Montmorency was seated in the greenroom at the conclusion of the play,
engaged in that absent train of thought known as a brown-study. The
more he saw of the fascinating Fonblanque, the more he was captivated.
Every hour spent in her society but served to rivet more closely the
chain which bound him to her. Should he condescend and make her an
offer of his hand, she would naturally be influenced by a profound
sense of gratitude, when she discovered that she had married a man
of fortune and a Stanley! Whereas, if he had married the rich Miss
Anstruther, he would have had her money-bags perpetually thrown in his
face. A silver-toned utterance fell on his ears. Looking up, he beheld
the subject of his cogitations.
‘Allow me to congratulate you, Mr Montmorency, on your Charles Surface
this evening. A double call before the curtain, and well deserved.’
‘You are pleased to flatter me. The plaudits of the house to-night
render any praise on my part of your Lady Teazle unnecessary. I regret
that I am fated to lose so charming a compatriot.’
Was it fancy that Montmorency imagined he detected a paler tint on the
cheek of the actress, as she replied: ‘You are not going to leave us?’
‘I fear so.’
‘Wherefore?’
‘You are the last person to whom I can confide the cause of my sudden
departure.’
Lady Teazle cast down her lovely eyes for a brief space, and then,
in a voice in which the smallest possible _tremolo_ was perceptible,
whispered: ‘Are you not happy here?’
‘I fear, too much so,’ sighed Montmorency. ‘I have been living in a
fool’s paradise lately.’
‘How? In what way, Mr Montmorency?’
‘I am in love.—You start. You do not believe in an actor, who is always
simulating affection, ever falling under the influence of a real and
veritable passion.’
‘You wrong me; indeed, you do. The artistic nature is, and must be,
more acutely sensitive than that possessed by ordinary mortals. Do I
know the lady?’
‘You see her every day—when you contemplate those charming features
in the glass. Yes; it is _you_, Miss Fonblanque, whom I love, whom I
adore!’
How can we describe the flood of sensations which agitated the bosom of
the heiress, as she listened to the avowal of affection from the lips
of the only man she had ever loved! In low and trembling tones, she
managed to reply: ‘Mr Montmorency, you are not rehearsing a scene in
some new comedy?’
‘I was never more serious in my life.’
By this time, the pride of the Anstruthers had come to the assistance
of the heiress. ‘I grieve very much that I cannot accept your offer. It
is impossible.’
‘Impossible! Why?’
‘That I cannot explain.’
‘We are both members of the same profession, and so far equal.’
‘Pardon me,’ said Lady Teazle. ‘You know nothing of my antecedents,
and’——
‘And you know nothing of mine, you would say. Charming equality! Say,
Miss Fonblanque, may I hope?’
It was now the turn of the actress to sigh. ‘It would be cruel to raise
hopes which can never be realised.’
Montmorency let fall the hand which in his ardour he had seized, and
drew himself proudly up. ‘That is your fixed answer?’
‘It is.’
Montmorency once more took possession of her taper fingers, and raising
them to his lips, uttered the word ‘Farewell!’ and hastily left the
greenroom.
The dark melting eyes of the heiress gazed after his retreating figure,
and large drops of moisture gathered in them. ‘I have half a mind to
call him back,’ she mentally whispered.—‘No! I must remember I am an
Anstruther.’
Sinking on a couch, Lady Teazle felt her brain spinning round; then
presently raising her eyes, she beheld—Mr Vallance!
‘Have I not the honour of speaking to Miss Anstruther?’
‘Since you recognise me, it would be affectation to deny my identity.
Mr Vallance, may I ask you to preserve my secret?’
‘From all save one individual—Mr Montmorency. Surely you knew that in
the Charles Surface of this evening you beheld your rejected lover, Mr
Stanley?’
A film came slowly over the eyes of Miss Anstruther. ‘You are not
joking, Mr Vallance?’
‘The matter is too serious for jesting. But I will break a confidence.
He loves you. He told me so half an hour ago.’
The heiress could scarcely forbear a smile, as she reflected that
her ears had drunk in the soft confession only five minutes ago. ‘Mr
Vallance, will you do me a favour? Will you ask Mr Stanley to step
here for a few minutes? But remember, you must on no account reveal my
identity.’
‘You may rely upon me, Miss Anstruther. I do not know what steps you
mean to adopt; but there is no time to lose, for old Colonel Stanley is
in front, and will, if he has recognised you, at once inform his son.’
‘That is my fear; so haste.’
Almost before the heiress could mature her plans, the rejected one
appeared before her. He was very grave, and bowed with an air of deep
humility, as the actress thus addressed him: ‘Mr Vallance and I are
old acquaintances, so I commissioned him to ask you to return for a
short time. I feel very anxious about our scenes in the _Hunchback_
to-morrow. Would you mind running through the Modus and Helen scenes? I
mean the second one.’
Montmorency bowed. ‘With pleasure.’
It would have been a lesson for half the actresses on the stage, could
they have beheld the manner in which the saucy coquette of the play
coaxed her lover, lured him on, fascinated him, and enveloped him in
such a spell of witcheries, that no Modus that ever breathed could have
been proof against her seductive wiles. The scene came to an unexpected
termination, for Montmorency suddenly caught her in his arms, and as he
held her clasped tight to his breast, exclaimed in rapid and excited
tones: ‘This is not acting! If it be, you are the greatest actress that
ever trod the boards. You love me! I see it in your sparkling eye; I
read it in your blushing cheek! Say, am I not right?’
Emily Anstruther remained perfectly passive in the arms of Harry
Stanley, as she murmured ‘Yes!’
The enraptured couple were so completely absorbed in reading love in
each other’s eyes, that they had not observed the entrance of two
gentlemen, Colonel Stanley and Mr Vallance.
The old colonel was the first to speak. ‘Speak, sir! Is this a scene
from a play?’
By this time the heiress had left the sweet anchorage of her lover’s
arms, and advancing to the old man, said: ‘Do you not recognise your
godchild, Emily Anstruther?’
But surprise had taken away the power of speech from the colonel.
His son interposed. ‘I trust Miss Anstruther will acquit _me_ of any
guilty knowledge of this fact—will believe that _I_ believed she was
merely Miss Fonblanque the actress.’
Emily Anstruther here cast down her eyes, while a deep blush mantled
over her face and neck. ‘I am afraid _I_ am not equally innocent; for
Mr Vallance informed me that I had refused my hated lover. But I have
enough confidence in _his_ love for me, to hope for his belief in my
unselfish love for _him_.’
‘So you see, dad,’ exclaimed the younger Stanley, ‘Love not only rules
the court, the camp, the grove, as the poet says, but does not disdain
to flutter his wings in the greenroom.’
_Author’s Note._—This story having been dramatised, and the
provisions of the law as regards dramatic copyright having been
duly complied with, any infringement of the author’s rights
becomes actionable.
HUMOROUS DEFINITIONS.
A smart, pithy, or humorous definition often furnishes a happy
illustration of the proverbial brevity which is the soul of wit. Wit
itself has not inaptly been called ‘a pleasant surprise over truth;’
and wisdom, often its near ally, is, in the opinion of a clever writer,
‘nothing more than educated cunning.’ ‘Habits are what we learn and
can’t forget,’ says the same author, who also defines silence as ‘a
safe place to hide in,’ and a lie as ‘the very best compliment that
can be paid to truth.’ ‘Show him an egg and instantly the air is full
of feathers,’ said a humorist, defining a sanguine man. ‘A moral
chameleon’ is a terse reckoning-up of a humbug. Man’s whole life has
been cynically summed up in the sentence, ‘Youth is a blunder; middle
life, a struggle; and old age, a regret.’
Whimsical definitions are sometimes quite as neat and telling as those
of a smarter kind. Dr Johnson confessed to a lady that it was pure
ignorance that made him define ‘pastern, the knee of a horse;’ but he
could hardly make the same excuse for defining pension, ‘an allowance
made to any one without an equivalent.’ A patriot, some writer tells
us, is ‘one who lives _for_ the promotion of his country’s union and
dies _in_ it;’ and a hero, ‘he who, after warming his enemies, is
toasted by his friends.’
Of juvenile definitions, ‘dust is mud with the juice squeezed out;’
scarcely so scientific as Palmerston’s definition of dirt as ‘matter
in the wrong place.’ A fan, we learn, is ‘a thing to brush warm off
with;’ and a monkey, ‘a small boy with a tail;’ ‘salt, what makes your
potatoes taste bad when you don’t put any on;’ ‘wakefulness, eyes all
the time coming unbuttoned;’ and ‘ice, water that stayed out too late
in the cold and went to sleep.’
A schoolboy asked to define the word ‘sob,’ whimpered out: ‘It means
when a feller don’t mean to cry and it bursts out itself.’ Another
defined a comma as ‘a period with a long tail.’ A youngster was asked
to give his idea of the meaning of ‘responsibility,’ so he said: ‘Well,
supposing I had only two buttons on my trousers, and one came off, all
the responsibility would rest on the other button.’
‘Give the definition of admittance,’ said a teacher to the head-boy.
This went from the head to near the foot of the class, all being
unable to tell the meaning of it, until it reached a little boy who
had seen the circus bills posted about the village, and who exclaimed:
‘Admittance means one shilling, and children half-price.’
‘What is a junction, nurse?’ asked a seven-year-old fairy the other day
on a railway platform.—‘A junction, my dear?’ answered the nurse, with
the air of a very superior person indeed: ‘why, it’s a place where two
roads separate.’
To hit off a jury as ‘a body of men organised to find out which side
has the smartest lawyer,’ is to satirise many of our ‘intelligent
fellow-countrymen.’ The word ‘suspicion’ is, in the opinion of a
jealous husband, ‘a feeling that compels you to try to find out
something which you don’t wish to know.’ A good definition of a
‘Pharisee’ is ‘a tradesman who uses long prayers and short weights;’ of
a ‘humbug, one who agrees with everybody;’ and of a ‘tyrant, the other
version of somebody’s hero.’ An American lady’s idea of a ballet-girl
was, ‘an open muslin umbrella with two pink handles;’ and a Parisian’s
of ‘chess, a humane substitute for hard labour.’ Thin soup, according
to an Irish mendicant, is ‘a quart of water boiled down to a pint, to
make it strong.’
Of definitions of a bachelor—‘an un-altar-ed man,’ ‘a singular being,’
and ‘a target for a miss,’ are apt enough. A walking-stick may be
described as ‘the old man’s strength and the young man’s weakness;’
and an umbrella as ‘a fair and foul weather friend’ who has had ‘many
ups and downs in the world.’ A watch may be hit off as a ‘second-hand
affair;’ spectacles as ‘second-sight’ or ‘friendly glasses;’ and a
wig as ‘the top of the poll,’ ‘picked locks,’ and ‘poached hare.’ And
any one who is troubled with an empty purse may be comforted with the
reflection that ‘no trial could be lighter.’
‘Custom is the law of fools,’ and ‘politeness is half-sister to
charity’—the last a better definition than that which spitefully
defines polite society as ‘a place where manners pass for too much,
and morals for too little.’ ‘Fashion’ has been cleverly hit off as ‘an
arbitrary disease which leads all geese to follow in single file the
one goose that sets the style.’ An idea of the amusement of dancing is
not badly conveyed by the phrases ‘embodied melody’ and ‘the poetry of
motion.’
The ‘Complete Angler’ as a definition of ‘a flirt’ is particularly
happy. Beauty has been called ‘a short-lived tyranny,’ ‘a silent
cheat,’ and ‘a delightful prejudice;’ while modesty has been declared
‘the delicate shadow that virtue casts.’ Love has been likened to
‘the sugar in a woman’s teacup, and man the spoon that stirs it up;’
and a ‘true-lover’s-knot’ may not inaptly be termed ‘a dear little
tie.’ Kisses have variously been defined as ‘a harmony in red,’ ‘a
declaration of love by deed of mouth,’ and ‘lip-service.’
‘Matrimony’ was defined by a little girl at the head of a confirmation
class in Ireland, as ‘a state of torment into which souls enter to
prepare them for another and better world.’
‘Being,’ said the examining priest, ‘the answer for purgatory.’
‘Put her down!’ said the curate, much ashamed of his pupil—‘put her
down to the foot of the class!’
‘Lave her alone,’ quoth the priest; ‘the lass may be right after all.
What do you or I know about it?’
THE MONTH:
SCIENCE AND ARTS.
Nearly seven millions sterling have been already expended upon the
Panama Canal works, and according to all accounts, there is plenty
to show for the money. The channel is being dredged out by enormous
machines, which scoop out the softer earth and operate upon the
debris of harder rocks, after the latter have been blasted. Colon,
the Atlantic terminus of the canal, has, from the miserable and dirty
little village which it presented some years ago, sprung into a
prosperous town. The dry season has unfortunately been an unhealthy
one, and there has been an epidemic of marsh-fever; but altogether we
may take the general report of the Canal works as a satisfactory one.
There is little doubt that the great work of uniting the Atlantic and
Pacific Oceans will be accomplished within very few years.
News has been received by the Geographical Society that their intrepid
explorer, Mr Joseph Thomson, whose departure some months ago on an
expedition to the region east and north-east of Lake Victoria Nyanza
we briefly chronicled at the time, has safely returned to Zanzibar.
Little is at present known as to what he has done, further than that he
has successfully carried out his programme with the most satisfactory
feature that the work has been done without any loss of life except
from disease. We may look forward with great interest to Mr Thomson’s
account of this his third successful expedition, the more so, as this
time he has journeyed in a region of Africa untraversed by any previous
explorer, and about which, therefore, the knowledge possessed by our
best geographers is open to improvement.
From a paper recently read before the Institution of Civil Engineers,
by Mr G. H. Stayton, upon the Wood-pavements of London, we glean the
following interesting particulars: The metropolis comprises nearly
two thousand miles of streets, of which only fifty-three miles are
at present laid with wood. Most of the wood used is in the form of
rectangular blocks of yellow deal, principally Swedish. Neither elm nor
oak will stand changes of temperature sufficiently well to fit them for
this purpose; but pitch-pine answers well, and so does larch; though
the supply of the latter limits its use. Creosoting the blocks has no
value as a preservative, and the wood is now used plain, the joints
being filled in with cement. The average cost of laying wood-pavement
is about ten shillings and sixpence per square yard, and the expenses
of maintenance compare very favourably with Macadam and other systems
of pavement. ‘There is nothing new under the sun,’ even in the matter
of wood-pavements, for we find, on reference to a _Mechanic’s Magazine_
dated 1858, that wood-blocks, placed grain uppermost, as in all modern
systems, are distinctly advocated as having many advantages over
granite roads, diminution of cost and durability being among those
stated.
It has become customary to speak of the present epoch as the ‘Iron
Age,’ in order to distinguish it from those two long periods of human
interest known respectively as the Stone Age and the Bronze Age. But
future historians may well be tempted to substitute the word steel
for iron, for it is an undoubted fact that improved processes of
manufacture, and the resulting easy and cheap production, are causing
steel to be widely substituted for its parent metal. In railways,
steel rails are now almost entirely replacing iron ones, and that
modification of the metal known as ‘mild steel’ is finding great
favour just now among shipbuilders. The Board of Trade have lately had
representations made to them that the superiority of steel over iron
for shipbuilding purposes should be officially recognised; and that
this request is well grounded, the following instances will go far to
prove. A steamer wrecked on the coast of the Isle of Wight remained
for ten days in stormy weather perched on a ledge of rocks without
breaking up. ‘If,’ says the engineer’s Report, ‘she had been built of
iron instead of steel, there is not a doubt that she would have gone to
pieces. The agent of another vessel wrecked at New Zealand last year
reports to the owner that the vessel was eventually released from her
rocky bed; ‘but, with a large number of passengers, would have been
lost, had it not been for the beautiful quality of the material of
which she is built, known as mild steel.’
But there is one branch of the metal trade which shows a continually
increasing activity, and which need not fear any rivalry from steel,
and that is the tinplate trade. Many thousands of tons of this tinned
iron—that is, thin sheets of iron coated with tin—are annually exported
from this country, our best customers being the United States. We
may presume that a large quantity of this metal comes back to us in
the form of tins containing preserved meats, fish, and fruit. In
Philadelphia, there are a number of factories for utilising these tins
after they have been used. They are collected from the ash-heaps,
the hotels and boarding-houses. The solder is melted and sold, to be
used again; the tops and bottoms of the tins are turned into window
sash-weights; the cylindrical portions are rolled out flat, and are
made into covers for travelling trunks, and are used for many other
purposes. The industry is said to be a very profitable one, for the
expense of gathering the tins is covered by the sale of the solder, and
the capital required is small. Such ingenious applications of waste
materials most certainly deserve to succeed.
What is known as ‘flashed glass’ consists of common white glass blown
with a layer of coloured glass superposed on its surface, which surface
can afterwards be eaten away in parts by the application of fluoric
acid, so that any ornament or lettering can be executed upon it. The
same principle in an extended form has lately been applied by Messrs
Webb of Stourbridge to the production of most beautiful vases in what
has been aptly called cameo glass. The vase is first blown in glass of
three different descriptions, fused together, forming eventually three
distinct layers of material—the innermost of a semi-opaque colour, the
next white, and the outside of a tint to harmonise with the first or
innermost. Now comes the artist’s work. The design being drawn upon the
surface, the outer colour is removed so as to leave but a tint, deep or
light as may be wanted in certain parts; next, the white is cut into
so as to show up where required the ground colour behind. In this way
the most intricate design is produced with the most artistic results.
The operator employs not only fluoric acid, but makes use of the steel
point, and also the ordinary emery wheel commonly used for engraving
and cutting glass. Two of these vases are, as we write, on view at Mr
Goode’s, South Audley Street, London.
The first cable tramway laid in Europe has been opened on the steepest
bit of road near London—namely, Highgate Hill, and is pronounced on
all hands a complete success. It is to be hoped that the system will
become as common in this country as it is in America, where not only
steep gradients are thus dealt with, but level roads, such as our horse
tramcars already traverse. The boon to horses would be immeasurable.
At the present time, on British tramways more than twenty thousand
horses are at work. The labour is so hard, that about one quarter of
this number have annually to be replaced. This annual loss absorbs
forty-three per cent. of the gross earnings, a consideration which will
appeal more eloquently to the feelings of many than will the sufferings
of the poor horses.
Referring to the epidemic of smallpox in London, a correspondent of
the _Times_ gives a valuable suggestion. He tells how an epidemic
of the same dreaded disease was quickly stamped out in a South
American village some years ago, and although our great metropolis
bears but small resemblance to a village, the remedy in question
might nevertheless be tried. Huge bonfires of old creosoted railway
sleepers were made in the streets, and gas-tar was added occasionally
to stimulate the flames. In the meantime, every house where a death
or recovery occurred was lime-washed. With these precautions, which
are manifestly applicable to other zymotic diseases, the visitation
speedily vanished. Concerning this all-important subject we may have
something further to say in a special paper.
Meanwhile, there is no kind of doubt that the spread of infectious
disease is attributable in great measure to personal ignorance,
commonly called carelessness, as well as to that entire indifference
as to the welfare of others which is so common to human nature. Some
time since, an advertisement appeared to the following effect: ‘Should
this meet the eye of the lady who travelled (by a particular train)
with her two boys, one of whom was evidently just recovering from an
illness, she may be pleased to learn that three of the four young
ladies who were in the carriage are very ill with the measles.’ This is
surpassed by a statement contained in a recent letter in the _Times_.
A lady, finding that her boys, on recovering from a severe attack of
scarlatina, suffered much from dandruff (the scales which separate from
the scalp, and which, in fever, are a prolific source of contagion),
took the sufferers to a leading West End hairdresser’s, so that their
heads could receive a thorough cleansing with the machine-brush!
We would in this connection draw attention to a novel system of
providing for smallpox cases with the least amount of risk to others,
which is established by the Metropolitan Asylums Board of London, and
which will undergo in time further development. In addition to the
five hospitals in different parts of London which have been opened
whenever a fresh epidemic has broken out, there is a very elaborate
ambulance system, by which a suitable carriage with a nurse and
porter is despatched, as soon as notice is received, to the patient’s
place of residence and removes the patient to the nearest hospital.
This has been at work for some years; but in addition there are
three ships moored on the Thames opposite Purfleet, two of which are
hospital ships, the third being used as a residence for the staff,
and containing offices, kitchens, workshops, &c. Some four miles
inland there is a convalescent camp, consisting of tents for about one
thousand patients, each heated and lighted by gas, and suitably fitted
for the purpose in every way.
To convey patients to the ships, an ambulance steamer runs as often
as required, being fitted up as a travelling hospital, with beds,
&c., and having a medical and nursing staff. Patients are removed to
the river-side either direct from their homes, or from the hospitals,
usually on comfortable beds, and carried on board the steamer, and
thence down the river. Another steamer brings the recovered cases back;
and when landed, they are conveyed in special carriages to their homes,
free from infection in person and clothing.
So far the problem of how to provide for an epidemic of smallpox in
London is in a fair way of being solved, by a system which, though
still in its earliest stage, is daily undergoing development and
improvement. When yet another steamer is fitted out, there will be
no difficulty in coping with a much larger epidemic than has visited
London for many years, and at the same time treating patients with an
amount of attention almost unknown till now.
The proposal to revive the art of lacemaking in Ireland, to which
we adverted some months ago, has now received more definite form. A
scheme has been framed under the auspices of many influential persons,
the chief features of which are as follows: Original designs are to
be purchased under the advice of the best authorities on the subject.
These designs will be sent to the lacemaking centres for execution. The
specimens will then be exhibited and offered for sale. The expenses to
set this machinery at work will amount to about five hundred pounds,
much of which is already subscribed. Full information as to the project
can be obtained from Mr Alan Cole, of the South Kensington Museum.
Dr Von Pettenkofer has, according to the _Lancet_, been lately paying
attention to the poisonous action of coal-gas on the human system, and
a few notes of authenticated cases may be serviceable to those who
pay little heed to an escape of gas so long as it does not in their
opinion assume dangerous dimensions. The cases quoted all refer to
escapes of gas into dwelling-houses after passing through a layer of
earth, and we may note that such escapes are difficult of detection,
for the earth robs the gas in great measure of its tell-tale odour.
At Roveredo, three women were killed in their sleep by an escape
from a broken pipe under the roadway thirty-five feet distant. At
Cologne, three of one family were carried off by a similar escape at
a distance of ninety-eight feet. At Breslau, a case is reported where
the escape was no less than one hundred and fifteen feet away from
its victim. It would seem that the dangerous constituent of coal-gas
is carbonic oxide, which usually forms about eight per cent. of the
vapour conveyed to our houses. Whether this noxious ingredient can,
like other impurities, be eliminated in the process of purification at
the gas-works, we do not know, but the question is certainly worth the
attention of the authorities.
The Observatory on the summit of Ben Nevis, which our readers will
remember was opened in October last, will be completed this summer. The
observations already made confirm the anticipations as to the value of
a high level station, and the completion of the structure will add to
the efficiency of the work done, for hitherto the observers have been
cramped for space. A shelter for tourists forms part of the scheme,
and travellers will be able to obtain light refreshment there, and if
they desire it, can telegraph from the highest point in Britain to
their friends below. The cost of completion will absorb about eight
hundred pounds; but this estimate does not include the heavy outlay
for carriage of materials on horseback up the bridle-path already
constructed. It has been suggested that visitors on horseback using
this path should pay a toll of five shillings—a modest sum, when it is
considered that the expenses of maintenance are much increased by the
soil being loosened by the horse’s hoofs, especially when the ground is
in a soft condition.
The small Chinese colony established at the International Health
Exhibition is one of the principal attractions of the place. Visitors
have now the opportunity of tasting various strange dishes which before
they had only heard of by report. The much extolled bird-nest soup can
be had here, together with shark-fins, _beches de mer_ (sea-slugs),
edibles made of different seaweeds, shredded cucumber peels mixed with
vinegar, and various other delicacies, which, we trust, are nicer
than they seem to be by mere description. We may note that the South
Kensington executive have already arranged for an Exhibition to follow
on the present one. It is to be called the Exhibition of Inventions,
and will include all kinds of appliances, one entire division being
devoted to musical instruments.
A long-felt want by paper-rulers and others has now been supplied by
the new Patent Automatic Paper Feeding-machine. It has been invented
by Mr William Archer, 204 Rose Street, Edinburgh—a paper-ruler who
has spent his spare time during the last ten years in working it
out, and who has now succeeded in patenting a Ruling-machine which
is allowed to be the most accurate in use for feeding the paper in a
continuous stream, or feeding to grippers at given intervals. It can be
worked either by hand or steam-power, and it renders unnecessary the
employment of boys or girls as paper-feeders. It can also be applied to
hot rolling-machines; and it is expected that it will also be turned to
use in connection with printing, &c.
OCCASIONAL NOTES.
THE NEW ORGAN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
The old-new, or the new-old, organ of Westminster Abbey was formally
tried on the 24th of May, at the usual afternoon service, after which
a recital, which served to exhibit the extreme beauty and power of
some of the new work, was given. The new organ has fifty-six speaking
stops, besides many mechanical stops, couplers, &c., and is placed in
two lofty blocks, like the one in St Paul’s Cathedral, at the west
end of the two choir screens, only that in this case the player sits
between the two over the doorway of the choir. The magnificent oak
case, designed by Mr Pearson, has not yet been erected, because the
funds for the purpose—about fifteen hundred pounds—are not, as we
write, yet collected. The principal bellows are blown by a gas-engine,
and are placed in a vault below the cloisters, the pipes conveying the
air being nearly one hundred feet in length. A curious arrangement
exists to connect the keys with the pipes, which is done by tubes,
through which, on the key being pressed, wind, under heavy pressure, is
admitted, and acts instantly on a small bellows at the other end of the
tube. This, on being inflated, pulls down the pallet or valve under the
sound-board, and thus gives air to the pipe. This clever system is said
not to get out of order or to be affected by changes of temperature.
It may be interesting to state that this organ was in the first
instance built by Schreider and Jordan so far back as 1730. Exactly a
hundred years after (1830) it was added to by Elliott; and again in
1848 and in 1868, Hill made many additions; and it has now been almost
completely reconstructed by Messrs Hill and Son, of the same well-known
firm. It may fairly be considered, with that in St Paul’s Cathedral,
and All Saints, Margaret Street, to take rank as one of the finest
church organs in London.
THE ANTHROPOMETRICAL LABORATORY AT THE HEALTH EXHIBITION.
Without intending the smallest disrespect to our numerous readers, we
will venture to say that more than one will be inclined to ask the very
obvious question, ‘What is anthropometry?’ Well, this fine-sounding,
Greek-adapted name signifies the art of describing and recording, in a
schedule provided for that purpose, the particulars appertaining to the
condition, functions, powers, and capabilities of the human body and
limbs. Every person visiting the Laboratory at the Health Exhibition
can have his or her schedule filled up with a statement, ascertained
on the spot, of his name or initials, age, sex, occupation, place of
birth, colour of hair and eyes, height standing and sitting, weight,
length of span of arms, strength of squeeze and of pull, swiftness and
weight of direct fist-blow, capacity of chest, lungs, and breathing,
as measured by a spirometer, acuteness of vision as measured by a
test type, conditions of colour-sense, and acuteness of hearing. The
ascertaining of these particulars, and any others of a like nature
bearing immediately on the principal question, seems to be the especial
business of the art of anthropometry. It may be objected that the
collecting of these facts, though interesting enough to the individual
practised upon and his family, can be of no possible use beyond that
limit, or indeed anywhere else; but the gentleman who has originated
this novel and ingenious scheme (Mr Francis Galton) proposes to keep a
duplicate of the filled-up schedule which each person operated on will
receive; and by this means he hopes to obtain a very large number of
facts and statements, which will doubtless be ultimately arranged and
tabulated, and made good use of by the originator, who may possibly
submit them to the Registrar-general, or to the Statistical Society,
for enrolment amongst their curious records. It is, at anyrate, in
spite of its somewhat alarming Greek name, an interesting experiment.
ADVICE TO INTENDING EMIGRANTS.
A correspondent in New South Wales writes to us as follows: ‘Australia
offers a wide field for the capitalist and the manual labourer, but
I should not advise others to try their fortunes here. For educated
persons, male or female, without capital, Australia is a death-trap.
Such persons would, according to my observation, do far better in
America, or in the English settlements in China. In China, young
gentlemen possessing no other fortune than a good education, are soon
employed in the warehouses and stores by the Chinese merchants, who
value Englishmen whenever they can get them to take charge of the more
responsible parts of their businesses. The Chinese Customs’ Departments
also are open to educated young Englishmen. But in Australia, brains
are not a marketable commodity; strong arms are more sought for.
The streets of Sydney are thronged with hundreds of educated young
Englishmen, who have come out here persuaded by their friends that work
is easily got, as well as money, which is not the case, except in one
or two kinds of labour. I know of scores of temperate young gentlemen
out here who have done all they could to find employment, and failed;
and at last have had to seek relief in the Refuge. Some commit suicide
out of sheer despair.
‘No one, unless he can swing a pickaxe well and is possessed of plenty
of muscular strength, with not too much refinement in him, should think
of coming out here to earn his bread, much less make his “pile,”
unless he has some capital, say a few thousands, to start a warehouse,
or take up land and go in for sheep-farming. Sometimes young educated
men, who bring good letters of introduction and good characters also,
are given government situations, as I am thankful to say was the case
with me. But I should warn any educated young man who has no friends
here or capital, against coming to Australia. Even where he brings
letters, he often has great trouble to get a situation, as there are
so many colonials’ sons hanging about doing nothing. The towns are
overloaded with men, and the country is left untouched for want of
capital in the majority of those who come out here.
‘Servants of all classes do well here; ten shillings per week and board
and lodging is the usual wage for female servants good or bad; and one
pound per week with board and lodging for male servants. Governesses
are an utter failure; hundreds are doing nothing here now; and when
they do get employed, they don’t do much better than at home; sixty
pounds with board and lodging is the usual salary; but they have to act
as nurses often as well, for that sum.
‘My advice to young gentlemen and ladies who are thinking of giving up
their situations at home and emigrating to Australia in the hopes of
getting work and good salary, is—Don’t.’
A CURIOUS DISEASE.
The _London Medical Record_ quotes some information regarding a strange
disease that is met with in Siberia, and known to the Russians by the
name of ‘Miryachit.’ The person affected seems compelled to imitate
anything he hears or sees, and an interesting account is given of a
steward who was reduced to a perfect state of misery by his inability
to avoid imitating everything he heard and saw. One day the captain
of the steamer, running up to him, suddenly clapping his hands at the
same time, accidentally slipped, and fell hard on the deck. Without
having been touched, the steward instantly clapped his hands and
shouted; then, in helpless imitation, he, too, fell as hard, and almost
precisely in the same manner and position as the captain. This disease
has been met with in Java, where it is known as ‘Lata.’ In the case
of a female servant who had the same irresistible tendency to imitate
her mistress, the latter, one day at dessert, wishing to exhibit this
peculiarity, and catching the woman’s eye, suddenly reached across the
table, and seizing a large French plum, made pretence to swallow it
whole. The woman rushed at the dish and put a plum in her mouth, and,
after severe choking and semi-asphyxia, succeeded in swallowing it; but
her mistress never tried the experiment again.
ANOTHER UPHILL RAILWAY.
The _Hôtel des Alpes_ at Chillon, and the _Hôtel de Mont Fleury_
at Montreux, Switzerland, are situated at no great distance apart;
but the difference of elevation between the two is over two hundred
feet, and the incline very steep. To get over this difficulty, it is
intended to call in the aid of that mighty power which has of late
so prominently come to the front—electricity. After a long series of
carefully conducted experiments, it has been determined that an uphill
railway shall be constructed between the two hotels named, to be driven
by electricity. An electric motor will be placed on a car to drive a
cog-wheel; this wheel will gear into a central cogged rail, and by this
means draw or pull the car up the ascent. Conductors placed beside the
central rail will convey the current of the generator, which will be
kept going by a five-horse-power locomotive engine. It is, however, in
contemplation to drive the dynamo not by steam, but by water-power,
abundance of which, descending from the hills, can be had close by, and
only requires utilising. This railway will in many points resemble that
up the Righi, only that electricity will be its driving-power instead
of the odd-looking little engine so well known at the latter place; and
when it is completed, it will certainly be a great boon to travellers
frequenting these beautiful spots.
EVENING ON THE LAKE.
Upon the mountain-top the purple tints
Fade into mist; and the rich golden glow
Of the low-setting sun sinks to a gray
Subdued and tender.
Home the eagle hies,
Swift, to his eyrie, his broad pinions stretched,
Bearing him onwards, seeming motionless
The while with rapid wing he cleaves the air,
As ship the waters: now the grousecock crows
On heathered knoll his vesper lullaby
To his dear mate.
And from the silver lake,
Cradled in mountain-setting, echoing comes,
With rippling music on the air, the plash
Of dipping oars; and voices deep and low,
Mingled with women’s trebles, tuneful break
The evening silence!
Grand indeed it is
To be amid these mountain solitudes;
And yet there is a sense of rest and calm,
Soothing the spirit—stealing o’er the heart
Like the soft notes of an Æolian harp,
Falling like balm upon the troubled soul,
And making the most worldly man to feel
That there is over earth a higher heaven!
* * * * *
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_If the above rules are complied with, the Editor will do his best to
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