In winter the child crouched behind the stove and wept softly from

cold, and not unfrequently from hunger if "Mammy" had nothing in the

cupboard or in the pot. In summer he ran about in a little white

blouse, tied round the waist with a handkerchief, and wore an old straw

hat on his head. His flaxen hair poked its way through the holes, and

his eager glance darted hither and thither like a bird's. His mother,

poor creature! who lived from hand to mouth, and lodged under a strange

roof like a swallow, loved him, no doubt, after a fashion, yet she gave

him many a cuff, and generally called him a "changeling." At eight

years of age he began life on his own account, now driving a flock of

sheep, now making his way deep into the forest to look for mushrooms

when there was nothing to eat at home. He had Providence only to thank

that the wolves did hot devour him on one of these expeditions. He was

not a particularly precocious boy, and, like all village children, had

the habit of sticking his finger into his mouth when addressed. The

neighbours prophesied that he would not live long, or that, if he did

live, he would not be much of a comfort to his mother, for he would

never be strong enough for hard work.

One distinguishing characteristic he had. Who can say why the gift was

bestowed in so unlikely a quarter? But music he loved, and his love was

a passion. He heard music in everything; he listened to every sound,

and the bigger he grew the more he thought of melody and of harmony. If

he tended the cattle, or went with a playfellow to gather berries in

the forest, he would return empty-handed, and lisp, "O mammy, there was

such beautiful music! It was playing like this--la, la, la!"

"I'll soon play you a different tune, you good-for-nothing monkey!" his

mother would cry angrily, and rap him with the ladle.

[Illustration: "YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING MONKEY!"]

The youngster might shriek, and promise not to listen to the music

again, but he thought all the more of how beautiful the forest was, and

how full of voices that sang and rang. Who or what sang and rang he

could not well have told; the pine-trees, the beeches, the birch-trees,

the thrushes, all sang; the whole forest sang, and the echo sang

too ... in the meadows the blades of grass sang; in the garden behind

the cottage the sparrows twittered, the cherry-trees rustled and

trilled. In the evening he heard all imaginable voices, such as are

audible only in the country, and he thought to himself that the whole

village resounded with melody. His companions could only wonder at him;

they heard none of these beautiful things. When he was set to work to

toss out hay he fancied he heard the wind playing through the prongs of

his pitchfork. The overseer, who saw him standing idly, his hair thrown

back from his forehead, listening intently to the wind's music on the

fork, seized a strap, and gave the dreamer a few cuts to bring him to

his senses, but it was of no avail. The neighbours, at last, nicknamed

him "Janko the Musician."

At night, when the frogs croaked, the corncrakes cried across the

meadows, the bitterns boomed in the marsh, and the cocks crowed behind

the fences, the child could not sleep, he could but listen with

delight, and heaven only knows what harmonies he heard in all these

mingled sounds. His mother dared not bring him with her to church, for

when the organ murmured or pealed, the eyes of the boy grew dim and

moist or else brightened and gleamed as if the light of another world

illumined them.

The watchman, who nightly patrolled the village and counted the stars,

or carried on a low-toned conversation with the dogs in order to keep

himself awake, more than once saw Janko's little white blouse scudding

through the gloom to the alehouse. The child did not enter the tavern,

but crouched close up to the wall and listened. Within, couples

revolved merrily to lively music, and now and then a fellow would cry

"Hooray!" One could hear the stamping of feet and the affected voices

of the girls. The fiddles murmured softly, the big 'cello's deep notes

thundered, the windows streamed with light, every plank in the taproom

seemed to creak, to sing, to play, and Janko listened to it all. What

would he not have given to have a fiddle that would give forth such

sounds, a bit of board that would make such music! Alas! where was _he_

to get it; how could he make it? If they would only allow him just to

take one in his hand!... But no! all he could do was to listen, and so

he listened till the voice of the watchman would call to him out of the

darkness--

"Off to bed with you, you imp!"

[Illustration: "OFF TO BED WITH YOU, YOU IMP."]

Then the little bare feet would patter away to the cabin, and the

voices of the violins would follow him as he ran through the night.

It was a great occasion for him when at harvest time or at a wedding he

heard the fiddlers play. At such times he would creep behind the stove,

and for days would not speak a single word, looking straight before him

with great glowing eyes, like those of a cat at night.

At last he made himself a fiddle out of a shingle, and strung it

with horsehair, but it did not sound as beautifully as those in the

alehouse; the strings tinkled softly, ever so softly, they hummed like

flies or midges. All the same, he played on them from morning until

night, though many a kick and cuff he got till he was black and blue.

He could not help himself, it was in his nature.

The child grew thinner and thinner; his shock of hair became thicker,

his eyes grew more staring and swam with tears, and his cheeks and

chest became hollower. He had never resembled other children, he was

more like his own poor little fiddle that one could scarcely hear.

Moreover, before harvest-time he was almost starving, living as he did

chiefly on raw turnips, and on his longing, his intense longing, to own

a violin. Alas! this desire bore evil fruit.

Up at the Castle the footman had a fiddle that he sometimes played in

the evening to please his pretty sweetheart and his fellow-servants.

Janko often crept amongst the climbing plants to the very door of the

servants' hall to hear the music, or, at least, to catch a glimpse of

the fiddle. It generally hung on the wall, exactly opposite the door,

and the youngster's whole soul was in his eyes as he gazed at it,

an unattainable treasure that he was unworthy to possess, though he

held it to be the most precious thing on earth. A dumb longing took

possession of him to touch it just once with his very own hand--or, at

any rate, to see it closer.... At the thought the poor little childish

heart leaped with delight.

One evening there was no one in the servants' hall. The family had for

a long time lived abroad, the house was empty, and the footman, with

his sweetheart, was elsewhere. Janko, hidden amongst the creepers, had

already been looking for many minutes through the half-open door at the

goal of his desires.

The moon, at her full, swam high in the heavens; her beams threw

a shaft of light across the room, and fell on the opposite wall.

Gradually they moved towards where the violin hung, and streamed

full upon it. To the child in the darkness a silvery halo seemed to

shine around the instrument, illumining it so brightly that Janko was

almost dazzled; the strings, the neck, the sides were plainly visible,

the pegs shone like glow-worms, and the bow like a silver wand....

How beautiful it was; almost magical! Janko gazed with hungry eyes.

Crouching amidst the ivy, his elbows supported on his little bony

knees, he gazed open-mouthed and motionless at this one object. Now

fear held him fast, next moment an unappeasable longing urged him

forward. Was it magic, or was it not? The violin, with its rays of

glory, absolutely appeared to draw near to him, to hover over his head.

[Illustration: "JANKO WAS ALMOST DAZZLED."]

For a moment the glory darkened, only to shine again more brilliantly.

Magic, it really was magic! Meantime, the wind murmured, the trees

rustled, the creepers whispered softly, and to the child they seemed to

say, "Go on, Janko, there is not a soul there.... Go on, Janko."

The night was clear and bright. By the pond in the garden a nightingale

began to sing--now softly, now loudly. Her song said, "Go on; have

courage; touch it." An honest raven flew softly over the child's head

and croaked, "No, Janko; no." The raven flew away, but the nightingale

remained, and the creepers cried more plainly than ever, "There's no

one there."

The fiddle still hung in the track of the moonbeams. The little

crouching figure crept softly and cautiously nearer, and the

nightingale sang "Go on--on--on--take it."

The white blouse glimmered nearer the doorway. Soon it was no longer

hidden by the dark creepers. On the threshold one could hear the quick,

panting breath of the delicate child. A moment more and the little

white blouse had disappeared, only one tiny bare foot still stood upon

the steps. In vain the friendly raven flew by once more, and cawed "No,

no,"--Janko had already entered.

The frogs in the pond began suddenly to croak as if something had

frightened them, and as suddenly were silent. The nightingale ceased to

sing, the climbing plants to whisper. In the interval Janko had edged

nearer and nearer to his treasure, but fear seized him. In the shadow

of the creepers he felt at home, like a wild creature in a thicket, now

he quivered like a wild creature in a snare. His movements were hasty,

his breath came short.

The pulsing summer lightning that glanced from east to west illumined

the apartment for an instant, and showed poor trembling Janko almost

on his hands and knees, his head stretched out, cowering before the

violin, but the summer lightning ceased, a cloud passed before the

moon, and there was nothing to be seen nor heard.

Then, after a pause, there sounded through the darkness a low wailing

note, as if someone had accidentally touched a string, and all at once

a rough, sleepy voice broke from a corner of the room, asking angrily--

"Who's there?"

A match cracked against the wall. Then there was a little spurt of

flame, and then--great heaven!--then were to be heard curses, blows,

the crying of a child, appeals, "Oh, for God's sake!" barking of dogs,

people running with lights before the windows, uproar in the whole

house.

Two days later poor Janko stood before the magistrates. Should he be

prosecuted as a thief? Of course.

The justice and the landlord looked at the culprit as he stood in the

dock, his finger in his mouth, with staring, terrified eyes, small,

emaciated, dirty, beaten, unable to tell why or wherefore he found

himself there, or what they were about to do to him. How, thought the

justice, could anyone try a wretched little object like that, only ten

years of age, and barely able to stand on its legs? Was he to be sent

to prison, or what? One must not be too severe with children. Would it

not be well if a watchman took him and gave him a few strokes with a

cane, so that he might not steal a second time, and so end the matter?

"Just so. A very good idea!"

Stach, the watchman, was called.

"Take him, and give him a caning as a warning."

Stach nodded his stupid, bull head, took Janko under his arm like a

kitten, and carried him off to the barn.

[Illustration: "HE TOOK JANKO UNDER HIS ARM LIKE A KITTEN."]

Either the youngster did not understand what it was all about, or he

was too terrified to speak; in either case he uttered not a word, and

looked round him like a little frightened bird. How did he know what

they wanted with him. It was only when Stach seized him, laid him on

the barn floor, and, holding him fast with one hand, turned up his

little shirt with the cane, that poor Janko shrieked "Mammy!" and after

every blow he cried "Mammy, mammy!" but lower and weaker each time,

until after a certain number of strokes, the child was silent, and

called for his mother no more....

The poor broken fiddle!

You clumsy, wicked Stach! Who ever flogged a child in such a fashion?

The poor, tiny fellow was always thin and weakly, and scarcely had

breath in his body!

At last the mother came and took the child with her, but she had

to carry him home. Next day Janko did not rise. On the third day

he breathed out his soul in peace, on the hard bed covered by the

horsecloth....

As he lay dying, the swallows twittered in the cherry-tree that grew

before the window, a sunbeam peered through the pane, and flooded with

glory the child's rough hair and his bloodless face. The beam seemed

like a track for the little fellow's soul to ascend to heaven.

Well for him was it that at least at the hour of death he mounted a

broad and sunny path, for thorny would have been his road in life. The

wasted chest still heaved softly, and the child seemed still conscious

of the echoes of the outer world that entered through the open window.

It was evening; the peasant girls returning from hay-making passed by

and sang as they went; the brook purled close at hand.

Janko listened for the last time to the musical echoes of the village.

Beside him, on the horsecloth, lay the fiddle he had made from a

shingle. Suddenly the dying child's face lit up, and his white lips

whispered--

"Mammy!"

"What is it, dearie?" asked the mother, her voice stifled with sobs.

"Mammy, God will give me a real fiddle in heaven."

"Yes, darling, yes," replied the mother. She could speak no more,

for from her heart the pent-up sorrow burst suddenly forth. She only

murmured, "Jesus, my Jesus!" and laying her head on the table, wept as

those weep from whom death robs their dearest treasure.

And so it was. When she raised her head and looked at the child, the

eyes of the little musician were open but fixed, the countenance was

grave, solemn, and rigid. The sunbeam had disappeared.

"May you rest in peace, little Janko!"

* * * * *

Next day the Baron and his family returned from Italy to the Castle.

The daughter of the house and her suitor were there amongst the rest.

"What a delightful country Italy is!" remarked the gentleman.

"Yes, and the people! They are a nation of artists! It is a pleasure to

note and encourage their talent," answered the young lady.

* * * * *

The larches rustled over Janko's grave!

_A Silver Harvest._

[Illustration: SHOOTING SEINE-NET.]

Cornish pilchards are, no doubt, sufficiently well known to create some

interest in the method by which they are caught. Some years back the

fisheries were worked almost entirely by the "seine" net system, and

had developed into a most flourishing industry; but, at present, owing

principally to the large increase of drift-net boats which, in their

more regular expeditions, tend to break up the "schools" or "shoals,"

the old picturesque way of catching them by the "seine" boats is

more or less falling into desuetude. The glory and excitement of the

pilchard fishing belongs, however, to the seine-net almost exclusively.

For weeks the cliffs are patrolled by anxious watchers, and when once

the red streak in the water shows to the practised eye the "school"

slowly moving, the cry "heva" or "hubba" is heard shouted from one

to another, and every man, woman, and child rushes to the beach. A

volunteer colonel the writer once met touring about Cornwall with a

camera had skilfully arranged a characteristic group of fishermen and

lasses in a disused fish-cellar, and had carefully had an artistic

background of nets, lobster-pots, &c., built up after some hours of

trouble and difficulty, when, just as he was about to raise the cap, a

tap at the little window, a cry of "hubba," and his group flew off like

lightning out of the place. He never got them again. For many weeks

they were all busy with the pilchards.

Another visitor, not knowing the colloquial terms of the fisher-folk,

was alarmed to hear his landlady, in great excitement, shout to a

neighbour, "Shot at Cadgwith," and anxiously inquired whether anyone

was hurt or killed. Though the fishing villages as a rule are in

communication only through coaches, or more often carts, the news of

the first catch rapidly flies; naturally each place anticipating the

advent of the pilchards at any moment.

[Illustration: LAUNCHING THE TUCK-BOAT.]

Many of the fishermen are almost practised athletes. Down a long "way"

or "slip" the big seine boat is shot, the men hanging on, pushing, or

clambering on as the boat is launched into the sea. In a second the

big heavy oars are shipped, every man in his place, and pulling with

all his strength for the "shoal," guided by the "huer" who, on the top

of the cliff, directs them by waving two branches of furze-bush in

the direction required. The turn-out of a metropolitan fire-engine is

not accomplished more expeditiously. This work, as may be supposed,

is very arduous, and on many parts of the coast the manual labour is

superseded by steam seine-boats, which are constantly kept at sea on

the look-out, the men being paid weekly wages by the proprietors.

Occasionally the "school" is missed, and sometimes, in the difficulty

of manoevering the heavy boats in a comparatively rough sea, a small

portion only is secured. Many tries have often to be made, the fish

sometimes turning out too young and small, and, though these latter

are valuable to the sardine factories, many of which are established

in Cornwall, the cost of packing and drawing the fish over many miles

of rough country prevents it being worth the labour and trouble. And

the roads in some places, say, for instance, the way down to Sennen

Cove, Lands End, are most decidedly rough, the writer having once seen

a poor old blind man, who perambulated the country with a donkey-cart

and apples, once literally hung up on a huge boulder of rock in the

middle of the road. The fish once reached, the net is thrown into the

sea and a complete circle made round them, the net righting itself

in the water by the leads at the bottom and the corks at the top.

Then comes the "tuck-boat," often launched by women and children,

carrying a smaller net, which is fastened inside the bigger "seine,"

and partly under the fish, by means of which, by gradually lessening

the circle, the precious catch is forced to the surface. Large heavy

boats, characteristically called "loaders," are used to convey the fish

to the shore. Stalwart young men dip the "tuck-basket" into the shoal

of live fish, the water naturally draining out when it is raised to

the surface, while the pilchards are stowed in the "loader" by large

wooden shovels, to the accompaniment of the screams of thousands of

sea-gulls.

It is almost alarming, too, to see how deep in the water the boats are

loaded, within an inch or two of the gunwale, Mr. Plimsoll's load-line

evidently not applying; though, fortunately, accidents are rare.

Upon arriving at the shore or landing-place many from their own and

neighbouring villages are there to take them up in "creels" to the

cellars. We have once seen a large influx of Cornish miners for this

work only. They are paid 2d. a basket, and can make £1 a day, though

the work is comparatively laborious.

Of course the natives manage at these times to get fairly well provided

with fish. The children are very busy picking up the stray pilchards,

and the stray ones getting scarce, an apparently accidental stumble

on the rough stones may upset a large creel full, which is not worth

gathering up when fish is plentiful.

[Illustration: DIPPING FOR PILCHARDS.]

If large catches, or perhaps two or three catches fill the cellars,

an interesting sight is to see the fish packed on the ground by the

women and children, salt being plentifully used, of course, and the

heads placed outwards. The row of carefully arranged pilchards is then

thatched over and left to pickle for about a month.

The pay is pretty good for this work, the children even getting 3d.

per hour. The pile is then undone, the fish packed with great care in

barrels, and by means of a long lever with a heavy stone hooked on at

the end, pressed down tightly. It is then ready for the market.

The inland villagers are good customers for pilchards, and, indeed, for

all sorts of fish, conger and mackerel being especial favourites with

all. They are usually supplied by the country dealers called "jowters,"

though how the word arose is uncertain; but the biggest market is

Italy, several Italians being permanently established in Cornwall in

the business. It might be supposed that the fishermen themselves would

care but little for fish, but experience shows that few people are so

particularly fond of it. We have often heard the natives declare that a

bit of fresh or salted fish was better at any time than meat, roast or

boiled. In the winter, when unable to go to sea, the storms and gales

preventing the men from doing anything for a livelihood, the salted

pilchard is the staple article of food. Served with a boiled potato

it makes a savoury enough dish, though I think, perhaps, it needs an

acquired taste on behalf of the town dwellers to enjoy it thoroughly.

Most of the fishermen have their plot of land, and in their intervals

of enforced leisure are assiduous gardeners, cultivating generally

sufficient potatoes to last the winter.

[Illustration: PACKING.]

The oil which is pressed out of the fish is drained by little gutters

into a small well, and although after some lapse of time it becomes

anything but odorous, or even agreeable to the view, it is very

valuable to the men for dressing their boots, &c., which become so

hardened by the sea-water. Many of the fishermen in days gone by have

made a considerable lot of money by Cornish pilchards. In some of the

fishing villages it is not at all uncommon for the men to have built

their own cottages out of their earnings and to have put a little by

besides. Formerly, too, the "schools" came along as early as August,

but now they are seldom seen until October. No satisfactory reason

either for their present apparent scarcity or the change of the time of

their appearance can be given, the fishermen themselves being at a loss

for an explanation.

[Illustration]

_The State of the Law Courts._

III.--THE BAR.

Undoubtedly the Bar possesses a charm that belongs to no other

profession. Not only are its possibilities magnificent, extending as

they do to the Woolsack, but it has the further attraction of being the

one calling wherein the youthful aspirant may rely upon his personal

attributes even more than upon industry and training for success. Many

instances could be mentioned of eminent leaders who have been inundated

with briefs, and have easily made their £10,000 or more a year, not on

account of their legal lore, but because they have been brilliant and

persuasive speakers, charming of manner, and quick at repartee.

Perhaps it is natural that most of the smart young graduates who swell

the ranks of the Bar should feel themselves fully equipped, if not

in their store of learning, at least in personal qualifications. But

it is unfortunately a fact that this feeling of youthful confidence,

admirable in itself, has in a great measure led to the growth of a

numerous army of needy barristers, many of whom are only too anxious to

pick up an occasional guinea at the County or the Criminal Courts.

[Illustration: THE TEMPLE: "HERE LIES OLIVER GOLDSMITH."]

The prizes of the Bar are only for the few, and the disappointments for

the many. This uncertainty itself, perhaps, is an attraction to some

of the numerous aspirants who would emulate the successes of Cockburn,

Ballantine, Russell, Davey, and other great counsel. The advocates'

profession is a very ancient one, and goes back to Roman times. The

independence of the Bar has always been its greatest boast. Whether

it has worthily maintained that characteristic of recent years is a

question that we shall discuss later on, but that it did so formerly

there can be no doubt. In illustration of this, we may relate a story

of a counsel named Wilkins, who was defending a prisoner before Baron

Gurney, a very severe judge. Wilkins thought that the judge had made

up his mind to convict the prisoner, and, in the course of his address

to the jury, he had the temerity to say: "There exist those upon the

Bench who have the character of convicting judges. I do not envy their

reputation in this world, or their fate hereafter!" The prisoner was

in the end acquitted, but whether as the result of this attack, which

Baron Gurney felt very keenly, or not, it is impossible to say. It may

be doubted whether any advocate nowadays would venture to speak in a

similar way. It is possible, however, that Baron Gurney was unaware of

his reputation for severity, and Mr. Wilkins' remarks may have had a

salutary effect upon him.

The appointment of barristers is now effected by the four Inns of

Court, namely, the Inner Temple, the Middle Temple, Lincoln's Inn,

and Gray's Inn. These Inns are voluntary associations, having no

statutory powers, and it is only by virtue of ancient custom that they

enjoy the right of calling students to the Bar. They are respectively

governed by a self-elected body called "Benchers," who consist of the

judges, a number of Queen's counsel, and a few veteran "juniors." The

barristers as a class have no voice in the management of the Inns, or

in the discipline of their profession. The social status of the Bar

has of late years deteriorated, although it is true that barristers

are generally drawn from a much higher social level than solicitors.

Individual merit is, somewhat erroneously perhaps, supposed to be

as great a factor for success as interest, and this, together with

other considerations that we have already alluded to, induces a large

proportion of the most accomplished University graduates to devote

themselves to the Bar in preference to any other profession. University

men, however, are not the only aspirants to the Woolsack, whose first

step is to obtain a call to the Bar. There is quite a gathering of

coloured gentlemen in the Middle Temple, including natives of India,

many of whom, no doubt, intend to practise in their own courts;

Hottentots, Negroes, Mongolians, dreamy-eyed Japanese, and perhaps

an occasional Redskin--many of whom seem to take to the methods of

European civilisation quite naturally.

[Illustration: NEW COURT, MIDDLE TEMPLE.]

The Inner Temple is considered more fashionable than the Middle, and

is preferred by University men, especially perhaps those who are

prejudiced in favour of uniformity of colour in their fellow-students.

Lincoln's Inn and Gray's Inn call comparatively few men to the Bar.

[Illustration: MIDDLE TEMPLE LIBRARY.]

Some particulars of the process of being "called to the Bar" may be

of interest. The aspiring barrister must remain a student for three

years, and will have to pay nearly £200 in stamp duty and fees to

his Inn. Exception is, however, made in the case of solicitors, who,

under recent regulations, can be admitted to the Bar without delay on

payment of the fees. Within the last fifteen years an examination has

been instituted for all students except solicitors, the latter having

been examined by their own society; but, before that time, it was only

necessary to eat twenty-four dinners a year for three years in the

Hall of the Inn, besides paying the fees, in order to become qualified

for the Bar. The dinners are still retained, and although it is not

pretended that students insensibly imbibe legal knowledge with their

meals in the atmosphere of the picturesque old dining halls, there can

be no doubt that the dinners serve a useful purpose in enabling the

future barristers to form each other's acquaintance. With what mingled

feelings these dinners must be looked back upon in after life! Of two

boon companions in student days one may, perhaps, be judge of the High

Court, while the other is still struggling for a precarious livelihood

in the County Court.

Students coming from the Universities are only expected to eat twelve

dinners a year. The reason for this distinction is shrouded in mystery,

but perhaps some solution may occur to the ingenious mind of the

reader. It is usual for students to read with junior counsel in large

practice, to whom they pay a hundred guineas a year. In return for

this they have the run of the papers, from which they are no doubt

enabled in some degree to familiarise themselves with the advocate's

profession; if they require tuition, they must employ a regular coach.

The examinations, however, are by no means severe. They secure a

certain amount of legal knowledge on the part of the barrister, which

can easily be acquired by a few attendances at the lectures held at the

Inn, and a not very assiduous reading of Roman and Common Law. Upon

the completion of his three years, the student is called to the Bar,

by going through the solemn ceremony of taking a glass of wine with

the Benchers of his Inn, and, together with a crowd of his compeers,

listening to a friendly monition from the Senior Bencher, or some other

venerable greybeard. Having purchased his wig and gown and a brandnew

blue bag, the young barrister is then started on his career. He takes

chambers in the Temple or Lincoln's Inn, which he probably shares with

some other aspirants, and then proceeds on his way to the Woolsack.

[Illustration: CORRIDOR, INNER TEMPLE HALL.]

The sensations of a young barrister when he first addresses the Court

are usually somewhat agonising. Serjeant Ballantine describes his first

experience as follows:--"I rose, but could see nothing; the court

seemed to turn round and the floor to be sinking. I cannot tell what I

asked, but it was graciously granted by the Bench."

He sat down with a parched throat and a sort of sickening feeling that

he would never succeed. "Most successful advocates," he adds, "have

experienced these sensations, and to this day I believe that many rise

to conduct cases of importance with some of their old emotions."

The work of the Bar is divided into several sections, so that the

beginner has a fairly wide choice as to which department of his

profession he will make his own. There is the Parliamentary Bar, the

Common Law Bar, the Equity Bar, and the Criminal Bar; and besides

these, several barristers are exclusively occupied with Patents and

Conveyancing.

But there are sections within sections, consisting of small coteries of

specialists who devote themselves to the Divorce Court, to the Privy

Council, or to Admiralty work.

While the majority of barristers pass the legal year in the Metropolis,

except when on circuit, there are a good many who settle down in

populous districts and become known in the profession as local

barristers. Both Common Law and Equity men who are, through the

pressure of competition, unable to make their way in London, or who

perhaps have the advantage of being related to some eminent firm

of provincial solicitors, prefer the certainty of making a decent

livelihood in a busy manufacturing town to the keener competition of

the Metropolis.

They are somewhat looked down upon by their brethren in London, the

work in the provinces being of an inferior kind, mainly confined to the

police courts, county courts, and quarter sessions.

The occupation of the local barrister, in fact, does not commend itself

to the majority of the Bar, notwithstanding that a few are able to make

their £2,000 or £3,000 a year.

[Illustration: INNER TEMPLE HALL.]

The Parliamentary Bar, probably the most lucrative branch of the

profession, is engaged in Private Bill business before Parliamentary

Committees. A popular Parliamentary Q.C. will make as much as £20,000

a year, and sometimes even those figures are exceeded. The leading

"silks" have always a great number of cases going on at the same time

before Committees of the Lords and Commons, and they spend their

day in walking from one committee-room to another, opening a case

here, replying on a case there, and cross-examining witnesses whose

evidence-in-chief they have never heard. This perambulatory practice

led to such abuse that in 1861 the committees decided not to allow a

barrister to cross-examine who had not been present during the whole

of the examination-in-chief, and recently Mr. Hanbury has endeavoured

to enforce this rule. No doubt it is, generally speaking, a wholesome

regulation, for the reiteration by successive counsel of the same

questions leads to an inordinate waste of public time and money. It

ought, however, to be enforced with moderation, for it by no means

follows that a counsel who has not heard the examination-in-chief

is the less able to cross-examine effectively. One of the objects

of cross-examination, it should be understood, is to elicit fresh

facts, and in that respect it is not necessarily dependent upon

evidence-in-chief.

Undoubtedly cross-examination is one of the most difficult as well

as one of the most important of a counsel's duties, and a barrister

who makes his mark in this particular function is pretty certain to

be in general request. It is no less important to know what questions

to put than what to refrain from asking. Many counsel are too apt to

imagine that by browbeating a witness, and overwhelming him with a

multitude of questions, they are conducting their cross-examination

effectively. Baron Alderson once withered up an advocate of this

character by remarking: "Mr. So-and-so, you seem to think that the art

of cross-examination is to examine crossly."

The Parliamentary Bar certainly numbers within its ranks several

highly-talented counsel, not the least eminent of whom are Mr. Pope,

Mr. Bidder, Mr. Littler, and Mr. Pembroke-Stephens, of whom we give

portraits. We have already referred to the great incomes that are made

in this department of the Bar, and when it is remembered that the work

is limited to the time during which Parliament is sitting, it becomes

apparent that the fees paid to leading counsel must be enormous.

Indeed, the fees marked on their briefs often amount to hundreds of

guineas, and the junior gets a sum equal to two-thirds of the amount

paid to the leader, except in cases where the latter receives a special

fee. And, added to this, both receive a refresher of fifteen guineas a

day. Surely such payment is excessive.

[Illustration: MR. LITTLER. MR. PEMBROKE-STEPHENS. MR. BIDDER. MR.

POPE.]

In one very essential particular the members of the Equity Bar differ

in their customs from other branches of their profession. Practising

before the five Chancery judges and the Chancery Court of Appeal, the

leaders of the Equity Bar attach themselves to particular Courts, and

invariably decline to leave their own favourite sphere of operations

to appear in another Court without a special fee. The result of this

arrangement is that litigants employing eminent counsel in Chancery

cases can be almost certain of their attendance throughout. However

heavy may be the fees paid to counsel of the Equity Bar, it can at

least be said that they generally give full value for their money--a

gratifying compliment that can hardly be extended to other branches of

the profession. But satisfactory as the system may seem to be from the

client's point of view, experience shows that it is not without its

serious disadvantages. The continuous contact of particular counsel

with particular judges is varying in its effects. In some cases it

leads to an undue influence on the part of the counsel over the judges,

while in others the judges use their power to such an overbearing

extent that even eminent Queen's counsel are sometimes subjected to

a degree of abasement that is painful to witness. The demeanour of

one or two of the Equity judges is, in fact, characterised by an

absurd pomposity, and, however great their abilities, they are not so

high-minded as to disdain the petty delight of trying to humiliate the

leaders of the Bar. There have been several instances of a judge taking

a personal dislike to a counsel, and by making him feel it on every

possible occasion, practically dismissing him from the Court. Thus it

will be recognised that the system gives judges too much power over

members of the Bar.

There are always two favourite "silks" in each Court, who practically

divide the work between them. The special fees that we have already

referred to are, however, frequently obtained by eminent Queen's

counsel. The greatest advocates of the Equity Bar--like Sir Horace

Davey or Mr. Rigby--do not attach themselves to any Court, and will

not, in fact, appear in Court at all without a special fee. The incomes

made by some of the most eminent Equity counsel are prodigious. Lord

Selborne, when Sir Roundell Palmer, is said to have made over £30,000 a

year; and rumour has it that neither Sir Horace Davey nor Mr. Rigby are

earning much less than that amount.

Although, as a rule, the members of the Equity Bar do not shine

in public life, it has nevertheless associated with it several

distinguished names, such as those of Westbury, Cairns, and Selborne,

all of whom found in the Chancery Courts the stepping-stone to fame.

The Criminal Bar of London congregates at the Old Bailey (which is

the Assize Court for the Metropolis and part of the Home Counties)

as well as at the Middlesex and Surrey Sessions, held respectively

at Clerkenwell and Newington. In speaking of the Criminal Bar, the

brilliant exploits of such men as Ballantine, Parry, Huddleston,

Gifford, Hawkins, and Clarke naturally occur to one's memory. But

what a sad falling off is now apparent! There is not a single name

of distinction now associated with the historic Court that has in

the past resounded to the eloquence of so many splendid advocates.

Nowadays the mention of the Criminal Bar only brings to mind such men

as the Government prosecutor (official in all but name), Mr. Poland,

and a crowd of lesser lights, among whom Mr. Forest Fulton, M.P., and

Mr. Gill stand forth as the most talented. There are at the Criminal

Bar a number of newly-fledged barristers, and several indigent and

disappointed men who are content to gain a small and precarious

livelihood. A handful secure a respectable living, and comparatively

large incomes are only made in two or three cases, notably among those

who have Treasury work. The compulsory litigants, who often have to

send the hat round among their friends for the purpose, can for the

most part only provide small fees, and small as they are, they do not

always reach the hands of counsel.

[Illustration: MR. BESLEY. MR. C. MATTHEWS. MR. C. F. GILL. MR. POLAND.

MR. FOREST FULTON.]

It may be interesting to mention here the curious fact that barristers

cannot recover their fees at law. The fee, it appears, is an

honorarium, and nothing more. Of course, while barristers have no

legal claim for their fees, no action for negligence, however gross,

can lie against them; and it is obvious that, if the power were

accorded to them of recovering their fees at law, they would also be

liable to action in case of negligence. If we may judge by the very

rare occasions of actions for negligence being successful against

solicitors, there is no reason why they should have any terrors for

counsel. It would certainly be satisfactory to see the barrister's

profession put upon a more business-like footing. Advocates are, under

the present conditions, sometimes the prey of unscrupulous solicitors,

who hand them briefs marked with tempting fees that are never paid,

and when these harpies have tired out the patience of one guileless

counsel, they devote similarly undesirable attentions to another.

Happily, such solicitors are comparatively few; but even respectable

firms often avail themselves of the inability of counsel to recover

fees by taking unconscionable credit.

The system should be changed, and if barristers were made liable for

negligence it would, perhaps, have a wholesome effect in preventing

some of them from accepting briefs to which they or their clerks must

know that they cannot attend.

To return to the Criminal Bar, one cannot help observing how great

is the disadvantage at which a prisoner is sometimes placed. The

unfortunate man has perhaps been unable by himself or his friends to

find the necessary funds to instruct a counsel, or perhaps he has

managed to scrape together a guinea, which he hands over the dock, as

his case is called, to some inexperienced barrister, who thereupon

finds himself face to face with a wary and experienced advocate like

Mr. Poland or Mr. Gill. The prisoner's chances of vindicating himself,

innocent though he may be, must be greatly reduced by the disadvantages

under which he labours.

The State, which expends enormous sums for the conviction of criminals,

ought, undoubtedly, as is the case in many other countries, to provide

legal assistance for the accused in order to secure a fair trial. So

far as we are aware, there is only one case in which this is done in

England, namely, when an offence, while in the execution of duty, is

charged against a member of the police force, a body of men who are in

a much better position to secure for themselves legal assistance than

the majority of ordinary prisoners.

[Illustration: MR. INDERWICK. SIR EDWARD CLARKE.]

Perhaps the deplorable dearth of highly talented men at the Criminal

Bar is in some degree accounted for by the curious circumstance that

when a man once becomes a criminal lawyer he can be nothing else. The

dismal atmosphere of the Old Bailey seems to permeate all his future

prospects, and he is rarely able to emerge from it into the higher

ranks of his profession. The Lord Chancellor, Mr. Justice Hawkins,

and Sir Edward Clarke are, perhaps, the only living instances to the

contrary; but even they belong to a somewhat bygone time, and were

never exclusively criminal lawyers.

The leading common-law work of the High Court is practically divided

among a dozen or so eminent Queen's counsel. It is a matter of common

complaint that the leaders accept briefs, knowing well at the time they

receive them that they will not be able to attend to them. There is a

good deal of truth in this, although the supposed delinquents are able

to put forward a very plausible plea of justification. It is certain

that they cannot always know what briefs they will be able to give

full attention to, seeing that there are a number of Courts engaged

in trying cases some of which may last days, and some only minutes.

Indeed, a counsel with a very small practice may find that, owing to

the unexpected manner in which the cases on the list are sometimes

disposed of, the two or three briefs that have been entrusted to him

may all require his attention in different Courts on the same day,

although when he accepted them he might reasonably have anticipated

that the cases would be called on different days. It must, however,

be admitted that there are some eminent counsel who accept briefs,

although it is morally certain that they will be unable to give them

any personal attention.

No other professional man expects to be paid for work that he does not

perform, and there can be no doubt that the proper course for counsel

overwhelmed with briefs to pursue is to return those that he cannot

attend to, thereby enabling his client to obtain legal assistance

elsewhere, and at the same time distributing a little work among his

less fortunate brethren of the Bar. The public are, however, at fault

in insisting on retaining an eminent advocate at a fancy price, when

their cases could be just as well conducted at much smaller cost by

men whose names figure less frequently in the reports of important

trials. In any sensational _cause célèbre_ it is almost certain that

the names of Sir Charles Russell, Sir Edward Clarke, and Mr. Lockwood,

will appear on one side or the other. These eminent men have, in fact,

the pick of the work, and the same may be said, in regard to great

commercial cases, of Sir R. Webster and Mr. Finlay, and, before his

recent elevation to the Bench, of Mr. Henn-Collins.

The work of a somewhat less distinguished character is in the hands

of half a dozen Queen's counsel, among whom may be mentioned Mr.

Kemp, Mr. Willis, Mr. Jelf, and Mr. Winch, while there is a "tail" of

"silks" who, not being fortunate enough to rank as popular favourites,

have to content themselves with a very much smaller practice as well

as smaller fees. Under the present conditions there is nothing like

a fair distribution of work among the leaders of the Bar. This is

perhaps in a great measure due to the action of solicitors, who, if

they have a rich client in a big action, are sure to run after one of

the half-dozen most popular advocates, and with a less wealthy client

they will retain one of the next half-dozen. It is indeed curious to

observe how slavishly solicitors run after the most eminent counsel on

the chance of securing their services, rather than entrust their briefs

to less noted men, who, even if their ability be less, would at least

make up for it by greater assiduity and closer attention. The result

is that these favoured gentlemen may be seen popping in and out of the

ten or twelve Queen's Bench Courts that are sitting at the same time,

examining a witness in one place, and addressing the jury in another;

while their imperfect knowledge of their cases must inevitably tell to

the disadvantage of their clients, who perhaps have paid them fees of

one or even two hundred guineas, with corresponding refreshers.

[Illustration: SIR HENRY JAMES. SIR RICHARD WEBSTER. SIR CHARLES

RUSSELL.]

From what we have said it will be obvious that it is only the very

few who can hope to become wealthy at the Bar, and such a lottery

is "taking silk" that many "juniors" refuse to have the distinction

conferred upon them, preferring the modest income that they are able

to earn to the uncertainty and disappointment that falls to the lot of

most of those who become leaders. Even a prosperous junior who gives up

his practice to become a Q.C. runs the risk of being left out in the

cold altogether.

A state of things that practically places the monopoly of the legal

work in a few hands tends neither to the advantage of the public nor to

the prosperity of the Bar as a body. The evil is undoubtedly caused by

the centralisation of litigation in London, and the compression within

a few months of the year of the whole of the High Court business.

There is no valid reason why the Courts should not sit the whole

year through, and barristers and judges take their holidays as they

personally like to arrange. The amalgamation of the two branches of

the legal profession has been much discussed in recent years, and it

has many warm advocates both among barristers and solicitors, one of

the strongest being the Solicitor-General. But no doubt the majority

are opposed to the suggested change. Its supporters, in fact, are for

the most part to be found among ambitious young solicitors who have

acquired a taste for advocacy in the Police and County Courts. They

urge that it would cheapen litigation, inasmuch as there would be only

one person to pay instead of two, and they point to the United States

and to the Colonies as indicating that amalgamation would work well. In

great cities, however, the division of labour between the advocate and

the solicitor, although theoretically non-existent, is in reality very

similar to what it is in this country. The advocate must always be the

advocate, and nothing more, and the drudgery of preparing the material

for him to work upon must be reserved for other persons, whether they

occupy the position of solicitors, partners, or clerks.

Under the present system, a solicitor can exercise his judgment in

retaining the counsel most suited to his client's case, an advantage

which would disappear if solicitors had barristers for partners.

The solicitor, it should be remembered, has multifarious duties in

connection with litigation, whilst the barrister is only the adviser

on points of law and the advocate. It is further to be observed that

the barrister, not being associated with the pecuniary interests of

his client, but arguing his case solely on legal grounds, and on

the weight of evidence, possesses a degree of independence and a

reputation for trustworthiness which, if he were a solicitor as well,

he would be unable to enjoy. It is not from an amalgamation, such as

that suggested, that an amelioration of the present system is to be

looked for. Notwithstanding its high reputation, the Bar, by tamely

submitting to a system that works out to its own detriment, is itself

responsible not only for its own unsatisfactory condition, whereby

the bulk of the profits of the profession go into a few hands, but

also in a considerable degree for the gross defects of our judicial

system. Recently the members of the Bar have formed among themselves a

Bar Committee to protect their interests, but it appears to have done

little practical work, and to be little more than a mutual admiration

society.

[Illustration: IN THE TEMPLE CHURCH.]

It is obviously to the interest of the leading and wealthy members

of the profession, several of whom are legislators, that the present

state of things should continue. They make splendid incomes within the

short legal year; while the Long Vacation, which completely closes the

Courts, prevents the intrusion of competitors during their holidays.

The present system practically secures to them a monopoly of work,

and gives them an extravagant time for rest and enjoyment. The Long

Vacation, then, which is also the chief cause of the law's delay, is at

the root of the evil. The younger barristers as well as the less lucky

Queen's counsel, who are anxious for work that they are fully capable

of performing, would regard with pleasure the abolition or curtailment

of the Vacation, as a means of enabling them to share in that work

which cannot properly be done within the brief period now occupied.

Are the members of the Bar, notwithstanding all their boasted

independence, afraid to speak out even in their own interests? They

alone are capable of properly exposing the scandals of our judicial

system, and of bringing about improvements that would be as much to

the advantage of the public as of themselves; and yet their voice is

uniformly silent. It is certain that had the leaders of the Bar opened

their lips in the House of Commons, those scandals to which we adverted

in former articles would either have been non-existent or would have

been promptly remedied. It is not, however, from the leaders of the Bar

that reform is to be expected; the first step must be taken by the rank

and file, who, by a united movement showing that they do indeed possess

independence and grit, will increase their own prosperity and at the

same time commend themselves to the public.

_The Home for Lost Dogs._

The Home for Lost Dogs, near Battersea Park, is a veritable haven

of rest for the "lost and strayed." It was started in the most

unpretentious way, some thirty years ago, in a back kitchen at

Islington; to-day its premises possess ample accommodation for the

temporary lodging of over 20,000 wanderers every year; indeed, during

1890, no fewer than 21,593 passed through its gates (homes being found

for 3,388), 1,771 were restored to their owners, and 1,617 new homes

were provided where satisfactory safeguards were assured. Such are the

interesting canine statistics given to us as we start on our tour of

inspection, under the guidance of Mr. Matthias Colam, the secretary.

We have entered the great red gates, and stand for a moment upon the

threshold of the Receiving House, for a van passes almost at our

elbow. Its appearance suggests "police"; at any rate, the driver is an

indisputable representative of law and order in mufti. Those familiar

cries betray who the inmates are--all sorts and conditions of dogs

picked up by the police; this is a deposit of some thirty lost animals

about to find apartments for a time. When the muzzling order was first

put into force, such a van would have to run over to Battersea three

and four times a day, and then leave a load of the lost behind. The

conveyance is specially constructed for this purpose. Our friendly

"policeman in plain clothes" opens the back door, and there one can see

that the interior of the van is made into a tenement of two floors,

the bigger dogs being placed below, and the more diminutive species

above. Iron rings are arranged round the sides, to which the animals

are attached by their chains. A small but important apartment, however,

is that placed at the bottom of the van, between the two back wheels.

It takes the form of a cage, with iron bars and a grating of fine

wire. This is designed for the accommodation of a more than usually

troublesome dog, sometimes one that is mad, so that he is carried from

the police-station to the "Home" without upsetting the quieter-disposed

dispositions of his fellow-animals above.

[Illustration: IN THE CAGE.]

Of course some dogs are brought here by kind-hearted individuals

other than the police, and as many as 500 from all sources have been

received in the course of a day. It is impossible to single out one

part of London more famous for its "lost" than another--they arrive

from the East and from the West. That delightful little King Charles

which is just now cuddled up in a corner of the Receiving House has

probably strayed from its customary luxuriousness of a drawing-room

in Belgravia--it will surely be claimed in a few hours--whilst its

next-door neighbour is a bull-dog, with a prodigious head, which

strongly suggests pugilism and Whitechapel. The Receiving House is

situated on your immediate right. It is the first room into which

the lost dog goes when it claims admission to the home. A dozen dogs

are waiting to be examined--collies, fox terriers, and two or three

nondescripts in addition to the tiny King Charles and massive bull-dog

already caught sight of. On a beam above, which stretches from one side

of the apartment to the other, are hanging the chains and collars of

the animals admitted during the past week, under their proper divisions

of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and so on. This little collection of a

dozen are taken in hand one by one. Should any of them be suffering

from rabies, they are at once sent to the "Condemned Cell," to which

we shall presently pay a visit. The hon. veterinary surgeon, A. J.

Sewell, Esq., is sent for, and if he endorses the opinion of the

receiver--himself a man who "knows a dog"--the animal is at once

destroyed. Some poor creatures pass a day or two in the Infirmary, and

are quickly mended under kind and humane treatment, whilst those dogs

who have had their day, and are past all aid, are destroyed.

[Illustration: THE RECEIVING ROOM.]

This Receiving House has been accorded Royal patronage, for amongst

what might be called the canine sweepings of London who have found

their way here, the Duchess of Teck's dog has looked in; so has the

Marquis of Harrington's, and Lord Brassey's. Amongst the rarest of the

wanderers located here have been a couple of African sand dogs, little

creatures without a vestige of hair on their bodies, saving a relieving

tuft on the head. Even at the Dogs' Home many a romance might be found.

Think of a poor lost creature being picked up for a few shillings--for

dogs may be purchased after a certain lapse of time--and then running

away with its new owner and winning an important prize at the Brighton

show! More startling still was the case of a bloodhound sold to Mr.

Mark Beaufoy, M.P., for a small sum. That dog, once numbered amongst

the lost, was destined to become the mother of the champion bloodhound

of the world--"Cromwell." Dogs have been sold over and over again and

have returned. One little story which we hear as we pass into the main

yard is worth repeating.

"Bluebeard" was his name, and he was a lively boarhound. All that is

known of his early life is that he was found walking about, without

visible means of subsistence, in the vicinity of Wandsworth. He was

lost--hence, away with him to Battersea. On four separate occasions

"Bluebeard" was restored, and every time he found his way back. One

night, after the gates were closed, the keeper heard a tap-tap-tap

at the entrance. It was the paw of a dog, and when the keeper opened

the door it was none other than our old friend "Bluebeard" who had

delivered himself up again for the third time. When he crept in he went

straight to his former kennel. Eventually, "Bluebeard" was despatched

to the country, where, according to the latest reports, he is doing

well.

We are now on our way to the kennels--fine, light, airy, and well-built

places. We pause just a moment, however, in the playground; for all the

bigger kennels have a playground in the rear, where the dogs are let

out to enjoy a merry gambol, or indulge in the luxury of a shower-bath,

where at one end of the ground a fountain is playing, under the

refreshing sprays of which the dogs delight to run. Wooden boxes are

provided under which the animals may go in the summer months, when

the sun proves too warm for them, or shelter from the rain during an

occasional shower, or inclement weather. This particular playground

is inhabited principally by large dogs--retrievers, Scotch collies,

greyhounds, and even what are generally known as carriage-dogs. We

invite them to the sides of the playground--round which substantial

iron bars run--and what a noise is there! Yet we are assured that at

night not a sound is to be heard--the sudden shriek of the whistle of

a passing train over the bridge close at hand, or the warning note of

a steam tug on the river never disturbs them. Dogs in company seem to

ensure contentment. You may peep into half a dozen other playgrounds,

where the creatures will be found to be more of a diminutive

type--hundreds of fox-terriers; indeed, it would seem that the lost

terriers number ten times more than any of the other species, whilst

retrievers and collies vie with each other for next place on the roll.

And round these immense open cages good people wander with distressful

countenances in search of those who have left their kennels in the back

garden without notice, or wagged their tails for freedom by forsaking

the comforts of the hearth-rug in the front parlour. Suddenly a visitor

recognises and is recognised.

"Jack, Jack!" the owner cries. Jack jumps up in mad delight, barks and

barks again, makes a frantic effort to pull down the iron bars in its

joy, but all to no avail. Then a keeper enters the playground, picks

Jack up in his arms, and surely never was a happier recognition. It

is really this that those in authority at Battersea depend upon more

than anything else, so as to ensure the lost animal being returned to

its rightful owner. As a rule, the person losing a dog goes into the

yard accompanied by a keeper. He picks out a dog, and it is fastened

near the gates, where it can be seen from the office. The owner is

invited to this part of the yard, and the keeper watches how the dog

and its master meet one another again. This simple plan seldom fails.

Furthermore, a set of questions have to be answered by the claimant,

and mistakes seldom occur.

[Illustration: THE PLAYGROUND.]

It is whilst we are watching the dogs at play, just as Jack--lost no

longer--is tripping away merrily over the stones of the yard, that we

are entertained with numerous anecdotes by our genial guide. We hear of

a devoted owner of a little pet terrier. Hers was but an instance of

many who come several miles in search of their favourites. This lady

travelled some six or seven miles every day for a week in the hopes

of having this same little terrier returned to her. It was the last

day of the week, and there was the affectionate owner scanning eagerly

every dog that entered. At last the rumble of the wheels of the police

van was heard, and when the door was opened, there amongst the other

inmates lay a tiny creature in the corner fast asleep.

"That's Dot! my little Dot!" cried the lady, and at the sound of her

voice the wandering terrier jumped up, and seemed as though it would

go mad ere one of the assistants could loosen its chain. Dot went away

again with its mistress.

[Illustration: THE KENNELS.]

It is needless to say--to put it kindly--that wrongful appropriators of

dogs occasionally pay a visit to Battersea, and a capital story is told

of one of these gentry who had seen a kind-hearted policeman taking in

a lost pug that same morning.

"Good mornin', sir," said this worthy, entering the office; "I've lost

my dawg, and if you don't mind, I should feel mich obliged if yer'd let

me 'ave a look round the 'ome?"

"What sort of a dog was it?" asked the secretary, coming in at that

moment, and recognising the man as a well-known dog stealer. "When did

you lose it?"

"This mornin', sir. An' it's a pug, with a collar and studs and a blue

ribbin round its neck."

"Quite right--we had such a dog come in this morning," the secretary

said. "Just wait a moment--sit down."

Our friend from Whitechapel did, evidently much pleased with his

tactics.

In a few moments he was invited to step into the yard, where some four

or five pugs were held in check by a keeper.

"Which is yours?" was asked.

"Vy, that's it, sir--that with the collar and blue ribbon round 'is

neck. See 'ow 'e knows me!"

When this enterprising gentleman was told that the dog he had chosen

had been in the home a fortnight, and, further, that the collar and

ribbon had been taken off the real dog's neck and temporarily decorated

the throat of another animal, Whitechapel was somewhat abashed, and was

glad to get away.

The principal kennels are in the centre of the yard, and are divided

into compartments denoting the various days on which the dog entered,

so that at the completion of the period which the law requires all

dogs should be kept, the animal will have been a temporary tenant of

all of them in rotation. The two sexes are separated immediately they

enter, and you may walk down the centre avenue enjoying the frolics of

the merriest of fox-terriers in one cage, and stay to admire the fine

coat of a lost St. Bernard, or pat a good-looking collie on the back

as they look almost pitifully towards you. This little army of dogs

eat some two tons of biscuits and meal in a fortnight. At six o'clock,

when the place is closed, the dogs are bedded down with plenty of clean

straw and a liberal supply of sawdust, and every hour a night watchman

goes his rounds to see that there is no fighting, and to attend to the

Crematorium--the latter one of the most important branches in the work

of the institution.

There is just a moment to peep in at a substantial looking shed,

specially built for the protection of puppies born at the Home. A

magnificent St. Bernard is lying convalescent in the corner. Then,

in another part of the yard, more kennels are visited, scrupulously

clean, patterns of neatness; and one compartment in the far corner

rivets our attention for the moment, for a blue enamelled plate bears

the significant word "Dangerous." It would not be well at any time to

attempt to cultivate the acquaintance of any of its inmates.

[Illustration: "DANGEROUS."]

The Home has every reason to be proud of its collies. It was a

smooth-coated collie borrowed from the Home for Lost Dogs which figured

so prominently in the last Military Tournament at the Agricultural

Hall. The dog was borrowed for the purpose of testing the value of the

German system of sending messages by these useful creatures during the

progress of military operations in time of war. The dog was attached to

a cyclist who rode the whole length of the hall--over bridges, ruts,

and other difficulties in the way--the animal following him. Then the

cyclist wrote a message, and tied it round the collie's neck. The way

was pointed out to him, he took a silent view of the road before him,

and then, with a sudden bark suggestive that he understood, away the

collie went, and delivered the despatch safely as required. This dog is

now the property of Major Crabb.

We are now nearing what is, perhaps, the most important part of the

Battersea Home, the Infirmary--which is practically the condemned

cell--the Lethal Chamber, and the Crematorium. The condemned cell

is a huge kennel separated into two compartments, through the iron

grating of which often as many as a hundred dogs are to be counted.

It should be said that a dog is never put to death unless it is past

all cure, and, further, that the means employed are as quick and

humane as scientists have yet discovered. For many years the method of

killing was by the administration of hydrocyanic acid, but Dr. B. W.

Richardson, F.R.S., conclusively proved that the most painless way of

causing death was by the use of narcotic vapour, and he superintended

the erection of an excellent Lethal Chamber, which was finished in May,

1884, and since then has been in constant use.

[Illustration: THE CONDEMNED CELL.]

It is possible to narcotise as many as a hundred dogs at one time.

This generally takes place at night. The unfortunate animals are

conveyed from the Condemned Cell to a large cage some ten feet long,

by four feet in depth and width. Two such cages--each of which is

divided into tiers--are here. When the dogs are safely secured in the

cage, they are taken to the chamber, the door of which is unlocked,

the bar-bolt lifted, and the cage with its inmates is run into the

Lethal apartment. Here it remains for some six or seven minutes, during

which time the chamber is charged with carbonic acid gas, and a spray

of chloroform is pumped in, which the dogs immediately inhale. This

process of bringing about all that is needed is not strangulation or

suffocation, but is essentially a death sleep. There are also two

smaller chambers presented to the Home by Dr. Richardson, constructed

on similar principles, intended for use when a dog has to be destroyed

at once.

[Illustration: LETHAL CHAMBER AND CREMATORIUM.]

Exactly opposite the Lethal Chamber is the Crematorium. This is a white

brick structure, with a chimney some 65 ft. high. It is so built that

the bodies of the dogs do not in any way come in contact with the fuel;

the heat being obtained from the coke furnace below. The door of the

Crematorium is wound up by the means of a windlass, and the interior

reveals a space of about 10 ft. long by 9 ft. in width. After the lapse

of some five or six hours from leaving the Lethal Chamber, the animals

are put in here. By the morning all that of them is a few charred

bones, and in a corner of the yard may be seen a dozen or so of sacks,

containing all that remains of many a domestic pet, waiting for the

soap-makers (who buy them) to come and fetch them away. The number of

dogs thus destroyed every week averages three hundred.

A very touching incident occurred just where we are standing, only a

few weeks before.

A gentleman entered the gates of the home, followed by as pure a a

St. Bernard as could be wished for. He said quietly that he wanted it

to be destroyed. The secretary looked at it. A valuable dog indeed;

a splendid creature. The owner knew it. No money would purchase it,

but, unfortunately, the dog had proved himself a bit snappish, and his

master had only just paid a considerable sum of money as atonement for

damage done. It was to be destroyed.

[Illustration: THE CAT'S HOUSE.]

The master left the dog, and said he would return in an hour's time.

He did so, and by this time the creature had been taken to the Lethal

Chamber, and lay there on a slab apparently asleep. It was hard

for his master to believe that he was dead. The gentleman even felt

the dog's heart to see if it was beating, but there was no sign of

movement. Then he broke down; the strong, stalwart fellow burst into

tears as he talked to his favourite. He told the dead creature that

they had been companions for ten years, and he felt the parting more

than that of a brother.

Again he went away, but the next day found him once more at the gates.

He had had no sleep--could he see his dog again? But it was too late.

All that was left of the once envied St. Bernard was a few ashes, and

without a word the heart-broken master turned and left the place.

One corner of the premises is particularly interesting, and we look

in whilst passing. It is the cats' house. These are in many instances

stray cats, picked up in West-end areas, and brought to Battersea by

benevolent ladies. They are fed twice a day. In the morning they get

new milk, and a varied diet of the customary horse-flesh and fish.

Many parcels of fish are sent as presents for the cats. The frolicsome

pussies have decidedly comfortable quarters, and they, too, have a

playground, in which are planted tree trunks, of which they freely

avail themselves. One of the cats' houses is peculiarly noticeable.

These are the boarders, for cats may be left here at a charge of 1s.

6d. per week. This little collection in front of us is the property of

a lady who has no fewer than a dozen here. All have their pet names,

and she frequently comes to feed them herself. These splendid Persians

and Angoras--the latter with a marvellous tail--have been residents

here for some three years, and amongst them may be seen a fine specimen

of a Russian cat with a wonderful head, which seems to while away

its time by curling itself up in its own particular box or sleeping

apartment; and a bob-tail may also be found playing merrily.

As we leave the yard, we look in at the men's reading-room, plentifully

supplied with newspapers, and a small library, the shelves of which

are principally taken up by volumes of a "doggy" nature. The office,

too, must not be forgotten. These rows of immense ledgers contain

the records of hundreds of thousands of dogs which have enjoyed the

hospitality of the Institution at some time or other. The Board-room

is a fine apartment, and round the sides of its walls legacies and

donations are chronicled in letters of gold. Framed missives from

Royalty may be read in abundance--Her Majesty the Queen, the Prince of

Wales, and the Duke of Cambridge are the patrons of the Home. There

is recorded in a book at Battersea an expression of opinion, none

other than that of Her Majesty, which is worthy of being quoted in

these pages. On the occasion of the Queen's Jubilee an address was

presented by those interested in the work in connection with this very

admirable institution. Her Majesty made reply and said:--"The objects

of your association appear to be deserving of the greatest sympathy and

commendation; and your solicitude for the welfare of dogs, the friends

of man, who have shown so much zeal, fidelity, and affection in the

service of mankind, is the fitting complement of the charity which

strives to comfort and succour the unfortunate and afflicted members of

our own race."

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

THE HERMIT]

A STORY FOR CHILDREN: FROM THE FRENCH OF VOLTAIRE.

In the reign of King Moabdar there lived at Babylon a young man named

Zadig. He was handsome, rich, and naturally good-hearted; and at the

moment when this story opens, he was travelling on foot to see the

world, and to learn philosophy and wisdom. But, hitherto, he had

encountered so much misery, and endured so many terrible disasters,

that he had become tempted to rebel against the will of Heaven, and

to believe that the Providence which rules the world neglects the

good, and lets the evil prosper. In this unhappy spirit he was one

day walking on the banks of the Euphrates, when he chanced to meet a

venerable hermit, whose snowy beard descended to his girdle, and who

carried in his hand a scroll which he was reading with attention. Zadig

stopped, and made him a low bow. The hermit returned the salutation

with an air so kindly, and so noble, that Zadig felt a curiosity to

speak to him. He inquired what scroll was that which he was reading.

"It is the Book of Destiny," replied the hermit, "would you like to

read it?"

He handed it to Zadig; but the latter, though he knew a dozen

languages, could not understand a word of it. His curiosity increased.

"You appear to be in trouble," said the kindly hermit.

"Alas!" said Zadig, "I have cause to be so."

"If you will allow me," said the hermit, "I will accompany you. Perhaps

I may be useful to you. I am sometimes able to console the sorrowful."

[Illustration: THE MYSTERIOUS SCROLL.]

Zadig felt a deep respect for the appearance, the white beard, and

the mysterious scroll of the old hermit, and perceived that his

conversation was that of a superior mind. The old man spoke of destiny,

of justice, of morality, of the chief good of life, of human frailty,

of virtue and of vice, with so much power and eloquence, that Zadig

felt himself attracted by a kind of charm, and besought the hermit not

to leave him until they should return to Babylon.

"I ask you the same favour," said the hermit. "Promise me that,

whatever I may do, you will keep me company for several days."

Zadig gave the promise; and they set forth together.

[Illustration: "THEY WERE SERVED WITH DELICACIES."]

That night the travellers arrived at a grand mansion. The hermit

begged for food and lodging for himself and his companion. The

porter, who might have been mistaken for a prince, ushered them in

with a contemptuous air of welcome. The chief servant showed them the

magnificent apartments; and they were then admitted to the bottom

of the table, where the master of the mansion did not condescend to

cast a glance at them. They were, however, served with delicacies in

profusion, and after dinner washed their hands in a golden basin set

with emeralds and rubies. They were then conducted for the night into a

beautiful apartment; and the next morning, before they left the castle,

a servant brought them each a piece of gold.

"The master of the house," said Zadig, as they went their way, "appears

to be a generous man, although a trifle haughty. He practises a noble

hospitality." As he spoke, he perceived that a kind of large pouch

which the hermit carried appeared singularly distended; within it was

the golden basin, set with precious stones, which the old man had

purloined. Zadig was amazed; but he said nothing.

At noon the hermit stopped before a little house, in which lived a

wealthy miser, and once more asked for hospitality. An old valet in a

shabby coat received them very rudely, showed them into the stable,

and set before them a few rotten olives, some mouldy bread, and beer

which had turned sour. The hermit ate and drank with as much content

as he had shown the night before; then, addressing the old valet, who

had kept his eye upon them to make sure that they stole nothing, he

gave him the two gold pieces which they had received that morning, and

thanked him for his kind attention. "Be so good," he added, "as to let

me see your master."

The astonished valet showed them in.

"Most mighty signor," said the hermit, "I can only render you my humble

thanks for the noble manner in which you have received us. I beseech

you to accept this golden basin as a token of my gratitude."

The miser almost fell backwards with amazement. The hermit, without

waiting for him to recover, set off with speed, with his companion.

"Holy Father," said Zadig, "what does all this mean? You seem to me to

resemble other men in nothing. You steal a golden basin set with jewels

from a Signor who receives you with magnificence, and you give it to a

curmudgeon who treats you with indignity."

"My son," replied the hermit, "this mighty lord, who only welcomes

travellers through vanity, and to display his riches, will henceforth

grow wiser, while the miser will be taught to practise hospitality. Be

amazed at nothing, and follow me."

Zadig knew not whether he was dealing with the most foolish or the

wisest of all men. But the hermit spoke with such ascendency that

Zadig, who besides was fettered by his promise, had no choice except to

follow him.

That night they came to an agreeable house, of simple aspect, and

showing signs of neither prodigality nor avarice. The owner was a

philosopher, who had left the world, and who studied peacefully the

rules of virtue and of wisdom, and who yet was happy and contented.

He had built this calm retreat to please himself, and he received

the strangers in it with a frankness which displayed no sign of

ostentation. He conducted them himself to a comfortable chamber, where

he made them rest awhile; then he returned to lead them to a dainty

little supper. During their conversation they agreed that the affairs

of this world are not always regulated by the opinions of the wisest

men. But the hermit still maintained that the ways of Providence are

wrapt in mystery, and that men do wrong to pass their judgment on a

universe of which they only see the smallest part. Zadig wondered how a

person who committed such mad acts could reason so correctly.

At length, after a conversation as agreeable as instructive, the host

conducted the two travellers to their apartment, and thanked heaven

for sending him two visitors so wise and virtuous. He offered them

some money, but so frankly that they could not feel offended. The old

man declined, and desired to say farewell, as he intended to depart

for Babylon at break of day. They therefore parted on the warmest

terms, and Zadig, above all, was filled with kindly feelings towards so

amiable a man.

When the hermit and himself were in their chamber, they spent some time

in praises of their host. At break of day the old man woke his comrade.

"We must be going," he remarked. "But while everyone is still asleep, I

wish to leave this worthy man a pledge of my esteem." With these words,

he took a torch and set the house on fire.

[Illustration: "THE HERMIT DREW HIM AWAY."]

Zadig burst forth into cries of horror, and would have stopped the

frightful act. But the hermit, by superior strength, drew him away. The

house was in a blaze; and the old man, who was now a good way off with

his companion, looked back calmly at the burning pile.

"Heaven be praised!" he cried, "our kind host's house is destroyed from

top to bottom!"

At these words Zadig knew not whether he should burst out laughing,

call the reverend father an old rascal, knock him down, or run away.

But he did neither. Still subdued by the superior manner of the hermit,

he followed him against his will to their next lodging.

This was the dwelling of a good and charitable widow, who had a nephew

of fourteen, her only hope and joy. She did her best to use the

travellers well; and the next morning she bade her nephew guide them

safely past a certain bridge, which, having recently been broken, had

become dangerous to cross over. The youth, eager to oblige them, led

the way.

"Come," said the hermit, when they were half across the bridge, "I must

show my gratitude towards your aunt;" and as he spoke he seized the

young man by the hair and threw him into the river. The youth fell,

reappeared for an instant on the surface, and then was swallowed by the

torrent.

[Illustration: "ANGEL OF HEAVEN!" CRIED ZADIG.]

"Oh, monster!" exclaimed Zadig, "oh, most detestable of men!"----

"You promised me more patience," interrupted the old man. "Listen!

Beneath the ruins of that house which Providence saw fit to set on

fire, the owner will discover an enormous treasure; while this young

man, whose existence Providence cut short, would have killed his aunt

within a year, and you yourself in two."

"Who told you so, barbarian?" cried Zadig, "and even if you read the

issue in your Book of Destiny, who gave you power to drown a youth who

never injured you?"

While he spoke, he saw that the old man had a beard no longer, and that

his face had become fair and young; his hermit's frock had disappeared;

four white wings covered his majestic form, and shone with dazzling

lustre.

"Angel of heaven!" cried Zadig, "you are then descended from the skies

to teach an erring mortal to submit to the eternal laws?"

"Men," replied the angel Jezrael, "judge all things without knowledge;

and you, of all men, most deserved to be enlightened. The world

imagines that the youth who has just perished fell by chance into the

water, and that by a like chance the rich man's house was set on fire.

But there is no such thing as chance; all is trial, or punishment, or

foresight. Feeble mortal, cease to argue and rebel against what you

ought to adore!"

As he spoke these words the angel took his flight to heaven. And Zadig

fell upon his knees.

[Illustration: FINIS]

INDEX.

[Illustration]

PAGE

ACTORS' DRESSING ROOMS 178

(_Illustrations_ by W. H. J. BOOT, R.B.A.)

ANECDOTES OF THE WAR PATH 576

(_Written_ and _Illustrated_ by IRVING MONTAGU.)

ANIMALS' HOSPITAL, AT THE 70

(_Illustrations_ from Special Photographs and from Drawings by Miss

MABEL HARDY.)

ARCHITECT'S WIFE, THE. From the Spanish of ANTONIO TRUEBA 248

(_Illustrations_ by SIDNEY PAGET, and W. H. J. BOOT, R.B.A.)

ARTISTS ON LADIES' DRESS, LETTERS FROM 162

(_Illustrations_ by G. F. WATTS, R.A., Hon. JOHN COLLIER, and

Madame STARR CANZIANI.)

BABIES 348

(_Illustrations_ by JOHN GÜLICH.)

BARAK'S WIVES.

A Story for Children, from the Hungarian of MORITZ JOKAI 220

(_Illustrations_ by GORDON BROWNE, R.B.A.)

BELISAIRE'S PRUSSIAN (_See_ SCENES OF THE SIEGE OF PARIS) 36

BIRTHDAY CARDS 244

(_Illustrations_ by EDGAR WILSON.)

BLIND, HOW EDUCATED 563

BOY SPY, THE (_See_ SCENES OF THE SIEGE OF PARIS) 31

BRIGHT, RIGHT HON. JOHN, FAC-SIMILE NOTES OF SPEECH OF 206

BURNSIDE, MISS HELEN M. 245

CAMILLE. From the French of ALFRED DE MUSSET 318

(_Illustrations_ by H. FORESTIER.)

CANNIBAL KING, THE GUEST OF A 476

CAPTAIN JONES OF THE "ROSE." By W. CLARK RUSSELL 491

(_Illustrations_ by W. CHRISTIAN SYMONS.)

CHILD WORKERS IN LONDON 501

(_Illustrations_ by Miss LE QUESNE.)

CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL, AT THE 197

(_Illustrations_ by Miss KATE CRAUFURD and HAROLD OAKLEY.)

CHILDREN'S STORIES:--

BARAK'S WIVES 220

ENCHANTED WHISTLE, THE 552

GENIES, THE TWO 105

HERMIT, THE 655

SPIDER'S WEB, THE 437

STONE-BREAKER, THE 328

COUNTY COURT, THE 531

DAY WITH AN EAST-END PHOTOGRAPHER, A 458

(_Illustrations_ by J. L. WIMBUSH.)

DEADLY DILEMMA, A. By GRANT ALLEN 14

(_Illustrations_ by W. RAINEY.)

DECAY OF HUMOUR IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

By HENRY W. LUCY ("TOBY, M.P.") 254

(_Illustrations_ by F. C. GOULD.)

DOGS, HOME FOR LOST 648

(_Illustrations_ by Miss MABEL D. HARDY.)

DRESSING-ROOMS, ACTORS' 178

EAST-END PHOTOGRAPHER, A DAY WITH AN 458

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY JULIET, AN. A Story founded on the French.

By JAMES MORTIMER 447

(_Illustrations_ by PAUL HARDY.)

ENCHANTED WHISTLE, THE. From the French of ALEX. DUMAS 552

(_Illustrations_ by H. MILLAR.)

FAC-SIMILES:--

HANDBILL OF H. M. STANLEY'S FIRST LECTURE 285

HUMOURS OF THE POST OFFICE 520, 599

NOVELISTS' MSS. 295

PLAYWRIGHTS' MSS. 415

SERMON NOTES BY CARDINAL MANNING 84

SPEECH BY JOHN BRIGHT 206

FAIR SMUGGLER, A. From the Russian of MICHAEL LERMONTOFF 49

(_Illustrations_ by W. B. WOLLEN, R.I.)

FIRE BRIGADE, THE METROPOLITAN, ITS HOME, AND WORK 22

GENIES, THE TWO, A Story for Children. From the French of VOLTAIRE 105

(_Illustrations_ by JOHN GÜLICH.)

GRANDE CHARTREUSE, A NIGHT AT THE. By J. E. MUDDOCK 268

(_Illustrations_ by G. LAMBERT and HAROLD OAKLEY.)

GUEST OF A CANNIBAL KING, THE. By J. E. MUDDOCK 476

(_Illustrations_ by F. BANNISTER.)

HERMIT, THE. From the French of VOLTAIRE 655

(_Illustrations_ by ALAN WRIGHT.)

HOW NOVELISTS WRITE FOR THE PRESS. Fac-similes of the MSS. of

WILLIAM BLACK, WALTER BESANT, BRET HARTE, and GRANT ALLEN. 295

HOW THE BLIND ARE EDUCATED. By EDWARD SALMON 563

(_Illustrations_ by JOHN GÜLICH.)

HOUSE OF COMMONS, DECAY OF HUMOUR IN THE.

By H. W. LUCY ("TOBY, M.P.") 254

HOW THE REDOUBT WAS TAKEN. From the French of PROSPER MÉRIMÊE 174

(_Illustrations_ by SIDNEY PAGET.)

JAMRACH'S 429

(_Illustrations_ by J. L. WIMBUSH.)

JANKO THE MUSICIAN. From the Polish of SIENKIEWICZ 628

(_Illustrations_ by H. R. MILLAR.)

JENNY. From the French of VICTOR HUGO 527

(_Illustrations_ by CYRUS JOHNSON, R.I.)

JERRY STOKES, By GRANT ALLEN 299

(_Illustrations_ by A. PEARSE.)

KING'S STRATAGEM, THE. By S. J. WEYMAN 361

(_Illustrations_ by PAUL HARDY.)

LADIES' DRESS, LETTERS FROM ARTISTS ON 162

LADIES, A NEW INDUSTRY FOR 378

LANDSEER, A PICTURE-LETTER BY 334

LAW COURTS, THE STATE OF THE 402, 531, 638

(_Illustrations_ by A. LUDOVICI.)

LAWSON, SIR WILFRID 359

LONDON, CHILD WORKERS IN 501

LONDON, OLD STONE SIGNS OF 487

LOST DOGS, HOME FOR 648

LUCKIEST MAN IN THE COLONY, THE. By E. W. HORNUNG 422

(_Illustrations_ by A. PEARSE.)

MAID OF TREPPI, THE. From the German of PAUL HEYSE 57, 133

(_Illustrations_ by GORDON BROWNE, R.B.A.)

MAKING AN ANGEL. By J. HARWOOD PANTING 235

(_Illustrations_ by GORDON BROWNE, R.B.A.)

MATHEW, FATHER 357

METROPOLITAN FIRE BRIGADE, THE: ITS HOME AND WORK 22

(_Illustrations_ from Special Photographs by the LONDON

STEREOSCOPIC COMPANY, and Drawings by Miss MABEL HARDY and W. B.

WOLLEN, R.I.)

MINISTER'S CRIME, THE. By MACLAREN COBBAN 185

(_Illustrations_ by W. S. STACEY.)

MINT, THE 143

MIRROR, THE. From the French of LEO LESPES 78

(_Illustrations_ by N. PRESCOTT DAVIES)

MONEY MANUFACTORY, OUR 143

(_Illustrations_ by J. JOHNSON.)

NEW INDUSTRY FOR LADIES, A. By Miss GRACE HARRIMAN 378

(_Illustrations_ by Miss I. G. BRITTAIN.)

NIGHT AT THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE, A 268

NIGHT IN AN OPIUM DEN, A. By the Author of "A Dead Man's Diary" 624

(_Illustrations_ by J. L. WIMBUSH.)

NIGHT WITH THE THAMES POLICE, A 124

(_Illustrations_ by JOHN GÜLICH.)

NOTORIOUS MISS ANSTRUTHER, THE. By E. W. HORNUNG 466

(_Illustrations_ by W. S. STACEY.)

NOVELISTS, HOW THEY WRITE FOR THE PRESS 295

OLD STONE SIGNS OF LONDON 487

(_Written_ and _illustrated_ by C. B. B. BARRETT.)

ON THE STUMP FOR THE PUMP. By Sir WILFRID LAWSON 356

(_Illustrations_ by J. F. SULLIVAN, C. HARRISON, and from Photographs.)

ORCHIDS: FROM A POPULAR POINT OF VIEW 391

(_Illustrations_ by J. H. HIPSLEY.)

OUR MONEY MANUFACTORY 143

(_Illustrations_ by J. JOHNSON.)

OUT OF A PIONEER'S TRUNK. By BRET HARTE 571

(_Illustrations_ by A. PEARSE.)

PASTOR'S DAUGHTER, THE. From the German of JULIUS THEIS 539

(_Illustrations_ by A. PEARSE.)

PASSION IN THE DESERT, A. From the French of BALZAC 210

(_Illustrations_ by A. PEARSE.)

PICTURE-LETTER, A. By Sir EDWIN LANDSEER 334

PICTURES WITH HISTORIES 227, 335

(_Illustrations_ from pictures by REYNOLDS, GAINSBOROUGH, LANDSEER,

and E. T. PARRIS, and Drawings by ALAN WRIGHT.)

PIECE OF GOLD, THE. From the French of FRANÇOIS COPPÉE 308

(_Illustrations_ by J. FINNEMORE.)

PISTOL-SHOT, THE. From the Russian of ALEXANDER PUSHKIN 115

(_Illustrations_ by PAUL HARDY.)

PORTRAITS OF CELEBRITIES AT DIFFERENT TIMES OF THEIR LIVES:--

ALBANI, MADAME 597

ARGYLE, DUKE OF 280

BANCROFT, MR. AND MRS. 159

BARRETT, WILSON 512

BLACK, WILLIAM 282

BLACKIE, PROFESSOR 42

BRADLAUGH, CHARLES 376

CLARENCE AND AVONDALE, DUKE OF 594

EMPRESS OF GERMANY 279

FARJEON, B. L. 515

FIFE, DUCHESS OF 595

GEORGE, PRINCE 596

GLADSTONE, W. E 156

GRANVILLE, EARL 370

HAGGARD, H. RIDER 48

HARE, JOHN 158

HUXLEY, PROFESSOR 160

IRVING, HENRY 45

JANSEN, MISS AGNES 598

JOACHIM, HERR 516

JONES, HENRY A. 518

LANGTRY, MRS. 157

LUBBOCK, SIR J., BART. 47

MANNING, CARDINAL 154

MILLAIS, SIR JOHN E., BART. (R.A.) 372

PATTI, ADELINA 161

PETTITT, H. 377

PINERO, A. H. 517

PRINCESS BEATRICE 278

QUEEN, HER MAJESTY THE 277

RORKE, MISS MARY 517

RORKE, MISS KATE 593

RUSKIN, JOHN 155

SIMS, GEORGE R. 514

STANLEY, HENRY M. 284

SPURGEON, REV. C. H. 43

SWINBURNE, ALGERNON C. 46

TENNYSON, LORD 41

TERRISS, WILLIAM 375

TERRY, MISS ELLEN 44

TERRY, MISS MARION 374

TOOLE, J. L. 591

TREE, H. BEERBOHM 281

WALLIS, SIR PROVO 513

WATTS, G. F. (R.A.) 371

WEBSTER, SIR RICHARD 373

WILLARD, E. S. 592

WYNDHAM, CHARLES 283

POST OFFICE, HUMOURS OF THE. WITH FAC-SIMILES 520, 599

QUEEN OF SPADES, THE. From the Russian of ALEXANDER PUSHKIN 87

(Illustrated by PAUL HARDY.)

QUEEN'S FIRST BABY, THE 226

RYNARD GOLD REEF COMPANY, LIMITED. By WALTER BESANT 586

(_Illustrated_ by W. S. STACEY.)

SCENES OF THE SIEGE OF PARIS 31

1.--The Boy Spy. 2.--Belisaire's Prussian. From the French of

ALPHONSE DAUDET.

(_Illustrations_ by SIDNEY PAGET.)

SCIENCE, THE VOICE OF 312

SERMON BY CARDINAL MANNING, FAC-SIMILE NOTES OF A 84

SHAW, CAPTAIN 22

SILVER HARVEST, A 634

(_Written_ and _Illustrated_ by H. TUCK.)

SLAP-BANG. From the French of JULES CLARETIE 150

(_Illustrations_ by W. RAINEY.)

SMUGGLER, A FAIR 49

SNOWSTORM, THE. From the Russian of ALEXANDER PUSHKIN 258

(_Illustrations_ by PAUL HARDY.)

SPEECH BY JOHN BRIGHT, FAC-SIMILE OF NOTES OF A 206

SPIDER'S WEB, THE. From the French of JAQUES NORMAND 437

(_Illustrations_ by GORDON BROWNE, R.B.A.)

STATE OF THE LAW COURTS, THE 402, 531, 638

(_Illustrations_ by A. LUDOVICI.)

STONE-BREAKER, THE. From the French of QUATRELLES 328

(_Illustrations_ by ALAN W. WRIGHT.)

STORIES OF THE VICTORIA CROSS:

TOLD BY THOSE WHO HAVE WON IT. 286, 410, 547

(_Illustrations_ by HARRY PAYNE, SYDNEY PAGET, and W. B. WOLLEN, R.I.)

STORY OF THE STRAND, THE 4

(_Illustrations_ by G. C. HAITÉ.)

THAMES POLICE, A NIGHT WITH THE 124

(_Illustrations_ by JOHN GÜLICH.)

THING THAT GLISTENED, A. By F. R. STOCKTON 397

(_Illustrations_ by F. FELLER.)

THREE BIRDS ON A STILE. By B. L. FARJEON 612

(_Illustrations_ by GORDON BROWNE.)

TORTURE BY HOPE, A. From the French of VILLIERS DE L'ISLE-ADAM 559

(_Illustrations_ by PAUL HARDY.)

TREPPI, THE MAID OF 57

TWO FISHERS. From the French of GUY DE MAUPASSANT 343

(_Illustrations_ by LESLIE BROOKE.)

VICTORIA CROSS, STORIES OF THE 286, 410, 547

VOICE OF SCIENCE, THE. By A. CONAN DOYLE 312

(_Illustrations_ by W. S. STACEY.)

WALTZ IN FAUST, THE. By RICHARD DOWLING 382

(_Illustrations_ by ERNEST G. BEACH.)

UNWIN BROTHERS, PRINTERS, 27, PILGRIM STREET, LUDGALE HILL, E.C.

Transcriber's Notes:

Simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors were corrected.

Punctuation normalized.

Anachronistic and non-standard spellings retained as printed.

Italics markup is enclosed in _underscores_.

Maltese cross is indicated by [+].