1884 ***




[Illustration:

CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL

OF

POPULAR

LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART

Fifth Series

ESTABLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, 1832

CONDUCTED BY R. CHAMBERS (SECUNDUS)

NO. 17.—VOL. I.       SATURDAY, APRIL 26, 1884.       PRICE 1½_d._]




POST-OFFICE LIFE-ASSURANCE AND ANNUITIES.


The numerous aids which the government have from time to time afforded
through the agency of the Post-office for the encouragement of thrift
and providence amongst the poorer classes have generally been attended
with so much success, that it is surprising to hear of even one
exception in regard to such efforts. There is no doubt, however, as
was pointed out two years ago in this _Journal_, that the existing
scheme of Post-office Life-assurance and Annuities, which has been in
operation since 1865, has sadly hung fire, and but little advantage
has been taken of the system, as may be inferred from the fact, that
although it has been established almost twenty years, the total number
of policies for life-assurance issued during that period is not more
than six thousand five hundred and twenty-four; while the number
of annuity contracts granted during the same period is only twelve
thousand four hundred and thirty-five. Taking the latest returns, too,
we find that the life policies now existing have dwindled down to so
low a number as four thousand six hundred and fifteen; while the number
of annuity contracts now only reaches nine thousand three hundred and
seventy-three. These figures at once show how trifling and unimportant
have been the results from this branch of Post-office business; but
perhaps the causes for this want of success are not far to seek, if we
consider how circumscribed and restricted the present system is in its
action.

It was but natural, therefore, that so energetic a reformer as Mr
Fawcett should speedily turn his attention to this important subject,
on taking the helm in the affairs of the great department over
which he has so ably presided during the past four years. A select
Committee of the House of Commons was appointed in 1882, of which the
Postmaster-general was chairman; and after thoroughly inquiring into
the whole subject, that Committee unanimously recommended in their
Report the adoption of a scheme for the amelioration of the present
system of Post-office Life-assurance and Annuities which had been
put forward and explained to them by Mr James J. Cardin, the present
Assistant-receiver and Accountant-general to the Post-office. An Act of
Parliament was passed during the same session legalising the proposed
changes; and as it is understood that the new system will be brought
into operation on the first of May this year, it seems desirable, and
indeed important, that the undoubted benefits and privileges that will
accrue therefrom should be made known as widely as possible.

The essential feature of the new Post-office scheme for assuring lives
and granting annuities is, that every person wishing to assure his or
her life or to purchase an annuity through the Post-office shall become
a depositor in the Post-office savings-bank—a plan that will offer to
the public numerous facilities, and a large amount of convenience in
respect of this kind of business, which have hitherto not existed. In
the first place, the intending insurants or annuitants will in future
be able for that purpose to go to any post-office savings-bank in
the country—of which there are now over seven thousand. At present,
life-assurance and annuity business can be transacted at only two
thousand post-offices; but the intended system will at once place five
thousand additional post-offices at the disposal of the public in this
respect. In the next place, the cosmopolitanism of the savings-bank
system will apply equally to the assurance and annuities business
under its new conditions; and this it may be pointed out will prove
an advantage of no mean order to the classes for whom Post-office
Assurance and Annuities would appear to be chiefly designed, if it be
remembered how frequently working-men move about from place to place.
Under the present system, the insurant or annuitant is tied to the
particular post-office at which the insurance or the contract for
the annuity was originally effected, excepting by going through the
formalities involved in giving notice to the chief office in London of
a desire to change the place of payment of the premiums, which by most
persons of the classes concerned is regarded as a somewhat irksome job.

The great idea of the whole scheme seems to be to afford the public
in respect of Post-office Assurance and Annuities a maximum amount
of convenience with a minimum amount of trouble; and nothing could
probably further this object more successfully than Mr Cardin’s scheme
of working the assurance and annuities business in with that of the
savings-bank; for all the advantages and benefits which the public now
enjoy in regard to the latter-named branch of the Post-office will be
equally shared by those who intend to assure their lives or purchase
annuities through the same department. Mr Fawcett, who is a true
champion of the principles of thrift, has in all his schemes to this
end recognised the supreme importance of simplicity in the necessary
machinery, so far as the public at all events are concerned; and it
was probably the fact of such simplicity being a predominating feature
of the new insurance scheme that commended it so favourably to Mr
Fawcett’s mind.

Any person desiring to assure his life or to purchase an annuity
through the Post-office, will first of all procure the form or forms
applicable to his case, and such information as he may require from a
post-office at which savings-bank business is transacted, the number
of such offices in the United Kingdom being, as already stated, over
seven thousand. On completion of the necessary preliminaries, which
will be reduced to the smallest limits compatible with the safe conduct
of the business, he will be furnished, if not already a Post-office
savings-bank depositor, with a deposit book; and a deposit account
will be opened in his name, and he will then be asked to authorise the
transfer of the amount of all future premiums as they become due, from
his savings-bank to his assurance or annuity account. He will pay into
the savings-bank account thus opened such sums as he conveniently can
from time to time; and these sums, together with any accumulations
by way of interest, or from dividends on stock purchased under the
savings-bank regulations, will form the fund from which the Post-office
will take the premiums as they annually become due. So long, therefore,
as the annuitant or insurant, as the case may be, takes care to have a
sufficient balance in his savings-bank account when the premiums become
due, he will have no further trouble in the matter. In the event of the
balance being insufficient, the fact will be specially notified to him,
and reasonable time allowed for making good the deficiency.

The advantage in this scheme which the classes for whom it is
designed will probably best appreciate is the liberty, and consequent
convenience, of paying the premiums not in one annual lump sum and
on a specific date, but from time to time as may be agreeable to the
insurant or annuitant, and in such sums as may at the time suit his
pocket. He may indeed save a penny at a time for his annual premiums by
using the savings-bank stamp slip, which has spaces on it for twelve
stamps, and which when filled up may be passed into the post-office.
It is astonishing what benefits can be procured by the saving of only
a penny a week. For instance, a youth of sixteen, by putting a penny
postage-stamp each week on one of the slips referred to, might either
secure for himself at sixty, old-age pay of about three pounds a
year, or insure his life for about thirteen pounds; and if the saving
commenced at five years of age, the old-age pay would be about five
pounds a year. Another appreciable benefit which the new system will
afford as regards payment is, that by allowing the premiums to be paid
in as savings-bank deposits, the higher charges necessarily made when
premiums have to be collected in regular periodical instalments will be
saved to the insurant or annuitant, as the case may be.

To make a providence or thrift scheme at all successful it is of course
essential that the general working of such a scheme should be adapted
to the character of the classes whom it is intended to reach; and it is
precisely in this respect that the new scheme of Post-office Assurance
and Annuities would seem to succeed. As Mr Fawcett is himself ready
to admit, the purchase of an annuity or the keeping up of a policy of
insurance is at present a constant source of trouble to the person
concerned. Attendance at a particular post-office is necessary for the
payment of a premium, a special book has to be kept, and other rules
have to be observed. All this will be changed under the new system; and
when once the annuity has been purchased or the assurance effected, no
further action on the part of the person concerned will be necessary.
The premiums will be transferred at the chief office in London from
his savings-bank account to his assurance or annuity account without
trouble to him. He will thus be saved the task of remembering the
precise amount of premium due or the particular day on which it is to
be paid; and this arrangement will also abolish the necessity for a
special insurance or annuity book.

The operation of the new scheme will, so far as can be seen, lead to
some collateral advantages, of which not a few persons will be ready
to avail themselves. A depositor, for instance, in the Post-office
savings-banks, or a holder of government stock obtained through that
medium, will be able to give authority to the Postmaster-general
to use the interest or the dividends as the case may be, which may
accrue, for the purposes of purchasing a life policy or an annuity, or
both, as might be directed. Thus, as Mr Cardin tells us, a man at the
age of thirty, with one hundred pounds deposited in the Post-office
savings-bank, will be able to give an order directing that half the
interest thereon shall be applied to the assurance of his life for
fifty-three pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence, and the other
moiety to the purchase of a deferred annuity of eight pounds six
shillings and eightpence, commencing at the age of sixty; and if his
one hundred pounds were invested in government stock, the amounts of
his life-assurance and his deferred annuity would be greater, as the
dividends would be of greater amount than the interest received on a
mere deposit.

It may be briefly pointed out that under the Act of Parliament for
legalising the changes about to be wrought in the Post-office Assurance
and Annuities system, some important alterations in the limits will
be made. It has been long recognised that the present limits were ill
adapted to the kind of business sought. The higher limits were too low,
and the lower limits too high. The former will now be raised to the
useful maximum of two hundred pounds; while the present lower limit
of twenty pounds has been altogether abolished, so that an assurance
can be effected or an annuity purchased for any sum below two hundred
pounds. There will also be some beneficial changes as to the limits of
age. There can be no doubt that the first steps taken by the young to
make provision for the future act as a powerful incentive to greater
efforts, and that thus an annuity or life policy of considerable amount
is gradually built up. Mr Fawcett and the select Committee over which
he presided, recognising this fact, felt that such beginnings of thrift
could not be made too soon, and consequently recommended that the
present limits of age which restrict life-assurance to sixteen, and the
grant of annuities to ten, should be respectively reduced to eight and
five years; and these proposals have been sanctioned by the Act. It
should be added, that for obvious reasons, it was considered expedient
to limit the amount of the assurance to be effected upon the life of
a very young child; and the Act provides, therefore, that the amount
shall not exceed five pounds on the life of a child between the ages of
eight and fourteen years.

In conclusion, there can be no question that the changes which we
have indicated here will prove of the greatest value, now that the
importance of life-assurance and of making provision for old age is
becoming more appreciated among the people. It is true, of course, that
numerous benefit and friendly societies exist which offer various kinds
of privileges; but from causes that are not far to seek, the poor have
come to view such societies with a certain amount of distrust; and it
is needful that the government should step in to render the poorer
classes not only all the facilities at its command, but also that
assurance as regards stability which alone a government department can
impress on such classes.

We have attempted to show some of the principal advantages which will
accrue from that system, and there is one more that should not be
omitted. It is, that any person who may suddenly or unexpectedly become
possessed of a certain sum of money may invest it in the Post-office,
and by a single payment secure either an annuity in old age or a
life-assurance. The advantage of being able to make a single payment
is obvious; for it at once removes all further trouble and anxiety
from the mind of the person so investing his money as to the future;
a reflection which, to most persons, must be a source of infinite
satisfaction.




BY MEAD AND STREAM.


CHAPTER XXV.—A WORD IN SEASON.

The suspicion which Philip now entertained regarding his uncle’s habits
rendered the letters received from him the more surprising—they were so
calm, kindly, and firm. He did not receive many: Mr Shield preferred
that his instructions should be conveyed to him by Messrs Hawkins and
Jackson. There was one waiting for him, however, on the morning on
which he took possession of his chambers in Verulam Buildings, Gray’s
Inn.

Wrentham had tried to persuade him to take chambers in the West End,
indicating Piccadilly as the most suitable quarter for the residence of
a young man of fortune who was likely to mix in society. There he would
be close to the clubs, and five minutes from every place of amusement
worth going to.

But Philip had notions of his own on this subject. He had no particular
desire to be near the clubs: he expected his time to be fully occupied
in the enterprise on which he was entering. What leisure he might have
would of course be spent at Willowmere and Ringsford. The chambers
in Verulam Buildings were all that a bachelor of simple tastes could
desire. They were on the second floor, and the windows of the principal
apartment overlooked the green square. To the left were quaint old
gables and tiles, which the master-painter, Time, had transformed into
a wondrous harmony of all the shades and tints of green and russet.

Sitting there, with the noisy traffic of Gray’s Inn Road shut out by
double doors and double windows on the other side of the building, he
could imagine himself to be miles away from the bustle and fever of the
town, although he was in the midst of it. And sitting there, he read
this letter from Mr Shield, which began as usual without any of the
customary phrases of address:

    ‘I now feel that you have begun your individual life in
    earnest; and I am glad of it. By this step you secure full
    opportunity to show us what stuff you are made of. As already
    explained, I do not intend to interfere with you in any way. I
    do not wish you to seek my advice, and do not wish to give any.
    Once for all, understand me—my desire is to test by your own
    acts and judgment whether or not you are worthy of the fortune
    which awaits you.

    ‘When I say the fortune which awaits you, I mean something more
    than money.

    ‘I hope you will stand the test; but you must not ask me to
    help you to do so. Circumstances may tempt me at times to
    give you a word of warning; but my present intention is to do
    my best to resist the temptation. You must do everything for
    yourself and by yourself, if you are to satisfy me.

    ‘I admire the spirit which prompts your enterprise, and
    entirely approve of its object. But here let me speak my first
    and probably my last word of warning. No doubt you are anxious
    to convince me that the capital which has been placed at your
    disposal is not to be thrown away; and it is this anxiety,
    backed by the enthusiasm of inexperience, that leads you into
    your first blunder. You calculate upon reaping from six to
    eight per cent. on your investment. I do not pretend to have
    gone thoroughly into the subject; but considering the kind of
    investment and the manner in which you propose to work it, my
    opinion is that if you count upon from two to three per cent.,
    you will be more likely to avoid disappointment than if you
    adhere to the figures you have set down. At anyrate, you will
    err on the safe side.

    ‘Further: you should also, and to a like extent, moderate your
    calculations as to the degree of sympathy and co-operation you
    will receive from the people you intend to benefit. I should
    be sorry to rob you of any part of the joy which faith in his
    fellow-men gives to youth. I think the man is happier who fails
    because he has trusted others, than he who succeeds because he
    has trusted no one but himself. I have failed in that way, and
    may fail again; yet my belief in the truth of this principle of
    trust is unchanged.

    ‘At the same time, whilst you have faith in others, your eyes
    should be clear. Before you give your confidence, do what you
    can to make sure that it is not given to a knave. Should you,
    with eyes open, allow yourself to be deceived, you would be a
    fool, not a generous man. I was a fool.

    ‘Pardon this allusion to myself; there was no intention of
    making any when this letter was begun.

    ‘Briefly, whilst hoping that your enterprise may be completely
    successful, I wish to remind you of the commonplace fact that
    greed and selfishness are elements which have to be reckoned
    with in everything we attempt to do for or with others, whether
    the attempt be made in the wilds of Griqualand or in this
    centre of civilisation. It is a miserable conclusion to arrive
    at in looking back on the experience of a life; but it is the
    inevitable one. The only people you will be able to help are
    those who are willing to help themselves in the right way—which
    means those who have learned that the success of a comrade
    is no barrier to their own success. You will have to learn
    that the petty jealousies which exist amongst the workers in
    even the smallest undertakings are as countless as they are
    incomprehensible to the man who looks on all around him with
    generous eyes. You will be a happy man if twenty years hence
    you can say that your experience has been different from mine.

    ‘You are not to think, however, that I consider all people
    moved by greed and selfishness alone: I only say that these
    are elements to be taken into account in dealing with them.
    The most faithful friends are sometimes found amongst the most
    ignorant of mankind: the greatest scoundrels amongst those who
    are regarded as the most cultivated.

    ‘Do you find this difficult to understand? You must work out
    its full meaning for yourself. I say no more. You have your
    warning. Go on your way, and I trust you will prosper.’

This was signed abruptly, Austin Shield, as if the writer feared that
he had already said too much.

‘How he must have suffered,’ was Philip’s thought, after the first few
moments of reflection over this letter. It was the longest he had ever
received from his uncle, and seemed to disclose more of the man’s inner
nature than he had hitherto been permitted to see. ‘How he must have
suffered! Would I bear the scar so long if—— What stuff and nonsense!’

He laughed at himself heartily, and a little scornfully for allowing
the absurd question even to flit across his mind. As if any possible
combination of circumstances could ever arise to take Madge away from
him! The tombstone of one of them was the only barrier that could ever
stand between them; and the prospect of its erection was such a long
way off, that he could think of it lightly if not philosophically.

But as he continued to stare out at those quaint russet gables and
the green square, a dreamy expression slowly filled his eyes, and
visions of the impossible passed before him. He had thrown himself
into this work which he had found to do with such earnestness, that he
had already passed more than one day without going to see Madge. Her
spirit was in the work, and inspired his devotion to it, and all his
labour was for her. In that way she was always with him, although her
form and clear eyes might not be constantly present to his mind. That
was a consolatory thought for himself; but would it satisfy her? Was
it sufficient to satisfy himself how he had allowed three days to pass
without his appearance at Willowmere?

He was startled when he recollected that it was three days since he had
been there. Three days—an age, and how it could have passed so quickly
he was unable to understand. He had certainly intended every evening
to go as usual. But every day had been so full of business—details of
plans and estimates to study and master—that he had been glad to lie
down and sleep. The task was the more laborious for him, as he had
not had previous knowledge of its practical intricacies, and he was
resolved to understand thoroughly everything that was done.

‘I suppose she will laugh, and say it is like me—always at extremes;
either trying to do too much, or doing too little. At anyrate, she
will be convinced that I have taken kindly to harness. We’ll see this
afternoon.’

There was another influence which unconsciously detained him in town.
He shrank somehow from the interview with his father which must take
place on his return to Ringsford. He had hoped to be able to take
with him some friendly message from Mr Shield which would lead to the
reconciliation of the two men; and as yet he was as far as ever from
being able to approach the subject with his uncle.

His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Wrentham, spruce and
buoyant, a flower in his button-hole, and looking as if he had made a
safe bet on the next racing event.

‘Came to tell you about that land,’ he said.

‘I suppose you have made arrangements for the purchase?’ rejoined
Philip, as he folded his uncle’s letter and replaced it in the envelope.

Wrentham followed the action with inquisitive eyes. He was asking
himself, ‘Has that letter anything to do with this coolness about the
bargain, on which he was so hot a few days ago, or is it accident?’
Then, with a little real wonder, and some affectation of amusement at
the innocence of his principal:

‘My dear Philip!’—Wrentham was one of those men who will call
an acquaintance of a few hours by his Christian name, and by an
abbreviation of it after an intimacy of a couple of days—‘you don’t
mean to say that you imagine a question of the transfer of land in this
greatest city of the world is to be settled off-hand in a forenoon?’

‘O no; I did not think that, Wrentham; but as the land is very much on
the outskirts of the city, and has been for a long time in the market,
I did not expect that there would be much delay in coming to terms
about it.’

‘Ah! but you forget that it is within easy distance of an existing
railway station, and close by the site of one which will be in working
order before your houses can be built.’

‘Exactly. That is why I chose the spot.’

‘Just so; and you can have it; but the fellows know its full value, and
mean to have it. Look at that.’

He handed him a paper containing the statement of the terms on which
the land in question was to be sold. Philip read it carefully, frowned,
and tossed it back to his agent.

‘Ridiculous!’ he exclaimed. ‘They must have thought you were acting
for the government or a railway company. I believe it is considered
legitimate to fleece _them_. Half the money is what I will give, and no
more.’

When a clever man thinks he has performed a particularly clever trick,
and finds that, by some instinct of self-preservation, the person to
be tricked upsets all his calculations, whilst there still remains
a chance of persuading him that he is making a mistake, there comes
over the clever person a peculiar change. It is like a sudden lull in
the wind: he shows neither surprise nor regret on his own part, but a
certain respectful pity for the blindness of the other in not seeing
the advantage offered him. So with Wrentham at this moment. He left the
paper lying on the table, as if it had no further interest for him, and
took out his cigar-case.

‘You don’t mind a cigar, I suppose?... Have one?’

‘Thank you. Here is some sherry: help yourself.’

Wrentham helped himself, lit his cigar, and sank back on an easy-chair,
like a man whose day’s work is done, and who feels that he has earned
the right to rest comfortably.

‘I’ve been trotting between pillar and post about that land all day,’
he said languidly, ‘because I fancied you had set your mind on it;
and now I feel as tired as if I had been doing a thousand miles in a
thousand hours. Glad it’s over.’

‘You do not think it is worth making the offer, then?’

‘My dear boy, they would think we were making fun of them, and be
angry.’

Wrentham rolled the cigar between his fingers and smiled complacently.

‘Surely, they must be aware that the price they are asking is
absurd—they cannot hope to obtain it from any one in his senses. Look
at this paragraph: there is land bought by the corporation yesterday—it
is almost within the city, and the price is more than a third less than
these people are asking from us.’

Wrentham’s eyes twinkled over the paragraph.

‘Ah, yes; but, you see, these people were obliged to sell; ours are
not. However, we need not bother about it. They require more than you
will give, and there is an end of it. The question is, what are we to
do now?’

‘Take land farther out, where the owners will be more reasonable, and
we can reduce our rents so as to cover the railway fares.’

‘But the farther out you go, the more difficulty you will have in
finding workmen.’

‘I have thought of that, and have secured an excellent foreman, who
will bring us the labourers we require; and for the skilled workmen, an
advertisement will find them.’

‘And who is the man you have engaged?’

‘Caleb Kersey.’

Wrentham laughed softly as he emitted a long serpentine coil of smoke.

‘On my word, you do things in a funny way. I am supposed to be your
counsellor as well as friend; and you complete your arrangements before
you tell me anything about them. I don’t see that my services are of
any use to you.’

‘We have not had time to find that out yet. What advice could you have
given me in reference to Kersey?’

‘Oh, I have nothing to say against the man, except that, as soon as you
had your establishment ready to begin operations, he would have every
soul in your employment out on strike for higher wages or for new terms
of agreement, which will cause you heavy loss whether you knuckle down
or refuse. I know the kind of man: he will be meek enough until he gets
you into a corner—or thinks he has—and then he turns round and tells
you that he is master of the situation, whatever you may be. That’s his
sort.’

‘I think you are mistaken, Wrentham. I am sure that you are mistaken so
far as Kersey is concerned. He managed that business of the harvest for
my father when nobody else could, and he managed it admirably. He wants
nothing more than fair-play between master and man, and he believes
that my scheme is likely to bring about that condition.’

‘All right,’ said Wrentham, smiling, and helping himself to another
glass of wine; ‘here’s good luck to him—and to you. We are all
naturally inclined to be pleased with the people who agree with us.
We’ll say that I am mistaken, and, on my honour, I hope it may be so.’

Philip flushed a little: he could not help feeling that Wrentham was
treating him as if he were a child at play, and did not or could not
see that he was a man making a bold experiment and very much in earnest.

‘It is not merely because Kersey agrees with me that I have engaged
him,’ he said warmly. ‘I know something about the man, and I have
learned a good deal from him. He has the power to convey my meaning to
others better than I could do it myself. They might doubt me at first;
they will trust him; and he is one of those men who are willing to
work.’

‘That is everything you want in the meanwhile, except the land on
which to begin operations. I promised to take your answer back to
these people by four o’clock. I shall have just time to drive to their
office. I suppose that there is nothing to say except that we cannot
touch it at the price?’

‘Nothing more.’

‘Very well. I will report progress to-morrow; but I have no expectation
of bringing them down to your figure. Good-day.’

Although Wrentham bustled out as if in a hurry, he descended the stairs
slowly.

‘He may have gone in for a mad scheme,’ he was thinking; ‘but he is a
deal ’cuter in his way of setting about it than I bargained for....
This is confoundedly awkward for me.... Must get out of it somehow.’

(_To be continued._)




MY OLD COLLEGE ROOMS.


No easy task would it be to analyse the medley of conflicting emotions
that run riot in the heart of an old ’varsity man revisiting the haunts
of his academical ‘auld langsyne.’ Even were I equal to it, I would not
publish the results of my experiment. Far too sacred, too personal, at
least for the pages of a magazine, were my own thoughts and memories
the other day, as I stealthily stole up my old staircase in ——’s,
Oxford. ‘Stealthily stole,’ I say advisedly; for I felt unpleasantly
more like a burglar in my pilgrim-ascent, than a respectable country
clergyman. In a university sense, generations had passed away since my
college days; since I, in my generation, was wont to rollick in and
out of those ancient ‘oaks’ and about those venerable banisters. One
felt a kind of sad impression that one belonged to a bygone age; that
one’s only rightful _locus standi_ in the university now was a shelf
in the fossil department of its museum; that one was _de trop_ in this
land of the living; that one was ‘unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown,’
a sort of college ghost that ought long since to have been laid. But
now, the gray goose-quill would fain flutter on, by the page, with
emotions which, as I have said, are too sacred for publication. I will
confine myself to more exoteric details. At the funny old cupola-like
entrance—where, on the first impulse, I found myself all but taking
off my hat to the ‘silent speaking’ stones of its venerable, unsightly
pile—I had met a porter, but not _the_ porter. On the staircase I
had met a scout, but not _the_ scout. No civil salute and smile of
recognition from either of those; only a curious stare—a look that
seemed to ask, ‘What business have you to come back and revisit
earth’—(I beg the reader’s pardon!)—‘_college_, disturbing us in our
day and generation?’

Then, at last, well ‘winded’ by my climb, I actually stood once
again in front of my own old ‘oak;’ and much I wonder if ever pious
Druid stood with deeper feelings of reverence before his own! It was
superscribed with a most unusual, though not foreign, name; one which
to me at least was new. So far, this was a comfort; for ‘Jones’ would
have made me very sad and at ‘Smith’ I feel I should have wept. As
it was, I found myself already speculating with some curiosity what
manner of man might own to it. Somehow, with perhaps pardonable vanity,
I seemed to have expected ‘Ichabod;’ but that was not the present
occupant’s name. At the inner door, which was ajar, I knocked, honestly
trying not to peep; but the gentleman was not at home. Just then, a
jolly young fellow, books under arm, and obviously out from lecture,
came bounding up the stairs, two or three steps at a time, in the
real old style. Oh, how the aged, nearly worn-out parson envied now
the limbs and wind that could perform that once familiar feat! There
used to be a _je ne sais quoi_—a sense of freedom, I suppose it was,
after being ‘cribbed, cabined, and confined’ for an hour at lecture,
that always made one sadly forgetful for the nonce of one’s dignity
in that matter of going up-stairs. At other times, the leisurely
step which betokened the importance of the (newly fledged) ‘man’ was
carefully observed; and used, no doubt, to make due impression upon the
freshman—that junior Verdant who always had what Carlyle would call a
‘seeing eye’ for such details of deportment. But coming from lecture,
even the old hand, the third-year man, now, as of yore, involuntarily
betrays a lingering trace of schoolboy days by a very natural, but most
undignified, hop, skip, and jump up-stairs, to doff cap and gown and
don flannels for the river.

Well, up he came, this embryo bishop, statesman, or judge—I know not
which—and fixing him Ancient Mariner-wise with my eye, I told him my
story; feeling rather sheepish until I had satisfactorily accounted for
my being discovered hovering about the coal-bin on his landing. More
than one kind of expression flitted over the youth’s features as he
listened to me; but the predominating one, which his politeness in vain
struggled to conceal, was characteristic of the antiquary surveying
some newly dug up relic of a past epoch. ‘I am not Mr Ichabod’ (let
us suppose the name), he said; ‘but I am his neighbour on this floor;
and I’m sure he would wish you to go into your old rooms. I will
explain it to him. He will be sorry that he was out when you came.’
With this and a mutual touch of hats, we parted; he to his rooms, and
I, after an absence of some forty-five years, to mine. Suggestive
enough was the very first object that caught my eye upon entering; for
over the bedroom door was placed, by way of ornament, a real skull,
with crossbones! There it serenely rested on a black cushion fixed to
a small shelf, horribly grinning at me. I could have wished a more
pleasant welcome to greet me after my long absence.

‘Eheu! fugaces, Postume, Postume’ (The years fly by, and are lost to
me, lost to me), I had said to myself all the morning, as I wandered
about the old college haunts of my far-away youth; and if my perception
of that sad fact needed quickening, that skull certainly brought it
home to me with a vengeance! Clearly, my successor was a bit of a
‘mystic.’ Weird prints on the walls; curious German literature on the
shelves and tables; outlandish ornaments everywhere: these and such as
these spoke for their absent owner, and I felt that I could conjecture
the man by his various kickshaws. I pictured him to myself reading
for ‘a class’ by the midnight oil, and occasionally stimulating his
flagging interest in the classics by casting a philosophic glance at
the skull, to bethink him of the flight of time and man’s ‘little
day’ for work. Or, again, I could see him as he refreshed himself on
the sofa with a grim legend or two of the Rhine, and meditated upon
the fate of some medieval fool wandering about to sell his soul, _si
emptorem invenerit_, until he met and did fatal business with the dread
merchant of the nether world. At such times, no doubt, his death’s head
would have a specially attractive charm for him, and elicit some such
sigh as ‘Alas! poor Yorick,’ in reference to the deluded Rhinelander.
Two more clues to the character of my young friend were obvious, and
right glad I was to obtain them. In the first place, he was not, as
are too many of his university generation, so ‘mad,’ through much
‘learning,’ as to deny or ignore his God. Witness a well-worn Bible
and Prayer-book; and even an illuminated text opposite his bed—the
gift, perhaps, of a pious mother, or handiwork of a pious sister, whose
holy influence he did not despise. And, again, he was not one of our
unhealthy ascetics of modern society, secular ascetics, I mean—if I may
coin such an expression—whose artificial merits are purely negative.
Witness his rack of grotesquely shaped and well-cleaned pipes, no less
than that three-handled jorum, with the shrivelled peel of the previous
evening still therein!

Having taken notice of such apparent trifles on every side, and not
liking to trespass longer, I prepared to leave. But if the ‘man’ who
occupies my Old Rooms is brought as safely to his journey’s end as I
have now well nigh been brought to mine, my last half-minute alone in
that ancient ‘upper chamber’ was not spent there in vain.




MY FELLOW-PASSENGER.


IN TWO CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER II.

The next afternoon, I landed at Southampton; and having left my luggage
with Raynor’s at the railway station, and exchanged my twenty-five
sovereigns for their equivalent in Bank of England notes, I started
off to see some relatives living a short way out of the town. After
a few pleasant hours at Hambledon Hall, I drove back to Southampton,
took an evening train to London, and by half-past nine was comfortably
installed in my old quarters, No. 91 Savile Street, W.

In the morning arrived a telegram from Raynor: ‘Heard of a good
thing in Dublin. Going there at once. May be a long business. Better
countermand my rooms. Will write.’ Here without doubt was an end, at
least for the present, of our partnership. Whether Paul intended me to
gather that the ‘good thing’ was to involve my presence in Ireland, I
knew not; but having already come to a very distinct understanding with
him that the _venue_ of any future operations must, as far as I was
concerned, be laid in or near London, I was able to decide at once that
even the claims of friendship did not demand my expatriation to the
other side of the Irish Channel.

London was hot, airless, and uninviting this 21st of July. Two days had
elapsed, during which I had heard nothing more from Raynor; and as I
loitered down to my club, there came into my mind the recollection of
Keymer, a breezy little homestead among the Sussex downs, where lived a
middle-aged bachelor cousin of mine, and of his cordial invitation to
repeat a visit I had paid him the previous summer. Half an hour later I
had posted my letter to Henry Rodd, whose reply by return post was all
I could wish: On and after the 24th, he would be delighted to see me
for as long as I cared to stay.

On the morning of the 26th, the day upon which I was to leave for
Keymer, my landlady presented herself in my sitting-room, and with an
expression as of one who has intelligence to convey, opened upon me
with: ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, but there was a gentleman called
yesterday, askin’ whether we had any one lodgin’ here as was jest back
from furrin parts, because he’d got a friend who he thought was goin’
to some lodgin’s in this street, and he couldn’t find him out—not the
gentleman, couldn’t, that is, sir. I’m sure he knew you, sir, because
he said, when I called you Mr Rodd, “Ah! is that Mr _P._ Rodd?” says
he. “Yes,” says I to the gent; “it’s Mr Peter Rodd.” “O yes,” says
he, careless-like, “I know Mr Peter Rodd by name.” Then he give me
five shillin’s, sir, and told me be sure and not trouble you about his
’avin’ been, seein’ as ’ow you wouldn’t know who he was—he didn’t give
no name, sir—but I thought I’d best tell you, sir, because it didn’t
seem right-like his givin’ me five shillin’s to say nothin’ about it.
Excuse me for mentionin’ it, sir; but it’s what I call ’ush-money, and
it’s burnin’ ’oles in my pocket ever since.’

Here the worthy woman paused for breath; and wondering much who
this lavish unknown might be, and how he came to know so obscure an
individual as myself by name, I, perhaps indiscreetly, asked for a
description of his appearance, being then unaware of the curious fact,
that people in good Mrs Morton’s station of life are wholly incapable
of conveying to a third person the faintest impression of a stranger’s
exterior. Thus she could not say whether he was dark or fair, tall or
short, young or old, stout or thin. Upon one point only did her memory
serve her: ‘His necktie was a speckly, twisted up in a sailorses’
knot.’ Having triumphantly furnished me with this useful clue to the
visitor’s identity, Mrs Morton took herself down-stairs.

A sudden thought struck me, and I ran to the window. No; there was
not a soul to be seen in the quiet little street save a very ordinary
looking person in a gray dustcoat, sunning himself against the
pillar-box at the corner some fifty yards away; evidently a groom
waiting for orders, I thought. An hour later, I went out to make some
purchases, lunched at Blanchard’s, and drove back to Savile Street to
prepare for my journey to Sussex. There, in friendly converse with a
policeman at the same corner, was Citizen Gray-coat. I looked sharply
at him as my cab passed. His tie was _not_ ‘speckly,’ nor had he any
outward pretensions to the title of ‘gentleman.’

I reached Keymer without adventure late in the afternoon, my cousin
himself driving over in his trap to meet me. Turning round on the
platform, after our first hand-shaking, to look for my travelling-bag,
I saw stooping in the act of reading the card attached to the
handle—_the man in the gray dustcoat_.

It could not be a chance! No; look at it which way I would, there
scowled at me the unpleasant but undeniable fact that I was being
‘watched.’ For what purpose, it was of course impossible to tell,
though I had no difficulty in connecting the visitor of the day before
with the apparition in gray at the little Sussex junction. I waited
till the evening to mention the matter to my cousin Henry, who,
after a ringing laugh and many small jokes at my expense, suddenly
became serious, and remarked: ‘But I say, Peter, it is an excessively
disagreeable thing to be followed about in that sort of way. Can’t you
account for the mistake in any way, so as to be able to get rid of the
fellow to-morrow?’

At that moment the suspicion against which I had fought so hard was
borne in with irresistible force upon my mind, and almost dizzy with
the physical effort to conceal its effect, I muttered my concurrence
with Rodd, that for his sake no less than my own, steps should at once
be taken to come to an understanding with the man and relieve him of
his duty. Looking forward with interest to learning the nature of the
mistake next day, we parted for the night.

That circumstances were so shaping themselves as to do away with
the necessity of any action from our side, did not, and could not
enter into my calculations, as, bitterly wondering when and how this
miserable suspicion would become a sickening certainty, I fell into a
dream-haunted and unquiet sleep.

We had breakfasted, and were leaving the house towards eleven o’clock
the next morning, intending, if we could sight him, to interview
the gray-coated sentry, when a station fly drove up to the door and
deposited a well-built and gentlemanly looking person, who, slightly
raising his hat, said: ‘May I ask if either of you gentlemen is Mr
Peter Rodd?’

Casually noticing that the speaker wore a speckled tie, I replied:
‘That is my name.’

‘Then it is my duty to inform you, sir, that I have a warrant for
your arrest on a criminal charge, and at the same time to caution you
against saying anything which may hereafter be used in your disfavour.’

‘What is the charge?’ I asked, ‘with the air,’ as Henry afterwards
observed, ‘of a man who is in the habit of being arrested every morning
after breakfast.’

‘Suspicion of having stolen on or about the 23d June a sum of one
thousand five hundred and fifty pounds in gold from the Alliance Bank,
Cape Town, in which you were an employee under the name of Percival
Royston.’

‘And what evidence have you that this gentleman is the person for
whose arrest you have a warrant?’ interposed my cousin.

‘Strictly speaking, I have told you all I am permitted to do,’ was
the courteous answer. ‘But it will not be a very grave breach of duty
if I say that my prisoner is known to have reached England in the
_Balbriggan Castle_, to have exchanged gold for notes at Southampton,
and to be in possession of a quantity of luggage marked P. R., some of
which has been found upon examination to contain clothes, books, and
letters bearing the name Percival Royston, Alliance Bank, Cape Town;
while in other boxes were found similar articles with the name Peter
Rodd, showing the adoption of the alias.’

‘Would it be within your province to release your prisoner upon
undoubted proof that he is not the person wanted?’

The officer thought for a moment, and replied: ‘If such proof
could be confirmed by a magistrate—and after communicating with
headquarters—_yes_.’

‘Then,’ said my cousin, ‘will you be good enough to bring your prisoner
to the manor-house, and ask the squire—who is a magistrate—three simple
questions?—The name of your prisoner—How long it is since they last
met—What is to his knowledge the total duration of the prisoner’s
recent absence from England?’

This my captor readily consented to do; and after the three questions
had been answered by the squire—at whose house I had dined just a year
before—telegraphed to Scotland Yard, asking whether it was known how
long Royston had been continuously in the service of the bank. The
answer came speedily: ‘Five or six years;’ followed half an hour later
by a second message: ‘A mistake has occurred. Do not arrest Rodd. If
already done, express regret, and return at once.’ There was just
time for him to catch an up-train; and after carrying out his last
instructions with great politeness, the detective drove off, stopping,
as I observed, at the end of the drive to pick up a man who was leaning
against the gate-post, his hands buried deep in the pockets of a gray
dustcoat.

The next post from London brought a very ample explanation and apology
for ‘the painful position in which I had been placed through an
exceedingly regrettable mistake. This had arisen through the imperfect
information furnished to the authorities in the first instance as to
the movements of the real culprit, who, they had unfortunately no room
whatever to doubt, was the passenger going under the name of Paul
Raynor. This person, it was now ascertained, had taken passage on board
a sailing-ship for South America. The similarity of initials, with
other facts of which I was aware, had combined to mislead those engaged
in the case; while the discovery of Royston’s luggage in my possession
had of course confirmed their suspicions.

‘They were directed to add that the alias under which I knew him had
of course been assumed only after the _Balbriggan Castle_ had actually
sailed, as the message brought by the next homeward-bound steamer
to Madeira, and thence telegraphed to England, did not contain this
important item of information.’

Opening the newspaper two or three days later, I read at the head of
a column, in conspicuous type: ‘Arrival of the Cape Mail. Audacious
Robbery from a Cape Town Bank’—then in smaller print: ‘A considerable
sensation has been caused at Cape Town by the discovery of a robbery
planned and carried out with an audacity which it is not too much
to describe as unique in the annals of crime. The circumstances
are briefly these. On the morning of Wednesday the 16th June, the
mail-steamer _Turcoman_ arrived in Table Bay from England, having on
board some five thousand pounds in gold for the Alliance Bank, to
whose care it was duly delivered on the same day. A portion of this
amount, namely, fifteen hundred pounds, was destined for the use of
the bank’s Diamond Fields branch at De Vriespan, where it was required
with all expedition. The overland service between Cape Town and the
Diamond Fields is a bi-weekly one, leaving the former place at six
A.M. on Monday and Thursday, and covering the whole distance of seven
hundred miles in about five days nine hours. In order, therefore, to
insure the despatch of the case containing the specie by the mail-cart
on the following day, Mr Percival Royston, the assistant-cashier,
was requested to undertake, in conjunction with the senior clerk, Mr
Albertus Jager, the duty of counting and repacking the gold, after the
completion of their ordinary work at six or seven o’clock. According to
the latter gentleman’s statement, the task was not commenced till after
dinner at about eight o’clock. They had made some considerable progress
when Royston remarked how pale and tired his companion was looking.
Upon Mr Jager’s admitting that he was feeling far from well, the other
asked him if he would not give up the work and go home to bed, saying
that he (Royston) would finish the counting himself and have everything
ready in plenty of time for to-morrow. Knowing how thoroughly the
assistant-cashier was trusted by the bank, Mr Jager allowed himself to
be persuaded, and left at once for his own quarters. The case was duly
despatched in the morning, in charge of a clerk proceeding to the De
Vriespan office on promotion, the fact being reported by Royston to the
head-cashier.

‘Nothing further appears to have transpired until Tuesday the 21st
June, when the head-cashier addressing Royston, asked: “By the way,
when is that gold due at De Vriespan? To-day?”

“Yes, sir,” was the answer; “we ought to get the telegram announcing
its arrival in half an hour or so.”

‘It is the custom of the bank to send a junior clerk to the home-going
mail-steamer with late letters for England, which may be posted on
board upon payment of an extra fee. This duty Royston asked to be
allowed to perform on the present occasion, stating that he would be
glad of the opportunity of seeing some friends off who were leaving by
the steamer that day. He left the bank at three forty-five, was seen to
go on board with a travelling-bag ten minutes later, and has not since
been heard of. His other luggage, consisting of two portmanteaus, had
been removed from his lodgings before daybreak, Royston having somehow
obtained the services of a coolie, who states that, following his
instructions, he first carried the luggage to an inn near the docks,
subsequently transferring it thence by hand-truck to the ship as soon
as the dock gates were opened. It should be remarked that Royston
occupied rooms on the ground-floor, the landlord and his wife and the
other lodgers sleeping on the first and second floors. But for this
fact, it would probably have been impossible to effect the removal of
the luggage without disturbing the other occupants of the house.

‘At five o’clock a telegram was received at the Alliance Bank: “De
Vriespan, four thirty. Case just arrived. On being opened, found to
contain nothing but lead-sheeting to exact weight of gold expected.
Clerk in charge denies all knowledge. Wire any instructions.” A cab
dashed furiously to the docks, its occupant the head-cashier, who, as
he turned the corner towards the quay, was just able to descry the
smoke of the vanishing steamer now four or five miles on her way. “Too
late!” shouted the Steam Company’s agent as he passed on foot. “Ship
sailed sharp at four thirty!”

‘The above incident will most probably give a sharp impetus to the
movement, already initiated in Cape commercial circles, for the
establishment of ocean cable communication with Great Britain direct,
the importance of which, from an imperial as well as a colonial point
of view, has long been recognised.’

       *       *       *       *       *

A keen east wind was blowing in my teeth as I hurried along the Strand
towards Temple Bar one morning in March, and as I bent my head to meet
a more than usually piercing gust, I came against a passer-by, who
answered my apology with a smile of recognition. ‘Mr Rodd, I think?’

It was no other than the polite detective, more polite than ever,
because of the whirling dust and biting wind, against which the best of
good-humour is so rarely proof.

‘Ah, sir,’ he went on, as we drew into a low archway for a moment’s
talk, ‘you would be astonished to hear the story of the wildgoose chase
we had after Mr Percival Royston last summer and autumn. If you would
care to call in at my quarters any day after four o’clock, I should be
very pleased to tell you about it.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied; ‘I will see. Meanwhile, how did it end?’

‘All wrong for _us_, I am sorry to say. He got clean away from us; and
I don’t suppose we shall ever hear of him again.’

The sun shone out for a moment, and the wind seemed to have lost
something of its bitter chill as I wished Detective Elms good-morning
and passed on my way eastward.




THE MONTH:

SCIENCE AND ARTS.


The abnormally mild winter—if winter it can be called—which has been
experienced this year, has once more raised hopes in the minds of
farmers that brighter times are in store for them. The extreme mildness
of the season has not only been favourable for all field operations,
but it has been most beneficial for stock. Lambs have never been so
numerous as they are this year in many of the southern counties, for
not only have they had the climate in their favour during the most
critical time of their lives, but there has been a wonderful number of
twins. Indeed, the proportion of these latter to single births has on
some farms been as high as sixteen out of twenty.

A silver lining to the dark cloud which has so long overshadowed the
British farmer may also perhaps be discerned in certain operations
which are now being pushed forward at Lavenham, in Suffolk. A private
Company has been formed to recommence, under the more favourable
conditions which the progress of scientific agriculture has rendered
possible, the making of beet-sugar in this country. Between the years
1869 and 1873, Mr James Duncan tried a similar experiment, and the
present Company has acquired his works at Lavenham, to take up once
more the industry which he tried to establish. The recently devised
methods of extracting sugar from the beet are much easier and simpler,
and far less costly, than the processes employed by Mr Duncan; and the
promoters of the enterprise are sanguine of success, if they can only
induce the farmers to grow sufficient beetroot for them to operate
upon. The Company has arranged favourable terms of transport with the
railway authorities; for instance, a truck-load of roots can be brought
to Lavenham from Bury—a distance of eleven miles—for eighteenpence a
ton. For the same distance, Mr Duncan formerly paid four shillings and
twopence a ton. The experiment will be watched with extreme interest by
all agriculturists.

Mr Wood’s lecture to the Institute of Agriculture on the subject of
Ensilage gave some valuable particulars of experiments he had made
with the object of ascertaining which are the crops that can be most
profitably cultivated for that method of preservation. He first of all
took the value of ensilage at twenty-six shillings and eightpence,
or about one-third the value of hay. An acre of heavy meadow-grass
produced twelve tons of compressed food; and the same quantity dried
into hay weighed only two tons seven hundredweight. After allowing for
the cost of producing each, the lecturer showed a balance in favour of
the ensilage over hay of nearly five pounds sterling an acre. Buckwheat
cultivated for treatment as ensilage, against the same valued as a
seed-crop, showed a gain in favour of the silo of two pounds eight
shillings and threepence per acre. Oats compared in like manner show a
balance of five pounds per acre; and here there is a further gain, for
oats cut in the green state have not had the time to exhaust the soil
as if they had been left to mature. There is still a further gain in
favour of ensilage, when it is remembered that the ground is cleared
before the usual time, and is therefore ready very early for new crops.
The lecturer concluded by throwing out a useful hint that dairymen and
cowkeepers in towns could be with great advantage supplied with the new
form of fodder in casks, a sixty-gallon cask holding about thirty-one
stone-weight of the compressed material.

Mr W. F. Petrie, whose recently published book upon the Pyramids of
Gezeh we noticed two months ago, has just undertaken some excavations
in another part of Egypt, which are likely to bear fruitful results.
Amidst a desolation of mud and marsh, there lies, in the north-eastern
delta of the Nile, a place far from the track of tourists, and which
is therefore seldom visited. This now remote spot, Sàn-el-Hagar (that
is, Sàn of the Stones), was once a splendid city, in the midst of the
cornlands and pasturage which formed part of the biblical ‘field of
Zoan.’ Excavations were begun here in 1861 by Mariette Pasha, and he
unearthed the site of the principal temple; but lack of funds and want
of support generally, caused him to give up the work, though not before
several treasures had found their way from his diggings to the Boulak
Museum at Cairo, and to the Louvre. Mr Petrie, under the auspices of
the newly formed Egypt Exploration Fund, commences the work anew in
this promising field of research; and before long we may possibly have
very important finds to chronicle.

At the recent meeting of the Scottish Meteorological Society, held in
Edinburgh, an interesting account was given of the daily work which has
been carried on in the Ben Nevis Observatory since its first occupation
in November last, and which is telegraphed daily from the summit of the
mountain. Several new instruments have been added since that date, and
improvements in the buildings costing a thousand pounds will shortly
be commenced. Referring to the new marine station at Granton, near
Edinburgh, Mr Murray of the _Challenger_ expedition gave an interesting
account of the work going on there. The laboratory is now in working
order, and there is accommodation for five or six naturalists. It is
intended to offer this accommodation free of expense to any British or
foreign naturalist having a definite object of study in view.

The French Academy of Sciences has just received an interesting account
of a meteorite which fell not long ago near Odessa. A bright serpentine
trail of fire was seen one morning to pass over that town; and the
editor of one of the papers, surmising that a meteoric mass might have
fallen from the sky, offered a reward to any one who would bring it to
him. A peasant, who had been terribly frightened by the stone falling
close to him as he worked in the fields, and burying itself in the
ground, answered this appeal. He had dug the stone out of the soil,
and preserved it, keeping the matter quite secret from his neighbours,
as he feared ridicule. This stone was found to be a shapeless mass
weighing nearly eighteen pounds. The fall of another meteorite, which
in its descent near the same town wounded a man, was also reported; but
it had been broken into fragments and distributed among the peasants,
who preserved them as talismans.

The visitors to Cliff House, San Francisco, had recently the rare
opportunity of viewing a marvellous mirage, during which the headland
of North Farallon, which is under ordinary circumstances quite out
of sight, indeed absolutely below the horizon, not only came into
view, but appeared to be only a few miles from the shore. The strange
sight fascinated the onlookers for many hours, and marine glasses and
telescopes were brought to bear upon these veritable castles in the air.

It seems strange that Samuel Pepys, whose famous Diary is known to
all English readers, should have been left without a monument in the
old London church where his remains repose, until one hundred and
eighty years after his death. This may be partly explained by the
circumstance that Pepys’ Diary was not published until the year 1825.
It was originally written in cipher, and the key to it, strange to say,
was not made use of until that time. Although Pepys was a well-known
man in his day, and occupied a good official position as ‘Clerk of the
Acts’ and Secretary to the Admiralty, his fame is due to his unique
Diary. At last, however, Pepys has a monument to his honour, which
was unveiled the other day in the ancient city church of St Olave’s,
near the Tower of London. The question has been raised whether Pepys,
in using a cipher alphabet, did not intend his Diary as a private
document. But still he left the key behind him, which he might have
easily destroyed. However this may be, the book has delighted thousands
of readers, giving as it does in a very quaint style a picture, and a
true picture too, of London life two hundred years ago.

A curious record of the year 1478 is quoted in the _Builder_, which
points to an early case of water being laid on to a town-house. The
ingenious individual who thus tapped the conduit or watercourse running
along the street, seems to have paid more dearly for the privilege than
even a London water-consumer has to pay to the Companies in the present
day. The man was a tradesman in Fleet Street, and is thus referred to:
‘A wex-chandler in Flete-strete had by crafte perced a pipe of the
condit withynne the ground, and so conveied the water into his selar;
wherefore he was judged to ride through the citie with a condit uppon
his hedde.’ This poor man was nevertheless only adapting to his own
purposes a system of water-conveyance that had been known and practised
in many countries ages before his time.

It is expected that nearly one thousand members and associates of the
British Association will cross the Atlantic in August next to take part
in the meeting which is to be held this year at Montreal. All visitors
to the Dominion know well that the Canadians understand the meaning of
the word hospitality in its broadest sense, and they are, according to
all reports, taking measures which will cause their British cousins to
long remember the welcome which they will receive. The Association is
taking good care that the members shall be seen at their best, and no
new members will be allowed to join the party except under stringent
conditions. This will very rightly prevent an influx of people who will
take a sudden interest in scientific research for the sake of getting a
cheap trip to Canada. The names of the representative men under whose
care the various sections are placed, are sufficient guarantee that
plenty of good work will be done. We may mention that special attention
will be paid in section D, under Professor Ray Lankester, to the vexed
question of the supposed connection between sun-spot periods and
terrestrial phenomena. This question has long been a bone of contention
among scientific men, one side bringing forward figures giving
remarkable points of agreement, the other side disclaiming them with
the assertion that statistics can be made to prove anything. Perhaps
this meeting of the Association may guide us to a right solution of the
problems involved.

‘The Mineral Wealth of Queensland,’ the title of a paper recently
read before the Royal Colonial Institute by Mr C. S. Dicken, was full
of matter which should be interesting to those who are seeking an
outlay for their capital. Queensland is five and a half times larger
in area than the United Kingdom. Its gold-fields are estimated to
cover a space of seven thousand square miles, and it produces large
quantities of silver, copper, and tin. According to the official
Reports of geologists, coal crops out on the surface over some
twenty-four thousand square miles. Hitherto, these vast resources
have been comparatively untouched. Men and capital are required for
their development; and as the climate is a healthy one, and the laws
administered by capable and impartial men, there is every incentive to
Europeans to turn their attention to the country.

A Bill now before the House of Commons is of extreme interest and
importance to students of natural history, to artists, and many others.
We allude to Mr Bryce’s ‘Access to Mountains (Scotland) Bill.’ In the
preamble to this proposed measure, it is set forth that many large
tracts of uncultivated mountain and moorland, which have in past times
been covered with sheep and cattle, are now stocked with deer, and in
many cases the rights which have hitherto been enjoyed by artists and
others of visiting such lands, have been stopped by the owners. It is
now proposed that it should be henceforward illegal for owners of such
property to exclude any one who wishes to go there ‘for the purposes
of recreation, or scientific or artistic study.’ At the same time the
Bill clearly provides that any one committing any kind of poaching or
damage is to be regarded as a trespasser, and dealt with accordingly.
Parks and pleasure-grounds attached to a dwelling-house are of course
excepted from the operation of the Act.

Mr Johnston’s book upon _The River Congo_ is full of interesting
particulars of his wanderings through that part of Africa and his
meeting with Stanley. He certainly throws some new light upon the
climate of the country; for whereas previous travellers have described
it as fever-breeding, and full of terrors to the white man, Mr Johnston
tells us that the climate of the interior table-land is as healthy
as possible, and that any European taking ordinary precautions as
to temperate eating and drinking, need never have a day’s illness
there. This is perhaps a matter of personal constitution and physique.
Because one man has had such a pleasant experience of African climate,
it is no reason why every one else should expect the same exemption
from illness. Still, we trust that Mr Johnston’s deductions may prove
correct.

We are all of us now and then astonished by the report of some sale in
which a fancy price, as it is called, has been paid for something of no
intrinsic value, and very often of no artistic value either. Hundreds
of pounds have been paid within recent years for a single teacup,
provided that the happy purchaser can be sure that it is unique. Even
thousands have been paid for a vase a few inches high simply because
it was rare. The mania for collecting curiosities which prompts people
to pay these large sums, is by no means confined to articles of virtu.
Natural history claims a large army of such collectors. A single
orchid was sold only the other day for a small fortune. At the time
of the Cochin-China fowl mania, which John Leech helped to caricature
out of existence, a single rooster fetched five hundred pounds. Only
last month, in London, some enormous prices were obtained under the
hammer for a collection of Lepidoptera, vulgarly known as moths and
butterflies. Single specimens fetched three and four pounds apiece,
and even more; whilst a common white butterfly, apparently having a
particular value because it was caught in the Hebrides, was actually
knocked down for the sum of thirteen guineas. It would be extremely
interesting to ascertain the exact nature of the pleasurable sensations
with which the owner of this butterfly doubtless regards his purchase.
The export of a few white butterflies to the Hebrides might prove a
profitable venture, if not overdone.

It may be that the age of big prices for little teacups and vases is on
the eve of passing away, for it would seem that the secret processes
by which the old workers could endow the china with a depth of colour
and richness of tone impossible to achieve by more modern hands, have
been rediscovered. It is reported that M. Lauth, the Director of the
Sèvres state porcelain manufactory, has attained this result. Moreover,
his discovery does not, like too many others, resolve itself into a
mere laboratory experiment, but represents a manufacturing success. The
results, too, can be looked for with certainty, whereas there is little
doubt that the old workers had many a failure as well as successes.

The recent opinion of Mr Justice Stephen that cremation, if properly
conducted, is not illegal, has again opened up a subject, which,
although of a somewhat delicate, and to some people actually repulsive
nature, is bound sooner or later to force its importance upon public
attention. There is every reason to believe that public opinion is
fast undergoing a very great change, as the subject becomes better
understood. A like alteration of public feeling is also observable
in other European countries. Sir Spencer Wells has lately published
an account of the public cemetery in Rome, where, in the four months
previous to his visit, no fewer than forty bodies had been submitted
to the new form of sepulture. Dr Cameron’s Bill for the regulation
of the practice of cremation will possibly come before the House of
Commons before these lines appear in print, and we shall then have an
opportunity of gauging the feeling for and against a practice which,
after all, is not new, but very old indeed.

Lovers of nature will be glad to hear that otters are yet extant in
the Thames; but unless possessed of that unfortunate instinct which
causes the average Briton to kill and slay anything alive which is not
actually a domestic animal, they will be disgusted to learn that these
interesting creatures are no sooner discovered than they are shot and
stuffed. In January 1880, an otter weighing twenty-six pounds was shot
at Hampton Court; another shared the same fate at Thames-Ditton in
January last; and one more has recently been slaughtered at Cookham.

We have recently had an opportunity of visiting the steep-grade tramway
which is being laid, and is now on the point of being finished, on that
same quiet Highgate Hill where tradition tells us Dick Whittington
heard the bells prophesying his future good-fortune. This tramway is
the first of its kind in this country, and will probably prove the
pioneer line of many others in situations where the hilly nature of
the ground forbids horse-traction. Briefly described, it consists of
an endless cable, a steel rope kept constantly moving at the rate of
six miles an hour by means of a stationary engine. This cable moves
in a pipe buried in the ground midway between the rails; but the pipe
has an opening above. Through this opening—a narrow slit about an inch
wide—passes from the car a kind of grip-bar, which by the turn of a
handle in the car is made to take hold of the travelling-rope below, or
to release its hold, as required. This system has been in successful
operation in San Francisco for many years, and there is no reason why
it should not succeed in this country. The only question seems to be
whether the traffic up and down Highgate Hill is sufficient to make the
enterprise pay.

The profits of the International Fisheries Exhibition amount to
fifteen thousand pounds. Two-thirds of this sum will be devoted to the
benefit of the widows and orphans of fishermen, presumably through
the instrumentality of some Society or Insurance Association to be
formed for the purpose; three thousand pounds will go to form a Royal
Fisheries Society for scientific work in connection with the harvest of
the sea; whilst the balance remains in hand, at present unappropriated.




THE PROGRESS OF PISCICULTURE.


Of late years, no feature of fishery economy has excited more attention
than the progress we have been making in what is called ‘Pisciculture.’
Fish-eggs are now a common article of commerce—the sales of which,
and the prices at which they can be purchased, being as regularly
advertised as any other kind of goods. This is a fact which, a century
ago, might have been looked upon by our forefathers as something
more than wonderful. Such commerce in all probability would have
been stigmatised as impious, as a something ‘flying in the face of
Providence.’

But in another country there was buying and selling of fish-eggs more
than a thousand years ago. The ingenious Chinese people had discovered
the philosophy which underlies fish-culture, as well as the best modes
of increasing their supplies of fish, long before any European nation
had dreamt of taking action in the matter. A few years ago, a party
of fisher-folks from the Celestial Empire, on a visit to Europe, were
exceedingly astonished at the prices they had to pay for the fish they
were so fond of eating. They explained that in China any person might
purchase for a very small sum as much as might serve a family for a
week’s food. They also mentioned that some fishes which we reject,
such as the octopus, were much esteemed by the Chinese, who cooked
them carefully, and partook of them with great relish. The capture
of the octopus, indeed, forms one of the chief fishing industries of
China, these sea-monsters being taken in enormous numbers at some of
the Chinese fishing stations, notably at Swatow. They are preserved
by being dried in the sun; and then, after being packed in tubs, they
are distributed to the consuming centres of the country. In the inland
districts of China there are also to be found numerous fishponds, where
supplies of the more popular sorts of fish are kept, and fed for the
market. These are grown from ova generally bought from dealers, who
procure supplies of eggs from some of the large rivers of the country.
The infant fish, it may be mentioned, are as carefully tended and fed
as if they were a flock of turkeys in the yard of a Norfolk farmer.
In the opinion of the Chinese fishermen, who were interviewed by the
industrious Frank Buckland, hundreds of thousands of fish annually die
of starvation; and if means could be adopted for the feeding of tender
fry, fish of all kinds would become more plentiful than at present, and
we would obtain them at a cheaper rate. In China, the yolks of hens’
eggs are thrown into the rivers and ponds, that kind of food being
greedily devoured by the young fish.

It has long been known to those interested in the economy of our
fisheries, that only a very small percentage of the ova of our chief
food-fishes comes to maturity, while of the fish actually hatched,
a very small percentage reaches our tables for food-uses; hence
the desire which has arisen to augment the supplies by means of
pisciculture. In the case of a fish like the salmon, every individual
of that species (_Salmo salar_) which can be brought to market is
certain, even when prices are low, of a ready sale at something like
a shilling per pound-weight; and it is not, therefore, to be wondered
at that the proprietor of a stretch of salmon-water should be zealous
about the increase of his stock of fish. A quarter of a century since,
the salmon-fishery owners of the river Tay in Scotland, impressed with
the possibilities of pisciculture, had a suite of salmon-nurseries
constructed at Stormontfield, where they have annually hatched a
very large number of eggs, and where they feed and protect the young
fish till they are ready to migrate to the sea, able to fight their
own battle of life. This may be said to be the earliest and longest
sustained piscicultural effort of a commercial kind made in Great
Britain, an example which was followed on other rivers. The chief
salmon-fisheries of Scotland being held as private property, are, of
course, more favourably situated, in regard to fish-culture, than
salmon-fisheries which are open to the public, and which, in a sense,
are the property of no person in particular. These latter must be left
in the hands of mother Nature. The salmon, however, being an animal of
great commercial value, is so coveted at all seasons of the year, both
by persons who have a legal right to such property, and by persons who
have no right, that such fisheries have a tendency to become barren of
breeding-stock; for although each female yields on the average as many
as twenty thousand eggs, extremely few of these ever reach maturity;
hence, it has come about that many proprietors are resorting to the
piscicultural process of increasing their supplies.

But the chief feature of the pisciculture of the period is that
‘fisheries’ are now being worked quite independently of any particular
river. There is, for example, the Howietoun fishery, near Stirling,
which has been ‘invented,’ as we may say, by that piscatorial giant,
Sir James Gibson-Maitland. From this establishment, the eggs of
fish, particularly trout, and more especially Loch Leven trout, are
annually distributed in hundreds of thousands. From Howietoun, and from
some other places as well, gentlemen can stock their ponds or other
ornamental water with fecundated ova in a certain state of forwardness;
or they can procure, for a definite sum of money, fish of all ages
from tiny fry to active yearlings, or well grown two-year olds!
Sporting-waters which have been overfished can be easily replenished by
procuring a few thousand eggs or yearlings; while angling clubs which
rent a loch or important stream can, at a very small cost, keep up the
supplies, whether of trout or salmon. In the course of the last three
summers, several Scottish lakes have had their fish-stores replenished
by means of drafts on the piscicultural bank, which is always open at
the Howietoun ‘fishery.’ The distance to which ova or tender young fish
require to be transported offers no obstacle to this new development of
fish-commerce; thousands of infantile fish were brought from Russia to
Edinburgh with perfect safety on the occasion of the Fishery Exhibition
held in that city. The loss in transit was not more, we believe, than
two per cent.

It may prove interesting to state the prices which are charged usually
for ova and young fish. A sample lot of eyed ova of the American brook
trout, to the extent of one thousand, may be obtained for thirty
shillings; and for ten shillings less, a thousand eggs of the Loch
Leven trout, or the common trout of the country, may be purchased. For
stock supplies, a box containing fifteen thousand partially eyed ova
of _S. fontinalis_ (American) may be had for ten pounds. The other
varieties mentioned are cheaper by fifty shillings for the same number.
Fry of the same, in lots of not fewer than five thousand, range from
seven pounds ten shillings to five pounds. Yearlings are of course
dearer, and cost from fifteen and ten pounds respectively per thousand.
Ten millions of trout ova are now hatched every year at the Howietoun
fishery.

The fecundity of all kinds of fish is enormous. A very small trout will
be found to contain one thousand eggs; a female salmon will yield on
the average eight hundred ova for each pound of her weight; and if even
a fifth part of the eggs of our food-fishes were destined to arrive at
maturity, there would be no necessity for resorting to pisciculture
in order to augment our fish commissariat. But even in America, where
most kinds of fish were at one period almost over-abundant, artificial
breeding is now necessary in order to keep up the supplies. In the
United States, fish-culture has been resorted to on a gigantic scale,
not only as regards the salmon, but also in connection with various
sea-fishes, many hundred millions of eggs of which are annually
collected and hatched; the young fry being forwarded to waters which
require to be restocked. Apparatus of a proper description for the
hatching of sea-fish has been constructed, and is found to work
admirably. Some of these inventions were shown last year in the
American department of the International Fishery Exhibition, where
they were much admired by persons who feel interested in the proper
development of our fishery resources. In the United States, the art
of pisciculture has been studied with rare patience and industry, the
fish-breeders thinking it no out-of-the-way feat to transplant three
or four millions of young salmon in the course of a season. In dealing
with the shad, the United States Commission of Fish and Fisheries have
been able to distribute the young of that fish by tens of millions per
annum; the loss in the hatching of eggs and in the transmission of the
animal being very small.

Some writers and lecturers on the natural and economic history of our
food-fishes have asserted that no possible demand can lead to their
extermination or to any permanent falling-off in the supplies; but the
economy of the American fisheries tends to disprove that theory. In
the seas which surround the United States, certain fishes would soon
become very scarce, were the supplies not augmented each season by
the aid of the pisciculturists. The fruitfulness of the cod is really
wonderful, individuals of that family having been taken with from five
to nine millions of eggs in their ovaries. The fecundity of the common
herring, too, has often proved a theme of wonder. That an animal only
weighing a few ounces should be able to perpetuate its kind at the rate
of thirty thousand, is indeed remarkable. But fruitful in reproductive
power as these and other fishes undoubtedly are, it has been prophesied
by cautious writers, that by over-fishing, the supplies may in time
become so exhausted as to require the aid of the pisciculturist. If
so, we believe the mode of action which has been found to work so well
in the American seas will be the best to follow. No plan of inclosed
sea-ponds, however large they might be, will meet the case; the
fish-eggs will require to be hatched in floating cylinders specially
constructed for the purpose, so as to admit of the eggs being always
under the influence of the sea-water, and at the same time exposed to
the eye of skilled watchers. It is believed by persons well qualified
to judge, that the eggs of our more valuable sea-fishes may in the way
indicated be dealt with in almost incredible numbers. We have only to
remember that twenty females of the cod family will yield at least one
hundred millions of eggs, to see that the possibilities of pisciculture
might extend far beyond anything indicated in the foregoing remarks.

In resuscitating their exhausted oyster-beds, the French people have
during the last twenty years worked wonders; they have been able to
reproduce that favourite shell-fish year after year in quantities
that would appear fabulous if they could be enumerated in figures.
Pisciculture was understood in France long before it was thought of
as a means of aiding natural production in America; but our children
of the States—to use a favourite phrase of their own—now ‘lick all
creation’ in the ways and means of replenishing river and sea with
their finny denizens.




A PLEA FOR THE WATER-OUSEL.


In a paper which appeared in this _Journal_, in June 1883, on the
Salmon, a few words were said in defence of the water-ousel against
a _fama_ which had found vent in newspaper correspondence, accusing
that most interesting bird of destroying salmon spawn. An English
gentleman, after reading those remarks, has written to us, giving a sad
illustration of misdirected zeal, which had arisen from the reading of
such newspaper letters.

During the previous winter, he was one of a party that spent a few
days on the banks of a favourite salmon river in Wales. The party were
all enthusiastic anglers; and, fired by the recent outcry against the
ousel, they made a raid upon these birds, killing thirty in one day.
Like the ‘Jeddart justices’ of old, the party then proceeded to convict
the slain; when, lo! on examination by one of their number—a well-known
English analyst—not a grain of salmon roe could be found in all the
thirty crops examined, though it was then the height of the salmon
spawning season. Like Llewelyn, after slaying Gelert, they had time to
repent, ‘For now the truth was clear.’ They had slain the innocent,
which feed upon insects that prey on salmon ova. They had therefore
killed one of the salmon’s best protectors.

No better instance could be adduced of the caution with which popular
theories in natural history should be received. But besides branding
the innocent little ousel as a salmon-destroyer, some writers went so
far as to assert that the bird had no song, and was not worth listening
to. The best observers fortunately have defended the bird against the
charge of being songless; and in respect to its alleged crime of eating
salmon-roe, the evidence above given is surely conclusive in favour of
its innocence.

The water-ousel is one of our most unique birds. It is a wader and a
diver, and though not web-footed, by using its wings it can propel
itself under water. Its habits are always a delightful study to the
observer. The domed nest, with its snow-white eggs, is a wonderful
structure; and there is a fascination in watching the bird tripping
in and out of the water in pursuit of its food, popping overhead ever
and again, and reappearing for a moment, only to dive and reappear
elsewhere. When rivers are largely frozen over, it is interesting to
see how boldly the little bird dives from the edge of an ice-sheet
into a stream two feet or more in depth, how long it can remain under
water, and how often it rises to breathe and dive again without leaving
the stream. The singing of the water-ousel is low, but remarkably
sweet, and long-continued in the winter-time of the year, when no other
bird but the redbreast is heard; and when trilled out, as the notes
frequently are in the clear frosty air, as the bird sits perched on a
rocky projection, or takes its rapid flight up or down the stream,
they sound clear and melodious.


THE WATER-OUSEL’S SONG.

    Whitter! whitter! where the water
            Leaps among the rocks,
    And the din of the linn
            Swelling thunder mocks,
    Cheerily and merrily
            I sing my roundelay,
    Whitter! whitter! bright or bitter
            Be the winter day!

    Whitter! whitter! down the water
            Speeding with the stream,
    Snow around wraps the ground
            In a silent dream!
    Wood and hill, all are still,
            Birds as mute as clay,
    Whitter! whitter! what is fitter
            For a winter day?

    Whitter! whitter! in the water
            Busily I ply;
    Ice and snow come and go,
            Nought a care have I.
    Mountain waters flee their fetters,
            So I feed and play,
    Whitter! whitter! pitter! pitter!
            All the winter day.

    Whitter! whitter! o’er the water
            Still and smooth and deep,
    Round the pool, clear and cool,
            Where the shadows sleep,
    Snowy breast, shadow-kissed,
            Whirring on its way,
    Whitter! whitter! titter! titter!
            Ho! the winter day!

    Whitter! whitter! through the water,
            By the miller’s wheel,
    Where the strong water’s song
            Rings a merry peal;
    Wet or dry, what care I,
            Sporting in the spray?
    Whitter! whitter! twitter! twitter!
            Flies the winter day.

    Whitter! whitter! with the water
            Where the burnies run,
    ’Mong the hills, where the rills
            Dance unto the sun,
    In the nooks, where the brooks
            Ripple on for aye,
    Whitter! whitter! bright or bitter
            Be the winter day!

                J. H. P.




BOOK GOSSIP.


We have on more than one occasion drawn attention in these pages to the
good work which Miss Ormerod is accomplishing by the dissemination of
knowledge on the subject of insect life as it affects agriculture. She
has now published a _Guide to Methods of Insect Life, and Prevention
and Remedy of Insect Ravage_ (London: Simpkin, Marshall, & Co.),
which cannot fail greatly to advance the object she has in view. The
_Guide_ was written at the request of the Institute of Agriculture,
and its chief purpose is to give some information on the habits, and
means of prevention, of crop insects. The book is written in a style
which will render it useful to agriculturists, gardeners, and others,
even although they happen to have no scientific knowledge whatever of
entomology. The various insects, their eggs and larvæ, are described
in terms as free from scientific terminology as is possible; and
such scientific terms as must occasionally be used are explained in a
glossary at the end of the book. The illustrations are numerous; and
between these and the verbal descriptions given, no difficulty should
at any time be felt in identifying any particular insect pest, and
applying to it the treatment which the author suggests. The methods
of prevention are mainly taken from the reports which Miss Ormerod
has been in the habit of receiving annually from a large number of
agriculturists, so that the reader has here, in one little book, the
united experience and observations of a large body of practical men.

⁂

Last year we had the pleasure of publishing in this _Journal_ two
papers on the subject of Shetland and its Industries, by Sheriff
Rampini, of Lerwick. Since then, the same gentleman has delivered
two lectures before the Philosophical Institution, Edinburgh, which
lectures are now published in a neat little volume, under the title of
_Shetland and the Shetlanders_ (Kirkwall: William Peace and Son). In
the papers which appeared in our pages, the author confined himself
to the industries of the island, its agriculture and fisheries; in
these lectures, however, he gives himself greater scope, and treats of
the history, traditions, and language of the people, introducing many
anecdotes characteristic of them and of their habits.




OCCASIONAL NOTES.


AMERICAN LITERARY PIRACY.

In the _London Figaro_, the editor thus writes: Those literary men who
are agitating for a copyright convention with the United States have
doubtless suffered in the following way, which seems to me particularly
hard on some of the authors of this country. I am, let it be assumed,
then, the writer of a number of short stories, which, at anyrate, for
the purposes of my statement, I will conclude to have been good enough
to earn sufficient popularity to bring them within the purview of the
American book pirates. Very well—my stories are taken as quickly as
they appear and published in the States, not only in a book-form, but
in all the principal newspapers which devote some of their columns to
fiction.

For this honour I, of course, receive never a cent, and that is a
distinct hardship, I take it. But that is not all. My stories having
appeared in the States, slightly altered to suit American tastes,
and without my name attached, are read and admired by the editors
of English provincial journals, who straightway proceed to cut out
the fictions in question, and alter them back again, to suit the
idiosyncrasies of their British readers. Thus my handiwork appears a
second time in this country; and in not one, but possibly a dozen or a
score of provincial newspapers.

The result is this. When I go, a month or two after, and offer a
collection of my short stories to a London publisher, he reads them,
and replies in effect: ‘Yes, I like your stories very well; but what
is the use of my publishing them, when they have appeared in half the
country papers in the kingdom?’ It is in vain I explain. The injury
has been done; and an apology from the country editors is but a slight
and unsatisfactory atonement for an act which has kept me out of scores
or hundreds of pounds.

Besides this, there are other publishers who, seeing that my fiction
appears in the _Little Pedlington Mirror_ or the _Mudborough Gazette_,
mentally determine that my calibre as a writer cannot be very great
if I am reduced to dispose of my copy to such papers as these. And
therefore, through no fault of my own, but, as a matter of fact,
in actual consequence of my success, my reputation as a writer is
positively injured in quarters in which it is most important to me it
should be sustained. I have been describing incidents which have really
occurred, I may add; and I think that the grievance is one that needs
serious attention, with a view to its redress.

    [The editor of _Figaro_ has our fullest sympathy. We, too, are
    the victims of American malpractices. Many of the short stories
    which appear in _Chambers’s Journal_ are copied into the
    American newspapers without leave, and _without acknowledgment
    of the source whence taken_. These papers reach Great Britain
    with the purloined material, which our provincial press in
    turn transfers to its pages. Expostulation is of no avail:
    the British journalist sees a story in an American newspaper
    which will suit his purpose, and at once takes possession of
    property, which of course he believes to be American (and
    therefore legitimate spoil), but which has in reality been paid
    for and previously published by ourselves. We thus doubtless
    lose many subscribers, who, finding our Tales and Stories given
    at full length in the penny papers, are pleased to have them at
    a slightly cheaper rate than the original.—_ED. Ch. Jl._]


SOWING AND HARVESTING.

Farmers, besides being subject to the risks incurred by all engaged
in commercial enterprises, are in addition peculiarly dependent on
the very variable weather of our climate. In 1877, Professor Tanner
was deputed by the Science and Art Department to make an inquiry into
the conditions regulating the growth of barley, wheat, and oats. He
found that on a certain farm the portion of the barley-crop which was
harvested in fine harvest-weather yielded per acre forty bushels,
each of which weighed fifty-six pounds; while on the same farm the
part harvested after some rain had fallen—in bad harvest-weather—also
yielded forty bushels per acre; but in this case each bushel weighed
only forty pounds—thus showing that there was a loss of six hundred and
forty pounds of food on each acre. Barley is also peculiarly sensitive
to the condition of its seed-bed. Two parts of the same field were
sown with similar seed; but in one case the seed was got down in good
spring-weather, and in the other, after heavy rain; and the result
was that the former grew freely, and yielded per acre forty bushels,
weighing fifty-eight and a half pounds each; while in the latter case
the seed never grew freely, and yielded per acre only twenty-four
bushels, weighing fifty-four pounds per bushel—thus showing a loss of
one thousand and forty-four pounds of grain per acre.

In the case of wheat, and particularly of the finer varieties, the
losses arising from bad harvest-weather tell very materially on the
prices. Of the same crop of fine white wheat grown in 1877 under
similar conditions, the part harvested in good weather yielded per acre
forty bushels, each weighing sixty-six pounds; while the part which
could not be harvested before being damaged by rain yielded an equal
number of bushels; but the weight of each bushel was decreased by five
pounds, and this latter was sold at two-and-sixpence per bushel lower
than the former. Besides this, if ungenial weather should prevent
the farmer sowing his wheat in good time, the yield is still further
lessened, if indeed he does not deem it expedient to sow barley instead.

One would think that oats—the hardiest of our cereals—would suffer
little from the effects of bad weather; but in a case in which two
portions of oats grown under similar conditions were examined, it was
found that the portion harvested in good weather produced thirty-three
bushels, each weighing forty-one and a half pounds; while that stacked
after some rain had fallen was found to give thirty-two bushels,
weighing thirty-nine and a half pounds each.


RUSSIAN LONGEVITY.

From a correspondent, who has passed some years in Russia, we learn
that in the village of Velkotti, in the St Petersburg government, an
old woman is living who has just attained her one hundred and thirtieth
birthday! The old lady is in the enjoyment of good health, but
complains of her deafness (and no wonder). Her hair is still long and
plentiful, considering her age. She spent her youth in great poverty,
but is now pretty well off. She has outlived three husbands; and has
had a family of nineteen children, all of whom have been married, and
are now dead, the last one to die being a daughter of ninety-three. She
lives with one of her great-grandchildren, a man of fifty.

Our correspondent also informs us that a few months ago an unusually
curious wedding took place in Ekaterinoslav, in Russia. The
bridegroom was sixty-five years old, the bride sixty-seven. By former
marriages, each of them have children and grandchildren, and even
great-grandchildren, living in the same town. The bridegroom’s father,
now in his one hundred and third year, and the bride’s mother, in her
ninety-sixth year, are still alive, and were at the wedding.

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