Father's murderer! —
open boat at sea will stamp upon his face, some- James Murray There he is "
!
— !

times lastingly. There's an evil memory in the —

"Not by the son not by the son!" shouted
eyes of that chap. He glances at you as though Murray, holding out his arms as the other rushed
"
he saw something beyond." towards him. Not hy you I He's got his father's
"
Men of a sweet and angelic expression of coun- looks !
Any man else — but -"

tenance are rarely met with in these seas," said L young fellow could grasp him, Murray,
Before the
" in a single leap, swift and agile as a goat's, had
Likely as not he will prove an escaped con-
vict," said the doctor. gained the fore-rigging, and was halfway up the
Three days passed, and Love still kept his shrouds, the young fellow after him.
hammock. But now the doctor reported him
"
Not you " roared the murderer, " not
! with

well, and the captain sent orders to the boatswain your father's face on you. S'elp me God, it sliatit
"
to turn the man to and find out what he was fit be, then and rounding to the sea, he put his
!

for. This happened during a forenoon watch hands together and shot overboard, brushing the
which was Inine. The day had broken in splen- outstretched hand of his pursuer as he flashed
dour. Masses of white cloud were rolling their past him.
"
stately bulk, prismatic as oyster-shells, into the Pick us up ! He must hang for Brown- it.

north-east, and the blue in the breaks of them was ing's too easy ! He murdered my father !" and
of the heavenly dye of the Pacific. The ship was thus shouting the lad sprang into the water.
 A MEMORY OF THE PACIFIC.

Such a scene of confusion as now followed defies They had grappled. God knows what intention
my pen. Theceaseless scieamhig of the poor was in the young fellow's mind it may be he ;

widow complicated the uproar. I bawled to the hoped to keep the murderer afloat till the boat
man at the wheel to put the helm down, then for reached them. They churned up the foam as
hands away and lower a boat.
to lay aft to clear though it was white water there boiling on some
AH our passengers were from Sydney all the ; fang of rock.
crew had shipped at that port every one there
; The moment the boat put off, an awful silence
had heard of the murder of Mr. Abney and the ; fell upon the ship.
" "
effect of the discovery that we had fallen in with Pull, men, pull the captain shouted, and the
!

the murderer who had so long and successfully brine flew in sheets from the oars as the little
eluded justice, that he had been on board the ship fabric sprang forward. But though the crew with
three days, that he was yonder floating on our the second mate in the stern sheets toiled like

quarter, with the murdered man's son making for demons, they were too late. The boat was within
hini with bold furious sweeps of his arm— was three of her own lengths of the spot, when the two
electrical ! women shrieked and men roared ; men disappeared. We watched breathless, with
overhead the flapped as the ship came to
sails a very madness and anguish of expectation, for a
the wind, and there was the further noise of sight of the head of one or the other of them ;
but
the heavy tread of seamen, the flinging down of idly : and had hung some three-
after the boat

my own and the captain's swift, sharp com-

ropes, quarters of an hour about the place where they
mands. had vanished, with the second mate standing up
When I had time to look, I beheld a death in her, eagerly looking around, she was recalled,

struggle in the sea some quarter of a mile distant. hoisted, and we proceeded on our voyage.
 ^^

m'%:

Pedestrian Wag: "Hallo, Kurncl !

"
 A NOTE ON THE YC UNG GIRL.
are three degrees of Girl. First, there bit of the machine. She wonders that any one
THERE
the is Young Lady. She begins — where ? should have the temerity to break a law, and she
Somewhere below your own position, madam. thinks that a law, once made, becomes a living
Somewhere below her is the Young Person, who power armed with a stick able to enforce itself.

begins on the rung below that reached by the The Young Girl, therefore, who is, if you think of
Young Lady. Thirdly, below her is the Young Girl. it, also a Woman — let us not forget this fact — pre-
She begins pretty low down, and ends but no — fers the (perhaps) hard hours of the factory to the
man has yet discovered where she ends, because, license of the home work — license greatly reduced,
if you go deeper down, down, down, there is a if not abolished, by the scourge of necessity.
Young Girl— poor wretch, lower still. It is, how- Where there are laws to be obeyed there is no
e\er, on the Young Girl that I have made these need for independent or responsible action. Next,
few notes that follow. she prefers the factory to home, because the work
First of all, she is a Work Girl ;
she does all is gregarious. For the Work Girl is human first —
kinds of things ; she works in the match factory, a Woman, and then a member of humanity. Now
in a jam factory, in a dressmaker's shop, in the Humans, whether they suffer or arehappy, prefer
feather Hne, in the buttonhole line, in the finishing both or either in company. A heaven on a desert
line ; she works at home she makes buttonholes;
;
island would be no heaven at all to the Young Girl.

she makes shirts — cheap shirts ; she stitches, and She could not endure it. She would once send
at

hems, and folds, and irons all day long, and some- up a petition to be transferred to whatever place
times, when she is greatly driven, half the night. had received the other Young Girls.
" once asked a lady who had spent
Mostly, however, she works in shops and fac- Tell me," I

tories ; she likes this better than working at home, most of her life among the Young Girls, "what
because, first of all, the hours— even if they are would one of them do if she became suddenly
—
long are appointed and the work even if it is
;
— rich ?
"

hard— is apportioned
; and the wages even if — My friend replied without a moment's hesitation,
they are low are fixed. —
If you think of it. "
She would buy a blue and scarlet feather that ;

Woman is the most law-abiding creature in the would make two." "And next?" "She would
world ; she loves to think that a new law has been buy another; that would make three." "And
passed ; the greatest charm to her about the con- —
then ?" "I think" but this with some hesitation
vent life set about with rules like
is that it is all — "that she would take a lodging for herself and
nails in a fence — rules
which must be obeyed. engage another Young Girl as her servant. They
Tell her that a thing is a law, and she will regard like the sense of power." Of course, because
it as a Divine ordinance which can only be broken she is a —
woman Chaucer himself could say no
at the expense of some dreadful suffering, just as more—" she would enjoy ordering the Young Girl
any disregard of the laws of gravity certainly about. But she would be kind to her. It would
leads to the fracture of some useful or ornamental very often be a v.-ord and a slap ; but the servant
lO PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
would be well treated, both as to food and as to politics, her native country, anything else you like
feathers." to name, she knows nothing.
Their work is conscientious. As a rule, the How, then, does she fill her mind ? Because a
Young Girl is much given to scamp her work
less mind is one of those things which must be kept
than the lad. 0\\ the other hand, no Young Girl, full,
—
or they crack a wine cask is subject to the
no Young Person, no Young Lady takes the same same law. What does she think about ? The
delight in work, and the artistic interest in it, which feathers, in the first instance ;
her friends — the
is commonly found in men, even when tlie M'ork other Young Girls — in the second place; her young
is of the dullest and the most uninteresll. g kind. man in the third.
—
Sound work good work— the man generally tries Ilcr young man. It is, she thinks, the universal
to put into the job. The Young Girl tries only rule that young people must keep company. In
to do exactly what she was told to do. She never some circles the two who keep company surround

understands, or tries to understand, anything each other with a delightful halo of imagination ;

about the nature and the conditions of her trade ;

so that to Amandus Amanda seems a goddess of
her employer is the man with the bag, who goodness, as well as of loveliness, though among
refuses to give more why he refuses she ncitlier
; her own friends she is spoken of as a dull, unin-
asks nor cares. She has not been taught to in- teresting, and commonplace girl, who might be
quire. pretty if she had a better mouth ;
and to Amanda
The Young Girl does not read much. An illus- Amandus seems a mighty champion, with an over-
book pleases her sometimes. She
trated child's powering weight of brain, and a eye like a hawk's
never buys the penny novelette, which would be, for the discernment and the division of the truth :

indeed, to trespass upon the ground of the Young to her he already a leader while others speak
is ;

Person. She never dreams, as the Young Person of him as a heavy and rather stupid person who
dreams, that a prince is going to fall in love with took infinite pains to get even a third class degree.
her. All her imagination goes out in the direction After marriage a more sober view gradually, but
of the impossible skirt, the unattainable bodice, not uncomfortably, grows up and prevails. But
and the feathers of fairy land. If there is one Amanda, to the end, preserves something of the
proposition which she holds more firmly than old imaginary divinity and Amandus, even when
;

another her simple creed, it is this that Woman

in : the wife has heard her husband's sermons for forty
— especially her branch and species of Woman — years, still retains something of the old respect for
was created for no other purpose than to wear, if she intellectual superiority. With the Young Girl love
is good and fortunate, some comes without the imagination. There no halo
startling combination is

of colours — blue, scarlet, yellow, green, purple, about it. The lad who is her fate is most likely
crimson, and v/hite. She is incredibly ignorant. a townbrcd slouch, who knows no trade and has
In the towns all the folklore which the great-grand- nothing but a pair of hands perhaps, but
;
it is rare,
mother the witch used to know has been clean for- he is a craftsman. In the latter case the girl's lot

gotten. The herb lore, the weather lore, the flower may be a happy one. In the former case she must
lore —
all the secrets of the land which the
country look, in marriage, for increased work and the de-
woman knows cannot survive among the bricks ; privation of all her old pleasures. Her husband
they die. Of all these things the Young Girl is half the time is out of employ she ;
must work for
absolutely ignorant. She never reads papers, both ;nay, she must work for the babies as well.
magazines, books, or anything. If she is a The Young Girl has so little imagination that she
Roman Catholic, she goes to mass ;
if not, she cannot understand how the lot of the many babies
goes nowhere. She cannot sew, or mend, or darn, and the hard work will as certainly fall to her as
or make the smallest thing ;
she cannot cook ;
she to the women around her, if she marries such a
can only make the tea ;
of histoiy, geography, man. She is so untrained in mind that she cannot
 A NOTE ON THE YOUNG GIRL. II

look about and compare and apply to herself the When she is married she is no longer a Young
things she sees. Otherwise, would she marry such Girl, and so concerns not these notes. But I
a man? Would she marry at all? Great, indeed, think that she is often as loyal to her husband,
and overmastering, must be the impulse towards as devoted, as self-sacrificing, as if he was a poet
love and marriage when the Young Girl who lives instead of a slouch. I have seen the young wife
amid the miseries of poverty, to whom the wretched- toiling in her hot room, where the fire must be
ness of our population should cry aloud unceas- kept up all day for the sake of the work, while the
mgly, never thinks of rebellion at all. On the young husband, weary and footsore and exha,usted
contrary, she leaves her friends and obeys the with the last long useless tramp for work, lies
universal law, and keeps company, and presently sound asleep on the bed. And I have seen the
-perhaps when she is no more than sixteen— she
-
young mother with her half-dozen children
marries her man at the registrar's office, and a But this paper has nothing to do with young wives
month or two later becomes the mother of a fair or young mothers.
child. And so, while a child, she is a wife and
still Does the Young Girl drink ? Not often. Some-
a mother. Can anything be done to stop these times when the young man presses her, not with
early marriages ?
Everything makes for them— her friends. I do not think the Young Girl desires
custom, example, opinion, prejudice, the weakness strong drink as a rule. The elder woman
— yes —
of woman. What
against them? Thrift; fore-
is more's the pity. But not the Young Girl.
sight the thought of the unborn children
;
know- ;
Is there any better future for the Young Girl ?
ledge of the hard conditions of labour, to be made I think that all is being done that can be done.

harder as more and more children are brought She has her club, run for her by certain ladies who
into the world ; the example of the wretched women give up all own lives for her sake.
the best of their
around, their lives one long slavery. But how are In the club she learns gentle manners, decent
we to teach these girls these things ? They have language, cleanliness and order, perhaps sewing,
their clubs, and in these they learn something but ;
perhaps cooking, perhaps a little knowledge of
if the ladies who manage the club should try to some kind or other. All this is good for her.
turn it into a preaching house, they would very Outside there is the young man, there is the public
soon preach to empty walls. And in the delicate house, there is the registrar's office, there is the

—
matter of love a thing so eminently personal I — example of all the other Young Girls. Who is she
think these ladies are powerless. that she should refuse the common lot ? Who is

The real romance of the young girl's life is not she that alone among all the Young Girls she should
in her love chapter, which is a chapter in prose, and think, forecast, consider the future, and make her
a dreary chapter too ; it is in her friendships. We life as comfortable for herself as the slender
see her walking three abreast, jubilant of face, ex- materials at her command will enable her? She
ulting in her feather, confident in her youth, laughing will continue as she is ;
all that can be done for

loudly, chaffing the young men of her acquaint- her is to keep up the club, not to let her slip out
ance. She is not pretty to look at, her language of sight into the desert, and to work gradually and
is not always the most delicate in the world, unceasingly on this question of work and wages
her manners are not attractive, yet she is loyal to and the connection between wages and sweating,
her friends in a way that her more cultured sisters or between wages and equity ;
so that the employer
would do well to imitate. She and her friends shall be shamed into justice, and the shareholder
stand together, they share each other's fortunes ; shall insist upon a lower dividend, and the Young
when one does not possess the half-penny for the Girl shall receivethe wage that is due to her.

cup of coffee at the club, she shares her friend's Perhaps she does already. Things are changing
cup. The great, the redeeming feature of the Young veiy fast, and wages are not v.-hat they were.
Girl is her unbounded generosity and her loyalty. Walter Besant.
 P^iu !'-]n''

•
^
,yo<^ ^/AwCjHr^ BoT/ ycvj'LL. Paul. o^&.(K ^

13
- ^ ^S^c^'^ "

«3
 THE GHIGfiGO EXHIBITION.
" Four dollars bed The extravagance canna sleep
McPherson : for a ! of it ! I for thinking o't.'

>4
 ELAINE IN LONDON.
The young should noi sleep 7vith the old, they say : lest the old steal the roses from their cheeks,
to give their ebbing life a feiv more heart-beats. Always is Death thus waiting, with wistful, pitiful
face, to play the vampire. He lurks in dead flowers and all lave/ious memories that hold the heart
awhile from to-dafs sunlight, and he sucks the kisses that else had fallen on Young Love's mouth.

A S an old tree, scarred and black, will some- "

Yes even our own frying-pan
;
!
"

times, when all think it dead, suddenly bring And then Alice would call him a tease, and there
forth a tender green bud, so young love came to would be a generally ending in expen-.
little scuffle,

Shepherd's Inn. The place had been from time diture of kisses. So some days went by, with just
immemorial the burrow of second-rate solicitors or enough work squeezed in to keep them going. All
seedy artists ;
and—" True," said the old porter, proved as they had known it would. They were
"
j\Ir. Dixon, who died of consumption last spring, happy as the day is long.
had lived in No. 8 with his wife, but it was very Their tiny bedroom looked out on to the old
seldom married couples came there." Edv/ard and court with its great leafy trees, and at night the
Alice Leigh smiled at each other and looked bash- lamp in the middle would send its rays up among
ful at this remark, for you see
they had really been the roosting sparrows, and down on to the seat
married so short a time that they were not yet used which ran round one of the great trunks. The
toit, and they could not quite shake off an uncom- trees are very high, soaring above the buildings,
fortable feeling that they were doing something and sometimes the evening sun will catch their
in thus taking rooms together.
wrong They had tops, turning them to gold in very pretty fashion,
feltquite sure that the old porter would ask to see and lying like moss upon the red-tiled eastern roofs.
their maniage lines, and Alice took good care The lawyers never notice it as they hurry home,
that he should notice her wedding-ring. but such sights are dear to the newly-married and ;

It was a great relief when their was our lovers would sometimes sit at their little back
agreement
really signed and their quaint tiny rooms fitted up window watching it together, till gradually all the
with their pathetic little bits of furniture. gold had faded, and the court returned with a
About six times a day they would stand together shiver to its native grey. And then the lamplighter
in the middle of their biggest
room, and Alice, would come, and the lower boughs would get their
with her big blue eyes ready to overflov/, would share of a different gold, the strange old weary
say :
— clock would strike nine, and there would be a sound
"Think, darling, it is all our very own !" of the beadle-like porter closing the great front
"
Yes, all our own, dear." doors, so that to any one standing in the court the
" "
Our own chairs !
archway looked exactly like the first scene in
" "
Yes, dear !
Macbeth. And so all had transpired one evening,
" "
Our own tables ! while the lovers still stood dreamily by the win-
" "
True, my love !
dow, gold hair and dark together, just asking each
" "
Our own fire-irons ! oilier now and again one or two of Love's un-
i6 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
necessary questions, in the hushed voice of twi- of their cruellest quarrel. The worst of it was that
hght. And then came the sovmd of a shuffling step Edward was due at a little smoke just about that
from the passage facing them, that which divides time, and though at first he wished to put the thing
the two courts and leads into Chancery Lane, and off, ineffectual attempts at reconciliation made him

presently emerged into the lamplight the bent form impatient, and he determined
to go, leaving the
of a very old man, hastening with a quick crab- breach unhealed. This, of all courses, was the
like motion towards the centre seat, a form so bitterest pain, for such a parting always filled him

piteous in its abject age that Alice involuntarily with foreboding. What if Alice were dead when
exclaimed " poor old man " with that dear com-
! he returned and a thousand such keen possibili-
!

passionate accent women alone know. Apparently ties would So he lingered long,
flash before him.
with a deep sense of rest, the old man seated him- hoping for the kiss of softened lips that would pro-
self, and taking off his hat, his bald white head claim the spasm once more passed but it would ;

shone like a skull in the lamplight. Then, as if he not come, temper was too sternly knotted, and he
knew they were there, he lifted up his head, and went out with but a cold formal word of adieu. He
looked at them with a gaze that seemed piercing had hardly closed the door when Alice was on her
even at a distance a strange, knowing look it
: feet and in the little back room to watch him cross
seemed too, as if he had known all about them be- the court. How she longed to call him back If !

were born. Both, on one impulse, drew

fore they he had only turned round to look at her window it
back from the window with something like a would have been easy but no he had disappeared
;
!

shudder when they looked again he was off to his

; into the passage, and Alice stood quite alone with
staircase, being apparently a fellow-tenant. her little white bed glimmering in the reflected
Now is it not written that the happiest love must light of the quadrangle lamp. Long she stood
include some pain, and to hope for an untroubled motionless in a dry agony as of bent steel, but at
peace is asking more than life will give. Besides, last the little warm touch came to her heart, and,
"
the falling out that but the more endears " is as if by magic, tender love had come trembling
really too proverbial to quote, and such fallings back again, and she threw herself on her pillow
out Edward and Alice of course occasionally had. in a passion of sweet tears.
But they were really seldom, for they loved each
other too much not to dread them. IL
Being two
very sensitive creatures they suftered dreadfully, When Edward it was
returned
past midnight.
their little quarrels were really cruel knotted things, Somehow he had quite forgotten their unhappiness,
with that note of tragedy which is always an ele- and it was only brought back to hmi as, crossing the
ment of intense relationships. Each time they Inn court, his eye caught the light in the little bed-
felt that there was nothing to do but to part, to room, as Alice always left it burning when he was
pass from each other and die. Comic, may be, to out late. With it swam back the whole trouble,
the bystander, but then that depends on his quality. and ashe climbed up the crooked staircase he felt
Tvlost suffering is comic, perhaps, until it becomes his heart hardening again. But he came in softly
our own. for all that, and peeping into the room he saw that
These quarrels, they noticed, often followed im- Alice was fast asleep. What good man can see a
mediately on hours of intensest happiness, a cir- woman babe asleep and feel aught but reverent
or a
cumstance for which in calmer moments they found love? He
bent over and watched her breathing
an easy physiological explanation. with that tender feeling as of a curious pity which
However, it so chanced that one evening soon comes upon us as we watch any one sleeping, but
after the forgotten apparition of that old man, they with tenfold tenderness if it be one we love. And,
had never been happier in all their lives, and so see, what is that shining on his pillow ? A little cake
before the clock struck nine they were in the midst of chocolate wrapped in silver paper — the peace
 ELAINE IN LONDON 17

"
offering of a little child. AIi, when the hand is night and day,' he said, and he looked at me with
hers," etc. The tears rushed to his eyes —" little such strange blue eyes but I was so frightened ;

"
woman ! that I ran upstairs and shut myself in ;" and then
Soon he had very gently laid himself by her side, followed another fit of terror, which Edward tried

and with half-raised head watched her gentle breath- in vain to soothe.

ing, smiling lovingly as herbody from time to time "And have been wondering who that woman
I

gave one of those queer little twitches of sleep, or can be. it be me ?

Can He said she wept night
her smooth forehead contracted for a moment in and day. Poor creature " and she burst into hys- !

one of sleep's petted baby frowns. How he loved terical sobbing. Dead silence again and then very ;

"
her !
quietly in as a dream We were very unhappy, :

"
Soon he was gently dropping off himself, when Edward, weren't we ?

Alice startled him with a frightened cry, seeking "Yes, love ;

but it has all passed away now. See,
"
his arms. Edward ! Edward save me, hold me
! kiss me. Dear little wife, we could not be unhappy
fast !
See, he is coming after me." for long. It will be all gone to-morrow."
Heput his arm around her, and tried to soothe And then the memory of the old man seemed
her, like a dreaming child. suddenly to leave her, and, creeping close to Edward,
" she asked in a shamefaced voice, like a child that
My little child, what is the matter ? See, there
is no one, dear. You are quite safe safe in your — has done wrong,
"
Did you find the chocolate I left
"
boy's arms, dear. Really, love, there is nothing. for you, dear ?

" "
Lie and sleep, little woman I am with you."
still ;
And did you know what it meant ?
" That's
"Oh, but there is !" cried Alice, suddenly springing right, and I mended that old coat for thee,

up with eyes apparently wideawake.

"
Oh, yes !
darling, and — —
and but oh, dost thou love me st —
"
Tell me
"
See there and she pointed to the foot of
!
Oh, see ! still ? and ;
she half rose and pressed
" "
the bed. man, and he is beckon-
See, it is that old his head against her side. For oh, I love thee

ing to me Oh, he is coming to take me

! But you 1 with my whole life."

won't let him hold me fast, faster — "

and she ! Then at last she slept again from sheer weari-
cowered down at his side, shuddering with terror. ness, and Edward anxiously watched her awhile, for
"
Dear little one, be comforted. See, my arms her strange dream had startled his nerves, and he
are very close round you, darling I There is no- could not sleep. So presently he fell to thinking
thing to fear." of a strange thing that had happened to him also
Alice lay still a moment ; then suddenly she that night.

asked,
—
III.
"Is he gone ?" in such a convincing wideawake
voice that a tremor passed through Edward even, What he had understood as a smoke had proved
as he answered :
— to be a general reception, and there were ladies.
" in a somewhat unsociable mood, had
He was never here, love. You were dreaming. Edward, being
See !
"
but she dare not lift her head. kept with a man talking in a corner so long as he
" I know it is not. could but at last he was discovered and dragged
It is not a dream For," she ; ;

"
continued, in a hushed voice, as of a child's fearing forth. Two ladies wished to have the pleasure,"
"
to be overheard, soon after you left I went down and so forth.
to the pump for water. And he was sitting there There are three kinds of blonde : the plump
on the seat, as we saw him the other night. And vegetable-marrow blonde, the stiff pale lemon, and
he beckoned me, and, thinking he wanted a drink, the Celtic. No brunette of the South is fiercer
I went. But, instead of that, he raised his arm and than the latter, no placidly chewing
cow of the
pointed to our window. Who is that poor creature '
North more mild than the first. But they have
is

up there who cries night and day I hear her .''

heaps of good nature and are sometimes loquacious ;

c
i8 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
so Edward talked with the blonde, and hardly "Ah!" and the strange eyes gleamed for a
noticed the tall, shy brunette at her side. Presently moment, and her beautiful cruel mouth quivered
the blonde was called away, and he was alone with sensitively. Edward grew enamoured of her mood,
the other. He felt left alone with boredom but he ;
and willing to humour it so with something of a ;

was mistaken. She began to talk to him right young man's theatrical falsetto in his voice, he
away, almost before he had time to notice that she made an exquisite quotation " She is older than :
'

was curiously beautiful. the rocks among which she sits; like the vampire^ she
"
I wanted to talk to you," were her first words. has been dead many times, and learned the secrets of
*'
You thought I was dull I saw it, and said, I — *
the grave; and has been a diver in deep seas, and
will make him talk to me.' Now didn't you ?" keeps their fallen day about her; and all this has
When a lady, who at least seems like a lad)', been to her but as the sound of lyres andflutes, and
however strange her talk, opens out with a frank- lives only in the delicacy luith which it has moulded
ness such as this, it is manifestly only coui teous to the changing lineaments and tinged the eyelids and
meet her in the same spirit. the hands: Is that it?"
" I was the man's As he spoke, her nostrils dilated, as though his
Well, frankly, did," reply.
She laughed —a curious little laugh which he voice were perfume and his young beauty a flower.
"
noticed again. "Ah, I like you for that. I knew Go on," was all she said.
you would talk so." A pause, and then again :
— "And, do you know, but you will be angry. —
"
Does it not strike you that we have met be- Besides, it is too absurd. I declare you are be-
"
fore ? witching me."
" "
I don't think so." Go on," she said.
" " "
Think !
Well, then, if such things could be, you are very
" No like a
"
certainly cannot remember.'
; I
"
Oh, you know there are lots of places. I don't "Vampire?"
necessarily mean just lately that is,
— m fact, in
"
Well, yes."
this particular existence. I
suppose you believe "Ah, do you think so?" was her reply, in a tone
in others." almost unconcerned. "And you do think my eyes
"
Edward was naturally a little puzzled. odd, then ?

" "
Well, I confess it had not struck me in that I do."

way."
"
Yes, they are strange," she spoke again more—
"
No ; you think of it ?"
but now that to herself, and with an accent that seemed to imply
"
Well, really, I don't know. It's an odd question. that the knowledge had a hidden significance for

And I have put by my Buddhism for some little her. Then, abruptly, —
" "
time now," he answered simply. Do you ever dream ? . . .
and, without
" "
Yes it's an odd question," was her rejoinder,
; waiting for answer, I have the oddest dreams.
more to herself than to him. Then suddenly look- For instance, every All Hallow's Eve I dream that
"
mg up :
By the way, do you notice anything I am being led to the block for execution. My
peculiar about my eyes? Look at them. What people were Jacobites, I should tell you."
"
colour are they ? Whatever else they had, her eyes certainly pos-
" blue." sessed a mesmeric quality, for they seemed to be
Deep
"Yes Anything ! else ?" weaving a sort of net about him, in which the talk
"
Well, yes ; but what it is I cannot quite say. I no longer seemed mad, as I fear it only can to the
suppose I must not say that they are beautiful." reader.
"
You may there nothing else ? " ;
but is Another question broke the spell :
—
" " "
Well, you will think me silly, but they seem Do you think you can forget me ?
"
about three hundred years old." Not unless it should be my duty."
 ELAINE IN LONDON 19
" "
Duty Why, what do you mean ?
! see each other again." And then the iron door
"Do you not know that I am married?" had swung open, and while his tongue clove to his
"
You ! married " she gasped, ahnost groaned.
!
mouth, she had passed in and the door was shut.
" "
You !
Oil, no and her voice was the voice that
! In agony of his horrified fascination he
the
desperately pleads against Fate. awoke. It was a bright, chirping summer morning,
and his wife still slept. He had feared his dream
"
Mr. Leigh —allow me — Miss Marsh will, I am might have awakened her. But long before she
sure, excuse you," here interposed the Saxon voice softly opened her blue eyes (all of a sudden, as
of his host, and the next moment he was at the though she had been awake underneath all the
other side of the room. time), his nerves had grown calm again.
People began to go, but, against his better judg- "Is it you, dear? I never heard you come to
ment, he stayed on. Even though she were mad, bed." So he gathered that her terror in the night
she was a fascinating mystery. But a snatched had really been a dream which she had forgotten,
word, as he turned to go, was all their further talk. and that all she had said to him had been in her
"
Nevertheless," she said impressively, taking up sleep. But, whether she remembered it or no, she
where it had been broken off, "neverthe-
their talk had awakened comforted, and a solemn little kiss
less, be all mine some day. I know it."
you will was their only recognition of the last night's trouble.
But Edward had heard ihat from other women. Edward said nothing of her dream nor of his. He
had intended to tell her the whole story, but she
IV. seemed too sensitive to bear it then. Besides, it so
Now Edward
lay living this strange talk over
as chanced that she was going the next day for a
again beside his sleeping wife, he too at last fell week's visit to the country. It might haunt her if

asleep, and he dreamed a strange dream. he told her now. It would do just as well when
He thought that, walking in the Hammersmith she returned.
Road late at night, he had met the strange girl,
and wondering to find her abroad at such an hour, V.
had offered her his escort home. The Slingsbys were at home every Thursday
She accepted it, with that queer little laugh of evening at nine. The next, therefore, fell while

hers, and they walked along together in silence ;

Alice was still away, and it was not in nature that
but instead of turning off into Square, as he Edward should not go. He had pondered much
had expected, she still kept on. She no longer on the mystery of Delilah Marsh in the interval,
lived there, she said ;
she had left her friends, and and had come to the conclusion that "mad" was
for the present was living alone. vSo on they the only solution, but a curious fascinating mad-
walked till they came to Chiswick Mall, still far- ness, such as the blood of an old family, nourished
ther, till the picturesque old Chiswick Church, with for centuries on dark ancestral traditions, might
itsmossy graves, loomed close by them. Where produce. She seemed, like the evil beauty of the
was she going ? " Not much farther now," she orchid, to be the outcome of an unnatural cultiva-
laughed, and to his surprise turned at once into the tion,
—
like the girl in Hawthorne's story, who from
dark churchyard. her babyhood was fed on poison.
" " I knew words
I don't think trouble you to come any far-
I'll you would come," were her first

ther," she said ; Edward had gone on following

but to him, as they shook hands.
" "
her in and out among the tombs till she stood in And did that require a very subtle witchcraft ?

" " "

front of a grim old vault with iron doors. Now," Yes, you think me a witch, don't you ?
" " "
she said, good-bye this is where I live and; ; Certainly I do."
with her little mad laugh she had added, " I sup- " "
Well, shall I describe her to you ?

pose it's no use asking you in. Good-night we'll ;

"Her?"
20 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
"
"Yes, your litllc wife, with hair like a wheatsheaf I I cannot be wicked towards this woman.
said,
and great cornflower eyes." She worthy of him, and I must go away."
is
"
Who on earth has been talking of her to you ?
"
Edward, still silent, sat with his forehead in his
"
No one. I'm a witch, don't I tell you ? Shall hand.
" "
I tellyou more ? Had she not been worthy," she went on, " I
"
Yes but first
;
tell me how you came to know ? " would have taken you from her for the unworthy —
"
Shall I ? Shall we be serious ? Well, I have cannot sufi'er. And then --then you would have —
seen her ; that is all." been all mine, as now you are all hers, and I too
" "
Seen her ! should have been all the world to some one."
"
Yes, seen her. You won't mind my telling you At this her suffering seemed to be more than
something ? Well, when you us last Thursday
left she could bear, and in fear lest it should burst
I followed you, in my mind, every step of the she abruptly rose and left the room.
forth,
way to your old Inn, and I never
slept a whole hour Edward saw her no more that night. But next
"
through the night. Our talk kept going on and on evening came a little note saying, I must see you
and round and round in my head. The next day I —
once more once only. I want you to go with me
felt I could not rest, that there was nothing for me to Lady Cantyre's. She is a great admirer of your
but to walk and \\alk, and walked your way, till I work. Will you call on me about 4 ? — Delilah."
at last your gables came in sight, and, going in
VI.
through the old doorway, I threw myself down on
the centre seat. Don't be surprised I used often ; And a'jain it was not in the nature of things
to walk there. I love the old place, as I love all that Edivard should not go. She was sitting ready
old dead things. First, though, I discovered your dressed when he called, and they went out almost
staircase and as I sat there feeling that something
;
witho'.il a word.
ought to happen, a little woman dressed in a green "Do cloak?" she asked after
you notice my
" "
soft gown, with crisp wavy gold hair, and a sensi- awhile. It is and the
lined with Jlain: colour ;

live pale face, with great strange eyes, came out accent of her former enigmatic self was once more
from the doorway. A little child was toddling and in her voice.
"
laughing by mother who sat near me, and the
its Lady Cantyre is sure to interest you," she went
little woman stopped to watch it, her face glowing on. "She lives in a delightfully quaint old place,
with the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. and is especially proud of her old pictures."
Then, as she could not resist the impulse, she
if Edward assented, but their talk did not flow

stepped across to where it played, pressed a penny easily. He was perplexed and foreboding, and she
into its chubby hand, and kissed it as though it had seemed just to want to realise his presence in

been her own child, and, turning away with a happy silence.

laugh, I saw her full in the face, and it flashed Lady Cantyre was not particularly interesting,
across me who she was." which was a relief. She was much of an invalid,
Edward's face had grown very tender as she thus and lived mainly to be pitied. She therefore
described his wife. made no intellectual demands. She regretted not
" "
Ah, how you love her ! exclaimed Delilah, being well enough to accompany Mr. Leigh herself
" She is all the world to to her picture corridor; but Miss Marsh was at
noticing his expression.
" Mr. Leigh didn't mind she
you ? home there, and if
" would show them
She answered Edward quietly.
is," to hnn, for she understood that
" he also appreciated such things.
Well, do you know," continued the poor girl,
" "
almost hysterically, she had hardly left the quad- Miss Marsh will have an odd surprise for you
rangle, before I had made a decision." Edward too, I suspect," she added, with her old laugh.

waited, listening. Lady Cantyre was not imaginative, Edward after-

 ELAINE iN LONDON. 21

wards He, however, was and the sur-

reflected. — he could be aware of it, she had swiftly turned her
prise Delilah had for him was one which blanched face to his, clung against his mouth
and her lips
his cheeks, and made his heart stop. with the terrible hunger of starving love. Again
"
Come and look at this queer old picture," she and again she kissed him, and then throwing her-
cried, "this one— of the girl in the plumed hat and self in a heap upon the chair, she cried to him to
the flame-lined cloak." go ; he, hardly knowing what had come to
and
"Why, Delilah, it is you!" him, slowly turned and left the room.
"
Me !
Why, that woman has been dead these It was the first time since he had loved Alict

threehundred years ! And, see, it is by the great that another woman's lips had touched his ;
and
Andregna." though he knew that his heart had not gone with
Nevertheless, the woman beside him and the it, yet
his mouth burned with shame, and a feeling
woman in the frame were the same line for line. grew within him that, after all, he had been to
The picture might just as well have been a mirror. blame.
The same curiously refined marble features, the And then through his tangled feelings, like a
strange eyes set in lids that seemed wonderfully pulse, went her last words, " She will not mind a
carven in ivory, the same dark blood-steeped hair; dead woman loving you. Think, I shall never see
even her dress was the same, but her strange you again."
humour, of course, was accountable for that. VH..
"
She was a woman who died for love three hun- The
next day came and went, and the next, and
dred years ago. Odd, isn't it?" and with one of with the third came Alice. She was so happy and
her sad, wicked laughs she thrf.w herself into a radiant, with the breath of the country upon her,
chair and buried her face in her hands. that he could not bear to unfold the strange story
Edward stood awhile, too dazed for thought to her that night. And as there was no treason
Then he went to her, and taking her wrists, un- against his love to tell, he was able to put the thing
covered her face. Her eyes opened, waiting. away from him, and Alice never dreamed that he
"
Delilah, tell me what this mc ins. Tell me was more than a little tired. It was he who should
your mystery." have been in the country, poor boy, working and
"I cannot," she replied, "for it is as much a working in this weary town.
mystery to me as to you. All I know is that I am And so it went quite away from him, and when
the unhappiest woman in the whole world." night had come they slept in peace.
Then suddenly springing from the chair, she Now it so that Alice awoke very early
happened
cast her arms passionately round his neck. next morning, as early as the birds, for they were
" "
Oh, Edward," she cried, be mine for just a just filling the green leaves in the court with a very
little hour. She can spare me that. Let me know babel of happy noise, while the air was full of that
what it is like to run my fingers through your hair solemn morning sunlight that is gone even before
and hold you close to me for such a little while. the milkman goes his rounds. It flooded the court

Oh, such a brief hour out of all the years that are with an awful sweetness. Alice rose up to look
hers !She is sweet and kind. Think, I shall never out and drink it in for a moment, before she turned
see you again She will not mind a dead woman
!
to sleep again.

loving you. Oh, kiss me, darling !

"
But as she looked — what was that figure on the
And again, was it in nature that a man could be seat,a woman's too, lying there as if asleep ? How
cruel in an hour like this— for love's sake be cruel had she got in ? The watchman perhaps had for-
to love and so he gently pressed his lips against
!
gotten to lock his gate.Poor thing She would !

her temples, and murmured inarticulate words of awaken Edward, and ask him if they should not
comfort. His breath seemed to go through her take her in. Poor unhappy woman and so young 1

body like music through a harp ; and then, before and pretty she looked.
22 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
So she called Edward, ai]d, to her amazement, the cobbled court, and, picking it up, Alice read
as he looked, he gave a strange cry and nearly aloud :
—
fainted. But recovering himself, he said, " Poor "
You see, I have gone away. God bless you
"
woman, let us go down to her ; and slipping on both !— Delilah Marsh."
their garments, they went down together and Now as Ahce turned her eyes to Edward for an
"
approached the seat, and Alice cried, Why she is explanation, a shuffling step was heard, and, look-
"
dead !
ing round, they saw that strange old man hasten-
And bending over her beautiful body they saw ing towards them, just as they had watched him
that she wore a grey silk gown, from which fell that summer evening.
" "
away a beautiful flame-lined cloak. In her bosom Ah ! he said, as he bent over the dead girl,
"
was a bunch of crimson pinks, and as they caine thatthe poor creature I see all day long at the
is

to her a httle scrap of paper fluttered down upon window, and I hear her crying night and day."
Richard Le Gallienne.
A Plantation Dance.
*3
r/^-

Brown " I must apologise for not looking

:
you up before this, old chap ;
but that confounded hill
"
always puts me off.

Jones : "But it has its advantages, you know."

24
 BHOTHEH BHUSHES.
First R.A. (who hales to be interrupted in his hobby,
,
but is
doing his best to be polite): "Done any work
I "
to-day ?
Second R.A. "No, confoundit, that stupid ass Brown came to the
—
:

studioand talked all the afternoon, couldn't do a stroke of work. What

/(3, do you do when some idiot comes and interrupts your work ? "
First R.A. "Oh, I go on weeding."
:
Actor : "What did you think of my performance of the Ghost?
Critic: "It was most life-like."

z6
 PARLIAMENTARY PASTIMES.
'T*HE British elector who calls parliament into is supposed to be dining. The supposition, unfor-
being is apt to regard his own creation with tunately, does not include every member. The
something approaching to awe. In the innocency Speaker remains faithfully at his post
— save for a

of his heart he imagines that the 670 gentlemen, brief interval of half an hour — and a small but vary-
and others, who make up the House of ing numljer of members remain to

Commons are engaged from beginning entertain him. Why they should
to end of the session in serious debate remain is a question between
on the affairs of the countiy. That they them and their constituents.
a good deal with one another he
quaj'rel The truth is that the average

knows, but he attributes their disputes to British elector likes to hear tliat

excess of zeal in expressing the great his representative has made a

principles they are elected to uphold. It speech in the House, and prefers
is a noble conception, and does honour to read that speech rather than
to the imaginative powers of the British the caustic humour of Lord Salis-
elector. But the real parliament that sits bury or the full rhetoric of Rlr.
at Westminster is very ditTerent from this Gladstone. It is a kind of re-
lofty ideal enthroned in the elector's mind. flected glory upon himself. Mem-
To begin with, the figure 670 is a fic- bers of parliament know this, and
tion. Never in the history of the House in a laudable spirit of self-sacri-
of Commons has this full complement of fice do their best to gratify the
members been present at one time within little weakness of their constitu-
the walls of St. Stephen's, though it was ents. It is here that the utility of
twice nearly touched in the critical divi- the dinner hour comes in. When
sions on the Home Rule Bill. In the - the last big speech of the after-
late parli;iment the House noon has been wound up, at or
feltpleased with itself if 500 about seven o'clock, and nine-
members turned up to take tenths of the members present
part in a big division. On have streamed off to dinner,
ordinary occasions the at- some man of moderate fame will
tendance was nearer 200. rise in his place and begin a
But even this figure gives an speech. He speaks as if uncon-
altogether false impression of scious of the retreating footfalls
the appearance of the House towards the open door, and as
during many long hours of each In the if the bare benches all around were still peopled
sitting.
daily life of every man there is a period, or with ardent listeners. Some listeners indeed there
ought to be, known as the dinner hour. In the —
may be possibly a score, at times barely a dozen.
House of Commons this phrase does service for But it is not to these that the member of moderate
three good hours. From about seven o'clock in the fame is speaking. With the aid of the reporters in
evening till tenor half-past the House of Commons the gallery he is speaking to his constituents, who
27
8
 ^
Pl
^(-7^
%/
/>

ag
30 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
will read all he says set out the next morning at worth seeing. As a preliminary the Speaker first

fulllength in the local paper. It is possible in- — "

puts the question
"
in a form of words sanctified
deed, it is probable that —
the report of his speech by long usage. The
following is the best example :

will not be quite photographic. The hum's and — " The original motion was that the bill be now
ha's and stuttering repetitions will be left out, the read a second time. Since which, an amendment
'

grammar of the sentences will be rounded off, and has been moved, to leave out the word now,' in
'
a few little touches may be added from the reportet's order to add at the end of the question this day

fancy to show how the speech was received by the six months.' The question I have to put is, that the

House. This last is the feature that most pleases word now stand part of the
' '

c]uestion. As many
the distant elector. He is delighted to see that a as are of that opinion say 'Aye.'" And instantly

happy phrase from his representative was followed a loud shout of "Aye" goes up from the friends
"
by "Hear, hear," in the House of Commons, and of the bill. Of the contrary, ' No,' " continues
that even that august assembly could be moved to the Speaker, and a similar shout is raised by the
" " have the
Laughter by the wit of his chosen one. Little the think
'"'

Opposition. I Ayes it," says

"
does he know, poor innocent elector, that the Speaker cautiously. The Noes have it," shouts
"
"Hear, hear," came from a member who was sud- back the Opposition. Strangers will withdraw,"
air of a man who
denly startled from a nap, and wanted to convince replies the Speaker, with the
himself that he was awake ; and that the "laughter" declines to continue the argument. Whereupon
was a nervous explosion from another man w'ho was the few strangers who have been privileged to sit
anxiously waiting an opportunity to let off his own beneath the gallery, on a level with the floor of
speech. These are little facts that the newspaper the House, arc immediately bundled out of their
reporter does not trouble to telegraph. They places by the attendants. At the same moment
might damage his prospects in the journalistic the clerk at the taljle turns down the hour-glass ;

profession. the attendants in the lobby shout "Division" at

Soon however, the boredom of
after ten o'clock, the top of their voices and electric bells, with
;

the dinner hour comes to an end. Members then a peculiarly aggressive note, are set ringing all
begin to stream back from club, or home, or dinner over the huge building. Responsive to the call,
party. There is an air of jollity about them, as members jump up from their .
comfortable arm-
there should be about men who have fed well, even chairs in the library others in the smoke-room
;

if the cares of the empire are resting upon their hastily drop their cigars and dash upstairs ; while
shoulders. The whole tone of the House is now possibly in some distant committee-room a private
changed. Instead of the weary droning of mediocre conclave roughly broken up, and the members
is

members, the prominent men on each side again of it make their way at full speed to the House.

pick up the thread of the debate. Every one is While all this turmoil has been going on, the sand
wide awake, and each point made is
quickly taken in the glass is silently running down. When the

up, and received with cheers or with shouts of dis- last grain has fallen, the clerk gives a signal, and
sent. Often, if it be a big night, the two sides work the doors of the House are closed. The Speaker
themselves up into a veritable rage of vocal exer- and the question in the
again rises, again puts
cise, and each cheer from one side is answered by form quoted above. Again the two sides shout
a mocking counter cheer from the other. Aye and No, as loudly as if the vigour of the
This state of tension may continue right up to shout would determine the issue of the debate.
midnight. At that hour, under the modern rules Then, without further parley, the division begins.
of the House, the debate must close, and if the On the right and left of the House are two long
speech-making on the two sides is exhausted, the lobbies, and into these the Ayes and Noes re-
division will be taken. spectively at once make their way. When the
A division in the House of Commons is a sight House is full, it takes several minutes before all
3'
3*
 PARLIAMENTARY PASTIMES. 33

the members are safely stowed away in the voting charge of the bill will plead with the worthy doctor
lobbies ;
and sometimes a small minority, if it to withdraw his veto ; but it is rarely that Dr.
wishes to be vexatious, will deliberately move as Tanner relents.
slowly as possible. This delay is particularly exas- Another legislator who has played a prominent
perating to the majority, who are kept penned up in part in preventing legislation is the member for
a small space, unable to record their votes or to Peterborough — Mr. Alpheus Cleophas Morton.
"
return to the House. As a method of torture it The Pride of Peterborough," as his friends call
used to be a favourite device with the Irish him, never lets slip an opportunity for speech-mak-
opposition in the old days of obstruction. Now it ing. Sometimes even the most favourable listener
is a little out of fashion, and members move with might suspect that Mr. Morton was not completely
reasonable speed. As soon as the last member has informed about the subject he was discussing.
left the House and the door has been locked behind But that is a failing to which other members of par-
him, the end doors of each lobby are thrown open liament are liable. The peculiarity cf Mr. Morton's
and members stream back in two long files. When case is, that he manages to convey to his listeners
all have been counted, the tellers report the figures the impression that his special knowledge is abso-
to the clerk at the table. By him they are jotted lutely nil. What the motive of his speaking may
down on a scrap of paper and handed to the senior be, is, of course, buried within his own breast but ;

teller of the party that has won. This is the first the eftect is to waste time and irritate the govern-

signal of the result of the division, and on an excit- ment. Being nominally a Liberal, Mr. Morton is

ing occasion it isalways welcomed with loud cheers always worse when the Tories are in power.
by the victors. Paper in hand, the victorious teller In the last parliament his objects were so well

joins his three colleagues halfway down the House, understood that directly he rose to his feet there
"
and all four together march up to the table with was a howl from the Tory benches. Order,
three grave bows,— nothing can be done satis- order," would instantly shout Dr. Tanner, the
factorily in the House of Commons without three member for Peterborough and
faithful ally of the ;

bows. As
the teller reads out the figures, more Mr. Morton would unconcernedly wait till the
cheers are raised by the majority, to be again howling was over. He generally got the better of
repeated when the Speaker formally declares the the House, and after a brief struggle the Tories
result of the division. would resign themselves to the infliction, only
Altogether it is a fine show, and when party groaning at intervals. It is one of the quaintest
spirit runs high the most callous spectator becomes House of Commons, that a member
features of the
infected with the excitement of the scene. who has no new thing to say, whom no one wishes
Very different are the scenes that may be wit- to listen to, can, whenever he chooses, get up and
nessed when midnight has struck. Under the delay the business of the country while he pours
operation of a very excellent rule, no opposed forth inanities. Nor let it be imagined that the
business may be taken after twelve o'clock at member for is the only offender.
Peterborough
night. But on the order paper for the day there Bit byhowever, in spite of these obstacles,
bit,
is always a large number of bills of a non-con- legislation does make its way through the House
tentious character. these should be unopposed,
If of Commons. Every session a goodly number of
they will slip through and may become the law of billsare passed most of them, by the way, so un-
:

the land without a word being said about them. exciting that even their titles are not mentioned in
To this hasty method of legislation one notable the newspapers. But they all have to go through
M.P. strongly objects, and as each of these little the sameprocess, to be read three times (the titles
bills in turn is reached. Dr. Tanner promptly shouts, of them) in the House of Commons, to be scanned
" I
object." That is sufficient to stop all progress. clause by clause in committee, and considered
" "
Sometimes, however, the sanguine legislator in clause by clause on report ; then to pass to the
3«
35
36 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
Lords, there to be ruslied through the same stages ;
tumble over backwards. No such accident has yet
and finally to receive the royal assent. occurred ;
and when Black Rod has got as far as
This most picturesque process of all.
last is the the bar of the House, his trials are over. He is
The House of Lords, where the ceremony takes there joined by the Speaker, and the two, side by

place,is a well-proportioned room, richly decorated side, in brotherly converse, walk across to the
with carving and colour. At one end is the throne Lords, preceded by the Serjeant-at-Arms with the
covered by an elaborately carved and much-gilded mace, and followed by a troop of members.
"
canopy at the other end is the
;
bar " of the In the little pen that represents the bar of the

House, a little pen where the represen-

railed-off Upper House, the commoners take their places,
tatives of the Commons
are squeezed in. The welcomed by a stalely bow from the scarlet

ceremony opens with the appearance of five and ermine ones on the bench in front of the

gorgeous creatures in scarlet and ermine, wearing throne. Then the business begins. clerk in A
high cocked hats, and seated on a bench, none too wig and gown from a table in the centre of the
long for them, in front of the throne. These are House reads a letter from the Queen engrossed
the lords commissioners who represent Her Majesty, upon parchment, in which Her Majesty explains
and to them 'approaches a stately official in black that she is unable to be present, and has appointed
court dress, who receives instructions to summon certain Lords, "or any three or more of them,"
the Commons. In his hand he carries a short to act in her name. On this hint the central scar-
black rod or sceptre, and as he walks across the let-and-ermine speaks, and calls upon the clerks at
"
lobbies that separate the Lords from the Commons, the table to pass the bills in the usual form and

the policemen on his path shout in stentorian tones, words." Two other clerks now step forward, one
" Make The
way for Black Rod." The shout, passed on each side of the table. junior takes up
on from peeler to peeler, quickly reaches the the first of a pile of bills. Before, however, ven-
Commons. Instantly the outer door of the House turing to read the title, he makes a profound
is shut and locked, and the Commons go on with bow towards the throne, then reads, — " Marriage
their business as if no disturbance were impend- with a deceased grandmother's great-uncle le'^ali:ia-

ing. But Black Rod has at length reached the and bows again. This is the cue for the
tion bill,"
door. Three distinct knocks are heard, and at senior clerk. First he bows to the throne, then
once the attendants, who have been peeping all the slowly and gracefully spins round on his heel to
while through a little wicket, throw open the doors face the Commons, and then pronounces the fatal
"
and announce Black Rod." It is an announce- words " La reine le veult." The bill has now be-
ment which sometimes occurs at a peculiarly in- come the law of the land, to be obeyed by Her
appropriate moment, as for example, when Mr. Majesty's lieges, and enforced by Her Majesty's
Labouchere is in the middle of a speech attacking judges. But the awful consequences of his words
the House of Loixls. The speech has to be sud- leave the clerk of parliaments unmoved. He spins
denly broken off, and the House waits and watches back again, in exactly the same time as before, and
while the gentleman Usher of the Black Rod slowly again bows to the throne. And then the junior
advances up the floor, bowing three times. Ar- clerk takes up the next bill, and the ceremony is
rived at the table, he delivers his message desiring repeated with a precision worthy of unbounded
"
the attendance of this honourable House" in the praise. When the last bill has been passed, the
House of Peers, and then retires backwards, bowing sorjjeous creatures in front of the throne raise their
again three times. This last is the most difficult cocked hats ;
the Speaker from his humble pen
part of Black Rod's duties, and Radical members returns the bow ;
and both parties get off the stage
always look on anxiously, with the suppressed hope as quickly as they ran.
that the representative of an effete institution may Harold Cox.
 Hound

B^^^^R5

CRAMD
Crtl^lSTWiJ
.PAMTON,i'-r-
/ By

CjAKues J. x-^'Li-^.

"Ljr E took his degree, and then he started in life.

He was a poor man, but many men have

mm started with fewer advantages than

bridge.
Harry Saw-

Two thousand pounds in cash, and the right to

affix your name, a sanguine
the letters B.A. to

temperament, a habit of doing things in a hurry,

the trick of saying smart things that hurt nobody's
feelings, and a perfervid imagination, were his
stock-in-trade. I owe it to that
(Perfervid is good.
rara avis, a humorous Scotchman, Pcrfcri'idum—
ingcnium Scotoricvi, you know ; but it is not a

dictionary wordthe same, at least it is not in

all

my cheap edition of —
Webster, how well the word
would sound in the mouth of a bishop, not that
bishops generally suffer from perfervidness (if the
one is a word, so is the other) in the matter of

37
38 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.

eloquence,
—but then Webster is not an English He honestly meant to work, did Sawbridge, and
dictionary, as we all know ;
//s cheapness and 7/iy he wrote innumerable short stories, and sent them
poverty make me use it, voi'/a tout.) Forgive this to all sorts of publications, magazines, newspapers,
long parenthesis ; let us get back to Harry Saw- and syndicates. Most of them came back to him,
bridge. some went into the waste-paper basket, and he
Young Harry Sawbridge was very proud of his never saw them again. None were ever printed.
perfcrvid imagination. "Why shouldn't I make That experience ought to have cured him, but it
" " he went on doggedly. He remembered,
my mark in he thought.
fiction ? Why shouldn't did not ;

I many novels as Sir Walter Scott, or

write as poor wretch, thai Mr. Anthony Trollope had earned
Wilkie Collins, or Anthony Trollope, or the author ninety-six thousand pounds by his pen, and as we
"
of 'Grandmother'sMoney'? Why shouldn't I?" all know, dodged as does it," as Mr. Anthony
it's

Then he bought a ream of lined foolscap, a quart Trollope has said but there was an exception to
;

bottle of writing fluid, and a bundle of quill pens. the great literary mediocrity's rule. Harry Saw-
" I've
only got to fire away," said Harry Sawbridge bridge was that unfortunate exception.
to himself. Then he became the victim of the stormy petrels
For three whole weeks Harry Sawbridge, B.A., of literature, the bogus publishers. They actually
did fire away. He smoked a whole box of cigars, published a novel of his ; it cost him two hundred
and he made enough ashes to have kept him in pounds. There were no copies sold to the 'public ;
tooth-powder for the rest of his life, and he covered but what did Harry Sawbridge care? He was
the ream of lined foolscap with almost illegible something more than a B.A. now he had the ;

'

manuscript (your young author's manuscript is privilege of writing himself the "Author of Delia's
"
nearly always almost illegible). Then Harry Saw- Darling.'
bridge found that in about the middle of the second By this time five years had passed away. Harry
volume he had lost his way. That rather astonished Sawbridge had got exactly three hundred pounds
"
him. But there is good stuff in it, I am sure left in the world.
there is," he said, as he slapped the literary abor- Then he men do who fail in life
did what most —
tion. he married for love. He
married a dear little girl
In an unhappy hour young Sawbridge's evil with a pair of innocent blue eyes, and a delightful
genius made him determine "
to read the thing chcveleiire of golden brown locks —
a girl who was
"
up seriously. He subscribed to Mudie's, he sub- not exactly a lady, but who was very nice, and
scribed to Rolandi's ;
he passed days, and weeks, resembled an exceedingly expensive doll. She
and months at the British Museum in studying was just the wife for a literary man, because she
fiction ;
the attendants used to wink at each other was what scientific people call an "anacephaloid."
as they broughthim great piles of old novels. Sawbridge went on with what he called his
They thought he was mad. So he was in a work; he wrote several more novels. His pretty
sense. little wife read them aloud to him of an evening.

Harry Sawbridge was a nice-looking young Being really in love with her husband, she feigned
a gentlemanly young fellow, a fellow who
fellow, an interest she did not feel but she boggled over
;

was nobody's enemy but his own. He might have the crabbed writing, and stumbled over the long
got a mastership in a school he might have ; words, and carefully ignored, the stops, poor little

turned curate, or printer's reader, or private secre- thing, and what was poor commonplace became
tary but he did not, poor devil, on account of his
;
absolute pathos when it was read aloud by poor
perfervid imagination. He was not exti'avagant, little Linda. Then he remonstrated she yawned,;

but a couple of thousand pounds not much, is and said that it was worse than going to school ;

and he very soon began to trench upon the prin- then the author of "Delia's Darling" would lose
cipal. his temper, and savagely remark, "If you don't
 BOUND IN BOARDS. i9

likeit, you
needn't massacre it." And then little tisements, he walked the London gutters (they
Linda would burst into tears. don't allow boardmcn on the pavement, you know)
But Harry Sawbridge never told his wife any- from nine to eight, then he went home with his
"
thing about his pecuniary position. What's the one and tenpence. He got two shillings a day,
"
good of bothering a woman about money ? he but twopence had to be expended in bread, which
said to himself. And after a year and a half of he wolfed at his dreadful daily dinner hour under
" "
found
married life, the author of Delia's Darling one of the great arches at Charing Cross station.
himself at the end of his tether. Then, and not It was the poor wretch's one unavoidable extrava-

till Sawbridge began to look out for some-

then, gance.
thing to do but he failed absolutely in finding
;
To his poor little wife he
still kept up the fiction

employment. Then he began to borrow of his of his literary work

he told her that he was em-
;

friends he wore them all out at last.

; ployed in an advertisement department, and he
If he had only confided in his wife, things might tried to buoy her up with hopes of a change of
have gone differently with him but his pride ; fortune,when he should have the good luck, as he
"
would not let him do that. You see, there was expressed it^ to come out in one-volume form."
one person in the world who believed in the rising He did come out in one-volume form every morn-
"
author of and that one person
Delia's Darling," ing—bound in boards.
was Linda Sawbridge. She honestly supposed, As ill luck would have it, Linda Sawbridge was
poor little thing, that though his literary income walking down the Strand in her shabby, tattered
was small, yet that it existed. And Sawbridge summer dress one winter's morning, and her eye
had not the pluck to confess the real state of fell upon a row of sandwich men who shambled

things. along in the gutter with advertisements of the new

Then tliey got behindhand with the rent. Then Christmas Pantomime. In the last unfortunate of
they moved into a garret their clothes became
;
the army of martyrs she recognised the luckless

very shabby indeed. Sawbridge sold his watch ; author of "Delia's Darling," her husband, Harry
then he sold his wife's trinkets ; then they lived on Sawbridge, B.A. At first she could not believe
bread and butter and tea. her eyes, as she stood transfixed by horror and
Then came
the inevitable tragedy. It came astonishment. He did not see her, of course his ;

about in a strange way, but it was none the less a eyes were fixed upon the board of the wretch in
front of him. It was not a mere resemblance, it
tragedy, a horrible tragedy, for all that.

Harry Sawbridge found employment. He kept was her husband.

the nature of that employment a secret from his Linda Sawbridge, though she was a brainless
wife Linda. Most of the poor wretch's clothes had little creature, as has been stated, had a heart she ;

gone to the pawnbroker's long ago but though ;

was even romantic, poor little fool. As ill luck
he was ragged and well-nigh shoeless, yet now would have it, she had a shilling in her pocket ;

that he had found employment he managed to she had already spent the tenpence in coarse food,
bring home to his little wife every night in the and she carried it in a little basket on her arm.
"
week except Sunday the sum of one and tenpence It is I who have brought him to this," she
— it was always one and
tenpence, neither more thought; "if he had not married me, he might
nor less and on that eleven shillings a week these
;
have got on." Very stupid people often come to
two poor, miserable people had to live. a determination very rapidly.
Now the fact is that the unhappy author of Linda Sawbridge went into six different chemist's
" "
Delia's Darling had at last found a situation at shops, at each of which she bought two pennyworth
"
two shillings a day. He had become a peripatetic of laudunum for the toothache." Then she went
" her husband which
philosopher, what is technically termed a board- home, and she wrote a letter to

man." Sandwiched between two theatrical adver- ran as follows :

—
45 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
" —
Dearest Harry, I am bidding you good-bye. a match. He attempted rouse his dead wife, who
to

Try to forgive me if you can. I am only a burden was lying cold and upon the bed but all in
still ;

to you. Oh Harry, I am so sorry for you. I

! vain. He did not call for assistance, he was too
hope that God will forgive me, and I pray that we dazed ; besides that, he knew that she was dead.
may meet again in a happier world than this has Then he read the letter, but he shed no tear he ;

been for both of us. Once more, good-bye, dear did not even wonder at the tragedy.
Harry. All night long he sat at the table, lost in thought.
" Your loving wife, He did not even feel the bitter cold.
"Linda Sawbridge." The next day he kissed his dead wife's lips, and
went to his work, taking the key of his garret in
For a particularly stupid little woman, it was his pocket.

quite a pathetic letter. As ill luck would have it, the procession of which
Then she swallowed the laudanum^a whole he formed a part passed across Waterloo Bridge.
shilling's-worth
— and, in a dreamless sleep, she When he reached its centre he rushed to the
passed away. parapet and flung himself over.
At nine o'clock that night Harry Sawbridge re- The body was recovered within the hour ; the
turned to his garret half frozen by the bitter cold, boards had kept it afloat, you see.
his one and tenpence in his pocket. He was sur- It was very wrong, of course but it is what most
;

prised to find the place in darkness the fire had

; men would have done under the circumstances.
burnt itself out in the little rusty grate. He struck Poor devil I

^
X<^-v
" Mos' a' most shertain th'was shome
'stronary thing ! coffee in it."
41
 Scene — Restaurant in the Strand.
The ]Major (to celebrated music hall artiste): "By Jove, Miss Dashwood, I really believe you
"
could play Ophelia as well as any of 'em !

C.M.H.A. :
"Yes, and I've got a new reading of thai part. She wasn't mad, you know; she had
"
been dining ?

4»
"Keep your feet back, Bill, or e'll think e's in the shafts."

43
 'Z^ ^^

The Squirk's Daughter: "Jerry, a little bird told me you had too much drink yesterday!''
must ha' bin one them liar birds as Master George brought home
Jerry: "Well, my lady, it o'

from Australia."
44
 HAPPY TRHLAWNEY.
By Gilbert Parker.
T T was a scorching afternoon on the Nindobar of rabbit trapper and kangaroo hunter. Scalps
Plains. As
as eye could see were flowers
far and pelts are his game."
•^a very fine carpet for the horses' unshod hoofs — Lyng chuckled still more.
"
and sun and to the nostrils came tlie rich smell
; So much for Happy Trelawney " he added. !

of the baking earth. There had been rain after For an instant (though I didn't know Trelawney),
months of drought, and the land was joyous so : I regretted I had eaten
Lyng's bread and salt, for
was Lyng, the squatter. He was driving me from I had a wish to
say unpleasant things his chuckle
—
hundred miles away. W^e
his station to another a seemed so cruel and gratuitous. Up to that
had travelled eighty miles, and had not seen a moment he had seemed to me a man of heart
human being, nor any creature save rabbits and and fairness. I restrained myself, however, saying
an occasional kangaroo, for we were not in the only,—
line of shepherds' huts or mobs of sheep and "And why happy Trelawney ?"
cattle. There was a kind of delight in the mo- Lyng stopped chuckling, but kept on smiling
notony. We
did not talk much as we went, for inscrutably ; and not answering my question,
Lyng was pretty busy with mental calculations on said,
—
his position with the banks, —
vastly improved by
"
We'll draw up, and have tea with him — after-
the recent rains, —
and I was soaking in the feeling noon tea It's about his hour."
!•

of the country. At last we came up a little rise He pulled out his watch, and nodded.
of land, and I saw before us a man sitting near a Afternoon tea The thing sounded so amusing,
!

little fire outside a humpey, in material half canvas, shuffling along, as we were, with chaft'-fed warri-
half bark. I drew Lyng's attention. He shaded gals in the backest of the back-blocks, that I

his eyes with his hand. laughed a little too, and, for a moment, forgot that
"
Happy Trelawney," he said.
It's he had not answered my question. We were
Ilooked inquiringly. silent then, and I
kept looking at the man, who,
He continued. "A queer case, that. Trelawney risen from the ground, was watching us. Presently
was a gentleman— is, for that matter had bad — recognising Lyng, suppose, he waved his hand,
I

luck of some sort in England, and came out. He and immediately became very busy. could We
lias had the worst of bad luck here. Tried squat- see him fishing out cups and putting a billy on the
ting with a partner who ruined him became a : fire. When we drew up, he came quickly to the
homestead lessee, and drouglit had him on his side of the trap, and raised his hat. In spite of
back in a couple of years took up a selection,
:
myself I grinned in his face. I understood at once
and a Hood carried away everything except the why Lyng had laughed. It was the most humour-
"
country sand and now :
provoking face I have ever seen clean-shaven, with :

Lyng chuckled. To me it sounded heartless. a long large nose, an irregular mouth, and a jocund,
" "
Well," said I, and now " '
.?
'

shining look. There was a cast in one of the very

"And now he has the distinguished occupation round eyes, and the hair was dipt short, save in
45
46 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
front, where one lock fell dowa like the great immediately I noticed that Trelawney held him-
Napoleon's. And yet over it all was a refinement self a little stiffly. He had got a nasty gash by the
which this bush life had not obliterated. The man downward sweep of the brute's claws. But he had
had had trouble, and j-et to me there was no sign doctored ithimself— had actually sewn up the flesh
of it in the face, unless it was to be found in its alone ;
but he was quite modest about that. He
refinement, which, maybe, had prevented it from was eloquent, however, upon the pluck of the kan-
being as sunburnt as every other face you saw in garoo he almost talked about the beast affection-
;

the back-blocks. ately. described how he got the knife home

He
When I
Happy Trelawney laughed.
grinned, with a tenderness so amusing that my nerves went
Lyng joined and there we were filling the
us, all aglee, and I
spilt my tea shockingly.

flowery desert with our noise, through which our Presently Lyng said, as I thought, abruptly :

greetings were tumbled forth somehow, anyhow. "When were you over Mambi last, Trelawney ?"
to
From the first moment I was Trelawney's friend. Trelawney at that moment had his back half on
I didn't think at all about it —
I liked the man, and us, stooping over the fire, and I saw him grow
we wrung each other's hands. In a minute we suddenly motionless. There was a slight pause
"
were out, under the propped-up canvas flap
sitting before he replied, without looking round About :

of the humpey, and again in another minute were —

nine months yes, about that."
—
drinking Trelawney's tea not of singularly fine
"
We
are going there to-day."
quality, but well made
—
from wonderfully clean "
My best respects to the ladies and Mr. —
tin cups. Added
was the lightest damper
to this Carmichael," he said, and turned slowly on us. I

ever snatched from hot ashes, and some jam which, noticed that he paused before the last two words.
Trelawney assured us gallantly, he had been saving "Jolly Mambi," he continued; "jolliest
place,
for this auspicious hour. I had eaten known."
enjoyable people I've
"
meals in many unique circumstances, but none so I remarked that he did not say I know."

thoroughly enjoyable as this. We spent ourselves

"
You had better come along with us," said
"
in good-humour, and the world was not a bit Lyng. They'd thank us for fetching you."
monotonous. " Would "
said Trelawney enigmatically,
they .-*

" " I'm

What luck, Trelawney.?" said Lyng. but smiling. obliged to you, but I can't ;

"
Good enough twenty kangaroos
: in three there's too much to do. Besides, I have to ride
weeks, and rabbit-scalps innumerable. I'll
bag at over to Bunalong station hereaway for rations to-

least twelve pounds month and Til be as fit as

this : morrow."
a fiddle for the shearing when it's on. Do my "Why not get them at Mambi ? It's nearer."
hundred a day at that, which is six pounds a week, I thought Lyng a little ruthless, because I saw
and tucker. Oh, Pm all riglit." something not mirthful under Trelawney's amusing
He laughed again, not loudly, but rather medita- look. It is possible that he would never have been

One quick ray of suspicion as to

tively, I thought. called Happy Trelawney, if it were not for the
Happy Trelawney's happiness passed through my eccentricity caused by the irregularities of his face,
mind ;
was immediately dispelled by his quiet
but it and the imperfect eye.
"
unction in telling how he and his dog had got the Trelawney replied : A very good reason, I can
best of an old-man kangaroo which had turned on tell you. They owe me for scalps and pelts at
them, and had given him an active three minutes Bunalong."
" Don't "
before he got his knife into a mortal corner. He they owe you anything at Mambi 'i

"
brought out his only other suit of clothes (that is, Carmichael owes me a grudge."
"
shirt and trousers), and showed them to us with What's that for .?" Lyng knew, but he wanted
a soft chuckle. They were ripped to shreds Trelawney's reply nevertheless.
by one stroke of the animal's hind foot ; and —
"For?" He looked round at his humpey,
 HAPPY TRELAWNEY. A1

poked the torn clothes with a stick, waved a hand given Trelawney up for good, it'll have taken a lot
"
gaily, and added For not being arrayed in
: out of her. Carmichael might do the square thing
purple and fine linen, and faring sumptuously and marry them off, and set Trelawney on his feet
every day for living like a sundowner and not
;
—
again take him into partnership —but he won't ;

being one. ...

I wonder if Carmichael has that's the kind of man he is."
"
more fun than I do." become of Trelawney in the end ? "
What'll
He stretched himself back lazily, and smoked Lyng shook his head thoughtfully.
''
He is
the cigar I had given him with a very substantial saving up every penny he makes now his after- —
relish. As he did so his eye seemed to run along noon teas don't cost him much, and he lives on
the cigar to mine with such a whimsical glance, wallaby-tail and damper. What he'll suddenly do
that once more I laughed we all laughed. : some day I don't know. I offered him a berth on
A little while after we were on our way to my back-station as manager but he refused it, ;

Mambi, promising to stop and see Trelawney on because he said he'd been a failure so far, and he
our way back to Lyng's station a few days hence. wasn't going to let anybody in but himself. So
On our way Lyng said :
— here he is."
"
Now you understand why I was amused. But I began to think very well indeed of Lyng
you don't know, and I fancy nobody will ever know, again.
all there is behind his humour. He has had the It was late in the evening when we arrived at
roughest fortune of any man in the back-blocks ;
Mambi homestead : a big vine-covered bungalow,
but I never saw him other than he is to-day — thick with hydrangea, clematis, and morning-glory.
comes up smiling every time. There's nothing The wide verandah was alight, and I heard the
wrong with him he never swizzled, never did a
: flutter of dresses and the voices of women as we
mean trick, always worked like a nigger yet the :
stepped into the garden and were taken in charge
game has gone against him straight along. You by Carmichael.
"
noticed what I said about Mambi .'' I
enjoyed myself. Never more, save that Happy
"
I nodded.Well, there's a girl at Mambi who Trelawney's face would keep coming up between
used about to say her prayers to him, I reckon. myself and Lena, the girl who once loved him
—
When the banks closed in on him, she stuck to him. a pale yet warm-faced being, slight of figure, with
When the homestead lessee business dropped large liquid eyes, and black hair clustering beauti-
through, she didn't knuckle under. But when the fully about her head ;
not in the least sentimental,
selection sailed away to the Barrier Ranges, she very striking in her soft earnestness. And when, in
was shipped oft" to Tasmania by her uncle. And my mind, I saw Trelawney's face between us, his
that seemed to end it, for Trelawney plunged into whimsical look was blended into one indescribably
the plains, and took to his present trade. And I'd sqrrowful.
take my oath that he has never heard a word from saw her watching Lyng, as if to get a chance
I

her since. Carmichael, her uncle, is a slippery tospeak to him. I determined to help her, and
sort, and while he's too much the coward to talk soon drew off the attention of Carmichael and her
straight out, he'd do things that'd gall Trelawney, sisters, making it possible for Lyng to be with her
if he went to Mambi ; though I know the ladies I saw them
alone. engaged in close conversation
— Carmichael's wife and three girls altogether
— formany minutes, before Carmichael, as if suspect-
would treat him well enough. But he won't go. ing the subject of their talk, joined them. After-
Maybe he's right." wards I talked with the girl myself, while one of
"Is the girl there now ? " I asked. her sisters was playing. Purposely I mentioned,
" Yes. She has come back though I haven't ;
without any meaning in my tone, our visit with
seen her yet. She and I are great pals, she was — Trelawney that afternoon. She heard me
very
—
my wife's god-child, and though I think she has quietly :
only, her hands in her lap were clasped
48 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
together rather tightly. I don't know why I did it Carmichael agreed to go into the speculation be-
(except because I liked the man), but from my im- tween them. They therefore started, I promising
pression of him I praised him rabbit-catcher,
— to take Lyng's horses and trap back to his station
—
kangaroo-hunter, shearer as I would have praised in acouple of days. So we parted, and I was left
any gentleman of notable position. I saw her eyes alone with the ladies.
shine, a look as of hunger came into them, and I Before Lyng he told me, what I already was
left

knew that Trelawney had more cause to be happy sure of, that Lena
cared for Trelawney and
still ;

than was shown in his staunch outward humour. he said, moreover, that if she was pressed towards
For, as Lyng said to me afterwards, it's the biggest the other proposed marriage she might do unex-
thing there is in life to have the whole, unassailable pected things.
" "
love of a woman ;
and few get it. For," "he said, she's made of uncommon stuff,
The girl's exile had not cured her of her fancy, and she has got one idea fixed in her mind. It'll

though one of her sisters told me later in the even- either kill her or fill this wild west with joy you —
ing that they would probably all be married together lake my word for it. If you can do her or him— —
in about six months ;
herself to a doctor, the eldest a good turn, do it :
though it's a hopeless kind of
sister to a neighbouring squatter, and Lena to — business."
well, it wasn't quite settled yet, but there was a I went for a ride with her early next morning,

distinguished young barrister of Sydney who was and as we came slowly back in the hot sun, she
coming up to Mambi, and — and then she shook turned to me and said " You are going back to-
:

her head as though a great deal had occurred, and morrow to Mr. Lyng's station. You will be pass-
more was likely to occur. I have no doubt that ing Mr. Trelawney's camp, I suppose. Would you
Lena's had been made a burden to her, till it
life mind giving him a note from me ? "
was believed she had so mastered all thought of I said that it would afford me the greatest
Trelawney, that, presently, when Lyng mentioned pleasure.
" "
his name, there was a frequent and polite Poor There never was a more unfortunate man," she
"
fellow," and Why didn't you bring him along?" said,"and none that less deserved misfortune."
"
He used to sing very well-; and he's so amusing ;
"I can believe that," said I warmly. "But he
and a gentleman is a gentleman always, isn't he ? " looks at things with a cheerful eye. He has won-
and all that sort of thing. And Lena sat and derful courage. I'm sorry for him. I like him."
smiled with them in their well-mannered superiority, She rode close to me, and suddenly put out her
and said '' Yes, we should have been glad to see
: hand and touched my arm. " Happy Trelawney,
him. He
is very jolly." they call him Do you think that he is happy ? "
!

contrasted this half-indolent speech and amiable

I I never saw a graver, more beautiful, pair of
tone with the look I had seen in her eyes a little eyes than hers were at that moment. No man
while before, and J made up my mind then (and I —
could have lied even if there were need for it —
haven't altered it) that the best of women may — with them hard on him.
and do— cultivate
the actor's art to a degree not "
No," said I,
"
I do not think he is happy how —
"
fully recognised by themselves. It is duplicity of could he be 1 I spoke meaningly. Presently a
a kind, but so pardonable, so clever, so exquisite, " I will
faintsmile passed across her face. not
"
in such cases as that of Lena Carmichael. send a note," she said but tell him that Lena
;

The
next day was spent enjoyably. The place Carmichael is a merry girl— will you ? as merry —
was an oasis in which the elements of the most — as he— is happy."
refined and cultivated life had taken root. Then I said that I would.

" "
something occurred to change the face of affairs. Well, then," she added, let us ride in to the
Lyng heard of a mob of cattle further in the North station for all our horses are worth."
which could be purchased cheaply, and he and She gave her mare a cut. It dashed off, and
 HAPPY TRELAWNEY. 49

lier laugh came ringing back on nie. I noticed in of shillings for coming out of his way to deliver
it a tone of Trelawney's. I understood her. I the letter, and a drink of lea and the brombies
admired her. shuffled away again into the waste.
Two days afterwards I saw Trelawney. When Trelawney held a large letter in his hand. He
I drove up, he was sorting his cured kangaroo turned over curiously, then knelt down by the
it

skins. Tiie droll face looked up at me and now ; fire, opened it, and held it to the flame. I saw his
I was impressed with a look of power behind the —
eyes grow big the disfigured one looking weird
drollery, I wondered that I had not seen it on my and strange then he threw up his arms with a
;

other visit. But only the superficial sensations gasp, and laughed. It was such a laugh as I have
were affecting me then. I detected, too, a look of never heard. It ran a gamut from astonishment

expectancy, though his words were jovial and care- to gloating and wild triumph, and presently dropped
lessly hearty. After an early supper we fell into a to a low choking roll. He spread the letter out
talk which grew more and more confidential as before him on palm once more, and looked at
his
time went on. It became so dark that I could not it, then he laughed again
in a way that made me

see his face distinctly, but his whimsical laugh uncomfortable. He thrust the letter into my hands
came through our talk, amusing me so that I to read, and then, suddenly stopping, the wildness

laughed too. At last, as we talked of Mambi, I went out of his face, and, throwing his head into
—
gave him I don't know why I held it back so his arms on the ground, he sobbed.

long, except that I wanted a fitting chance Lena — The letter told of the death of his father and of
Carmichael's message. He suddenly became silent. his eldest brother. They had died within two days
For half an hour we sat so, smoking hard but say- of each other. From himself afterwards I learned
ing no word. wanted to do something yet
I that, for certain reasons,he had been infamously
scarcely knew how to do it. I reached out, felt treated by both, and that to get him out of Eng-
for his hand, and gripped it. He returned the land they had slandered him. He would not have
grip with a strong nervous motion, then we dropped gone were it not for his mother's death she was
—
hands suddenly, and were silent. At last his voice his father's second wife. When that occurred, he
me with "
came to a quaint kind of abruptness It
:
left, taking with him what money was his in his
isn't any use. cost her too much.
It'll I was own right. He had never asked them for a penny
saving up to make a fresh start ; but it takes too since but his misfortunes had reached them, and
;

I must go
long ; away." they had taunted him, far off as he was. Now, all
As he said this I saw a light a long distance off in a moment, he was a wealthy man, and the

shining through the dusk. I drew his attention. world was changed. He sprang to his feet, took
He immediately threw some twigs on the fire, the letter hands, and, catching me by
from my
and put on the billy to boil. (We had a fire, both arms, said, "In two hours I shall be at
for the nights were cool, though the days were Mambi."
hot besides, it was a land where tea is the
;
Then he caught up his saddle, and ran off into
everlasting beverage.) After a little there was the dusk, calling to his horse as he went. In a
the cry of a horn, we heard the shambling tread minute he was back in the light of the fire,
of brombies, and the outlines of a coach were mounted. A quick, hearty word, a wave of the
visible. hand, and he was gone. I heard him laugh into
"The mail-coach," said Trelawney, springing up. the darkness.
" Ithas got something for me, I suppose." He is still called Happy Trelawney in England,
It had. The driver handed it out, took a couple where he has brought his wife.
 Mrs. Willson-Blobbs (widosv of wealthy pork-butcher):
"
"My dear Count, wheu you come to

and see me at Blobbs Court

England, you must come
!

M. LE Count: "Oh, sank you very much; vat nombare?"

30
Jypes. ) jMaye J'JIet.
In MfiLBOURNE,
 "
•«
Why, 'is 'ead's worth a quid by itself I
 " mahe the books balance You I'm
Father, I've swalleved a thoverign, and how am I to ? t'hee,

a pound in ?'id a pound out."

S3
 fvl. /

/ ' '

/
mm^
Barber (who "
lias accidentally stuck his lather-brush in old gent's eye): Awfully sorry, sir! quite
an accident."
Old Gent: "Accident, of course; that makes it all the worse. If you'd intended \.i,
I'd have
forgiven you for making such a darned good shot.'
54
 THE ODIC TOUCH.
By Hume Nisbet.

T HAD been working hard, — too hard, to keep up about thirty-five, who had placed himself close to
with the fierce competition of modern times, me with his hand resting lightly, and as if acciden--
striving to advance in my art, do something better tally, on my knee.
than my last effort, and keep at bay the many In my morose state of mind I might have re-

enemies which a man unconsciously makes who is sented this liberty from any one else, only as the
climbing up the hill of life, and I felt wearied with delicate hand touched me I seemed to have found
the struggle, and almost inclined to sit down and I had been so long and
the clue vainly in search of.
let who liked reach the summit before me, when I Auckland disappeared with its troubles, and I was
received an invitation to spend Christmas with my tracing a probable future out of the silver ripples
old friend. Dr. Grignor, at his place in North which danced before me ; I also seemed to see the
Wales. my past and present life with the unreality
folly of
Dr. Grignor had, twenty years before, introduced of those friendships which had led me astray. It

himself to me in rather a peculiar fashion, and since was as if my soul had woke up for the first time,
then, although we had not met often, we had kept and was looking out of windows which had hitherto
up a pretty constant communication, in which, as been closely blinded.
far as the obligations of friendship are concerned, I A momentary panorama swept before me of the
was entirely his debtor, for as he began by serving, and future, while that hand rested on
past, present,
so he continued to help, advise, and warn me when- my knee then it was withdrawn, while I came back
;

ever I required either of those services the most to my normal condition, with a purpose added to
without ever giving me an opportunity of repaying my experience, and began to study my stranger
one of those favours but this I did not mind, be-
; companion with a sudden interest.
cause ours was the kind of friendship which some- He was a thin sallow-faced man with black eyes
times exists between the strong and the weak, and and clean shaven, and when he spoke his voice
which is of too fraternal a character to count sounded gentle and soft.
favours received as a burden, for it is only when we "
Yes, you have been wasting your time here, for
begin to consider equivalents that our affection has although Nature is bountiful to all men, it is only
become a limited emotion. the workers who can enjoy her gifts. You must
It was Auckland, New Zealand, that we first
in leave to-morrow."
"
met. had landed there some weeks before al- I don't know you, sir," I
I
replied, thinking about
most penniless, and v.-ithout much of an aim in life, the impossibility of leaving New Zealand, without
when one night, as I was sitting on the wharf, a cent to pay my passage anywhere.
"
looking broodingly upon the moonlit waves, and My name is Grignor, Dr. Grignor, and your
wondering for what purposes fate had driven me friend, if permit me to be so, John Gray
you will ;

here, suddenly I felt a light touch on my knee, and or rather I am

your friend already. Go on board
on looking to that side saw a grave-looking man of that vessel to-night, v,'hich is loaded and ready to
55
56 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
sail for England ; you are expected on board as a respect, for I was the only passenger he had on
passenger." this homeward passage.
"
But I have no money, and only the clothes I
Seeing my name on a card by the side of my
sit in, Dr. Grignor." plate, did not trouble myself with any uncomfort-
I

"
You you requii-e when you get
will find all that able surmises, but murmuring a private prayer of
on board. Mention your name and the steward thanks to God and my unknown benefactor, I fell

will show you your cabin and trunks." to with the appetite of a starving young man who
"
It was like a page out of the Arabian Nights " had not encountered such a supper for many days.
to me, the homeless, penniless, and almost starving Upon retiring that niyht the steward handed to
outcast, to hear that my desires had been accom- me a sealed parcel which had been left for me by
plished without an effort on my part, and in a my beneficent friend, Dr. Grignor, which, when I
dazed way I looked toward the ship which he I found to contain a
opened, purse with fifty sove-
pointed out, forgetting to utter a word of thanks or reigns and a bunch of keys, the keys of the three
inquiry as to how he knew me, and his reasons for travelling trunks which were ranged out for my in-
helping me in this extremity. spection, and the receipt for my passage to London,
was a
It moored alongside the
fine clipper, so that had no further need to bother my head
I

wharf, and a way from me, and after taking

little about the position I was to hold on board ship, or

in her proportions I turned once more to my new the first months after I landed.

friend, to discover the place vacant. He had left Perhaps it would have been better had this
me gaze had been concentrated
silently while my friend not acted Kind Providence quite so com-
on the vessel ; and although the wharf was a long pletely,— better for my independence I mean, yet
—
I had done so little with my past freedom that the
one, and at this hour almost deserted, I was aston-
ished that he could have disappeared so quickly, change was a decidedly pleasant one to what my
and rose with an eerie feeling, as if I had been former uncertainty had been.
conversing with a spirit. We had a fairly good voyage, take it all in all,

It was not without a tremour of doubt that I with the tempests, doldrums, and calms, and at last
crossed the gangway and made my way toward I found myself with three well-stocked trunks in
the cabin, at the companion of which I saw a figure the great city where men come to carve their for-

smoking a cigar. It seemed ridiculous for me to tunes, which holds everything that a man can de-
be there, and I paused to think how I would an- sire,which seems everything to him at the distance,
nounce myself, when the smoker, who turned out and which swallows and wipes out so many hopes
to be the steward, saved me the trouble by address- and visions.
ing me instead :
— With the fifty pounds which I possessed I fancied
"Are you our passenger, Mr. Gray, sir ?" that nothing was impossible to me, and therefore I
"
Yes," I
replied, my doubts beginning to give plunged recklessly into the battle recklessly, and
way to amazement. with as much wisdom as a child might possess who
" we left on a doorstep by his unfeeling or des-
The Captain is expecting you to-night, as has been
start early in the morning ; you will find him perate mother.
below." I was once more alone, or fancied that I was, and

"And my luggage?" I stammered. with my own fate in my hands the fifty pounds did
" answered the steward. not last long, although I was wonderfully penurious
Is all in your berth,"
" Thanks." over the spending of it, yet it melted away while I
I found the Captain enjoying a late supper along tried to open door after door without success, until
with his mates and one or two friends who had I came once again to the position that I had been
come had been New Zealand, with the river Thames and
to sit
to wish voyage. My
him l>flit seat in

me instead of Auckland Bay. was a failure.

kept empty for me, and they welcomed with v.-atch I
 THE ODIC TOUCH. 57

One day I was in the National Gallery trying to of a blind man under the guidance of one who sees
comfort myself with the glories of Turner in lieu of ahead for him, without cjuestioning why the guide
bieakfast and dinner, when I felt once more the is taking all the trouble for one so incapable.
odic touch on my arm, and on looking round I
Slowly and through innumerable difficulties I

encountered the deep earnest eyes of my friend, had made my way, hopelessly stumbling on under
Dr. Grignor. the impression that I was doing nothing all these

"You rec[uire me once more, John Gray ;

there- long and weary years, that the world knew me not,
fore I have come to you." and only at the occasional times when my friend
" "
What is the use of it, Ur. Grignor ? I
replied. came me, and with his touch made me see for a
to
" brief second the real progress which I had made.
I have tried and failed."
" At last my hour had come, and the world that
Not so, my friend, you have only begun you ;

have mastered a little of life, but you do not know

did not know anything about these many years of
your own powers yet ;
that will come in time." gnawing disappointments and delays, said that
As he spoke, the blinds were once more lifted John Gray had risen with startling rapidity. My
from the windows behind which sat my soul, so work was recognised at last, while it needed no
I was a
that I saw where I had gone wrong. I had been lifting of the blinds to see the future now.

frantically pushing and crushing behind a crowd, lucky fellow, people remarked, and friends gathered
all I was to get into a narrow space, as we
eager as round me in shoals with smiling lips and congrfttu-
may see any day on Westminster or Blackfriars latory words, yet with eyes which looked watchfully
bridges the masses striving to get into a halfpenny and strangely upon me, and at this point my friend
omnibus, forty people seeking to get into the place came to me once more.
"
which can only hold ten, and not one with the You have reached the most dangerous period
wisdom to stand aside and wait his chance or walk —
of your life, John Gray the time when you must
on. It was my selfishness and imitation that had take your choice, either to sit down contented with
made my efforts failures. your prison walls and shaded windows, or else sit
"
Yes, the best way over
the bridge is the way on the ruins and see all round you. Which will
you make for yourself, without crushing over your you have
— contented illusion or relentless vision ?
"

" "
neighbour. It looks the longest and most labori- Which
the best for me, my friend
is ?

"
ous, yet it is your own take that and you will ; Reality is always the best, although it does not
reach the other side plenty of time." in give content."
" me
That was nearly twenty years before the day of Then let have reality," I answered
my invitation, but I tried to follow the track which promptly.
was then pointed out by my friend, and wait Dr. Grignor was a man of vast learning and
patiently while I worked steadily in the profession occult power, and I could not but regard myself
that I had chosen. as entirely his creation. He had watched over me
I never knew Dr. Grignor more
intimately than for long years, enveloping me with his influence.
on our first and second interview. He came to me Without attempting to bias me any way, he left
in

without warning at a serious crisis of my life and me free to follow my own bent,and only pointed
set me right, after I had tried my own methods out a fresh direction after the path which I had
without success, until at last I grew to expect the pursued had become hopelessly blocked up.
quiet presence, and perhaps owned his supremacy Time appeared to be no object to him as far as
by praying or unconsciously wisliing for him at the I was concerned, and he was always ready to con-

desperate moment. I had

experienced his wonder- gratulate me upon my failures indeed he seemed ;

ful gifts and beneficent mind so often that at last to be better pleased with these results than with
I grew to depend entirely upon his help at the the evanescent successes which seemed to flatter
c'it'cal pause, and went forw.ird with the boldness my vanity and cloud my vision.
58 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
I had no knowledge of the amount of his for- continually being betrayed and frustrated and mis-
tune or from where he detained his money ;
it was understood, I would not look at the man whom I
only when the lack of money meant annihilation had made up my mind to like until I had drawn
to my hopes that he came to my rescue, and he over him the cloak of my affection and, therefore, ;

never gave me more than just enough to cross the when he betrayed me I was enraged, whereas I
gap which yawned before me, for all the rest I was need not have been but it felt so lonely to be
;

left to my own exertions also, until this Christmas

; always reading minds and recoiling from them,
which I speak about, he had not told me where or that I preferred the after agony for the hour or two
how he lived. of comfort.
He left me after this
conversation, pleased I It was at the hour of my deepest dejection that
think, at my resolve to grasp knowledge rather the invitation came from my one friend Dr. Grig-
than slavish entertainment, and I went on with my nor. I had been clinging long to one of these
work, satisfied that when I was ready he w'ould opaqued crystals, a man who had a winning man-
fulfil his promise. ner and a truthful looking mask, but who eveiy
Men was lucky, and I felt myself to be so,
said I hour unconsciously bared his falseness for my in-
not because was beginning to be recognised, but
I
spection. All round me I saw his accomplices and
because I had one so powerful at my back. True, tools as transparent as I could have wished, and

my talents were my own, but it was the proud con- while counteracting their conspiracies, which origi-
sciousness of this secret power and supporter that nated from him, I
persisted in my affection and
imparted to me the patience which was so needful trust for him, making all sorts of excuses and going
to ultimate success. out of my way to change the semblance of affec-
might have been the fruit of long experience
It tion into reality.
or some strange force which passed from my friend In vain I when I had no longer
tried, out of pity,
to me, but as I moved about nothing escaped my trust, to warm up the ice of that opaque crystal ;

observation, and my instinct was almost infallible and when at last I had to abandon him to the
when I trusted to it alone. At this stage I could curse of his malice —for I had drawn from him by
read the envy of those w-atchful eyes, and the my contact all his power of hurting me — I felt over-
hatred of those smiling lips which greeted me at come with the struggle and isolation. He was

every turn I had only to touch the arms of the

; doomed, I knew, as others had been before him,
ones who were protesting, and they at once began who had pitted themselves against me with this
to tell me their real intentions towards me ; my supernatural influence which had been aljout me
and enemies revealed their plots against me
rivals since that night in Auckland. I had only to aban-

and told me what misfortunes had overtaken don him to his fate, and disaster would overtake
them since they began to work me evil. I was him which neither of us could stop after the fiat
now walking through a world where men and had gone forth.

women were ranged about me

with crystal bodies A profound sorrow for the fate of this doomed
through which I could read their motives at a man crushed upon me, as I took my place in the
glance. train bound for Wales, something akin to the grief

I had this power as long as I remained inactive which burdened the days of the wandering Jew
and uninterested toward them, but with my pas- when he left his unwilling curse behind him, a —
sionate inclinations I had also the power of making gloom of desolation in my heart which was in har-

opaque, so that I could not penetrate

this crystal mony with the wintry day outside.

past the surface of those I flung my friendship Through a landscape, beautiful in summer time,
over and as I could not live without aftection I
;
but now veiled by the swirling snow storm, we
found myself continually trying to crush my in- swept as fast as steam could drive us, with the
stinct and glean comfort from the affectations, also carriages shaking and swaying as the wild blasts,
 THE ODIC TOUCH. 59

flake-laden, dashed against the windows and the only other inhabitant of this singular house-
covered them up with that white density. hold.
Two men and one woman occupied the same I knew that my had brought me for a
friend

carriage, and as I looked at the shivering objects special purpose to this and therefore I
place,
through that obscurity, their actual features dis- waited anxiously to learn what he would say and
appeared and I could see their spirits sitting nude do, thinking little about my surroundings or wlial
before me while they told me all their intentions we were partaking. As soon as I had finished
and past actions. eating, he said as he rose :
—
"
The woman was going home to comfort the Now come with me, my friend, to my study."
hearts of her aged parents and dazzle their eyes I him passively to a room at the back
followed
with her rich costumes and lady-like appearance, of the house, that was rounded like a cave, with
gained at such a fearful She had left her
sacrifice. no windows. Over the doorway which we entered
native village a servant and was going back
girl, fell a thick carpet of oriental stuff, while in the
like a duchess, with a pack of lies which would centre stood a brazier containing live charcoal.
send them to their graves happy and proud that "
Sit there, my friend," said Dr. Grignor, point-

they had such a daughter. As I looked at this ing to a stone chair near the brazier.
poor, wicked soul, preparing itself for the ordeal of I sat down as he desired me, while he stood in
deceit, it appeared to grow luminous with the front of nie, as the Indian, who had followed us,
brightness of its motives, and to warm with its threw something into the brazer which flamed up
unselfish affection that chill atmosphere. with a rosy light and filled the room or cave with a
One of the men was young-, and had appeared strange perfume.
"
good-looking at the first glance at his features, but I have
given you the gift of seeing things as
as they disappeared I saw the spirit sitting within they are, my friend, also the power to influence the
him old and shrivelled, he also was bent on a lives of those who come in contact with you for
mission of deceit to hishome circle, but there was good or evil. Hitherto it has been good to those
no brightness about him. who have befriended you, and evil to those who
The other was a sailor coming home from a long have wronged you this is the natural plane of
;

voyage, his spirit was that of a child without a humanity, but you have now come to a point where
care, I bent my head before the woman, and you can control these destinies as you may desire
turned from the young old man, to play with the at a sacrifice to yourself. Look at both sides of the
soul of the sailor. picture and decide for yourself which gift you shall
At the station my friend met me with a dog-cart, take,
— the gift of power or the gift of sacrifice."
and together we drove through a wild country with As the doctor spoke, the Indian threw some
the tempest of snow flakes dancing round like fresh powder on the fire, and as I watched the
white elves. His house was a lonely one, perched flames rising and the perfumed smoke curling
half way up the side of a mountain v/ith the win- I saw a
round like a silver frame, picture of my
dows all to the front, while the back portions had and in rags, with his starving
false friend destitute
been excavated into the hill, it was a long house of children around him, while I sat crowned with
one store}', and stood alone in the midst of a forest success and surrounded with wealth.
of pine and birch trees, just the kind of site which "
That is power and revenge," whispered my
I would
suppose a man like Dr. Grignor would fix triumph shot through me
friend, while a thrill of
upon as a retreat. at the pleasant prospect, tempered with a feeling
We were received by an Indian when we arrived, of commiseration for my overthrown enemy.
and aftermy friend had seen to the horse's com- The Indian flung another powder into the
fort, we sat down to supper, still waited upon by flames and another picture rose up inside the
the same dark-hued servant, who appeared to be silver-smoke-frame ; my false friend, surrounded by
6o PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
luxury, and myself in rags watching his exalted moment of hesitation on my part
—while my pas-
state from the outside. sions surged up and ambition with anger gripped
"That is sacrifice and abnegation," whispered at my heart like the talons of a vulture, or had my
my guide as the picture vanished. "Take your twenty years of struggle prepared me for this test-

choice, John Gray." moment ? As I made my choice the features ot

Was it his presence that saved me, with tlie Dr. Grignor grew luminous with a divine liglit ere
touch of his hand as it
clasped mine after a he disappeared in that silver mist.
Types J
Have M.et.

In the Strand.
6l
V
 6
"to
3
o
3
e
o
.a
CI
a
o
Q
Q
I-
•J
^
 Time, 2 a.m.
Stranger (who has almost raised the neighbourhood with his knocking) : "You'll excuse me
waking you at this uneaitlily hour of the morning, but it was only a few minutes ago at the Club that
I saw you were advertising for a travelling companion to accompany you round the world. No,
thanks, I won't come in ; 'lisn't necessary. I only called to say I'm sorry I can't come with you.
Good night, old chap."
 NEWLYN NOTES.
pHIL MAY originally intended to write this ful lot of money." And similarly Phil May told

article himself; had come up to the

and if it me that the public opinion of Newlyn considered
standard of a poem of his which he once showed that Newlyn and the Newlyn models had been the
me about Australian meat, it would have been a making of Mr. Stanhope Forbes.
very good article indeed. Unfortunately, how- "What about the Newlyn School?" I asked.
"
ever, the composition of it was set down for one What are prevailing characteristics ?
its The
of those tomorrows which never come, and in the Newlyn artists don't confine themselves to sea-
end the author that should have been was so busy scapes, do they ?"
"
drawing pictures that I had to write it for him. By no means. On the contrary, most of them
"Tell me all about it," I demanded imperiously, are figure painters, and their characteristic is to
as becomes an editor. take infinite pains, to give every detail its due
For answer Phil May produced a photograph attention, and to make their pictures before all
taken by an amateur of his summer domicile. It
things accurate."
"
was a pretty little cottage, with a studio attached, Impressionism, then, finds no favour with
commanding a view of the Atlantic Ocean. Tro- them ? "
and fuchsias "
pical plants flourished in the garden, Not the least. If one had to find a name for
in particular grew mountains high. Were I not, them, one would call them realists,' To such an
'

to a certain extent, acquainted with the ways of extent is this passion for realism
— or rather for
artists, I should have said that it was a desecration
—
accuracy carried, that critics have sometimes
to draw any but the most serious pictures in such supposed that they are in the habit of copying
a spot. their
pictures
from photographs. Nothing, how-
Phil May described the place. ever, could be further from the truth. They go
"
It is a village," he said, "with about a thou- direct to nature, and do their best to paint things
sand inhabitants, very picturesque, and very dirty, as they really are. In this way they arrive at an
with agreeable society and an enervating climate." accuracy which a merely mechanical art like pho-
I asked for more. tography can never give. In this way, too, their
"The
aborigines are very interesting. They sit work acquires a common quality which can readily
as models —
for there are no professional models be detected in spite of the different styles and
at Newlyn — and
they believe that the popularity methods of different men."
"
of the Newlyn School is almost entirely due to You mean that they are all pursuing the same
them." end by different roads ?"
The mental attitude was not quite new to me. "Yes, that is my meaning. The common aim
At Tintagel I had once met a miller who told me results in certain common broad characteristics ;

that his mill was one of the most important mills and it is to these characteristics that people are
in Cornwall.
"
Yes, sir," he said,
"
it be a very referring
— or at least ought to be referring — when
important mill, it be. Mr. Brett " — I think it was they speak of the Newlyn School."
—
Mr. Brett "he come all the way from Lunnon to I wanted to know about the life the Newlyn
paint it,
he did, and the painting fetched a power- artists live.
65
 t-y
T^jiL

4 W ."'-'^fc^^^^^ x^^: u

^^

\ Tl, ,
cj KcV-^LT-fsf.
1.6
 y^RTiSTic Parlance.
Inhabitant: "Nice grey day, sir,"

67
 V
/'S^li

Sketched at J^ewlyn,

£8
)VlLL J^EXKl^, THE JToi^WKGIAN PAlNTliR.

Sketched fiom life at Newlyn.

69
W --°"^-
-^ .

/I'w RAy.

Sketched at J^ewlyn,

70
Sketched at JTewlyn

71
72 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
"They don't work all the year round?" I easels you see them carrying rackets, cricket bats,
queried. dog whips, and so forth."
"
"No. Plenty of hard work is done in the Then do you never see any one going about
autumn and the winter but the summer is
;
largely with an easel and an umbrella ?"
"
given up to idleness." Very seldom. And, when you do, you may be
"That is not the popular idea of New- sure that he is not an artist at all,but only an
lyn." amateur who has come down this way for a holi-
"
I know it isn't. The popular impression of day, and decided to do a little painting for amuse-
Newlyn of a place where artists
is dressed pic- — ment. The be even more patent if you
fact will

turesquely, as artists should be

—
sit out all day on walk up and look over his shoulder, and if you
the beach, with easels in front of them, and um- suggest, in a friendly manner, that he should put
brellas behind them to shield them from the a little more sepia into the background, he will not
sun, covering innumerable canvases. But the real argue with you, but will be grateful for the hint,
Newlyn is very different from this ideal Newlyn. and act upon it hurriedly, even though it be as
In the real Newlyn the artists do not look like absurd a hint as you could offer."
artists at all. Their appearance is rather that of Such then is Newlyn and such is the article
;

noble sportsmen, attired for riding, driving, yacht- about it which Phil May would have written if he
ing, tennis, and all that sort of thing. Instead of could have found the time.
 %: -r(

i^
r-i-^^/'-^

,?;*' ^^

/ =•>'

A Newlyn Type.
73
 :
'''-?'<<';

,»,<?g^^',-^

'Arry (who, like a lot of other silly people, thinks he is bound to speak broken English to
"Good-morning, John; you likee London muchce?"
foreigners):
WUN Lung: "You Chinaman?"

74
 W. H. D£VEN4S

'T'lIE young gentlemen at Mr. Bun's well-known existence at Bun's — the examination which was to
"coaching" establishment near Chancery Lane qualify or disqualify them for the public service
—
were hard at work, for the sole cause of their was drawing near. Mr. Bun's speciality was the
75
76 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
Foreign Office, and ninety per cent, of the success- is of several kinds ;
it may be social or political.
fulcandidates for that respectable and aristocratic Henry Mallard (for that is the man who is the
branch of the Civil Service were duly crammed Hon. Adolphus Byngo's neighbour) liad no social
with the necessary knowledge by his large staff of position, as he was the son of a wholesale draper,
experienced teachers (see advertisement). But of and had been educated at a grammar school but ;

the thirty or forty young fellows who sat in the stuffy it so that his father exercised great in-
happened
lecture room and tried to concentrate their atten- fluence in the constituency of a powerful Cal^inct
tion on the foreign policy of Lord Chatham the — Minister, and practically secured the great man's
subject of the lecture
—
there are only two with return. As chairman of the Association, he
whom we need concern ourselves. The first of had a strong claim on his member, who therefore
tiiem is sitting haughtily back in his chair, with a got his son the necessary nomination for the
discontented frown on an otherwise vacant face, as Foreign Office, though somewhat against the grain.
if he were not pleased with
his surroundings. He To Byngo, Mallard seemed not only an intruder,
is obviously a man who
takes a £aeat interest in but almost a thief and a robber, intent on depri\ing
his attire, and flatters himself that he is dressed him of his undoubted patrimony.
with taste and discrimination. His frock-coat In the result both passed through — the Hon.
fitstightly the waist, his waistcoat is double-
at Adolphus with a little assistance, Mallard on his
breasted, and his cravat flows beneath it in ample
—
merits and both started as junior clerks at the
folds, surmounted by a small diamond pin. Our Foreign Office. Byngo was comfortable enough,
friend's cards, when he produces them from his for he had plenty of introductions, but Mallard at
silver card-case, contain the inscription — The Hon. first was regarded rather as an outsider. He had,
Adolphus Byngo. We may add that he is the son however, several good points he could do any ;

of an impecunious Irish peer. amount of work, he was quite indifferent as to

The first Lord Byngo, of Bally-Byngo, received whether it was his own or that of some other
a peerage and an embassy in the time of Pitt for person he was never ill, never asked for leave,
;

his services in passing the Act of Union, and since never came late nor went early. The result was
that date the Byngos have pervaded the Foreign that, though neither attractive nor ornamental.
Office. In fact, during the good old times of Mallard was essentially useful. At first his in-
nomination, that office was regarded as a sort of tense zeal excited surprise, not unmixed with
family estate, by which members of the family not suspicion,amongst his chiefs ;
it was such a new
otherwise provided for might be supported. This experience to them to find a man who really took
desirable state of things had been somewhat inter- a strong interest in his work. But at last they came
fered with by the creation of a competitive exami- to the conclusion that his enthusiasm was rather
nation but the Byngos clung tightly to their
; creditable to him than otherwise, and he began to
privileges, and the eldest son of the house was now be regarded in the office as a safe, if not exactly a
doing his utmost to qualify, the nomination being coming, man. So in time one senior clerk would
a matter of course for him. As he naturally re- point him out to another as a sort of curiosity, a
sented this invasion of his supposed rights, he was creature to be seen and examined.
looking with an expression of obvious disgust at One habit of his caused considerable amuse-
his next-door neighbour, a short-sighted, serious- ment of a harmless nature amongst his fellow
looking man
with spectacles and a low collar, junior clerks. After performing all the official
who was taking voluminous and elaborate notes duties of his office. Mallard still found that he had
in red and black ink. some spare hours, and he devoted them to con-
In the Foreign Office, influence still goes for cocting an elaborate diplomatic correspondence, in
something, and every candidate must be nomi- which he dealt with the diplomatic incidents of the
nated before he can be examined. But influence day in the most careful and precise manner. He
" Ills enemies declared that he lived, so to spealc, on his eye."

7?
78 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
would compose solemn and dignified letters from Every writer of whatever kind has his master,
the principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs from whom he has learned his style and who
to the different ambassadors, and would then stands for him as the example of what good Eng-
solemnly answer his own despatches, deriving his lish should be. Mallard had attempted to form
official information from the foreign telegrams of himself on Lord Palmerston. He studied that
the Times. statesman's despatches, read his speeches, pored
In this manner he thoroughly worked out in over the blue books which gave an account of his
detail each international difficulty as it arose. negotiations, and was thus able to turn out a series
As years went Lord Soapleigh, the Hon.
on, of despatches which really bore a very fair resem-
Adolphus Byngo's uncle by marriage, became blance to the originals. Whether it be that times
Foreign Secretary, and he promptly appointed his have changed and with them the tactics of diplo-
own nephew private secretary. Meanwhile Mal- matists, or whether English statesmen are less
lard, owing to his unfailing accuracy and plodding dictatorial than they used to be, one thing is cer-

disposition, had fairly won for himself the appoint- tain — the diplomatic correspondence of the present
ment of /;w/i--writer. The Right Hon. John day is much
less forcible and full-blooded than that

Charles, Baron Soapleigh, was generally known affectedby Lord Palmerston. In our days we hint
among his admirers as the "inscrutable" man. and suggest and delicately intimate where he tried
Though small of stature and thin, with insignificant to overbear his adversary by direct attack. It

features, he had a calm, imperturbable eye, into therefore follows that as Mallard almost slavishly
which, when he desired it, he could throw an ex- modelled his imaginary despatches on those of
pression of unfathomable sagacity. His enemies Lord Palmerston, they were of a very' violent and
declared that he lived, so to speak, on his eye; that explosive type. In the office they caused intense
he was, as one of them put it, an empty fraud, a amusement they were passed from hand to hand,
;

reed painted to look like iron. The events of this and on slack days would be read out aloud amidst
story will show which of the two opinions was the much applause, though of a quiet and gentlemanly
nearer to the truth. kind but Mallard was fortunately devoid of -a
;

In the year 1896 the peace of Europe began to sense of humour, and therefore, instead of being
be disturbed by a forward movement of Russia in annoyed or discouraged by the jocularity of his
Asiatic Turkey. Excitement ran very high in fellow-clerks, he was rather gratified than other-

England, and poor Lord Soapleigh, to his profound wise at the notice his writings received.
"
disgust, found himself on a sudden the centre to Of course," he would say, " they are frivolous
which public attention was directed. His sup- and turn all serious matters into joke but still the
;

porters compared him to Bismarck, Cavour, and maxims of the great man must come home to them,
Metternich, and declared that at last a master and so my humble efforts will sow the germs of
mind had risen to control British foreign policy. scientific
diplomacy."
His opponents, on the other hand, daily jeered Mallard therefore armed himself with Evelyn
at him in the House of Commons, and were of Ashley's life, and with the four bulky volumes in
opinion that his timid and meddlesome tactics were which Sir Edward Bulwer deals with the early
destroying English prestige and would probably part of Lord Palmerston's career, with the assist-
break up the British Empire. The prospect of such ance of which he daily annihilated the Muscovite
a frightful catastrophe did not, however, spoil their diplomatists. He protested against the advance of
appetites for dinner or disturb their night's rest. General Gourko into Armenia, he ordered the
To none of these outbursts of political opinion did British fleet to Cyprus when Erzeroum was taken ;

Mallard pay the slightest attention. He was com- but his great achievement was a final despatch
pletely happy, for his mind was far away studying which summed up the whole situation when the
the diplomatic correspondence of the past. Russian troops were in sight of Constantinpple.
 THE HON. ADOLPHUS BYNGO'S REVENGE. 79

Lord Soapleigh had asked the permission of the interview with the and insist with great
Sultan,
Porte to bring the British fleet through the Darda- firmness on getting but the only use he ever
it ;

nelles into the Black Sea— a permission which was made of his opportunity was to read out page

refused,
—
with that curious, ill-directed suspi-
for,
after page of pointless verbiage, which the Com-
cion which has always characterised the Sultan's mander of the Faithful either failed to understand

government, at this particular moment Turkey was or determined to ignore.

"
more afraid of Great Britain than of Russia. With I think," said Lord Soapleigh, with a self-

this refusal Mallard as he thought, in a

dealt, satisfied smile to his private secretary, "that that

masterly way. He began by declaring in a sup- iswhat the present crisis requires. The advance
posed letter to the British Ambassador at Constan- of civilization demands that we should treat our
"
tinople, In opinion the claim of Russia to
my politicalopponents with greater courtesy. Instead
occupy Pera, whilst demanding that we should of overbearing or bullying them, we should attempt
be excluded from the Black Sea, is just as if a rather to appeal to their reason. Would you be so
policeman should be excluded from the back door good, Mr, Byngo, as to copy this out for me your-
whilst the burglar was admitted to the hall." He selfowing to its confidential nature."
h-ound up the despatch with an ingenious adapta- His lordship wrote a small, scratchy, detestable
tion of one of Lord Palmerston's despatches to hand, which only long experience and great
Louis Philippe. patience enabled any one to read. Mr. Byngo,
"If," wrote the bellicose Mallard, "the Sultan therefore, groaned as he thought of the four hours'
uses such language to you again, tell him that he task before him. It so happened that, as he went

need give himself no further anxiety about the to his private room, he had to pass by the office
Dardanelles or his iron-clad fleet, and
forts in the occupied by the worthy Mallard, who had gone out
that Mouktar Pasha will be just chucked into the to lunch, leaving on his desk his imaginary Con-
))
sea. stantinople despatch. Byngo slipped into the
Mallard looked lovingly at his rough draft, and room, picked it up, looked at it for a minute with
so pleased was he with it that he copied it out on idle curiosity,and then the ghost of a smile flitted
official paper in a fair round hand and laid it on over his face. It was a very hot day, and he felt

his desk with pride. extremely lazy and indisposed to work, so he idly
At precisely the same time in his private room turned the dispatch over and read it from beginning
at the Foreign Office Lord Soapleigh was engaged to end. It certainly fitted the circumstances of

in preparing his despatch dealing with the same the case exactly and though, no doubt, the Am-
;

difficulty. It was
long, extremely argumentative, bassador at Constantinople would be somewhat
and very inoffensive in tone. The British Minister surprised by such a change of tone, yet as it was
"
was requested to express the regret of her Britan- written in proper form and on Foreign Office paper,
nic Majesty that the Porte had not seen its way to he would in all probability accept it as genuine.
allow British ships of war those facilities which had Then what a revenge on Mallard
! That upstart !

not been withheld from other Powers." went on It would, of course, be suspected of substituting his
to point out that England had always been the own despatch out of pure folly and conceit. He
firm friend and ally of the Turkish Government, would, no doubt, be dismissed the service, for
and was now acting without any arriere peiisee. which, in Byngo's opinion, he was thoroughly un-
In fact, it was one of those prosy, gelatinous des- " He is so
suited, hard-working," he thought,
"
patches which nearly sent the unfortunate officials and hard work
is thoroughly vulgar." The possi-
at the Porte asleep as they were solemnly read of and even universal
bility European complications
over to them by the short-sighted British Am- war, which might result from the substitution,
bassador. Something of the old habit and practice never occurred to the Hon. Adolphus Byngo's
still remained. The Ambassador would demand an limited intelligence. Still for a short time his
8o PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
conscience resisted the temptation ;
but at last, as appeared more profoundly wise than usual as he
he called to mind the injuries he imagined himself received the congratulations of his colleagues. All
to have received, he snatched up the despatch, the press was on his side. The Times pointed out
hurried out of the room, tore up the original, and that he had proceeded in a mild, pacific manner at
substituted in its place Mallard's Palmerstonian the outset, but that when British interests were
effort. That evening a Queen's messenger started affected, and he found that he was being played
from London bearing the momentous document to with, he showed the hand of iron beneath the
Constantinople. velvet glove, and at once swept away all opposition.
When it arrived, both Mr. Byngo's suppositions They even gave him especial credit for the remark-
proved to be correct the Minister 7vas astonished,
;
able contrast between his former and his later
but it never occurred to him to doubt the genuine- action, and apologised for having suggested that he
ness of the despatch. He at once demanded an had been guilty of pusillanimity in his conduct of
interview with the Sultan, and without any com- foreign affairs.
ment read to him the instructions he had received. Lord Soapleigh finally concluded that the British
If the Ambassador was astonished, the Sultan was Minister had perhaps determined, on the spur of
amazed his large black eyes seemed to grow
;
the moment, to tnke a strong line. He therefore
rounder and rounder every minute, as he shifted sent him a private letter congratulating him upon
about in his chair and stroked the silk tassel of his the success of his diplomacy, but suggesting that he
fez. At first he asked for a week to consider it ;
but had slightly exceeded his instructions. In reply
the Ambassador, roused to unwonted energy by the the English Minister sent the Foreign Minister the
nature of his instructions, demanded an answer in original despatch. Lord Soapleigh looked at it for
two hours' time. A council of ministers was hastily some minutes with a bewildered stare. Not a word
of it was his own it had never been under his eyes
summoned, but every one advised a surrender, ;

declaring that English patience must be exhausted, before. As however he scrutinised it carefully, he
and that if so gentle spoken a Foreign Minister as was able to recognise the handwriting, and he sent
Lord Soapleigh could bring himself to use such at once for Mr. Mallard.
" most
peremptory language, he must certainly be in Mr. Mallard," he asked in his polite
earnest. accents, "do you know anything about this inter-

That same day an order went to the forts in the esting document ?"
Dardanelles telling them not to fire on the British "Yes, sir," said Mallard, without a moment's
"
fleet, and the next day Lord Soapleigh received a hesitation, this is an imaginary despatch which I
long telegram from Constantinople informing him drew up for my own amusement a fortnight ago,
that his ''^cotip cfetaV had been entirely successful ;
but which got mislaid."
the leading squadron of the Mediterranean fleet was Lord Soapleigh got very red in the face, as if
in the Black Sea, the main body being expected suppressing violent indignation, but
he only said,
to complete the passage in two or three hours, with greater civility than usual, —
"
whilst the Russians were so disheartened by this This is a very able document, Mr. Mallard, and
unexpected diplomatic triumph that their advance does you great credit. I have an important ap-
guard was in full retreat. pointment now, but I will communicate with you
No one was really more perplexed than Lord again shortly."
" " was man
Soapleigh himself. For," thought he, although As soon as he left alone, the great re-

my despatch was undoubtedly a weighty and well- flected over the circumstances of the case for nearly
considered document, it could not well be called half an hour without taking any action by that ;

peremptory or described as a coup (Tt^iat." But time he had made up his mind. Although Mallard
his great quality of looking inscrutable served him apparently had been guilty of the astounding inso-
in good stead ; instead of seeming puzzled he lence of substituting a despatch of his own for that
 THE HON. ADOLPHUS BVNGO'S REVENGE. 8t

of the Minister for Foreign Affairs, yet it could upon him, and, as he was also extremely modest,
not be denied that the substituted despatch had he was rather overwhelmed with the thought that
achieved a remarkable success. It had saved it had been humble pen which had produced so
his

Constantinople from the Russians, averted a serious great a revolution in

European affairs.
Mar, and placed England in a splendid European The Hon. Adolphus Byngo's feelings when he
position. Not only this, but it had enormously heard of the^promotion of his rival may be more
strengthened Lord Soapleigh himself crowds fol- ; easily imagined than described. He guessed at
lowed him, cheering and hurrahing, whenever he once that the English diplomatic success had been
showed himself in public, and his photograph was due to Mallard's despatch, and that the astute Lord
in every shop window. Under these circumstances Soapleigh was rewarding him to keep his mouth
his course was he was not going to be such
clear ;
shut. He therefore hurried into the presence of
a fool as to repudiate a despatch which placed him his uncle in a state of ill-concealed anger, and there
on the highest pinnacle of glory, and would pro- declared that he, and he alone, was responsible for
bably make him Prime INIinister, This being the the substitution which had produced such happy
case, it was also clear that he could not inflict any effects. Lord Soapleigh looked at the vacant face
punishment on Mr. Mallard for the offence he had before him, with its sullen scowl, and the thought
"
committed. On the whole, in order to secure com- passed through his mind, \
It will never do to

plete reticence when the blue-book

was publishcd> let my fool of a nephew the story all over
tell

he determined that it would be better to reward the the London clubs." All that he said, however,

young man, and so he again sent for him. was —

" he said, with a slight twinkle in "
My dear sir," My dear nephew, your conduct was perhaps
"
his eye, I had been so struck by the extreme hardly in accordance with your strict duty, but as
of expression shown in this document, that
felicity we have recognised Mi". Mallard's services, I think
when it came under my notice I substituted it for it we should
only right recognise yours,"
my own despatch. The marked success your pro- The same evening the Hon. Adolphus Byngo
duction has achieved is to me clear proof that you received instructions to start as British Vice-Consul

possess most valuable diplomatic talents. There for Samarcand, and in that inhospitable and bar-
is an important embassy going out to Abyssinia, barous town he is dragging out a miserable
still

of which you will take charge, I have no doubt existence. Mallard, on the other hand,
Henry
it will lead to greater things. Meantime, let me will probably die an ambassador, if he does not
press upon you the desirability of absolute silence reach even a higher position. Lord Soapleigh is
on what has passed between us." now an earl, and has recently been made a K.G.
Lord Soapleigh might not be much of a diplo- It is a small consolation to poor Adolphus to read

matist, but he was not a bad judge of character. of his uncle's glory in a Times two months old, and
At no time was Mallard a talkative man he now ; to recollect that he, poor exile, has been the sole
considered that a great trust had been conferred cause of Mallard's advancement.
Types I
j-i
ave yVl
et .

An East End Preacher,

82
 A MOTHER'S EDUCATION.
By Frederic Fenn.
T N
the education of the mother, theie are many mentalism of his existence. He began to realise

acute stages, and one of the severest came to that his culture was suburban, that his literary
Mrs. Ireland, at a time when she might very tasteswere hopelessly intermingled with morality,
reasonably have thought that such trials were not and that the girls in whom he found inspiration
for her. This, in brief, is the history of it. were dear, good girls, but characteristically and
Sydney Ireland was a barrister, which means femininely blind to the relative proportion of
that he had eaten his dinners, had been called, and things.
employed which he liad plenty, in
his leisure, of That this could not all be brought about by a
studying, in amusing himself, and in practising gentle evolutionary process was obvious. By his

journalism the last mentioned in particular, be-

; friends he was considered to be engrossed in' work.
cause it pleasantly augmented an allowance which His fewer and gradually fewer visits to the home
he, a short time before this story opens, had con- where he was highly considered, were easily explic-
sidered more than adequate. Sydney Ireland able on this hypothesis. In the meantime he was
belonged by nature to the serious ones of this life. devoting himself to a systematic study of the
He had graduated at Toynbee Hall, where he shadier side of London life. That certain young
learned to talk about ideals. He had had con- men of his acquaintance found pleasure in chaffing
siderable theories anent a sort of ideal radical- barmaids proved eventually sufficient reason for
socialism in addition, he had been the friend
; him to try his hand at the same high-class amuse-
of half a dozen seriously minded girls, who had ment. Here the lamentable consequences of his
thought him a young man
a thousand, and to
in early training at once became apparent. Whereas
whom he had paid an invertebrate platonic kind of they could chaff and go away forgetting and for-
attention. He had an way of appealing
irresistible gotten, he could not. When he first turned his
direct to these seriously minded maidens, who flirtations into this unaccustomed channel, Florrie
were mostly his seniors.
Being efteminat'ely Miller, the shining light of a little bar down the
minded, he understood them as they had not Strand, was the first to be honoured. And then he
thought to be understood by any man and com- ;
could not reconcile himself, after being an indi-
prehension being always, in the words of Professor vidual highly considered by girls of the greatest
Huxley, more than half-way to sympathy, a subtle education and refinement, to coming and going,
community of spirit sprang up between him and and being no more considered than any one of the
these sympathetic friends. Ideas and books and motley crowd. There is a common substratum of
sentiments went on a daily round of exchange, and humanity in all men and all girls, and his old-
lastly,this little congerie of souls fell into the power of fascination, with a little adaptation, sooiv
lamentable abyss of correspondence. let him romp in over all the others. It was then^

And then there came a change in Sydney Ire- inevitable that he should try to reforni the girl,-
with
land. Gradually the fascination and freedom of equally inevitable that she should fall in love
London life grew into him. Contact with the him, when, not being fool enough or man enough
broader issues of life undermined the pretty scnti- to continue the work of reformation on these prO'

8i
«4 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
mising but uncompromising lines, he judged it best resort. Dinners here and suppers there made
to give up seeing her. heavy demands on his limited income, and the
This somewhat abrupt conclusion marked a mere hint that she would come any evening was
further stage in his education. He became more sufficient to make him throw over friends, engage-

careful, and abandoned all reformation principles, ments, or work, and wait in a fever of expectation.
as calculated to be unsettling. Yet, an interesting That he should marry her was never seriously
series of waitresses, barmaids, and kindred speci- co:isidered by either. It was merely her way of

mens of humanity, came under his observation. enjoying life, and his.
They came to tea and supper at his rooms, accom- While he was drifting thus, and idly speculating
panied him to theatres and music-halls, and were on how this would or could end, marvelling at the
generally companions in his leisure. In all of them fascination she excited over him, wondering at his
he found much to interest him, for to do him justice folly inspending money on her every little whim, a
he was only attracted by those of their class who curious thing happened. Madeleine went abroad.
had capabilities far beyond it. The greatest satis- They were dining together one night in a more

faction which he derived from it all was a firm con- than ordinarily serious frame of mind, when she
viction that now he had sounded tlie realities of told him her intention. He had been taxing her
existence, and that nothing was hidden from him. with looking worried and ill, and she told him some
Still, this was all play, though it prepared the few of those half-truths which are so far too little
ground for greater issues, and eventually Madeleine and so far too much. He never knew the whole
Dillon came on the scene. Madeleine was fair, truth of the story. It was concerned with some

pretty and striking-looking, but he might never difficulty, which a friend of hers had become
in

have noticed her if his attention had not been involved, wherein she had promised to help her.
directed to her by a friend of hers engaged in an Something not very creditable to either was evi-
—
adjacent bar for Madeleine Dillon was a barmaid. dent from her manner but Sydney was right in
;

For a long time he talked to her occasionally, but believing that Madeleine had nothing in her past
was indifferent to her, until one day, in response to beyond wild indiscretions. She would come back.
"
an invitation, she came to his rooms. That day she Oh, yes," may be in a month, may be in a year.
fascinated him. He never rested until he stood She could not say. In any case, he should be the
first favourite among her clientele, for she was a first to know, but the nature of the secret she had
" I
popular, attractive girl, who could count admirers sworn not to reveal. would die sooner than
tell you," she said, with the melodramatic exagger-
by the score. For weeks together she would come
"
to see him every day, the while former favourites ation of her class ;
and if you were to know, I
raved as she keep appointments with
failed to would never see you again."
ihcm. At first the affection was mainly on her side. So Sydney Ireland had to be content, and allow
He was philosophically indifferent about who she what maddening suspicions might come to
went out with when not with him, wisely consider- smoulder within him, the while Madeleine Dillon
ing that leaving her thus free he obviated all risk dropped out of sight.
of her becoming a tax upon him. But this could But he had gone too far for her to drop with

not, and did not, last. She had liked him mainly equal facility out of his mind. He missed her too
because he did not worry her; and just as his in- much to be even willing to fill her place at present.

terest grew, hers waned. He came to want her at Some impulse of loyalty prompted him to give up

all worry when she stayed away or did

times, to all amusements, and devote himself to work.
not write, and eventually to require her to explain This he did with such devotion and such energy
how she employed her time when away from him : that his overwrought constitution gave way, and he
this bored her. No one but IMadeleine would do broke down utterly.
to accompany him to theatres and all his places of So it ramc ;ibout that the one woman in all our
 A MOTHER'S EDUCATION. 85

liveswhose loyalty is unswerving came and nursed mother she telegraphed, waited on the invalid,
;

hjm through a long illness in his room^ in the and, to his unspeakal^lc relief, restrained the dozen
Temple, grieving over the devotion to work which questions even on her lips.
had thus broken down the son for whose future she On the Monday the girl came ;
then was the
anticipated so much, yet sorely wondering at times one appeal made. This uneducated
little mother

who was the "JMadge for whom he had so. con-

''

yearned to play truant at her lesson. She came to

stantly inquired. the bedside with a nervous tremor in her voice and
"
You are not keeping anything from me, mother? the girl's first letter in her hand.
You've not heard anything from —had any message "
She has come ? "
which I have not known?" " —
Yes but oh, what does it mean, Sydney ?
"
No, dear." What can she be to you ? Aren't nicer girls good
And only when the oft-repeated question had enough ? She may be a good girl, but she is not
eaten into her heart, was he asked, — —
a person you should know a girl like that like —
"
Who
Madge, Sydney
is ?
"
a shop-girl."
"
Madge, mother w ho told you about Madge ?
; He pulled her face down and kissed her boyishly.
She's a Miss Dillon, and she's a great friend of "
Don't cry, mother. She isn't what you'd call a
mine." lad}', but she's not a shop-girl
—
not even a' barmaid
was not again referred to until the
Tlie subject now ; but that's all right, and I am awfully fond of
following morning, when, suddenly turning to the her. Go and
fetch her, there's a dear, silly old
silent watcher and divining her thought,— mother, because I am dying to see her."
"
You won't like her, mother but she's a good ; So the girl came in, looking just as of old. Tall,
girl, and she's fond of me." pretty, and stylishly dressed.
fail",
WHiatever she
"
Is she— she is a lady, Sydney ?" might be, she was undeniably pretty, and, not
"
Poor old mother, was she anxious ? Wait till being sure of her ground, had a shy way with her
you see her." now which lent an additional attraction.
One morning, the letter so long expected came. The invalid gave a long sigh of relief
"
It was very short a little note on grey paper.
:
Oh, Madge, it is fine to see you again. And
"Dearest Sydney," it ran. "I shall really be this is how I welcome you back a miserable :

home on IMonday. You may meet me if you like, wreck, half-way to the grave, with a clear road.
at Victoria, at half-past eight. With fondest love, — But you always promised to come and see me if I
"
your own Madge." were ill,
didn't you ?
He half raised himself "
in bed, despairingly, after Yes, Sydney," she whispered, sitting down by
reading Oh, mother, do I look like meeting
it. ." the bed.
"
any one at Victoria on Monday ? You must wire That's right. And now mayn't I have a kiss,
to her, will you, dear ? Say that I am ill— in bed — or have you given them all to the others ? No,
ask her to come here. It will be such a change to not one Think what a long while it is since I
!

see her." ha\'e had a kiss, though I bet you have had hun-
And this the little mother did, thinking the while dreds. And now tell me what you have been
of many things. It did not surprise her — for she doing all this time."
was his mother, and knew his proclivities that he — She bent over and kissed him unreservedly.
"
should want some girl to come and see him but ;
Poor old Madge, you look worried and ill !

she could not understand why this should be an It's been a devil of a time for me. Has it been a
unknown instead of one of the half-dozen intimate bad time for you ? "
friends whose names she could run over, more than She only nodded.
one of whom she half expected and half dreaded to " And I must not ask "
questions ?
"
be asked to receive as a daughter. Poor little No, because you know I can't tell you."
86 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
"All right, I won't. It's enough just to have would they have said if they could have come in
you back again, and know that you are not gadding and seen ? But that is what I have always done
about giving kisses to every damned scamp who —thrown o\-er a thousand things for you, that you
likes to ask for them.'' might come and laugh and talk, and the next day
" "
Are you glad I'm back ? laugh and talk with another. Why the devil do we
He stroked her face with one weak hand, and do it, Maddie ? What do we ever get for our
" "
ran it through her wavy hair. Glad do you ! trouble ?

know, I am ridiculously fond of you, Madge. Why The girl only shook her head.
do we all take so much trouble about you ?" And the little patient mother only listened in
"
Because you are a stupid," she said. agony.
" "
Yes, and because it is good to be stupid. I Why don't you talk, Madge ?
Usually you do
wonder whether we shall ever have any more jolly all the talking and I listen."
"
times together." Yes."
"
She nodded, and was crying. Then, aftci a pause : You remember how long
"Yet, for one night that I have enjoyed with ago I made you promise
that if ever you were in

you, five nights I have been utterly miserable, want or trouble, you would come to me ?"
"
unable to work, or read, or eat, indifterent about Yes," very softly. " But I never would."
" Then I want
everything and every one." you to promise me now that you
" will come to mother, and she will always do what
Silly boy to worry, when I told you I was not
worth it." she can for you won't you, mother ? "
;

" "
Can't help it. Take off that hat, unless you Yes, dear."
want to eyes out.
poke my The girl looked doubtfully down at the giver of
They forgot the little mother, sitting silently at the promise.
"
But I shouldn't do it
— ever — what
"
the foot of the bed, watching and wondering at would she think of me ?

"
this tall, graceful girl, who in all her ways was so Nothing bad, Madge, because I told her you
new to her, and yet seemed so strangely at home. were always a good girl, and she likes helping
"
Old lives are always finishing, new lives beginning ; people don't you, mother ?
;

"
but at that transition moment nothing could have Yes, dear."
" "
prevented her holding herself jealously aloof. You know why I say this, Madge, don't you ?
"Same old hat," he said, as two long pins She shook her head.
dragged their black lengths from her hair. "Because I shan't be able to do it myself. Don't
"
Yes and ;
I've come here without even going you see why I wanted you to come and see me at
home. Don't I look an awful sketch ?" once ? The last time I saw you I said I wished
"
Oh, you're always beautiful. And, beside, I'm you were dead. I don't mind now, because I am
beyond criticism. Still, you do look well, as
— dying, Madge and it's a fine good job, too, for
;

though you thought we were going to Rule's in- I should never get clear of you. You don't think
stead of Blanchard's." of the future, I do."
" " "
Well, I can't help it !
Only when I'm miserable. But you're not
"Wait till I'm well again, Madge, and then we'll really
— dying."
" "
Must you go ? Can't
see." Notto-night," he said.
* * * * "
you your mother wait ?
let
"
"Do you remember when you were ill here?" I ought not to have come to you first."
"
remember you were awfully good to me." "
I Oh, she'll have more than enough of you later
"
I shall never forget leaving you lying on the When will you come again ?"
"
old couch asleep, and going to the door to find When you like ? "
" ^ "
a lot of friends, and sending them away What To-morrow
 A MOTHER'S EDUCATION. 87
"
Yes." and say I was for her cab-fare home. She
said it
"
Then good-bye,
beauty." can't afford tobe coming up here in cabs. She
She bent over and kissed him, and he released won't say anything, but she will really thank you.
her with intense rekictance then she looked
; Will you remember to do that for me, ni other ?
'

"
doubtfully at the little
mother, who, tired enough Yes, dear."
before,now, if they had but had eyes to see, "And, mother — I know what you think — you
seemed to have been ageing each minute. The need not worry because I have with her, or
flirted

girl held out her hand shyly, but the little mother, think that she cares for me too much, or will be
in her great misery, hesitated but one moment be- miserable now, because she won't. —I know her
fore she took her in her arms, kissing her warmly, better than you. I am only one. This week she
then hid her face on this fair girl's shoulder, who may cry, next week she will forget. I think that
so easily monopolised the coveted place at her is what annoys me most.''
son's side. Neither spoke, but both were crying, Thelittle mother had no words. She took one
one from a mad envy, and the other from an emo- of his hands and held it before her eyes.
"
tion real enough, but less deeply rooted. But you won"t forget, mother. Why do we
"
I
always said she was a good little mother, and always trouble most about the people least worth
"
would be nice to you ;
did not I, ]Madge ?
'

troubling about ?

* * * * * » * *
When mother came back from seeing
this little She came again — once, twice. On the third day
the girl out, Sydney lay for a long while without a he was too ill to see her, and on the night of the
sign, and then opening his eyes, they rested on her. fourth day died Sydney Ireland, M. A. Many women
'
Thank you, mother that was very nice of you
; wept for him for whom they had foreshadowed a
"
all through." Then, after a pause When she : brilliant future. But none save the little mother
comes to-morrow you must give her a sovereign. knew whose name was on his lips at the last, and
—
Put it in her pocket that is what I always do — the secret was bitter to her
 C^Dru-

JiiE Ravage pLug

§8
 THE VALLEY OF HORRORS.
By Francis Grtbble.
VWHEN Godfrey Hallowes came down over the type of man to whom ghosts usually present ihein-
bleak pass into the desolate valley, he was selves. But, for all that,a certain mysterious un-
quite unaware that it was reputed to be haunted.
easiness was stealing over him as he came down
Otlierwise the explanation of this ghost story the valley.
would be so obvious that there would be no ade- It is only fair to say that he was beginning to

quate reason for telling it. r)Ut, as a matter of be thoroughly tired out. It was four o'clock in the
fact, he knew absolutely nothing of the legend morning when he began the long ascent on the
belonging to the wilderness and the guide-books
;
Italian side, and the sun was already setting when
were unanunously silent on the point. All that he reached the summit of the Col, where Italy
" ends and Switzerland begins. He had undertaken
they said was, that the pass was easy, but un-
interesting, and little used." Of the black tragedy the journey without a guide, on the faith of
said to have been played out there a hundred years Baedeker's statement that the pass was " easy " ;

ago, and of the terror of the peasants, who dare but he had discovered that this description of it
not pass through the valley after night-fall for fear was not wholly accurate. There was not, indeed,
of the phantoms to be seen there, these prosaic any step-cutting to be done, nor was there any
works of reference did not speak. need to scale perpendicular rocks by means of
Not that Godfrey Hallowes' nerves would have imperceptible cracks and crevices. But there was
been troubled, even if he had known the story. a certain amount of difficulty about finding the
Both by temperament and by reasoned conviction —
way a difficulty by no means diminished by the
he had a healthy disdain for all stories of the sort. presence of a white mist, which never entirely
In his Oxford days he had once proved, to the lifted, and at moments became almost impene-
satisfaction of himself and a majority of members trable. So Godfrey Hallowes lost his way, and
of a select debating society to which he belonged, had to retrace his steps more than once, with the
not only that ghosts never did appear, but also result that he could not hope to reach the inn that
that it was physically impossible that they ever he was bound for until long after dark.
should appear. Ghosts, he argued, are ex hypothesi Fortunately the fog, as often happens, ended
immaterial the human brain and eye are purely
;
abruptly at the frontier. Had it continued on the
material, and can only be affected by the action Swiss side, the traveller would probably have
of material forces. Consequently, assuming that blundered down on to the glacier, and fallen into
ghosts exist, there are absolutely no means by one of the concealed crevasses. As it was, he saw
which they can make us conscious of their pre- the danger, and, keeping the glacier on his left,
sence. That was his syllogism. Afterwards, when floundered for a quarter of a mile across a stretch
he began to walk the London hospital, he became of snow, in which he sank up to, and sometimes
at once more practical and more cynical, averring above, his waist, until he reached the rocks. Even
that themain source of the supernatural was the then there was no path but there were faint in-
;

stomach. Altogether he was by no means the dications of a track, by following which he slowly
89
90 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
accomplished a giddy descent into the part of the the valley, where no attempt is ever made to cul-
\-alley that lay below the glacier. After this there tivate the soil, and the goats can find no pasture
was no further difficulty bcycnd rough walking to browse upon, even in the height of summer. A
among boulders. mile or so below him, the valley turned sharply to
was bad going in the dark, however, and the
It the left, and an abrupt wall of rock shut off the

prolonged fatigue was beginning to tell on God- view of the softer landscape of wocfds and meadows
frey Hallowes heavily. He had had to go to his that lay farther to the north. The width of the
brandy flask for strength to plough through the valleywas about a quarter of a mile, and it was
field of snow upon the Col, and, on his way down flanked on either side by dark and steep, though
the face of he had several times been
tlie cliff, not c|uite precipitous, mountain ridges, with taller

obliged tostop and rest. Now, loaded as he and darker mountain tops here and there percep-
was with a somewhat heavy knapsack, he could tible behind them. Hardly a blade of grass grew
scarcely drag his feet over the ground. Every anywhere, but everywhere there were huge bould-
step was a conscious, and even a painful effort ; ers and a great disorder of debris, —
the remains,
and, even if he could ha\e made progress at a apparently, of some forgotten landslip while, away ;

normal rate, it would still have taken him at least to the south, the scene was crowned by the white
four hours to reach his destination. For about mass of the glacier, and the whiter mass of the
twenty minutes he trudged on slowly but stub- snow mountain in which it had its source.
bornly and then his weariness overcame him,
; Godfrey Hallowes was not an impressionable
and he surrendered to it. man. His moods, as a rule, were neither deter-
" and began mined nor perceptibly influenced by his surround-
I must bivouac," he said to himself,

to make his preparations for sleeping in the open. ings. Once or twice he had caught his thoughts
These were but few. They began with a light straying to the operating theatre when he had
supper off a square inch of Gruy^re cheese the
— supposed himself to be merely watching the sun-
sole remainder of his lunch washed down by — set effects on INIonte Rosa from the Macugnaga

water from the glacier stream, with his last tea- meadows at another time, at Florence, he had
;

spoonful of cognac init. The bottle of white wine found himself discussing a vexed question in mor-
which he had brought with him, he had finished bid anatomy with a kindred spirit, in the presence
earlier the day.
in In part, perhaps, the fact of Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece.
accounted for his intense fatigue; for, according to But now it was different with him. As he lay
the guides, and (more particularly) the guide- there in the stillness, broken only by the monoto-
"
books, white wine cuts the legs." nous murmur of the glacier stream, watching the
Next, he chose himself a resting-place, under the fantastic shadows which the rocks threw in the

shelter of a rock, took off his boots and wrapped moonlight, a mysterious awe and vague appre
a spare flannel shirt round his feet, placed his hension, such as children feel on a lonely road in
knapsack under his head for a pillow, drew his the deepening twilight, gradually crept over him.
"
waterproof cloak over him, and tried to go to sleep. I must be feverish," he reflected and with ;

But sleep refused to come to him, as it often that he felt his own pulse, and found it a little

does refuse to come to a man whose muscles are weak, but otherwise, so far as he could judge, quite
over-tired, especially if his bed is hard, and the air normal. Then, with an effort of will, he tried to
strikes cold. So he lay long awake, and the un- shake off the feeling.
canny weirdness of his surroundings gradually grew He could not do so. On the contrary, reason

upon him, and almost frightened him. with himself how he would, the sentiment grew
was, indeed, a scene of strangely and fantas-
It more and more intense. He was
as safe, he kept
in the midst of whicli telling himself, in that lonely valley, as he would l)e
tically impressive desolation,
he lay. He was well up in the higher reaches of in the bedroom that he was presently to occupy as
 THE VALLEY OF HORRORS. 91

house-surgeon of the London hospital. But, for all to belong to a class superior to the peasantry in
that, he felt the subtle premonition that something the neighbouring hamlets but what struck him
;

terrible was presently to happen. Neither then most was, that their dress was of the fashion in
nor afterwards could he quite analyse the feeling, vogue a century ago.
for his sensations and his thoughtsseemed to be Godfrey Hallowes lay under his rock and
pulling different ways. But the dim fancy sprang watched them, like a man in a trance. The
up unaccountably, in the face of reason, in his strange thing, as he felt afterwards, was that he
mind, that all the inanimate nature around him unquestloningly accepted them as phantom visitors
had become mysteriously endowed with sentient from the unseen, and seemed, in a dim, half-con-
and conscious being. The giant boulders seemed scious way, only to be looking at something which
to be staring at him with stony, sphinx-like eyes, he had all the while expected. In this mood he
and the rocky walls seemed to move towards him, waited to see what would follow.
just as the walls of the sick-room sometimes seem The two men, it seemed, were quarrelling. No
to come half-way across the floor towards the sound, indeed, reached the solitary spectator of
patient whose nerves have been shattered by ague their passion ;
but that was the only element of
or marsh fever. For the first time since he had unreality, he saw their fierce gesticulations,
for
entered upon his teens, he felt undisguisedly and and as the light fell upon their faces, he thought
abjectly afraid. He covered his face with his he saw also, though the distance must have made
hands, as a child might, to escape from the in- that impossible, the hideous gleam of hatred in
definable horrors that surrounded him ; and made their eyes. Then suddenly each, with one accord,
a desperate effort to exorcise his dread by fixing drew a knife from his girdle, and they fought.
his mind on other things. It was a long struggle, this battle of the phan-
It was quite futile. He tried to think of his toms, for they fought warily, as though each knew
work in London, of interesting cases he had been the others skill and strength, and feared to close.
watching in the hospital, of some experiments he Minute after minute passed as they circled silently
had been making in the culture of bacilli, of an round each other with lithe cat-like action, each
article on some popular aspects of medicine which waiting for his chance.Then, with a simultaneous
he was meaning to write for a magazine. But, leap, they sprang together and grappled, and an
wherever he sent his thoughts for the moment, they instant afterwards one of them fell back, and,

immediately came back to the intangible terrors of staggering a few yards, dropped upon his face.
his lonely sleeping-place. The other followed him with his knife uplifted, as
Still,the effort partially calmed him, and he though to strike again. But he, too, moved like a
feltan uncontrollable impulse to look up and see man who had got a mortal wound, pressing his
whether anything would happen. hand against his brow as though his head were
At first he could see nothing-. swimming. He had but a few steps to take to
" "
Nerves," he muttered to himself I don't reach his victim but his strength failed first. He
;

think I quite understood what nerves were till now." sank down a helpless heap beside him
in and a ;

But just as he said this, a strange sight met his long desperate cry of pain and hate rang down
eyes. The full moon flashed out suddenly from the valley and echoed from the mountain wall. It

behind a cloud, and on the further side of the was the first and the only sound that broke the
valley, about a couple of hundred yards away from silence. As the last echo failed, a dark cloud
him, he became aware of the figures of two men. covered the moon and the two figures dis-
again,
He did not see them come from anywhere they ;
appeared as suddenly and mysteriously as they
suddenly appeared where, an instant before, there had come. Once more Godfrey Hallowes clasped
had been only empty space. He looked at them his hand across his eyes, and lay still among the

carefully ;
their style and bearing betokened them stones with every nerve in his body trembling.
92 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
"
How lony he lay thus he did not know. Again \Ve are cuiious to know what that story is.

and again, in fancy, he saw the visionary tragedy Would you mind telling it to us ?"

repeated ; again and again the thrilling shriek of Herr Anthamatten gulped down a glass of wine.
"
the dying man sounded in his ears. When at last But it is not a good story to hear at bed-time,"
he ventured to look up, the moon had gone behind he said.
"
the mountains, the pink flush of the dawn was on Never mind. We're not nervous, and wc want
the snowpeaks, and the valley showed no sign of to hear it."

any tenant, fleshly or ghostly, but himself. And the landlord told the story :
—
"
I were gone with the darkness. He lay
lis fears was a long time ago," he said, " before the
It

a little longer to try and obtain the rest he needed tourists came and the hotels were built. The pass
and had been cheated of; then he shouldered his was used sometimes, in those days, and one day
knapsack, and trudging laboriously on his way, two strangers came over it, and lodged here in the
reached the inn in time for breakfast. village. They were brothers, and they seemed to
" " "
I must be ill," he said, I want a tonic and ;
be of noble birth but it was not known to anyone
;

he went down to the and had a

little village shop, who they were or why they came here. Some said

draught compounded of such materials as were that they had got into trouble — political trouble

procurable. perhaps
— in Italy, and had had to fly across the

But he felt that he must tell some one what he frontier for their lives. But about that I do not
had seen ; and, for want of a better confidant, he know ; all that I know that they came here, and
is

told the English chaplain, in the smoking-room lived here many months, and that now and then
after dinner. a messenger would cross the pass from Italy to
The chaplain listened with more interest than see them.
"
English clergymen usually allow themselves to take By-and-by the two brothers fell in love with
in ghost stories. one girl
—
with Gretchen, the daughter of old Jacob
"
"You
did not know," he asked, of any legend Steen, the chamois-hunter. They did not love
connected with the valley ? " her, as you say, honourably, for they were noble-
"
No. I
just unearthed the route from Baedeker. men, and she was only a poor peasant girl. But
There's nothing about any legend there." they both had for her the sort of love that puts it
" "
Well," said the chaplain, the remarkable in a man's heart to do a woman a great wrong.

thing is that the people about here do tell some She did not care for either of them, for she was
terrible storyabout that valley. I don't know the betrothed to a young woodcutter, who lived lower
story myself. Suppose we have the landlord in down the valley, and walked up to see her e\cry
and ask him." i

Sunday after mass. But each of the Italians

Then he called to the waiter. fancied that she preferred his brother to himself,
" and the hate of the two men for each other came
Fritz, ask Herr Anthamatten if he will step in
j

here and drink a bottle of wine with this gentleman 1 tobe even stronger than his desire for her.
"
and myself." In the end each laid a plot to kill the other ;

The landlord came, bringing the wine with him, and it was to this purpose that each proposed, one
— not the wine usually set before tourists, but a morning, that they should walk up together towards
special vintage kept in a special bin in his cellar the pass. For there are places in the valley where
for his own consumption. you can push a man over a precipice, and say that
"
I have heard," s;ud the chaplain presently, he has slipped, and no one will know that you lie
"
that there is some strange story belonging to the except yourself.
"
lonely valley up yonder. Is that so ?
''
But these Italians feared, and therefore watched
"Yes, Herr. There /^ a strange story belonging each other, and neither of them found the chance
to the valley, a very strange story, a dreadful stoi-y." of doing this. They walked up to the head of the
 THE VALLEY OF HORRORS. 93

valley, talking of indifterent things, until they Rightly speaking, that is the end of the story.
reached a spot near the moraine below the glacier, For, though Godfrey Hallowes, his nerves
and there they quarrelled. How the quarrel strengthened by a good night's rest, would have
began, or what they said to each other, no one can been willing, fortified by the company of the
ever know. But from a ridge high up above their English chaplain, to test the apparition of the
heads, old Jacob Steen, the chamois-hunter, haunted valley once again, his duties called him
watched them. He had no love for them, for he back to London, and the call had to be obcyctl.
had long suspected their evil purposes, though And, curiously enough, it was in London that a
he could get no proof. And now he laughed to certain measure of light was thrown upon the
himself as he saw them draw their long knives mystery.
and fight and he chuckled again as each man's
;
Even in the prosaic atmosphere of the London
weapon went home into the other's vitals, and they hospital, the recollection of the incident still

fell down and died together among the rocks. troubled the young doctor. Try as he would, he
Afterwards he went home and told the storj', and could not shake it off; and at last he began to
father handed it on to son, so that the people here fear he must be suffering from some obscure
still remember it." affection of the brain or nerves. With this in his
Godfrey Hallowes did not speak ; but the mind he called to consult his friend. Doctor Archi-

chaplain asked :
— bald, inHarley Street.
"
Is that all ? Is there no other reason why they "Doctor," he said, "there must be something
still remember it?" wrong with me that I don't understand. I've seen
which the landlord answered
']"o :
— a ghost. I'm not a nervous subject, and I don't
"
Yes. They remember it also because they say believe in ghosts, but I give you my word that I've
"
that the spirits of the two murderers still haunt seen one. What's the matter with me ?
the valley. Every night they say their souls re- Doctor Archibald looked into his patient's eyes,
turn there, and in dumb show fight and slay each and felt his pulse, and questioned him as to his

other and no peasant in these parts will pass

; general health.
"
through the valley after sundown, for fear he There's nothing wrong with you, my boy," he
"
should see them, and hear their dying shriek echo- said at length. Perhaps there's something wrong
ing among the rocks. But, for me, I do not with the ghost. Come and dine with me to-night,
believe these stories. I am
not superstitious." and then you can tell me your ghost story after-
"
But even you, I suppose," said the chaplain, wards."
"
do not go to the valley after sundown ? " So Godfrey Hallowes dined with the great brain -

" "
No," replied the landlord, I do not yo to the
specialist, and told him what he had seen, and
valley after sundown. To what purpose ? It leads how it had been afterwards confirmed by what he
me nowhere, and it is cold." heard from the landlord at the inn.

Then Godfrey Hallowes looked him in the ejcs, He told his story graphically and dramatically ;

and said :— and when he had finished it. Doctor Archibald

"
And, if I were you, my friend, I would not go said :
—
"
there after sundown. I too am not superstitious, and Come into the library for a minute. There.
I ha\e no doubt my nerves are cjuite as strong as Now look at that picture, and tell me if that is

yours. But I spent last night in the valley, under the valley you have been describing."
a rock, and heard that dying shriek, and^I saw Godfrey Hallowes started.
the spirits of those two men come back to earth, "Yes," he said, "that is the beyond valley;
and play out their tragedy, step by step as you question that is the must
valley. The picture
have described it." have been drawn from the very spot where I was
* * * * It's a wonderful picture, too. The artist
lying.
94 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
has caught the sentiment of the scene exactly as I valley, tired, hungry, and perhaps, though I didn't
saw it the weird effect of the moonhght on the
: know it, a little feverish. As chance would have
I lay down just at the
black rocks and the grey boulders, the uncanniness it, point where what I saw
of it all, suggestion that something
the vague would bring that picture full into my mind. I did
horrible has got to happen. It is marvellous." not know exactly what was happening. My brain
Doctor Archibald was about to ask a further was working more or less as the brain works in
question, but his patient anticipated him. His delirium. Unconsciously I must have remembered
mind had taken a stride back over a great gulf of the picture, and the story that belonged to it. My
years. ghosts grew out of my own unconscious recollec-
"
seen that picture before. Doctor," he said.
I've tions, and so I fancied that I saw the tragedy I had
"
I saw it at the Academy, ever so many years ago, forgotten re-enacted there before my eyes. Is
when I was a boy about ten or so. It was called that the explanation you were thinking of, Doctor .-*"
" "
*
The Valley of Horrors and the '

; story of the Yes," replied Doctor Archibald. Even if it

struggle, remember, was told in the catalogue in
I is not a satisfactory explanation, it is the only one

small print. It was the first picture that ever made It was a case, I suppose, of a bit of the
possible.
an impression on me. It used to keep me awake old superstitious life pushing its way back in the
at nights. I believed in ghosts in those days. I'd new rational life, and partly bringing its old be-
forgotten all about it years ago but this seems to
; and habits of thought with it. I fancy there
liefs

bring it all back to me." must be some other psychical phenomena that
"
Then you begin to understand something could be cleared up on some such theory. When
about the ghost ? " I can find time, I must write an article on the
"
I think so. Let me see. I came down into the subject for the NiiieleetitJi Century.^''

'^^
y*lLONE

95
^ii.^^t.

9«
 CRUEL COPPINGHR.
By David Clarke.
T T OW people beyond the few who have
many Amidst such conditions and surroundings did
dipped the weird treasury of Cornish
into the mysterious stranger appear. One night, a3 the

legend and local tradition have ever heard the sun was westering in a baleful glow betokening
name ? Yet Cruel Coppinger's was once a name gathering storm, the lynx-eyed wreckers on the
to conjure with. But it is not so much the man headlands espied a spectre-like ship of foreign rig
himself, although he was a man of "parts," as bearing inshore. The storm broke, and soon she
the weird, mysterious, semi-supernatural way ni was struggling for dear life with the seething
which he made his appearance and again his dis- waves of Hearty Race, water-logged, and rolling
appearance, that entitles him to an abiding place heavily in the trough of the boiling sea, and
upon the page of local history. For he came, doom on the
drifting helplessly to her inevitable
whence no man knew, in the arms of the midnight rocks. Nearer and nearer she came, till the
hurricane and when his work of rapine and deso-
;
watchers on the beach could distinguish the pale
lation was accomplished, he departed as he had faces of the impotent crew, and conspicuous

come, in the sable mists of the night and amidst among them a man of herculean build standing
Uic howl of the tempest. by the wheel, foghorn in hand, awaiting the crisis

" Will of that fearful passage. But the current is too

you hear of Cruel Coppinger f

lie came of a foreign kind ;

strong, the wind too wild, the submerged rocks
He was brought to U3 by the salt water, too sharp and cruel for the doomed ship. Her
He was carried away by the wind." sails are torn to ribbons, her masts and spars go

This jingle embodies all that is absolutely known by the board. She strikes, rebounds, and strikes
about the mysterious marauder. Other stories and again, and a agony and despair arises from
wail of

anecdotes, based upon oral tradition, are extant, her sea-swept decks. Every soul must perish. But
and have been collected and set forth mainly by who is this ? As the vessel disappears, a seaman
the Rev. Stephen Hawker, the parson-poet of of commanding stature is seen standing by the
Morwenstow. They reveal, at any rate, a curious broken bulwarks. He strips, plunges headlong into
mode of amongst that primitive and isolated
life the foaming surf, disappears, rises again and buffets

eighteenth-century community of Cornish fisher- the angry billows like one wearing a charmed life,
folk. and amidst the bewildered
at last stands dripping

It indeed, a wild, desolate, iron-bound

was, spectators on the beach. Rushing among the
coast on which the sea vomited this monster a — crowd, he springs behind the saddle of a young girl
coast sparsely populated by a handful of lawless, who had ridden down to see the wreck then, girl ;

superstitious inhabitants, so ferocious and uncurbed and all, gallops away with wild gestures and
that no exciseman dared ply his calling west of the ejaculations. The maiden is the ill-fated Dinah
Taniar river for every man along that coast w-as a
; Hamlyn, and the pony pulls up at her father's door,
wrecker, a smuggler, or a bandit, and it was a where the eccentric stranger laconically introduces
dogma, unassailable as Holy Writ, that to kill a himself to the family as Coppinger the Dane.
gauger was to commit no sin. Coppinger (he had not yet earned his oppro-
97 H
98 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
"
brious epithet) makes it evident that he has come taunt, Parson, I have paid my tithe in full ;
never

upon a protracted visit. He makes himself at mind the receipt."

home and helps himself to the best of his
at once, Coppinger was now in the zenith of his power.
host's wardrobe and larder. To make himself Sinister-looking vessels prowled round the coast,
more completely a member of the family, and signals were flashed from the headlands, and sus-
possibly as a requital for past favours, he con- picious cargoes landed in isolated coves. One of
descendingly marries Dinah. Time flies, but not these ships, the Black Prince, fitted out and com-
so Coppinger, and eventually, on the death of his manded by the Dane himself, was the terror of the
father-in-law, he usurps the control of the house- Severn Sea. When hard pressed she would play
hold. It is now that he begins to show the cloven the decoy duck and once she inveigled a revenue
;

foot. The house becomes the refuge and rendez- cutter into a dangerous and intricate channel, from
vous of every lawless character and desperado which the latter never emerged. A reign of terror
along the coast, the headquarters of smugglers, was now established. Obnoxious landsmen were
wreckers, and poachers. Night is made hideous dragged from their beds at night by gangs of
with the uproar of wild revelry, and the affrighted armed ruffians, taken aboard the pirate schooner,
inhabitants tremble in their beds. For them there and sworn to the service and secrecy of the black
is no protection or appeal, for no king's man dare flag by terrible oaths. Tiie Black Prince ravished •

enter that hive of outlawry. Once authority did every coast and inflated the Coppinger treasury
make a protest, and a gaugei-'s head was decapi- with a golden store of dollars, ducats, doubloons,
tated on the gunwale of a boat. Coppinger was and guineas.
not the man to be dictated to by the minions of Impunity increased the marauder's daring and
the Exchequer. insolence. Certain bye-ways and bridle-paths
"
His respect for the Church was no greater than traversing the moors were declared to be Cop-
for the State, as the following little episode will pinger's tracks," and were peremptorily interdicted
show. The parson of Kilkhampton chanced to to the wayfarer after sunset. They all converged
dine with Coppinger, and was regaled on magpie on the headland of Steeple Brink. At this point
pie, a dish the Dane knew he hated.
The parson the cliff sheered off" a perpendicular declivity of
was something of a wag himself, and determined three hundred feet, with an overhanging face of
to be square with his entertainer. Accordingly projecting rock a hundred feet from the top, in
he invited the Dane in return, and regaled him which lay concealed the entrance to a huge secret
upon a savoury stew composed of enigmatical cave, arched, vaulted and sepulchral, and accessible
ingredients. The unsuspecting guest partook only by rope ladders fastened to the base. Herein
largely of the succulent compound, and was only lay the spoils of the Coppinger supremacy of the
enlightened concerning the nature of the repast seas, hoarded in iron-bound sea chests, inter-

when, returning home, he found a cat's skin stuffed mingled with kegs of smuggled brandy and Hol-
into his pocket. Now Coppinger was a humourist lands while from its cavernous recesses weird
;

himself, of a sardonic sort; but like many people sounds of secret midnight revelry were wont to
he could only see the point of his own jokes. startle the affrighted villagers.

Accordingly he resolved to let the parson know he There was no curb to Coppinger's insolence and
thought his plaisanierie ill-timed, and catching him ferocity. His own wife he more than once stripped
one night on an isolated moor as he was jogging to the skin, manacled, and flogged with the sea-cat,

home, he gave him some emphatic hints with a in order to extract from her terrified mother succes-

double-thonged whip upon the impropriety of prac- sive instalments of her dower. To crown the
tical joking.The parson wheeled, circled, howled v.retched woman's miser}', her boy (the only issue
for mercy; but his assailant sent him home "striped of the unhappy marriage) developed his father's
like a zebra," adding insult to injury in the parting ferocious disposition, with the added malignity born
 CRUEL COPPINGER. 99

of imbecility. He would
haunt tlie rocks and shrieks of affrighted sea-birds scurrying inland
caverns, uttering wild and incoherent sounds, \\\<.e from the maddened ocean, the land was ridded of
some uncanny thing thrown up by the sea and ;
its scourge and
pest. As the sun went down, a full-
once he was found on an isolated cliff, dancing rigged vessel was seen by the watchers standing
with fiendish glee, and pointing to the murdered off and on. Presently a rocket whizzed from the
and mangled body of his child comrade below. It Gull rock, a rugged islet with a sheltered creek,
was whispered that the child was born without a the hiding-place of many a secret cargo. A gun
human soul, as a judgment for his father's wicked- from the ship replied, and immediately a massive
ness. form was seen upon the topmost crag, waving a
But a supremacy up ont errorism and inso-
built sword. Then a boat put off from the ship, two
lence could not last for ever and soon cruel Cop-
;
stalwart hands to every oar; and when she reached

pinger found to his dismay, gaps in the ranks of his the shelter of the creek Coppinger leaped aboard
adherents, money scarcer, and the treasury of the and took command. Away she went through the
cave depleted. Moreover, a revenue cutter was boiling surf again, the rowers straining every nerve,
constantly seen hovering round the coast. till one, overwhelmed withfatigue. relaxed his
Characteristic of the beginning, tragical, mys- grasp. A
cutlass flashed in the lurid light of the

terious, and savouring of the supernatural, was the storm sunset, and the man dropped dead. It was
end ; and the last blow of Cruel Coppinger The boat pro-
!

" ceeded the ship's prow pointed to the ocean and

He that came with the water, went with the wind."
; ;

the darkness engulphed her. Whether she ever

One tempestuous —
night a night memorable even made a port, or perished in the tumult of that
in the annals of that storm-lashed coast when the — night, none can tell. Cruel Coppinger had gone
air was rent with the howl of the tempest and the as he had come — on the wings of the hurricane.
{ ir^ 11- '1 I
-TTliai

lyit^qs
-^i s?e
o<^ie owr w.r^ou r out:, c;un//^" y
'^:

X09
 I

)^^5 WE. :^^t

 MOLLY.
By Phyllis Hawtrey.
1. until just six months ago they had come to Mrs.
OHE was only ten years old, and yet she was to Brown's, in Long
Alley. It was about that time

lead the fairy dance in the Christmas panto- that Molly had become apprenticed to a Miss
mime. How happy and proud she felt, as she ran Grant, who taught children dancing for the panto-
home to tell her mother She almost flew down
! mime. She was a hard, stern woman, who seldom,
the narrow, dirty alley, never stopping till she if ever, praised her pupils. In fact, she had spoken
reached a small tobacco shop, over which the name so disparagmgly of Molly's dancing that the little
"
Brown " was painted As girl could hardly believe her ears when told
in large letters. that
gold
she hurried in, a door on her left was pushed open, she was How she toiled at that
to lead the dance.

and a girl of about fifteen came out with an earthen- dance ! How
hard she tried to twist her little limbs
ware dish in her hand. into the right positions, and how many tears she

"Here, Molly," she said, looking cautiously shed over her failures But then, was not her
!

round her, "here's some pudding for you. Take it labour fully repaid, when at the dress rehearsal

quick, and don't you tell my mother, whatever you IMiss Grant said that she was one of the best pupils
do." And thrusting the dish into Molly's hands, she had ever had ?

she once more

disappeared. This was Jane
Brown, the eldest daughter of the woman with The first night had come The fairies were all
!

whom Molly and her mother lodged. She had ready

— dressed in white muslin, with silver wands,
taken a great liking to Molly, and would often give and stars in their hair. They were all crouching
her fragments of food unknown to Mrs. Brown, who on the stage, behind great pieces of cardboard
grudged the child every unnecessary morsel. painted like flowers. Miss Grant gave her final
Molly ran upstairs and opened the garret door. instructions, a bell rang, the curtain went up, and
" " "
Is that you, Molly ? asked a faint voice. Yes, leaving their hiding-places they all began the dance.
" At first Molly was dazzled by the sudden blaze of
it's me," said Molly ;
and oh, mother, darling,
what do you think? I am to lead the fairy dance but her eyes soon became accustomed to it,
light,
in the pantomime. Miss Grant says that I'm quite and then she was conscious that crowds of people
—
good enough and I'm to have a shilling for every were watching her. A
proud feeling came into
—
performance that is two shillings a day and, oh,
— her happy as she lightly flitted here
little heart,
"
mother, that'll be twelve shillings a week ! and there, pointing her toes and wreathing her
" arms over her head.
Oh, Molly, that is good news !" exclaimed Mrs.
King, clasping her thin hands. After the dance the fairy queen appeared. Oh,
Poor woman, she had not always been in such bad how beautiful she was I .She was dressed in
circumstances. Her husband had been a clerk, and shining white, and a beautiful light was thrown on
when he died, she had supported herself and her her from the wings. And then came the demon
child by taking in needlework. But she had fallen king, and a lot of little demons dressed in scarlet.
ill. All their
savings were soon spent. They became The orchestra began to play again, and there was

poorer and poorer, and had to leave their comfort- a dancing battle between the fairies and the
able home to go from one small lodging to another, demons, in which the fairies were victorious.
103
I ©4 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
Molly had never been so happy in her life. As she was returning, she caught the faint sounds
Carefullyshe stored up everything to tell her of music, which she soon found came from the
mother, who was too ill to be there. How she organ of a young Italian boy. As she drew nearer
delighted in the lights, the crowds of people, the the sounds became more distinct, and then she be-
music, and above all the dancing And when it
! came aware that he was playing the fairy dance in

was all over, she ran home humming fragments of the pantomime. With a beating heart she flew up
tlie tunes she had heard, with the delightful feeling the alley, and stood for an instant beside the organ
that it was all to come again to-morrow. listening intently. Then suddenlj', without any
Poor Molly ! Her happiness was short lived. warning, she put down the jug of beer, and with
When she got home that night, her mother was glowing eyes and floating hair she began to dance.
much worse, and before to-morrow came Molly was Never, never even in pantomime days had she
an orphan. danced so well Lightly and gracefully she sprang
!

here and there in her ragged torn dress and great

II. boots with the soles worn through. Faster
muddy
"Molly, go round to the public, and get a pint o' and faster she danced ! She had gone back to the
"
beer. Don't you dawdle now said Mrs. Brown
!
fairy queen, the little demons, the blazing lights,
sharply. and the crowds of people. If it could only last for
Molly took the jug and turned to go. It was ever But then the music changed the organ
!
—
now nearly six months since her mother's death. was playing its next tune, and Molly awoke from
She was much taller and thinner, and her childish her day-dream. Those icw brief moments of hap-
facewore a strangely old expression. piness had passed away. She rushed down the
She was now maid-of-all-work to Mrs. Brown, her road, and flinging herself on a doorstep, cried as if
only wages being hard words and blows. But it her heart would break. She had forgotten the
had not always been so. As long as her engage- beer, which she had left standing on the pavement
ment in the pantomime had lasted, Mrs. Brown had by the organ. She could think of nothing, nothing
taken her money and treated her pretty kindly but ; but her past happiness, and longed to die to do —
when ceased, Molly noticed a strange difference
it
anything to be able to leave her present misery.
in the way she was treated. Many were the scold- "Why do you cry?" said some one gently;
ings, accompanied by sharp blows, that she had to "are you sad ?"
bear course of the day.
in the Many, many times Molly looked up, and saw the Italian organ-
did Mrs. Brown inform her that she ought to be grinder standing by her. He was a boy of about
most grateful to her that she was not wandering sixteen or seventeen, with merry black eyes, and
homeless and starving in the streets. Sometimes black hair curling in tight little ringlets over his
Alolly thought that even that would be better than head.
"
living with Mrs. Brown but then she would com-
; "Why are you sad ?" he repeated. Come, tell

fort herself by thinking of the first night of the Marco, and Marco will be sad too." Poor Molly !

pantomime, or would hum some fragment of the It needed very little to make her tell her troubles,

music ;
and she would then forget the cuffs and and she was soon pouring them out into the
scoldings, and be Cxirried back again to that happy Italian's sympathetic ears.
" "
time. Tell me, what is your name ? he asked, as she
As she ran down
the road with the jug in her ended her "Molly? Com' e bella
story. I !

hand, she was supremely miserable. Mrs. Brown Marco. You and I, will we goto Italy— away from
had been and things had gone even worse
crosser, this ugly, cold land. You and I, will we go to the
than usual to-day. Mr. Brown had paid a long mountains. No more beat, no more scold there.
visit to the public-house, and had come home in a Ah! saremotanto contenti Mia carina, I will work
!

bad temper, and now he had asked for more beer. work, work, and get money, and we will go, Molly,
 MOLLY. 105

"
soon ! In this way he comforted her. Her tears she rose, unable to bear it any longer. Wild with
dried on her thin httle cheeks, and a faint smile stole fury he rushed at her, with his stick raised. She
over her face as she listened to Marco's plans. But saw her opportunity, and ducking under his up-
suddenly, in the midst of her new-found happiness, lifted arm, she made for the door, and rushing to

she remembered the beer. Without waiting to her miserable garret she banged the door.
bid Marco good-bye, she ran up the alley— ///^ l^eer
A
came over her when
of horror HI.
iluis gone ! thrill

she realized what she had done. She had no That day week Molly awoke with a certain sense
money to get any more^ there was nothing to be of pleasure, for had not Marco said that he was
done but to go home and tell Mrs. Brown. With coming to play in Long Alley every Wednesday ?
a beating heart, she opened the door and crept in. It was while she was scrubbing the doorstep that

She paused for a moment there were loud voices — she once more heard the organ and at once ;

in the kitchen. Iler courage was almost failing as leaving her work, she ran down the road ;
for she

she went in. knew that Mrs. Brown was cooking her husband's
" and was not at all likely to come to the
W^here have you been, you little good-for- dinner,
nothing ?•' screamed Mrs. Brown, as soon as she front of the house.
saw Molly, " and where is the beer ? Eh ? Where Two tunes had to be played before Molly's dance
is the beer?" would come so leaning against the organ she
;

" said Molly shortly. to talk.

I haven't got ii," began
" Where What "Tell me about Italy, Marco," she said, longing
Not got it ? Not got it ? is it?

have you done with it? "cried Mrs. Brown, white to hear more about his beautiful country.
with passion. "About Italy?" "Ah mia carina
said Marco. !

"
I left it in the road, and it's gone," said INIolly it is There is mountains so great
so beautiful !
—
calmly. Poor child ! She was feeling anything — and streams, and flowers. Ah, mi piacciono
but calm, for she heard Mr. Brown shouting in the tanto This land is so cold and u^ly. I long for
!

"
next room for his wife to bring him his beer. Get- Italy. Ugh and he shivered. "Come, Molly,
1

ting no answer, he reeled into the room. no talk about Italy

— it make me sad. Come I

" Marco teach you speak Italian. Say— Caro Marco

Why don't you bring me my beer?" he shouted
furiously. mio " !

" " What does

Molly's been and lost it, or spilt it, or some- "Caro Marco mio," said Molly. it

"
thing," said his wife, pointing to Molly. mean ?
"
What ! You've lost it ? Spilt it ? What, what "It mean. Dear Marco. Now say Buon —
do you mean by here," he
that ? Eh ? Come giorno that is— Good
!
day You say to me !
—
"
roared, seizing his stick. D'you hear?" Molly Buon giorno, .Signor and I say— Buon giorno, ;

"
did not move. He went towards her. She could Signorina !

not escape. Sinking on the floor, she leant her Molly repeated it and laughed, and they grew
head against the wall. very merry o\er the Italian lesson.
" "
Oh, don't," she cried piteously ;
I didn't mean "The dance, Molly!" cried Marco; "he has
"
to, indeed I didn't." come. Salta, carina, salta and leaving her !

"
Didn't mean
Ha, ha Didn't mean to ?
to ? !
place by the organ Molly began to dance.
I don't care whether
you meant to or not." And WHien the dance ended, Molly ran back to her
lifting his stick, he struck her again and again. doorstep, repeating over and over again to herself,
"
She crouched on the floor, a thin little ragged "Caro Marco mio," and Buon giorno, Signor !"
figure, her face turned to the wall, that he might Poor little Molly ! How happy she was She !

not see her {cars and triumph. had now something which she could look for-
to

But at last, with a violent struggle to free herself word. Nothing- would be so bad, now she had
io6 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
some one to sympathise with her. She would not became more and more anxious and miserable.
care now, however cross and unkind Mrs. Brown Four o'clock, five o'clock came, and no ]\Iarco ;

was. Marco was always kind, and besides he was and at last, seeing that nobody was near, she stole
so merry. into the passage, cautiousl>^ opened the street door,

Every Wednesda)', at the first sound of the looked once more to see if she were watched, and
organ, Molly would leave her work, and, running- then rushed down Long Alley. Down one street,
down the street, would dance till the tune changed. up another, never stopping till at last she was
Then leaning against the organ, she would chatter obliged to do so from want of breath. She looked
to Marco, who would teach her a i&w more Italian round her. Crowds of people hurried along, jost-
words. And then if anything happened to trouble ling one another, some looking in at the beautiful
her, he was sure to see that she was unhappy, and shops, while omnibuses and carriages drove by
in

would say,
— an endless stream.
"Why Molly sad? Come, tell Marco, and
is How was she to get to Upper Bridge Street?
Marco will be sad too." She did not know the way. How was she to get
"Where do you live, Marco?" said Molly one there She must ask some one. There was a
1

morning. —
policeman she would ask him.
" Far "
away, carina," he said ;
"in Upper Bridge Policemen always know the way," she thought,
Street. Ah, Molly, don't go." "and I haven't stolen anything, so he can't take
" "
I must," said Molly ; Bve got to clean the me up."
doorstep." But in spite of this comforting thought, it was in
"
Diamine I That doorstep — healways wants fearand trembling that she addressed him. He
washing. Very dirty doorstep ! When v.ill he be looked kindly at the little girl, arid gave her full
"
clean, eh ? directions, of which, poor child, she could under-
"
It will be quite clean by this afternoon, if you stand nothing except that she was to turn to the
me "
let go," said Molly, laughing. Buon giorno, left. However, she thanked him and set off. Many
Signor !
"
weary miles did she walk that evening
— always
" "
was
Buon giorno, Signorina he said, and then
I
coniforting herself with the thought that it for
"
she ran away. Hi !
Signorina Molly I have
! ! Marco. Oh, how long those streets seemed, and
something very big to tell you. Do come back ; how tired she was !

"
it is so big ! It was not till it began to get dark that she found
"
You must make haste, then," said Molly, as she courage enough to ask another policeman but his ;

returned. directions were just as puzzling, and Molly walked

"Well, Molly,'" said Marco gravely, "you must on disheartened and worn out.
listen very hard. I have got more than half the But what was that ? Yes, there in the flickering
"
money to go to Italy. There! Ci andremo lamplight, she saw in large black letters, Upper
"
subito, Molly, subito !
Bridge Street." And then she remembered that
"
"Oh, Marco cried Molly, forgetting the door-
! she did not know the number of his lodgings. So
step in her joy ; and then how they talked and she determined to inquire at every door until she
laughed, and how happy they were ! found him. However, after she had asked at
But alas a day came when there was no Marco,
! several houses, she was informed by a slatternly
and Molly listened for the organ in vain. What girl that he was "up a' top o' the house." So to
"
could have happened He must be ill," she said ? the top of the house she ran, and opened the door
to herself. Perhaps he "
wants me." — and there, just as
she had last seen him, in his
She went through her work mechanically that old brown coat, lay INIarco. He was talking to
morning, straining her ears for the sound of the himself when she came in, and turning the handle
organ. The afternoon came, and no Marco. She of an imaginary organ.
 MOLLY. 107

"Ah, M0II3', you have come !" he said, as soon Lightly and gracefully she flitted here and there,
as he saw her. " Buon gioino, carina. We will wreathing her arms over her head and pointing
soon go to Italy now, Molly ; quite soon. Molly, her toes.
"
carina mia, serai tanto contenti in Italia. Ah, "Ah !
''

sighed Marco, as she finished, I am so

ritalia, mio bel paese !
Molly, your dance, he tired. must go home — home, carina and you
I ;

has come !
Salta, salta, carina, salta Why do!
— —
must must wash — the doorstep Very— diity !
—
"
you not dance? Molly, your dance has come!" doorstep And then Molly flung herself on her
!

and he raised himself excitedly, still turning the knees, and burst into tears.
handle of the imaginary organ. Marco looked up.
"
Poor little Molly ! Her heart was very, very Why is— Molly— sad ? Come— tell— Marco,—
—
heavy, but then Marco wanted her to dance so, ;
and — Marco — will be — sad— too."
though almost exhausted, sho moved to the centre
of the bare little garret, and she danced. That was all.l\Iarco had gone home, and had
" "
Faster, carina, faster !cried Marco. left Molly to wash her doorstep all alone.

~'^^^
 " I'm a of commuting tilings to memory.
The Rev. Staggi.es :
great believer in Stokes' system
For instance, tlie mental picture of a policeman in flames woiilJ suggest the name of Bobbie Burns."
Brown: "Or Robert Biowning?"

to>
 "I LOVED MY LOVE WLFH A 'B.'"
A ROMANCE OF THE BRITISH MUSEUM.
By a. Adams Martin.
C TRICTLY speaking, I
suppose she would hardly Just about that time I was offered the temporary
have been called pretty but then one does
; editorship of the John Bull Magazine. The
not look for beauty in the British Museum reading change necessitated a more or less long absence
loom. I think the charm of her whole personality from the reading room, and so I lost sight, for a
lay in the atmosphere of peace which possessed it time, of B 8.

likean indefinable grace. It was restful even to The affairs of the JoJin Bull were in rather a
look at her to watch her quiet movements, and
: muddled condition. There were large arrears of
the look of sweet content which lay in her soft correspondence and unread MSS., so I had to
brown eyes. Her very paleness had a charm, for buckle to work, and by the end of a month or two
it was the clear pallor which etherealises some I flattered myself that I had made a pretty good
faces, and hers was of that spirituclle type. I clearance.
called her B 8, because that was the number of her I was conscientious in those days, and read, or
seat in the reading room. She always came early or at least skimmed, most of them literary dry- —
and took the same corner place. as-dusts, impossible tales, schoolgirl effusions of
She was such a little thing I often smiled as I
!
poetic prose, or prosy poetry sifting out a small
—
watched her handling the big folios with her tiny percentage of wheat from an ocean of chaff. It
hands. But I am thankful to those folios for their was a tedious process, and in the weeding out a
size and clumsiness, for it was through them that I great deal of good grain has, perforce, to accom-
got to know her at last. We happened to be pany the chaff. Hard no doubt, but if you allow —
changing some books one morning, at the same any feelings of pity for the writers thereof to stir
time. She was standing close to me, and as she in your editorial breast well God help you for — — !

svas taking down

the second volume her grasp of a lunatic asylum would soon stare you in the face.
it failed her, somehow, and I caught the book just I was seated in my office one afternoon finish-
time to save from I had sifted out
in it
falling. ing off the last batch of arrears.
A
gracious word of thanks and a little smile all I could, and it seemed as if Christian's burden

were my reward, but after that the ice seemed of sins could not have weighed more heavily upon
broken. had occasional opportunities of holding
I his back than those of others did on mine.

open the doors for her, and of getting her down I really was so full up, and yet that paper on the

books opportunities for which I silently watched. "

:
Poetry of Greek ArtJMiv C. Hargreaves, which I
I never got more than the reward of my first held in my hand, was^Wery good one very good ;

service, but it would have disturbed the harmony indeed but how in the name of possibility could I
;

of my
impressions, I think, if my quiet, shy bird work it in when I had
already an ocean to fill a
had seemed ever so slightly desirous of prosecuting tea-cup ? No, it must go there was nothing else
:

an acquaintance. I longed to know more of her, for it, and hastily enclosing it in its envelope, I
and yet I liked her all the better because she gave threw it into the already well-filled basket. Then
me no opportunity. We men are so constituted. I looked at my watch. Nearly four o'clock, and I

109
no PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
had an engagement at five. I wanted to see a having worked side by side so long, she smoothed
man at the Museuni first, so I took up my hat and all my bungling away with quiet tact, saying,
hurried out. smilingly,
—
" "
I catch him in the reading room," I said
will Yes, one gets to feel like that, I know, and I
to myself, and —
well, I hoped to catch a glimpse am glad to see you back again. You have been
of somebody else too. For I had by no means absent quite a long time, and I sometimes wondered
forgotten B 8. She occupied a sacred niche in the if you were ill."

depths of my spirit ; only an editorial chair, and a So she had missed me.
I had got some orange paint on
big pile of MSS., were heaped up in its foreground my coat, fruit of
just at that time. the collision with that blessed easel — I say blessed,
My was not there, and C8 was vacant.
friend feelingly, for the paint had to be rubbed off with
I think it was the
qualm which I experienced at turpentine, and the process was delicious.
the latter disappointment which enlightened me
"
I did not know you were interested in — er — t/iis

with a sudden flash as to how much I had thought sort of t/iins^" I said, indicating the marbles. I

of her, and counted on seeing her. After a quick wanted badly to prolong the conversation, and
glance all round I went out, and having time still caught desperately at Theseus, as a theme.
on my went, without particularly knowing
hands, I She smiled brightly. "Yes, very much indeed ;

why, to the room of

the Elgin marbles. I
suppose, and my sister is an artist, which makes a double
I was drifted there by an undercurrent from the attraction — that of sympathy as well, you see."
paper on "Greek Art," for I had a vague desire to I began to feel as if double attractions were con-
enlighten myself as to the personality of the tagious, and might be trebled, and I was determined
" So I threw myself heart
Theseus," a Greek gentleman, unknown to me, in to seize the offered clue.

marble, who had figured prominently in C. Har- and soul into a long conversation on Greek Art,
greaves' columns. although all my previous acquaintance with the
A custodian conducted me to him. Only a subject was what I had gathered from the despised
Greek athlete reclining on a pedestal, and looking pages of "C. Hargreaves." How I blessed him
I thought, sulkily indignant at the loss of his nose now, and how shamelessly and dishonestly 1
and his fists.
pilfered from him The matter of rejected MSS.
!

was sorry for the disabled hero, but I could

I
ought, to an editor, to be as sacred as the secrets of
see no poetry in his mangled remains. A reclining the confessional to a priest ; but in the desire to
female form of great beauty, but minus her head, make myself interesting in the eyes of B8 I lost

attracted me much more and I was moving back-

;
all sense of conscience. I would have stolen fire

wards to have a good look at her, when I nearly from heaven itself.
upset an easel, and ran against a lady who was I had my reward in the bright appreciative face-

standing in its shadow, and had thus been screened which was turned up to mine. Her own knowledge-
from previous observation. of the subject was profound it was evidently a» —
It was B8!
hobby, but she gave me credit for a great deal'
In the pleasurable shock of seeing her again, I —
more than I possessed I, who was merely crammed
forgot how imperfectly we were acquainted, and I by a paper which, but for her, I should have for-
had taken off my hat, and greeted her with absolute gotten straightway.
joy, before I remembered it. But I think she "You have read a good deal on the subject, I can
understood, for B 8 was as free from silly prudery see," she said with friendly, confiding eyes; "and
as she v.as from forwardness. what you said just now is so true. I have felt it

She greeted me with quiet friendliness and ; deeply myself, exactly as you say."
"
when I stumblingly apologised, saying that I felt as I had been quoting almost verbatim from C,
if I knew her much better than I did, owing But how
to our Hargreaves," and I felt horribly -guilty.
 "/ LOVED MY LOVE WITH A '
B.'" 1 1 1

charming she looked with that eager, interested may I ask, in all humility, that you will henceforth
expression, and a pink flush of animation warming regard me as one of the humblest of your friends,
up the sweet, trustful face When she spoke of ! who will always be very much at your service.
some books, referring to them as if I must know After all we
are fellow-workers and sympathisers
them intimately, I felt more guilty still. on Greek Art at least," I added, with a half plead-
"Well, I — er —
have not read all of them ex-
I
ing smile.
"
My name is Gwynne, Frank Gwynne."
actly," I stammered. (The ice was getting de- She answered with her sweet, candid voice and
cidedly thin.)
"
To tell you the truth, I have eyes,
—
picked up most of my information from— er light — "
I have quite enjoyed my conversation too.

articles, and so forth. I am a sub-editor." You gave me sympathy in a pet hobby, Mr.
She looked more interested than ever. Gwynne, and I hope we shall be friends my list :

"
Really I wonder if you can tell me is not formidable, and I can easily make room for
!
anything
about \\\^ John Btill," was her next most unexpected more. My name is Constance Hargreaves. Good-
"
remark. I was told that there had been some
bye."
changes in the editorship and I know things must ; And she passed on whilst I was left in mute
be rather in arrears, for a a friend of mine sent — amazement
;

staring blankly at the stony '"Theseus."

"
one or two papers to it quite a long time ago, and Constance Hargreaves " and I had never even !

has never had any acknowledgment whatever from suspected it not even after those hesitating al-
;

them." lusions to
"
my friend." And then — Great Scott!
There was a touch of hesitation in her voice, as I had been quoting her own MS. to her very face ;

she spoke of " a friend," which I interpreted in the pilfering its best thoughts and after having re- —
usual way. jected it What would she think of me when
!

" "
Confound the fellow ! was my inward com- she found me out She who looked on me as a
.''

ment. sympathetic soul The irony of Fate was horrible.

!

." Your friend had better write to inquire," I To rush wildly from the Museum, and madly hail
answered with outward calm, whilst I wondered a hansom, promising the driver double fare for
which of my unknown victims was the friend of double speed, was the work of a izw moments, and
"B8." Whoever he was, I could not pity him! in less than fifteen minutes I was back in G
I felt glad
—yes, giad to think I had damned him Street.
— my rival, for had come to that now
it ! Too late, alas ! for the pile of rejected MSS,
"
Or he might and inquire," I added.
call had been made up and sent off.
just
" "
It is a lady friend," was the quiet reply, and I went into my office bitterly reflective. What
she did not like to go." was to be done ?
"
I know the
editor," I cried hurriedly, to hide My eyes fell on something white lying under-
my glow of satisfaction at this answer ;
"and if I neath the table, and I stooped mechanically to
could do anything for your friend "
I could pick it up. It was Constance Hargreaves' packet.
not help the emphasis on the pronoun. Fate was kind, after all She had allowed it to !

" "
Thank you," she said simply but it is better ; fall outside the basket.
not. I— she feels that the thing ought to stand, or I wrote a joyous note of acceptance, which I

fall, on its own merits : it is best so, but you are deliberately dated the previous day, a deviation
very kind all the same." from the paths of rectitude, for which I experi-
When I bade her good-bye, as stern duty at last enced no moral qualms whatever. I had gone too
demanded, I said to her, — far on the downward path for that, and white lies
"I have been monopolising your time shame- must help atone for wholesale robbery. Besides,
fully but I was so glad to meet you again— (I put
; I considered that the end
justified the means or, ;

U mildly)— that I
hope you will forgive me. And if it did not, it ought to. The acceptance was duly
112 PHIL MAY'S WINTER ANNUAL.
posted, and the paper on the " Poetry of Greek However, if I cared little for Greek Art, and
Art" occupied a prominent position in \\\e John never could see its poetry, I cared much for Con-
Bull some, little time afterwards. I sacrificed one stance — and somehow, she never discovered the
of my own on its account. difference.
And Constance? Well, I think she may have What became of her ? you ask. Well, she
suspected the source of a good deal of my Greek married not long afterwards, and so I lost a good
inspiration;
but then it was an accepted thing contributor, butI
gained something better. Come
which I was understood to think very highly of, home, and let me introduce you to 7ny wife !

and to make an enthusiastic convert to one's hobby Did I ever tell my wife the truth ? My dear
is always complimentary to oneself. She believed, fellow,I ask you if, under the same
circumstances,
too, that I had a real and deep interest in the sub- you would have io\A yours}
ject, and that wc held mutual views. A. Adams Martin.
 A D VF.RTISEMENTS.

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i'3 I
 A D VER TISEME NTS.

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;
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"

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, ,
(at Mildura)
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114
 A D VER USE ME NTS.

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THE GREAT SPECIFIC FOR CHOLERA, DIARRHCEA,
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GENERAL BOARD of HEALTH, London, REPORT that it
ACTS CHARM, one dose generally sufficient.
as a
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RELIEF FROM COUGH IN TEN MINUTES. REMEMBER THE POOR MATCH-GIRLS

who are ex-
^^^l
HAYMANB posed
danger
"
—Phossy Jaw
a loathsome
to the
of
''

disease engen-
dered by the
poisonous phos-
pliorus used in
A Safe and Speedy Remedy for the manufac-
ture of common
matches, and
COUCH, COLP, mFLUENZA, fsE ONLY Sal-
vation Armv
Safeties. The
HOARSENESS, Etc Match Factory is conducted on Anti-Sweating and Health-
Salvation Army
Preserving principles— 25 per cent, higher wagesa nd no health-
STOPS COLD. CURES COUGH. endangering processes.
The Star sa,rs :— "Darkest England Matches BRING BRIGHT-
NESS TO SWEATED WORKERS, AND SCOTCH THE PHOS-
'FIND IT INVALUABLE for bad Coughs and Colds."
PHOR FIEND. The Salvation Army are raising the standard
of comfort in the East End, and should be helped at least by
I^Irs. Eason, London Road, Slea/ofd. every real sound reformer."
"CURED MY COLD, and that at once." WATSON SMITH, F.I.C., F.C.S., Lecturer in Chemical Tech-
nology in the University College, London, writes :— The sticks
• '

mr. J. H. Jones, Caeathraw, Carnarvon. or stems of the Salvation Army Matches burn like wax."
SUCH CAPITAL STUFF FOR A COUGH." Send penny stamp new (illustrated) pamphlet on " Match
for
Miss Gething, Esher, Surrey. Makers' Leprosy."
83" Shipping and Export Orders promptly executed.

HAYMAN & These Matches are sold in Two Sizes by all respectable Grocers
Prepared only by A. Co., 15, Albemarle St.,
and Oilmen, as cheap as any decent safety.
St. Johns Square, EC.
Full particukrs of CO.11 1S.9IOWKR CAItiMAX,
.Yl
Sold by all Licensed Dealers, i/i^, 2/9. lOI, Queen Virtoria St., liOiidun, Il.C
115
 "There is no beverage which can so confidently be recommenied."— Medical A >inual, 1893.

FRY'S CONCENTRATED
PURE

ijr^
PRIZE MEDALS.

it from other varieties manufactured

COCOA.
Purchasers should ask specially for Fry's Pure Concentrated Cocoa, to distinguish
by the Firm.

SUPPLIED TO THE QUEEN & ROYAL FAMILY

Specially adapted Cufe fo^

FOR CHILDREN. Indigestion

"Aspeciality of great Wholesale .\j;ents iu Eng-
practical iiucrcsl is the hunl for liiscuits :

1
lovjs IJread, wliicli is made
iVoiii a (lour eiiriciicd by
THE NATIONAL
ilie addition of the genu BAKERY CO.,
poilion of tlie grain, wliereliy
its nutritive value is made BREWERY ROAD,
to that of oatmeal.
^^ipial
ISLINGTON, N.
moreover, palalaMc
Ilcinj;,
and digestible, the use of
If any difficulty be ex-
ilii.s ]?read would, I believe,
perienced in obtaining
lio far to correct the auiemla " what
HOVIS," or if is
and defective nutrition so " HOVIS " is
supplied as
often observed in children,
not satisfactory, please
containing, as it does, an
write, sending sample
Lxceptionally high propor- (the cost of which will
tion of the most perfect bone
be defrayed) to
and muscle forming con-
stituents of the grain."
S.FITTON&SON,
Further particulars in
MILLERS,
descriptive Pamphlet. MACCLESFIELD.
It
NO BETTER FOOD EX\STS.''-J-o"<^on Meuhal A>ecord.

"'* I'ood, which contains the active and nutiilivcconstitnetits o/f>uir innlt in n soluble Jc
TRADE MARK '

should be tried wherever other noiu ishment has not proved entirely satisfactory.
^ D 1716
"
I' '^ excellent in quality and flavour," — The Lancet,

I-
jLUen & Manburijs*
A
Infants'
nutriment peculatly adapted to the digestive organs of Infants and Young Children, .--iipplyiiig all iliat is required for the formation of
In Ml fle.sli ajid bone. .Surprisingly beneficial results have attended the use of this Malted I'ood, which needs only to be tried lo be perma-
nemly adopted. Medical 'restimony and fijll Directions accompany each Tin. Price 6d., Is., 28., 5s., and lOs.

BuiLKR & 'I'annek, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.