Chapter II: Part 2

Some years ago I was brought by reverse of fortune to form one of that vast number of women in search of employment, the thought of whom makes one’s heart ache as one looks at their numerous applications for situations in the columns of our daily papers. I had long been an orphan, but not a penniless one, till a great bank-failure, such as have from time to time brought so much misery and embarrassment upon the middle classes of society, swept away my little all, and left me entirely dependent upon my own exertions for future maintenance.

As the shock conveyed by the news of my loss passed away, I was not in utter despair. I had been well educated, was a tolerable musician, and had travelled much; so it seemed to me that I should have no difficulty in finding a situation as companion or governess; and I strove hard to conquer my natural shrinking from the irksomeness of such a life, and to become reconciled to my altered position. Friends promised to help me, and for a time I depended upon their promises. But finding that no situation was forthcoming through their efforts, I determined to try the effect of an advertisement in the _Times_. I composed it with care, endeavouring to set my qualifications in their best light, and felt sanguine as to the result. I expected to have at least a dozen responses, and was disappointed at receiving only two. The first letter I opened was in a woman’s handwriting, and consisted of a string of impertinent queries, linked to a statement of the writer’s requirements in the governess she engaged for her daughters—requirements which I felt sure I could never fulfil; winding up with a request that if I felt equal to the demands of the situation, I would call at a certain address in the neighbourhood of Regent’s Park. Such a letter checked my expectations, and with some impatience I destroyed it. The next was very different. It was a courteously worded note from a gentleman, informing me that he was seeking a governess, or rather companion, for his ward, a girl of eighteen; and would be glad to have an interview with me, if I would kindly make such arrangements for one as would suit my convenience. The tone of his letter pleased me, and as he gave the address of an hotel not far from the part of London where I was then residing, I immediately wrote a reply, naming an hour at which on the following day I would call upon him.

It was with not a little trepidation that I set out the next morning to fulfil my engagement. I had the vaguest ideas of what I ought to do or say in the new position in which I found myself, and for which my previous experience had ill prepared me. My heart sank within me as I inquired for Mr Aslatt, and was conducted by a waiter to his private room. Would the stranger be a very formidable personage? I wondered. The first glance at him was reassuring. A more benevolent countenance I have never seen; and his tall stately figure and genial though dignified manner, enhanced the pleasing impression it created. He was not a young man; but so bright was the lustre of his steel-blue eyes, so full of life and energy their glance, and his words and actions so quick and lively, that no one would have thought of calling him old, although his black hair was streaked with gray, and his brow somewhat lined by the cares and sorrows which come to all as the years pass on. My fears vanished at his kind reception, and I at once felt at my ease.

‘I do not know whether the services I require will be to your mind, Miss Bygrave,’ he said; ‘but your duties will be very light. I wish to obtain a sympathetic companion rather than governess for my ward, Rose Sinclair, a young lady of most lovable disposition, though high-spirited and, I fear I must add, rather wilful. The fact is she has lived with me ever since she was a little child, and perhaps has been made too much of—spoiled a little, you know. But she is so engaging, so artless, so affectionate, no one could bear to deny her anything. She has had masters and governesses in abundance, but they have seldom known how to manage her. She requires very careful treatment; she may be led and guided, but she will not be ruled. She has very good abilities, but is averse to application. I have released her from regular study; but I should be glad if you could persuade her to read with you, and practise her music and painting, for both of which she has rare talent. Her position is a lonely one; she has no one to depend on but me; and I am most anxious to find for her a companion who might prove a friend also. If you will excuse such a remark from a stranger, I will add that your appearance encourages me to hope that you would prove such a one, if you were willing to try.’

Although Mr Aslatt offered me a far larger salary than I could have expected, and assured me of his desire that everything should be done to make me comfortable and at home in his house, I hesitated for some time before I accepted the situation, for I rather doubted my ability to control a high-spirited spoiled girl of eighteen. Her guardian’s partiality for her evidently led him to think lightly of the difficulties of the post he offered me.

‘I think you cannot fail to be pleased with my ward,’ he continued; ‘she is of such a noble disposition, so generous and gracious; but as I have said before, she needs to be gently checked, and prevented from following all the impulses of her young and ardent nature. I do not think you would find much difficulty in managing her, if you once succeeded in gaining her affection.’

‘But if I were not so fortunate?’ I said inquiringly.

Mr Aslatt smiled, and slightly shrugged his shoulders. ‘I do not think we need fear that alternative,’ he replied pleasantly. ‘But should my hopes be disappointed, and the position prove distasteful to you, you will be perfectly at liberty to resign it whenever you please.’

I thanked him, and after a little more discussion agreed to undertake the office of companion to his ward.

Early in the following week I quitted London, and proceeded to Westwood Hall, as Mr Aslatt’s residence was named, a large country house, situated in a neighbourhood not many miles from the metropolis. I found a carriage waiting for me at the quiet little station where I alighted from the train. After a pleasant drive through pretty country lanes, where the trees often met overhead, we passed through some large iron gates, beside which stood a picturesque lodge, and drove through an avenue of elms to an old-fashioned mansion in red brick. The building formed three sides of a square, and in the space thus inclosed were flower-beds of various shapes, brilliant with many-hued flowers; and in the centre stood an antique sun-dial upon a carved stone base, round which, as I afterwards noted, ran in distinct letters the motto, ‘Time is short; Death is nought; Love is all.’ I had scarcely time to notice the general surroundings of the place, before the carriage stopped at the large oaken door.

Mr Aslatt had apparently been on the look-out for it, for he met me with a cordial greeting before I crossed the threshold, and led me into a large oak-panelled hall which formed the centre of the house. It was a curious apartment. The floor, ceiling, tables, chairs, settee, were all of oak, and most elaborately carved. The walls were decorated with banners, shields, swords, helmets, and various old family relics. Everything was old; and I felt for a moment as if I had been suddenly transported from the nineteenth century, and carried back into the middle ages. But though the oaken furniture was dark with age, the hall did not strike me as gloomy, perhaps because immediately on entering, my eyes rested on the one bright object it contained. A girl was seated upon the settee, whose bright golden hair and dress of pale blue made a delightful spot of colour amidst the prevailing sombreness. A large black dog, of rather forbidding aspect, crouched at her feet, but sprang up as I entered, and began to bark furiously. ‘Quiet, Nero; quiet, sir!’ said the young lady, without rising, while regarding me with an intentness which made me flush.

‘Rose, this is Miss Bygrave,’ said her guardian; and at his word she rose and moved slowly across the polished floor to meet me, still surveying me calmly and coolly with her large blue eyes, as if anxious to arrive at a correct estimate of my character and qualifications. She was tall and womanly in figure, but wore her long golden hair in a cloud over her neck and shoulders, merely confined by a ribbon, as a child’s might have been. Though a beautiful girl, she appeared unconscious of the fact. Her regular clear-cut features were expressive of self-reliance and determination, without being in the least harsh or unfeminine. Her manner was perfectly self-possessed, and her bearing slightly haughty; but it was not long before I discovered that underneath that appearance of womanly dignity there was the simplicity and waywardness of a very child.

‘How do you do, Miss Bygrave?’ she said somewhat coldly, giving me her hand, and scanning my face with a deliberation which I should have resented from any one else, but to which I now submitted humbly, as if it had been the right of the proud young beauty who stood before me. Then as if the result of her scrutiny were satisfactory, she added more graciously: ‘I daresay you are tired with your long drive; come, and I will shew you to your room.’

I followed her up the wide staircase and along a corridor to a room overlooking the extensive garden which lay at the back of the house. I was much pleased with the appearance of my bedroom. From what I had seen down-stairs I was prepared for an oaken chamber hung with tapestry, with gloomy recesses, hearse-like bed, and ancient furniture. Nothing of the kind, however, met my view. Here everything was modern, and even luxurious, and in such style as would have suited the most fastidious taste.

‘I hope you will be comfortable here,’ said Miss Sinclair.

‘It will be my own fault if I am not,’ I replied, as I advanced to the window opening on to a small veranda, from which steps led down into the garden. ‘How pretty the garden looks!’ I remarked. ‘I shall often feel inclined to walk there, I fancy.’

‘You must not think of going there after sunset,’ said Miss Sinclair decidedly.

‘Why not?’ I asked in surprise.

‘Because—— Well, perhaps I ought not to mention it, for my guardian does not like it talked about; and yet you would be sure to hear of it some time or other, so I may as well tell you at once. The truth is the house is haunted; not this part, but the left corridor, where the rooms are very, very old. And the ghost has been seen coming out of the window of the Blue Chamber—which communicates with the garden, as this does—and going down the steps.’

I was astonished at the gravity with which she made this statement.

‘You do not surely believe in ghosts, Miss Sinclair?’ I asked. ‘You cannot really credit such stories?’

She turned from me impatiently, saying: ‘It is easy for you to doubt their existence; perhaps if you had seen what I have, you would think differently.’

‘What have you seen?’ I inquired.

But offended by my scepticism on the subject, the young lady did not choose to reply. She drew herself up proudly, and after inquiring if there was anything I needed, left me to make my toilet.

Vexed with myself for having so soon given offence to my charge, I strove for the rest of the day to ingratiate myself with her; nor were my efforts unsuccessful.

‘I think I shall like you,’ she said frankly; ‘that is, if you do not interfere with me too much. I was dreadfully put out when Cousin told me you were coming, for I like to be sole mistress here. By the way, how do you like my guardian? I always call him Cousin, although I do not at all understand how we are related to each other. I know nothing of my parents, except that they died when I was a very little child. Cousin has promised to tell me about them some day; but he looks so grave whenever I refer to them, that I fancy there must be something painful for me to learn concerning my parentage, and therefore I do not intend to ask any more questions. But you have not told me how you like Mr Aslatt.’

I was amused at her eager curiosity, and told her that although I had had so little opportunity of judging, I had received a most favourable impression of her guardian’s character and disposition.

She seemed pleased with my reply. ‘You can have no idea how good he is,’ she said. ‘But he is a man of strong prejudices, and it is hard to move him when he has once made up his mind with regard to any person or thing. Not that I mean to find fault with him, for as far as I am concerned I have not the least cause of complaint. I cannot tell you how kind he is to me, or how much I owe him. He is the best old darling in the world!’

‘He is surely not so very old,’ I remarked, smiling at her enthusiasm.

‘Don’t you think so?’ returned she. ‘He seems quite old to me; but of course you are much older than I am, and therefore judge differently of age. Would you mind telling me how old you are? I know it is very rude of me to ask, but I always seem to do what I ought not.’

I laughed, and informed her that I was in my twenty-eighth year.

‘Nearly ten years older than I am,’ she remarked, ‘and fourteen years younger than Mr Aslatt; so you see he really is old.’

‘Not old for a man,’ I ventured to say.

‘Yes; he is,’ contradicted my companion impatiently, shaking back her golden hair.

At this moment Mr Aslatt entered the room in which we were sitting. ‘I have just been thinking, Rose,’ he said, ‘that if it is fine to-morrow, we might ride over to Ashdene. I daresay Miss Bygrave would like to see the old Priory there.—Are you fond of riding?’ he added, addressing me.

It was long since I had been in the saddle; but in earlier years I had exceedingly enjoyed the exercise, and I told him so.

‘Then I hope you will enjoy a ride to-morrow,’ he said. ‘I think I have a horse that you will like, and Rose will lend you a riding-habit.’

I thanked him heartily; but Rose said decidedly: ‘I cannot go to Ashdene to-morrow; you forget that it is my day for visiting the school.’

Mr Aslatt’s face changed, and a look passed across it, which I should have called a look of pain had not the cause been so trivial. ‘Surely you need not go to the school to-morrow, Rose,’ he said gently; ‘your visit is not of so much importance, but that Mr Hammond can manage without you for once.’

Rose’s face crimsoned and her lip pouted, but she made no reply; and Mr Aslatt hastily introduced another subject of conversation. But her brightness was gone for the rest of the evening; she replied shortly and coldly to her guardian’s remarks, and flatly refused to sing when he asked her to do so. It was evident that her conduct grieved him, for the look of pain was more clearly visible; but he shewed no sign of resentment, and the tone in which he bade her good-night was as affectionate as if her behaviour had been all that he could have desired.

‘This is the way to the haunted rooms,’ said Rose as we went up to bed together, opening as she spoke a door at the top of the draughty staircase. She raised her lamp, so that its light rendered visible the gloom of the dreary corridor. The air which met us had a close musty smell; and the grotesque figures carved on the oak panels, with the sculptures in the distance casting dim shadows on the opposite wall, had rather a weird appearance in the uncertain light. Suddenly a door creaked on its hinges, and Rose sprang back, uttering a faint cry, and hastily closed the door which communicated with this passage. ‘Did you hear that?’ she asked in an awe-struck whisper.

‘Why, you silly girl,’ I said laughingly, ‘what you heard was only the effect of the wind!’

She shook her head unbelievingly, and replied: ‘Well, remember, I warn you to shun that part of the house, especially when night is coming on.’

The next morning, at an early hour, the horses were brought to the door, and Mr Aslatt, Rose, and I started for Ashdene. Rose had made no further opposition to the expedition, and there was no trace of vexation on her lovely face as we rode off. She looked remarkably well in her riding costume. The close-fitting habit of dark-blue cloth shewed to advantage the exquisite symmetry of her figure; and the little velvet hat, whose sole ornament was a heron’s plume, was very becoming to the fair face. She was an accomplished rider, and controlled admirably, without the least appearance of effort, the spirited movements of the beautiful animal she rode. It was a bright May morning, and the ride was most enjoyable. About noon we reached the little town of Ashdene, where we dismounted; and after partaking of some luncheon at the hotel, proceeded to view the ruins of the old Priory. Here we found so much to interest us that the afternoon was far advanced before we were ready to return. As we were walking our horses up a hill not very far from home, I saw a young man coming towards us dressed in a gray tweed suit. As he came into view, Mr Aslatt urged his horse into a canter; but Rose checked hers as it quickened its pace, and said reproachfully: ‘The horses are tired, cousin; we must not hurry them up this hill.’

As the young man drew near, he raised his hat. ‘Good afternoon, Hammond,’ said Mr Aslatt, rather stiffly I thought.

How it happened I don’t know, but just then Rose dropped her riding-whip, and it fell within a few feet of Mr Hammond. He picked it up in a moment, and handed it to the young lady, who thanked him most graciously, and even bent down from her saddle to shake hands with him. ‘I was so sorry to be absent from my post to-day, Mr Hammond,’ she said; ‘but we were tempted to take advantage of this fine day for a ride to Ashdene.’

‘It was a great disappointment to the scholars not to see you,’ he replied; ‘but they have no cause to complain, for it is so seldom you are absent. I think you are if possible too devoted to their welfare.’

‘That is my opinion too, Mr Hammond,’ interrupted my employer; ‘and you must not be surprised if for the future you do not see Miss Sinclair so frequently at the school.’

‘I trust that will not be the case,’ exclaimed Rose indignantly. ‘I see no necessity for changing my habits.’ She looked quite angry as she spoke, and I felt sorry for Mr Aslatt, he seemed so agitated.

Mr Hammond smiled complacently at Rose’s remark, and there was something almost supercilious in his manner as he bade Mr Aslatt ‘Good afternoon;’ but the bow and parting glance he bestowed upon his ward were most deferential in their admiring homage. As we pursued our way in silence, the expression of Rose’s face plainly shewed that she considered herself injured.

Mr Hammond was a good-looking young man, apparently about thirty, though he might have been older. Good-looking though he was, his countenance did not impress me favourably. His dark eyes had a hard look, in spite of their fine shape and lustrous hue, and there were faint indications of self-indulgence in the curves of his mobile mouth. His manner was easy and suggestive of conceit; in short, his appearance inspired me with distrust. Perhaps the want of cordiality which Mr Aslatt’s manner betrayed, contrasting so vividly with Rose’s gracious greeting, may have given rise to this feeling on my part.

Rose kept up an appearance of offended dignity during dinner-time and as long as she remained in Mr Aslatt’s presence. But as we were strolling in the garden after dinner, she suddenly asked me what I thought of Mr Hammond. Guessing that she had a great liking for that individual, I was guarded in my reply to her query, merely reminding her how impossible it was to form a just estimate of anybody in such a brief interview.

‘Did you notice how rudely Mr Aslatt spoke to him?’ she next inquired.

‘I observed that he seemed impatient of the interruption,’ I replied; ‘but I do not think his words were rude.’

‘I believe he hates Mr Hammond,’ she said quickly. ‘You cannot think how unjust he is to him. You know Mr Hammond is the village schoolmaster. There was no school in the village many years ago, when Mr Aslatt came to reside here, so he built a very nice school-house at his own expense (I must take you to see it to-morrow), and promised always to make up the master’s salary to a certain sum. For years I have been accustomed to go in and out the school whenever I like; and when I asked to be allowed to give the children a weekly singing lesson, Mr Aslatt made no objection, indeed he seemed pleased for me to do so. But since old Mr Green died, and Mr Hammond succeeded him, he has changed his mind on the subject, and can’t bear me to go to the school-house. At first he seemed to like Mr Hammond so much; but lately he has taken a decided dislike to him; though what poor Mr Hammond has done to call forth such a feeling, I cannot imagine. Cousin has tried to persuade me to give up my visits to the school; but that I am resolved not to do, and I have told him so. He also tried to get my consent to our removing to London for the season; but I would not agree to that. So then he could not rest till he had got a companion for me. I made no opposition to that plan, although I did not like the idea, for I saw he had set his mind upon it, and I could not bear to vex him. He is so good to me, and I am not altogether ungrateful, though I do behave so naughtily. I know you thought my conduct very bad at dinner-time, for you looked so dreadfully grave.’

She glanced up at me as she spoke with such a pretty air of deprecation, so like a petted child, that I could not find heart to scold her. Indeed her captivating ways so fascinated me, that although I saw much to disapprove, I was disposed to be very lenient towards her faults.

SELLS.

It would puzzle a philologer to give an exact definition of the ‘sell.’ Nearly related to the hoax, it differs from it in being more innocent in its inception and less mischievous in its consequences. Some little ingenuity is required to concoct a happy ‘sell;’ but any one may perpetrate a hoax who is equal to ‘lending a lie the confidence of truth.’ The latter is a deliberately planned deception, oftenest attaining its end by personation or forgery or something closely akin to it; whereas a sell needs no such playing with edged tools, and may not only be unpremeditated, but even unintentional.

The Irishman who undertook to shew an exciseman a private still, and introduced him to his brother, who had been twelve years in the army and was a private still, sold the guardian of the revenue very neatly; although it is possible the victim of the joke did not see the fun of the thing, any more than the official of the North London Railway Company did, when, overhearing a third-class passenger aver that any one could travel from Broad Street to Dalston Junction without a ticket, as he had done only the day before, he interviewed him when he alighted. The traveller not proving communicative, the zealous railway servant conveyed a coin into his hand, and then asked: ‘How did you go from Broad Street to Dalston Junction yesterday without a ticket?’ ‘Oh,’ was the unwelcome reply, ‘I walked!’

As readily trapped was the amateur musician who responded to the advertisement: ‘Wanted, a trombone-player for Barnum’s Balcony Band,’ by waiting upon the famous showman without delay.

‘You want a trombone-player?’ inquired he.

‘Yes,’ said Mr Barnum.

‘What is the place worth?’ asked the applicant.

‘Oh, about twenty-five dollars a week, I suppose.’

‘Very well, I should like it.’

‘All right,’ said Mr Barnum; and the trombone did frightful execution through the week. Saturday came, and with it Mr Green for his salary, instead of drawing which, he received a paper on which was written: ‘Mr Green to Mr P. T. Barnum.—To playing the trombone on his Balcony one week, twenty-five dollars.’ The recipient smiled.

‘It’s all right, isn’t it?’ asked Mr Barnum.

‘Why,’ said the musician, ‘you’ve made an odd mistake: you’ve made me the debtor instead of you.’

‘No mistake at all,’ said Barnum. ‘You see, this is how it is. There are a good many gentlemen in this city fond of practising on brass instruments; but they cannot do so at home because of their neighbours’ objections. So I find them room on my Balcony during so many hours a day, where the street is so noisy that it does no harm; and they give me so much a week for my trouble in keeping the organisation complete. You don’t think me such a fool as to pay such a wretched lot of players surely? However, as you seem to have been honestly mistaken, you can pay me ten dollars this week; but hereafter I can make no reduction.’ There was a vacancy in the Balcony Band the following Monday.

We take it that the shrewd showman was not quite so much astonished at the way his advertisement was misconstrued, as one A. B., who, recognising a long-lost friend in the stalls of the theatre, but unable to catch his eye, notified in the ‘agony’ column of the _Times_: ‘If the gentleman who was in the stalls at the —— Theatre on the evening of the 5th inst. will write to the following address, he will hear from the Box above;’ and received nearly a score of replies. The first he opened, ran: ‘MY DEAR MADAM—I cannot express to you how delighted I felt this morning on taking up the _Times_ and reading your advertisement. How exceedingly kind and thoughtful of you to communicate with me in this way. Pray, let me know as quickly as possible when and where I may see you. I am burning with impatience to speak to you. Can we meet this evening? Do send me a note, or better still, a telegram, here, on receipt of this.—Yours Most Affectionately.’ The second letter, commencing ‘Mia Carissima,’ suggested a meeting at the Duke of York’s Column, and ended: ‘Good-bye, pet. Yours ever and a day—The Gentleman in the Stalls.’ A third deluded mortal declared he had not slept a wink after seeing A. B. at the theatre. ‘You know Who’ informed the ‘Dearest Being,’ whose himage he still saw before him, that his passion was much too much for ordinary words to tell; that after wandering all his life, mixing in revolutions, &c., he should like to stop at last, and finished somewhat prosaically with: ‘It’s just four o’clock. All are in bed and fast asleap. Good-night. I’m not married.’ And so on with a batch of other aspirants, who evidently deemed the anonymous occupant of the Box nothing short of an heiress.

Many an unpremeditated sell has been perpetrated from inability to resist sudden temptation. One of the judges of the Supreme Court of New York state, visiting the Centennial Exhibition, sat down in a quiet corner apart from the others, to listen to a great cornet-player, and as was his wont in court, drew his gray coat about his head and ears as a protection against possible draughts. His motionless figure soon attracted attention; and the whisper ran that it was the statue of some wonderful character. The judge’s sister wickedly told those near her that they were gazing at the effigy of an Aztec priest from Mexico. The information passed from mouth to mouth, and some hundreds of people were drawn to the spot, to disperse somewhat sheepishly when the object of their curiosity, having had enough of the cornet, readjusted his coat and rose to go.

A good story is told of one Boggs, whose impertinent curiosity was proverbial throughout the country that owned him. He was on one occasion travelling on the Little Miami Railroad alongside a solemn-looking man, who persisted in looking out of window and took no heed of Boggs’ endeavours to enliven the journey with a little conversation. At last the brakeman or guard came round with some water, and the unsociable traveller turned round to take a drink. Seizing the chance, Boggs asked: ‘Going as far east as New York?’

‘No,’ grunted the man.

‘Ah!’ said Boggs, ‘New York is dull this time of year; mebbee you’re striking for Philadelphia?’

The surly one shook his head.

‘P’raps Cleveland’s your destination?’ insinuated Mr Boggs. ‘No? Can’t be going this roundabout way to Chicago?’

No reply was vouchsafed.

‘Well,’ cried Boggs despairingly, ‘I s’pose you’ve no objection to telling where you _are_ going?’

‘Well sir,’ exclaimed the man, ‘I’m going for seven years!’

Then the deputy-sheriff said he would rather not have folks talking to his prisoners, and Boggs gave in.

This puts us in mind of Mark Twain’s anecdote of Artemus Ward and a travelling bore, between whom the following amusing colloquy took place: ‘Did you hear that last thing of Horace Greeley’s?’

‘Greeley, Greeley, Horace Greeley; who is he?’ said Artemus.

Five minutes elapsed, then came: ‘George Francis Train is making a good deal of disturbance over in England; do you think they will put him in prison?’

‘Train, Train, George Francis Train,’ said Artemus solemnly; ‘I never heard of him.’

The tormentor tried another tack; he said: ‘What do you think about Grant’s chance for the Presidency?’

‘Grant, Grant?—Why man!’ said Artemus, ‘you seem to know more strangers than any one I ever saw.’

The man took a walk up the car; coming back, he said: ‘Well, you ignoramus, did you ever hear of Adam?’

The humorist looked up and said: ‘Adam? What was his other name?’

The journey henceforth was made in peace.

Very nicely sold were a couple of tramps who waylaid a wealthy farmer in Louisa County, Iowa, and demanded his money or his life. Disinclined to part with either, he took to his heels. They chased him half a mile down the roughest of lanes, dashed after him through a brier-hedge, and went panting across an old corn-field. Then the chased one struck for the woods, and went wheezing up a steep hill; his pursuers pressing closely behind with blood-shot eyes and shortened breath. The farmer dashed across a forty-acre stubble-field, across a frozen creek, through a blackberry patch, down a ravine, over another hill, across a stump-field, to be run down on the road by the tramps. They overhauled him thoroughly, searched him from top to toe, to find he had not a solitary cent wherewith to reward them for their perseverance.

Our concluding example relates to an affecting romance told by the _Detroit Free Press_. It was the second time that the hero of the story had accompanied the young lady home from one of those little social parties which are got up to bring fond hearts a step nearer to each other. When they reached the gate, she asked him if he wouldn’t come in. He said he would. Sarah took his hat, told him to sit down, and left the room to remove her things. She was hardly gone before her mother came in, smiled sweetly, and, dropping down beside the young man, said: ‘I always did say that if a poor but respectable young man fell in love with Sarah, he should have my consent. Some mothers would sacrifice their daughters’ happiness for riches, but I am not of that sort.’

The young man started with alarm; he didn’t know whether he liked Sarah or not; he hadn’t dreamed of marriage.

‘She has acknowledged to me that she loves you,’ continued the mother; ‘and whatever is for her happiness is for mine.’

The young man stammered out: ‘I—I haven’t’——

‘Oh, never mind! Make no apology. I know you haven’t much money, but of course you’ll live with me. We’ll take in boarders, and I’ll be bound that we’ll get along all right.’

It was a bad situation. He hadn’t even looked love at Sarah. ‘I had no idea of’—— he began; when she held up her hands saying: ‘I know you hadn’t; but it’s all right. With your wages and what the boarders bring in, we shall get along as snug as possible. All I ask is that you be good to her; Sarah has a tender heart, and if you should be cross and ugly, it would break her down in a week.’

The young man’s eyes stood out like cocoa-nuts in a shop-window, and he rose up and tried to say something.

‘Never mind about the thanks,’ she cried; ‘I don’t believe in long courtships. The eleventh of January is my birthday, and it would be nice for you to be married on that day.’

‘But—but—but’—— he gasped.

‘There, there! I don’t expect any speech in reply,’ she laughed. ‘You and Sarah settle it to-night, and I’ll advertise for twelve boarders straight away, I’ll try to be a model mother-in-law. I believe I’m good-tempered and kind-hearted, though I did once follow a young man two hundred miles and shoot off the top of his head for agreeing to marry my daughter and then quitting the county.’ She patted him on the head and sailed out. And now the young man wants advice. He wants to know whether he had better get in the way of a locomotive or slide off the wharf. If ever a young bachelor was ‘sold,’ Sarah’s young man was in that predicament.

ELEPHANT GOSSIP FROM RANGOON.

We have much pleasure in laying before our readers the following interesting particulars regarding the elephant, and the way in which the physical strength of that sagacious animal is turned to account in the timber-trade of Rangoon. The notes are contained in a letter from a resident in that town to his brother in England, who has kindly placed it at our disposal. After describing some phases of every-day social life, the writer thus proceeds: ‘The elephants I go daily to see are beauties, fine powerful well-trained animals, and strange to say, the _mahout_ (driver) of one of them is an old servant of my own. It is both interesting and amusing to watch them working the timber. The government have nine elephants employed at the depôt, and there are other animals belonging to natives at work there also. I often take my seat on a teak-log, picking out the cleanest and softest for the purpose, light a cheroot, and watch the performance. Elephants are pretty much like men; I don’t mean in personal appearance, but in character. I can pick out “characters I have met” quite easily among the group of sixteen or eighteen all working there together sometimes. There are willing workers, and there are skulkers; there are gentle tempers, and there are others “as dour as a door-nail.” Some of them will drag a log two tons in weight without a groan; while others, equally powerful but less willing, will make a dreadful fuss over a stick that is, comparatively speaking, nothing.

‘There are a good many female elephants employed. Some belong to the government; but most of them are owned by Karens, who bring them in from the jungle when work is obtainable. They are not so powerful as the males; and the want of tusks is rather against them, because they have to do the pushing or “ounging” part of the work, as the natives call it, with their trunks. These they roll up in a coil, and just at the place where the trunk and the head unite, they press against the log and roll it over.

‘I saw the legs very nearly knocked from under a man two days ago by a lively female who was rolling over a log in this way. She had discovered by experience that it was easier to move a heavy log by a violent jerk than by slow steady pushing; and when the man on her neck called out “Oung!” and pushed her ear forward with his foot—the equivalents in elephant-driving for “Go along, old lady!”—she stood for a moment motionless, then in an instant up coiled the trunk, down went the head, and away rolled the log, one end of it coming round with a sweep which all but made an “Aunt Sally” of the innocent spectator. He sprang from the ground as if he had received an electric shock, and saved himself; after which he received the congratulations of the by-standers for being an ass to stand in the way of an elephant like that.

‘I think the females do a little flirting sometimes when they see a handsome stately _tusker_ working near them. A little one came in from the jungle the other day, and was working away with admirable diligence near the place where my largest elephant was engaged dragging logs. He is really a noble-looking animal, with immense tusks that almost touch the ground when his head is in repose. There is a dignified air about all his movements too which must be very captivating with the other sex. Sometimes the two passed very near each other, and I noticed when this happened that the little lady from the jungle gave utterance to certain peculiar sounds. The only good imitation of them which I can think of at the moment is that strange medley of incoherences which a cornopean is sometimes made to produce when beginners get up steam. Such sounds, for instance, as I have heard proceeding from the house of a neighbour of yours, when I have been enjoying a pipe in the garden on a summer afternoon. At first I thought they were the promptings of fear; but an elephant under these circumstances generally becomes impatient with the driver, thumps its trunk upon the ground and “trumpets.” It was simply a little flirtation, a tender long-drawn-out elephantine kiss thrown at my noble friend.

‘The highly trained male elephants with tusks manage the “ounging” part of their work very skilfully. The trunk is used as a pad or buffer between the ivory and the wood, and the pushing is done steadily. An average log weighs about a ton and a half. When it has to be pushed into the river, the elephant feels the end of it with his trunk, and having ascertained where he can place his tusks with most advantage, he adjusts the buffer, and starts off pushing the log steadily before him. Should it happen to be an extra-heavy one, he stops occasionally to take breath; and as it slides down the muddy bank towards the water, he gives it a finishing slap, as if to say: “There, you’re afloat at last!” Sometimes the logs are awkwardly jammed up together, so that the ends have to be raised in order to get the dragging-chains fastened. This he does by putting his tusks underneath; and passing his trunk over the log to keep it steady, lifts it up to the required height. When it is a very heavy lift, he will go down on his knees to get a better purchase. He stacks the timber most skilfully also by lifting the end of the log as much as nine or ten feet in this manner, places it on the top of the pile, then goes to the other end and pushes it forward till he gets it quite flush with the rest. In all this he is of course directed by his rider the _mahout_, who uses certain words which the elephant has been accustomed to hear; and signs, the meaning of which he knows perfectly. A push of the foot behind the right or left ear makes him answer the driver’s wish as a boat answers the rudder, and a nudge behind the neck means “Straight ahead.”

‘A highly trained elephant, however, will work among timber by _verbal_ directions as intelligently almost as a collie will among sheep. The finest and best-trained animals are reserved for employment in the saw-mills, where they work amongst the machinery with sagacity and precision. Strangers have sometimes been so much impressed with their admirable qualities in this respect that they have carried away slightly exaggerated impressions on the subject. One case I remember in which a spectator was so profoundly overcome by the careful manner in which he saw the elephant laying planks and slabs on the travelling benches to be cut, that he gravely reported the circumstance in an Indian newspaper, remarking that the animal shut one eye when it looked along the bench, to make sure the timber was laid on for the saw accurately!

‘Some male elephants have no tusks. These are called _hines_ by the Burmese. The most powerful animal I ever had was one of them. He was very tall, and in strength a perfect Samson among elephants. An incident in his history is worth relating here, as I am on the subject. In the month of January male elephants sometimes give trouble. Samson had fallen into a capricious mood, under the influence of a little siren belonging to the herd, and in a fit of jealousy he frightened all the others so thoroughly one night that they broke their fetters and made a bolt of it out of the timber-yard, with Samson in pursuit. One unfortunate member who was on the sick-list at the time and had an impediment in his walk, was bowled over and trampled on several times, and was never fit for anything but the hospital afterwards. The others took to the jungle, and it cost some money to recover them. Samson remained in possession of the timber-yard for three whole days, no living thing daring to venture near him.

‘I have watched a fowl that had thoughtlessly gone to scrape for its morning meal on the accustomed spot in the rear of the elephant-shed, run for its bare life, with Samson after it at full speed, trunk and tail extended! Crowds of people used to collect daily, most of them at a highly respectful distance however, to witness the giant keeping the world at bay. Sometimes an adventurous native, out of pure mischief would approach within thirty yards or so of him spear in hand, when Samson would thump his trunk upon the ground and rush at the intruder, who soon disappeared under the nearest verandah. The poor animal was helpless against such tactics. They were to him what the deprivation of sight was to his prototype; but the desire for revenge was there still, and he tried his strength upon the posts of the building, attempting to push them down. When he had failed in this, he deliberately set about unroofing it with his trunk; whereupon the tormentor pricked his legs from underneath the house with his spear, and made him desist. After carrying on this game till he got tired, he walked off with his companion one night to the jungle, and selected a spot for his future residence close to a mud-pool.

‘For some days he made raids upon the adjoining gardens, eating up the fruit-trees without compunction; and in revenge for some opposition he met with from a market-gardener who did not appreciate his new neighbour’s high-handed way of doing things, levelled his hut to the ground. Things were beginning to get serious. Claims for damages became unpleasantly frequent, and it was absolutely necessary to put a stop to his depredations. Accordingly, I sent out a deputation of elephants to wait upon him, with picked men as drivers and attendants, for the purpose of bringing him to reason. There were ten elephants altogether, the senior member being a very patriarchal-looking animal with an immense pair of tusks—the one, in fact, who was always employed to settle difficulties among the juniors; and in this capacity he had been uniformly successful. When the deputation arrived at the spot, Samson was enjoying his morning bath in the mud, and they surrounded him. The patriarch, with the chief _mahout_ driving, and another good man and true behind him, for the purpose of supplying any lack of moral courage that might manifest itself under trying circumstances, was taken nearest to the renegade. His sweetheart was quietly browsing among the bamboos close by. The moment Samson realised the situation, he made a rush from the bath at the patriarch, who forgetting his wonted dignity of manner, turned tail and bolted. The hook and the spear with which the drivers were armed alike failed to restore courage to the leader. On he went, tearing through the jungle, the branches of trees and thorny creepers making sad havoc with the persons of the men on his back. His bad example demoralised the whole force; they fled for their lives every one of them. At last it came to be a race between Samson and the patriarch, the other elephants having made lateral tracks for themselves and got clear of danger. When it came to close quarters between the two, the _mahout_ thinking discretion the better part of valour, laid hold of the branch of a tree as he passed and held on, leaving the other man to his fate. In a very short time he too was unseated, but in an involuntary manner; the elephant shot under the branch of a tree which did not afford space for the man to pass under as well, and he was swept to the ground. He was able, however, to elude the pursuer, who was so eager to get at the four-footed fugitive that he took no notice of the fallen rider as he crawled along into the thick jungle.

‘Fortunately no life was lost in this most exciting adventure. Even the patriarch got off scot-free. When tired of the pursuit, Samson returned to his rural retreat. The deputation got home in the evening, more frightened than hurt. I administered chlorodyne with much success to those whose bruises and lacerations bespoke a sleepless night; and it has since been regarded as a specific for patients suffering from cutaneous diseases and nervous excitement.

‘But I have not done with Samson yet. He was a valuable elephant, and I was most anxious to recover him. I offered a reward of two hundred rupees (twenty pounds) to any one who would bring him in; and a few days afterwards he came marching into the timber-yard as gentle as a lamb, with a young lad astride on his neck. This youth was the son of the man from whom I had purchased him, and the boy had been familiar with the animal from his childhood. Hearing of the reward that was offered for the apprehension of his old pet, he set off in quest of him. When he found him, he made use of the terms with which Samson had formerly been familiar. There was no longer any difficulty. The youth took him by the ear, told him to give him a leg up—the usual way for _mahouts_ to mount their steeds—and immediately Samson was himself again. Next day he was on duty, looking as if nothing had happened, and his little friend was the possessor of a reward which to him was a small fortune. Such is the affinity between God’s creatures which the law of kindness establishes. The little fellow had really more power in the tones of his voice over the huge animal than a phalanx of its own species under the direction of a score of men!

‘There are elephants that have naturally one tusk only. These are called _tays_ by the natives here. When the single tusk happens to be on the right side of the head, literally as well as metaphorically, and the animal otherwise is large and well proportioned, he is greatly prized by the native princes of India. They seem to regard him with veneration, as the Burmese do the so-called white elephant. There is one of these _tays_ at the depôt at present. He is the largest and most powerful animal in the government herd; but age is telling upon him, and now he is chiefly occupied in doing “the heavy-father” amongst the youngsters. When they have tried their best and given up in despair some log which none of them can drag, the _tay_ is brought to the front, his chain is fastened to it, and as he walks off, apparently without inconvenience to himself, be it ever so heavy, his eye really seems to have “Bless you, my children!” &c. in it. I have watched him often, and I think my interpretation of his feelings is pretty nearly correct. I was told by the superintendent of the depôt that native princes had sent messengers from India to try and purchase this elephant for state purposes, offering as much as five thousand rupees for him; but he has a value where he is which does not consist in a superstitious veneration for his single tusk, but in the virtue which lies in a friend in need.’

TO A LITTLE CHILD,

Who, soon after going to his first school, wrote home to his mother: ‘I am afraid I am spoiling your photograph by dropping my tears on it. I take it to bed with me every night.’

Couched within thy little nest,
Now the lessons all are done,
Clasp her Picture to thy breast,
Fondly clasp thy dearest one.

Freely let the tear-drops flow,
Tears of love, like showers of Spring;
In thy heart Love’s flowers shall grow,
And shall sweetest comfort bring.

Fear not, if _those_ features fade,
If thy tears _their_ form shall dim;
Prayers ascend, while thou art laid
Murmuring soft thy Evening Hymn.

_Living_ lips, no _artist_ made,
Nor the _sun-ray’s_ magic might,
In thy Mother’s home have prayed
To thy God for thee to-night.

Angels fly from her to thee;
Thee and her good Angels tend;
So your Father bids, and He
Will your dear ones all defend.

Press her Picture to thy heart;
Smile upon it through thy tears;
Never let that love depart
Through the changing, coming years.

Sacred is the Mother’s love,
Dear to God the loving son;
Thou shalt be with her above,
When the work of life is done.

T. S. P.

ST BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL,
_Feb. 17, 1878._

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Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.

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