kind of arguments I am compelled to listen to.’ Then he again took up
the thread of his narrative. ‘It was not till after young Ridsdale had
become engaged to Clarice Loraine that we discovered he was the son of
Sir William Ridsdale, a wealthy baronet of ancient family. The next
thing was to obtain the baronet’s consent to the engagement. It would
appear that the family estates are not entailed, and, as a consequence,
should Master Archie run counter to his father’s wishes, the latter
can dispose of his property in any way he may think best. Well, the
all-important missive was written and posted to Mentone, where the
baronet was at that time residing. The answer was—well, what do you
think it was?’
‘A peremptory order by the first post to the young man to break off the
engagement.’
‘Nothing of the kind; but a visit one afternoon at the vicarage from
a certain Colonel Woodruffe, who had come as plenipotentiary from the
baronet. Sir William was an invalid, and could not travel, so he had
deputed the colonel to act in his stead. The father had no doubt in
his own mind that his son had fallen into the toils of an adventuress,
and the colonel’s instructions were to break off the engagement at any
cost, and take Master Archie back with him.’
‘A sensible man that Sir William. And how did the affair end?’
‘In a way that you would hardly guess. The gallant colonel, instead of
carrying out his instructions, and breaking off the engagement between
the young people, ended by falling in love himself with the fascinating
widow and proposing marriage.’
‘A change of front with a vengeance! And the answer?’
‘A rejection.’
‘Check for the colonel.’
‘But, old bachelor though you are, Mac, I daresay you know quite enough
of the sex to be aware that a woman’s No is not always final. At
anyrate, the colonel, who is really a very fine fellow, is evidently
a believer in that doctrine, seeing that five days ago on his way to
Scotland he stopped here for an hour, had an interview with Madame De
Vigne and renewed his offer.’
‘And the answer to his second offer?’ queried the doctor eagerly.
The vicar shook his head. ‘Pen, perhaps, can tell you more about that
than I.’
Miss Pen looked up quickly. ‘The answer is to be given him to-day.’
‘To-day!’
‘The colonel will call here this afternoon on his way back from
Scotland, when Madame De Vigne has promised that he shall have her
final decision—Yes or No.’
‘So that, my dear Mac,’ said the vicar with a smile, ‘all things
considered, your chance of winning the widow does not seem a very
promising one.’
‘Well, well,’ answered the doctor sturdily.
‘If a better man than Sandy M‘Murdo wins the fair prize, why then
I’ll—I’ll be his best-man at the wedding.’
For a minute or two nothing was heard save the busy scratching of Miss
Gaisford’s pen.
‘How will this do, Septimus?’ she asked presently, and with that she
began to read from her manuscript.
‘“Her eyes of tenderest April blue glance up shyly into his dark
volcanic orbs, in which there is a half-smothered fire that causes
her heart to flutter like an imprisoned bird. A moment later, and her
slender willowy form is swept up in a passionate embrace by those
stalwart arms, and Love’s first burning kisses are showered on the
sweet rosebud of her lips.”’
‘Rather tropical, is it not, my dear?’ hinted the vicar mildly.
‘Oh, there’s nothing namby-pamby about my readers, I assure you,’
answered Miss Pen with a merry laugh. ‘They like their love-making
warm—and plenty of it.’
For ten minutes longer the busy scratching went on; then Miss Gaisford
laid down her pen with a sigh of relief. ‘There—not another line
to-day,’ she said. ‘Now that I have got my hero and my villain in the
midst of a terrific encounter on the verge of a precipice, I can leave
them there for a few hours in comfort.’
‘That seems rather cruel to the pair of them,’ remarked Dr Mac.
‘Oh, heroes and villains are used to that sort of treatment.—But I
hope you will keep my little secret a secret still, doctor. If it
were to reach the ears of any of the goody-goody people at home, that
the parson’s sister writes foolish love-stories for young people,
what hands would be uplifted in holy horror—what ejaculations over
her backslidings would be whispered across half the tea-tables in the
parish! Neither the squire’s wife nor Lady Pinchbeck would ever speak
to me again, and what, oh! what would existence be worth under such
terrible circumstances!’
‘My dear madam, you may rest assured that your secret is perfectly safe
with me.’
‘It will be a bad day for the poor of my parish when Penelope gives up
writing her love-stories,’ remarked the vicar, who was busy with his
tackle book. ‘Every penny she earns goes to buy blankets, and coals,
and such-like comforts for those who have no money to buy them for
themselves.’
‘My dear Septimus!’ exclaimed Miss Gaisford with a flaming face.
‘My dear Pen!—Now that Mac has been taken into our confidence as
regards one side of the question, it is only right that he should be
made acquainted with the other.—But here come our two truants,’ added
the vicar a moment later, as Mr Archie Ridsdale and Miss Clarice
Loraine, looking somewhat conscious, emerged from one of the winding
walks, and came towards the hotel, each of them laden with a quantity
of wild-flowers, ferns and grasses.
‘The lovers, eh,’ said Dr Mac, half to himself. ‘A very bonnie young
lady—very bonnie indeed.’
‘We were just thinking of sending the bellman round,’ said Miss Pen, as
the truants came up. ‘Ting-ting-a-ling. Lost since early this morning,
a pair of sweethearts. When last seen, he had his arm round the waist
of she, and she had her head on the shoulder of he. Whoever will’——
‘Stop, do!’ cried Miss Loraine, as she dropped her ferns and grasses on
the table and stuffed her fingers into her ears.
‘We have been botanising,’ observed Mr Ridsdale with the most innocent
air imaginable.
‘And a pretty lot of rubbish you seem to have brought back,’ remarked
Miss Pen.
‘Rubbish, indeed! And not one among them without a long and beautiful
Latin name of its own.—Ask Archie.’
The vicar rose, and addressing the doctor, said: ‘Allow me the pleasure
of introducing you to Miss Loraine.—Clarice, my dear, this is Dr
M‘Murdo, a very old friend of mine.’
‘I had the pleasure of being introduced to your sister this morning,
Miss Loraine, and now the pleasure is doubled,’ said the doctor with a
touch of old-fashioned gallantry.
‘I am happy to make the acquaintance of any friend of Mr Gaisford,’
answered Clarice with a smile and a little blush.
‘Mr Archibald Ridsdale—Dr M‘Murdo,’ said the vicar. The two men bowed.
‘A capital fellow to know, so long as you are in good health, Archie,
but a fellow to fight shy of the moment you begin to feel yourself out
of sorts.’
Suddenly a shrill whistle was heard. ‘Here comes the steamer,’
exclaimed Miss Penelope. ‘I’m going by it as far as Bowness. Any one
going my way?’
‘I will walk with you as far as the landing-stage, and see you safely
on board,’ answered her brother.
‘That way will suit me as well as another,’ added Dr Mac.
As the two men turned to go, Miss Pen drew Clarice aside. ‘Any news?’
she whispered.
‘None,’ whispered back the girl with a doleful shake of the head. ‘If
Archie and I only knew the best or the worst! It is this suspense
that’s so hard to bear.’
‘It seems hard to bear at present, but it will be delightful to look
back upon, by-and-by.’
‘O Miss Penelope! how can that be?’
‘Just now you are in the middle of the first volume of the romance
of your life. Now, I should like to know how a romance can be worth
anything without suspense, without mystery, without your being unable
to guess what may happen from one hour to another.’
‘Penelope, you will certainly miss the boat,’ called out her brother,
who was already some distance away.
‘We will talk more of this anon, my dear,’ said Miss Pen hurriedly.
‘Meanwhile, don’t get downhearted; all will come right at the end of
the third volume: it always does.’ And with a nod and a smile, the
bright little woman tripped off after her brother and the doctor, and
presently the trio were lost to view down the winding path that led to
the landing-stage and the lake.
POPULAR AMUSEMENTS IN GERMANY.
When one thinks of the downright substantial way in which English
people amuse themselves, with cricket, football, lawn-tennis, rowing,
foot-racing, leaping, &c., all over the kingdom, it is strange to find
so little of active sport of the kind among our muscular cousins of the
Vaterland. To be sure there are boating clubs and athletic societies,
and gymnasia in the schools and elsewhere; and soldiers are exercised
in gymnastics, but there is too much of military stiffness about it.
Amusements of a passive character find most favour. To ‘make’ a walk
in a leisurely fashion, to drive in an open conveyance, or to sit down
in a shady grove to listen to a band playing, is the most acceptable
mode of enjoying relaxation. With beer at a penny-farthing a glass,
and a tolerable cigar for a halfpenny, and a military or string band
discoursing sweet music, the time passes pleasantly enough. It makes a
great difference when you have not to pay very dearly for your whistle,
and they certainly know how to get the most for their money in the land
of the Teuton. Many houses of refreshment, even in towns, have gardens
or courtyards thickly planted with trees, so that their branches meet
overhead and form a pleasant and inviting shade. A large shed, too, is
provided, open on the garden-side, in case of rain. Frequently, music
is introduced, and on these occasions, an extra halfpenny is charged
on the beer, to cover the expense of the entertainment. On Sundays and
festivals, there is music, beer, wine, and tobacco everywhere. And yet
these people know how to amuse themselves without going to excess.
Sometimes a tipsy man is seen, but rarely till very late at night, and
the occurrence is so infrequent, that, compared with the usages of our
own country, it is quite remarkable.
We have more than once asked the question: ‘Is it that the beer is
weaker, or that the German heads are stronger than the English?’ and
we have been told: ‘Perhaps it is a little of both.’ Perhaps, too,
there is something in the fact that there is in some respects less
class distinction in Germany, and the middle classes may be seen
sipping their wine or coffee in the same place with their hard-working
brethren. Perhaps the national and natural good opinion, self-respect,
or self-esteem—call it what you will—of the German helps to keep him
straight; and then he takes his creature-comforts in a staid, stolid,
philosophic way. Noisy fellows there are, of course; but they do not
squabble and fight, as a rule; the utmost they are guilty of being the
national practice, even at midnight, of singing rollicking choruses,
to the great disturbance of peace-loving, law-abiding, slumbering
citizens. The fact that soldiers are permitted to wear their side-arms
constantly, speaks volumes for the sobriety of the men as a class, and
redounds to their credit.
A _Turnfest_ or athletic festival, generally held on a Sunday, is a
great affair, often the event of the year in a small provincial town.
There is a wonderful display of flags everywhere; and in the afternoon,
a procession of the competitors and visitors with bands and banners
and every variety of costume, the medals, badges, and ribbons of
former contests being worn with great ostentation. The most is made of
everything; and shouting and singing and cheering, and dust and noise,
seem to be the order of the day.
Rowing-matches provoke immense enthusiasm, and a regatta is an affair
that induces the keenest interest. A people with so much love for the
wonderful and so much regard for themselves, cannot help throwing into
such occasions an amount of enthusiasm and national pride as would do
credit to the Oxford and Cambridge boatrace itself. The members of the
Boat Club are the heroes of the hour, and their costumes the object of
great admiration. Though not so peculiar as the French in this respect,
our German neighbours are nevertheless great in their ‘get-up’ for
every particular sort of occupation or sport that they engage in. If
a man brings down only one snipe in a day, he looks tremendously cut
out for business notwithstanding, and appears every inch of him a
sportsman when going to or returning from the ‘hunt,’ as he calls it.
The exercise of riding cannot be properly accomplished without a
complete and appropriate rig-out, so that even when he is not actually
on his horse, the equestrian gives to all the world the assurance of a
man at home in the saddle. If spurs and jack-boots do not make a rider,
they at anyrate look very much in earnest. Never did a be-uniformed
people more thoroughly believe in the dignity of dress and the
necessity for effect than the Germans.
However we may smile at the eccentricities and oddities of the Germans,
we must admit that they beat us in the provision of cheap music for the
people, most of whom understand and appreciate it. Every school-teacher
is bound to be a musician and to pass in music, so that the people have
a chance of learning from childhood.
If the Prince of Wales succeeds as well in popularising the study
of music as his father did in popularising art, we may hope to see
before long a great reformation in the morals of our own people; and
the wandering German bands, composed of the worst players in their
own country—where they would not presume to play in public—will no
longer be tolerated in England, because the taste of the people will be
educated above such wretched performances. Good music, then, everywhere
is what is wanted to enable the lower classes to enjoy themselves
rationally, and no better means of promoting the sobriety of a nation
can be devised. The more the masses are leavened with a knowledge and
love of music, the more indeed we imitate the Germans in this respect,
the less necessity there will be for restrictive measures in the way
of ‘local option,’ and the lighter and easier will be the work of
temperance reformers. A great reform will have been effected. If music
can charm savages and snakes, it can do much more for our toiling,
amusement-lacking countrymen and countrywomen.
The theatre is much patronised in Germany, the prices being cheap,
the music good, and the performances fair. The play begins at seven,
and ends about nine or half-past. Concerts, too, both instrumental
and vocal, are frequent; every town has its Choral Society, and every
district its Choral Union, so that there is never any lack of vocalists
of both sexes for the performance of an oratorio or the celebration of
any great occasion.
Where a people is satisfied with simple pleasures, these can, of
course, be provided at little cost. Children have their swings,
climbing-poles, bowling alley, merry-go-rounds, horizontal bars,
&c., in the public gardens; and when one sees groups of officers
deeply interested in the game of dominoes, it does not cause so much
surprise to witness a huge whirligig worked by horses or steam, where
servant-maids and soldiers are driven round and round upon painted
wooden horses to the enlivening strains of a barrel organ, aided by a
cornet or two and the universal drum. This sort of affair is a great
attraction to the masses, and being generally placed near a beerhouse,
admiring friends sit round on benches with their beakers of frothy
beer, their cigars or large pipes, waiting to take a turn on the
machine after a time. Music everywhere seems to be the rule—there
can never be too much of it to please the people. Wherever there is a
company of soldiers marching along the road without a band at their
head, they make up for the deficiency by singing popular melodies and
martial songs, keeping time with their feet; and this always gives
strangers a favourable impression of the hearty, happy, and even merry
German soldier.
A torchlight procession headed by a band of music is a favourite mode
of making a demonstration on any particular festive occasion; and last,
but not least, is the highly popular serenade. The Choral Societies of
a town will unite—as was the case in Darmstadt on the night before the
marriage of the granddaughter of Queen Victoria, the Princess Victoria
of Hesse—to the number of three hundred men, and parade before the
residence of the person they delight to honour, each member carrying a
lighted Chinese lantern at the end of a stick. A selection of popular
songs and glees suitable to the occasion is sung, and in many instances
the melodies and words are peculiarly fitting. One might write a whole
chapter about the amusements of the Carnival time, the masked balls
and street displays; and although these affairs are somewhat stolid
and quite decorous in character, they contain the elements of simple
fun, innocent recreation, and hearty enjoyment. Here, again, music
is an important factor, for it enters into everything, and forms the
beginning and the ending of every variety of popular amusement.
PRINTERS’ ERRORS.
It must be, to say the least of it, annoying to the speaker or writer
possessed of any degree of sensitiveness, when he finds his plainest
statements, or it may be his most carefully prepared flights of fancy,
turned into nonsense by the substitution or omission of a letter in the
printing; and by some unhappy chance it often seems that the mistake is
made in just such a manner and place as will do the most mischief. The
unlucky poet who wrote,
See the pale martyr in his sheet of fire!
must have been completely crushed when the line appeared as—
See the pale martyr in his shirt of fire!
We can sympathise also with the poet who, writing of his love, asserted
that he had ‘kissed her under the silent stars,’ and found the
compositor made him state that he ‘kicked her under the cellar stairs.’
True, it has been doubted if these two poets ever existed; but others,
of less mythologic fame, have suffered as badly at the hands of the
printer. Burns, in a cheap edition of his works, is made to say,
Oh, gin my love were yon red _nose_.
A well-known temperance lecturer was indignant at finding the sentiment
ascribed to him that ‘drunkenness was jolly,’ whereas he had declared
that it was ‘folly.’
For the explanation of many of these blunders it is necessary to bear
in mind that in setting up the type the compositor has the various
letters arranged in separate divisions of his case and selects them one
by one as required. Habit enables him to do this with extreme speed
and accuracy; but it will easily be seen that the presence of a wrong
letter in a division or a dip into the wrong box may occasion one of
these unhappy blemishes. In this manner we find oats rendered ‘cats;’
songs, ‘tongs;’ poets, ‘posts;’ or as once happened in the report of
a railway accident, ‘confusions of the limbs’ for ‘contusions of the
limbs.’ And by the substitution of _n_ for _h_, a newspaper report was
made to state that ‘the people rent the air with their ten thousand
_snouts_.’
The blame, however, does not always rest with the compositor. Incorrect
spelling and slovenly writing have much to answer for, especially
in the case of proper names and quotations from foreign languages.
Boerhaave becomes ‘Boershave;’ and _Et tu, Brute!_ ‘Eh, the Brute!’
Authors should remember that the proof-reader is fallible; he is
not, as is sometimes expected, a ‘Universal Compendium’ of facts,
people, places. If a passage reads clearly and grammatically, although
conveying anything but the sense intended, it is not to be wondered
at that the error is often undetected until too late. Much surprise
was occasioned by Sir Archibald Alison, in his _History of Europe_,
including amongst the persons present at the funeral of the Duke of
Wellington the name of ‘Sir Peregrine Pickle.’ There can be little
doubt that the author had made an unconscious slip, intending to name
Sir Peregrine Acton. Sir Thomas Brassey having referred in a speech to
the _Golden Treasury of Songs and Lyrics_, the compositor transformed
the title into the ‘Golden Treasury of Soups and Cynics.’ A report
in a Manchester paper of a recent dramatic performance mentioned the
well-known farce of _No. 1 Round the Corner_ under the amusing and
suggestive title of ‘_No One_ Round the Corner.’
Mistakes in punctuation, such as the omission or misplacing of a
comma, may cause serious alteration to the sense of a passage. The
contract made for lighting the town of Liverpool by wick lamps, during
the year 1819, was rendered void by the misplacing of a comma in the
advertisements, thus: ‘The lamps at present are about four thousand
and fifty, and have in general two spouts each, composed of not less
than twenty threads of cotton.’ The contractors would have proceeded
to furnish each lamp with the said twenty threads; but this being
only half the usual quantity, the Commissioners discovered that the
difference arose from the comma following, instead of preceding,
the word ‘each.’ In the following instance, it was no doubt a
bachelor-compositor who, in setting up the toast, ‘Woman, without her,
man would be a savage!’ got the comma in the wrong place, and made the
sentence read, ‘Woman, without her man, would be a savage!’
All the above-mentioned errors may fairly be ascribed to carelessness
and mischance. Others, however, are on record which have been committed
knowingly and intentionally, and so can scarcely be classed as errors.
They have been mostly connected with Biblical matters, and intended to
further party interests. It is said that Field, a printer of the time
of Charles I., was paid fifteen hundred pounds by the Independents to
alter a single letter in the third verse of Acts VI., so as to make the
word _we_ read ‘ye,’ and so give the right of appointing pastors to the
people, and not to the apostles. The deplorable state of the press in
Field’s time may be realised from the fact that Bishop Usher, on his
way to preach at Paul’s Cross, asked at a stationer’s for a copy of the
Bible; and on examining it, found, to his astonishment, that the text
from which he was about to preach was not in the book! The well-known
‘Vinegar Bible’ was published in 1717, and obtains its name from the
Parable of the Vineyard being printed as the Parable of the _Vinegar_.
One of the most wilful alterations of the text, and one which cost
its perpetrator her life, was committed by the widow of a German
printer. One night, while an edition of the Bible was being printed in
her house, she took the opportunity of altering the word _Herr_ into
‘Narr,’ making the verse read, ‘he shall be thy _fool_,’ instead of ‘he
shall be thy _lord_.’
The celebrated Bibles of Sixtus V. are eagerly sought for by
collectors. Their sole fame is the multitude of errata which crowd
their pages, notwithstanding that His Holiness Sixtus V. carefully
superintended every sheet as it passed through the press, and finally
prefixed to the first edition a bull forbidding any alteration in the
text.
A curious jumble appeared in a cabled critique of Mr Irving’s acting on
one of his appearances in the States. Instead of saying that ‘the taste
for Irving, like that for olives, must be cultivated,’ the critic was
represented as giving utterance to the incomprehensible assertion that
‘the toast for Irving, like the toast for olives, must be cut elevated.’
A Glasgow divine, and one of Her Majesty’s chaplains in Scotland, was
lately reported as saying that ‘personally he violated the Lord’s Day
as much as any member of the Court.’ ‘Venerated’ was probably the word
actually employed by the reverend gentleman.
Similarly, in an edition of _Men of the Time_ published in 1856, the
then Bishop of Oxford is thus described: ‘Oxford, Bishop of (Rt. Rev
Samuel). A more kind-hearted and truly benevolent man does not exist.
A sceptic as regards religious revelations, he is yet an out-and-out
believer in spirit manifestations.’ This description really belonged
to ‘Owen (Robert) of Lanark.’ The edition was soon suppressed, but
not before the Bishop had possessed himself of a copy for his private
library.
Although both the chaplain and the bishop had reason to complain of
their treatment, it must have been considerably more astonishing and
mortifying for Herr Franz Liszt, who is still delighting his musical
admirers with his productions, to find that in Haydn’s _Dictionary of
Dates_ (1870) he is represented as dying in October 1868.