Chapter XIII: Arthur Trafford's Tactics (1)

I found Marian Reed in the morning-room with Mrs Tipper, and she had already assumed the _haut-en-bas_ tone in talking with the little lady. The latter had innocently thought that the lowliness of their antecedents would be a bond of union between them; but Miss Marian Reed considered that her boarding-school education placed her far above the level of poor people, though she had for a time lived with them. She had not of late associated with her aunt and cousins; and she had no sympathy with one like Mrs Tipper, who was not ashamed to talk about the times when she had lived in a cottage, and done her own washing and scrubbing. She was loftily explaining that she had never soiled her hands with 'menial' work, as I entered the room.

Miss Reed had evidently taken a great deal of pains with her toilet; and I was obliged to acknowledge to myself that she looked very striking, and better in a room than in walking-gear. Moreover, she got through the rather trying ordeal of dining for the first time at a luxurious table, much better than might have been expected. She did not suffer from any doubts about herself; and was consequently free from self-consciousness, as well as being quick to note and imitate the ways of others. In conversation she was quite at ease. The consciousness of an acquaintance with Mrs Markham, French, music, and so forth; and the entire freedom from doubt as to her ability to cope with any question which might arise, imparted an ease and confidence to her tone not usually seen in girls of more perception. Moreover, I could not but acknowledge that she was clever in the way of being quick to seize such ideas as were presented to her. And yet hers was just the kind of cleverness which makes some people shrink from the designation as a reproach--the flippant shallow sharpness which so grates upon the nerves of the mind. She was the kind of girl who would talk a philosopher mute, and not have the slightest misgivings about the cause of his silence.

Her bearing towards me had undergone a change, which for a while somewhat puzzled me. I was not a little amused when I discovered the cause. Mrs Tipper had innocently divulged the fact that I was paid for my services at Fairview; and as I had made her a little afraid of me, the relief of finding that I could be displaced at will was great in proportion. She was now loftily condescending towards me, sufficiently marking her sense of the distance between us; though I think somewhat at a loss to account for my cheerfulness under it. In truth I was audacious enough to rather enjoy the fun of the situation, and for the moment did not attempt to hide my amusement.

But when, after dinner, Arthur Trafford made his appearance, the new-comer's attention was very quickly diverted from me. He was waiting for us in the morning-room, and naturally enough curious to see the new-comer. And however great his objection to her coming there, he was gentleman enough to greet her in the right way. Indeed, now that the matter had got beyond his control, he was, I think, desirous to make the _amende_ to Lilian for his previous too dictatorial objections. Probably, too, he perceived that he was not likely to carry his point by such means, though he was not hopeless of doing so by another way.

He took great pains to make himself agreeable to Marian Reed; and it was very evident that his little courteous speeches had their full effect. He was doubtless the first gentleman she had conversed with; and I could see that she was a great deal impressed, I think enduing his deferential politeness and earnest tone with a deeper meaning than he intended them to have.

Lilian looked pleasantly on, accepting his courtesy to Marian as a kindness to herself, after what had taken place. She was very triumphant about it to me afterwards, as a proof of his goodness of heart, and so forth. For the present she was content to sit apart, thanking him with an occasional glance.

But after a while, he appeared to consider that he had done quite sufficient to earn some reward, and drew Lilian out to the garden. Miss Reed was thumping away at the piano, playing a showy school-piece for his delectation; and when she presently looked round, she discovered that her cavalier had disappeared.

'Why, where's'----

'Mr Trafford is with Lilian in the garden,' I explained.

'Oh, is he? Then I will go too'--rising as she spoke. 'I haven't seen the garden yet.'

'I think you must put up with my attendance, Miss Reed. Lovers are privileged to be unsociable.'

'Lovers!' she ejaculated. 'You don't mean to say---- _He_ can't be her lover!'

'He is, I assure you, Miss Reed. They have been engaged some time; and will be married as soon as circumstances permit.'

'I should never have thought--he wasn't a bit like a lover--to her,' she said in an angry tone, her colour more raised than I had yet seen it. In fact, as I suspected, Miss Reed's fancy had been caught--to herself no doubt she termed it falling in love, and she was a young lady of very strong impulses, which were entirely untrained. In their ultra refinement, Arthur Trafford's good looks were precisely the kind to attract one like Marian Reed--his fashionable languid air being specially attractive to one who indulged in the kind of literature which is not remarkable for backbone. She curtly declined going into the garden with me, and drew a chair towards one of the windows, where she sat watching the two figures as they passed and repassed in the strip of moonlight outside, her brows lowering and face darkening.

Mrs Tipper amiably endeavoured to do her part towards entertaining her; but Marian Reed was not in the mood to be entertained by Mrs Tipper; and made it so very evident that she was not, that the little lady became silent and constrained, though, strange to say, I do not think her admiration for the girl decreased in consequence. Presently Marian went to the piano again, and amused herself trying bits of Lilian's songs; apparently considering neither Mrs Tipper nor me worth cultivating. But I forced myself upon her notice so far as to tell her that Lilian might consider it to be too soon after her father's death for song-singing. Miss Reed opined that that was all nonsense. There was no necessity for being gloomy, and a little singing and music would rouse her up a little. The music had certainly a rousing effect, though not in the precise way she imagined; and her singing! Accustomed as I was to Lilian's sweet voice and pure style, it was almost excruciating to listen to her songs as rendered by the other's loud untrained voice. I sat down by my dear old friend's side at a distant window, and did my best to make up for Marian Reed's rudeness. But she had not taken offence. As she generally did in such cases, she simply attributed it all to her own want of breeding, and that being irremediable, accepted the consequences without repining. Moreover, she was full of admiration of Marian Reed's good looks.

'Is she not handsome, my dear?' was her little aside to me. 'And seems so accomplished too.' (One 'tune,' as she termed it, was quite as good as another, from an artistic point of view, to Mrs Tipper.) 'Such a good thing for Lilian that Miss Reed has been educated like a lady; is it not? To tell the truth, I was rather afraid she might turn out to be a common person like me, you know. At her age, I should never have done for Fairview; not even so well as I do now. Knowing the piano and French, does make such a difference; doesn't it?'

I could but raise the hand I held to my lips, dissenting so entirely as I did from the notion of Marian Reed's superiority. And I believed that Mrs Tipper herself was only dazzled for a time; her perception was too true to be blinded for very long. When the lovers re-entered, I saw that they were regarded by Marian with a new and uneasy curiosity.

In our _tête-à-tête_ that night, Lilian could talk of nothing but her lover's goodness and readiness to fall in with her scheme for Marian's welfare. 'Dear Arthur, he made no objections now. He had only objected at first, because he felt a little hurt, as it was quite natural he should, at not being consulted. But everything would be well now.' I listened in some little surprise to this sudden change in his tactics, until Lilian unconsciously gave me the key.

'Arthur is quite willing now. She is to be always free to live at Fairview, as long as she is inclined, and have five hundred a year, as I wish her to have. But he says there is no necessity for legal arrangements, as though we could not trust each other, you know.'

Had I considered Marian Reed's claims to be as great as Lilian considered them to be, I might have tried my influence against Arthur Trafford's in the matter. As it was, I urged no objection to his arrangement, though I quite understood its import. It would of course be quite possible for Lilian's husband so to contrive matters that Marian Reed would not be long inclined to live at Fairview; and as to the five hundred a year! Well, I believed it would do no real harm to her if she were by-and-by reduced to two hundred and her former sphere again. Hers was not the nature to improve in consequence of having more power in her hands, and a sister or companion for Lilian she never would be. It was too late in the day for any radical change in her tastes and habits. They were travelling different roads, and the longer they lived the farther they would be apart.

Lilian's sentiments, as days passed by, were not difficult to fathom. Her very anxiety to make the most of anything in favour of the girl her whole soul shrank from, spoke volumes to me. Indeed she had no little difficulty in combating the repulsion which it shocked her to feel towards her father's child.

Marian did not miss anything or suffer, as the other would have done in her place. She never perceived the underlying cause of Lilian's anxiety to please and conciliate her. It was not in her nature to see that Lilian was, so to speak, always pleading for forgiveness for the wrong done to Marian's mother, and trying to expiate her father's fault. Then, conscious as she was of shrinking from the coarser mind, which was being day by day unfolded to us, poor Lilian was terribly afraid lest it should be apparent to the other; not herself perceiving the mere fact of its very coarseness rendering it the more impervious. In truth, self-assertion and _hauteur_ would have won a great deal more respect from Marian, than did the too evident desire to please. She was beginning almost to look down upon the girl she could not understand; conscious how different she herself would have been were she in Lilian's place and Lilian in hers; and without any misgivings as to her own superiority. She was also beginning to assume a great deal, and I was the only one to do battle with her, though I had some difficulty in keeping her within due bounds now. As it may be supposed, I did not gain favour with her. There was the difference that she liked Lilian and looked down upon her; whilst she disliked me and was a little afraid of me.

Mrs Chichester made great and palpable efforts to act against her judgment in noticing Miss Reed; 'for dear Lilian's sake,' as she confided to Robert Wentworth and me. 'It was the only thing to be done now. Of course she could not but regret that dear Lilian should not have asked the advice of some judicious friend in the matter. No one could doubt its being a mistake to bring Miss Reed to Fairview; now did not Mr Wentworth think so?'

'Yes; Mr Wentworth did think so.'

'And what did dear Miss Haddon think?'

Miss Haddon had advised Lilian to follow her instincts in the matter.

'But pray excuse me; do not you think that is rather dangerous advice to give--to some persons?'

'Yes; I do, Mrs Chichester.'

At which Mrs Chichester was in a flutter of consternation, lest I should for one moment imagine that she had meant to be unkind in leading me on to make such an admission of fallibility, and prettily begged Mr Wentworth to give his assistance to enable her to obtain my forgiveness.

It took their united powers of persuasion, and gave Mrs Chichester opportunities for all sorts of pretty amiabilities, before Miss Haddon could be brought to reason; and then the former had to be satisfied with what she termed 'a very slight unbending of the stern brow,' as an acknowledgment of my defeat.

Then how pleasant and amiable it was to take all the trouble she did to put me in a good humour with myself again, by pointing out that the very wisest of us may sometimes err in our judgment, and so forth. Matters were progressing thus agreeably, when Lilian wanted Mrs Chichester's advice about the arrangement of some ferns in the conservatory, and I was left for a few moments alone with Robert Wentworth.

'Lilian did _not_ obey her instincts in inviting this Miss Reed to come to reside with her, Miss Haddon.'

I smiled.

'And believing that, you allowed the stigma of being an injudicious friend to be attached to me.'

'Because I saw you so willed it; and I do not waste my powers of oratory when they are not required.'

Then, abruptly changing the subject--there was none of the suavity and consideration, which Mrs Chichester considered to be so essential to friendship, between him and me--he went on: 'Tell me what you think of this Miss Reed. Is she what she appears to be?'

'What does she appear to you?'

'Well, I suppose we could not expect her to be quite a gentlewoman, but really---- Your little Becky is a great deal nearer the mark, according to my standard.'

'Yes; I think she is.'

'And time will do nothing for her--not the slightest hope of it! She would never be a companion for Lilian, if they lived together a hundred years--of course you see that.'

For Lilian! How plainly he was always shewing that she was the centre to which all his thoughts converged.

'Yes; I see that they will never be companions; but Miss Reed will miss nothing; she will do no harm to Lilian.'

'Not in one way, perhaps.'

'Not in any way, Mr Wentworth, other than paining her sometimes.'

'But if that might have been avoided?'

'Neither sorrow nor pain, nor any other thing, will injure Lilian in the long-run. You ought to know that.'

'I am not an advocate for enduring unnecessary pain, Miss Haddon.'

'I believe Lilian will have to suffer--it may be a great deal--and some preliminary training will enable her to bear what is to come all the easier.'

'I am afraid Mrs Chichester is right after all, in considering you to be a little hard, Miss Haddon.'

'Afraid Mrs Chichester is right! I have a great mind to tell her!' I ejaculated, rising.

'Have a greater mind, and don't,' he smilingly returned.

'But it might be good for you to go into training a little as well as the rest of us; and Mrs Chichester might not object to undertake'----

'Could not you try what you could do towards bringing me into a better frame of mind?' he said. 'It would be like an acknowledgment of weakness to hand me over to Mrs Chichester, you know. You might at anyrate try what could be done for me before acknowledging yourself unequal to the task, in that faint-hearted way.'

'In other words, you want me to stay and talk Lilian to you,' was my mental comment, as I shook my head and moved away.

As I have said, I liked Robert Wentworth better than any other gentleman who came to Fairview. Arthur Trafford occasionally brought a friend with him down to dinner; but his friends were not of the pattern which pleased me--men who looked, and spoke, and moved as though they were only playing the part of supernumeraries on the stage of life. With Robert Wentworth there was all the pleasure of feeling that I was thoroughly understood. I was indeed able to unfold my thoughts to him, as I could not even to Lilian, love her as I did. She was a girl, and I a woman, and she deferred to me as to an elder sister; constantly, though unconsciously, reminding me of the eleven years' difference between our ages.

Robert Wentworth and I met on equal terms. With him I neither gave nor obtained quarter; and our encounters were as refreshing as a tonic to my mental health. Whatever the subject broached, we freely shewed each other our thoughts about it; and I learned to give and take a blow with perfect good-humour. I was sometimes not a little startled to find how completely he was beginning to track out certain tendencies, which I had hitherto flattered myself were so safely packed away out of sight as to be unknown to those with whom I associated. More than once the common-sense which he bantered me about setting too high a value upon, was blinded, and I was led on by wily steps into the enchanted regions of romance, and penetrated by their subtle influence, gave words to my thoughts before I recollected and was on guard again. But no word or look of Robert Wentworth's wounded my _amour propre_ at such times; my little flights of fancy met with the gravest respect. In truth, he was a great deal more tolerant to what he termed my romance, than to any little slip in my reasoning; because he had the candour to tell me my ideality was getting starved for want of nourishment, and needed a little encouragement, whilst my reasoning powers required an occasional snubbing. 'And as to pretending you have no romance--you are the most romantic young lady I know. Don't protest; it would not be the least use; though I will not expose you to the world--not even to Lilian.'

I only knew that he was gradually teaching me to be less ashamed of such things than I had latterly been, and so rendering me less morbid, and more fit to be Philip's wife. Philip should thank him for that as well as other things, by-and-by. The hope that Philip and he would be friends, and that there would be pleasant communion between us three in the future, was very cheering to me. How complete would have been the picture could I have imagined Lilian in it as the wife of Robert Wentworth--what a delightful quartet!

Meantime, everything was flowing smoothly on with the lovers again. I think that I was the only one at Fairview to note the change which was taking place in Marian Reed. She had never been accustomed to exercise self-control, and was yielding more and more to an infatuation which was making her life miserable.

She loved Arthur Trafford, as such natures do love, with a wild, ungovernable, selfish passion; and with unreasoning anger, altogether refused to accept the existing state of things. She would not accept happiness in any way but one; and moodily dwelt upon what she encouraged herself to believe were her wrongs. Why should she be without a name, dependent upon others' bounty, and denied the love she craved, whilst Lilian possessed everything? It was easy enough to be amiable when you had all you wanted! But she did not covet all--only love, and that was denied her. All this she shewed me in more ways than one, which roused my suspicion that she was doing what she could to attract Arthur Trafford, and would have felt no compunction in winning his love from Lilian, had that been possible. There were occasions when it was almost impossible to avoid the conclusion that she was trying to outvie Lilian, in the only way she knew how to outvie a rival. I knew that she must be spending a great deal more than was right or necessary upon dress, so constant were the changes she made, availing herself of everything which is invented in the way of ornament by fashionable milliners for fashionable woe; whilst her large handsome white shoulders were thrust upon our notice a great deal more than was in good taste. And as to her conversation; partly loud and self-asserting; partly sentimental, accompanied with languishing glances at her hero from the great black eyes---- But I must not go on. I am afraid I was not inclined to allow her a single good quality just at this time; and therefore my judgment must, I suppose, be taken with a grain of salt. Nevertheless, allowing for hidden good qualities, which I had not given her credit for possessing, she really was not pleasant as a companion just now.

Much as dear old Mrs Tipper admired her personally, even she was obliged to acknowledge that Miss Reed was not quite so amiable and easy to get on with as could be desired. Indeed, more than once had I found it necessary to protect the kind little lady from the ill-humour of Marian, and the sharp way with which I was immediately retorted upon did not greatly discomfit me. It was enough that I had the power to keep her within due bounds towards others.

I think it was specially obnoxious to her to find that I was observant of her demeanour towards Arthur Trafford, and made a point of putting in an appearance when she happened to be _tête-à-tête_ with him. I was gravely displeased, as time went on, to find that he not only suspected the state of Marian Reed's feelings towards him, but amused himself by making it more apparent, feeding her vanity with all sorts of exaggerated compliments, accompanied by languishing glances.

Was this conduct worthy of Lilian's affianced husband? I knew that he did not in reality even admire Marian's style of good looks, and was only amused by her too evident predilection for him. But what was he, to find amusement thus? I asked myself, indignant for Lilian's sake.

'You are very uncomplimentary to Miss Reed, I think, Mr Trafford,' I said one day, when I had been the witness of a scene bordering upon flirtation between them, and could no longer keep silence. Lilian was in the garden with her aunt when he arrived, and Marian Reed had found it out of her power to get rid of me; though she had not scrupled to let me see that my company was not desired. Arthur Trafford's flattery had been rather more marked than usual, and I lost all patience.

'Uncomplimentary!' she ejaculated, looking very much astonished. Had he not been telling her that she had displayed more than usual taste in her toilet, and was looking dreadfully killing to-night?

'I meant uncomplimentary to your sense, Miss Reed.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'I think Mr Trafford does.'

He flushed up, giving me an angry glance. She answered for him.

'I am sure Mr Trafford did not mean to be uncomplimentary in _any_ way;' with a little defiant toss of the head and glance towards him.

Of course he could only protest that he did not; and she was perfectly satisfied. He evidently knew better than I did the kind of compliments which would be most acceptable to her. Indeed I suppose she would not have considered them to be flattery at all, but simply the truth, which there was no harm in his telling her.

'She likes that sort of thing,' he said, with a little awkward laugh, when presently he and I were for a few moments alone together. 'And I don't see that there can be much harm in saying a few complimentary words to a girl, if it gratifies her, Miss Haddon.'

'Well, I am glad that you do not _gratify_ her in Lilian's presence, Mr Trafford; she would perceive what Miss Reed apparently does not.'

He reddened again. 'Lilian is so essentially and entirely different in every way. You can hardly expect the same kind of refinement in the other.'

'I suppose not; but I cannot see that that is a reason for treating them both with disrespect. It is quite as ill a compliment to Lilian as to Miss Reed, to flatter the latter's vanity as you do.'

'I don't see any ill compliment in telling a good-looking girl that she is so, if she likes to be told it,' he repeated. 'No one can deny that she is a fine girl, in her way.'

'I suppose she is; but I admire Lilian too much to be enthusiastic about Miss Reed's style of beauty, Mr Trafford.'

He was getting more decidedly out of temper, muttering something about some women being so hard upon their own sex, as he turned away.

I had done no good by my interference, only caused them to be a little more guarded in my presence, and perhaps dislike me more. But Marian Reed no longer made any effort to conceal the restless discontent which devoured her. Not for a moment suspecting the cause, Lilian was greatly puzzled to account for the other's increasing discontent, and redoubled her efforts to please, though she was only snubbed for her pains.

'Do you think that I leave anything undone, Mary?' she would anxiously ask me, when she and I were alone. 'Or do you think that Marian's feelings are really deeper than we at first imagined them to be, about--the wrong done to her mother, and that all this luxury jars upon her?' After waiting a moment for an answer, which came not (how could I express my belief as to the real cause of Marian's discomfort?), she went on: 'But you know how much I try to spare her, Mary--you know that I would not for the world do anything to remind her of the shame. Do I not share it?'

Yes; I did know. But I could only kiss the sweet brow and murmur some platitude about hoping that things would right themselves in time. I would not attempt to inculcate any of the worldly wisdom which it had cost me my youth to obtain. Rather was I inclined to encourage her pure faith and trust in others--her ignorance of evil--as long as possible. The pain which comes with one kind of knowledge, I would spare her as long as possible. For the present, it did her no harm to believe a little too much in others; at least so I told myself.

Darling! whatever others might think, _I_ knew that your gentleness and forbearance did not proceed from weakness. When the time of trial came, they would see! It was nearer than I imagined it to be, and came in a different and far more serious form than my gravest fears had foreshadowed. It was nearly six months after Mr Farrar's death, and there was beginning to be some talk of preparing for the wedding, which was to take place in two months, Lilian having yielded to her lover's importunities the more readily from the knowledge that she was obeying her father's wishes, when like a sudden thunder-clap, the shock came.

COLOUR-BLINDNESS.

The peculiar defect of vision known as colour-blindness to which many people are subject, is due to various causes; but very little is known of its real nature. In different persons it has a different effect, being in some a complete inability to distinguish between the commonest colours; while in others it is merely a temporary confusion of the impressions conveyed by different hues, or a tendency to give the wrong names to colours, which can be perfectly distinguished from each other, though the mind cannot verify, so to speak, the distinction.

To take the first case first. A man who is perfectly 'colour-blind' cannot detect the slightest difference between the stripes on the 'red, white, and blue' flag; to him the red and green lamps of the railways are the same; and the leaves and flowers of the most variously stocked garden are more uniform in tone, in the clearest sunlight, than they would be to an ordinary eye by moonlight. (The effect of moonlight, it is well known, is to give a monochromous appearance to the most varied colours.) In the other case, a man who has, say the three cardinal colours, red, blue, and yellow, placed before him, can tell that there _is_ a difference between them, but is unable to identify them; and while perhaps one day he is able to sort a number of pieces of glass of these three colours, he will be unable to perform the operation the next day.

Persons who are thus afflicted--for it is an affliction, though often they do not actually know of the defect to which they are subject--may possess in every other way the keenest eyesight; and it by no means follows that a man who is colour-blind has in any other way less perfect eyesight than an artist or any other person whose calling requires nicety of distinction in the matter of colours and hues. The question occurs, To what is colour-blindness due? In certain cases, to a want of education of the eye in this particular service; but more generally to local causes and diseases, and to hereditary defect. Instances occurring under the first-named class are not real cases of colour-blindness. It is really no more true to say that a man is colour-blind because he calls red 'green,' or blue 'yellow' persistently, and with a perfect appreciation of the difference, simply because he has never been taught, than it is to call a man blind who calls an oval 'round,' because he has learned no better. But in the other instances the colour-blindness is a true defect. In Egypt, China, and other countries where ophthalmia is prevalent, colour-blindness is common; and the peculiar light which exists in certain localities where there is a large expanse of flat sandy soil, and which is known to be very trying to the eyesight, is very often found to produce this defect where it does not otherwise impair the vision. Hereditary cases of colour-blindness are common. The painter Turner has been said by some of his critics to have been colour-blind; and we believe that one of his sisters had a defect of vision which caused her to confuse one colour with another in such a way as to prevent her from describing accurately a picture placed before her.

In reference to the theory that the recent disastrous railway accident at Arlesey was owing to a mistake of the engine-driver as to the colour of the signal displayed against him, a correspondent of the _Times_ points out that colour-blindness may be acquired. 'A few years ago,' he says, 'I was investigating colour appreciation, and the first instance of the acquired defect that came to my knowledge was in the person of an engine-driver. This man confessed, after an accident through his not distinguishing the red signal, that he had gradually lost his colour-power, which had been perfect; and so sensible was he of his loss and its disadvantages, that before the accident he had determined to give up the situation. The manager of the Company, who told me the circumstance, assured me that this driver had been carefully examined but a few years back and passed as possessing perfect sight.'

If a person with perfect sight will look steadily for a few moments at any object, of one of the three primary colours, whether a lamp or anything else, and then close his eyes, and watch so to speak, with his closed eyes, he will find the object reproduced in a kind of cloudy representation, or rather retained on the eye; but its colour will be changed from the _primary_ to its corresponding (complementary) _secondary_ colour. Thus the impression of a red object will present itself as green; yellow as purple; and blue as orange. _Vice versâ_, if the object is one of those secondary[A] colours, the reproduction on the retina will be of the corresponding primary colour. In this way, it is quite possible for a man, who has been looking for any length of time at a red light on a railway at night, to remove his eyes for a moment or two; and, on looking again at the lamp, to find that--in the course of the natural relief afforded by the impression on the eye resolving itself into the secondary colour--his sight is for a moment impeded by the floating image (now green instead of red) before his eyes, and the actual lamp (still red) covered, as it were, by the retained figure, so that it appears to be green. This curious effect is no fault of vision, and might easily mislead an engine-driver who, having first actually seen the red light, has, after withdrawing his eyes, immediately afterwards imagined it changed to green or white, in indication of the removal of the obstacle to the progress of his train. In this way, by continual straining of the eye in search of a particular signal, especially at night, with no light beyond that of the glaring furnace of the engine--in itself detrimental to the eyes--it is quite possible that colour-blindness may be acquired, and that a man who was once perfectly able to distinguish the most delicate tints may become insensible to the effects of widely different colours.

Whatever its cause, it is a fact that colour-blindness does exist to a very considerable extent. In Egypt this is so well recognised a fact, that engine-drivers and others employed on railways are obliged to undergo a special examination before they are allowed to proceed to their duties. Many curious stories are told concerning the attempts made by men suffering under this infirmity to escape the penalty of detection; they will often rather run the risk of bringing themselves and others to sudden death in a collision, than lose the coveted post by admitting their defective sight. Sometimes a man will successfully guess at the red, white, and green lamps or flags held before him; but, if the examiner is as astute as the examinee, he will balk his calculations by holding out a cap, or some other article not usually classed among the list of railway signals, and an unguarded 'Red' or 'Green' from the lips of the candidate will send him ruefully off about his business.

Researches lately made in Sweden shew that this peculiar defect of sight is prevalent in that country. Out of two hundred and sixty-six men examined recently by Professor Holmgren, eighteen were found to be colour-blind; and in our own land statistics prove that Englishmen are not free from the infirmity. The late Professor George Wilson, who made a special investigation into the subject in Edinburgh some years ago, stated that out of one thousand one hundred and fifty-four persons of various professions examined in 1852, no less than sixty-five were colour-blind; and of these, twenty-one specially confounded red with green. A gentleman employing a number of men, writing to the _Times_, states that recently he directed an upholsterer to cover some article of furniture in green leather, and that the man used a skin of bright red leather, not knowing the difference. He could only distinguish colours in their intensity, all appearing to him as different shades of gray.

But instances could easily be multiplied. The practical part of the question is its bearing on the employment of men upon whose sight and power of distinguishing colours many lives are dependent. Engine-drivers and signal-men, railway guards and sailors, often have nothing but a red or green speck of light between the safety and the death of themselves and perhaps hundreds of their fellow-creatures. How many of the 'missing ships' that have set forth in hope, with scores or hundreds of souls on board, and never been heard of again, have gone to their fate through the colour-blindness of the 'look-out,' who can tell? How many disastrous railway collisions have been owing to the same defect on the part of the engine-driver or stoker? The necessity of a rigid examination of all men employed on our railways, in order to ascertain their power of distinguishing the colours of the signals upon which so many lives depend, is being recognised by the directors and other officials. The same precaution ought to be adopted in the case of sailors, and not only once, but frequently. Periodical tests of their eyesight should be made at regular intervals; for in a physical infirmity of this kind, so apt to be overlooked and remain unrecognised even by those who are subject to it, lurk more dangers than in the lack of many other strictly enforced requirements.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Secondary colours are those which are formed by the combination of any two of the three 'primary' colours; the combinations of secondary colours are called 'tertiary' colours.

GOLD-MINE EXPERIENCES.

I was living some years ago in one of our North American provinces, where, for several seasons, I was employed in constructing a railway, which at the time I write is in liquidation, and which I shall call the Swindleville Junction, a name, I trust, sufficiently expressive. The climate did not suit me, neither did the natives; they were much too 'smart' for my fancy, and I was pretty generally always cheated in my dealings among them. In one instance, however, I managed to save myself from being tricked, but I am bound to say that it was from the clutches of a Yankee that I made my escape, for I fully believe that a native operator would never have given me a chance.

Gold had been discovered about thirty miles from the town of Radnor, which was my headquarters, and the miners were making much money by crushing the quartz. Of course the country was soon inundated by prospectors, and numerous holes were opened with varying luck. Curiously enough, the American element did not prevail much in the district, the fact being that the provincials are more than a match for an American even with his own weapons.

I happened, however, to fall in with one very impressive American, a very pleasant plausible fellow. Captain Marcus Cyrus Duckett was his name. He was a bit of a nautical dandy in his way. Blue surtout and yellow waistcoat, large gold, watch-guard and a Panama hat, shortish black trousers and Wellington boots, was his usual dress; and he was more like an English coasting skipper than an American, being bluff and stout, with a cheery red face and jolly manner. But I soon found out that he was as great a desperado as was ever produced, in spite of his off-hand appearance and rattling style. He had, he said, been a blockade-runner, and had got safely in and out of Charleston eighteen times during the civil war; and I heard hints that his success in that trade was due principally to the fact of his having gained much experience by eluding British cruisers on the coast of Africa, where he had been long employed in command of a Spanish slaver trading to Cuba.

I used to meet this character occasionally at a village called Bleakhausen, where I had frequently to go on business, which occupied me a few hours; and rogue although he undoubtedly was, it was pleasant to have a chat with him and hear him relate some of his adventures. It was a great relief also to hear something else talked than the everlasting drawl and snivel about pitiful election squabbles and rates of freight, or prices of salt fish and molasses, which were the only topics ever discussed among the semi-civilised natives in these regions. By degrees we got pretty intimate; and one day the captain informed me that he had discovered that a gold-bearing quartz vein ran across the country in an easterly direction, and was now profitably worked; that it passed right through a property near the village, which he had been lucky in getting hold of very cheap, as all the timber worth cutting on it had been sawn up, and the place was a barren rocky clearing, full of half-burned stumps, and almost fit for nothing. There were, however, the remains of a water-wheel and saw-mill on the place, and a good fall of water. On these advantages Duckett laid great stress, as useful to drive the quartz-crushing machines which he intended to put up. He had sunk a shaft, he said, and run a heading for some distance into the rock, and that it was looking very well, although it had cost him 'a power of brass.'

I took little interest in all this, as I had often before had prospecting schemes submitted to me, and had decidedly refused to mix myself up with them, as my own business demanded all my attention. And so speculators had at last ceased to trouble me. One day, however, having longer to wait than usual at Bleakhausen, my horse being much knocked up by a long journey, the skipper asked me to go and see his mine, to pass the time. I agreed. So we took a walk of about a couple of miles down to it. I was rather astonished when, after a disagreeable tramp, we came to the place. It was no myth, for there it was in full swing. The men seemed strangers, sailors they appeared, of various nationalities; but comfortable shanties had been put up, and everything seemed all right. A few pieces of the stuff were put in a bag by the captain's wish, and sent to my wagon as specimens. After this, I drove home, thinking nothing more of the matter.

One evening, a few weeks afterwards, I was reading a newspaper account of the gold mines in the province, when it struck me that, as I was going to the principal town next day, I would take one of the Bleakhausen specimens, and have it analysed, just for the fun of the thing, and see if there actually was any gold in it. I did not say where it came from, that being unnecessary; but in a few days I got a flattering analysis by letter, which also contained a small piece of gold extracted by the assayer.

The next time Duckett met me he began to speak of his affairs, and hinted that he was getting a little crippled for cash, and that the millwright he had employed would not proceed with the repairs of the mill or erect crushers without a heavy advance of money; so that, as he had run himself nearly aground, he was reluctantly thinking of abandoning the mine altogether.

I had been thinking over this quietly for a few weeks, when one evening I had a visit in Radnor from the captain, who was much downcast, and told me his creditors were so pressing that he could carry on no longer, but must sell the estate for what it would fetch, to pay them off; and with what balance he might have, would go to sea, and leave the natives and their mines altogether. I was sorry for the fellow. We talked long over the matter; and it ended by my becoming owner of the property for ten thousand dollars, paid in railway bonds, which Duckett said he could easily negotiate in the States; and I was to retain him as overseer till the concern was in full working order, at a salary and percentage on the output, which he solemnly assured me was worth four ounces a ton; equal to nearly ten pounds a ton after paying expenses. His estimate was slightly in excess of my experimental assay, but not much; so I was well enough pleased with my bargain.

Things were going on pretty well under this arrangement, when one night my groom appeared with a dreadful tale of being beaten by Duckett for having declared the mine to be a humbug, and wishing I had not been such an ass as pay him for it, and allow myself to be swindled by a Yankee pirate. Whereupon the enraged mariner speedily made an example of him. I began to suspect that it was just possible that Duckett _had_ imposed on me, in which case I should cut a poor figure every way.

The first thing to do was to satisfy myself that the specimen was the actual produce of the mine; if not, the next thing was to get my bonds back; by fair means, if possible; if not, by _any_ means; but in any event to get quit of the Yankee at once. About two o'clock next morning I saddled a horse myself without disturbing any person, and rode to the mine, which I reached about five o'clock, and awoke the men in the shanties. They were very unwilling to let me descend, as Duckett was not there; but after some altercation, and seeing me very determined, they gave me a lamp, and lowered me away. I was not down five minutes when I discovered I had been done outright; the original specimen was dark-brown coloured, and the stuff in the mine was dark-blue, and not a trace of gold in it. The rascal had obtained the specimens from a mine called Mount Benger, some miles away; and had played an old and common trick--namely, placed the gold specimens among the rubbish, and then picked them up before my eyes. As soon as I had fully satisfied myself, I got back to the foot of the shaft; and to my great gratification, was, on giving the signal, hauled to the top at once, just in time to see Captain Duckett coming up the hill.

He was in a desperate passion at not having had notice of my visit; but it was no part of my business to quarrel with him just yet. So I soon managed to smooth him down with a story about my being restless, and unable to sleep in the night, and thinking a sharp ride would do me good, &c.; and I made him even believe that I was pleased, and more than ever satisfied with my bargain. The captain took it all most comfortably.

I asked him to breakfast at the inn; but he declined; agreeing, however, to come afterwards to smoke and talk over matters, which he did. After some cheerful talk, I hit on a scheme to recover my papers. I agreed to lay a tramway to the mill from the mine, and requested him to find some one to furnish us with timber for it; and he was to come to Radnor on Tuesday and tell me what he had done, and also to meet an engineer with whom I was in treaty to do the work at the water-wheel. I called for my horse; but just as I was going to mount, I suddenly turned round and said: 'Oh, by the bye, captain, Davis the lawyer was saying yesterday that those bonds are of no use to you until they are transferred by being indorsed and signed by me. I forgot to speak about it just now; the tramway put it out of my head; but if you like, I'll take them in with me and get Davis to do the needful; and you can get them on Tuesday, when you are in.'

It was a bold stroke for the recovery of my bonds, but the bait took. 'All right,' said he; 'if you'll only wait half a minute, I'll fetch them;' and away he went, and soon came back with the parcel.

I saw at once I was certain of my game; so, as the packet was a little bulky, and did not go easily into my pocket, I said to him never to mind it then, but to bring it to Radnor on Tuesday, and hand it to Davis himself, which would be the safest plan; and that I would call on Monday, and tell the lawyer to be ready for him--to which proposal he smilingly assented; and with that I mounted, and trotted merrily home, sometimes in the woods almost hallooing with delight. I called for Davis, and told him that Duckett was coming to see him on Tuesday, and the purpose of his visit, and that he was to take his instructions, and I would see him in the course of the day, after Duckett had been with him.

Davis was not noted for honesty; but he was the only limb of the law in the place, and our firm had very frequently occasion for his services, although we knew well enough that we could trust him no farther than we could see him, and that he would hang his best friend, if he could make ten cents by the job. So I did not incline to let him know the exact state of matters till I had the bonds fairly in my own hand, when I intended to ask his professional opinion on what I was going to do--namely, to retain possession of them myself.

On Tuesday morning I set a young English boy, called 'the Nipper,' who was in my employment, but was personally unknown to the captain, to look out for him when he arrived, and to watch him all day, and keep me posted up in his movements, and above all to let me know the moment he traced him to Davis's den. In due time he announced to me in my office, that Captain Duckett had arrived at Davis's door, and had actually employed my spy to hold his horse, while he went in with a brown-paper parcel, and shortly came out again, attended to the door by old Davis; and the latest news was that he had put up at the hotel, and was then very busy assisting to demolish a leg of lamb and pumpkin pie. Now was my time; so I went up to Davis, and asked him to shew me the papers. I compared them with a note of the numbers I had in my book, found them all correct, and tied them carefully up and put them in my pocket; and then proceeded to unfold the transaction to the lawyer, and ask his advice as to whether I was legally authorised, under the circumstances, to keep possession now that I had them. Moreover I told him he should not lose his expected fees, as I would cheerfully pay them myself.

His opinion was that the law would bear me out; but that it was a dangerous affair, as the pirate, as he called him, was a dreadful character, and there was no saying what he might do. I quieted his fears a bit and gave him twenty dollars, but he was still uneasy; and as soon as I left him, he had his horse put to his wagon and went away to the country, leaving word that he had been suddenly called from home and would not be back for some days.

I went to the bank and had my bundle deposited in the safe; and after that there was nothing more to do than to have the row with the captain over; so my mind was easy, and I went home to luncheon. When I got back to the office, I loaded a pair of heavy double-barrelled horse-pistols which we used when travelling with money on pay-days, and laid them in an open drawer in my writing-table, just to be handy in case of accidents. I had scarcely written half a page of a letter, when Captain Marcus Cyrus made his appearance in no very pleasant temper, and with a face as red as the rising sun. He began by abusing Davis. 'He had been to his house, and he was gone.' Where were his bonds? Did I know anything of them? He would do this, that, and everything; and raged like a demon.

I let him carry on for a while, and then I opened upon him and told him what a wretch he was, and that I had fortunately discovered him in time; that his mine was a swindle; that I would have him apprehended as a thief and a rogue; and that I had the bonds safely locked up, and he would never see them again; whereupon out came his revolver, which in truth, I wondered he had not produced before, and with many a high-sounding phrase he ordered me to give them up at once (thinking I had them in the office-safe), or he would riddle me with his Colt.