others of less importance. Nor is there lack of prizes. The Mouse
Challenge Bowl is a trophy worthy of consideration by a Derby winner;
and there are pots and medals and specials galore for competition by
enthusiastic members of the fancy.
[Illustration: THIS MOUSE IS INVESTIGATING OUR PHOTOGRAPHER'S
FLASH-LIGHT APPARATUS.]
A first visit to a famous collection is likely to occasion considerable
surprise to those who are only familiar with the white and pink-eyed
variety and the common little grey-backed member of the household.
During the last two or three years various fanciers have been
industriously endeavouring to improve the breed, and they have
succeeded in producing the most beautiful specimens. The show mouse is
larger than the common household specimen. The eye is much larger and
fuller, and the coat would not disgrace a thoroughbred racer. But the
chief points are colour and marking. These are simply wonderful. The
self colours include not only black and white, but almost every shade
between. The black specimens have rich silky coats. The white to be at
all valuable must possess black eyes. The pink eye has been eliminated
altogether.
[Illustration: (1) MOUSE CHALLENGE CUP. (2) A MOUSE WITH TWO TAILS. (3)
HOW A LADY FANCIER FEEDS HER PETS, AND (4) HOW SHE PLAYS WITH THEM.]
Sables exist in every possible shade, and some of them are of the
richest and most beautiful quality. Silver grey is a fashionable colour
this year, and I have seen some very perfect specimens with bluish-grey
coats.
The marked mouse is a most popular fancy, and no wonder, for in this
department the most wonderful results have been obtained, as our
illustrations prove.
At the present moment a well-known lady fancier is striving to obtain a
Dalmatian mouse. She has already a most wonderfully spotted specimen,
and hopes before long to show a perfect example.
Apart from their great beauty, fancy mice pay, and pay well. At the
National Mouse Show I was shown several specimens worth £5 apiece, and
as much as £20 has been given for a champion. The two mice in our
picture of judging are both £5 animals.
Another thing about them is that they are practically all profit. The
bread and milk and occasional hemp seed upon which they live is used in
such small quantities that an expenditure of 6_d_. per week will
suffice to keep dozens.
Then there are many fanciers who make a lot of money out of their young
mice. A working man in the North of England, who is an ardent fancier,
makes no less than £15 per annum in this way, besides an occasional
pound or two for an extra-promising specimen.
Many fanciers have very large collections. The secretary of the
National Mouse Club possesses some 2,000 in his cages, and I know at
least half a dozen others whose collections range between two and five
hundred. At one day old the mice are little pink objects scarcely
longer than a wax vesta, minus sight and minus coat. I saw a litter of
this age in Staffordshire some time ago. A fortnight later they were in
full war paint, and were winning prizes at a big show in the "under
eight weeks" class. It is well that they develop so quickly, since at
two years they get ill and out of condition and are usually destroyed.
There are many collections in this country valued at £30, and I know of
one for which £100 has been offered and refused.
As with other fancy animals, the best specimens are selected from a
litter and the rest are drowned. The selected mice are reared with the
greatest care, and as soon as they are of the right size and age they
commence the round of the shows. At home they are kept in immense
tenement cages, divided into tiny compartments for two, but they travel
to the shows singly in special exhibition cages.
[Illustration: "MATCHLESS," THE CHAMPION MOUSE--SHOWING HOW THE JUDGING
IS DONE.]
These exhibition cages are packed together in a live-stock box, and on
their arrival at their destination are taken charge of by special
stewards, who see to the feeding arrangements and place them in their
right classes.
Great interest is taken in the judging of these tiny creatures, and the
judge is always surrounded by an eager crowd of spectators. Usually he
contents himself with a glance in the box, shaking it up if the
occupant is of a lazy disposition. When it comes to taking stock of a
particularly good exhibit the mouse is taken out of the cage and
examined.
They are always lifted and held by their tails during this examination.
In the case of it being necessary to compare two competitors, they are
held on the sleeve as illustrated in our photograph of judging.
In this picture, Mr. Richards of Dursley, Gloucestershire, is seen
judging two specially fine specimens, the mouse to the left being Mr.
Singleton's famous champion "Matchless," one of the most perfect show
mice living.
The border on the first page of this article is entirely composed of
photographs of show animals, and gives a very good idea of the
beautiful markings so much sought after by fanciers.
Miss Grimston owns a famous collection, which she keeps at her house in
Mayfair. Each mouse is named, and the idiosyncrasies of its character
are well known to its mistress. Two fine specimens are shown sitting on
her hands. The mouse on the ladder is also hers.
This lady possesses a unique playground, fitted with a tiny gymnasium.
The young mice are turned into this for exercise and play. It keeps
them in health and coat, two very necessary conditions for show
purposes.
Miss Grimston is a particularly successful exhibitor, having captured
some dozens of prizes, including cups and medals. Her collection at the
present time contains some forty show specimens. They are rarely home
for long together. As soon as they return from one show they are off to
another.
[Illustration: "WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY, THE MICE WILL PLAY."]
The exhibition cages shown in the illustration at the foot of this page
are a representative collection.
Although more or less of regulation size, shape and ornamentation are
left to the individual taste of the fancier.
As a result, many of them are extremely decorative, poker-work sketches
and other novel methods of adornment being commonly resorted to.
Many fanciers make their own cages and live-stock boxes, and combine
the mouse fancy with amateur carpentry. One fancier who is his own
carpenter has received so many applications for the address of the
maker of his exhibition cages, that he has taken up cage-making
professionally, and makes over £50 per annum in his spare time by the
sale of his handiwork.
It is needless to say that cats are unknown in the establishments of
show mouse owners, and show committees have to exercise the greatest
care in order to exclude cats from the exhibition rooms.
It is a capital hobby, full of interest and fascination.
[Illustration: SOME OF THE MICE CAGES AT THE NATIONAL SHOW.]
[Illustration]
A CROWDED HOUR
A COMEDY OF THE STREETS.
BY CLARENCE ROOK.
_Illustrated by B. E. Minns._
Very few people knew what really caused the crowd which collected so
suddenly one evening in front of a house in the neighbourhood of High
Street, Kensington--to be precise, in Lower Phillimore Place--and
practically blocked the traffic in that busy thoroughfare.
The crowd itself had no clear notion of the cause of its coming
together. For in order to produce a crowd it is by no means necessary
that the individuals who are to compose it should have any reason for
their assembling more definite than the fact that there is an assembly.
Primarily, however, it was Esther who was the cause of the crowd.
Esther, who you must know is my sister, had been growing quite
prosperous. After a year or so of hard and unremunerative work, Esther
had gained a position on the staff of a leading ladies' newspaper; and
thereafter, week by week, Esther produced pictures of attenuated ladies
with crooked forefingers, attired in the height of fashion, and
pretending that their waists did not hurt them the least bit.
So, finding herself with an assured income which, if not large, was
adequate to her modest needs, Esther determined to quit her dingy
lodgings in a Bloomsbury side-street and furnish a dwelling for
herself. In this project she was encouraged by her bosom friend Susie,
who, being a certificated nurse with a private practice, wanted a
comfortable home in the intervals between her cases, and was willing to
contribute some furniture and a share of the expenses.
After much search among the advertisements in the newspapers in the
Free Library, followed by hurried rushes on her bicycle to the
uttermost ends of London, Esther found a house in Lower Phillimore
Place of which two floors and the basement were to be let unfurnished.
It was precisely the sort of place the two girls wanted, and as the
rent was reasonable Esther at once arranged to take it. Esther was to
occupy the ground floor, the first floor would be reserved for Susie
whenever she required it; in the basement a respectable woman would
live, and cook, and sleep. Esther began to look about for the
respectable woman.
It was only then that Esther suddenly bethought herself of the extreme
danger of sleeping--a solitary and unprotected woman--upon the
ground-floor of a London house. For an hour or so the difficulty seemed
insurmountable, and it appeared to Esther that she must cancel the
agreement. I suggested a dog. But, as Esther at once pointed out, a
determined and unscrupulous murderer would not hesitate to poison a
dog.
Then I proposed that a respectable married couple should be engaged.
Probably, in consideration of living rent free, the woman would do the
housework during the day, and the husband would kill murderers at
night. Esther considered a moment. The idea appealed to her.
"Why not a policeman and his wife?" said Esther.
With Esther to decide is to act. Within an hour she had laid her scheme
before the Inspector in charge at the Police Station by St. Mary
Abbott's, and enjoined upon him to search his division for a married
constable of lofty character who would like to live rent free in a dry
and roomy basement. Within twenty-four hours the constable was found.
Esther viewed him with approval, for he was large and serious; he had
the highest of characters, and had married a cook from De Vere Gardens
who had received a plated teapot from her late mistress as a mark of
esteem. They both assured Esther that they would do their best by her
and the other young lady, and an appointment was made for a view of the
house in Phillimore Place.
And so it came about that, one evening, just as dusk was falling,
Esther and Susie met the constable and his wife outside the house, and,
after greeting each other on the pavement, entered together. At that
moment an errand-boy was slowly propelling a carrier tricycle along by
the kerb. His day's deliveries were accomplished, and, as he looked
this way and that way with a mind receptive of stray impressions, his
eye fell upon Esther and her companions. He was immediately conscious
of something unusual.
There is nothing remarkable about a policeman in Kensington High
Street; but a policeman being conducted into a house by a young lady,
and closely followed by two other women, one of whom wears a nurse's
uniform, affords matter for conjecture. The errand-boy applied the
brake to his cycle, and came slowly to a standstill just below the
house, at which he looked thoughtfully. Esther with the constable and
the nurse and the constable's wife had disappeared through the front
door, and for a minute or so nothing more happened.
The boy, disappointed of his expected sensation, was just bending
forward to start his cycle again when he caught sight of an
acquaintance who was carrying a basket containing a dozen of stout. A
shrill whistle brought him to the side of the cycle.
"Wotcher!" he said.
"There's a copper gone in there," said the boy on the cycle, nodding
towards the house. "And a 'orspital nurse."
[Illustration: "'THERE'S A COPPER GONE IN THERE, AND A 'ORSPITAL
NURSE,' SAID THE BOY ON THE CYCLE."]
The other boy regarded the house critically.
"Was there a accident?" he asked.
The boy on the cycle, having no more information to give, said nothing,
but nodded again towards the house. Someone within had struck a light,
and the constable could be plainly seen standing in the middle of the
empty ground-floor room.
A hansom driver, crawling from the westwards in the hope of picking up
a fare to the Strand, paused in the act of lighting his pipe and pulled
up just in front of the cycle. A servant girl who had been sent out to
post a letter noticed an errand boy set down his basket upon the ground
and balance himself upon the rim, whereby he was enabled to peer over
the top of the railings, and she stood still to watch him; while three
sandwich men mournfully advertising a concert at the Town Hall halted
in the roadway and looked with dull curiosity at the cabman, who had
hitched himself round on his seat, and with one leg swinging in mid-air
was wondering what he could charge for a really urgent case to St.
George's Hospital.
"What's matter?" asked a homeward-bound workman who was vaguely
conscious of an unusual obstruction, and found the railings a
convenient support.
"Ain't nothing the matter," said the boy on the basket, looking round.
"You tike that fice 'ome."
The workman, finding it easier to stand still by the railings than to
walk, remained where he was.
"I stops where I am," he murmured; "see what's matter. All kinds things
happen in mighty metrolo--metrolopus."
The old gentleman who takes the air every evening along a beat of a
hundred yards or so of pavement in Phillimore Place halted and looked
inquiringly at the boy on the basket, disgustedly at the workman
clinging to the railings. Then, over the shoulder of the workman the
old gentleman caught sight of the policeman, who was now standing in
full light back to the window; while Susie, bending down with
tape-measure to calculate the amount of carpet required, could be dimly
seen by those outside to be busied with something on the floor.
"Dear me!" said the old gentleman.
"There's--body in there," said the workman. "That's what 'tis. Body."
"Bless my soul!" said the old gentleman, looking round at the group of
people on the pavement. "Has there been a murder? Does anyone know?"
No one cared to admit that he did not know what he was looking at,
whereas any positive statement might be controverted by someone with
knowledge. So no one answered, but all stood watching.
By this time the pavement was pretty well blocked, and wayfarers had
either to take to the roadway or to join the knot of people collected
in front of the railings and waiting anxiously upon events.
[Illustration: "'HAS THERE BEEN A MURDER? DOES ANYONE KNOW?' SAID THE
OLD GENTLEMAN."]
Most of them chose the latter course, assuring each other that there
was really nothing to wait for.
"Oh, there's a 'orse down; let's go and look, Alf," said a young woman
to her husband, who was carrying something tasty for supper in a piece
of newspaper.
"Oh, _kem_ on," said Alf. "You're always wanting to 'ang about for
this, that, and the other."
"Well, I'm sure, Alf, it's little enough excitement _I_ get, day in,
day out, and--oh, wait a minute; I needn't _reely_ wash biby to-night."
"'Taint a 'orse," said a seedy-looking man, whose height gave him a
view over the heads of the crowd. "It's in that house, that's where it
is."
"_What_ is?" asked Alf, still incredulous.
"Oh, there's a pleeceman in there, Alf," said the young woman,
delightedly.
"Then there ain't much the matter," said Alf, his good temper restored
by the consciousness of a ready wit. "They're 'andy enough when they
ain't wanted to be, and when they _are_ wanted----" He sought vainly
for a means of elaborating his joke. "Now then, where yer shovin'?"
"Shovin' yerself," was the reply; "don't other people want to see same
as what you do?"
[Illustration: "THE CROWD STRETCHED NEARLY ACROSS THE ROADWAY, IMPEDING
THE TRAFFIC."]
For the crowd had already begun to press behind, and, stretching nearly
across the roadway, was impeding the traffic. One omnibus, indeed,
which had stopped to set down a passenger, remained standing, and the
inside passengers had crowded out upon the roof to see what was the
matter. From the shops opposite came the assistants, and they stood in
the doorways, asking in vain for explanations, which no one could give.
Conjecture, however, was frequent; and a butcher's bookkeeper, being a
man of action, went off to rouse the nearest fire station.
In a minute more, the nucleus formed by one errand boy on a carrier
cycle had collected about it a solid mass, which completely stopped the
omnibuses and cabs, and gathered volume and consistency from every
wayfarer who came within its influence. Even the errand boy himself,
impressed with the seriousness of the situation, was convinced of the
nearness of tragedy, and was busily setting forth to those around him
what he had seen.
"Stand back, can't you?" cried an officious man upon the outskirts of
the crowd on the opposite pavement. "How ridiculously people do act in
an emergency! What's the use of crowding round?"
His neighbours looked resentfully at him.
"Stand back, can't you; stand back and give her air."
"Give _'oo_ air? You keep your'n on," said an on-looker, elbowing him
back.
"Why, it's a girl, isn't it? At least, they told me so," said the
officious man. "Why _do_ people push so? There's absolutely nothing to
get excited about."
"Girl, I dessay. But she's in that house over there."
"Most extraordinary thing," said a tradesman, who was standing in his
doorway. "That house is unoccupied. Been empty for three weeks or
more."
"And they've only just found the poor girl inside," exclaimed the
officious man. "Well, of all the useless, incompetent people in the
world, I really do think the London police bear away the palm. And why
on earth don't they keep the crowd away? Where _are_ the police? Here,
someone go and call a constable."
No one showed any desire to resign his point of view; and the cabs
going town-wards in a hurry turned down a side street to save time.
"'Ear that, Emmer?" said a woman in a shawl, who was standing in a
group of dishevelled companions. "The poor gal's been lyin' in that
empty 'ouse for three weeks; ain't it a shime?"
"Ah, it's jest like 'em," said another, vaguely.
"Well, I ain't what yer might call soft-'earted," said the first, "but
think of me livin' 'andy all that time, and the pore girl----"
"Yes, you can lay and rot for all _they_ care," said the other. "I
might die in me bed time and time again, and no one any the wiser. Not
but what I've got any right to becall you, Mrs. Robins. Think she's
dead?"
"Dead? No. Can't you see the 'orspital nurse stoopin' down over 'er?
They wouldn't 'a 'ad a 'orspital nurse if she was dead."
Just then the door of the house opened, and the crowd swayed excitedly
as Susie appeared with the constable, and stood for a moment in
surprise on the top step.
[Illustration: "THE CROWD SWAYED EXCITEDLY AS SUSIE APPEARED WITH THE
CONSTABLE."]
"Where's the ambulance," cried the officious man. "Why don't they send
for the ambulance? What _is_ the good of the police if they can't----"
"Now then, what's all this? Pass along, please, pass along."
Five or six policemen appeared simultaneously from different
directions.
"Over there, in that house. That's where it is," cried several voices.
"Stand back there! let the police through!" cried others.
The constables pushed their way through the throng to the point where
Susie and the policeman were standing, and the crowd stood in intense
silence while a hurried consultation took place. A moment or two later
Esther and Susie entered the hansom, which was still waiting in the
hope of a case for St. George's, and drove off through the passage
cleared by the police.
"Now then, pass along 'ere, _pass_ along," said the police. "There
ain't nothing to look at 'ere."
"Well, but aren't you going to bring the girl out?" asked the officious
man of a constable.
"Pass along, if _you_ please."
"What _is_ the good of making such a mystery of it?" said the officious
man. "That's the way half the crimes go undetected. I daresay it's all
simple enough if the truth were known. I maintain the public has a
right to be taken into the confidence of the authorities."
"'Ushing of it up," said the woman in a shawl. "'Ushing of it up."
"And I dessay they're well paid to do it," said her companion.
"Well, that's another added to the unsolved mysteries of London," said
the respectable-looking working-man, addressing his neighbours, "but
it's another nail in the coffin of----"
"Now then, your supper's gettin' cold," said the constable.
[Illustration: ONE-QUARTER OF A 1/4_d._]
[Illustration: ONE-THIRD OF A 1/4_d._]
[Illustration: NEW SOUTH WALES 15 PENNY PIECE.]
STRANGE KINDS OF MONEY.
BY ROBERT MACHRAY.
There seems to be scarcely any nation or tribe, no matter how savage
and barbarous, but has a money, or some kind of currency equivalent to
money, with which it discharges its debts and pays for the articles it
requires or covets.
Many of the specimens shown in the illustrations accompanying this
article of moneys "current with the merchant" will seem strange enough,
but it must be remembered that it was from the use of just such objects
long ago that the highly developed monetary systems of the Western
world have come.
[Illustration: A HALF-DALER PIECE, WHICH MEASURES THREE INCHES SQUARE.]
Amongst the most civilised races gold and silver coin, or "bank-notes,"
secured by deposits of gold and silver or by Government guarantees, are
the recognised media of exchange. Modern coinages exhibit many
specimens of beautiful and artistic moneys, and the notes--bills, as
they are called in America--issued by the Bank of England, the French,
United States, and other Governments, are, if not exactly artistic,
wonderfully ingenious devices for baffling the skill of the forger. But
in savage countries the forger has no place, for the moneys there in
use could not possibly be counterfeited.
[Illustration: CHINAMAN BUYING EGGS, WITH THE "CASH" OVER HIS
SHOULDER.]
Amongst the commonest of all currencies is the shell, and at the
present time it is quite extensively used in various parts of the
world--in Africa, in the Pacific, and in parts of Asia. In Africa, the
Shell-Money is the cowry, and it is customary for the natives to adorn
their gods, fetiches, and other objects of veneration with ropes of
these shells. In British Columbia, Haikwa shells were used as money.
[Illustration: CHINESE SILVER WILLOW-LEAF-MONEY.]
One of our illustrations shows the form shell-money takes in the
Solomon Islands, the shells being strung in ropes a fathom long.
Another picture shows a satchel belonging to a native of New Caledonia
with a quantity of shell-money in it. Sometimes the shells used are of
quite a large size; at other times again they are exceedingly minute.
Their value appears to depend on their colour and shape, the most
valuable being those which were most suitable for the adornment of the
person.
[Illustration: ADZE-MONEY, THE PRICE OF A FAT MAN FOR CANNIBALS.]
The next group of currencies is of a somewhat different class. In this
case feathers take the place of shells, and three examples are given of
this Feather Currency. In one example we see a specimen of what is
known as the Red Feather Currency. Over a band of vegetable fibre is
woven a material composed of red parrot feathers, held in place by two
boards placed in the middle above and below the band; the whole was
carried in a bag.
[Illustration: FEATHER-BRUSH-MONEY FROM THE SANDWICH ISLES.]
In another instance, the feathers are arranged to form something like a
brush, the brush itself being made of the coloured tufts or portions of
birds' plumage, while the handle is composed of strands of plaited
grass. This sort of money was obtained in rather a cruel way, for the
birds who were despoiled of their brilliant feathers were not killed
before the operation; their bright plumage was plucked from their
living bodies, and then the birds were allowed to fly away again. No
doubt in the course of time the feathers grew again, when the birds
would be caught and the operation performed once more.
[Illustration: MONEY BY FATHOMS--A FATHOM OF SHELL-MONEY.]