that I was hurrying westward along the Marylebone Road, congratulating
myself upon having turned my back upon the bitter east wind, and
comparing the climate of London towards the end of December with that
which I had been enjoying exactly twelve months previously, when
at Calcutta, as one of the Special Correspondents with the Prince
of Wales. I had got nearly as far as the Edgware Road, when a man
touched his hat to me and asked me for the wherewith to get a night’s
lodging. He did not look like an ordinary or a professional beggar.
His clothes, although very shabby, were evidently well made. He looked
so pinched and weary, that I stopped and fumbled in the ticket-pocket
of my overcoat for a sixpence to give him. He stared at me very hard
indeed whilst I was getting the money, and as I handed it to him, broke
out with an exclamation of wonder, asking me whether my name was not
so-and-so. I replied that it was; and asked him where he had ever seen
me before. To make a long story short, this poverty-stricken man asking
alms on the public streets turned out to be a gentleman I had known
many years before, when he was a captain in one of our crack lancer
regiments, and had a private fortune of his own of more than fifteen
hundred a year. When I had last seen him, he was a man of little over
thirty; but was now on the wrong side of fifty; and owing to want,
care, hunger, cold, and dirt, looked very much older. He had always
been a very fast man. Betting, cards, and doing bills at sixty per
cent., had worked out their legitimate ends upon him. I had lost all
sight of him for fully twenty years, but remembered having heard that
he had been obliged to sell out on account of his many debts. All this,
and much more too, he related when he came to my house, as I had told
him to do, and helped him as far as it was in my power, with a little
money and some old clothes.
When I asked him what he intended to do for the future, he said that
if he could only get a decent outfit and a few pounds for travelling
expenses, he had an opening in Paris that would soon put him on his
legs again. It so happened that I knew slightly two or three men who
had been in the same regiment with this individual; and of these there
was one who was very well off. I therefore wrote out an appeal for the
poor fellow, sent it to the different parties; and was greatly pleased
when I found that instead of realising, as I had hoped, some ten or
fifteen pounds, the contributions sent me came to upwards of thirty
pounds. With this money I first got the unfortunate man a fairly good
outfit of clothes, and then made over to him the balance left, about
six pounds, to use as he liked. He was exceedingly grateful; and asked
me to express his thanks to those who had responded so generously to my
letters. It was about a fortnight after I had met him on the Marylebone
Road that he called to bid me farewell, and to thank me again for all I
had done, which, after all, was merely having written some half-dozen
letters, and taken a little trouble in getting his clothes as good and
as cheap as I could. He told me that he was leaving for Paris that
evening.
For five or six months I neither saw nor heard anything about him. At
the end of that time I received a note from this individual, telling
me he was in London, saying he would like to see me, and giving me
his address at a respectable hotel near Leicester Square. I wrote an
answer; and as I happened to be going into the neighbourhood, called at
the hotel, intending to leave it there. But as the waiter told me that
the gentleman was at home, and was then writing in the coffee-room, I
went there, and found my former acquaintance, who seemed delighted to
see me. He had evidently prospered since I last saw him. He was well,
if perhaps somewhat flashily dressed; had what seemed to be a valuable
pin in his neck-scarf, a thick gold chain from one waistcoat pocket to
another, and two or three rings on his fingers. He looked more like a
Frenchman than an Englishman; and would certainly have passed a better
muster at Brebant’s or in the _Café du Helder_ than he could have done
in a London club. But what showed more plainly than anything else that
he had done well, and what pleased me greatly, was that he there and
then pulled out a roll of bank-notes and insisted upon repaying me what
I had collected for him from his former friends. It was in vain that I
protested that those gentlemen had parted with their money as a gift
and not as a loan; that I did not know where to find them at present;
and that I begged he would not think of repaying me the small portion I
had contributed to the amount. No; nothing would serve him but to make
me take the money and to give it back as best I could to those who had
assisted him in his great distress.
As a matter of course, I was very curious to know by what means he had,
in some measure at anyrate, recovered his position in the world; or
how he had managed to fill his empty purse. But to all my questions he
gave the most evasive answers. Remembering what his pursuits used to
be long ago, I felt certain that he had got into some lucky vein of
play or of betting, and that he was making a living either by cards or
on the racecourse. But after a few days’ observation of what he did,
I was sure that I was labouring under a mistake. Just at that time of
the year several of our great race-meetings were in full swing; but he
never went near any of them; nor did he ever attempt to go back amongst
the men who had been his companions long ago. I offered to get his name
put down as an honorary or visiting member of one or two good clubs;
but he invariably declined. When he asked me, as he often did, to dine
with him, it was always at one or other of the best foreign restaurants
in London. When I called on him at his hotel, he seemed to be always
busy either writing or receiving letters. One night I looked him up
about eleven P.M. on my way back from the theatre. But they told me at
the hotel he always went out between nine and ten P.M., and seldom came
back before the small-hours of the morning.
In London, a busy man has little or no time to think of any one’s
affairs except his own; but I confess that this gentleman used often
to puzzle me not a little. His seeming prosperity in money matters as
compared with his former circumstances, and the singular life he led,
caused me often to wonder what were the sources whence he derived his
income, my curiosity being not a little increased by his evident desire
to keep me in the dark as to the truth of the case. But the solution of
a difficult social problem almost invariably comes to hand when least
expected, and this case was no exception to the rule.
I had not seen my friend for some two or three weeks, when I received
a note asking me to call upon him, as he had met with a bad accident
and was confined to his bed. I accordingly went to see him; and found
that he had slipped upon the street, had injured his knee somewhat
severely, and was suffering great pain. He had called in a surgeon, who
had ordered the most perfect rest for at least ten days or a fortnight;
and having no other friend in London of whom he could ask a favour, he
begged me to help him in certain matters of business which could not
be neglected. As a matter of course, I offered to be of any service I
could to him; and he said that the first favour he would ask of me was
to go to a small news-agent near Soho Square and ask for any letters
directed to ‘T. D.; to be left till called for.’
I did so; and found there four letters so addressed, all bearing
French post-marks, and took them to him at the hotel. He opened them
with evident eagerness, and read them with an anxiety which he could
not disguise from me, although he very evidently tried his best to
do so. The contents of these communications seemed to give him great
annoyance. After a short time, during which he seemed deep in thought,
he wrote out a curious, mysterious advertisement, such as we read
almost every day in the ‘Agony column’ of the _Times_, and asked
me to get it inserted in three of the chief morning papers. I read
what he had written, and wondered not a little what he meant. In the
advertisement, ‘Adventure’ was requested to ‘keep dark until Phillip
wrote.’ The sick man saw me smile as I read it, and looked very anxious
and embarrassed, assuring me that there was no harm whatever in the
hidden meaning of the notice. Having work of my own to attend to, I
left him, saying I would call again the next day. But he begged so
earnestly for me to come before post-time, that I consented to do so.
He told me that he did not like intrusting his letters to the people
of the hotel, who were either very curious or extremely neglectful on
all such matters. I therefore returned in the afternoon, when he handed
me two letters, which he asked me to post. They were both addressed to
Paris, to persons with French-like names, and were to be left _poste
restante_ at different post-offices. The next day but one he asked me
to go to the same small news-agent near Soho Square and ask for any
letters that might be there for him. I found two, and brought them to
him. He read them with great eagerness; and again wrote two letters,
which he asked me to post for him, evidently not caring to trust the
people of the hotel with his correspondence. This went on almost every
day. On one occasion, he took out of one of the letters I brought him
a draft from a Paris bank upon one in London for one hundred pounds
payable to ‘T. C. Dane, or order.’ He indorsed it, and asked me to get
it cashed for him, which I did. He evidently saw that I was not only
puzzled as to what his mysterious business could be, but that I had
serious thoughts of not coming near him again until I found out whether
my doing so would compromise myself. And apparently acting upon a
sudden impulse, he all at once opened out and made what I may call his
confession to me.
‘For some time past,’ he began, ‘I have seen that you wonder what my
business is, and why I am so mysterious with regard to what I do and
what I write. Well, I will now make a clean breast of it.’
He then told me that some two or three years previously, he had got
into what he called ‘worse than a mess’ in Paris. He had somehow
got mixed up with a gang of card-sharpers, without knowing to what
an extent they carried on their dishonest practices, and had so far
compromised himself, that the French police had him at their mercy.
They had, however, let him off, holding over him the power they had
to prosecute him at any future time, should they think he deserved
it. But they made certain conditions with him; and these were, that
he should go to London, and furnish them from time to time with all
the information he could gather respecting certain receivers of goods,
stolen in France, who resided in this metropolis. In order to do this
the more effectually, he had managed not only to get acquainted with
the leaders of a gang which worked for their friends in Paris, but
he had also got himself received as one of them, and used to go to
their meetings almost every night. The work, as he told me, had been
most unpleasant, but it was nearly at an end; and the French police
had promised that he should very soon be altogether free from his
engagements with them.
To mix with people of whom little or nothing is known, and to penetrate
into places which are hidden from the generality of mankind, has
always had a great charm for me. Mr Dane was not a little surprised
when, instead of leaving him after I had heard his story, I told him he
would do me a great favour if he took me to a meeting of his dishonest
friends; and that I would pledge myself never to give any information
that might lead to a single member of the band getting into trouble.
After making some objections to my request, he at last consented; and
said that the first night he could get out he would go to the meeting
of the gang by himself, but would then make arrangements for me to
accompany him the following evening. And thus it was that I managed to
get into very ‘queer company.’
If any one was to offer me one hundred pounds to show him where the
place in which the thieves and receivers of stolen goods is or was
situated, I could not do so, even if it was honourable to divulge what
I had promised faithfully to keep secret. This much I may say, that
having dined in the Strand, we walked up Catherine Street, and turned
to the right when we came to the court that flanks the south side of
Drury Lane Theatre. Here my companion stopped, took out of his pocket
a pair of spectacles, and said I must put them on before he could take
me any farther. I did as he desired; and found the glasses to be so
dark that I could not see an inch beyond my nose. My friend laughed;
and linking his arm in mine, said he would conduct me safely; but that
he was obliged to make it a point I should not be able to recognise
the streets we passed through, even if I wanted to do so. As near as I
could guess, we took some ten minutes to reach our destination, after
I had put on the glasses. My companion then stopped, knocked in a
peculiar manner at a street door, told me to take off the spectacles,
and led me through what seemed to be a coffee-shop of the most humble
kind. In a large room beyond this, there were seated six or seven
men, who were not by any means all of the same type. Two or three
were evidently Frenchmen, and were talking together with the usual
volubility of their nation. The rest were scattered here and there.
All were smoking. Some had cups of tea or coffee before them, whilst
others seemed to be indulging in spirits-and-water. My companion was
greeted by all present as a friend they had been waiting for and were
glad to see. He introduced me to the party assembled as ‘one of us,
just come from Paris.’ No questions were asked, nor, beyond one or two
civil inquiries, was any particular notice taken of me. I was asked
what I would drink, offered my choice of cigars or cigarettes; and then
the meeting commenced to discuss, in an informal kind of manner, the
business which had brought those present together.
From what I could gather, it seemed that there had been, a few days
before, a robbery of valuable jewels in Paris; and that the difficulty
of those connected with the affair was to get the plunder safely over
to the United States. The London police had been put on the alert; but
the thieves—or shall I call them the agents and helpers of thieves?—did
not seem to fear them. They discussed very freely the relative merits
of the French and English detective systems; saying, that in cases
of housebreaking and murders, the latter rarely failed to bring the
offenders to justice; but that in cases of clever ‘plants,’ the former
were much more to be feared.
‘You never know,’ said one Englishman present, with a round oath,
‘where or when you may come across those horrible French spies. Why, we
might have here, in the very midst of us, some one who is in their pay.’
I thought to myself how little these fellows knew that my friend who
had introduced me into the room belonged to the very tribe whom they
feared so much. But of the United States they spoke in the highest
terms; or in very much the same manner that an artisan who could not
earn the wherewith to pay for dry bread in this country, might praise
some place in the Far West where industry was certain to gain an honest
living. From what I gathered, it would seem that whenever a robbery on
a large scale is carried out, the first object of those concerned is
to get ‘the swag’ out of the country as soon as possible. Thus, the
produce of a plunder in Paris is almost invariably taken to London,
and _vice versâ_. If the thieves can so arrange beforehand as to get
away from where the theft has been committed within a few hours of the
completion of their handiwork, they believe themselves to be all but
safe, or at least the chances are about five to one in their favour. If
they have the luck to get clear of Europe and safely land in America,
the chances are that they will get clear altogether, realise a good
price for their plunder, and make things pleasant all round. The United
States, as I said before, is a capital country to go to; but South
America is still better. In neither of these parts are many questions
asked; but in the latter country the prices given are higher than in
the north, and sales are more readily effected. In London, the market
for jewelry is by no means good; for, as a rule, the stones have to
be taken out of the setting; and the latter has to be secreted or
instantly melted, else the police are pretty certain to get scent of
the affair.
It must not be thought that those composing the very singular company
amongst whom I found myself were at all in the burglar line. I don’t
believe that there was a single housebreaking implement to be found
amongst them. From all I gathered, they were the receivers, and not the
actual robbers, of valuable goods. They talked together of their common
pursuit much in the same manner that so many brokers might converse
respecting the fluctuations of the Stock Exchange, or a party of
farmers might give their opinions respecting the coming corn or other
crops. What surprised me most was the manner in which the company,
one and all, spoke of what they called their ‘business,’ as if it was
of the most legitimate kind; and I feel certain that they would have
resented warmly the words of any one who threw the shadow of a doubt
upon the propriety of their occupation. In what they said of things in
general, they all appeared to be very much of the same way of thinking;
or, at anyrate, they expressed themselves as holding very much the same
views. On one subject only did I hear strong language expressed, and
that was when one of them—who, from what he said, seemed to have come
from France very recently—gave an account of the manner in which the
Paris detectives had found out a certain robbery, and had brought those
who had perpetrated the same to justice. For individuals in the pay of
the police, or rather who belonged to the same, to disguise themselves
and mix with the individuals who were more or less ‘wanted,’ they
regarded as ‘low’ and ‘sneaking’ in the extreme. They were unanimous in
their opinion that if the French system of detecting robberies was ever
introduced into England, this ‘would no longer’—as one of the party
expressed himself—‘be a country for any honest man to live in.’
HINTS FOR HOUSEWIVES.
So much information about everything is now so easily obtainable,
that there is little excuse for enduring many of the small domestic
worries to which housekeepers and others are often subjected. Why,
for instance, need any one be inconvenienced by damp cupboards, when
we read that a bowl of quicklime placed therein will speedily absorb
the moisture? Some of us are nervous about beds not being well aired,
and yet we have only to fill a large stone bottle with boiling water
and put it into the bed, pressing the bolster and pillows round it in
a heap. By this simple contrivance, it is comforting to learn, no one
need fear giving a friend a damp bed, even if this is done only once a
fortnight.
Flies are a familiar nuisance; but we are told of a foreign remedy in
laurel oil, which, better than glass fly-catchers and others, will
not only rid us of these pests, but preserves looking-glasses and
picture-frames when coated with it. Jane the ‘help’ should derive
satisfaction from the assurance that beetles may be effectually got rid
of by sprinkling once or twice on the floor a mixture of pure carbolic
acid and water, one part to ten.
It is not frequenters of restaurants only who wonder why the simple
precaution of throwing red pepper pods or a few pieces of charcoal into
the pan—said to prevent odours from boiling-ham, cabbage, &c.—is not
oftener observed. Cooks are further reminded that in roasting meat,
salt should not be put upon the joint before it is put in the oven, as
salt extracts the juice; and that lime-water will improve the condition
of old potatoes in boiling.
Eggs could be purchased with greater confidence if the German method of
preserving them by means of silicate of soda was generally followed. A
small quantity of the clear sirup solution is smeared over the surface
of the shell. On drying, a thin, hard, glassy film remains, which
serves as an admirable protection and substitute for wax, oil, gums, &c.
Economy in housekeeping would be facilitated by the better observance
of what are known in common parlance as ‘wrinkles.’ For example, why
purchase inferior nutmegs, when their quality can be tested by pricking
them with a pin? If they are good, the oil will instantly spread around
the puncture. It is worth recollecting that bar-soap should be cut
into square pieces, and put in a dry place, as it lasts better after
shrinking. If we wish to keep lemons fresh for some time, we have
only to place them in a jar of water and change it every morning. In
selecting flour, we are advised to look to the colour. If it is white
with a yellowish straw-colour tint, we should buy it; but if it is
white with a bluish cast, or with black specks, we should refuse it.
Broken china can be mended with a useful glutine made with a piece of
old cheese mixed with lime; and the wooden palings of the garden may be
preserved from the weather by coating them with a composition of boiled
linseed oil and pulverised charcoal, mixed to the consistence of paint.
In this way wood can be made to last longer than iron in the ground.
If we consult our health, we should plant the garden with odoriferous
plants such as wall-flowers, mignonette, and other old English flowers
and herbs, which have a remarkable power of developing ozone and
purifying the atmosphere from miasmatic poisons.
Amateur joiners may derive comfort from the knowledge that nails and
screws if rubbed with a little soap are easily driven into hard wood.
The same household commodity, of a fine white quality, if rubbed over
new linen will enable it to be more easily embroidered, as it prevents
the threads from cracking.
A deal of breakage amongst glass and crockery can be prevented by the
simple precaution of placing lamp-chimneys, tumblers, and such articles
in a pot filled with cold water to which some common table-salt has
been added. Boil the water well, and then allow it to cool slowly. When
the articles are taken out and washed, they will resist any sudden
changes of temperature.
Crape may be renovated by thoroughly brushing all dust from the
material, sprinkling with alcohol, and rolling in newspaper, commencing
with the paper and crape together, so that the paper may be between
every portion of the material. Allow it to remain so until dry.
A better plan for removing grease-spots than by applying a hot iron is
to rub in some spirit of wine with the hand until the grease is brought
to powder, and there will be no trace of it. Every schoolboy is not
aware that ink-spots can be removed from the leaves of books by using
a solution of oxalic acid in water; nor does every housemaid know that
‘spots’ are easily cleaned from varnished furniture by rubbing it with
spirit of camphor.
The elasticity of cane-chair bottoms can be restored by washing the
cane with soap and water until it is well soaked, and then drying
thoroughly in the air, after which they will become as tight and firm
as new, if none of the canes are broken.
Marks on tables caused by leaving hot jugs or plates there will
disappear under the soothing influence of lamp-oil well rubbed in with
a soft cloth, finishing with a little spirit of wine or eau-de-Cologne
rubbed dry with another cloth. When the white pianoforte keys become
discoloured, we should remove the front door, fall, and slip of wood
just over them; then lift up each key separately from the front—do not
take them out—and rub the keys with a white cloth slightly damped with
cold water, and dry off with a cloth slightly warm. Should the keys be
sticky, first damp the cloth with a little spirit of wine or gin. Soap
or washing-powder must not be used. It is worth while keeping a supply
of ammonia in the household, in case we wish to remove finger-marks
from paint, or require to cleanse brushes or greasy pans. A teaspoonful
in a basin of warm water will make hair-brushes beautifully white; but
care must be taken not to let the backs of the brushes dip below the
surface. Rinse them with clean warm water, and put in a sunny window to
dry.
Egg-shells crushed into small bits and shaken well in decanters three
parts filled with cold water, will not only clean them thoroughly, but
make the glass look like new. By rubbing with a damp flannel dipped in
the best whiting, the brown discolorations may be taken off cups in
which custards have been baked. Again, are all of us aware that emery
powder will remove ordinary stains from white ivory knife-handles, or
that the lustre of morocco leather is restored by varnishing with white
of egg?
Nothing, it is said, is better to clean silver with than alcohol and
ammonia, finishing with a little whiting on a soft cloth. When putting
away the silver tea or coffee pot which is not in use every day, lay a
little stick across the top under the cover. This will allow fresh air
to get in, and prevent the mustiness of the contents, familiar to hotel
and lodging-house sufferers.
A BLACKBIRD’S NEST.
BY ALEXANDER ANDERSON.
[In the month of May might be seen, at the Forth Bridge Works,
South Queensferry, a blackbird sitting on her nest, which was
built on an elevated projecting beam in the engineering shed,
in close proximity to the driving-shaft, and immediately above
a powerful steam-engine.]
She sits upon her nest all day,
Secure amid the toiling din
Of serpent belts that coil and play,
And, moaning, ever twist and spin.
What cares she for the noise and whir
Of clanking hammers sounding near?
A mother’s heart has lifted her
Beyond a single touch of fear.
Beneath her, throbbing anvils shout,
And lift their voice with ringing peal,
While engines groan and toss about
Their tentacles of gleaming steel.