About a week after Isaac had paid his first visit to New West Road, he
was one evening finishing his solitary meal, when Mr Herbert Faithful
was announced. 'I am come to take you back with me,' he said, 'for
Angela has threatened me with an evening to myself, as she is very
busy trying on a dress for a ball to which we are going; and _I_ can't
stand loneliness if _you_ can; so come with me, and we'll have a cigar
together.'
'I will go with you,' said Isaac; 'but I cannot smoke; I never tried.'
So in a few minutes they were on their way to Miss Faithful's house,
and the conversation turned on the coming ball.
'I quite imagine it will be rather a showy affair,' said Herbert; 'and
I more than half suspect that it is arranged for a special purpose. It
is given by a Mrs Ashton, an old friend of my mother, and her son is
an old sweetheart of Angela. He has never proposed exactly, as he was
considered too young; but this ball is to be given on his birthday, and
I expect Angela will come home an engaged girl. She is a dear girl,'
he continued with a sigh; 'but it is only reasonable that she should be
getting married before long.'
Isaac's heart gave a great bound, but he answered nothing. His
companion was silent also after this, and in a few minutes they reached
his aunt's house.
To her brother's apparent surprise, Angela was in the hall to welcome
them. 'It is all very fine, Master Herbert,' she said, 'for you to run
off as soon as I promise you an evening to yourself down-stairs; but do
not think you are to monopolise Mr Webb's company.'
'But how about the dress?' asked Herbert.
'Oh, that did not take long, for it fits beautifully. But somehow or
other I do not care so much about the ball as I did.'
'Well, I like that!' said Herbert. 'Perhaps you are afraid you will
have to sit down a good part of the evening, for want of a partner. If
you are asked to be any one's partner, be careful to ascertain that it
is for the dance _only_, and not for anything beyond that.'
'Be quiet, Herbert, do,' said his sister, colouring.
'Don't be angry, dear, for a little fraternal solicitude. But come,
suppose you give us a rehearsal of the songs you intend to sing. Mind
there is nothing about love in them.'
'Herbert, you are incorrigible; you don't deserve a song.--What do
_you_ think, Mr Webb?'
Mr Webb coughed, coloured, stammered, and finally said he 'hoped she'd
sing one.'
'Well, it would be a shame to punish the innocent with the guilty, so
I consent; but you must stop your ears, Herbert.' With these words,
Angela looked out one or two songs, opened the piano, and once again
wove the spell around Isaac's mind and heart; so much so, that though
he was not of a jealous nature, he yet could not bear the thought that
she would sing these same songs, and captivate the ear of the man who
would in all probability ask her to be his wife. No; the idea was
horrible; and as he listened, and the spell wrought its power around
him and within him, his heart throbbed bolder and bolder, and he
resolved to make a rush and forestall his hopeful rival. Yes; he would
offer his cottages, his garden-ground, and his heart; and would not,
moreover, risk his chance by waiting until this hateful ball was over.
If he did, it would be lost. And why risk _any_ delay? No; he would
not; so determined he would act that very evening.
But would he be successful? He would have felt but little doubt had
there been no rival, or only a weak one, to forestall; and even as
it was, he did not consider his case was bad, much less desperate.
It was scarcely likely that Angela would throw away a certain chance
for an uncertain one, especially when that chance was Isaac Webb--a
deep shrewd young fellow, and backed moreover by the cottages and
garden-ground. So when the evening had worn itself away, and it was
time for him to take his departure, Isaac requested Herbert to walk
part of the way home with him, as he had something he wanted to say to
him.
'Do you think,' he asked Herbert, when they were on the road, 'that
your sister has made up her mind to accept Mr Ashton?'
'I do not know that he will ask her,' Herbert answered; 'but if he were
to do so, I had no doubt she would until just lately; but now I am not
quite so sure about it. But excuse me; why do you ask such a question?'
'Because,' returned Isaac, 'I--I have been thinking of taking a wife,
and--well, I--I think I should like to have _her_.'
'Well, you _do_ astonish me,' said Herbert. 'And yet,' he continued,
after a pause, 'perhaps I can now account for my doubt as to her
affection for young Ashton. But you had better ask her point-blank
whether she will have you; that is, if you have really made up your
mind about it.'
'That is just what I want _you_ to do,' exclaimed Isaac. 'I want you to
ask her for me.'
'Excuse me, my dear fellow; but it is rather a delicate subject for
me--her brother--to put before her'----
'So much the better,' interrupted Isaac. 'It will come better from you,
and with more weight than from me.'
'But people would say directly that I had somehow caused you to do it.'
'People need not know anything at all about it,' answered Isaac.
'But you have known her such a little while,' urged Herbert; 'and you
may not fully have made up your mind; or you may alter it.'
'No, no!' returned Isaac decidedly. 'I have made up my mind enough, and
I would rather you ask her than me. I should not know quite what to
say.'
'You would know quite as well as I. However, anything for the dear
girl's happiness; and since you will have it so, I will do it. But when
would you like me to ask her?'
'Oh, as soon as you can,' said the amorous Isaac.
'Very well. Then if there's a chance to-morrow, I will see about it,
and will let you know the result.'
'Thank you,' said Isaac, much relieved. So they shook hands and parted.
The love-sick youth was in a considerable state of excitement all the
night long; he tossed about on his bed, and wondered why the traffic
outside made so much more noise than usual. At last he fell asleep,
and dreamed of Angela--and her expectations. The following morning,
contrary to his usual habit, he was very late at breakfast; and when he
had finished, had no inclination for his customary stroll through the
streets, but sat in his room reading, or attempting to read, two very
old newspapers and a playbill. To pass the time, he had his dinner in
the middle of the day, and afterwards dropped off to sleep--an unusual
proceeding, doubtless caused by his disturbed night. He was aroused
about six o'clock by his landlady entering the room.
'A note for you, sir. The lad said there was no answer.'
It was from Herbert, and contained the gratifying announcement that he
had executed Isaac's commission, and that his sister, 'much surprised
and flattered by Mr Webb's sentiments, could assure him that they were
entirely reciprocated by her, and that she would endeavour to make
herself worthy of his choice. Would he be so kind as to postpone a
visit for a day or two, that she might in some degree recover herself
from the flutter of her surprise, and be able to receive him as she
would wish?'
Bravo, Isaac! You are a deep dog; and your life and your schemes seem
flooded with sunshine.
PART II.--CLOUD.
CHAPTER I.--THE SUN IS SLIGHTLY OBSCURED.
Mr Herbert Faithful in his letter to Isaac had requested him to
postpone a visit to his sister for a few days, in order that she might
recover herself from the excitement his proposal had occasioned. This
may have been partly the truth; but the real fact was that Herbert
wished to satisfy himself that Isaac's account of himself was a
truthful one, before he and Angela met for the ratification of their
engagement. So he took this opportunity to make a hurried visit to
Dambourne; and by the brief but well-directed inquiries he made there,
was enabled to arrive at the conclusion that Isaac's version of himself
and of his circumstances was a correct one. Having thus done his duty
as a prudent brother, Herbert sent, as soon as possible after his
return, an invitation to Isaac to visit New West Road.
Angela had apparently made good use of the interval to recover herself
from 'the flutter of her surprise.' At all events she shewed very
few traces of it when Isaac was, for the first time since their
engagement, announced. Not that she appeared unduly unconscious of the
new relations between them; but she carried off all the constraint and
stiffness of manner that were natural under the circumstances, by that
unaffected and lady-like self-possession which formed one of her most
striking characteristics, and which at once put her too self-conscious
lover at his ease. That young man was indeed in such a mingled state of
nervousness and excitement, that it is extremely doubtful whether he
would have ventured to refer to the happy position she had granted him,
but from her meeting him half-way, as it were; for the idea was implied
by her manner that there was no need of constraint on his part, for
that they met on equal terms, and that she could not but be gratified
by his having bestowed upon her his regard. Such at least was the light
in which Isaac regarded Angela's manner towards him on this their
first meeting as lovers, and it had the effect, as has been stated, of
putting him at his ease.
Her brother kindly assisted at this consummation; for he welcomed
Isaac with a frank kindness that made the latter consider him, next to
himself, the best fellow in the world.
The only member of the family who remained as before was the aunt.
Her deafness, poor soul, had, quite suddenly, much increased, and her
general faculties had, in proportion apparently, decreased, so that she
had become a complete nonentity, and her slate and pencil had all but
retired on a handsome competence of illegible scrawls.
After half an hour's general conversation, Herbert pleaded an
engagement, and the lovers were (putting Miss Faithful out of the
question) left to themselves.
'I was so pleased with your brother's letter,' said Isaac. 'I thought,
somehow, that my regard and admiration for you were returned.'
This was not quite what he intended to say; but the part of the ardent
lover was so new to him that he could not all at once settle down into
it.
'Indeed,' Angela replied, 'Herbert's letter could give but little
idea of my surprise and--well, I suppose I need not mind saying it
now--gratification. But I cannot imagine what you have seen in me in
so short a time, to have caused you to make such a proposal as you
have.' Whether she intended it or not, Angela could not have gone more
directly to that most sensitive and vulnerable portion of Isaac's
temperament, his self-esteem. He received her reply as a well-merited
compliment, but he had not the grace to return it.
'I don't exactly know myself,' was his curt rejoinder. 'Don't you
think,' he continued after a pause, 'that we may as well be getting
married pretty soon? I want to be going back to look after the
cottages, and it will come so expensive to be going backwards and
forwards; and I have never been used to writing many letters.'
'Oh, you must talk to Herbert about that. When he thinks it right for
us to be married, I shall be ready.'
It must be confessed that this was a very practical way of looking at
the matter on this the first evening of their engagement; but Isaac
looked on the whole subject of matrimony and its attendant evils,
courtship included, in a very practical and business-like manner. Such,
then, was the opening conversation of these lovers, and it grew no
warmer as it proceeded. After a short time, Angela went to the piano
and sang several songs, to Isaac's great delight. The spell was again
woven around him; and when Herbert returned home, our hero could have
been guided anywhere by him or his sister, had either of them been
disposed to do so.
One circumstance in connection with his engagement was a slight
satisfaction to Isaac: he would be often visiting at Miss Faithful's
house and partaking of her hospitality; so that he would then be able
to live more economically at his coffee-shop. Even this, however,
would not balance the amount of the expense of his absence from home;
so, after mature consideration, he arrived at the conclusion that an
early marriage was desirable; for he dreaded the season of courtship,
and wanted to get the matter closed. So he decided still to remain in
London for the present, and take an early opportunity to urge his views
with Herbert.
It did not occur to Isaac that there was anything to cause delay.
Surely a respectable young woman could be married at any time, and he
did not know of any law preventing them being married to-morrow if
they chose. He did not desire, it is true, anything quite so speedy as
that, but he considered that say three weeks or a month ought to be
sufficient for all preparation. But the mention of some such sentiments
as these to Herbert received from him a very decided check.
'Why,' said he, laughing, 'apart from everything else, you and Angela
have not even decided where you intend to live. It will take you a
month to do that, let alone the furnishing.'
'We shall live at Dambourne End of course,' said Isaac; 'and my
lodgings are quite large enough for two people, or can easily be made
so.'
'Seriously,' returned Herbert, 'that is quite out of the question; for
if _Angela_ agreed to it, I tell you candidly _I_ would not; for she
has always been accustomed to a comfortable home, and you are well
enough off between you to have one when you are married. And between
you and me, I do not think a little country place, such as you have
described Dambourne End to be, is quite a suitable place to which to
take a young wife who has spent the greater part of her life in London,
and has until lately mixed a good bit in society. Not that she wants to
do so again, or to run into extravagance; but to take her away from all
her friends and associations, at all events just at first, and for no
particular reason, would not be quite the thing, I fancy. I don't want
to throw cold-water on your plans, old fellow,' he continued, laying
his hand on Isaac's arm, 'or to seem in any way to dictate; but just
think over what I have said, and I think you will see the force of it.'
Isaac was too much astonished at the idea Herbert had broached to make
any reply to it, so took his leave.
CHAPTER II.--SHADOWS DEEPEN.
Our hero's cogitations on his way home were cut short on his arrival by
a letter which was waiting for him from the old schoolfellow to whom
he had confided the care of his estate at Dambourne. This letter was
calculated to give him some uneasiness. It was as follows:
MY DEAR SIR--I am afraid there is something not quite right
about the stranger who took your lodgings at Mrs Clappen's,
or else about the tenants of your cottages, or both; for when
I went to collect the rents according to your wish, a week
or two after you went away, the people in the cottages all
laughed at me; and when I went again a few days ago, they
threatened to put me under the pump. The reason that I think
Mrs Clappen's lodger has something to do with it is that I
have seen him go into some of the cottages at different times;
but when I asked his landlady what he did there, she said she
believed he went giving away tracts. But this morning she came
to me in a great state of excitement saying two strange men
were watching her house, and that her lodger had not been out
of his room all the morning, and had not had his breakfast,
and altogether she thought there must be something wrong. I
went back with her and knocked at his door. As he did not
answer, and as the door was locked on the inside, I broke it
open; but the stranger had gone--probably through the back
window and down by the water-butt. Your box is in the room,
and I find it is _unlocked_. As I do not know what you may
have left in it, I write to let you know about it.--Yours
truly,
FREDERICK JONES.
Here was a pretty state of things. This lodger had most likely broken
open Isaac's box and abstracted what things of value it contained.
Fortunately there was not very much--only about forty pounds in gold
and some title-deeds. He reflected what he should do. Perhaps he ought
to go down to Dambourne End at once, but he did not see what good he
could do if he went; so he decided to wait until the following day, and
let Angela know about it. Accordingly, the next morning he started off
to New West Road, and informed Angela and her brother of his ill news.
It did not, however, make the impression upon them that Isaac expected;
for they made light of it, and said that if his loss were no more than
forty pounds, _that_ was of no very great consequence. They did not
know that _any_ amount of money, however small, was of consequence to
Isaac.
'I'll tell you what,' cried Herbert; 'if you will wait until to-morrow,
Angela and I will go down with you.--Mrs Glubbs will come in and look
after aunt, Angela.'
Isaac hailed the proposition with joy; for he had already grown to have
great confidence in Herbert and his knowledge of the world--indeed he
considered it but little inferior to his own--and he thought that if
there were much wrong down at Dambourne, their united experience and
sagacity would in all probability speedily set it right.
'And now, old fellow, I want a chat with you for an hour, if you can
spare the time,' said Herbert; and as Angela at that moment left the
room, he continued: 'I want to speak to you on the subject we were
discussing last evening. Have you thought over what I said?'
'Yes,' Isaac answered; 'but not much, for this other affair has put it
out of my head for the time.'
'Oh, never mind this little affair,' returned Herbert; 'it is not worth
troubling about. Anybody would think you were not worth forty pence to
hear how you talk. And that brings me to the subject I want to speak
to you about. Angela has an objection to live at your little country
place, though not so great an objection as I have to her doing so. And
there is no need for you to drone your lives away down there; come up
to London and enjoy yourselves. You say you have about two hundred and
fifty a year. Well, my sister on her marriage will come into three
hundred and fifty a year or thereabouts; and she will probably have a
little more whenever anything happens to aunt. The former income she
inherits from mother's family, and it is to accumulate until she is
married, or if single, until she reaches the age of thirty-five--now
twelve years off. Until one or other of these events happen she cannot
touch a penny of it. This puts her in a very peculiar and uncomfortable
position; because though father left us enough to live upon, yet it is
nothing more, and so whatever preparations you make for your wedding,
you must make on trust of what I tell you.'
'O yes,' said Isaac; 'pray do not think--either of you--that I have not
confidence in you.'
'That is very kind and generous of you,' Herbert replied, 'because we
shall be compelled, under the circumstances I have told you, to test
that confidence. Now what we propose is this,' he continued: 'Angela
seems to have a great desire to live in the neighbourhood of London,
and if you will find a suitable house and furnish it, and have it
ready in three months from this time, she will be ready by then to
be married. But it has occurred to us that as you are not very well
acquainted with London, it may save you some trouble and expense
(supposing you agree to our proposition) if you like to leave it to us
to fix on the locality and find a house; more especially as I have many
friends in different parts of London. But if you prefer to act on your
own account, pray do not hesitate to say so.'
Isaac sat and weighed the matter in his mind. Certainly Angela's income
was considerably more than he had any idea of, so he need not be so
very pinching. On the other hand, he did not much relish the idea of a
lavish expenditure over a house and furniture. And yet if Angela would
not live at Dambourne End, it did not matter where they lived, so far
as he was concerned. And again there rose up the three hundred and
fifty a year, and more expectations! Much better than he had expected
to do in any matrimonial speculation he had ever contemplated. In
addition to these reasons he was by no means obstinate in disposition,
and yielded easily to any one in whom he had confidence, and who, as
the term goes, 'got the right side of him.' Angela and her brother had
contrived to do this. So after a few minutes' thought, Isaac agreed to
Herbert's proposal, with one amendment: that if the house were ready in
time, the marriage should take place in two months instead of three.
'And,' said Isaac, when this was agreed to, 'on condition that you make
all the necessary preparations for me.'
'Yes, if you really wish it,' said Herbert. 'But excuse me speaking
plainly: you must advance me the money if I do.'
'Yes, I suppose I must,' Isaac answered ruefully. 'How much do you
think you will want, and when will you want it?'
'I should think five hundred pounds would do, at all events for the
present. Of course I will be as careful with it as I can, for your
interests and Angela's are identical; but you may as well have things
good at first, since they are the more economical in the long-run. The
money you can let me have whenever it is convenient to you.'
'You shall have the sum you mention in about three weeks,' said Isaac.
Angela now came in dressed for a walk, so Herbert and Isaac broke up
their conference, and the three went out together.
IMPORTED BEEF AND MUTTON.
A resolute attempt was made a dozen years ago to import fresh beef
in various forms from Buenos Ayres; and as the meat was sold at a
comparatively low price, there arose high expectations on the subject.
The well-meant attempt failed. It would not do. The meat presented an
unpleasant appearance. The working classes in this country did not like
the flavour, even if the appearance had been good; they would not buy,
although the price was low; and thus the affair died out after a few
months.
Soon after the failure of Buenos Ayres, our own Australian colony of
New South Wales made a bid for the favour of English beef-eaters. Mr
Mort, an enterprising citizen of Sydney, introduced Nicolle's freezing
process for preserving fresh meat in an untainted state. He was
sanguine that the same ship might convey beef and mutton from Australia
to England and emigrants from England to Australia, thereby conferring
a double benefit on the colonies. Queensland and Victoria were also on
the _qui vive_, ready to find a market for their surplus live-stock in
the old mother-country, if events presented favourable symptoms. The
freezing process was not by any means the only one tried in Australia.
One was an adaptation of Appert's plan of putting fresh meat into tins
and drawing out all the air; a second was to exclude warmth by packing
in ice; a third was to exclude moisture in such way as to pack the
meat in as dry a state as possible. A large trade was gradually formed
by a Sydney Company for preserving meat for the English market--not
fresh joints in bulk, but partly cooked in tins. The oxen and sheep
were slaughtered in abattoirs of improved construction, skinned, boned,
and cut up on large tables; the meat was scalded by steam in large
open trays, put into tins, and the tins exposed to a temperature of
230° F., in a bath containing chloride of lime dissolved in the water;
then sealed up, exposed to a second bath somewhat hotter, and finally
to a cold bath. Not only was steamed or parboiled beef and mutton
prepared in this way, but the establishment also sent out tins of
roasted, cured, spiced beef, haricot of mutton, and so forth. We cannot
go into particulars, and have only to say that the efforts, however
meritorious, have not been a commercial success.
It may be stated as a well-known fact that the people of Great Britain
will not, as a general rule, buy inferior kinds of butcher-meat. They
are all glad to purchase at a low price, but the quality must be good,
the look of the meat good, the smell good. We should confidently say
that no people on the face of the earth are such connoisseurs in good
beef and mutton as the English, down even to the humblest classes.
In point of fact, the working classes, as they are called, are more
fastidious as regards quality and superior cuts than persons of
distinction. Laying down this as a rule, it is throwing away trouble
and capital to try to serve the English with anything short of the best
fresh meat, as usually obtained from butchers. Frozen meat will not
do, for it will not keep. Tinned meat half-cooked, and however well
spiced, is also not the thing. One may regret the prejudices often
entertained on this score. But for the sake of all parties it is best
to acknowledge the fact.
The only expedient likely to be successful is that of importing fresh
meat from the United States, owing to the comparatively short duration
of the voyage and the several fleets of fine steamers belonging to
capitalists, who are never slack in throwing themselves into any
trade that promises to be fairly remunerating. The proceedings, in
brief, are managed as follows. Live-stock, brought to New York by
rail from the central and western states of America, are conveyed to
well-arranged abattoirs, where they are quickly slaughtered, skinned,
&c. Several hundred carcases are put at once into a large cool chamber,
where they are kept for a day or two--the period depending on the
state of the weather. They are then quartered, wrapped up in coarse
canvas, and conveyed to the steamer, drawn up alongside a quay or
wharf. A compartment is set aside for the reception of the meat, with
an ice-chamber at one end. A current of fresh air, filtered through
cotton-wool, is driven over the ice by a steam-worked fan or blast, and
thence over the masses of meat. About forty tons of ice are shipped
for keeping cool the carcases of a hundred and fifty cattle: reduced
probably to a third or quarter of this amount by melting during the
voyage. According to the quantity of fresh air forced through the
ice-chamber, so is the degree of temperature produced. After many
experiments, an opinion has been arrived at that a freezing temperature
is neither necessary nor desirable; four or five degrees above that
point are preferred, the meat arriving in a pure and fresh state at
Liverpool. The quantity shipped at once is sometimes very large. The
_Wyoming_ steamer, for instance, brought over at one time in the middle
of the recent month of February two thousand three hundred quarters of
beef and the carcases of four hundred sheep. In one week a million and
a quarter pounds of meat were brought from New York to Liverpool.
Glasgow, as opening direct by the Clyde to the Atlantic, with its
fleet of steamers and enterprising traders, bids fair to be a rival to
Liverpool in the American meat-traffic. Every week there are paragraphs
in the newspapers announcing fresh arrivals. We quote the following
as a specimen from the _Scotsman_ of March 7: 'The extension of the
American meat-trade at all the larger towns in Scotland has been very
marked during the past month, and the import has been quite unequal to
the demand. The steamers belonging to the Anchor line of weekly mail
packets, which have been bringing from eight hundred to a thousand
quarters of fresh meat each voyage, have been compelled to increase
their cool-meat cell accommodation by fully one-half. The State line
of weekly steamers are also being fitted up with the necessary
apparatus for this traffic, and the first steamer of that line with
fresh meat--six hundred quarters--was reported last night at the Clyde.
The Anchor Line mail-steamer _Anchoria_ also arrived yesterday. The
latter vessel brings the largest cargo of fresh meat yet imported into
Scotland, having on board one thousand six hundred quarters beef and
two hundred carcases of sheep. The two consignments (two thousand two
hundred quarters) are nearly equal to any previous fortnight's supply.
About one-half of this quantity of fresh meat will be sold in Glasgow
market, and the other half will be despatched to Edinburgh, Newcastle,
Dundee, and other large towns. In Glasgow and Greenock there has been
a further extension of shops for the sale of American fresh meat. The
Glasgow butchers are now pretty extensive buyers of the imported beef,
and they have again had to lower their prices for home-fed meat by
1d. per lb., making a total reduction on roast and steaks of 3d. per
lb., and on other sorts of 2d. per lb. The American meat, however,
is still from 1d. to 2d. per lb. cheaper than the medium home sorts.
During February the American meat imports at Glasgow, which may be
considered as the landing-place for Scotland, amounted to the following
large aggregates: 4650 quarters fresh beef, 500 sheep, 2440 tierces
salted beef, 1830 barrels salted pork, 1037 barrels hams, 700 barrels
tongues, 9300 boxes bacon, and 20,500 cases of tinned (preserved) meat.
In the previous month (January) the fresh meat imported aggregated
3728 quarters and 620 sheep; while in December the quantity was about
one-half that of January. There is nearly as great an advance in the
import of corned meat, bacon, and salted beef and pork. 950 barrels of
tallow and 700 barrels of lard were imported last month. Butter and
cheese also form an important item in the cargoes from New York; and
last month there was an aggregate of 2500 boxes of cheese and 7050
packages of butter brought in six steamers.'
While Glasgow is the source of supply to various places in Scotland,
Liverpool sends consignments by railways to London, Birmingham,
Manchester, Sheffield, and other large centres of population. Some part
of the conveyance is managed by aid of Acklom's patent refrigerating
wagons. These vehicles, constructed and fitted to keep always cool
in the interior, are drawn up to the ship's side at the docks, laden
with meat, horsed through the streets to a railway depôt, placed upon
trucks, conveyed to any other station, dismounted from the trucks, and
driven to warehouses and storehouses. If there be continuous rail from
the quay to the final warehouse, so much the better.
What do the butchers and the public think of this beef and mutton?
It is now known that the meat should be cooked and eaten as soon
as possible after being landed, else it loses somewhat of its good
flavour. The newspapers stated that a consignment of two hundred
quarters of beef to Edinburgh became deteriorated towards the last,
by remaining too long in shops or stores unprovided with cooling
appliances.
A remarkable enterprise has just been commenced in London in connection
with this subject. An 'Australian Meat Agency Company' has existed
for several years; it imports canistered provisions of all kinds from
our antipodean colonies; but as Sydney and Melbourne have not yet
surmounted the difficulties of establishing a profitable transmission
of fresh joints of meat to England, the Company has laid itself open
to the reception of such meat from any country. Underneath the vast
Cannon Street terminus of the South-eastern Railway are ranges of brick
vaults which the Meat Company has just taken at an annual rental. Fresh
air from the river is admitted into a refrigerating chamber, whence,
after being cooled down, it passes into other chambers where the meat
is placed on broad open shelves; a small steam-engine forces the air
over the ice in the refrigerating chambers, and thence into the several
meat chambers. A sloping road leads up from the vaulted chambers to the
railway level, and there are four landing-stages from the river--thus
affording considerable facilities for the arrival and departure of
large consignments of meat. The expectation is that the meat will keep
cool and good for several days, instead of being forced occasionally
on an unwilling market to avert spoiling; and if this expectation be
realised, the same plan may be adopted for poultry, fruit, and dairy
produce.
The retailing at present is a puzzle. We are told from time to time
that the butchers cry down the American meat in order to keep up the
high price of English and Scotch beef and mutton; that they sometimes
sell slightly tainted English meat under the name of American, to
bring down the fair fame of the latter; and that more frequently they
buy the foreign meat and sell it again as English. The butchers deny
these allegations, and the public are left to find out the truth for
themselves the best way they can. At the Cold Stores, as they are
called, of the Meat Agency Company, above described, the price for
sides, quarters, and large joints varies from about sixpence-halfpenny
to ninepence per pound--small joints being higher per pound than large,
and meat for roasting higher than meat for boiling. The demand for the
latter being much less than that for the former, a rapid sale for the
whole is found to be difficult, unless buyers are tempted by a lower
price for round, brisket, and other boiling-pieces. As a small joint
of the best roasting beef is tenpence per pound, the reduction below
the price for English beef is certainly not considerable, especially as
the sellers do not send the meat to the consumers' houses. If the trade
establishes itself on a firm footing, there will probably be retail
stores in various parts of London (and other large towns) for the sale
of American meat; or else the regular butchers will sell American
as well as English meat, each at its own proper price. One thing is
certain, as already hinted, that unless the Americans send first-rate
qualities of meat, they need not send it at all. Another thing they
must attend to is, that in cutting up the meat it must be neatly
_dressed_. On this score we have heard serious complaints. The quarters
of beef are too often not properly trimmed for market, at least not
sufficiently so to please English wholesale dealers.
Other nations are striving to ascertain whether they can obtain a
share in this new meat-trade. A French Company has built a ship called
_La Frigorifique_, to ply between Buenos Ayres and Brest; it contains
cool chambers which will keep meat at any desired temperature. The
process adopted is that of M. Tellier. Methylic ether, like ammonia,
evaporates rapidly, and absorbs heat from neighbouring bodies in so
doing; the vapour passing through tubes in a cylinder cools down the
air outside the tubes; the cooled air passes into chambers in the hold,
where the meat is either hung up or put on shelves. The methylic ether
can be used over and over again with only little waste. The hope of
the Company is to be able to stow in the ship the meat of a thousand
head of cattle, bring it from Buenos Ayres to Brest in a little over a
month, and sell it at about two-thirds the price of French meat. At the
time we are writing, the _Frigorifique_ is making her first voyage; on
the principle that 'the proof of the pudding is in the eating,' we must
wait awhile to learn the result.
Some of the Liverpool steamers are, it is reported, being fitted up
with refrigerating apparatus for bringing freshly killed meat from
Spain. The continental railways are organising a plan to bring meat
from Hungary in three days in refrigerating cars, at a freight-charge
of a little over a halfpenny per pound, to Ostend or some port whence
it could be shipped to England. Moscow is said to be able to buy fairly
good beef at fourpence per pound, and is calculating whether London
could obtain some of it at about sevenpence.
The new move certainly has some lively elements in it, and we shall
watch with some interest its development. As yet, the introduction of
huge cargoes of fresh meat has had no sensible effect in lowering the
standard market prices. To some extent this may be explained by the
suspended importation of live oxen from the continent, on account of
the dreaded cattle disease. Unless, however, the importation of fresh
meat from America or elsewhere attains a very gigantic scale, we do not
anticipate any very marked reduction of prices. From the increasing
wealth and population in the British Islands, the demand for meat will
long far outrun the means of native supply. The agricultural interest
may as yet keep itself tolerably at ease on the subject.
MOUNT PISGAH, LONDON, W.
It is not much of a mountain, scarcely deserving the name of a hill
in fact, but the name will indicate aptly enough the character of the
inhabitants; for it is here that many look longingly into the social
Promised Land which they cannot enter. Mount Pisgah is the region of
struggling gentility; as Saffron Hill is of organ-grinders; as Brixton
is of merchants; as Westburnia is of Hebrews and Anglo-Asiatics;
as Brook Street is of doctors, and Islington of City clerks. From
the centre and axis of the _haut ton_, which ends at Park Lane,
respectability radiates in a north-westerly and south-westerly
direction; but whereas South Kensington abruptly terminates in
Brompton, the region of Hyde Park, properly so called, merges into
Bayswater and Westburnia, the outer circle ending in Mount Pisgah.
There is a general air of neglect about the neighbourhood, and although
the houses are rather pretentious-looking buildings, they are rarely
troubled with the hands of the painter or plasterer. Corinthian columns
and stuccoed balustrades lose much of their effect when chipped and
scribbled over and used as the vehicle for the artistic displays of
youth--in chalks. The doorsteps are not always very clean; and in the
street, if it is not dusty, it is muddy; and if scraps of paper are
not flying about, orange-peel and broken crockery strew your path. But
then this is also a great place for the 'slut of a servant,' who is
cheap if nothing else; and for the streets, well, the vestry are not
likely to be troubled with complaints from such birds of passage as
the Pisgans all are--or all hope to be, I should say--for too often,
alas, do they find their wings clipped and their stay involuntary. In
Mount Pisgah, majors and colonels are as plentiful as blackberries;
high-wranglers and ex-Indian judges jostle first classmen and 'late
political residents.' Unbeneficed clergymen, who eagerly scan the
_Times_ advertisements each morning for pupils; unsuccessful doctors
and disappointed barristers waiting for the patients and the briefs
that are so long in coming; and others who are seeking to eke out a
scanty income by that very poor crutch but passable walking-stick,
as some one has aptly called literature--all these abound in this
neighbourhood. The only prosperous people are the butchers and bakers
and other trades-people. They nod familiarly their 'Good morning,
Gineral,' or 'Wet day, Mister,' to the humble officer or tutor who
shovels past with the weight of the remembrance of those rapidly
increasing bills for inferior joints and alumed bread, which he must
meet at the end of the quarter.
The commercial ethics of Mount Pisgah are not altogether peculiar
to themselves; but if one rule meets with greater observance than
another, it is, that as bills increase quality shall decrease; and
after all, as Mr Undercut or Mr Crumpet will tell you, they are often
'took in dreadful.' How eagerly pay-day is looked forward to! the brief
interval from the depressing pecuniary cares of their lives that comes
to each four times a year. A 'social' then takes place. Ordinarily,
old Mangosteen, of the --th Native Infantry, meeting Junglebird,
C.S.I., who lived with him in the N.W.P., where they were as brothers,
says 'How do?' and passes on. Each knows that the other has but one
thought--his embarrassments: they respect one another's misfortunes,
and avoid the hollow mockeries to which conversation must necessarily
give rise. But towards the end of each quarter all this is changed;
there is going to be a little dinner; or 'My womenkind are turning the
house inside out for a dance;' or 'The boys are going to row us down to
Richmond;' and then Junglebird and Mangosteen kill their tigers over
again, and chuckle merrily over that roaring night at the --th mess;
and Briefless and Exminus recall the old Combination Room jokes; and
if, as they sip their cheap claret, they think with some regret of that
mellow ruby nectar that the cellars of St Botolph's used sometimes to
produce; they also remember how, when up last autumn for the election
of a 'Silverpoker' (as the Esquire Bedel is irreverently called, from
his emblem of office), they had found two fellows of their own time
martyrs to gout and a nuisance to the whole college--for which that
delicious 'old tawny' was doubtless responsible. The ladies in Mount
Pisgah take quite a different tone too, at this eventful period.
Although at other times not quite so 'solitary' in their habits as
their husbands--for women find a comfort in talking over their common
troubles--they have long discussions upon the chance of Charley getting
a presentation to Christ's Hospital; or of Tommy's cadetship at
Wellington; or how Mr Howling Hawley, the great singing-master, held
out hopes of dear Amelia's voice being a fortune to her; and yet how
dreadful it would be for the poor child to appear before the public;
but then you know, my dear, things have altered so much since our
time, and now you really find quite respectable people performing in
public! But when they give their little dinners and dances and the
rest, you shall see how the Pisgan ladies will rise to the occasion,
and you shall not find in Grosvenor Square a more strict observance of
the rules of etiquette. And if at times it is a little old-fashioned
and somewhat more strict than Society demands in these loose times, it
bears the right stamp, and might indeed be profitably imitated in many
more pretentious houses.
Of course it is a long time since those Pisgans who have belonged to
the Rag or the Oriental, or the Union or Junior, have ceased to be
members of those institutions. Some have found that the seven or eight
guineas required at the most critical period of the year could be spent
to much better purpose; others have felt that the old associations
would be too painful. But they have their clubs nevertheless. Within
the last ten years clubs have become as plentiful as hotels nearly.
And the enterprising City gentleman who fits up a big house with a
dining and reading and smoking and morning and billiard room, and
advertises the inauguration of the Pantheon Club, 'for the benefit of
those gentlemen who are unable to enter the older clubs owing to their
overcrowded condition,' requires names for his committee. Military
Pisgans are admirably suited for this rôle. What a blessing too, that
they have such a place to go to, instead of always pottering about at
home, where they would be but too often in the way.
There are more troublesome things than canaries and poodles,
novel-reading and invitation cards, to be attended to by the mammas
and daughters of Pisgan households. Committees of ways and means;
arguing with the cook who 'hasn't been accustomed' to some obviously
wise little economy; softening the anger of some brow-beating creditor;
twisting and turning, and 'managing,' to make old appear like new, are
all matters in which the presence of a male creature is worse than
useless. So there is a vague sort of tradition that papa goes to his
club to write letters, and to be there if anything should turn up.
And he sometimes writes a few letters, and reads all the papers, and
smokes a good many pipes, and takes a sandwich and moderate tankard of
beer for his lunch, and saunters down Regent Street, or drops into the
British Museum Reading-room or the National Gallery--or into the India
or Colonial Office, to see if 'anything is turning up.' Besides, he
will give you the particulars of a review in Hyde Park, or a boat-race
on the Thames, or a 'demonstration' at the 'Reformers' Tree,' just
as well as the evening papers, for these are all luxuries within his
reach. And in the season you will see him on the wrong side of the Row
looking into the Promised Land. Time was perhaps when he too had joined
a knot of laughing youths at the Corner, or seated on horseback had
tapped his lackered boot with infinite self-satisfaction, or trotted
along at the side of some fair creature with whom he would dance an
unconscionable number of dances that same evening. He was a sub or an
undergraduate at the time, and saw Fortune within his grasp; but he
missed his chance, or Fortune was unkind; and gall and vinegar were his
portion instead of milk and honey.
Some of the inhabitants of Mount Pisgah are fairly off, and merely live
there because they find the place cheap and they are not forced into
any fashionable extravagances. But this is not the case with most.
Their pleasures are negative--the mere temporary absence of care. The
continually recurring question, 'How shall I pay?' or 'What will it
cost?' crushes every sense of comfort and ease out of them. For them is
none of the happy regularity of well-to-do respectability--the wiping
off of unpaid bills as regularly as Mary Jane the housemaid dusts the
escritoire with its dainty pieces of Japan-work and ormolu. Not for
them the pleasant little morning duties; the list for Mudie's; the
tending of the conservatory; the new waltz by Godfrey; the orders for
tradesmen and for dinner (the one crumpled rose-leaf perhaps, this);
the afternoon shopping or visiting; the drive to Pall Mall, or the
Temple, or the City, to bring papa back from his club, or his chambers,
or his office; the pretty frequent theatre and concert; the weekly
'at-homes;' the friendly dances, and more elaborate balls, that are of
constant occurrence when town is full. Life is very hard and ugly in
Mount Pisgah. Captain Burton the great traveller, says in one of his
late works that he wonders how any poor man can ever think of living in
England, or any rich one out of it. If England, perhaps more so London;
and it is only necessary to know a little of Mount Pisgah to learn what
a fascination is exercised over some men's minds by this dear foggy,
hard and tender, rich and squalid, centre of an Englishman's world,
yclept London.
SPRING SHOWERS.
Sweet is the swart earth
After the April rain;
It will give the violets birth,
And quicken the grass in the plain.
The woodlands are dim--with dreams
Of the region they lately have left;
Like Man and his thoughts of Eden--
Of something of which he's bereft.
The stars they have left their veils
On the everlasting hills;
And angels have trodden the dales,
And spirits have touched the rills.
And truths to be seen and heard,
Say Love has made all things his own;
He reigns in the breast of the bird,
And has made the earth's bosom his throne.
The pansies peep by the brook,
And the primrose is pure in the sun;
The world wears a heavenly look,
Man's spirit and Nature are one.
The cottage that glints through the trees,
And the moss-cushioned, lilac-plumed wall,
The woodland, and emerald leas
Are touched with the Spirit of all.
* * * * *
Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON,
and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.
* * * * *
_All Rights Reserved._