Chapter IV: The Burglary

The noise of the disturbance in the library had already attracted the attention of the Squire and his guests, who had just then reached the door of the drawing-room. When Parker announced that Major Dawkins was arrested for burglary, there was a general exclamation of incredulity; but the mention of the handcuffs elicited a little scream from Miss Euphemia and an exclamation of indignation from the Squire.

‘This is too absurd. It is some rascal’s practical joke; but it is one that I shall punish, for it is a disgrace to me that such a thing should be perpetrated on a guest of mine.—Friends, come with me.’ He led the way to the library; and the ladies, unable to restrain their curiosity, followed the gentlemen. Perhaps they also felt some timidity at the idea of being left alone; for the numerous burglaries committed of late during the dinner hour at country-houses were trying the nerves of everybody who had property to lose.

‘What is the meaning of this outrage in my house?’ exclaimed the Squire. ‘Release this gentleman at once. He is my guest.’

‘I told you so,’ ejaculated the Major, still too angry to realise fully the humiliating as well as ludicrous position in which he stood.

The detective answered the Squire respectfully and firmly: ‘This is my card, sir; my name is Kidman. I am a police officer, and was sent down here to watch the movements of a man known to the police under various aliases. This is the person I have been seeking. He is pretty well disguised with his dyed hair’ (the Major shuddered: the thunderbolt had fallen at last!); ‘but his height and figure correspond precisely with this photograph.’ He displayed the portrait of a man whose figure was certainly like the Major’s, and, allowing for the effect of disguise, there might even be discovered some resemblance in the features.

‘I tell you this is preposterous,’ the Squire said impatiently. ‘I will be responsible to you for this gentleman.’

‘Well, sir, of course the affair must be disagreeable to you, only you are not the first gentleman he has taken in.’

‘I say, release him at once. If you refuse, it will be at your peril. I am a justice of the peace.’

‘So much the better, sir; and in that case you will permit me to tell you the circumstances under which I arrest this—gentleman. I have been on the lookout for him; and from information received that an attack was to be made upon your house, I came here this evening to watch. I posted myself in the shrubbery; and not half an hour ago, whilst you were at dinner, I saw him look from that window to spy if the coast was clear’——

‘I was looking for you, Squire,’ interrupted the Major.

‘I couldn’t guess how he had got in without me seeing him, but that is explained by his being a guest of yours. I knew he was at work, and so stepped quietly in after him. I found him so busy at one of the drawers of this table that I managed to slip these ornaments on his wrists before he could turn round.’

‘At the drawers of the table!’ ejaculated several voices, whilst all looked in amazed horror at the culprit.

‘Yes,’ continued Mr Kidman complacently, finding that he had at last made an impression; ‘and this sort of thing’ (holding up the jemmy) ‘is not exactly what you would expect to find in a gentleman’s dressing-case. I found it here on the table, and the middle drawer has been forced open with it.’

‘The drawer forced open?’ muttered the Squire doubtingly.

‘You will find it so, and done by an experienced hand too. Will you oblige me by examining the contents of the drawer and letting me know what has been abstracted?’

‘This is horrible!’ said the Major, becoming calmer as the situation became more serious.

It was indeed most horrible to every one present. Miss Euphemia afterwards declared to Mrs John that she felt ready to sink through the floor, and fervently wished that she could have done so.

‘The drawer has certainly been rummaged by some one,’ the Squire said gravely.

‘Anything valuable missing?’ asked the detective, notebook in hand.

‘Yes—a considerable sum of money in notes and gold.’

‘Ah, I daresay our friend will be able to give us an account of the notes and gold,’ was the playful comment of Mr Kidman.

‘This indignity is insufferable,’ said the Major stiffly; ‘and I cannot understand, Elliott, why you should hesitate for a moment to release me from this degrading position. You know me; you know how easily my identity can be established. You know nothing of this man beyond his own assertion. How can you tell that he is not a confederate of the thieves, and his present action a ruse to give them time to escape?’

‘That’s not bad, captain,’ rejoined the detective with an admiring smile. ‘But these letters—which you will excuse me taking from your pocket—will show that one part of my statement is correct.—Do they belong to you, sir?’

He handed the three fatal letters to the Squire, who hastily glanced at them, whilst his wife stood on one side of him and Mrs John on the other.

‘Why, that is the letter which I received!’ observed Mrs Joseph with acerbity.

‘And that is mine; and the other is the one which has upset poor dear Nellie so much!’ cried Mrs John.

‘It was to ask you again to allow me to destroy those confounded letters, that I came to seek you, Squire, thinking that I might find you here alone after dinner,’ the Major explained. ‘I heard some one moving about the room, and, concluding that it was you, knocked two or three times. Getting no answer, I entered, but found nobody here. As the window was open, it occurred to me that you might have stepped out on the terrace, and I looked for you. Of course you were not there, but it must have been then that this man saw me.’

‘No doubt,’ answered the Squire slowly; ‘but he found you at my drawer.’

‘My anxiety to prevent a scandal to the family tempted me to take back my letters—for they are mine—and burn them without your leave. I knew that you would pardon me when you heard the explanation which you will have to-morrow.’

Whilst the Major spoke, the Squire was frowning.

‘According to your own statement, Major Dawkins, your conduct has not been creditable to you as an honourable man.’

‘I acted for the best, as you would see if you would give me leave to speak to you in private.’

They were interrupted and startled by the report of two pistol-shots in the grounds. Presently a footman rushed in with the information that they had caught a man who had jumped out of one of the windows, and he had fired upon them.

‘I see the whole thing,’ exclaimed the Major excitedly. ‘It was the thief who was in here when I knocked; and whilst you, sir, _you_, have been insulting me and making a fool of yourself—if you _are_ a detective—you have given him the opportunity to ransack the house!’

Mr Kidman looked puzzled, but he acted promptly. He removed the handcuffs, saying humbly: ‘I beg pardon, sir; but mistakes will happen. I must catch that man—he is a desperate card, and uses his revolver freely.’ He darted out to the terrace and disappeared.

The Squire and Maynard immediately followed. John Elliott was too timid, and the Major too indignant at the treatment to which he had been subjected, to take any part in the pursuit. After pulling himself and his ruffled garments together, he addressed his hostess, Mrs Joseph: ‘I presume, madam, I may now retire?’

The lady bowed a little awkwardly, feeling some compunction for his sufferings. She hoped that a good night’s rest would enable him to laugh at this painful incident, if not to forget it.

‘An affair of this sort does not readily become a subject of mirth to the victim. But thanks for your kind wishes.’

He was about to retire, when Squire Elliott and Maynard returned.

‘It’s all right, Major. They have got the scoundrel fast bound, and he has hurt no one but himself. There are my notes and gold, which we have just taken from his pocket.’

‘How did it all happen?’ was the eager exclamation of the ladies.

‘I offer you my cordial congratulations,’ added the Major drily.

‘It happened exactly as the Major surmised; and we have to thank Nellie’s headache, or whatever has kept her upstairs, for the timely discovery of the burglar. She was going into her dressing-room, and on opening the door, saw a man busy with her jewel-case. She knew what that meant—closed the door and locked it. She ran to the window and screamed out “Thieves!” The fellow took the alarm, and having the window open in readiness for such an emergency, he flung out a bundle which he had prepared. Then he slipped over the ledge, and let himself drop to the ground; but he had miscalculated the distance, and broke his leg in the fall. Two of our men, who had heard Nellie scream, were upon him before he could attempt to rise. He fired, but they had got his arms up in the air; so no harm was done; and he is safe for ten or fifteen years.’

‘And the bundle—what was in it?’ anxiously inquired the Squire’s wife.

‘A lot of trinkets and things, which are scattered all over the place, as the bundle in falling struck the branch of a hawthorn and was torn open. I have sent Parker to look after them; but we must go out ourselves.’

The ladies, whose looks of deep concern indicated how much they were interested in the search, eagerly proposed to accompany the gentlemen. Hats and shawls were quickly procured, and the whole party went forth. Nellie stole shyly down from her room and joined her friends—much to the delight of Maynard, although he endeavoured to appear cold and indifferent. She, too, wore a mask of indifference. But both were conscious that it was a mask, and that each was at heart earnestly wishing that the other would say something which would lead to an explanation. Without words, however, they somehow knew that the reconciliation would come in the morning.

The Major’s presence was taken as a matter of course; for, in the excitement of the moment, his banishment was forgotten by every one except himself. He silently took his place as the special attendant of Miss Euphemia, who received his attentions as graciously as if the incident of the morning had not occurred. He was peculiarly fortunate in being the finder of most of her stolen valuables, which won him additional favour. Nearly everything was found, and a further search was to be made in the morning. So, everybody retired to rest that night with feelings of thankfulness for having had such a singular escape from heavy loss.

* * * * *

In the morning, there were general inquiries for the Major. His misfortunes of the previous night had toned down the anger which had been felt regarding him, and the idea now was that they had been too hard upon the well-meaning little man. All—and especially the Squire—would have been pleased to see him in his usual place at table. But as he did not appear, the only inference that could be drawn was that he felt too much hurt to make any advances.

They were rising from the table and preparing for the unpleasant business of the day, when there was a sound of carriage-wheels, followed by a loud ring at the hall-bell.

‘That’s Willis,’ said the Squire, moving to the window and looking out, after casting a glance of satisfaction at his wife and at his sister-in-law.

His assertion was immediately confirmed by the entrance of Parker to announce the visitor, who, without ceremony, had closely followed the butler.

After hurried greetings were over, Willis said abruptly: ‘I want to get back to town to-night, and I have come down here in consequence of a telegram from Dawkins, who tells me that you have all got into a nonsensical squabble owing to his interference with the intention of setting you right.’

‘I thoroughly agree with you, Willis—it is a nonsensical squabble, but who the deuce is to blame for it?’ said the Squire with a good-natured laugh.

‘Glad to hear you ask the question,’ rejoined Willis, who, being a plain and practical person, came to the main point at once. ‘The first thing you have got to understand is that Dawkins is not to blame; the next thing you have got to understand is that I am the party you have got to blow up. But before you begin with me, you had better take my good-natured brother-in-law to task, and before you do that, I want to have a few words with you, John Elliott.’

‘You had better speak out whatever you have to say here,’ muttered Elliott of Arrowby with a painfully feeble assumption of haughtiness.

‘Would you like that, Sophy?’ said Willis, addressing his sister, Mrs John.

‘I think I understand the whole position, Matt,’ she replied. ‘Indeed, I think we all understand it now. The poor Major blundered about his letters; we all got the wrong ones, and misinterpreted their meaning. We need not go into the details, for, as you know, they would be painful to me as well as to John. Take Joe away with you, and get him to express to the Major the regret that we all feel for the annoyance we have caused him.’

‘Come along,’ said the Squire promptly. ‘We’ll pacify him somehow.’ As he was passing his wife, he whispered to her: ‘I hope you are satisfied now, Kitty;’ and she gave an approving nod. ‘But I wish he had been down with us to breakfast.’

The Squire and Matt Willis proceeded to the library; and there a very few additional words satisfied the former that the unfortunate friend of the family had been trying to discharge a disagreeable duty which he thought himself bound to undertake.

The Major was hurt enough by the awkward position in which he was placed; but that was not the reason why he kept to his chamber. He was not thinking of breakfast or the misunderstanding with his friends. Still, in his dressing-gown he was pacing the floor in a state of cruel distress. His hair was tossed about wildly and—it was of a ghastly gray-green colour! That wicked burglar had taken away the precious Russian leather case—no doubt thinking it contained jewelry—and it had not been amongst the articles found last night. Without it, the Major could not perform his toilet. This was the cruellest blow of all to the poor man. It was impossible for him to appear before any one in his present guise; and he even avoided the mirrors, lest he should catch sight of his own head. Hollis had been despatched to make diligent search in every spot where the case might have fallen; and his master was waiting in agony for the result. A knock at the door.—Ah, there he is at last! No, it was only Parker to say that Mr Willis had arrived, and was with the Squire in the library waiting for Major Dawkins.

‘Make my excuses, please, and say that I cannot go down yet, but will be with them as soon as possible.’

A quarter of an hour elapsed, and another message came; then another more urgent, and a fourth more urgent still. The Major wished he could shave his head; it would be more presentable then than as it was now. He was bemoaning the ill-luck or stupidity of Hollis, when the Squire himself arrived at the door.

‘What is the matter, Dawkins? We are all waiting for you. Are you ill?’

‘Yes, yes; I am ill; but I will be with you as soon as I can.’

‘Then open the door and let me shake hands with you.’

‘Not just now, not just now. I’ll come and shake hands with you as much as you like, in half an hour or so,’ was the agitated response.

‘Well, as you please; but I want to ask you to forget yesterday. Willis has explained everything, and your letters are correctly understood now. My wife is sorry that she did not take in the right meaning of the one which fell into her hands; Nellie appreciates your desire to forewarn her against any stupid gossip that fool Cousin John might spread; Mrs John thinks it was kind of you to wish to put her husband right, and he has got a lesson which he will not forget in a hurry. But she regards the whole affair as a good joke. You see, all is well; so come away at once and complete the party.’

‘I am delighted; but please do excuse me, Squire. I _can’t_ come at once,’ groaned the Major, passing his hand shudderingly through the besmirched hair.

‘Very well, then, as soon as you can; you will find us somewhere about the lawn.’ And the Squire, wondering what the Major’s curious malady could be, rejoined his friends.

At last Hollis did knock at the door, bringing the joyful tidings that he had found the case—sticking between two branches of the hawthorn which had wrecked the burglar’s bundle. He had been about to abandon the search, when, happening to look up, he saw it where he never would have thought of looking for it.

The Major dressed with more than usual care, gave Hollis orders to pack up, as they were to leave that day; and then, holding himself as erect as if on parade, he proceeded in the direction of the lawn with the firm determination to bid his host and hostess good-bye. But on his way he encountered Miss Euphemia, whose gold-rimmed _pince-nez_ glittered with pleasure at sight of him. ‘I _am_ so delighted to see you, Major. I—we were all afraid, that you were seriously ill.’

‘No; not seriously ill, but considerably bothered,’ he responded uncomfortably.

‘Of course you must have been; but thank goodness it is all over now. The Squire and all the others are most anxious to make amends to you for the vexation you have endured so nobly. He wants you to stay, and has sent me to persuade you not to say no.’

‘Stay!—It is impossible—quite impossible.’

‘Oh, but you really must not bear malice—they made a mistake, and everybody does so sometimes.’ She was smiling coaxingly, and looked a different being from the lady who had surveyed him through her glasses so severely yesterday.

‘I respect the family as much as ever; but I cannot remain.’

‘Oh, do—to please me.’

He looked at her and fancied he saw a blush. ‘To please _you_, I would stay for ever,’ he answered gallantly; ‘but’——

‘Then stay—for ever!’ she interrupted with emphasis.

He opened his eyes. Did he understand her? Could she be serious? Had the time come for him to speak?

‘Do you mean that it would be a particular pleasure to you if I remained—for _your_ sake?’

‘It would,’ she answered in a low voice.

‘Then I understand,’ he said, taking her hand, ‘_this_ is my consolation for all the afflictions of yesterday?’ She did not say no; and he, drawing her arm within his, continued: ‘I am a happy man, although again a captive.’

The announcement of their engagement added much to the happiness which everybody felt in the reconciliations effected that morning. There was a merry twinkle in the Squire’s eyes. He was a cunning fellow when prompted by his wife, and had guessed what would happen when he chose Miss Euphemia as his ambassador to the Major. The only person who felt in the least uncomfortable was John Elliott of Arrowby, who was now confessedly the originator of all the mischief. The only reproach he had to endure from his wife was the expression accompanied by a pitying smile, ‘Poor John!’

There were festivities on a grand scale at Todhurst when Nellie and Maynard were wedded; but the marriage of Euphemia Panton and Major Dawkins was a very quiet affair—as the lady thought. She had only three bridesmaids and about twenty other friends to witness the ceremony. The Major was content to be supported by an old companion in arms and Matthew Willis.

The happy couple disappeared for six months. On returning to England, their first visit was to Todhurst. For a moment the Squire and his wife found it difficult to recognise their old friends. The Major was now a quiet elderly-looking gentleman with gray hair and moustache; and Mrs Dawkins was a subdued-looking lady, whose hair suggested that she had certainly arrived at years of discretion. They had both come to accept with resignation the inevitable signs that time passes and old age draws on; and they were happy. They had not been so in the days when they vainly struggled to hide the progress of years. The Major could never forget that morning of agony when the Russian leather case could not be found. Probably his account of it, combined with the fact that it was no longer possible to hide from each other their dabblings in the fine arts, helped his wife to agree with him that it was best to make no attempt to improve upon nature. The Major had given up all his youthful ways, much to his own comfort; and he was firmly resolved never again to play the part of the officious friend of the family.

THE MONTH: SCIENCE AND ARTS.

One of the most important applications of photography is the production of printing-blocks, which, under various names, are in great request for book and newspaper illustration. It is not generally known that some of the finest illustrations which adorn high-class magazines are produced without the intervention of the engraver at any stage of the process. They are photographed direct from drawings, in some cases even from nature; and from the photograph a printing-block ready for the press is produced automatically. Oil-paintings and water-colour drawings can also be thus reproduced with the greatest fidelity. A few years back, this was impossible, for the photograph did not translate the colours in their true tone-relation to one another. Thus, yellow and red would be reproduced as black, while blue would photograph white. All this has been changed by the introduction of what is known as the isochromatic process, by which colours are rendered as a skilful artist working in Indian ink or blacklead pencil would render them.

As an outcome of this capacity of the photographic chemicals, the Royal Academy of Arts has made a new departure in the issue of an Illustrated Catalogue of the principal works exhibited at Burlington House. This is a handsome folio volume, containing one hundred and fifty fac-similes of pictures by Royal Academicians and outsiders. It is not only precious as a work of art, for every touch of the painter’s brush is recognised and reproduced, but it forms a valuable record for future reference. The particular system adopted is that known as the Goupil _photogravure_ process, which is worked by Messrs Boussod Valadon & Company of Paris and London. This firm have published in a similar manner selected pictures from the Paris Salons of the last two years; and we are glad that our Academy authorities have followed such a good example.

Four crematory furnaces are in course of erection at the far-famed Parisian cemetery, Père Lachaise, and will be ready for operation in a short time. These furnaces, which have the outward appearance of ornamental ovens, are built on the model of those in use at Rome and Milan. The cost of cremation will be fifteen francs only—to rich and poor alike. It is said that already sculptors and metal-workers are busy in designing and producing cinerary urns for the preservation of the ashes from these furnaces. These vessels will, at the option of the relatives of the dead, be removed to family vaults, or will be deposited in a building which is to be erected by the city of Paris for their reception.

The late discussion in the _Times_ as to the permanence of water-colour drawings has led the Lords of the Committee of Council on Education to appoint a Commission to inquire into the whole subject, under the efficient chairmanship of Sir F. Leighton, the President of the Royal Academy. With him will work several well-known artists. Captain Abney and Dr Russell, who for some time have been engaged in testing the action of light upon pigments, will act as scientific advisers to the Commission.

It is reported that the recent revival of archæological research in Italy is continually being hampered by the extortionate demands of proprietors on whose lands excavations are desirable. It is also alleged that a large trade has been organised in the manufacture of sham antiquities. Senator Fiorelli, the head of the Archæological Department, seeks to put a stop to these abuses by the passage of a law which will place excavations under state supervision and by official permission only. It is also suggested that the smaller antiquities should only be admitted to be genuine after due examination and the attachment of some form of official stamp or seal.

The London Chamber of Commerce have under their consideration the establishment in the metropolis of Commercial Museums, or, as they might be termed, permanent exhibitions, such as are found in Holland, Belgium, Germany, France, Switzerland, and other countries. With this view, they have deputed their secretary, Mr Kenrick Murray, to visit the Museums of the chief commercial centres on the Continent. They have instructed him to report to them upon the area of the buildings used for the purpose, their financial organisation and annual expenditure, the number of visitors they receive, and their presumed effect upon the trades of the country in which they are situated. Mr Murray will bear Foreign Office introductions to the Queen’s representatives in the different countries which he will visit, and will, therefore, have every facility for carrying out a most important commission.

The most fearful outbreak of volcanic force which the world has experienced since the eruption of Krakatoa in the Straits of Sunda, has recently laid waste many miles of the fairest part of New Zealand. It is not yet known how many human lives have been sacrificed in this terrible visitation, but it is certain that several Maori settlements have been completely destroyed, and that the country for many miles round the centre of disturbance has been literally devastated. The outbreak commenced at midnight on the 9th of last June with a succession of fearful earthquake shocks. Then, for the first time within living memory, Mount Tarawera suddenly became an active volcano, and belched forth torrents of stones and boiling mud mingled with fire and smoke. The once fertile district is covered with a layer of mud and ashes, so that those who have survived the terrible ordeal have starvation and ruin before them. One minor effect of the disaster will be regretted all the world over by those who have visited or have read of the wondrous scenery of New Zealand. The far-famed pink and white terraces have ceased to exist. These terraces were unique, and had they been known in ancient times, must have been counted with the wonders of the world. Boiling water heavily charged with silica issued from the ground, and as it tumbled over the hillside and gradually cooled in its descent, it deposited its silica as a glittering crystallisation. Mr Froude, one of the last visitors who has written upon the subject, says: ‘Stretched before us we saw the white terrace in all its strangeness: a crystal staircase, glittering and stainless as if it were ice, spreading out like an open fan from a point above us on the hillside, and projecting at the bottom into a lake, where it was perhaps two hundred yards wide.’

This hot-lake district was becoming a great sanatorium, and tourists flocked to it from all countries, for the warm water was credited with wonderful healing powers. From this circumstance alone, it was believed that the district had a great future before it. The Maoris thought not a little of the natural wonders of which they were the stewards, and took care to levy blackmail on all their visitors. All this is now at an end, for the wonders have gone, until possibly new ones are gradually developed in their stead.

Much has been written on the subject of mysterious noises, which in most cases, if intelligently inquired into, would be found to have no mystery at all about them. A Professor at Philadelphia recently recorded that at a certain hour each day one of the windows in his house rattled in the most violent manner. On consulting the local railway time-table, he could find no train running at the hour specified. But on examining another table, which included a separate line, he found that a heavy train passed at the time at a distance of several miles from his house. He then referred to the geological formation of the ground between the two points, and at once saw that there was an outcropping ledge of rock which formed a link of connection between the distant railway line and his home. It was the vibration carried by this rock from the passing train that rattled the window.

Dr Marter of Rome has discovered in many of the skulls in the different Roman and Etruscan tombs, as well as in those deposited in the various museums, interesting specimens of ancient dentistry and artificial teeth. These latter are in most cases carved out of the teeth of some large animal. In many instances, these teeth are fastened to the natural ones by bands of gold. No cases of stopped teeth have been discovered, although many cases of decay present themselves where stopping would have been advantageous. The skulls examined date as far back as the sixth century B.C., and prove that the art of dentistry and the pains of toothache are by no means modern institutions.

The city of Hernosand, in Sweden, can boast of being the first place in Europe where the streets are lighted entirely by electricity to the exclusion of gas. It has the advantage of plenty of natural water-power for driving the electric engines, so that the new lights can actually be produced at a cheaper rate than the old ones.

Although many investors have burnt their fingers—metaphorically, we mean—over the electric-lighting question in this country, it seems to be becoming a profitable form of investment in America. A circular addressed by the editor of one of the American papers to the general managers of the lighting Companies has elicited the information that many of them are earning good dividends—in one case as much as eighteen per cent. for the year. As we have before had occasion to remind our readers, the price of gas in this country averages about half what it does in New York, and this fact alone would account for the more flourishing state of transatlantic electric lighting Companies.

At a half-demolished Jesuit College at Vienna, a dog lately fell through a fissure in the pavement. The efforts to rescue the poor animal led to a curious archæological discovery. The dog had, it was found, fallen into a large vault containing ninety coffins. The existence of this underground burial-place had hitherto been quite unsuspected. The inscriptions on the coffins date back to the reign of Maria Theresa, and the bodies are of the monks of that period, and of the nobles who helped to support the monastery.

In an interesting lecture lately delivered before the Royal Institution on ‘Photography as an Aid to Astronomy,’ Mr A. A. Common, who is the principal British labourer in this comparatively new field of research, described his methods of working, and held out sanguine hopes of future things possible by astronomical photography. Speaking of modern dry-plate photography, he said: ‘At a bound, it has gone far beyond anything that was expected of it, and bids fair to overturn a good deal of the practice that has hitherto existed among astronomers. I hope soon to see it recognised as the most potent agent of research and record that has ever been within the reach of the astronomer; so that the records which the future astronomer will use will not be the written impression of dead men’s views, but veritable images of the different objects of the heavens recorded by themselves as they existed.’

Two remarkable and wonderful cases of recovery from bullet-wounds have lately taken place in the metropolis. In one case, that of a girl who was shot by her lover, the bullet is deeply imbedded in the head, too deep to admit of any operation; yet the patient has been discharged from the hospital convalescent. The other case was one of attempted suicide, the sufferer having shot himself in the head with a revolver. In this case, too, the bullet is still in the brain, and in such a position as to prevent the operation of extraction. In spite of this, the patient has been discharged from hospital care, and it is said that he suffers no inconvenience from the consequences of his rash act. A curious coincidence in connection with these cases is that both shots were fired on the same day, the 19th of June, and that both cases were treated at the London Hospital. ‘The times have been,’ says Shakspeare, ‘that, when the brains were out, the man would die.’ The poet puts these words into the mouth of Macbeth, when that wicked king sees the ghost of the murdered Banquo rise before him. In the cases just cited, we have a reality which no poet could equal in romance. People walking about in the flesh with bullets in their brains are certainly far more wonderful things than spectres. These marvellous recoveries from what, a few years ago, would have meant certain death, must be credited to surgical skill and the modern antiseptic method of treating wounds.

Magistrates are continually deploring the use of the revolver among the civil community, and hardly a week passes but some terrible accident or crime is credited to the employment of that weapon. That it is a most valuable arm when used in legitimate warfare, the paper lately read before the Royal United Service Institution by Major Kitchener amply proved. According to this paper, every nation but our own seems to consider that the revolver is the most important weapon that cavalry can be armed with. In Russia, for instance, all officers, sergeant-majors, drummers, buglers, and even clerks, carry revolvers. In Germany, again, there is a regular annual course of instruction in the use of the weapon. In our army, however, the revolver seems to be in a great measure ignored, excepting by officers on active foreign service.

A new method of detecting the source of an offensive odour in a room is given by _The Sanitarian_ newspaper. In the room in question, the smell had become so unbearable that the carpet was taken up, and a carpenter was about to rip up the flooring to discover, if possible, the cause. By a happy inspiration, the services of some sanitary inspectors in the shape of a couple of bluebottle flies were first called into requisition. The flies buzzed about in their usual aggravating manner for some minutes, but eventually they settled upon the crack between two boards in the floor. The boards were thereupon taken up, and just underneath them was found the decomposing body of a rat.

The extent to which the trade in frozen meat from distant countries has grown since the introduction, only a few years back, of the system of freezing by the compression and subsequent expansion of air, is indicated by the constant arrival in this country of vast shiploads of carcases from the antipodes. The largest cargo of dead-meat ever received lately arrived in the Thames from the Falkland Islands on board the steamship _Selembria_. This consisted of thirty thousand frozen carcases of sheep. This ship possesses four engines for preserving and freezing the meat, and the holds are lined with a non-conducting packing of timber and charcoal.

A new system of coating iron or steel with a covering of lead, somewhat similar in practice to the so-called galvanising process with zinc, has been introduced by Messrs Justice & Co. of Chancery Lane, London, the agents for the Ajax Metal Company of Philadelphia. Briefly described, the process consists in charging molten lead with a flux composed of sal ammoniac, arsenic, phosphorus, and borax; after which, properly cleansed iron or steel plates will when dipped therein receive a coating of the lead. The metal so protected will be valuable for roofs, in place of sheet-lead or zinc, for gutters, and for numberless purposes where far less durable materials are at present used with very false economy.

It would seem, from the results of some experiments lately conducted on the Dutch state railroads in order to discover the best method of protecting iron from the action of the atmosphere, that red-lead paints are far more durable than those which owe their body to iron oxide. The test-plates showed also that the paint adhered to the metal with far greater tenacity if the usual scraping and brushing were replaced by pickling—that is, treatment with acid. The best results were obtained when the metal plate was first pickled in spirits of salts (hydrochloric acid) and water, then washed, and finally rubbed with oil before applying the paint.

The latest advance in electric lighting is represented by the introduction of Mr Upward’s primary battery, the novelty in which consists in its being excited by a gas instead of a liquid. The gas employed is chlorine, and the battery cells have to be hermetically sealed, for chlorine is, as every dabbler in chemical experiments knows, a most suffocating and corrosive gas. In practice, this primary battery is connected with an accumulator or secondary battery, so that the electricity generated by it is stored for subsequent use. The invention represents a convenient means of producing the electric light on a small scale for domestic use, where gas-engines and dynamo-machines are not considered desirable additions to the household arrangements. The battery is made by Messrs Woodhouse and Rawson, West Kensington.

Mr Fryer’s Refuse Destructor has now been adopted in several of our large towns. Newcastle is the latest which has taken up the system, and in that town thirty tons of refuse are consumed in the furnaces daily. The residue consists of between seven and eight tons of burnt clinker and dry ashes, which are used for concrete and as a bedding for pavement. There is no actual profit attached to the system, but it affords a convenient method of dealing with some of that unmanageable material which is a necessary product of large communities, and which might otherwise form an accumulation most dangerous to health.

After three years of constant work, the signal station on Ailsa Craig, in the Firth of Clyde, is announced, by the Northern Light Commissioners, to be ready for action. In foggy or snowy weather, the fog-horns which have been placed there will utter their warning blasts to mariners, and will doubtless lead to the prevention of many a shipwreck. The trumpets are of such a powerful description, that in calm weather they will be audible at a distance of nearly twenty miles from the station; and as the blasts are of a distinctive character, the captain of a ship will be easily able to recognise them, and from them to learn his whereabouts.

Mr Sinclair, the British consul at Foochow, reports that the manufacture of brick tea of varieties of tea-dust by Russian merchants, for export to Siberia, is acquiring considerable importance at Foochow. The cheapness of the tea-dust, the cheapness of manufacture, the low export duties upon it, together with the low import duties in Russia, help to make this trade successful and profitable. The brick is said to be beautifully made, and very portable. Mr Sinclair wonders that the British government does not get its supplies from the port of Foochow, as they would find it less expensive and more wholesome than what is now given the army and the navy. He suggests that a government agent should be employed on the spot to manufacture the brick tea in the same way as adopted by the Russians there and at Hankow.

CYCLING AS A HEALTH-PRODUCT.

The advantages of a fine physical form are under-estimated by a large class of people, who have a half-defined impression that any considerable addition to the muscles and general physique must be at the expense of the mental qualities. This mistaken impression is so prevalent, that many professional literary people avoid any vigorous exercise for fear that it will be a drain upon their whole system, and thus upon their capacity for brain-work. The truth is that such complete physical inertness has the effect of clogging the action of the blood, of retaining the impurities of the system, and of eventually bringing about a host of small nervous disorders that induce in turn mental anxiety—the worst possible drain upon the nervous organisation. When one of these people, after a year of sick-headache and dyspepsia, comes to realise that healthy nerves cannot exist without general physical health and activity, he joins a gymnasium, strains his long-unused muscles on bars and ropes, or by lifting heavy weights. The result usually is that the muscles, so long unaccustomed to use, cannot withstand the sudden strain imposed upon them, and the would-be athlete retires with some severe or perhaps fatal injury.

But occasionally he finds some especial gymnastic exercise suited to him, and weathers the first ordeal. He persists bravely, and is astonished to find that his digestion improves, his weight increases, and his mind becomes clear and brighter. He exercises systematically, and cultivates a few special muscles, perhaps those of the shoulder, to the hindrance of the complex muscles of the neck and throat; or perhaps those of the back and groin, as in rowing, to the detriment of chest, muscle, and development; and although his condition is greatly improved, he is apt to become wearied from a lack of physical exhilaration, or a lack of that sweetening of mental enjoyment which gives cycling such a lasting charm. If a man has no heart in his exercise, he will not persist in it long enough to get its finest benefits.

In the gentle swinging motion above the wheel, there is nothing to disturb the muscular or nervous system once accustomed to it; indeed, it is the experience of most cyclists that the motion is at first tranquillising to the nerves, and eventually becomes a refreshing stimulus. The man who goes through ten hours’ daily mental fret and worry, will in an hour of pleasant road-riding, in the fresh sweet-scented country, throw off all its ill effects, and prepare himself for the effectual accomplishment of another day’s brain-work. The steady and active employment of all the muscles, until they are well heated and healthily tired, clears the blood from the brain, sharpens the appetite, and insures a night’s refreshing sleep.

In propelling the wheel, all the flexor and extensor muscles of the legs are in active motion; while in balancing, the smaller muscles of the legs and feet and the prominent ones of the groin and thighs are brought into play. The wrist and arms are employed in steering; while the whole of the back, neck, and throat muscles are used in pulling up on the handles in a spurt. Thus the exertion is distributed more thoroughly over the whole body than in any other exercise. A tired feeling in any one part of the body is generally occasioned by a weakness caused by former disuse of the muscles located there, and this disappears as the rider becomes habituated to the new motions of the wheel. With an experienced cyclist, the sensation of fatigue does not develop itself prominently in any one part of the body, but is so evenly adjusted as to be hardly noticeable.

The wretched habit of cyclists riding with the body inclined forward has produced an habitual bent attitude with several riders, and gives rise to a prejudice against the sport as producing a ‘bicycle back.’ Nearly all oarsmen have this form of back; it has not proved detrimental, but it is ungainly, and the methods by which it is acquired on a bicycle are entirely unnecessary. Erect riding is more graceful, it develops the chest, and adds an exercise to the muscles of the throat and chest that rowing does not.

The exposure to out-of-door air, the constant employment of the mind by the delight of changing scenery or agreeable companionship, add their contribution, and make cycling, to those who have tried practically every other sport, the most enjoyable, healthful, useful exercise ever known. Most cyclers become sound, well-made, evenly balanced, healthy men, and bid fair to leave to their descendants some such heritage of health and vigour as descended from the hardy old Fathers to the men who have made this country what it is.

OCCASIONAL NOTES.

FLAX-CULTURE.

The depressed condition of agriculture, consequent on the low prices obtainable for all kinds of produce, has led the British farmer to turn his attention to the growth of crops hitherto neglected or unthought of. This is exemplified by the interest now taken in the cultivation of tobacco and the inquiries being made regarding it, with a view to its wholesale production in England. It is doubtful, however, if in this case the British farmer will be able to compete successfully with his American rival, the latter being favoured by nature with soil and climate specially suited for the growth of the ‘weed.’

There are other plants, however, which claim our attention, and amongst these the flax plant. This is perfectly hardy and easily cultivated, and is free from the bugbear of American competition. It is grown largely in Ireland, especially in the north, and at the present time is the best paying crop grown in the island. The following figures show the quantity of fibre produced during the year 1885: Ireland, 20,909 tons; Great Britain, 444 tons. As far as the British Islands are concerned, Ireland has practically a monopoly in the production of this valuable article of commerce. It was formerly grown to a large extent in Yorkshire and in some parts of Scotland; but of late years, was given up in favour of other crops. It can now be produced to show much better results than formerly, flax not having fallen in price so much in proportion as other farm produce. Compared with the requirements of the linen manufacturers, the quantity grown in the British Isles is very small, and had to be supplemented by the import from foreign countries, during 1885, of over eighty-three thousand tons, value for three million and a half sterling. Two-thirds of this quantity is imported from Russia, the remainder principally from Holland and Belgium.

The manufacturer will give the preference to home-grown fibre provided that it is equal in all respects to the foreign. We can scarcely hope to compete successfully with Holland and Belgium, as flax-culture has been brought to great perfection there; but we _can_ produce a fibre much superior to Russian, and if we can produce it cheap enough, can beat Russia out of the market. The average price of Irish flax in 1885 was about fifty-two pounds per ton; the yield per acre, where properly treated, would be from five to six hundredweight on an average. In many cases the yield rose far above these figures, reaching ten to twelve hundredweight, and in one instance which came under the writer’s personal observation, to eighteen hundredweight. A new scutching-machine—a French patent—is now being tested in Belfast, and it is stated that by its use the yield of fibre is increased by thirty per cent. Should this apparatus come into general use, it will add greatly to the value of the flax plant as a crop. In continental countries, the seed is saved, and its value contributes largely to the profit of flax-culture there. Any difficulty that might exist in this country with regard to the preparation of the fibre for market might be met by farmers in a district banding together to provide the requisite machines, which can now be had cheaper and better than before.

If flax-culture is profitable in Ireland, it can be made so in Britain; and if only half of the eighty-three thousand tons annually imported could be grown at home, a large sum would be kept in the country which now goes to enrich the foreigner.

THE RIGHTS OF DESERTED WIVES.

A legal correspondent writes to us on this subject as follows:

‘It has long been felt to be a defect in the English law that if a man deserted his wife without any cause or otherwise, she had no direct remedy against him in respect of the expense of her maintenance and the bringing up of the children (if any) of the marriage. In case the wife so deserted could carry on any business, or in any other way acquire the means of livelihood, she could obtain a protection order so early as the year 1858, long before the passing of the first Married Women’s Property Act. But if she were not so fortunately situated, and had no near relatives to whom she could look for assistance, she must go into the workhouse, and leave the poor-law officers to look after her husband. This has often been productive of great hardship, for it is no light thing for a woman delicately nurtured to become an inmate of the refuge for the destitute. But by an Act passed in the recent session, this defect has been remedied to a considerable extent in an easy and practical way. Thus, if an innocent woman has been deserted by her husband, she may have him summoned before any two justices of the peace in petty sessions or any stipendiary magistrate; and thereupon, if the justices or magistrate should be satisfied that the husband, being able wholly or in part to maintain his wife, or his wife and family, as the case may be, has wilfully refused or neglected so to do, and that he has deserted his wife, they or he may order that the husband pay to his wife such weekly sum not exceeding two pounds as may be considered to be in accordance with his means, taking also into account any means which the wife may have for the support of herself and family, if any. Power is given for the alteration of the order whenever it should appear to be necessary or just, in case of any alteration in the circumstances of the husband or of the wife. And any such order may be discharged on the application of the husband, if it should appear just to do so. Writers in some of the legal journals have expressed the opinion that this change in the law goes too far; but the present writer has long advocated such a change, and it appears to be altogether an improvement upon the previous state of the law in this respect.’

THE GREAT SPHINX.

An interesting work has been going on, under the direction of M. Maspéro, at the great Sphinx of Gizeh, which has been buried, all but the head, for centuries. M. Maspéro, while we write, had got down as far as the paws, on the right of which are a number of Greek inscriptions. The paws appear to be cut out of the solid stone, and afterwards built round with masonry, the surface of which is painted red with yellow additions. Bryant is of opinion that the Sphinx was originally a vast rock of different strata, which, from a shapeless mass, the Egyptians fashioned into an object of beauty and veneration. Although the excavators have now reached a lower level than Carglia and others, yet much remains to be done before the whole of this wondrous specimen of ancient art is entirely uncovered; for, if we are to believe Pliny’s statements, the head of the Sphinx was one hundred and two feet in circumference, and sixty-two feet high from the belly; whilst the body was one hundred and forty-three feet long, and was, moreover, supposed to be the sepulchre of King Amasis, who died 525 B.C. But, according to Herodotus, the body of this monarch was buried in the Temple of Sais; and on the defeat and death of his son by the Persians, it was taken from its tomb, brutally mangled, and then publicly burnt, to the horror of the Egyptian people. If the Sphinx is really found to be a solid rock, Pliny’s story of its having been a tomb falls to the ground. M. Maspéro has been working in layers of hard sand which has lain undisturbed for probably eighteen hundred years. This is found to be so close and hard, that it is more like solid stone than sand, and requires a great amount of labour to cut through. The work is, however, progressing with energy and determination, and it is to be hoped that it will not be suffered to stop abruptly for want of funds.

NOVEL USE OF ELECTRICITY.

Electric power has been applied in a very novel manner of late on the estate of the Marquis of Salisbury at Hatfield, where it has been in operation for some time past in various ways and works; but the last is perhaps the most peculiar of all. On one of the farms, ensilage has been stored in large quantities, a farm-building being turned into a silo for this purpose; and it being decided that the green food shall be ‘chaffed’ before placing it in the silo, a chaff-cutter has been erected about twenty feet above the ground. This machine is not only driven by electric power, but the same motor is employed to elevate the grass to the level of the chaff-cutter. This is done so effectually that about four tons of rough grass are raised and cut per hour. A sixteen-light ‘Brush’ machine is the generator, driven by a huge water-wheel, and both are on the banks of the river Lea, a mile and a half distant. The power is transmitted to one of Siemens’ type, specially constructed to work as a motor with the ‘Brush’ machine. Nor is this all, for the same electric power is ingeniously applied to work the ‘lifts’ in use at the many haystacks on the estate.

PICCIOLA.

[Count de Charney, when in prison, was led into a philosophical train of reflections by the sight of a flower which grew up between the flagstones of the prison court.]

Of all the flowers that deck the verdant knoll,
And lift their snowy petals to the air,
One spray has risen in my dungeon bare
That breaks the sceptic chain that bound my soul,
And makes me feel the might of God’s control.
O flower of sweetness! thy frail form so fair
Swept from my brow the cankering lines of care,
And safe will lead me to the eternal goal.
What hand but One could guard thy tender leaves
From the fierce fury of the summer sun,
When noonday hovers o’er my prison dun?
’Tis He that for my hapless fortune grieves!
Blest flower! that drew me to the arms of God,
With grateful tears I bathe thy dewy sod.

ROBERT W. CRYAN.

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