There are several ways of doing this: sometimes he may be at the club,
and then the letter is dropped into the letter-box; but the favourite
dodge is to dress up a man as a postman, with bag and a bundle of
letters in his hand, who will deliver it at the victim’s office; or
the confederate will watch for the real postman, walk behind him, drop
the letter on the pavement, and then call out to the carrier: ‘Hillo,
you’ve dropped one of your letters.’
The man will pick it up, and, being almost certain to have others
addressed to the same person, innocently play the rogue’s game. As to
the bookmaker, all he can do is to write a letter of complaint to St
Martin’s-le-Grand and pay the money.
You cannot touch pitch without being defiled, or play with edged tools
without being cut, says the old proverb; and you cannot associate with
rogues and play the rogue without occasionally being swindled yourself.
MISS MASTERMAN’S DISCOVERY.
IN TWO CHAPTERS.—CHAP. II.
Since she left the rectory, she had had two letters from Lady O’Leary,
a passage in the second having made a powerful impression upon her:
‘Since your departure, my dear Phœbe, I have had leisure for much
reflection on the subject of your frightful discovery; and after
considerable cogitation, I have arrived at the conclusion that it is
certainly your bounden duty to acquaint the bishop with the conduct of
Mr Draycott, and to do so at once before you return to Sunnydale. I
should advise you to write and inclose that abandoned widow’s note. I
fancy that we are not the only ones who are beginning to see through
this sanctimonious villain of a rector. I observed last Sunday that
several of the congregation, amongst them Lady Conyers and General
Scott and his family, who always stay for a chat with the Draycotts
after service, left the church as quickly as possible, as if to avoid
speaking to any of the family. Mrs Penrose was not at church; no doubt
she had her reasons for staying away, though I heard from Miss Jones
that it was given out that it was a bad headache that kept her at home.’
From Lady O’Leary’s statement, it was not clear if Mrs Penrose’s
headache had been publicly announced in church or not; and the worthy
lady had also omitted to mention that it was entirely owing to her
own hints and innuendoes, industriously dropped here and there,
accompanied by significant looks of unutterable meaning, that the
mind of the parish was being considerably exercised with grave doubts
as to Mr Draycott’s moral character. The letter went on to say that
invitations had been issued for a large evening party at the rectory
on the following Thursday. Lady O’Leary strongly urged Miss Masterman
so to time her return as to be present at it, adding: ‘I intend to go,
as I feel it my duty to neglect no opportunity of collecting evidence
which may serve to deliver our hearths and homes from the contaminating
presence of the shameless Draycott!’
On reading this, Miss Masterman considered that there was no further
proof wanting of the enormity of the rector’s guilt. Another suspicious
circumstance was, that she had received no invitation, and in three
days the party would take place. She therefore felt convinced that
the rector, dreading lest her keen eye should detect more than would
be noticed by the shallow members of his own family, had made some
excuse to prevent Mrs Draycott from bidding her to the festivity;
consequently, resolving to hesitate no longer, she sat down and indited
the following letter:
_To the Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of ——._
MY LORD—I venture, as a temporary resident in the parish of
Sunnydale, to call to your lordship’s notice some heinous
irregularities in the conduct of the Rev. Stephen Draycott, rector
of that parish. I should indeed blush to record the details of his
guilt in any words of mine; but the inclosed note, addressed to
him by a person who calls herself ‘Mrs Penrose,’ will, I think,
speak for itself. The individual whom I allude to is, I have every
reason to fear, an astute adventuress; and should your Lordship
think it worth while to make further inquiries respecting her, I
have no doubt that sufficient evidence will speedily be found to
substantiate my statements in every respect.—I have the honour to
be, My Lord, Your Lordship’s most obedient humble servant,
(MISS) PHŒBE MASTERMAN.
Miss Masterman next wrote a letter to the unconscious Mrs Draycott,
fixing the following Friday for her return, at the same time fully
intending to make some excuse for arriving unexpectedly on Thursday
afternoon instead, so as to be in time for the party in the evening.
She then sent a few lines to Lady O’Leary acquainting her with all
she had done; and after seeing her letters posted, she congratulated
herself on the courage and resolution with which she had carried out
what she believed to be a duty to society.
On Thursday, Miss Masterman left Bradborough early in the morning,
having so arranged her journey that she would arrive at Sunnydale about
six, which, as she calculated, would give her time to unpack and dress
for the evening. But, by an unfortunate chance, it happened that as the
train by which she travelled during the first part of her journey was
delayed, it would be quite impossible to be at the rectory much before
eleven o’clock P.M. Even Miss Masterman felt that that would be too
late an hour at which to arrive unexpectedly; so she made up her mind
that her only course would be to go to the village inn for the night,
her one consolation being, that Lady O’Leary would be sure to give her
a full and particular account of all that occurred at the rectory.
The alteration in her arrangements was most annoying to Miss Masterman,
who, like many other rich people, if she made a plan, expected, as a
matter of course, that it should be rigidly adhered to. During four
hours which she had to wait at a junction, she sat and brooded over
her grievances, waxing more and more grim as she did so. To add to her
irritation, the rain began to come down in torrents; and the cold and
draughty station was made additionally comfortless by the damp air
which came in through every door and window, and penetrated to every
bone in Miss Masterman’s body.
At length, however, the dreary journey came to an end; and on reaching
her destination, she took a fly, and ordered the man to drive her to
the only decent inn that Sunnydale could boast. By this time it was
past eleven o’clock. The rain had ceased, and the moon was shining
brightly, throwing streams of silvery light on all around, and bringing
every object into unusual prominence. In order to reach the inn, it
was necessary to pass Fern Lodge, the pretty cottage residence of Mrs
Penrose. Fancying she heard voices, Miss Masterman leaned forward and
looked out of the window. What was her horror and amazement to see Mr
Draycott gallantly escorting Mrs Penrose to her door! There was no
mistaking the rector’s tall figure and dignified deportment. But the
widow! Dressed in what appeared to be an elegant costume, her bare arms
and neck, plainly visible through her black lace shawl, were gleaming
with diamonds! But even this was not all! The bright moonlight falling
on her upturned face as she smiled upon Mr Draycott, plainly revealed
powder and rouge! Slowly the pair advanced towards the house, and as a
turn in the road hid them from sight, Mr Draycott was bending over his
companion, apparently engaged in earnest conversation.
Miss Masterman sank back in the fly in the greatest agitation. Her
worst suspicions were now confirmed! and by the time she arrived at
the inn, she felt fairly exhausted with excitement. Miss Masterman at
once requested to be shown to her room; and during the greater part
of the night she lay awake, thinking over the startling discoveries
she had made and their probable results. On one point she had quite
made up her mind—that nothing would induce her to remain any longer
under the same roof with the rector. So she arranged with the hostess
of the _Sunnydale Arms_ that she would stay there for a week—to await
events. At an early hour she called upon Lady O’Leary; but, to her
great disappointment, she found that lady confined to her room with
such a severe attack of gout, that she had been unable to be present at
the rectory on the previous evening. The invalid listened with greedy
interest to Miss Masterman’s revelations, and for the moment she forgot
the pain she was enduring in the delight of hearing about Mrs Penrose’s
rouge, and especially the diamonds, which were ‘confirmation strong,’
if any were needed, of the words in the fatal letter. On her side, Lady
O’Leary had little to tell Miss Masterman, except that two days ago
she had seen Magdalen Draycott, who told her that they only expected
about half the number they had asked to the party, as so many had
refused. The girl had also said that her mother was a good deal worried
about it; from which Lady O’Leary concluded that things were coming
to a crisis, and that people were beginning to see the unprincipled
Draycott in his true colours. The interview between the two ladies was
terminated by a paroxysm of agony which seized upon the invalid, and
completely incapacitated her for further conversation.
Miss Masterman returned to the inn for lunch, and then prepared for
her momentous visit to the rectory; for she had resolved to beard the
lion in his den, and to denounce him in the presence of his family as a
hypocrite. On arriving at the rectory, she was told by the servant who
appeared in answer to her imperious knock, that the rector was at that
time engaged with the churchwardens and others on parish business, and
could not be interrupted.
‘My business will not admit of delay,’ replied Miss Masterman. ‘I
must insist upon seeing the rector at once.’ Then, as the servant
endeavoured to expostulate—‘No words!’ continued the spinster; ‘conduct
me to him at once.’
The servant then led the way, though with evident reluctance, and
throwing open the drawing-room door, announced Miss Masterman.
Bristling with conscious virtue, her tall form drawn up to its fullest
height, she intrepidly advanced, seeming to breathe out threatenings
and slaughter in her progress, and her whole appearance formidable to
the last degree.
The dining-room was full of people, who were seated round the long
table, at the head of which presided the rector. The two churchwardens
were seated near him. The rest of the party included Mrs Draycott, Lady
Conyers, General Scott, and many of the leading residents of Sunnydale,
who had met to discuss some necessary alterations in the hours of the
church services. At sight of Miss Masterman, a dead silence fell upon
the assembly. Nothing daunted, she advanced to Mrs Draycott, and held
out her hand; but, to her surprise, she was repulsed. She was then
addressed by the rector, who, rising from his chair, said in dignified
accents: ‘If you wish to speak to me, Miss Masterman, I will come to
you presently in the study. At present, I am engaged, as you see, with
my friends.’
‘I can perfectly understand your motives in wishing to speak to me
without witnesses, Mr Draycott,’ replied she; ‘but you shall not escape
so easily. What I have to say shall be said here, in the hearing of
your wife, and of the friends whom you have so grossly deceived.’
‘I spoke for your own sake, madam, not mine,’ said the rector, as
he turned pale with anger. ‘But since you insist upon it, pray, let
my friends hear what excuse you have to offer for this uncalled-for
intrusion.’
‘I wish to acquaint them with your real character,’ answered Miss
Masterman firmly. ‘You know that you are an unprincipled man and a
profligate.’
At these audacious words, all the company rose to their feet, with
the exception of Mr Sheldon, the rector’s churchwarden, a young and
rising solicitor, who—his professional instincts instantly on the
alert—scented legal proceedings, and began quickly and silently to take
notes of all that passed. The other churchwarden, Mr Blare, a little
puffy, red-faced man, with a temper that was the terror of all the
naughty boys in the parish, after vainly trying to express his wrath
articulately, sank back into his chair again gasping and snorting,
till his face assumed an apoplectic hue that was truly alarming.
The rest of the assembly loudly expressed their indignation at Miss
Masterman’s extraordinary allegations; when above the din rang out the
rector’s clear and penetrating voice. ‘My friends,’ he cried, ‘will
you be seated, and listen to me?’ Then, as they obeyed in silence, he
turned to the furious woman before him, and continued: ‘May I ask, Miss
Masterman, by what right you abstracted a letter from my study, and
then took the unwarrantable liberty of sending it to the bishop?’
‘I wished to open the bishop’s eyes to your real character,’ replied
Miss Masterman. ‘I read that letter by the merest accident, and I felt
that it was only right that others should be undeceived as well as
myself.’
‘And are you aware,’ demanded Mr Draycott sternly, ‘that you have
rendered yourself liable to an action for libel?’
‘Certainly not,’ answered Miss Masterman, ‘for I have only spoken the
truth. It is of no use to try and bully, Mr Draycott; your character
has now been discovered.’
At this crisis, Miss Masterman was interrupted by an angry snort from
Mr Blare, who, after making another futile attempt to express himself
coherently, subsided into a violent fit of coughing, after which, he
contented himself with giving vent to a short jeering laugh whenever
Miss Masterman spoke, in a manner that irritated that lady almost
beyond endurance.
‘Perhaps, before you indulge in any more strong language, you will be
good enough to listen to a few words of explanation,’ proceeded the
rector. ‘The letter which you purloined from my study referred merely
to some theatricals. My wife had written a little play in which Mrs
Penrose was to take part; the play was to be acted last night at a
party in this house, which had been purposely kept a secret from you
on account of your known dislike of all theatrical entertainments. The
articles alluded to in Mrs Penrose’s letter to me were required by her
for the part she was to play. Had you mentioned the matter to me or to
any member of my family, you would have heard the truth, and spared
yourself and us much unnecessary pain.’
‘Then,’ gasped Miss Masterman, ‘when I saw you and Mrs Penrose at
eleven o’clock last night’——
‘I was escorting her home, after her kindness in helping us,’ replied
Mr Draycott. Then, as his voice trembled with suppressed anger, he
continued: ‘I have been this morning, thanks to your impertinent
interference, subjected to a severe cross-examination by my bishop;
and though I trust he is now convinced of the falsehood of your
allegations, I have been put in a most painful position. Owing to you
and Lady O’Leary—who has not scrupled to spread scandalous reports
about me in my own parish—I have been cut by some of my most valued
friends; and if I refrain from prosecuting you both for libel, it is
only on condition that you offer a full and ample apology for your most
wicked and uncalled-for assertions.’
As Miss Masterman heard these words, she felt ready to sink through the
ground, for she at once saw the folly and wickedness of her conduct in
its true light. All her assurance deserted her, and she feebly tried to
falter out a few words of regret; but the rector sternly interrupted
her. ‘That is not sufficient, Miss Masterman,’ said he. ‘I must trouble
you to write at once to the bishop, and also to send a paragraph to the
local papers, to retract every word that you and Lady O’Leary have said
against my character. Should you, or she, refuse to do me this justice,
I shall immediately commence proceedings against you both!’
Here the solicitor interposed with: ‘I am in a position to warn Miss
Masterman that should Mr Draycott determine to institute proceedings
for libel, the damages in this case might be excessive.’
Baffled, confounded, and for the first time in her life completely
cowed, Miss Masterman looked helplessly around her, and had the
mortification of seeing Lady Conyers, General Scott, those rich and
influential members of the congregation, whose friendship she had so
sedulously cultivated, turn their backs upon her in utter contempt,
as she passed down the room; even kind Mrs Draycott averted her eyes
from her; and her equanimity was by no means restored when, on reaching
the door, she found that it had been left partially open, and that
the whole of the preceding conversation had been overheard by Master
Hubert, who was now turning somersaults in the hall, as Miss Masterman
more than suspected, in celebration of her own discomfiture.
It is scarcely necessary to add that Miss Masterman and her friend were
only too thankful to accept the rector’s terms, and so escape the just
penalty of their conduct; and whenever, after this, Miss Masterman felt
inclined to give too free license to her tongue, the rising temptation
was instantly subdued by the recollection of the mischief once wrought
by that unruly member during her summer holiday in the parish of
Sunnydale.
PHOTOGRAPHIC STAR-CHARTING.
It is now some years since photography was first called to the
assistance of the astronomer, and the results which have been achieved
show that it will play a still more important part in the future. A
description of all its advantages would carry us far beyond the limits
of the present article; but we mention four, as they are necessary to
the understanding of the subject.
The power which the sensitive film possesses of recording the
appearance of a bright object to whose light it has been exposed for
only a minute fraction of a second, has enabled us to obtain pictures
of the sun that are much more accurate than ordinary drawings. The
camera, moreover, has the faculty of seeing a great deal in a very
short space of time. If we confine our attention to a small area, a
very few moments suffice to show us all that is to be seen by the
naked eye; persistent looking for half an hour would only tire our
eyes without enabling us to see anything at first invisible. It is
different with the camera; the longer the light is permitted to fall on
the plate, the more details do we find in the resulting picture. The
fact that some rays are more effective (photographically) than others
has enabled Dr Huggins to photograph, in full sunlight, that extremely
faint solar appendage, the corona, which is visible to the eye only
when the intense light of the sun is hidden as during a total eclipse.
The latest demand which has been made upon the astronomer’s new
assistant is no less than a great atlas of all the stars down to those
of the fifteenth magnitude. The magnificent idea of photographing this
immense number of stars—probably about twenty millions—is due to the
officials of the Paris Observatory. The instrument which Messrs Paul
and Prosper Henry have constructed for this research may be described
roughly as two telescopes side by side and moving together. One of
these, having a specially designed object-glass, carries the sensitive
plate for the reception of the image. The arrangement is provided
with a clockwork motion, in order that, during the time of exposure,
the situation of each star’s image may not alter; but as clockwork,
however carefully made, is not infallible, an observer, looking through
the second telescope, nips in the bud, so to speak, any tendency
to aberration. Since the little spots that frequently occur on the
photographic plates may be mistaken for stars, and so serve to swell
future lists of ‘variables,’ each plate is exposed three times, and
each star is therefore represented by three marks. The alteration in
the position of the plate between each of the three exposures is so
slight, that it requires a microscope to show that the dots are triple.
With this splendid apparatus, only one two-hundredth of a second
is necessary for the recording of the position of first-magnitude
stars. Those of the sixth magnitude, which can only be perceived with
the naked eye on a very dark night, require only half a second. The
faintest which can be seen through the telescope, those of about the
fourteenth magnitude, take three minutes to make an impression. But
although the human eye is not sensitive enough to go any farther than
this, stars of the fifteenth and even the sixteenth magnitude can be
made to appear on the plate, if the exposure be sufficiently prolonged.
In the latter case, an hour and a half is necessary.
In one of Messrs Henry’s charts, about five thousand stars were
counted. The construction of such a chart by the ordinary method of
measurement would have taken many months; now it only takes three
hours. Thus the preparation of a set of maps such as Messrs Henry
suggest would occupy less time than the charting of one-hundredth part
of the number of stars by ordinary methods. It has been calculated that
if the work be divided among twelve observatories, five hundred and ten
photographs would be required from each; and making every allowance,
ten years would probably see the completion of the most elaborate
survey of the whole heavens ever undertaken. This may seem a long time;
but we must remember that Argelander’s great charts of the northern
hemisphere, which contained only three hundred and twenty-four thousand
stars, occupied seven years of observatory work alone!
The importance of obtaining a permanent record of the present positions
of twenty million stars cannot be overestimated. We find that if old
measurements, such as those of Ptolemy, Copernicus, Tycho Brahe, and
others, are to be trusted, very great changes must have taken place in
the heavens. But are they to be trusted? The differences between their
observations and ours must in many cases be attributed to the roughness
of their instruments; but some cannot be altogether explained thus. As,
however, we do not know where actual change ends and faulty measurement
begins, no very definite knowledge can be derived from the comparison.
A photograph of some part of the heavens by Cassini—what an invaluable
legacy it would have been! With such a survey as Messrs Henry propose,
future astronomers will be able not only to be sure of the existence
of changes, but also to measure their extent. But the astronomers of
the future will not be the only gainers. During an hour, a planet moves
quite an appreciable distance; it will therefore appear on the plate
as a short line instead of a point. Thus, one of the first results
will probably be a considerable accession to the numbers of the minor
planets which circulate between Mars and Jupiter. Who knows that the
transneptunian planet itself will not be found in this way? Besides
this very obvious advantage, these charts will be of the greatest use
in the study of the form and constitution of the stellar universe.
It is only by the employment of such charts that we can arrive at a
proper understanding of star arrangement. The methods of star-gauging
which Sir William Herschel employed for this purpose failed to give
any satisfactory account of the form of the Milky-way in space. His
first method was to point his large telescope in various directions
successively, counting the number of stars visible in the field each
time. He argued that if the stars were scattered with approximate
uniformity throughout the galaxy, then the more he counted in a unit of
area, the farther must it extend in that direction. On this assumption,
he calculated that the depth of the Milky-way was eighty times the
distance of the first-magnitude stars. Sir John Herschel, by precisely
the same method, found the proportion to be seven hundred and fifty
instead of eighty! This discrepancy alone gives some idea of the
untrustworthiness of the method; and there are many other arguments
against it, into which we have not space to enter.