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* * * * *
THE IDLER MAGAZINE.
AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY.
April 1893.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
No. 1.--THE QUEEN'S ANIMALS.
BY G. B. BURGIN AND E. M. JESSOP.
PEOPLE I HAVE NEVER MET.
BY SCOTT RANKIN.
THE RECLAMATION OF JOE HOLLENDS.
BY ROBERT BARR.
MY FIRST BOOK.
DAWN.
BY H. RIDER HAGGARD.
TOLD BY THE COLONEL.
XII.
THE CAT'S REVENGE.
BY W. L. ALDEN.
"LIONS IN THEIR DENS."
J. L. TOOLE.
BY RAYMOND BLATHWAYT.
NOVEL NOTES.
BY JEROME K. JEROME.
THE STORY OF AN HOUR.
BY HILDA NEWMAN.
RUM PUNCH AT PODBURY'S.
BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS.
THE IDLERS CLUB.
"AWKWARD PREDICAMENTS."
* * * * *
[Illustration: CHESTNUT CHARGER OF THE LATE EMPEROR FREDERIC OF GERMANY,
AND "NINETTE," THE PRINCESS VICTORIA'S LITTLE WHITE DONKEY.]
[Illustration: ROYAL PETS.]
No. 1.--THE QUEEN'S ANIMALS.
-----
BY G. B. BURGIN AND E. M. JESSOP.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. M. JESSOP.
-----
The February wind blows keenly, as we lean from the window of our railway
carriage, and watch dismantled house-boats, drawn up on the river bank
just outside Windsor, being prepared for the forthcoming season. Some Eton
boys--it is evidently a holiday--stand looking on with lively interest.
Several people get out of the train, walk into the quaint old-fashioned
street, and disappear. We follow them, charter a hansom, and are driven
along a picturesque road in the direction of the late Prince Consort's
Shaw Farm. This road is almost deserted, save for half-a-dozen cavalrymen
who come riding down it, their brilliant red uniforms lighting up the dull
air through which the sunlight vainly endeavours to struggle. Their horses
are bespattered with mud; there is mud everywhere--a thick, glutinous mud;
but when we enter the precincts of the Shaw Farm everything gives place to
an ordered and dainty neatness which is thoroughly characteristic of the
Royal domains.
We are received by Mr. W. Tait, the Queen's Land Steward at Windsor, whose
handsome stalwart figure is so well known to all leading agriculturists,
and conducted to a natty little office decorated with water-colour
drawings of prize cattle, and various other reminiscences of past
triumphs. Mr. Tait's drawing-room, in common with those of his
_confrères_ at Windsor, is embellished by various signed portraits of Her
Majesty and the Royal family.
From here, we cross the road and enter a stable where two beautiful old
grey carriage horses are being prepared by one of the farm hands for our
inspection, to a continuous accompaniment of sibilant ostler language.
They have evidently been running wild in the park for some time; each
white coat is stained with mud, and burrs stick tenaciously to their long
tails. An attendant at the farm is rubbing them down, talking to them, and
making them generally presentable. He is evidently on good terms with his
charges, for one playfully nibbles his broad back, whilst the other tries
to steal his red pocket-handkerchief. "Flora" and "Alma" were presented to
Her Majesty by the late King Victor Emanuel of Italy. They are about
fourteen hands high, tremendously powerful, and beautifully shaped. One of
them has also been used to draw the Queen's chair about the grounds; but
they are both now regarded as honoured pensioners, and do no work at all.
The kindliness and affection with which Her Majesty speaks of favourite
animals in her various writings may well assure us that in the midst of
state and family cares, manifold though they be, her old pets, even after
death, are not forgotten. Of this we have evidence later on.
The next shed to that of the old greys is occupied by a magnificent
chestnut charger over seventeen hands high, once the property of the late
Emperor Frederic of Germany. In appearance, this charger is as fresh and
vigorous as a horse of five. It was given by the Emperor to Prince
Christian, who rode it for four years. The charger has a sprightly, though
somewhat incongruous, companion in the shape of "Ninette," a little white
donkey which was purchased at Grasse by Her Majesty, and presented to the
Princess Victoria of Connaught, for whose use it is now being broken in.
Directly the donkey is taken out of the stable for educational purposes,
the charger becomes restless and unhappy, races round the paddock attached
to his loose box in evident distress, and refuses to be comforted until
his beautiful little companion returns. Then he playfully nibbles her
back, joyfully flings up his heels, and careers wildly round the paddock,
neighing shrilly as he goes, his long tail floating in the breeze. What
will happen when "Ninette" leaves her companion it is difficult to say. At
present she takes little notice of this exuberant display of affection,
beyond running beneath the charger's belly, and playfully trying to plant
her tiny heels in his lofty side. When they have been twice round the
paddock, "Ninette" plodding gamely on, a long way in the rear, the couple
halt at the shed entrance, and look at us with exuberant curiosity, the
donkey's long ears shooting backwards and forwards with great rapidity.
After inspecting this somewhat incongruous couple, we are taken to another
stable to see "Jenny," a white donkey, twenty-five years old. "Jenny"
belongs to the Queen, and was bred at Virginia Water. Her Majesty saw
"Jenny" when she was a foal, had her brought to Windsor and trained, and
there the docile old animal has remained ever since. She is pure white in
colour, with large, light, expressive grey eyes. One peculiarity about her
is an enormous flat back, soft and almost as wide as a moderate-sized
feather bed. A handsome chestnut foal is temporarily quartered with her.
This foal was bred from a mare belonging to the late Mr. John Brown, and
promises to grow into a very beautiful animal.
[Illustration: "JENNY."]
"Jenny," although rather reserved, affably condescends to partake of a
biscuit, pensively twitching her long ears after us as we depart along
the road leading to the Royal dairy. As we leave the trimly built and
picturesque outbuildings there is a brave burst of sunshine; chaffinches
"chink-chink" in the trees around, producing a sharp, clear sound as if
two pebbles were struck against each other; rooks sail majestically
overhead, their sentinels, posted in the trees around, giving notice of
our approach; and the pale petals of a rathe primrose gleam shyly out from
a sheltering hedge. The park is filled with Scotch cattle with beautiful
heads and matted, shaggy hides. In the next paddock a handsome Jersey cow
thrusts her head over the intervening rails and licks the shaggy frontlet
of a small dun bull, who gives a gentle low of satisfaction, and
endeavours to follow us as we pass through the gate in the direction of
the Queen's dairy. At this section of the farm, in the buildings, we find
"Tewfik," a very fine white Egyptian donkey, with large black eyes and
tremendous ears. He is one of those enormous asses which are so greatly
esteemed in the East for their powers of endurance. It is a curious fact
that a donkey of this kind will do as much work as a horse, last twice the
time on a long march, and never break down. "Tewfik" was purchased by Lord
Wolseley in Cairo, and sent to England, gay with magnificent Oriental
trappings, and clipped all over in most extraordinary patterns, resembling
Greek architectural ornaments. These patterns are a source of great
trouble to the unsophisticated traveller in the East. He learns one side
of his donkey by heart, and never thinks of looking at the other;
consequently, when he sees the hitherto unknown side of the animal, he is
inclined to think that some wight has been playing a practical joke, and
substituted a different beast for the one he has bestridden. "Tewfik" was
much admired at the Jubilee Agricultural Show in Windsor Great Park, and
seems really a very amiable, well-mannered, aristocratic animal. He is
delighted to see us, and prefers sweet biscuits to plain. Indeed, it is
with regret that he watches us depart. His long mobile ears shoot out from
the stable door as he endeavours to follow us into the box of his
neighbour, a dainty Shetland pony, some three feet six inches high, which
is usually known as "The Skewbald." This diminutive little lady welcomes
us in the most charming manner, and is as frolicsome as a kitten, romping
about and playing all sorts of tricks. Her mission in life, besides being
everyone's pet, is to draw a small two-wheeled cart for Her Majesty's
grandchildren. The dainty, trim, little brown-and-white beauty possesses
enormous strength, and takes existence very philosophically. The first
time she was put into harness she acted as if she had been accustomed to
it all her life, and never required the slightest breaking in. There is
another Shetland pony in one of the neighbouring paddocks, but she is dark
brown in colour, and, with her long-flowing mane and tail, looks like a
miniature carthorse. Like most of Her Majesty's animals, she is fond of
society, and objects to be separated from a large handsome grey donkey
which was bought on one of the Continental journeys, and now occupies the
same paddock as the Shetland. In order to take the pony's portrait
comfortably, it was found necessary to invite the donkey to be present as
a spectator.
[Illustration: "TEWFIK."]
[Illustration: "THE SKEWBALD."]
[Illustration: THE SHETLAND MARE.]
The next pet to be inspected is an animal which most people would prefer
to cultivate at a distance, being none other than the enormous bison named
"Jack," a magnificent specimen of his race, who was obtained in exchange
from the Zoological Society. The Canadian grew savage, and had to be sent
away. "Jack," in spite of his immense strength, is of a very peaceful,
almost timorous, disposition. Strictly speaking, he can hardly be called a
pet, as the artist prudently takes his likeness from behind a high wall.
All friendly overtures to this last of his race are vain. He remains
pensively gazing at the opposite wall, a tear trickling down his broad
nose. Even the joyful bellow of his next-door neighbour, a half-grown
Jersey bull, fails to attract his attention, although the animal, as it
recognises its keeper's step, climbs half over the wall to be fondled.
[Illustration: JACK.]
Here we must not pass without examination some most beautiful little
Jersey calves with silky coats and great wondering eyes, which look as if
the world was a charming mystery to them.
In the next stall to the Jersey bull stands an eccentric-looking little
animal called "Sanger," a pony presented to Her Majesty by the well-known
circus proprietor of that name. "Sanger" is now nine months old. This
strange little animal's breed is practically unknown, and his appearance
most eccentric; indeed, his legs show a tendency to stride to all points of
the compass. In colour he is cream; his eyes are grey, with pink lids; and
he has white eyelashes like an albino. His manners are not demonstrative,
but coldly courteous.
[Illustration: "SANGER."]
Outside, in the park, is another pet, which was presented to Her Majesty
by Lord Wolseley, a peculiarly tall, deerlike-looking animal, a Zulu cow,
bred from a bull which was originally the property of Dabulamanzi,
Cetewayo's brother. Cetewayo, curiously enough, when paying a visit to the
Shaw Farm, saw his brother's cattle, but did not appear to admire them
much when compared with the English. A well-bred English cow has four
times the substance and breeding of her Zulu sister.
Attention may also be called to some magnificent red Spanish cattle, whose
noble heads and gigantic horns are in themselves a study for the artist.
It should be mentioned here that when Her Majesty drives through the
private road which leads from the Castle past the kennels and dairy to the
Shaw Farm, she likes to see the animals as they come up to the railings,
and is thus able to observe how former favourites bear the burden of their
years. The Queen names most of them herself, and never forgets an old
friend.
Before going on to the kennels, by permission of the courteous manageress,
we enter the beautiful Royal dairy, which was built under the direction of
His Royal Highness the late Prince Consort in the twenty-first year of Her
Majesty's reign. It is more like an apartment in fairyland than a dairy.
The walls and ceiling are composed of exquisitely shaded Minton tiles, the
dairy itself being about forty-five feet long and thirty wide. Long marble
tables run right round the sides and up the centre. On these tables are
some 90 white earthenware pans, each of which contains about seven quarts
of milk. The butter is sent to Osborne every day, and averages about
twenty pounds weight in winter and forty in summer. A small supply for the
Queen's own breakfast table is also made in a special churn every morning.
Around the walls of the dairy are medallions of the Royal family, with the
monogram V.R. between. At each end of the dairy stands a beautiful
fountain; there is also one at the side. All these fountains came from the
Exhibition of 1851; the design is a stork supporting a lily leaf into
which the water falls. The roof is supported by three pairs of arched
pillars, and the windows are double, the inner set being stained with
designs of Tudor roses, hawthorn, primroses, white marguerites, the rose,
shamrock, thistle, and Scotch harebell. The outer windows are plain glass.
Beyond the glass is another window of wire gauze, so minute that in hot
weather both windows can be thrown open to admit the air, and yet all
intrusive insects kept at a distance. The Royal herd generally consists of
about fifty cows when they are all in milk, principally shorthorns and
Jerseys, twenty-five of each. Last year there were fifty-four cows in
milk, but the number usually averages about fifty.
The recesses in the dairy walls are filled with lovely old Crown Derby
and Worcester, together with a few Oriental china plates and dishes.
There is also a dish bearing the inscription, "Chamberlain, Worcester,
Manufacturer to His Royal Highness the Prince Regent." Close to the
dairy, stands an apartment devoted to churns and huge milk-cans. Each
milk-can bears the following inscription on the top:--
[Illustration: V.R. Home Park, Windsor.]
After exhausting the wonders of the Royal dairy, we pass out into the
sunshine once more, but, before leaving the shrubbery, notice two little
monuments to the memory of long-deceased favourites, the inscriptions on
which are as follows:--
[Illustration]
+-----------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| BOY, |
| Died February 20, 1862, |
| Aged five years. |
| The favourite and faithful dog of the Queen and Prince Consort. |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration]
+-----------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| BOZ, |
| |
| The favourite Scottish terrier of the Duchess of Kent, to whom |
| he had been given in 1857 by the Queen and Prince Consort. |
| |
| On March 16, 1861, he was taken back, and from that time till |
| he died, Oct. 26, 1864, remained the faithful dog of the |
| Queen. |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------------------+
Surely, two touching and blameless little records!
Leaving these pets to their well-earned rest, we walk along the
trimly-kept private road leading to the Royal kennels. Here, when Her
Majesty drives along, she can see the Spanish oxen and other pets as they
come up to the railings and peer curiously over, the long horns of the
oxen especially making a formidable show which is entirely belied by their
peaceful disposition.
At the Royal kennels we are received by Mr. Hugh Brown, the manager, and
his able assistant, Mr. Hill, and shown into the apartment which is
sometimes occupied by Her Majesty when visiting the kennels. It is a
quaint, medium-sized room, with old oak rafters and oak furniture,
comfortable chairs and foot-rests predominating. The curtains are a
warm, deep red, the carpet to match, and a couple of little oak tables
occupy the centre of the room. But the unique feature about this
apartment is the number of dog portraits on the walls. There are dogs of
every race, shape and colour; dogs large and small; dogs lying down or
standing up; dogs in oils; dogs in watercolours; all of them labelled
with the animal's name and the artist who painted it. One or two special
favourites have a lock of their hair let into the woodwork of the frame.
[Illustration: Sleeping compartment & Yard in front.]
Outside, the tiled walk called the "Queen's Verandah" is covered over as
a protection against the weather. Her Majesty is accustomed to walk up
and down here, and inspect the various occupants. There are several dogs
in every compartment. Each front yard measures ten feet by twelve; the
sleeping compartment is ten feet by ten. The wall in front stands nearly
three feet high, and has a rail on the top. Each yard is paved with red
and blue tiles. In the sleeping compartments, which are warmed by
hot-water pipes, are benches raised about a foot from the ground. Facing
the "Collie Court," as it is called, is a large paddock which contains
the bath--a curious aperture in the ground, with sloping sides, so that
a dog can run down, swim through the middle, and walk up again on the
other side. The sides of this bath are lined with little round stones.
There is also an umbrella-shaped structure of wood, under which the dogs
can lie and sun themselves after the bath. Near the road is a curious
looking seat called "The Apron Piece," with a railing in front. The
Queen sometimes sits here and watches the gambols of the dogs when they
are let loose in the paddock.
[Illustration: The Apron Piece.]
There does not appear to be any hard and fast rule as to the housing of
the dogs. It all depends how they agree with each other. For instance,
in one compartment will be found a collie, Spitz, and dachshund; in the
next, three Spitzes and a pug; then two Skye terriers, three pugs, one
dachshund; then two lovely white collies; then one solitary collie whose
coat is out of order, and who comes up with big, beseeching eyes, as if
imploring us to put an end to her solitude. The most attractive sight
is, of course, the twelve or thirteen beautiful collies in one big
compartment. In all there are about fifty-five dogs, fifty-four of whom
are in robust health, the hospital containing one whippet. A beautiful
little black Pomeranian "Zeela" inhabits a huge cage in solitary state,
and barks herself all over it at once. In the paddock outside her cage
are four beautiful black and tan collie pups, all eager for a romp.
Every dog in the Queen's kennels is exercised twice a day, morning and
afternoon. The little dogs generally go out first, and then give place
to the big ones. Feeding time for the whole establishment is four
o'clock in the afternoon, but during very cold weather each animal is
given some dry biscuit every morning. The food is prepared in a kitchen
reserved expressly for this purpose, and consists of soaked biscuits,
vegetables, meat, bullock's head, pluck, and sometimes a little beef.
Oatmeal is also added to this _la podrida_. The dogs are all in hard
condition, and look the picture of health. It is difficult to tear
oneself away from the collies, especially the two lovely white ones and
the little buff-coated Pomeranians, with tightly curling tails and
small, sharp ears.
[Illustration: "SPOT."]
Her Majesty's love for dogs is so well known that it would be
superfluous to dwell upon such a topic. Wherever the Queen goes, she is
accompanied by "Spot" (a fox-terrier), "Roy" (a black and tan collie),
and a lovely little brown Spitz called "Marco." Her favourite dogs are
collies, and she possesses a magnificent specimen in "Darnley," who is
now being exhibited at the Agricultural Hall dog show. "Darnley" is a
beautiful black and tan in colour, with heavy white ruff. He has a most
curious habit, inherited from his father, of wrinkling up the skin of
his nose and showing all his teeth when pleased. Another animal away at
the show is the little eight-months old Skye terrier, "Rona." "Rona" is
iron-grey in colour, has a very long body, and is extremely intelligent
and good natured.
[Illustration: "ROY."]
On one of the artist's visits, "Beppo," a white Pomeranian, was brought
out to have his portrait taken. Dog-like, he at once pretended, when
required to sit still, that it was an excessively difficult operation
causing great physical discomfort. Talking did not interest him, shaking
of keys and rolling of coppers had lost their charm; in fact, tail
between legs, he voted existence a mistake. Just then, up strolled dear
little "Rona," and with bright intelligent eyes seemingly enquired into
the matter. In a few seconds everything was put right again. The sun
once more shone, and the portrait was taken. Surely, these little Skyes
are the most lovable and intelligent of all dogs. To any one who has
read "Rab and his Friends," however, such a remark is unnecessary.
[Illustration: "MARCO."]
[Illustration: "BEPPO."]
In appearance, little tiny "Gena" bears the palm from all the
Pomeranians. She is one mass of white, silky wool, and has the most
charming manners. With one tiny paw uplifted she immediately decides
that artists are not as photographers, and may be trusted to take
portraits without the intervention of any snappy and nerve-shaking
apparatus. "Gena" and "Glen," an old black and tan collie, live in the
house, the inseparable companions of genial Mrs. Hugh Brown.
The late Prince Consort's favourite dogs were dachshunds, a specimen of
which invariably accompanied him on his walks. The Prince of Wales
favours the odd-looking bassets, of which he has many fine specimens.
[Illustration: "GENA."]
[Illustration: "GENA."]
But the kennels, with all their joyousness, have sad little tragedies at
times. For instance, after the death of the late well-loved Emperor
Frederick, two of his favourite Italian dogs, charming creatures,
something like Italian greyhounds, were sent to Her Majesty, but,
unfortunately, did not long survive their illustrious master. Many old
pets have tombs in various parts of the Royal domain. Among others which
may be seen on the Slopes is that of "Sharp," a handsome collie, who
lies, as in life, guarding the Queen's glove.
It is related of "Sharp" that he was greatly attached to the late Mr.
John Brown, whose room he jealously guarded. If, by chance, strangers
entered during Mr. Brown's absence they were not allowed to leave until
his return, and under no circumstances must anything be taken from the
room while "Sharp" was on guard. A housemaid, indeed, once picked up
some little article with the intention of putting it on the table, and
the dog, although he knew her well, refused to allow her to leave the
room.
[Illustration]
In noticing the display of prize certificates won by the dogs, we hear
of another instance of Her Majesty's thoughtfulness for her pets.
Although frequently exhibited for the pleasure of her subjects, they are
never allowed to pass the night from home, being taken to and from the
place of exhibition each day by their careful guardians, Messrs. Brown
and Hill.
After an inspection of the well-kept stud-book, we at last turn to leave
the happy scene, a process viewed, evidently, with much relief by a
funny little, black-faced pug, to whom our presence and proceedings
throughout have seemingly caused the greatest astonishment.
But we have still Her Majesty's pets at the stables to look at before
returning to town, so we walk blithely down Herne's Walk toward the
Castle, putting up a huge hare, who leisurely retreats as if feeling
secure within the Royal precincts. As we go down the walk, we notice a
comparatively juvenile-looking tree in marked contrast to the giants
around. At its foot is the following inscription:--
This tree was planted by
Her Majesty Queen Victoria
To mark the spot where Herne's Oak stood.
The old tree was blown down
August 31st, 1863.
There is an old tale goes that Herne the Hunter,
Some time a keeper here in Windsor Forest,
Doth all the winter time at still midnight
Walk round about an oak.
--_Shakespeare._
[Illustration]
After lunch at the nearest hostelry, we walk up to the Castle, and
enquire for Mr. John Manning, the superintendent of the Royal mews. Mr.
Manning first takes us to the harness-room, a well-lighted, pleasant
building with sanded floor, a stove burning brightly in the centre of
the room, and all round the walls harness and saddles symmetrically
arranged. The first set of double harness which he shows us is seldom
used, and is made out of black leather, richly embroidered in designs of
the Royal Arms, &c., with split porcupine quills, the work of some
Tyrolese artists who visited this country many years ago. Next to the
porcupine harness hangs a set of Russian leather sledge harness,
beautifully mounted with silver, and as soft as a kid glove. High over
the saddles (the saddles are hung up with what is known as a crutch) are
the collars of the Queen's carriage horses. In order to prevent
confusion, the name of each horse is printed above the collar, _i.e._,
"True," "Ronald," "Sheridan," "Beau," "Force," "Belfast," "Middy,"
"Bashful," and so on.
Next door to the harness-room is a huge coach-house containing the
Queen's carriages, among them being a landau, sociable, driving landau,
waggonette, and a driving phaeton with curtains, which was much used by
the late Prince Consort. In one corner is a covered perambulator
belonging to Her Majesty's grandchildren, and close to it stands the
vehicle which is generally known as "the Queen's Chair," although it is
in reality a little four-wheeled carriage, with rubber tyres, and a low
step, the interior lining and cushions being a plain dark blue in
colour.
[Illustration: "JACQUOT."]
This vehicle is much used by Her Majesty when driving about the grounds,
and is drawn by an exceedingly strong, handsome donkey called "Jacquot,"
in colour a very dark brown, with white nose and curiously knotted tail.
"Jacquot," who is a very intelligent animal, with a rather strong
objection to work, and a great love of good living, accompanies Her
Majesty whenever she goes abroad, his next destination being Florence.
In an adjoining paddock stands a nice, pleasant-looking grey donkey, who
munches an apple philosophically while having his portrait drawn. He is
a great favourite, the son of Egyptian "Tewfik," and takes his share of
garden work and in carrying the Queen's grandchildren.
The adjoining stable contains eighteen harness horses, most of them
grey. The stables themselves are beautifully kept, one groom being
generally allowed to every two horses. At the edge of each stall is an
artistically plaited border of straw. Close by is the riding school, a
handsome building sixty-three yards in length and eighteen yards wide.
The roof is supported on handsome oak brackets; at one end is a balcony
where it is said Her Majesty and the late Prince Consort were accustomed
to sit and watch the horses being exercised. In this gallery are
medallions of favourite horses, the frames containing locks of their
hair. The riding school is lit with gas, and the lower part of the walls
lined with kamptulicon, which never wears out, and prevents a horse
being much injured should he by any chance kick or fall against it. The
centre of the tan-covered floor is occupied by a mounting block.
This school is occasionally used for circus performances, and,
splendidly decorated, was the scene of the grand entertainment given to
the Belgian volunteers some years since.
[Illustration: A SON OF "TEWFIK."]
In a solitary loose box, warmly wrapped in rugs, her own natural coat
being like very thick, soft, black plush, placidly stands "Jessie," the
Queen's favourite old riding-mare. With her splendid coat, silky mane
and tail, lofty crest, and soft mild eyes, she looks indeed worthy of
her Royal mistress. "Jessie's" pedigree is unknown to us, but she was
bred near Balmoral. She is about fifteen hands three inches in height,
black as a coal, and with peculiar white markings on forehead and back.
She is now twenty-six or twenty-seven years old, and, until within the
last twelve months, has carried Her Majesty for many years. The Queen is
very fond of "Jessie," who, although now, from old age, past work, is
invariably sent to the Castle for inspection when Her Majesty is at
Windsor.
[Illustration: JESSIE 1892.]
A very different-looking animal is the grey Arab in the next stable.
This magnificent horse was presented to Her Majesty by the Thakore of
Morvi, and does not bear the best of stable reputations, but when
mounted he is docility itself, and a very faithful worker. The grey's
wardrobe, when he came to England, consisted of the following gorgeous
trappings:--Saddle of red and green cloth, under felt, pad for saddle,
embroidered saddle-cloth, embroidered bridle, plume, hood in cloth of
gold, leg-ring and pad, embroidered neckpiece, embroidered
quarter-piece, four bunches of woollen tassels, and a silk scarf.
Arrayed in all this splendour and ridden by a native attendant, he was
brought into the Grand Quadrangle at Windsor to be presented to Her
Majesty with due and appropriate ceremonies. He is tall for an Arab,
with whitish body, dark grey legs, pink muzzle, and silky black mane,
which hangs over the near or left side of his neck. In the next stable
stand twelve beautiful brougham horses, ranging from dark brown to light
chestnut in colour. Next to the brougham horses are four brown ponies,
about fourteen hands high. These animals were all bred from a pony
called "Beatrice," which the Princess Beatrice was accustomed to ride.
[Illustration: THE GREY ARAB.]
In the next carriage-house stands a gorgeous _char-à-banc_, presented to
Her Majesty by Louis Philippe. Then come the carriages of the household,
weighing about fifteen hundredweight each. The most curious-looking
vehicles, however, are the long-shafted Russian droschkies, meant to be
drawn by three horses abreast.
In another carriage-house is a vehicle replete with historical and
pathetic interest. This is none other than the post-chaise in which Her
Majesty and the late Prince Consort travelled all through Germany about
seven years after their marriage. It is fitted up with a writing-case,
and all sorts of conveniences, and hung on C springs.
The cheerful tap-tap of a hammer, and a keen, pungent scent as of
something burning, warn us that we are in the vicinity of the Royal
smithy. A handsome grey carriage-horse is being shod, one hoof doubled
up between the farrier's legs, as that worthy, with quick taps, drives
in a long nail, and makes the shoe fast.
The Royal mews, which were built in 1841, cover a space of no less than
four acres of ground, and, together with those at Buckingham Palace, are
under the able supervision of Colonel Sir George Maude, K.C.B., R.A.,
&c., who also purchases most of Her Majesty's horses. It is no light
testimonial to the care of their management when we hear that, although
sometimes as many as one hundred horses are accommodated at Windsor, the
veterinary surgeon's account only amounts for the year to a most
insignificant sum.
We cannot take our leave, for the present, of the Royal pets without
again returning our hearty thanks to all with whom we have been brought
in contact, for their kindness, courtesy, and desire to assist us in our
mission. To all loyal subjects who wish to see a model of a good Queen's
home we can give no better advice than to go to Royal Windsor.
[Illustration: DIEU ET MON DROIT.]
(The Editors of _The Idler_ return their most sincere thanks to General
Sir Henry Ponsonby, G.C.B., &c., &c., for his kind correction and
revision of the above article.)
PEOPLE I HAVE NEVER MET.
BY SCOTT RANKIN.
-----
[Illustration: HEINRIK IBSEN.]
"We are all of us ghosts.... It is not only what we have inherited from
our father and mother that 'walks' in us. It is all sorts of dead ideas,
and lifeless old beliefs, and so forth. They have no vitality, but they
cling to us all the same, and we can't get rid of them. Whenever I take
up a newspaper I seem to see ghosts gliding between the lines. There
must be ghosts all the country over, as thick as the sands of the
sea."--IBSEN.
THE RECLAMATION OF JOE HOLLENDS.
BY ROBERT BARR.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. GREIG.
-----
[Illustration: "THE WRONGS OF THE WORKING MAN."]
The public-houses of Burwell Road--and there were many of them for the
length of the street--were rather proud of Joe Hollends. He was a
perfected specimen of the work a pub produces. He was probably the most
persistent drunkard the Road possessed, and the periodical gathering in
of Joe by the police was one of the stock sights of the street. Many of
the inhabitants could be taken to the station by one policeman; some
required two; but Joe's average was four. He had been heard to boast
that on one occasion he had been accompanied to the station by seven
bobbies, but that was before the force had studied Joe and got him down
to his correct mathematical equivalent. Now they tripped him up, a
policeman taking one kicking leg and another the other, while the
remaining two attended to the upper part of his body. Thus they carried
him, followed by an admiring crowd, and watched by other envious
drunkards who had to content themselves with a single officer when they
went on a similar spree. Sometimes Joe managed to place a kick where it
would do the most good against the stomach of a policeman, and when the
officer rolled over there was for a few moments a renewal of the fight,
silent on the part of the men and vociferous on the part of the
drunkard, who had a fine flow of abusive language. Then the procession
went on again. It was perfectly useless to put Joe on the police
ambulance, for it required two men to sit on him while in transit, and
the barrow is not made to stand such a load.
Of course, when Joe staggered out of the pub and fell in the gutter, the
ambulance did its duty, and trundled Joe to his abiding place, but the
real fun occurred when Joe was gathered in during the third stage of his
debauch. He passed through the oratorical stage, then the maudlin or
sentimental stage, from which he emerged into the fighting stage, when
he was usually ejected into the street, where he forthwith began to make
Rome howl, and paint the town red. At this point the policeman's whistle
sounded, and the force knew Joe was on the warpath, and that duty called
them to the fray.
It was believed in the neighbourhood that Joe had been a college man,
and this gave him additional standing with his admirers. His eloquence
was undoubted, after several glasses varying in number according to the
strength of their contents, and a man who had heard the great political
speakers of the day admitted that none of them could hold a candle to
Joe when he got on the subject of the wrongs of the working man and the
tyranny of the capitalist. It was generally understood that Joe might
have been anything he liked, and that he was no man's enemy but his own.
It was also hinted that he could tell the bigwigs a thing or two if he
had been consulted in affairs of State.
One evening, when Joe was slowly progressing as usual, with his feet in
the air, towards the station, supported by the requisite number of
policemen, and declaiming to the delight of the accompanying crowd, a
woman stood with her back to the brick wall, horror-stricken at the
sight. She had a pale, refined face, and was dressed in black. Her
self-imposed mission was among these people, but she had never seen Joe
taken to the station before, and the sight, which was so amusing to the
neighbourhood, was shocking to her. She enquired about Joe, and heard
the usual story that he was no man's enemy but his own, although they
might in justice have added the police. Still, a policeman was hardly
looked upon as a human being in that neighbourhood. Miss Johnson
reported the case to the committee of the Social League, and took
counsel. Then it was that the reclamation of Joe Hollends was determined
on.
Joe received Miss Johnson with subdued dignity, and a demeanour that
delicately indicated a knowledge on his part of her superiority and his
own degradation. He knew how a lady should be treated even if he was a
drunkard, as he told his cronies afterwards. Joe was perfectly willing
to be reclaimed. Heretofore in his life, no one had ever extended the
hand of fellowship to him. Human sympathy was what Joe needed, and
precious little he had had of it. There were more kicks than halfpence
in this world for a poor man. The rich did not care what became of the
poor; not they--a proposition which Miss Johnson earnestly denied.
It was one of the tenets of the committee that where possible the poor
should help the poor. It was resolved to get Joe a decent suit of
clothes and endeavour to find him a place where work would enable him to
help himself. Miss Johnson went around the neighbourhood and collected
pence for the reclamation. Most people were willing to help Joe,
although it was generally felt that the Road would be less gay when he
took on sober habits. In one room, however, Miss Johnson was refused the
penny she pleaded for.
"We cannot spare even a penny," said the woman, whose sickly little boy
clung to her skirts. "My husband is just out of work again. He has had
only four weeks' work this time."
Miss Johnson looked around the room and saw why there was no money. It
was quite evident where the earnings of the husband had gone.
The room was much better furnished than the average apartment of the
neighbourhood. There were two sets of dishes where one would have been
quite sufficient. On the mantelshelf and around the walls were various
unnecessary articles which cost money.
[Illustration: "'WE CANNOT SPARE EVEN A PENNY.'"]
Miss Johnson noted all this but said nothing, although she resolved to
report it to the committee. In union is strength and in multitude of
counsel there is wisdom. Miss Johnson had great faith in the wisdom of
the committee.
"How long has your husband been out of work?" she asked.
"Only a few days, but times are very bad and he is afraid he will not
get another situation soon."
"What is his trade?"
"He is a carpenter and a good workman--sober and steady."
"If you give me his name I will put it down in our books. Perhaps we may
be able to help him."
"John Morris is his name."
Miss Johnson wrote it down on her tablets, and when she left the wife
felt vaguely grateful for benefits to come.
The facts of the case were reported to the committee, and Miss Johnson
was deputed to expostulate with Mrs. Morris upon her extravagance. John
Morris's name was put upon the books among the names of many other
unemployed persons. The case of Joe Hollends then came up, and elicited
much enthusiasm. A decent suit of clothing had been purchased with part
of the money collected for him, and it was determined to keep the rest
in trust, to be doled out to him as occasion warranted.
[Illustration: "THE LADIES WERE VERY PERSUASIVE."]
Two persuasive ladies undertook to find a place for him in one of the
factories, if such a thing were possible.
Joe felt rather uncomfortable in his new suit of clothes, and seemed to
regard the expenditure as, all in all, a waste of good money. He was
also disappointed to find that the funds collected were not to be handed
over to him in a lump. It was not the money he cared about, he said, but
the evident lack of trust. If people had trusted him more, he might have
been a better man. Trust and human sympathy were what Joe Hollends
needed.
The two persuasive ladies appealed to Mr. Stillwell, the proprietor of a
small factory for the making of boxes. They said that if Hollends got a
chance they were sure he would reform. Stillwell replied that he had no
place for anyone. He had enough to do to keep the men already in his
employ. Times were dull in the box business, and he was turning away
applicants every day who were good workmen and who didn't need to be
reformed. However, the ladies were very persuasive, and it is not given
to every man to be able to refuse the appeal of a pretty woman, not to
mention two of them. Stillwell promised to give Hollends a chance, said
he would consult with his foreman, and let the ladies know what could be
done.
Joe Hollends did not receive the news of his luck with the enthusiasm
that might have been expected. Many a man was tramping London in search
of employment and finding none, therefore even the ladies who were so
solicitous about Joe's welfare thought he should be thankful that work
came unsought. He said he would do his best, which is, when you come to
think of it, all that we have a right to expect from any man.
Some days afterwards Jack Morris applied to Mr. Stillwell for a job, but
he had no sub-committee of persuasive ladies to plead for him. He would
be willing to work half-time or quarter-time for that matter. He had a
wife and boy dependent on him. He could show that he was a good workman
and he did not drink. Thus did Morris recite his qualifications to the
unwilling ears of Stillwell the box maker. As he left the place
disheartened with another refusal, he was overtaken by Joe Hollends. Joe
was a lover of his fellow-man, and disliked seeing anyone downhearted.
He had one infallible cure for dejection. Having just been discharged,
he was in high spirits, because his prediction of his own failure as a
reformed character, if work were a condition of the reclamation, had
just been fulfilled.
"Cheer up, old man," he cried, slapping Morris on the shoulder, "what's
the matter? Come and have a drink with me. I've got the money."
"No," said Morris, who knew the professional drunkard but slightly, and
did not care for further acquaintance with him, "I want work, not beer."
"Every man to his taste. Why don't you ask at the box factory? You can
have my job and welcome. The foreman's just discharged me. Said I
wouldn't work myself, and kept the men off theirs. Thought I talked too
much about capital and labour."
"Do you think I could get your job?"
"Very likely. No harm in trying. If they don't take you on, come into
the Red Lion--I'll be there--and have a drop. It'll cheer you up a bit."
Morris appealed in vain to the foreman. They had more men now in the
factory than they needed, he said. So Morris went to the Red Lion, where
he found Hollends ready to welcome him. They had several glasses
together, and Hollends told him of the efforts of the Social League in
the reclamation line, and his doubts of their ultimate success. Hollends
seemed to think the ladies of the League were deeply indebted to him for
furnishing them with such a good subject for reformation. That night
Joe's career reached a triumphant climax, for the four policemen had to
appeal to the bystanders for help in the name of the law.
[Illustration: "HE FOUND HOLLENDS READY TO WELCOME HIM."]
Jack Morris went home unaided. He had not taken many glasses, but he
knew he should have avoided drink altogether, for he had some experience
of its power in his younger days. He was, therefore, in a quarrelsome
mood, ready to blame everyone but himself.
He found his wife in tears, and saw Miss Johnson sitting there,
evidently very miserable.
"What's all this?" asked Morris.
His wife dried her eyes, and said it was nothing. Miss Johnson had been
giving her some advice, which she was thankful for. Morris glared at the
visitor.
"What have you got to do with us?" he demanded rudely. His wife caught
him by the arm, but he angrily tossed aside her hand. Miss Johnson
arose, fearing.
"You've no business here. We want none of your advice. You get out of
this." Then, impatiently to his wife, who strove to calm him, "Shut up,
will you?"
Miss Johnson was afraid he would strike her as she passed him going to
the door, but he merely stood there, following her exit with lowering
brow.
[Illustration: "TOLD HER EXPERIENCE."]
The terrified lady told her experience to the sympathising members of
the committee. She had spoken to Mrs. Morris of her extravagance in
buying so many things that were not necessary when her husband had work.
She advised the saving of the money. Mrs. Morris had defended her
apparent lavish expenditure by saying that there was no possibility of
saving money. She bought useful things, and when her husband was out of
work she could always get a large percentage of their cost from the
pawnbroker. The pawnshop, she had tearfully explained to Miss Johnson,
was the only bank of the poor. The idea of the pawnshop as a bank, and
not as a place of disgrace, was new to Miss Johnson, but before anything
further could be said the husband had come in. One of the committee, who
knew more about the district than Miss Johnson, affirmed that there was
something to say for the pawnbroker as the banker of the poor. The
committee were unanimous in condemning the conduct of Morris, and it
says much for the members that, in spite of the provocation one of them
had received, they did not take the name of so undeserving a man from
their list of the unemployed.
The sad relapse of Joe Hollends next occupied the attention of the
League. His fine had been paid, and he had expressed himself as deeply
grieved at his own frailty. If the foreman had been less harsh with him
and had given him a chance, things might have been different. It was
resolved to send Joe to the seaside so that he might have an opportunity
of toning up his system to resist temptation. Joe enjoyed his trip to
the sea. He always liked to encounter a new body of police unaccustomed
to his methods. He toned up his system so successfully the first day on
the sands that he spent the night in the cells.
Little by little, the portable property in the rooms of the Morrises
disappeared into the pawnshop. Misfortune, as usual, did not come
singly. The small boy was ill, and Morris himself seemed to be unable to
resist the temptation of the Red Lion. The unhappy woman took her boy to
the parish doctor, who was very busy, but he gave what attention he
could to the case. He said all the boy needed was nourishing food and
country air. Mrs. Morris sighed, and decided to take the little boy
oftener to the park, but the way was long, and he grew weaker day by
day.
At last, she succeeded in interesting her husband in the little fellow's
condition. He consented to take the boy to the doctor with her.
"The doctor doesn't seem to mind what I say," she complained. "Perhaps
he will pay attention to a man."
Morris was not naturally a morose person, but continued disappointment
was rapidly making him so. He said nothing, but took the boy in his
arms, and, followed by his wife, went to the doctor.
"This boy was here before," said the physician, which tended to show
that he had paid more attention to the case than Mrs. Morris thought.
"He is very much worse. You will have to take him to the country or he
will die."
"How can I send him to the country?" asked Morris, sullenly. "I've been
out of work for months."
"Have you friends in the country?"
"No."
"Hasn't your wife any friends in the country who would take her and the
lad for a month or so?"
"No."
"Have you anything to pawn?"
"Very little."
"Then I would advise you to pawn everything you own, or sell it if you
can, and take the boy on your back and tramp to the country. You will
get work there probably more easily than in the city. Here are ten
shillings to help you."
"I don't want your money," said Morris, in a surly tone. "I want work."
"I have no work to give you, so I offer you what I have. I haven't as
much of that as I could wish. You are a fool not to take what the gods
send."
Morris, without replying, gathered up his son in his arms and departed.
"Here is a bottle of tonic for him," said the doctor to Mrs. Morris.
He placed the half-sovereign on the bottle as he passed it to her. She
silently thanked him with her wet eyes, hoping that a time would come
when she could repay the money. The doctor had experience enough to know
that they were not to be classed among his usual visitors. He was not in
the habit of indiscriminately bestowing gold coins.