CHAPTER IV.
To keep such a romance to himself was beyond the powers of Mr. Chalk.
The captain had made no conditions as to secrecy, and he therefore
considered himself free to indulge in hints to his two greatest
friends, which caused those gentlemen to entertain some doubts as to
his sanity. Mr. Robert Stobell, whose work as a contractor had left
a permanent and unmistakable mark upon Binchester, became imbued
with a hazy idea that Mr. Chalk had invented a new process of making
large diamonds. Mr. Jasper Tredgold, on the other hand, arrived
at the conclusion that a highly respectable burglar was offering
for some reason to share his loot with him. A conversation between
Messrs. Stobell and Tredgold in the High Street only made matters more
complicated.
"Chalk always was fond of making mysteries of things," complained Mr.
Tredgold.
Mr. Stobell, whose habit was taciturn and ruminative, fixed his dull
brown eyes on the ground and thought it over. "I believe it's all my
eye and Betty Martin," he said, at length, quoting a saying which had
been used in his family as an expression of disbelief since the time of
his great-grandmother.
"He comes in to see me when I'm hard at work and drops hints," pursued
his friend. "When I stop to pick 'em up, out he goes. Yesterday he came
in and asked me what I thought of a man who wouldn't break his word for
half a million. Half a million, mind you! I just asked him who it was,
and out he went again. He pops in and out of my office like a figure on
a cuckoo-clock."
[Illustration: "HE POPS IN AND OUT OF MY OFFICE LIKE A FIGURE ON A
CUCKOO-CLOCK."]
Mr. Stobell relapsed into thought again, but no gleam of expression
disturbed the lines of his heavy face; Mr. Tredgold, whose sharp, alert
features bred more confidence in his own clients than those of other
people, waited impatiently.
"He knows something that we don't," said Mr. Stobell, at last; "that's
what it is."
Mr. Tredgold, who was too used to his friend's mental processes to
quarrel with them, assented.
"He's coming round to smoke a pipe with me to-morrow night," he said,
briskly, as he turned to cross the road to his office. "You come too,
and we'll get it out of him. If Chalk can keep a secret he has altered,
that's all I can say."
His estimate of Mr. Chalk proved correct. With Mr. Tredgold acting as
cross-examining counsel and Mr. Stobell enacting the part of a partial
and overbearing judge, Mr. Chalk, after a display of fortitude which
surprised himself almost as much as it irritated his friends, parted
with his news and sat smiling with gratification at their growing
excitement.
"Half a million, and he won't go for it?" ejaculated Mr. Tredgold. "The
man must be mad."
"No; he passed his word and he won't break it," said Mr. Chalk. "The
captain's word is his bond, and I honour him for it. I can quite
understand it."
Mr. Tredgold shrugged his shoulders and glanced at Mr. Stobell, that
gentleman, after due deliberation, gave an assenting nod.
"He can't get at it, that's the long and short of it," said Mr.
Tredgold, after a pause. "He had to leave it behind when he was
rescued, or else risk losing it by telling the men who rescued him
about it, and he's had no opportunity since. It wants money to take
a ship out there and get it, and he doesn't see his way quite clear.
He'll have it fast enough when he gets a chance. If not, why did he
make that map?"
Mr. Chalk shook his head, and remarked mysteriously that the captain
had his reasons. Mr. Tredgold relapsed into silence, and for some time
the only sound audible came from a briar-pipe which Mr. Stobell ought
to have thrown away some years before.
"Have you given up that idea of a yachting cruise of yours, Chalk?"
demanded Mr. Tredgold, turning on him suddenly.
"No," was the reply. "I was talking about it to Captain Bowers only the
other day. That's how I got to hear of the treasure."
Mr. Tredgold started and gave a significant glance at Mr. Stobell. In
return he got a wink which that gentleman kept for moments of mental
confusion.
"What did the captain tell you for?" pursued Mr. Tredgold, returning
to Mr. Chalk. "He wanted you to make an offer. He hasn't got the money
for such an expedition; you have. The yarn about passing his word was
so that you shouldn't open your mouth too wide. You were to do the
persuading, and then he could make his own terms. Do you see? Why, it's
as plain as A B C."
"Plain as the alphabet," said Mr. Stobell, almost chidingly.
Mr. Chalk gasped and looked from one to the other.
"I should like to have a chat with the captain about it," continued Mr.
Tredgold, slowly and impressively. "I'm a business man and I could put
it on a business footing. It's a big risk, of course; all those things
are ... but if we went shares ... if _we_ found the money----"
He broke off and, filling his pipe slowly, gazed in deep thought at the
wall. His friends waited expectantly.
"Combine business with pleasure," resumed Mr. Tredgold, lighting his
pipe; "sea air ... change ... blow away the cobwebs ... experience for
Edward to be left alone. What do you think, Stobell?" he added, turning
suddenly.
Mr. Stobell gripped the arms of his chair in his huge hands and drew
his bulky figure to a more upright position.
"What do you mean by combining business with pleasure?" he said, eyeing
him with dull suspicion.
"Chalk is set on a trip for the love of it," explained Mr. Tredgold.
"If we take on the contract, he ought to pay a bigger share, then,"
said the other, firmly.
"Perhaps he will," said Tredgold, hastily.
Mr. Stobell pondered again and, slightly raising one hand, indicated
that he was in the throes of another idea and did not wish to be
disturbed.
"You said it would be experience for Edward to be left alone," he said,
accusingly.
"I did," was the reply.
"You ought to pay more, too, then," declared the contractor, "because
it's serving of your ends as well."
"We can't split straws," exclaimed Tredgold, impatiently. "If the
captain consents we three will find the money and divide our portion,
whatever it is, equally."
Mr. Chalk, who had been in the clouds during this discussion, came back
to earth again. "_If_ he consents," he said, sadly; "but he won't."
"Well, he can only refuse," said Mr. Tredgold; "and, anyway, we'll have
the first refusal. Things like that soon get about. What do you say to
a stroll? I can think better while I'm walking."
His friends assenting, they put on their hats and sallied forth. That
they should stroll in the direction of Dialstone Lane surprised neither
of them. Mr. Tredgold leading, they went round by the church, and that
gentleman paused so long to admire the architecture that Mr. Stobell
got restless.
"You've seen it before, Tredgold," he said, shortly.
"It's a fine old building," said the other. "Binchester ought to be
proud of it. Why, here we are at Captain Bowers's!"
"The house has been next to the church for a couple o' hundred years,"
retorted his friend.
"Let's go in," said Mr. Tredgold. "Strike while the iron's hot. At any
rate," he concluded, as Mr. Chalk voiced feeble objections, "we can see
how the land lies."
He knocked at the door and then, stepping aside, left Mr. Chalk to lead
the way in. Captain Bowers, who was sitting with Prudence, looked up
at their entrance, and putting down his newspaper extended a hearty
welcome.
"Chalk didn't like to pass without looking in," said Mr. Tredgold, "and
I haven't seen you for some time. You know Stobell?"
The captain nodded, and Mr. Chalk, pale with excitement, accepted
his accustomed pipe from the hands of Miss Drewitt and sat nervously
awaiting events. Mr. Tasker set out the whisky, and, Miss Drewitt
avowing a fondness for smoke in other people, a comfortable haze soon
filled the room. Mr. Tredgold, with a significant glance at Mr. Chalk,
said that it reminded him of a sea-fog.
It only reminded Mr. Chalk, however, of a smoky chimney from which
he had once suffered, and he at once entered into minute details.
The theme was an inspiriting one, and before Mr. Tredgold could hark
back to the sea again Mr. Stobell was discoursing, almost eloquently
for him, upon drains. From drains to the shortcomings of the district
council they progressed by natural and easy stages, and it was not
until Miss Drewitt had withdrawn to the clearer atmosphere above that
a sudden ominous silence ensued, which Mr. Chalk saw clearly he was
expected to break.
"I--I've been telling them some of your adventures," he said,
desperately, as he glanced at the captain; "they're both interested in
such things."
The latter gave a slight start and glanced shrewdly at his visitors.
"Aye, aye," he said, composedly.
"Very interesting, some of them," murmured Mr. Tredgold. "I suppose
you'll have another voyage or two before you've done? One, at any rate."
"No," said the captain, "I've had my share of the sea; other men may
have a turn now. There's nothing to take me out again--nothing."
Mr. Tredgold coughed and murmured something about breaking off old
habits too suddenly.
"It's a fine career," sighed Mr. Chalk.
"A manly life," said Mr. Tredgold, emphatically.
"It's like every other profession, it has two sides to it," said the
captain.
"It is not so well paid as it should be," said the wily Tredgold, "but
I suppose one gets chances of making money in outside ways sometimes."
The captain assented, and told of a steward of his who had made a small
fortune by selling Japanese curios to people who didn't understand them.
The conversation was interesting, but extremely distasteful to a
business man intent upon business. Mr. Stobell took his pipe out of his
mouth and cleared his throat. "Why, you might build a hospital with
it," he burst out, impatiently.
"Build a hospital!" repeated the astonished captain, as Mr. Chalk bent
suddenly to do up his shoe-lace.
"Think of the orphans you could be a father to!" added Mr. Stobell,
making the most of an unwonted fit of altruism.
The captain looked inquiringly at Mr. Tredgold.
"And widows," said Mr. Stobell, and, putting his pipe in his mouth as a
sign that he had finished his remarks, gazed stolidly at the company.
"Stobell must be referring to a story Chalk told us of some precious
stones you buried, I think," said Mr. Tredgold, reddening. "Aren't you,
Stobell?"
"Of course I am," said his friend. "You know that."
Captain Bowers glanced at Mr. Chalk, but that gentleman was still busy
with his shoe-lace, only looking up when Mr. Tredgold, taking the bull
by the horns, made the captain a plain, straightforward offer to fit
out and give him the command of an expedition to recover the treasure.
In a speech which included the benevolent Mr. Stobell's hospitals,
widows, and orphans, he pointed out a score of reasons why the captain
should consent, and wound up with a glowing picture of Miss Drewitt as
the heiress of the wealthiest man in Binchester. The captain heard him
patiently to an end and then shook his head.
"I passed my word," he said, stiffly.
Mr. Stobell took his pipe out of his mouth again to offer a little
encouragement. "Tredgold has broke his word before now," he observed;
"he's got quite a name for it."
"But you would go out if it were not for that?" inquired Tredgold,
turning a deaf ear to this remark.
"Naturally," said the captain, smiling; "but, then, you see I did."
Mr. Tredgold drummed with his fingers on the arms of his chair, and
after a little hesitation asked as a great favour to be permitted
to see the map. As an estate agent, he said, he took a professional
interest in plans of all kinds.
Captain Bowers rose, and in the midst of an expectant silence took the
map from the bureau, and placing it on the table kept it down with his
fist. The others drew near and inspected it.
[Illustration: "THE OTHERS DREW NEAR AND INSPECTED IT."]
"Nobody but Captain Bowers has ever seen the other side," said Mr.
Chalk, impressively.
"Except my niece," interposed the captain. "She wanted to see it, and
I trust her as I would trust myself. She thinks the same as I do about
it."
His stubby forefinger travelled slowly round the coast-line until,
coming to the extreme south-west corner, it stopped, and a mischievous
smile creased his beard.
"It's buried here," he observed. "All you've got to do is to find the
island and dig in that spot."
Mr. Chalk laughed and shook his head as at a choice piece of
waggishness.
"Suppose," said Mr. Tredgold, slowly--"suppose anybody found it without
your connivance, would you take your share?"
"Let 'em find it first," said the captain.
"Yes, but would you?" inquired Mr. Chalk.
Captain Bowers took up the map and returned it to its place in the
bureau. "You go and find it," he said, with a genial smile.
"You give us permission?" demanded Tredgold.
"Certainly," grinned the captain. "I give you permission to go and dig
over all the islands in the Pacific; there's a goodish number of them,
and it's a fairly common shape."
"It seems to me it's nobody's property," said Tredgold, slowly. "That
is to say, it's anybody's that finds it. It isn't your property,
Captain Bowers? You lay no claim to it?"
"No, no," said the captain. "It's nothing to do with me. You go and
find it," he repeated, with enjoyment.
Mr. Tredgold laughed too, and his eye travelled mechanically towards
the bureau. "If we do," he said, cordially, "you shall have your share."
The captain thanked him and, taking up the bottle, refilled their
glasses. Then, catching the dull, brooding eye of Mr. Stobell as that
plain-spoken man sat in a brown study trying to separate the serious
from the jocular, he drank success to their search. He was about to
give vent to further pleasantries when he was stopped by the mysterious
behaviour of Mr. Chalk, who, first laying a finger on his lip to ensure
silence, frowned severely and nodded at the door leading to the kitchen.
The other three looked in the direction indicated. The door stood half
open, and the silhouette of a young woman in a large hat put the upper
panels in shadow. The captain rose and, with a vigorous thrust of his
foot, closed the door with a bang.
"Eavesdropping," said Mr. Chalk, in a tense whisper.
"There'll be a rival expedition," said the captain, falling in with
his mood. "I've already warned that young woman off once. You'd better
start to-night."
He leaned back in his chair and surveyed the company pleasantly.
Somewhat to Mr. Chalk's disappointment Mr. Tredgold began to discuss
agriculture, and they were still on that theme when they rose to
depart some time later. Tredgold and Chalk bade the captain a cordial
good-night; but Stobell, a creature of primitive impulses, found it
difficult to shake hands with him. On the way home he expressed an
ardent desire to tell the captain what men of sense thought of him.
The captain lit another pipe after they had gone, and for some time sat
smoking and thinking over the events of the evening. Then Mr. Tasker's
second infringement of discipline occurred to him, and, stretching out
his hand, he rang the bell.
"Has that young woman gone?" he inquired, cautiously, as Mr. Tasker
appeared.
"Yessir," was the reply.
"What about your articles?" demanded the captain, with sudden loudness.
"What do you mean by it?"
Mr. Tasker eyed him forlornly. "It ain't my fault," he said, at last.
"I don't want her."
"Eh?" said the other, sternly. "Don't talk nonsense. What do you have
her here for, then?"
"Because I can't help myself," said Mr. Tasker, desperately; "that's
why. She's took a fancy to me, and, that being so, it would take more
than you and me to keep 'er away."
"Rubbish," said his master.
Mr. Tasker smiled wanly. "That's my reward for being steady," he said,
with some bitterness; "that's what comes of having a good name in the
place. I get Selina Vickers after me."
"You--you must have asked her to come here in the first place," said
the astonished captain.
"_Ask_ her?" repeated Mr. Tasker, with respectful scorn. "_Ask_ her?
She don't want no asking."
"What does she come for, then?" inquired the other.
"Me," said Mr. Tasker, brokenly. "I never dreamt o' such a thing. I was
going 'er way one night--about three weeks ago, it was--and I walked
with her as far as her road--Mint Street. Somehow it got put about
that we were walking out. A week afterwards she saw me in Harris's,
the grocer's, and waited outside for me till I come out and walked
'ome with me. After she came in the other night I found we was keeping
company. To-night--to-night she got a ring out o' me, and now we're
engaged."
"What on earth did you give her the ring for if you don't want her?"
inquired the captain, eyeing him with genuine concern.
"Ah, it seems easy, sir," said the unfortunate; "but you don't know
Selina. She bought the ring and said I was to pay it off a shilling a
week. She took the first shilling to-night."
His master sat back and regarded him in amazement.
"You don't know Selina, sir," repeated Mr. Tasker, in reply to this
manifestation. "She always gets her own way. Her father ain't 'it 'er
mother not since Selina was seventeen. He dursent. The last time Selina
went for him tooth and nail; smashed all the plates off the dresser
throwing 'em at him, and ended by chasing of him up the road in his
shirt-sleeves."
The captain grunted.
"That was two years ago," continued Mr. Tasker; "and his spirit's quite
broke. He 'as to give all his money except a shilling a week to his
wife, and he's not allowed to go into pubs. If he does it's no good,
because they won't serve 'im. If they do Selina goes in next morning
and gives them a piece of 'er mind. She don't care who's there or
what she says, and the consequence is Mr. Vickers can't get served in
Binchester for love or money. That'll show you what she is."
"Well, tell her I won't have her here," said the captain, rising.
"Good-night."
"I've told her over and over again, sir," was the reply, "and all she
says is she's not afraid of you, nor six like you."
The captain fell back silent, and Mr. Tasker, pausing in a respectful
attitude, watched him wistfully. The captain's brows were bent in
thought, and Mr. Tasker, reminding himself that crews had trembled at
his nod and that all were silent when he spoke, felt a flutter of hope.
"Well," said the captain, sharply, as he turned and caught sight of
him, "what are you waiting there for?"
Mr. Tasker drifted towards the door which led upstairs.
"I--I thought you were thinking of something we could do to prevent her
coming, sir," he said, slowly. "It's hard on me, because as a matter of
fact----"
[Illustration: "ALL SHE SAYS IS SHE'S NOT AFRAID OF YOU, NOR SIX LIKE
YOU."]
"Well?" said the captain.
"I--I've 'ad my eye on another young lady for some time," concluded Mr.
Tasker.
He was standing on the bottom stair as he spoke, with his hand on
the latch. Under the baleful stare with which the indignant captain
favoured him, he closed it softly and mounted heavily to bed.
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration: Afghan Beast Fables
ILLUSTRATED BY J. A. SHEPHERD.]
Like other peoples the world over, the Afghans use the beast fable to
point morals and illustrate rules of conduct. Perhaps the moral is
not invariably such as commends itself to Western standards, and the
methods applauded are sometimes not such as would make for popularity
in more civilized circles. But what would you? The characteristics of
a race colour its literature, and the more homely the literature the
clearer the colouring. Hence the Afghan beast fable more frequently
than not reflects the respectful admiration accorded the successful
exercise of craft and cunning, for which self-helpful qualities the
dwellers on the other side of the North-Western Frontier of India are
famed.
Soldiers who are acquainted with Afghan usages in warfare will
appreciate the truth of the maxim which furnishes the text for the
story of the Camel-rider, the Snake, and the Fox. A man riding on his
camel happened to pass a place where a jungle fire was raging, and a
snake, calling from the midst of the flames, begged his aid. The man,
ignoring the snake's enmity to the human race and considering only his
present danger, consented to save him: he lowered his saddle-bag to the
ground, and the snake, having coiled himself up in it, was carried by
his rescuer to a place of safety. Then the man opened his bag and bade
the snake go, with an admonition to behave better towards mankind for
the future. The snake made answer, "Until I have stung thee and this
camel of thine I will not depart!"
[Illustration: "UNTIL I HAVE STUNG THEE AND THIS CAMEL OF THINE I WILL
NOT DEPART."]
The man, hurt by this black ingratitude, drew the snake's attention
to the service he had just rendered. The snake admitted his debt, but
pointed out that his rescuer had acted injudiciously, in view of the
hereditary enmity existing between snakes and men. The two proceeded
to argue the point in commendably temperate spirit, the snake laying
stress on the circumstance that mankind "always return evil for good";
and the man, denying it, eventually agreed that if the snake could find
a witness to the truth of his assertion he would submit to be stung.
[Illustration: "'IT IS STRANGE THAT THOU IN MY VERY PRESENCE TALKEST OF
"I" AND "MINE,"' SAID THE TIGER."]
The witness was found in the person of an elderly cow-buffalo. Examined
by the snake, she succinctly reviewed her career, and gave it as her
opinion that man's creed was to return evil for good, inasmuch as her
owner, when she ceased to give milk, turned her out to graze till she
should be fat enough to kill. Upon this testimony the snake claimed
fulfilment of the bargain. The man, however, urged that two witnesses
were necessary, and, the snake consenting, a tree was called upon
for his opinion. The tree, in a few well-chosen sentences, recalled
the fact that for years he had granted shade to all men who sought
his protection in the heat of day; but, he complained, when they had
rested they always looked him over and, if they happened to have tools,
lopped off a branch to make a spade-handle or axe-haft. They went even
further, reckoning up the use they could make of their protector from
the scorching sun if they reduced him to planks. In short, the tree was
distinctly of the cow-buffalo's way of thinking. The camel-man, sorely
perplexed, was wondering how he could gain time when a fox came by and
asked, in his sarcastic way, "What kindness hast thou shown this snake,
that he desires to do thee harm?"
Having heard the story the fox refused to believe it; the bag was
small, and he was sure so large a snake could not get into it. Of
course, the snake had no alternative but to show that he could; so
the fox obligingly held the bag open for him, and when he was fairly
entrapped handed him over to the man to kill. "A wise man should not be
gulled by the cries for mercy of his foes; otherwise he will fall into
misfortune," is the suggestive moral. It does not say much for Afghan
principle, does it?
The fox, as ever, serves the Afghan fabulist for the personification
of cunning and ingenuity. The tale of the Tiger, the Wolf, and the Fox
exhibits the last-named in the character of the discreet and sagacious
courtier. These three animals one day went hunting together, and having
killed a wild hill-goat, a deer, and a hare, took them home to the
tiger's den to eat. Having settled themselves comfortably, the tiger
requested the wolf to divide the game as he thought fit; whereupon the
wolf allotted the hill-goat as the biggest to the tiger, the deer to
himself, and the hare to the fox. "It is strange that thou in my very
presence talkest of 'I' and 'mine,'" said the tiger. "Who and what art
thou, and what opinion hast thou of me?" and raising his paw he struck
the wolf dead on the spot. Then he turned to the fox and requested him
to divide the spoil. The fox instantly replied that the hill-goat would
do for his Majesty's breakfast, the deer would serve for his Majesty's
dinner at noon, and, of course, the hare must be reserved for his
Majesty's supper. "And from whom," said the tiger, with well-feigned
curiosity, "didst thou learn this mode of distribution and this
sagacity?"
The fox replied that he was one who took warning from the fate of
others. The tiger (who could not have been very hungry) expounded his
own idea of justice, which was that the sagacious fox should have the
whole bag of game while the tiger got more for himself; "and after
this I will do whatever thou tellest me." A significant hint that
physical strength does wisely to profit by the craft of the weaker. A
fable closely resembling this, but in which, of course, the lion takes
the part here played by the tiger, is current among some North African
tribes.
One of the cleverest tales is that of the Merchant and his Parrot,
which illustrates the great Afghan maxim that you can procure by craft
what you can procure by no other means. A certain merchant, says the
fable, was about to make a journey south into India. Before setting out
he assembled his family and requested each member to name the gift he
or she would like brought home. Last of all he asked the parrot, who
was a native of Hindustan, what he could do for him in that country.
The parrot at once begged him to visit a certain forest, where some
more parrots would probably be found. "Give them my compliments and
tell them that such and such a parrot, who is a friend of theirs,
is confined in a cage in your house and says, 'This is a strange
friendship, that I should be in bondage while you, quite unconcerned
for my fate, flit hither and thither.' Now, whatever reply they give,"
said the parrot, "deliver it to me." The merchant punctually fulfilled
his promise. He found the forest and the parrots and gave his parrot's
message; and having done so was distressed to observe that one of the
birds was so profoundly affected that, after a spasm of trembling and
fluttering, he fell lifeless to the ground.
[Illustration: "AFTER A SPASM OF TREMBLING AND FLUTTERING, HE FELL
LIFELESS TO THE GROUND."]
On his return home, after he had distributed the presents he had
brought among his family, his parrot inquired whether he had not
something to say to him. The merchant, fearful of grieving the bird,
fenced with the question, but when the parrot grew huffy and told him
he need not speak if he did not choose he relented, and with many
expressions of regret told the fatal consequences of delivering the
message. When the parrot heard of the death of his friend he, too,
was seized with flutterings and shiverings, and then and there fell
dead from his perch. The merchant shed tears over him and, after great
lamentation, threw the body out of the cage. No sooner did the parrot
touch the ground, however, than he came to life again and flew on to
the top of the house; and the merchant, staring in amazement, asked for
explanations. The parrot thereupon explained that his friend had sent
this message: "Pretend to be dead and thou wilt get free."
"Now I, of course, understood his meaning from what thou saidst," added
the parrot, "so I gained my freedom. I now ask thee, as I have eaten
thy salt"--mark the punctilious courtesy of parrots educated in Afghan
homes--"to forgive me. Good-bye."
"I forgive thee," said the crestfallen merchant. "God preserve thee."
And the parrot went his way, saying, "Peace be with thee."
As we might expect of an animal so feared and hated, the tiger never
figures in fable as heroic, but always as a stupid, blustering bully,
to be outwitted by any creature, however weak, who has a little
cunning. The tale of the Tiger and the Jackal is a good example. A
tiger who, exercising a liberty of choice unknown to natural history,
had engaged a female monkey as his companion and housekeeper, went
out one day on business, enjoining the monkey to stay at home and let
nobody enter the house.
By-and-by there came a jackal with his wife and family, house-hunting.
Mr. Jackal, impressed at first sight with the eligibility of the
tiger's premises, forthwith entered and took possession, ignoring the
protests and warnings of the monkey housekeeper. Mrs. Jackal would
have had her husband leave, but he refused; and while they argued the
tiger was heard approaching. The monkey hastened to meet him and tell
what had happened; but the tiger could not bring himself to believe
that a jackal would be so reckless and insolent as to take possession
of his house. "It must be some other horrid creature," he said. And
though the monkey protested that she knew a jackal when she saw one,
the tiger could not credit her story. Meantime the jackal had arranged
his plans. When the tiger drew near his house he heard the little
jackals crying and Mrs. Jackal say to her husband, "They want tiger's
meat," and Mr. Jackal's reply: "It was only yesterday I killed an
enormous tiger. Has the meat been finished already? Nonsense!"
[Illustration: "ONCE MORE THE TIGER VENTURED NEAR ENOUGH TO HEAR THE
YOUNG JACKALS CRYING."]
Mrs. Jackal explained that her children wanted fresh meat, and Mr.
Jackal then told the cubs to wait a little. "A great big tiger will
come presently, and I will kill him, and you shall have fresh meat."
When the tiger overheard this he was terrified and ran away, but the
monkey, following him, contrived to allay his fears, explaining that
the jackals were fooling him, and persuaded him to come back. Once more
the tiger ventured near enough to hear the young jackals crying, but
this time he also hears their father say to them, soothingly:--
"That monkey, who is a great friend of mine, has told me that she
would, without fail, bring me a tiger to-day."
Whereupon the tiger, only pausing to strike the unfortunate monkey
dead, fled without once looking behind him.
[Illustration: "THE TIGER FLED WITHOUT ONCE LOOKING BEHIND HIM."]
Another tale shows the tiger victimized by the cunning of the hare.
In this fable the tiger discovers quite remarkable skill in debate;
he discourses eloquently on the dignity of labour to justify his
depredations in the jungle, and only after prolonged discussion with
the beasts does he consent to their proposal that he shall stay at
home and they provide him with a daily victim. For a time all goes
smoothly; then the hare's turn comes and she objects, saying, "How long
is this oppression to last?" The other beasts cry out upon her for
wishing to break the agreement, and are only half satisfied when the
hare hints that she has a plan for making an end of the tiger. They
wish to know what it is; but the hare in reply quotes a saying which,
by the way, sheds significant light on the insecurity of travellers'
lives and property in Afghanistan. "Three matters," she reminds them,
"are best concealed: first, one's money; second, the time one intends
to start on a journey; third, the road one intends to take."
In a word, she keeps her own counsel and starts so late for the tiger's
den that that animal grows hungry and--there is a good deal of human
nature in tigers--very angry at the delay of his dinner. When the hare,
apparently in a great hurry, arrived the tiger abused her vehemently,
and with difficulty is induced to hear her explanation. She and a
friend, she says, were on their way to him when they met another tiger
who seized them; she warned their captor that they were set apart for
the service of their own king, but the strange tiger threatened to
tear their king to pieces. At length, said the hare, she persuaded the
strange tiger to grant her respite that she might come and explain
matters; and she had been granted this favour, leaving her friend in
his clutches.
"Do not expect any more victims," she concluded. "The road hither is
closed by that tiger. If thou desirest thy daily food, go at once and
clear the road."
[Illustration: "THE TIGER BESIDE HIMSELF WITH RAGE."]
At this the tiger, beside himself with rage, jumps up, calling on the
hare to come and show where his rival is, and the hare obediently
follows, until they come in sight of a well by the road. There she lags
behind; she is frightened to death. Cannot the tiger see how pale she
is? Nothing will induce her to go near that well, for therein is hiding
the other tiger, who holds her friend captive. The tiger insists that
she shall come and point out the other tiger. Well, the hare will do
so on condition that his Majesty holds her in his arms. He does so,
and, peeping into the water, sees their reflection in the water below;
whereupon he sets the hare down, and springing into the well to fall
upon his enemy is drowned.
A story that seems familiar is that of the friendship of the frog and
the rat. These two conceived so deep a regard for one another that
they were miserable apart: the rat, more particularly, bewailed the
facts that she only saw the frog once a day, and that he, being in the
stream, could not hear her when she called. The frog, whose attachment
appears not wholly to have obscured his native good sense, pointed out
that "if friends see each other occasionally only their affection is
the greater," to which argument, albeit undeniable, the rat objected
that in their case some means of establishing closer communication were
indispensable.
The frog gave way, and the two agreed to tie the ends of a string to
a leg of each, so that when one wanted to see the other all he or she
need do was to pull the string. Other frogs came around and pointed out
the obvious objections to supplementing the bonds of their affection
with string, but neither would listen.
"It is all right," they said; "if we die together, so much the better";
and so they tied themselves as they had arranged. And one day came a
kite, who pounced upon the rat, who could not escape because he tripped
in the string; and the kite, carrying away the rat, carried away the
frog at the other end of the string. And the dying moments of the frog
were embittered by hearing the villagers applaud the cleverness of a
kite who could catch frogs; whereas he knew the kite had done nothing
clever, but that he himself had done something very foolish.
[Illustration: "IF WE DIE TOGETHER, SO MUCH THE BETTER."]
Another tale exhibits the helpless old tiger dependent for his daily
fare on the cunning of his humble follower the fox, and insists upon
the stupidity of the ass. The tiger was so old and decrepit that he
could not hunt for himself, and he appealed to an elderly vixen, who
was also hungry, to lure an ox or some other beast within his reach.
The vixen willingly assents, and searching the country finds an ass
feeding. Him she accosts with respectful sympathy, asking why he
grazes on such poor pasture. The ass, who, by the way, is deplorably
long-winded, replies by giving the vixen a lecture on the propriety of
contentment with one's lot.
[Illustration: "HE APPEALED TO AN ELDERLY VIXEN."]
The vixen listens patiently and replies, Eastern fashion, with a brief
parable, whose moral is that those who can help themselves to the good
things of life should do so. The vixen's parable reminds the ass of
another rather like it, but very much longer and pointing a different
moral; he relates it with circumstance and detail. After much argument
the vixen loses patience, and upbraiding the ass for his want of
enterprise describes in graphic language the attractions of certain
pasture known to her; and the ass, his hopes getting the better of his
discretion, follows, till they come within eye range of the tiger.
The tiger, being very hungry, cannot wait till the ass comes within
reach; he rushes out prematurely and frightens the ass away. This
precipitation on the tiger's part gives rise to unpleasantness. The
vixen, naturally enough, is furiously angry at the way her scheme has
been upset after all the trouble she has had with the argumentative
ass, and she speaks her mind freely to the tiger. He apologizes, and
the vixen consents to try and bring the prey within reach again. In
fine, she out-argues the foolish ass and eventually brings him to her
patron.
[Illustration: "SHE SPEAKS HER MIND FREELY TO THE TIGER."]
The story of the Cock and Hawk furnishes a caution against talking
about things we don't understand. These two were great friends and
spent much time together. One day the hawk, in didactic mood, took the
cock to task for the shameful ingratitude of his race; men fed fowls
on all kinds of luxuries, and cared for them carefully, and yet never
did fowl see a man approach but it ran away. Now the hawk, on the
other hand, repaid captivity and cruelties with the utmost gratitude,
catching and killing game to order. When the cock heard his friend's
views he was so amused that he nearly dropped with laughing. The hawk,
rather stiffly, inquires what he has said that the cock should be so
overcome with amusement; and, being reminded that men only feed fowls
in order to kill and eat them, confesses that this most important
detail had never struck him.
It is curious to observe that all the Afghan beast fables are
distinguished by the same quality of sardonic humour, but they have
this great merit, that they never fail to drive home the moral.
[Illustration: "HE WAS SO AMUSED THAT HE NEARLY DROPPED."]
_Wonders of the World._
[Illustration: A GENERAL VIEW OF THE SALTO MONOCYCLE TRACK.
_From a Photo. by Rochlitz._]
LXIX.--A NEW "LOOPING THE LOOP."
There seems to be no finality in the art of invention, whether it be
in commerce, technology, science, art, or even in connection with
the variety-stage. In the last-named case the struggle for supremacy
is exceedingly keen, and requires, more than in other professions,
untiring perseverance, courage, and intelligence if one wishes to
obtain a place on the "roll of fame."
In the theatre or in the music-hall the public only see the glittering
outside appearance, and applaud the attractive items of an artist
without thinking of how much work and trouble it has cost him to be
able to execute his performance without apparent effort and with
extreme perfection. Such a sensational performance will soon be seen
in a Berlin circus--a new kind of "Looping the Loop"--"The ride on the
Salto Monocycle Track," as the audacious artist calls it, and with whom
we are going to make our readers acquainted.
[Illustration: MR. ECLAIR FASTENED BY THE WAIST, ANKLES, AND HEAD
INSIDE THE WHEEL WHICH LOOPS THE LOOP.
_From a Photo. by Rochlitz._]
This sensational act consists in the artist being rolled in a wheel,
measuring six and a half feet in diameter and eighteen inches wide,
along a track in the form of a loop. Our first two illustrations give
a clearer idea than can be given in words.
Mr. Eclair--the artist's name--has had his track made by Mr. A. Klose,
Schiffbauerdamm, and practised in the so-called training-wheel for
the past fifteen weeks before he undertook his first journey. In
this training-wheel he accustomed himself to the revolutions of the
wheel. This was all the more necessary, as he found on practising that,
in consequence of the rapid revolutions, the small veins and other
blood-vessels in the neck and head became swollen--so much so that a
journey in the "loop" without previous experience would certainly, in
his opinion, have been fatal.
[Illustration: PRACTISING IN THE TRAINING-WHEEL.
_From a Photo. by Rochlitz._]
After the perfect construction of the track had been ascertained by
thorough tests--amongst which heavy waggon-wheels were caused to be
rolled along the track--Mr. Eclair at length took his first ride. It
was a ride for life or death. Nobody could foresee what the result
would be. Luck favoured the venturesome artist, and his success was
acclaimed with joy and satisfaction by all the interested beholders, so
smoothly and faultlessly did the performance end. Such was the birth of
a new sensational circus feat! And a second ride which Mr. Eclair soon
afterwards took turned out equally successful.
The track slopes from a platform about fifteen yards high down into
the "loop." It must be understood that this is not a real loop, such
as, for example, Mündner uses, but is so constructed that the fearless
rider rushes in his wheel down the slope, entering the ring by a
trap-door, so that the wheel rolls round it. This heavy wheel, which
weighs five hundredweight, flies up the track with a terrific momentum,
and, in consequence of its centrifugal force, presses against the track
with a force of seventeen times its own weight.
When the wheel has passed the highest point of the loop it flies
down the other side, and leaves the loop again by another trap-door
which has in the meantime been opened. The downward movement, being
still very rapid at the point of exit, is then retarded by means of
outlet-rails which adjust themselves exactly to the wheel, and the mad
ride ends at length in a net.
The track has a total length of about sixty-five yards, inclusive of
loop and exit. The loop is about twenty-four feet high. The wheel rolls
in a mould-shaped groove. The slightest mistake in the construction
of the track, which is an extremely ingenious one, would result in
an unsuccessful performance and a dangerous, if not deadly, fall.
Especially ingenious is the mechanism of the trap-doors at the entrance
and exit. These are in charge of the artist's colleague, and form the
most important part of the track, as any failure in this part would end
in dire catastrophe.
LXX.--A BONFIRE OF GAMBLING APPARATUS.
The Anti-Gambling Leagues of British cities have their counterpart
in the various Law and Order Societies of American municipalities,
and their labours are much the same. Just as the societies in
England attempt to protect the poor and middle-class people from the
encroachments of vice by initiating prosecutions against wrong-doers,
so do these Law and Order Societies fight in the interests of the
American public. They go to excesses sometimes, it is true, but their
labours have a positive value for good. In England they keep an eye
upon the book-maker in the street, upon the sporting tipster with his
betting circulars and notices, and upon gambling in general. They
prosecute where prosecution is needed, and carry on in Parliament a
fight for virtue.
Never, however, have they prepared a fire for the benefit of their
supporters such as the Law and Order Society of Philadelphia got up
last May. It is, perhaps, not wholly correct to say that when the
Philadelphia Society seized and burned over thirteen hundred gambling
machines in a public place it did so merely for the benefit of its
followers, but that was practically the case, and among those who
saw this unique conflagration there were none more interested than
the crusaders against vice. It was an actual destruction of valuable
property, but not a wanton one, and when the fire was over the charred
metal and molten tin represented a sum of not less than one hundred and
thirty thousand dollars. We doubt if England has ever had the privilege
of witnessing such a sight, for the vested right of the Briton is too
sacred to permit of his property being done away with in such brilliant
manner.
[Illustration: WAGGONS UNLOADING GAMBLING MACHINES TO FORM THE BONFIRE.
_From a Photo._]
The reason for the fire was the abnormal growth in Philadelphia of
the penny-in-the-slot gambling machine, owing to its fascination
for the young and its asserted protection by careless or corrupt
municipal government. The machines--some of them very elaborate,
costing from three hundred to six hundred dollars each--were nothing
but "money-machines," automatic gamblers of the most hardened sort. If
the player dropped any sum, from five cents to twenty-five cents, into
the slot, he stood a chance to win about ten times as much as he put
in, and the prospect of such a huge percentage upon a small investment
fascinated poor people and boys and girls alike. One boy was known to
have lost as much as three hundred and fifty dollars in a week through
this form of gambling, having resorted to theft in order to obtain the
wherewithal to gamble.
"For four years," writes Mr. D. Clarence Gibboney, the secretary of
the Law and Order Society of Philadelphia, "our city was cursed with
thousands of these conscienceless gambling devices. The authorities
protected them, and our citizens were almost helpless. Fathers and
mothers stood by, unable to do much more than make a feeble protest,
while their sons and daughters were turned into gamblers.
[Illustration: THE FIRE IN FULL BLAZE.
_From a Photo._]
"This society took hold of the situation and, in face of very
determined opposition, arrested many of the owners and keepers of the
machines in 1902, and in December burned a hundred and ninety-six
machines, valued at about twenty thousand dollars. The police, however,
supported the gambling people, and it was not until after January 1st,
1903, that we were able to wipe the entire business out of the city.
"A new mayor was elected, and he immediately forced the police to aid
us. The police seized five hundred machines and we, through our own
constables, seized over eight hundred others between January 1st and
May 10th, 1903. On May 19th the entire lot was burned, the police and
the Law and Order Society joining in the work of destruction. Not a
machine that we know of exists in this city to-day."
LXXI.--A BANQUET IN A WATER-PIPE.
In the middle of October last a banquet was served to the League of
Iowa Municipalities, at Waterloo, Iowa, which, so far as we know, has
no duplicate in the history of gastronomy. It was in every way the
most successful gathering of the sort that ever took place in this
enterprising city of the West, and the novelty of the affair drew
public notice from near and far.
[Illustration: A FLOODED STREET IN WATERLOO, IOWA, WHERE THE GREAT
DRAIN WAS CONSTRUCTED.
_From a Photo._]
The table was spread in a sewer constructed by the city to carry
off the surplus water which at different periods of heavy rains had
threatened the existence of the place with damaging floods. The name
by which this work of engineering is known--the Dry Run Sewer--recalls
to many the story of an innocent little stream running through the
principal business and residence section of the city, a stream which
in its driest day would attract little attention from a passer-by.
Unfortunately, however, for the inhabitants the Dry Run has frequently
become very wet. Within the past seven years, on three different
occasions it has flooded the entire western portion of the city,
causing a property loss of many thousands and endangering the lives of
the inhabitants. In 1902 it was flooded twice within twenty days. It
rose on July 3rd at the rate of ten feet within five minutes, and on
July 23rd ambitiously repeated the same perilous feat.
The citizens of Waterloo, at the head of whom stood Mr. P. J. Martin,
the mayor, now concluded that this recurring danger should be met by
heroic measures, and a flood-sewer, twelve feet by twelve feet in width
and height, and three thousand four hundred feet long, was planned
at a cost of about one hundred thousand dollars. To many the project
appeared impossible of completion, owing to the peculiar situation
of Dry Run, but the difficulties in the way did not daunt the Iowa
engineers. Hundreds of men were put upon the work of excavation and
construction, under the charge of contractor William Horrabin, of Iowa
City, and the giant structure rapidly took the permanent form which we
see in our photographs. Our illustration of the entrance to the sewer
unfortunately does not suggest the size of it, but when we say that a
man could walk through this sewer easily carrying another upright on
his head, we may fairly suggest the height of the arch. Some thirteen
thousand barrels of cement and over thirty-two million pounds of sand
and rock were used in the construction, and nearly one million cubic
feet of dirt were excavated. The side walls of the sewer are vertical
for six feet, and the base is at present about fifteen feet below the
level of the street.
[Illustration: A SECTION OF THE DRAIN-PIPE.
_From a Photo._]
With the completion of the largest work of the kind ever undertaken
by an Iowa municipality, satisfaction took the place of unrest in the
feelings of the citizens. The manufacturers were able to leave their
places of business without fear of catastrophe behind them, and the
residents could now go to bed at night without dread of a flood-warning
from the fire bell. In fact, the relief was so widespread that it was
deemed fitting by the mayor and aldermen that the completion of the
sewer should be signalized by a great banquet, to which the mayors and
representative citizens of other towns should be invited.
[Illustration: THE TABLE LAID FOR THE BANQUET INSIDE THE DRAIN-PIPE.
_From a Photo._]
The happy thought now occurred to the _Waterloo Times and Tribune_ of
holding this banquet, not in an hotel, but in the sewer itself, and
the project was carried out with enthusiasm. This meant, of course,
unusual effort on the part of those in charge, but all obstacles were
easily surmounted, and on the night of October 16th that part of the
city which, little more than a year before, had been the bed of a
raging torrent was turned by engineering and culinary magic into a
banqueting-hall of security and light. The tables were laid along the
floor of the sewer over four hundred feet of its length, and on both
sides of this table, with plenty of room in which to move, sat the
best-known citizens of the State. Simple but pretty decorations hung
in festoons from the archway and on the side walls gleamed rows of
electric lights. Mayor Martin acted as toast-master, and the programme
of toasts lasted an hour and a half. As if to suggest a danger happily
past the rain was falling outside, but no fear of flood troubled the
gathering. The banquet was as successful as the construction of the
sewer itself, and those who were privileged on this memorable occasion
to partake of Dry Run punch drank it with a special gusto. This little
joke of the caterer was duly appreciated. The dessert was as happily
chosen, for it ended with Roquefort and "water crackers."
LXXII.--AN ANTI-COLLISION TRAIN.
Even in this age of wonders no one would have expected to experience
a railway collision without the usual horrors of a smash-up, yet that
is the feature of one of the latest wonders of inventive genius. An
electrical engineer of New York, Mr. P. K. Stern, has just come forward
with such a contrivance.
His system is remarkable chiefly for the daring conception which it
expresses and for the exceptional skill shown in devising mechanism
absolutely safe in its operation.
[Illustration: A CAR PASSING OVER ANOTHER ON THE ANTI-COLLISION RAILWAY.
_From a Photo._]
A single track is used, on which railway-cars are caused to travel.
Two cars are rushing towards each other at a speed of twenty-five
miles an hour, so that a collision would, under ordinary conditions,
be inevitable, when suddenly one of the cars runs, not into, but over
the top of the other and lands on the track on the other side, where it
continues in perfect safety to its destination. The underneath car has
proceeded as if nothing had happened.
The cars, although they run upon wheels, are really travelling bridges,
with overhanging compartments for the accommodation of passengers.
Over the framed structure of the cars thus constituted an arched track
is carried, securely fastened to the car and serving the purpose of
providing a road-bed for the colliding car. This superimposed track
is built in accordance with well-understood principles of bridge
construction.
The passengers find accommodation in the cars arranged along each side
of the travelling structure. The cars run at a speed of about ten
to fifteen miles an hour, and are caused to collide at about eight
miles an hour, which is quite sufficient for amusement purposes. The
principle upon which these cars are constructed renders it impossible
for one to crush the other while going over it.
In this device the speed of the cars is immaterial. One car may
be moving very slowly--such as is the case sometimes in crowded
streets--and the overtaking car, when meeting with obstructions, though
it may be in close proximity, can go straight ahead just as though
nothing had happened. In fact, automobiles and carts can go over the
cars just as though they were mounting a gradual incline or small hill.
In cases of street locomotion there is a fender effect for the safety
of people crossing the streets, which picks the person up and lands him
down on the other side unhurt.
A great deal might be done with a system of this character, and Mr.
Stern's next work will be a careful study on the lines of carrying
freight, as he believes that a single line of railway may be duplexed
in this manner, and thus enable more business to be carried on than by
the ordinary railroad having two tracks.
[Illustration: A GENERAL VIEW OF LHASSA FROM THE EAST.
_From a Photo._]
_The Forbidden City of Lhassa._
BY G. T. TSYBIKOV.
[As soon as the brief telegraphic announcement of M. Tsybikov's
remarkable journey reached England we took steps to secure the
earliest account in an English magazine of this expedition. At the
present moment its value is enhanced by the fact that a British
mission is being dispatched into the mysterious land of Tibet.
The account of "The Forbidden City of Lhassa" which follows is
the first that has been written by a visitor to Lhassa since
the French missionary Huc spent a few months there in 1845. It
has been translated and edited for THE STRAND MAGAZINE by David
B. Macgowan, by permission of the Russian Imperial Geographical
Society.]
M. G. T. Tsybikov is by birth a Russian Bouriat from the Trans-Baikal
territory. He learned his own, the Mongolian, and the Tibetan languages
in infancy and boyhood, and completed his education in the St.
Petersburg schools for Oriental languages. He was sent to Tibet by the
Russian Imperial Geographical Society, and his success in reaching the
Tibetan capital and in remaining there or in its vicinity for more than
a year was due in large measure to the careful planning of his journey
by the experienced officers of this society. He carried a high-class
camera of special construction and returned with a number of excellent
photographs, some of which are reproduced with this article.
The explorer left Lhassa on September 10th, 1901, but was detained on
his return journey and did not reach the hospitable Russian consulate
at Urga until the middle of last year.
The following is his narrative:--
* * * * *
On May 7th, 1900, a caravan of about seventy Mongolian and Amdo Lamas
left the Amdo monastery of Goumboum for Lhassa. I had joined it as
a simple pilgrim. We rode and carried our belongings on about two
hundred horses and mules obtained in Amdo, and lived in seventeen
tents. After a journey of twenty-two days across the uninhabited North
Tibetan table-land, we pitched camp on the banks of the San-chou, on
the northern side of the Boumza Ridge. Here we, for the first time, met
with inhabitants of Central Tibet. Our road was, in fact, blocked by
the first of a series of military posts maintained to stop the advance
of foreigners and to notify the Government of their presence. It was
near here that the great Russian explorer, P. M. Przhevalsky, was
compelled to turn back upon his third journey into Central Asia. The
soldiers of the post at once came to our camp and, observing that ours
was an ordinary pilgrim caravan, resumed their usual occupations, which
were mainly barter on a small scale and keeping a sharp look-out for
any unconsidered trifles which were not tied down.
After four short marches we reached the Nak-chou monastery. Here
reside the two governors of the local nomadic tribes--one, called
the "Khanbo," being a priest, and the other, called the "Nansal,"
being a layman. They rule the natives, collect taxes, control the
post-stations, and investigate suspicious travellers. I fell into
the latter class, thanks to the head of our caravan, who reported
that there were Bouriats among the Mongolians. Although it had been
recently decided that Bouriats were to be admitted into the country,
the "Khanbo" squeezed five "lans" of silver out of me, which sum
removed me from the category of suspects and opened the road to Lhassa,
where we arrived on August 16th, after a journey of three months from
Goumboum.
[Illustration: LHASSA FROM THE NORTH.
_From a Photo._]
Lhassa, or Lhadàn as it is sometimes called, means the "land of the
gods," or "full of gods." It was founded in the seventh century A.D.
by the Khan Srontszan-Gambo, who, it is related, had among his wives a
Nepaulese and a Chinese princess, and they brought with them statues
of Buddha Sakya Muni. For these statues temples were built in Lhassa,
and the Khan settled on the hill where now stands the palace of the
Dalai-Lama--the supreme ruler of Tibet both in spiritual and worldly
affairs. The city is situated in a broad plain, bordered on one side by
the Wi-chou and on the other by the high mountains on its right bank.
Not counting Bodalà, the residence of the Dalai-Lama, it is almost
circular in form, with a diameter of about one English mile. However,
numerous parks to the south and west, the proximity of Bodalà and two
other palaces, have caused its girth to be stated as about twenty-five
miles. As a matter of fact, the circular road around the city is not
more than eight miles long. The devout are in the habit of making the
circuit, prostrating themselves continually. A zealous pilgrim can
complete the journey in two days, making three thousand prostrations a
day. They travel, in fact, on their stomachs, drawing up their legs as
far as possible, and pushing themselves forward a body's length at a
time, standing erect, however, between the movements and falling flat
again. Sometimes the pilgrims protect their hands with boards, though
these are not the most fervent devotees. Thus they traverse not only
the circuit of the city, but often pass three times and even seven
times round it. The last feat takes about a fortnight, and requires
forty-two thousand prostrations!
The Tibetans are very fond of parks and forests, and their capital
presents a beautiful appearance from a distance, particularly in spring
and autumn, when the golden roofs of the two principal temples and
the white walls of many-storied houses gleam and glisten among the
tree-tops. The enchantment of the view from afar disappears abruptly
when one enters the crooked and extremely narrow streets, which during
the rainy season are transformed into muddy pools, in which one sees
here and there the corpse of a yak or other pack animal.
The plain in which the city lies is subject to inundations both from
the river and from mountain streams. Dykes and canals have been
constructed both inside and outside the city for protection from
overflows. The houses of the common people are built of stone plates or
of unbaked bricks, one-storied usually, except in the cities, where two
and three storied houses prevail. The window openings are either bare
or are protected merely with muslin or calico in summer, and with paper
in winter. Fire-places are provided only in the kitchen, and are heated
only for the preparation of food.
In the centre of the city stands the temple in which the great statue
of Buddha is placed. This temple is a rectangular structure about one
hundred and forty feet square. It is three stories high and has four
gilded roofs in Chinese style, with gates and a door opening to the
west. The temple contains a number of gloomy chambers lighted with
candles, in all of which there are various statues of Buddhas. The
chief object of veneration is placed beneath a costly baldachin in
the middle room. It is the great statue of Buddha Sakya Muni, just
mentioned. It is of bronze, and is distinguished from ordinary images
of the Indian sage by its ornaments of hammered gold on head and
breast, encrusted with precious stones, mainly turquoises. The face of
the statue is decorated with burnished gold, put on in the form of a
powder. Golden lamps fed with animal fat, placed on long, bench-like
tables, burn before it continually. These lamps are the gifts of
worshippers.
[Illustration: THE ANCIENT PALACE OF THE TIBETAN KINGS.
_From a Photo._]
Almost equal honour is bestowed upon two other statues in the same
temple, that of Avalokiteshvar, who is supposed to be reincarnated in
the Dalai-Lamas, and the statue of Bal-Lhamo, the patroness of women.
Libations of barley-wine, called the "golden drink," are constantly
being poured out before this statue and barley grains are liberally
strewn on the ground, supplying inexhaustible food to the multitude
of mice which thrive here undisturbed, as they are accounted sacred.
They have comfortable nests in the drapery of the statue. The bodies of
these mice, when accidentally killed, are regarded as very useful to
ladies who are expecting babies, and are exported thousands of miles to
Mongolia and Amdo. However, mice in other houses in Lhassa do not share
their privileged position, being, as in other countries, the prey of
cats.
The ancient palace of the Tibetan kings, shown in the photograph given
above, is carefully preserved as a monument of great interest in the
history of the city. It was the residence of the last King of Tibet,
before the Dalai-Lama received the temporal as well as the spiritual
power. It is the only building in Lhassa which is not allowed to be
white-washed.
Above all the buildings of the city rises Bodalà, the palace of the
Dalai-Lama, about a thousand yards to the west, and built on a rocky
eminence. Although commenced earlier, it was rebuilt and extended,
with the addition of the central part, called the "red palace," during
the lifetime, or shortly after the death, of the celebrated fifth
Dalai-Lama, Agvan Lovsan-chzhiamtso. The palace was evidently built
mainly for purposes of defence, being, in fact, the survivor of those
ancient castles with whose ruins Tibet is richly strewn, and whose sad
fate was largely the work of this very Bodalà.
The palace is about fourteen hundred feet long and nine to ten stories
high. The front and sides are surrounded by a wall, while the rear
is protected by the mountain. In the construction of this palace the
Tibetans exhausted all their architectural skill, and it contains much
of the wealth and all that Tibet possesses of artistic value, notably
the golden epitaph of the fifth Dalai-Lama. The valuables and the
Dalai-Lama's apartments are in the central part of the palace, which is
called the "red palace," but is really painted brown. In other parts
of the palace live various officials, employés, and followers of the
Dalai-Lama, including a chapter of five hundred monks. Among the duties
of the latter are the recital of prayers for the happiness and long
life of the Dalai-Lama.
The mint, the courts of justice, and the prison are situated in a
courtyard under the hillside, and a little farther on is the only
medical school in Tibet, the "Manba Datsan." It has sixty teachers,
supported by the Dalai-Lama. Westward and lower down the hill from the
palace and the medical school are the temples of Chinese Buddhists,
while two other palaces, one of which is the summer palace of the
Dalai-Lama, are situated only a little farther. Lhassa itself contains
two faculties for instruction in the mystical cults, embracing together
twelve hundred men.
[Illustration: MOUNT MAR-BO-RI, AND BODALÀ, THE PALACE OF THE
DALAI-LAMA.
_From a Photo._]
Lhassa is a city of women. The entire population, excluding priests,
can scarcely exceed ten thousand persons, and at least two-thirds
of these are women. The city might seem more populous owing to the
proximity of two great monasteries and to the great ingress, at
particular times, of the rural inhabitants and of pilgrims from
Lamaitic countries. It is the most important commercial centre of the
country, being the intermediary between India and Western Tibet and
between China and Eastern Tibet. The market is situated around the
great temple, and the lower floors of houses, as well as all free
spaces on the streets and public squares, are occupied by shops and
booths. The clerks in the shops, excepting those kept by Kashmir and
Nepaul merchants, are nearly all women.
Not only Lhassa, but Tibet itself can be described as the land of
women and women's rights. This is due to the vast number of celibate
priests. The results of this institution to a large part of the female
population are complete independence both in business and in personal
conduct. In family life both polygamy and polyandry are met with. The
marriage of several brothers with one wife, or of several sisters with
one husband, is regarded as the ideal condition.
In no country in the world, perhaps, do women play a greater part in
business than in Tibet. I can recall no occupation that is carried on
in the country in which women are not actively engaged, and they often
conduct great undertakings quite independently of men.
The choice of a new Dalai-Lama is put into practice in the following
picturesque manner: The names of three candidates, determined upon in
a previously agreed manner, are written on separate tickets and then
put into a golden urn. The urn is set in front of the great statue of
Buddha, and religious services designed to disclose the identity of the
"reincarnate"[1] are held by deputies from the monasteries. The urn is
then taken to Bodalà and set down before a small board inscribed with
the name of the Emperor, and in the presence of the highest officials,
and of deputies from the principal monasteries, the Manchurian
Amban--the representative of the Emperor--removes one of the tickets
by means of a pair of chop-sticks. The choice so made is confirmed by
an Imperial rescript, and the happy, or unhappy, boy is transferred to
the palace. From this moment he receives the veneration and the honours
due to his station. From his earliest years he is taught reading and
writing by a special master selected from among the most illustrious
Lamas. After this he is given a purely theological education. For
purposes of practical disputation all the theological faculties of the
principal monasteries send one of their members. Upon the completion
of the prescribed course of study he receives the highest theological
degree in the same manner as other Lamas do, but naturally makes
a more lavish distribution of money to the monasteries. As a matter
of course his generosity is rewarded by a correspondingly careful
selection of questions on the part of the examiners.
[Footnote 1: The "reincarnates" are persons in whom the souls of former
saints are supposed to have become reincarnated.]
[Illustration: BODALÀ FROM THE NORTH-WEST.
_From a Photo._]
The present Dalai-Lama has now, at the age of twenty-one or twenty-two,
attained his majority. Since 1806 there have been five new Dalai-Lamas.
Six or seven years ago the present holder of the title entered upon
a struggle with his regent, the most illustrious of the Tibetan
"reincarnates," and issued from it victorious, thereby escaping the
fate of his four predecessors, who died comparatively young, most of
them having been put to death by their regents, or the rivals of the
latter. The present Dalai-Lama accused his regent of having performed
conjurations against his life, confiscated the regent's large estate,
and placed him under strict domiciliary arrest. The regent was found
dead one fine morning. The Dalai-Lama is evidently an energetic and
well-intentioned man. One of his first acts after seizing the reins of
authority was the abolition of the death penalty.
The supreme administration is in the hands of a council under the
presidency of the Dalai-Lama, known as the "Devashoun." The four
principal members are appointed by the Chinese Emperor. Justice is
sold, and in general all Government business is carried on by means
of bribery. Criminal inquiries are pursued by means of whipping and
other tortures, the most cruel of which is probably cauterization
with blazing sealing-wax. The penalties are flogging, imprisonment,
exile into slavery, blinding, amputation of the fingers, and perpetual
fetters or stocks.
[Illustration: BODALÀ FROM THE NORTH.
_From a Photo._]
Four thousand soldiers are maintained at the cost of the State. Their
armament consists of swords, muzzle-loading firearms, and bows and
arrows. A helmet decorated with feathers is worn and a small shield
is carried, and some wear a cuirass also. The discipline is poor. The
soldiers live in their villages, and assemble only periodically for
drill in archery and in the use of firearms. The army is divided into
cavalry and infantry. The Central Tibetan is averse to war and military
service. One often sees a soldier on the way to the drill-ground
placidly spinning wool or sewing on a boot-sole, or perhaps employing
the time which would otherwise be wasted in telling a rosary or turning
a prayer-cylinder. The nomadic clans of Eastern Tibet, who are prone to
raiding their peaceful neighbours, strive as a rule to avoid bloodshed,
employing intimidation oftener than force. The slightest determined
opposition sends them back home.
The Tibetans have lately been taking a more and more pronounced fancy
for English goods, and Indian rupees have begun to compete with the
native coin. Among the articles exported to India are yak tails,
sheep's wool, borax, salt, silver and gold, yaks, and horses and asses
from Western China.
Both men and women wear local cloth in various colours. The clothing
of the poor is usually white, because white is the cheapest. Soldiers
wear dark blue, the well-to-do classes prefer red, and the princes and
higher officials are privileged to wear yellow. The people are vain and
fond of display. They wear jewellery of gold, silver, corals, diamonds,
rubies, pearls, turquoises, and other stones.
[Illustration: A NEAR VIEW OF THE DALAI-LAMA'S PALACE.
_From a Photo._]
The principal article of food is flour of roasted barley. It is mixed
with tea or barley-wine. The most common vegetable is the radish. The
favourite dish of all classes is a porridge of barley-flour mixed with
finely-chopped radishes. The best variety of this porridge is prepared
with a bouillon of pounded bones, which can be had only by the rich.
Tibetans love raw or underdone meat. Yak-meat, mutton, and pork are
more highly esteemed than beef. The flesh of asses and horses is not
eaten. Fish is eaten by the poor, fowl not at all, chickens being kept
only for the sake of eggs. Butter is used principally as fuel for holy
lamps. Sour milk, treated in a special way, is highly esteemed as a
drink and is the common poetic symbol of pure white. Both men and
women drink great quantities of barley-wine, which is but slightly
intoxicating and is very cheap. The men smoke leaf tobacco in pipes,
the monks crush it into snuff. Tobacco is dear, and it is usually mixed
for smoking with leaves of another plant.
The Tibetan is very impressionable and superstitious, and he goes to
the Lamas, or oracles, after every event in his life and demands the
explanation of it. In case of sickness he puts more faith in a grain
of barley blessed by a Lama than in medicine; or he prefers, if able,
to send for a Lama to read whole litanies in his presence. However, he
is also disposed to be merry, and proves it by singing and dancing on
holidays and during carousals.
The Tibetan's requirements are limited. The local coin was worth ten
cents during my stay in Tibet. Nevertheless, one of these coins is the
highest wage known, that of a Lama for a whole day's prayers. The best
spinner in the rural districts receives seven cents a day; the ordinary
labourer, whether man or woman, two or three cents. Domestic servants
scarcely ever get any money, receiving only food and clothing.
Beggary thrives in Lhassa, this being the sole recourse of criminals
who have been blinded, or have lost their hands, or been bound to
perpetual fetters or stocks. In fact, begging is regarded with no
shame, even when practised by the comparatively well-to-do, especially
priests.
[Illustration: The Phoenix and the Carpet.
BY E. NESBIT.]
Copyright, 1904, by George Newnes, Limited.
VIII.--THE CATS, THE COW, AND THE BURGLAR.
The nursery was full of Persian cats and musk-rats that had been
brought there by the Wishing Carpet. The cats were mewing and the musk
rats were squeaking so that you could hardly hear yourself speak. In
the kitchen were the four children, one candle, a concealed Phoenix,
and a very visible policeman.
"Now, then, look here," said the policeman, very loudly, and he
pointed his lantern at each child in turn; "what's the meaning of this
here yelling and caterwauling? I tell you you've got a cat here, and
someone's a-illtreating of it. What do you mean by it, eh?"
It was five to one, counting the Phoenix, but the policeman, who
was one, was of unusually fine size, and the five, including the
Phoenix, were small. The mews and the squeaks grew softer, and in the
comparative silence Cyril said:--
"It's true. There are a few cats here. But we've not hurt them. It's
quite the opposite. We've just fed them."
"It don't sound like it," said the policeman, grimly.
"If you understood anything except people who steal and do murders and
stealings and naughty things like that I'd tell you all about it," said
Robert, "but I'm certain you don't. You're not meant to shove your oar
into people's private cat-keepings. You're only supposed to interfere
when people shout 'Murder!' and 'Stop thief!' in the street. So there!"
The policeman assured them that he should see about that, and at this
point the Phoenix, who had been making itself small on the pot-shelf
under the dresser, among the saucepan-lids and the fish-kettle, walked
on tip-toed claws in a noiseless and modest manner, and left the room
unnoticed by anyone.
"Oh, don't be so horrid!" Anthea was saying, gently and earnestly. "We
_love_ cats--dear, pussy-soft things. We wouldn't hurt them for worlds.
Would we, Pussy?"
And Jane answered that of course they wouldn't.
And still the policeman seemed unmoved by their eloquence.
"Now, look here," he said, "I'm a going to see what's in that room
beyond there--and----"
His voice was drowned in a wild burst of mewing and squeaking.
And as soon as it died down all four children began to explain at once,
and though the squeaking and mewing were not at their very loudest, yet
there was quite enough of both to make it very hard for the policeman
to understand a single word of any of the four wholly different
explanations now poured out to him.
"Stow it!" he said, at last. "I'm a-going into the next room in the
execution of my duty. I'm a-going to use my eyes--my ears are gone off
their chumps, what with you and them cats."
And he pushed Robert aside and strode through the door.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Robert.
"It's tigers, _really_," said Jane. "Father said so. I wouldn't go in
if I were you."
But the policeman was quite stony; nothing anyone said seemed to make
any difference to him. Some policemen are like this, I believe. He
strode down the passage, and in another moment he would have been in
the room with all the cats and all the rats (musk), but at that very
instant a thin, sharp voice screamed from the street outside:--
"Murder! Murder! Stop thief!"
The policeman stopped, with one regulation boot heavily poised in the
air.
"Eh?" he said.
And again the shrieks sounded shrilly and piercingly from the dark
street outside.
"Come on," said Robert. "Come and look after cats while somebody's
being killed outside." For Robert had an inside feeling that told him
quite plainly _who_ it was that was screaming.
"You young rip!" said the policeman. "I'll settle up with you bimeby."
And he rushed out; and the children heard his boots going weightily
along the pavement, and the screams also going along rather ahead of
the policeman, and both the murder-screams and the policeman's boots
faded away in the remote distance.
Then Robert smacked his knickerbockers loudly with his palm, and said:--
"Good old Phɶnix! I should know its golden voice anywhere."
And then everyone understood how cleverly the Phɶnix had caught at
what Robert had said about the real work of a policeman being to look
after murderers and thieves, and not after cats, and all hearts were
filled with admiring affection.
[Illustration: "THE POLICEMAN STOPPED, WITH ONE REGULATION BOOT POISED
IN THE AIR."]
"But he'll come back," said Anthea, mournfully, "as soon as he finds
the murderer is only a bright vision of a dream, and there isn't one at
all really."
"No, he won't," said the soft voice of the clever Phɶnix, as he flew
in. "_He does not know where your house is._ I heard him own as much to
a fellow-mercenary. Oh! what a night we are having! Lock the door, and
let us rid ourselves of this intolerable smell of the perfume peculiar
to the musk-rat and to the house of the trimmers of beards. If you'll
excuse me I will go to bed. I am worn out."
It was Cyril who wrote the paper that told the carpet to take away the
rats and bring milk, because there seemed to be no doubt in any breast
that, however Persian cats may be, they must like milk.
"Let's hope it won't be musk-milk," said Anthea, in gloom, as she
pinned the paper face-downwards on the carpet. "Is there such a thing
as a musk-cow?" she added, anxiously, as the carpet shrivelled and
vanished. "I do hope not. Perhaps, really, it _would_ have been wiser
to let the carpet take the cats away. It's getting quite late, and we
can't keep them all night."
"Oh, can't we?" was the bitter rejoinder of Robert, who had been
fastening the side door. "You might have consulted me," he went on.
"I'm not such an idiot as some people."
"Why, whatever----"
[Illustration: "ROBERT AND CYRIL HELD THE COW BY THE HORNS."]
"Don't you see? We've jolly well _got_ to keep the cats all night--oh,
get down, you furry beasts!--because we've had three wishes out of the
old carpet now, and we can't get any more till to-morrow."
The liveliness of Persian mews alone prevented the occurrence of a
dismal silence.
Anthea spoke first. "Never mind," she said. "Do you know, I really do
think they're quieting down a bit. Perhaps they heard us say milk."
"They can't understand English," said Jane. "You forget they're Persian
cats, Panther."
"Well," said Anthea, rather sharply, for she was tired and anxious,
"who told you milk wasn't Persian for milk? Lots of English words are
just the same in French--at least, I know 'miaw' is, and croquet, and
_fiancé_. Oh, pussies, do be quiet! Let's stroke them as hard as we can
with both hands, and perhaps they'll stop."
So everyone stroked grey fur till their hands were tired, and as soon
as a cat had been stroked enough to make it stop mewing it was pushed
gently away, and another mewing mouser was approached by the hands
of the strokers. And the noise was really more than half purr when
the carpet suddenly appeared in its proper place, and on it, instead
of rows of milk-cans or even of milk-jugs, there was a _cow_. Not a
Persian cow, either; nor, most fortunately, a musk-cow, if there is
such a thing, but a smooth, sleek, dun-coloured Jersey cow, who blinked
large, soft eyes at the gaslight and mooed in an amiable, if rather
inquiring, manner.
Anthea had always been afraid of cows. But now she tried to be brave.
"Anyway, it can't run after me," she said to herself. "There isn't room
for it even to begin to run."
The cow was perfectly placid. She behaved like a strayed duchess till
someone brought a saucer for the milk and someone else tried to milk
the cow into it. Milking is very difficult. You may think it is easy,
but it is not. All the children were by this time strung up to a pitch
of heroism that would have been impossible to them in their ordinary
condition. Robert and Cyril held the cow by the horns, and when she
was quite sure that their end of the cow was secure Jane consented
to stand by, ready to hold the cow by the tail, should occasion
arise. Anthea, holding the saucer, now advanced towards the cow. She
remembered to have heard that cows, when milked by strangers, are
susceptible to the soothing influence of the human voice. So, clutching
her saucer very tight, she sought for words to whose soothing influence
the cow might be susceptible. And her memory, troubled by the events of
the night, which seemed to go on and on for ever and ever, refused to
help her with any form of words suitable to address a Jersey cow in.
"Poor pussy, then. Lie down, then, good dog, lie down," was all she
could think of to say, and she said it. And nobody laughed--the
situation, full of grey, mewing cats, was too serious for that.
Then Anthea, with a beating heart, tried to milk the cow. Next moment
the cow had knocked the saucer out of her hand and trampled on it with
one foot, while with the other three she had walked on a foot each of
Robert, Cyril, and Jane.
Jane burst into tears.
"Oh, how much too horrid everything is!" she cried. "Come away. Let's
go to bed and leave the horrid cats with the hateful cow. Perhaps
somebody will eat somebody else. And serve them right."
They did not go to bed, but had a shivering council in the
drawing-room, which smelt of soot--and, indeed, a heap of this lay
in the fender. There had been no fire in the room since mother went
away, and all the chairs and tables were in the wrong places, and the
chrysanthemums were dead, and the water in their pots nearly dried up.
Anthea wrapped the embroidered, woolly sofa-blanket round Jane and
herself, while Robert and Cyril had a struggle, silent and brief, but
fierce, for the larger share of the fur hearthrug.
[Illustration: "ROBERT AND CYRIL HAD A STRUGGLE FOR THE LARGER SHARE OF
THE FUR HEARTHRUG."]
"It is most truly awful," said Anthea. "And I _am_ so tired. Let's let
the cats loose."
"And the cow, perhaps?" said Cyril. "The police would find us at once.
That cow would stand at the gate and mew--I mean moo--to come in. And
so would the cats. No; I see quite well what we've got to do. We must
put them in baskets and leave them on people's doorsteps, like orphan
foundlings."
"We've got three baskets, counting mother's work one," said Jane,
brightening.
"And there are nearly two hundred cats," said Anthea, "besides the cow,
and it would have to be a different-sized basket for her. And then I
don't know how you'd carry it, and you'd never find a doorstep big
enough to put it on, except the church one, and----"
"Oh, well," said Cyril, "if you simply _make_ difficulties----"
"I'm with you," said Robert. "Don't fuss about the cow, Panther. It's
simply _got_ to stay the night, and I'm sure I've read that the cow is
a remunerating creature, and that means it will sit still and think for
hours. The carpet can take it away in the morning. And as for baskets,
we'll do them up in dusters or pillow-cases, or bath-towels. Come on,
Squirrel. You girls can be out of it, if you like."
His tone was full of contempt, but Jane and Anthea were too tired and
desperate to care; even being "out of it," which at other times they
could not have borne, now seemed quite a comfort. They snuggled down
in the sofa-blanket and Cyril threw the fur hearthrug over them.
"Ah," he said, "that's all women are fit for--to keep safe and warm
while the men do the work and run dangers and risks and things."
"I'm not," said Anthea; "you know I'm not."
But Cyril was gone.
It was warm under the blanket and the hearthrug, and Jane snuggled
up close to her sister, and Anthea cuddled Jane closely and kindly,
and in a sort of dream they heard the rise of a wave of mewing as
Robert opened the door of the nursery. They heard the booted search
for baskets in the back kitchen. They heard the side door open and
close, and they knew that each brother had gone out with at least one
cat. Anthea's last thought was that it would take at least all night
to get rid of one hundred and ninety-nine cats by twos. There would
be eighty-nine journeys of two cats each, and one cat over. "I almost
think we might keep the one cat over," said Anthea; "I don't seem to
care for cats just now, but I dare say I shall again some day." And she
fell asleep. Jane also was sleeping.
It was Jane who awoke with a start to find Anthea still asleep. As
in the act of awakening she kicked her sister, she wondered idly why
they should have gone to bed in their boots, but the next moment she
remembered where they were.
There was a sound of muffled, shuffled feet on the stairs. Like the
heroine of the classic poem, Jane "thought it was the boys," and, as
she now felt quite wide awake and not nearly so tired as before, she
crept gently from Anthea's side and followed the footsteps. They went
down into the basement. The cats, which seemed to have fallen into the
sleep of exhaustion, awoke at the sound of the approaching footsteps
and mewed piteously. Jane was at the foot of the stairs before she saw
that it was not her brothers whose coming had roused her and the cats,
but a burglar. She knew he was a burglar at once, because he wore a fur
cap and a red and black charity-check comforter, and he had no business
where he was.
If you had been stood in Jane's shoes you would no doubt have run away
in them, appealing to the police and neighbours with horrid screams.
But Jane knew better. She had read a great many nice stories about
burglars, as well as some affecting pieces of poetry, and she knew that
no burglar will ever hurt a little girl if he meets one when burgling.
Indeed, in all the cases Jane had read of his burglarishness was almost
at once forgotten in the interest he felt in the little girl's artless
prattle. So if Jane hesitated for a moment before addressing the
burglar it was only because she could not at once think of any remark
sufficiently prattling and artless to make a beginning. In the stories
and the affecting poetry the child could never speak plainly, though it
always looked old enough to in the pictures. And Jane could not make
up her mind to lisp and "talk baby," even to a burglar. And while she
hesitated he softly opened the nursery door and went in.
Jane followed--just in time to see him sit down flat on the floor,
scattering cats as a stone thrown into a pool splashes water.
She closed the door softly and stood there, still wondering whether she
_could_ bring herself to say: "What's 'oo doing here, Mithter Wobber?"
and whether any other kind of talk would do.
Then she heard the burglar draw a long breath, and he spoke:--
"It's a judgment," he said. "Oh, 'ere's a thing to 'appen to a chap!
Cats an' cats an' cats. Let alone the cow. If she ain't the moral of
the old man's Daisy! She's a dream out of when I was a lad; I don't
mind 'er so much. 'Ere, Daisy, Daisy!"
The cow turned and looked at him.
"_She's_ all right," he went on; "sort of company, too. But them
cats--oh, take 'em away, take 'em away! Oh, take 'em away!"
"Burglar," said Jane, close behind him, and he started convulsively
and turned on her a blank face whose pale lips trembled--"I can't take
those cats away."
"Lor'!" exclaimed the man; "if 'ere ain't another on 'em. Are you real,
miss, or something I'll wake up from presently?"
"I am quite real," said Jane, relieved to find that a lisp was not
needed to make the burglar understand her. "And so," she added, "are
the cats."
"Then send for the police, send for the police, and I'll go quiet. If
you ain't no realler than them cats I'm done. Send for the police. I'll
go quiet. One thing, there'd not be room for 'arf them cats in no cell
as ever _I_ see."
He ran his fingers through his hair, which was short, and his eyes
wandered wildly round the roomful of cats.
"Burglar," said Jane, kindly and softly, "if you didn't like cats,
what did you come here for?"
[Illustration: "'IT'S A JUDGMENT,' HE SAID. 'OH, 'ERE'S A THING TO
'APPEN TO A CHAP!'"]
"Send for the police," was the unfortunate criminal's only reply. "I'd
rather you would--honest, I'd rather."
"I daren't," said Jane; "and, besides, I've no one to send. I hate the
police. I wish he'd never been born."
"You've a feeling 'art, miss," said the burglar. "But them cats is
really a little bit too thick."
"Look here," said Jane. "I won't call the police. And I am quite a real
little girl, though I talk older than the kind you have met before when
you've been doing your burglings. And they _are_ real cats--and they
want real milk--and--didn't you say the cow was like somebody's Daisy
that you used to know? Well, then, perhaps you know how to milk cows?"
"Perhaps I does," was the burglar's cautious rejoinder.
"Then," said Jane, "if you will _only_ milk ours, you don't know how we
shall always love you."
The burglar replied that loving was all very well.
"If those cats only had a good, long, wet, thirsty drink of milk," Jane
went on, with eager persuasion, "they'll lie down and go to sleep as
likely as not, and then the police won't come back. But if they go on
mewing like this he will, and then I don't know what'll become of us or
you either."
This argument seemed to decide the criminal. Jane fetched the wash-bowl
from the sink and he prepared to milk the cow. At this instant boots
were heard on the stairs.
"It's all up," said the man, desperately. "This 'ere's a plant.
_'Ere's_ the police." He made as if to open the window and leap from it.
"It's all right, I tell you," whispered Jane, in anguish. "I'll say
you're a friend of mine, or the good clergyman called in, or my uncle,
or _anything_--only do, do, do milk the cow. Oh, _don't_ go--oh--oh,
thank goodness, it's only the boys!"
It was; and their entrance had awakened Anthea, who, with her brothers,
now crowded through the doorway. The man looked about him as a rat
looks round a trap.
"This is a friend of mine," said Jane. "He's just called in, and he's
going to milk the cow for us. _Isn't_ it good and kind of him?"
She winked at the others, and though they did not understand they
played up loyally.
"How do?" said Cyril. "Very glad to meet you. Don't let us interrupt
the milking."
The burglar began to milk the cow, and the others went to get things to
put the milk in, for it was now spurting and foaming in the wash-bowl,
and the cats had ceased from mewing and were crowding round the cow,
with expressions of hope and anticipation on their whiskered faces.
"We can't get rid of any more cats," said Cyril, as he and his sisters
piled a tray high with saucers and soup-plates and platters and
pie-dishes; "the police nearly got us as it was. Not the same one--a
much stronger sort. He thought it really was a foundling orphan we'd
got. If it hadn't been for me throwing the two bags of cat slap in
his eye and hauling Robert over a railing, and lying like mice under
a laurel bush--well, it's jolly lucky I'm a good shot, that's all.
He pranced off when he'd got the cat-bags off his face--thought we'd
bolted. And here we are."
The gentle sameishness of the milk swishing into the hand-bowl seemed
to have soothed the burglar very much. He went on milking in a sort of
happy dream, while the children got a cup and ladled the warm milk out
into the pie-dishes and plates, and platters and saucers, and set them
down to the music of Persian purrs and lappings.
[Illustration: "HE WENT ON MILKING IN A SORT OF HAPPY DREAM."]
"It makes me think of old times," said the burglar, smearing his ragged
coat-cuff across his eyes; "about the apples in the orchard at home,
and the rats at threshing time, and the rabbits and the ferrets, and
how pretty it was seeing the pigs killed."
Finding him in this softened mood, Jane said:--
"I wish you'd tell us how you came to choose our house for your
burglaring to-night. I'm awfully glad you did. You _have_ been so kind.
I don't know what we should have done without you," she added, hastily.
"We all love you ever so. Do tell us."
The others added their affectionate entreaties, and at last the burglar
said:--
"Well, it's my first job, and I didn't expect to be made so welcome,
and that's the truth, young gents and ladies. And I don't know but what
it won't be my last. For this 'ere cow, she reminds me of my father,
and I know 'ow 'e'd 'ave 'ided me if I'd laid 'ands on a 'apenny as
wasn't my own."
"Look here," said Cyril, "these cats are very valuable--very, indeed.
And we will give them all to you if only you will take them away."
"I see they're a breedy lot," replied the burglar; "but I don't want no
bother with the coppers. Did you come by them honest, now--straight?"
"They are all our very own," said Anthea. "We wanted them; but the
confidement----"
"Consignment," whispered Cyril.
"----was larger than we wanted, and they're an awful bother. If you got
your barrow and some sacks or baskets we would be awfully pleased. My
father says Persian cats are worth pounds and pounds each."
"Well," said the burglar, and he was certainly moved by her remarks, "I
see you're in a hole; I've got a pal--I'll fetch him along, and if he
thinks they'd fetch anything above their skins, I don't mind doin' you
a kindness."
Then he went, and Cyril and Robert sent the girls to bed and sat up
to wait for his return. It soon seemed absurd to await him in a state
of wakefulness, but his stealthy tap on the window awoke them readily
enough when he returned. And he did return, with the pal and the barrow
and the sacks. The pal approved of the cats, now dormant in Persian
repletion, and they were bundled into the sacks and taken away on the
barrow, mewing indeed, but with mews too sleepy to attract public
attention.
[Illustration: "THEY WERE BUNDLED INTO THE SACKS."]
"I'm a fence, that's what I am," said the burglar, gloomily; "I never
thought I'd come down to this and all acause er my kind 'art."
Cyril knew that a fence is a receiver of stolen goods, and he replied,
briskly:--
"I give you my word the cats aren't stolen. What do you make the time?"
"I ain't got the time on me," said the pal; "but it was just about
chucking-out time as I come by the Bull and Gate. I shouldn't wonder if
it was nigh upon one now."
When the cats had been removed and the boys and the burglar had parted
with warm expressions of friendship there remained only the cow.
"She must stay all night," said Robert. "Cook'll have a fit when she
sees her."
"All night?" said Cyril. "Why, it's to-morrow morning if it's one. We
can have another wish!"
So the carpet was urged, in a hastily-written note, to remove the cow
to wherever she belonged and to return to its proper place on the
nursery floor. And the cow could not be got to move on to the carpet.
So Robert got the clothes-line out of the back kitchen and tied one end
very firmly to the cow's horns and the other end to a bunched-up corner
of the carpet, and said, "Fire away!"
And carpet and cow vanished together, and the boys went to bed tired
out, and only too thankful that the evening at last was over.
Next morning the carpet lay calmly in its place, but one corner was
very badly torn. It was the corner that the cow had been tied on to.
_What Is a Good Advertisement?_
What is a good advertisement? The question was recently asked of the
readers of _Tit-Bits_, who were desired to select the best twelve
advertisements which appeared in this magazine during six months--the
competitor selecting the greatest number of advertisements which
corresponded to the choice of the majority being rewarded with a
substantial prize. The grounds on which the competitors based their
opinions were probably, consciously or unconsciously, very much alike
in most instances. It is interesting to consider what these grounds
were. We reproduce on this and following pages reduced facsimiles of
the twelve winning advertisements, which will serve to illustrate the
several points which go to make up a good advertisement.
[Illustration: THIS ADVERTISEMENT SECURED THE FIRST PLACE ON THE VOTING
LIST.
_WE ASKED YOU TO_
_WATCH THIS EGG_
_YOU ARE ENTERING FOR "TIT-BITS" GREAT COMPETITION._
_PAUSE!_
_HERE'S_
_100 100 100 POUNDS_
_FOR YOU_
_PURE_
_COOK'S SOAPS_
We, as advertisers, are so convinced of the excellence of the
"Tit-Bits" Great Competition as a method of gauging the public taste in
advertisements, that we have decided to add
_100_ (One Hundred Pounds) to the FIRST PRIZE.
_50_ (Fifty Pounds) to the SECOND PRIZE.
and we will send a Case of our High-class Toilet Soaps--value _ONE GUINEA_
--to each of the other Prize Winners
_EDWARD COOK & CO., Ld._ The Soap Specialists. _LONDON._
_YOU SEE, COOK'S ADVICE LIKE COOK'S SOAP IS AS GOOD AS GOLD._
]
[Illustration: THIS SECURED THE SECOND PLACE.
I hear they want more
_BOVRIL_
REG S.H.B.
_"The glory of a man is his strength."_
_Bovril gives strength to keep well--_
_strength to get well quickly when ill._
]
Moreover, the question is of interest to a greater number of persons
than may appear at first sight. To every advertiser, of course--that
is, to every man who has anything to sell, from the big firms who spend
colossal sums in making known the merits of their productions down
to the smallest village tradesman who puts his "ad" into the local
paper--the question of how to make the most efficient use of the means
at his disposal is of the greatest moment. But the general public, who
have no occasion to use advertisements for the purpose of business,
have also a direct interest in the question, for the simple reason that
striking advertisements are entertaining to read, while commonplace
advertisements are dull. From the same point of view the proprietors
of periodical publications are concerned, for it is clearly to their
advantage to interest the readers of their advertisements rather than
to bore them.
[Illustration: THIRD.
HOE'S
SAUCE
"First in merit
Everybody likes it"
HOE & CO.. LTD.. MANCHESTER.
]
An advertisement has three things to accomplish before it can be
called good. First, it must attract attention; secondly, it must
arouse interest; and thirdly, it must leave an impression on the
brain--the message must have struck home. It may in some cases make you
want a particular article, but in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred
its seed lies dormant until the moment arrives for you to make your
purchase; and then, if the advertisement has done its work as a good
advertisement should do, your brain couples the article with a certain
name, and that particular brand stands a very big chance of finding you
a purchaser.
[Illustration: FOURTH.
Millions of jars for
Millions of people.
_LEMCO_
The amount of beef used in the Liebig Company's factories in a single
day is sufficient to feed two million people.
_Always order Liebig as LEMCO._
(To avoid inferior Imitations of the original & only genuine Liebig
Company's Extract.)]
[Illustration: FIFTH.
BIRD'S CUSTARD
powder
PRODUCES THE RICHEST CUSTARD WITHOUT EGGS.
The unfailing resource of every successful Hostess, and those
resonsible for Household management.
RICH IN NUTRIMENT.--DELICATE IN FLAVOR.
_NO EGGS! NO RISK! NO TROUBLE!_
]
To catch the eye is the first essential of a good advertisement; the
first sense to which it appeals is that of sight. The object of the
skilful advertiser is to make the space he occupies--whether a page or
a portion of a page--the most conspicuous in the publication. Turn for
a moment to any page of advertisements you please, open and shut it
quickly, and you will generally find that there is one advertisement
which has immediately attracted your eye. Let two persons try at the
same time, and on comparing notes it will generally be found that the
same advertisement has been spotted by both. That one possesses the
first essential of a good advertisement more conspicuously than its
fellows.
[Illustration: SIXTH.
FRAME-FOOD
BEST
FOR BABIES
FROM EARLIEST
INFANCY
16OZ. TIN IS.
_FREE TEST_
¼ lb. Sample Tin of _FRAME-FOOD,_ or 3oz. Sample Jar of _"FRAME-FOOD"_
_JELLY,_ sent free on receipt of 3d. to pay postage; both samples sent
for pl. postage.
Mention this Magazine.
_FRAME FOOD CO.; Ltd. BATTERSEA, LONDON, S.W._
]
Try again, and this time run through the pages rapidly, so that every
leaf of the journal falls quickly from your thumb. There are certain to
be one or two pages which will stand out conspicuously and leave their
impression on your eye beyond all the rest, and you will turn back to
see what it is all about.
[Illustration: SEVENTH.
Quaker Oats]
[Illustration: EIGHTH.
ROBINSON'S GROATS]
The cunning advertiser has thus obtained his audience--it is now his
aim to keep it, Here he has to introduce some connecting link to hold
the attention until his message has been duly delivered. Where the
original design has nothing particular about it to hold the attention,
there is no better method than the insertion of some catch sentence,
generally a question, which you are compelled to read, and, of course,
to investigate further.
It may be said that the language of a good advertisement should
resemble that of a telegram--straight to the point; the information is
to be given in the most concise, clear, and complete form possible,
confined to the main feature or features of the article advertised, so
as to convince the prospective buyer of the excellence of the goods in
a short, logical manner, and to do this so that fact and not fiction is
apparent to the reader.
[Illustration: NINTH.
Government Tea]
In drawing up an advertisement there are many ways of incurring
failure, and one very sure method is the abuse of one's rivals. An
advertisement which is meant to be taken too seriously is rarely a
success. Let the reader's eye catch any of the hackneyed phrases,
"Beware of Imitations," "Thousands of Testimonials," "Is the Best,"
and such like, and it will immediately pass on to something else. Such
well-worn and unconvincing statements excite in him no interest, but
rather a feeling of distrust.
[Illustration: TENTH.
BEECHAM'S PILLS.]
It has been said that a magazine advertisement has three things to
accomplish before it can be called good, but in judging the quality
of the complete article two more things should be added, of less
importance, and really subdivisions of the striking home of the message.
The points one might apportion for each feature might be as follows:--
Points.
1. Power to attract attention 40
2. Power to hold attention 20
3. Prominence of the article advertised 20
4. Brevity of necessary information 10
5. Composition 10
And now, how do we stand in comparison with other nations in this
matter of effective advertising? It is universally admitted that
advertisement is the soul of business. How, then, does the business man
of this country compare with the business man of America. Some of our
great advertising firms certainly display no very marked inferiority,
but as a rule it is unfortunately true that to glance through the
announcements in an American magazine is to be brought face to face
with the enormously superior ability in design of the American over
the Englishman. Here you have, as it were, your finger on the pulse
of a country's commerce; you can feel the vigorous beats, or the
languid and anæmic current. And the main reason is just this: that the
American never loses sight of the fact that the first three essentials
in attracting and keeping attention are novelty, novelty, novelty.
Their skill in attracting attention in new ways is always a matter of
admiration.
[Illustration: ELEVENTH.
WRIGHTS COAL TAR SOAP]
The question altogether is one of far more importance than it may
seem on first consideration; it is hardly too much to say that the
prosperity of a nation's trade depends upon its ability in attractive
advertising.
Advertisement is an art of its own, and if you are going to advertise
to any considerable extent and do it yourself, either your business
must suffer to allow you time to do your advertising well, or your
advertising must suffer so that you may properly attend to your
business.
[Illustration: TWELFTH.
HOLLOWAY'S PILLS & OINTMENT]
Of course, it is the advertising that suffers. If you do it yourself,
sooner or later it becomes a worry, and when a reminder arrives that
your copy is due very likely your instructions will be to repeat the
last, or possibly, if you have a minute or two to spare, you will sit
down and grind out a lot of nonsense which no one cares to read. If you
wish to make any genuine effort properly to employ the most important
factor in commerce, get someone who understands the art to do it for
you; engage a good man, and do not expect to get the same for five
pounds as you would for ten pounds.
_Curiosities._
Copyright, 1904, By George Newnes, Ltd.
[_We shall be glad to receive Contributions to this section, and to pay
for such as are accepted._]
"HUMAN NOTES."
[Illustration]
"I beg to send you a photograph of some little boys in this parish
who were taking part in a Band of Hope entertainment. The item on the
programme was called 'Human Notes,' and the little songsters, each
taking the note he represented, sang a peal of bells and extracts from
nursery rhymes. I thought the idea might be useful for other places.
The framework is easily made and costs little, and was most heartily
received wherever tried."--Miss Statham, River Vicarage, Dover. Photo.
by Mr. Ray Sherman.
HOW A SHOT BIRD REALLY FALLS.
[Illustration]
"Painters of sporting subjects have often portrayed, from memory
necessarily, a bird in the act of being shot, either immediately
before or after the event. Here, at last, is an actual photograph of
a wild duck at the moment of receiving its _coup de grâce_. It was
in a lonely, low-lying bay on the West Coast of Ireland. Ducks were
homing in fair numbers overhead on their way to the large lakes lying
inland, when, telling my photographic friend to get well behind me and
snap away as fast as he could, I advanced a few paces and also merrily
snapped away. Upon developing the series at home that night we found
that between us our snaps had resulted in our obtaining the photograph
here reproduced. It shows clearly that a duck--well shot--falls like
a plumb to the earth, head foremost, and may serve to correct some of
the imaginary pictures of similar incidents."--Mr. Dudley M. Stone, 8,
Chichele Road, Cricklewood, N.W.
A FLOATING CHAPEL.
[Illustration]
"I took this photograph during the recent heavy floods in Wales. A
mission-room had been washed away during the night, and it was an
uncommon sight seeing a party of men 'towing' the edifice back to a
place of safety. It struck me as being a unique incident, so I forward
it on to you."--Mrs. E. L. F. Mansergh, 59, Madeley Road, Ealing, W.
HOUSE-MOVING EXTRAORDINARY.
[Illustration]
"This extraordinary photograph was taken a short time ago in Pittsburg,
Pa., of a house which is being moved up a hill, the former site being
bought by a railway company. It is a fifteen or twenty-roomed house,
built of brick, the hill is one hundred and fifty feet high, and the
cost of moving the house between £6,000 and £7,000."--Mr. D. Munro, 21,
Sydney Road, West Ealing, W.
A STONE INSIDE A TREE.
[Illustration]
This is a photograph of a piece of oak with a stone in the centre, two
inches square, found by Mr. A. Steven, sawyer, St. Mary's Isle Estate,
Kirkcudbright. The stone was situated three feet from the ground
and three inches in from the bark. Nothing could be discerned of it
from the outside.--The photo. is by Mr. A. Kello Henderson, chemist,
Kirkcudbright.
WILL READERS HELP?
[Illustration]
"Can anyone give a clue to this 'Curiosity'? It is a dark-green silk
ribbon eight inches by one and a half inches, the accompanying letters,
figures, and key being beautifully embroidered in silver thread. The
dots between the upper letters are small metal discs secured by a tiny
metal bead sewn on with yellow silk. The wards of the key are sewn in
black silk. The embroidery is backed with canvas and interlined with
seemingly soft paper. I found it some years ago in a parcel of doll's
finery given to my little daughter by a friend who could throw no light
upon it. This badge has been the cause of much guesswork, speculation,
and earnest inquiry and search."--Mrs. Anne W. Newton, Ballybeg,
Ballinglen, Rathdrum, Ireland.
THE BITER BIT.
[Illustration]
"The fox in the photograph was discovered quite dead in this curious
position on the morning of November 17th, 1903, by Mr. H. Sparling,
dairyman, Tadcaster. The wooden erection is a poultry house, and the
hole from which the fox is hanging is, when the door is shut for
the night, the only possible means of entering or leaving the same.
Reynard had evidently entered by this aperture, for inside were
discovered three fowls he had killed. (These are shown at the foot of
the photograph.) In leaving by the same means he stuck fast, the hole
narrowing to quite a point at the bottom, and the more he struggled the
faster he had got, till at last he could struggle no longer, and death
intervened, probably from exhaustion."--Mr. John H. Hull, chemist,
Tadcaster.
A PRIMITIVE RAILWAY-STATION.
[Illustration]
"I send you a photo. taken by Mrs. Hind, of Stoke-on-Trent. The photo.
shows a railway-station on the Eskdale and Ravenglass line, which
consists of a flat-bottomed boat turned up on its side, with a seat
inside for passengers. I think it likely this is the most primitive and
unique station in the United Kingdom. I may add that the guard is also
station-master, ticket-collector, and porter at the different stations
along the line, of which there are six or seven."--Mr. M. Hind, Felsham
Rectory, Bury St. Edmunds.
THE PRANKS OF A CYCLONE.
[Illustration]
"This strangely-placed house is one of the pranks played by a cyclone
that almost destroyed the little town of St. Charles, Minn., U.S.A., on
October 6th, 1903. The building was carried from the hill, which may be
seen in the left-hand corner of the photo., for the distance of half a
mile. At the time the storm picked it up it was occupied by Mrs. Edward
Drew and two children, who escaped uninjured. The house itself was
practically undamaged, though left in the topsy-turvy condition shown
here."--Mr. Geo. E. Luxton, 3,220, Third Avenue, Minn.
THE DREAM-PAINTING AT CAVE DAVAAR.
[Illustration]
"Cave Davaar, or the Picture Cave, as it is sometimes called, near
Campbelltown, Argyllshire, is noted as being the repository of a mural
painting of the Crucifixion of our Lord. When the painting was first
discovered its author and the manner of its creation were a mystery.
Shortly, the story of the picture and its romance is as follows: Upon
a smooth mural surface of the rock which forms the inner wall of the
interior of the cave, and in a position adjusted to the light which
penetrates the cavern, visitors see a life-size representation of
Christ on the Cross, measuring seven feet from head to foot, the cross
itself being fifteen feet in height. It appears that Mr. McKinnon,
a native of Campbelltown, and now of Nantwich, was, it is believed,
originally a ship's carpenter by trade, with a strong artistic taste,
which was afterwards afforded proper training through the patronage
and assistance of the Argyll family. One night, about twelve years
ago, he had a dream. He saw, in his dream, on the inner wall of the
Cave Davaar a vivid picture of the Crucifixion, and so strikingly real
and soul-stirring was the vision that it continually haunted him in
his waking hours. He could not rest, and, as he himself said, 'I took
my brushes and materials and went to the cave. I found the smooth
surface I had seen in my dream, and set to work and painted. I stopped
in the cave for twenty-four hours until I had completed my task, and
when I had finished I had painted just the picture I had seen in my
dream.'"--Mr. S. J. Oakley, H.M.S. _Northampton_, Special Service.
A TERRIBLE FALL.
[Illustration]
"I send you a snap-shot, taken by me, of a man falling ninety feet!
The high-diver (forming part of a street carnival show) climbed up
his ninety-foot ladder set up in the main street of Washington, N.C.,
half an hour before he was to make his daring leap into four feet of
water. As he tested the ladder to see if all was in readiness one of
the guy-ropes broke, and, to the horror of the crowd below, man and
ladder came crashing down to the pavement. With rare presence of mind
the athlete turned when he felt the ladder start and slid down for his
life, thus lessening the fall by almost half. Strange to say he was
not killed, but his legs were badly broken."--Miss Mary Brickell Hoyt,
Candler Post Office, Buncombe Co., North Carolina.
AN ENORMOUS ICICLE.
[Illustration]
We have published a great many photographs, at different times, of
strange and beautiful effects wrought by frost, but the annexed is so
striking and peculiar that we have no hesitation in adding it to the
number. In the words of the sender: "My photograph is of an enormous
icicle, or one might call it a land iceberg on a small scale. The ice
was formed during a recent frost by the overflow of a spring which runs
from a pipe about eighteen feet from the ground into the branches of a
tree. In the full sunlight it was a very pretty and novel sight."--Mr.
Chas. W. Chilton, 17, West Gate, Sleaford, Lines.
WHEN IS A PLATE NOT A PLATE?
[Illustration]
"The accompanying photographs are of a kitchen dinner-plate, which, as
I discovered by chance, consists of two distinct pieces held together
merely by their peculiar conformation. There is enough spring in
the outer piece to enable the parts to be separated, which has been
repeatedly done; but when they are reunited the whole will easily pass
for a slightly cracked plate. From the colour of the fracture it is
evident that the plate was in use in its present condition for at least
some weeks."--Mr. S. B. Whanker, 62, Acre Lane, Brixton, S.W.
AN OYSTER IN THE KETTLE.
[Illustration]
"Here is the photo. of an oyster-shell which has been in a tea-kettle
for seven years. When I put it in it weighed about one and a half
ounces, and was not more than three thirty-seconds of an inch thick in
any part. Now it is three-quarters of an inch thick and weighs eleven
ounces. It had lain out in the garden for a long time and lost all the
crust, which accounted for it being so thin at first. No one has ever
been able to say what it is, although many have seen it in the glass
case in the shop."--Mr. R. G. Foster, Post Office Drug Stores, High
Street, Burford, Oxon.
A GEOGRAPHICAL POST-CARD.
[Illustration]
"This curious post-card was delivered to me in Richmond thirty-eight
hours after being posted in Lausanne. No other clue was given as to the
intended destination than that afforded by the physical peculiarities
of the 'map' itself--the address on the side of the card being written
during transmission. The full address as shown on the 'map' is as
follows, and is that of yours faithfully: 'To Edward H. W. Wingfield
King, Esq., 5, Spring Terrace, Richmond-on-Thames, Angleterre.'" This
is, perhaps, the most curious post-card of the many which we have
published, and which does the Post Office the most credit.
ELECTRIC LAMPS AND PLANT LIFE.
[Illustration]
"At the present time, when the effect upon the rainfall of the
kingdom of multiplying electrical agencies is being discussed, it is
interesting to note the results which follow upon the use of electric
lamps in the public thoroughfares of our towns. There is to be seen
at Southend-on-Sea a remarkable instance of the influence which the
electric street lamps have upon the duration of leaves. In Cliff Town
Parade those trees contiguous to the lamps were still well covered on
December the 1st ult. on the side nearest the light, when the next
tree, only a few yards distant, was entirely denuded of leaves. Our
photograph gives the first tree in the parade with a good show of
leaves on its front half, but the back of the same tree, which has been
shaded from the lamp, has entirely shed its leaves. The next few trees
are also quite bare of leaves, and looking down the row one sees that
only those trees opposite the lamps bear any sign of verdure."--Mr. W.
J. Cooper, 162, Stanstead Road, Forest Mill, S.E.
* * * * *
+----------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber notes: |
| |
| Fixed various punctuation. |
| P.149. 'phesaant' changed to 'pheasant'. |
| |
| Note: Underscore around words indicate italics: |
| _See page 135._ |
+----------------------------------------------------------+